The Solomon Key (33 page)

He shook his head.

Scott looked back down, but all he could see now were bare trees rising out of the multi-colored inferno that was the fall season in Pennsylvania.
Microwave
termination
…

The next thing he knew, they were descending. The pilots set the Blackhawk down in a clearing, killing the engine while everyone else hopped out.

Scott stretched, his body sore from digging, and took in the surrounding woods. A handful of men emerged from the forest, carrying a camouflage tarp with which to hide the Blackhawk from any prying eyes above.

“It is a half-mile walk from here,” one of the Israelis said to him in passing, heading for the woods as the helicopter was being covered behind them.

Scott fell into formation with the helicopter crew and headed to wherever it was they were leading, his mind a tangled mess of conflicting moral arguments.

Fifteen minutes later, they were walking down the main street of what looked like some old summer camp, cabins sprinkled randomly throughout the nearby woods. There was one building bigger than the rest, and he figured it to be the mess hall. There were people walking around, not of the Mossad persuasion, glaring at him curiously. Two boys stood throwing a baseball back and forth while some girls jumped rope, and other kids played a version of freeze tag. A few adults were sitting and watching the kids, though their attention was now turned toward the procession of armed men walking through the heart of their quaint little town.

After turning off the dirt road, they took a smaller path through the grass to a large olive-green tent. As they approached, Malachi emerged, his hand extended toward Scott.

“So Isaiah told you what you needed to hear?” he asked.

Scott shook his hand. “Where else was I going to go?” Then he indicated their surroundings with his eyes. “What is this place?”

“Come in,” he said instead, turning back toward the tent.

Scott and the others followed him, though the others eventually dispersed and went their own separate ways, leaving him to sit alone with Malachi at a table cluttered with equipment. Sleeping bags were scattered across the floor, weapons stacked up on more tables, and Scott figured about fifteen Mossad agents called the place home. He looked at Malachi and waited for an explanation.

“It’s a Christian commune,” he started.

Scott leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think they invited you here.”

He shook his head. “Our presence makes them nervous, but their hospitality has nevertheless been without fault. They just ask that we leave as soon as we can.”

“They’re hiding?”

“They have been here since 2015. Foreseeing the coming persecution, they decided they’d rather forsake society than watch their children fall victim to it. They call it Plymouth. There are Christian communities like this all over the country, and so far most have fared okay.”

“You’re endangering them by being here,” Scott stated.

He nodded. “Though they take the role of pacifists, they are sympathetic toward our mission. Many of the Christian communes believe that we are in the Great Tribulation that Jesus spoke of in Matthew twenty-four. They have fled into the wilderness to wait it out as they believe He instructed.”

Scott rubbed his head. He wanted to sleep. To wake up from the nightmare. He wanted to find his wife. “The ring is here?”

“Yes. We are going to take it to a safe place, but there is one thing we must do first. Which is why we are here. Which is why I am glad
you
are here.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed. “And what is that?”

“Did you see the camp on the way here?”

His throat tightened. “I saw it.”

“There is an important man there that we need to extract.”

Images of the bodies being thrown from the boxcar filled his mind. “Who is he?”

“A scientist employed by NASA.”

“NASA?” He laughed. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

Malachi’s stern face remained unchanged. “He knows what they have in store for the ring, why they want it, their whole agenda.”

“Who cares? You have the ring. Just burry it. No one will ever find it out here. Story over.”

He held up a finger. “No. I cannot do that. Some day it may be needed by the Messiah to gather the hidden instruments and the Ark itself. Our mission must now be that of guardian. And so we cannot destroy it or lose it, and understanding what their plan is for it will help us to better know how to keep it from them.”

This was the first time Scott was hearing anything about the ring being needed by the Messiah to fulfill the prophetic writings of the Bible. His skepticism peaked, and he wondered if Malachi was in fact operating according to Benjamin’s convictions, or if he had an agenda all his own. He didn’t care. “You know the guy’s probably chipped. They’ll know where you take him.”

“We need only half an hour with him.”

He paused, deep in thought, and kept his shaking hands hidden beneath the table. “You want my help in extracting this guy?” he asked Malachi.

“You would be an invaluable asset to us.”

“Then I want your help in return.” And he reached inside his coat pocket and slid the picture of his wife across the table, hoping he was doing the right thing.

35

T
here was nothing to do now but wait, so he was killing time by touring the community. The two boys he’d seen throwing a baseball were still at it, and he walked by them again. This time, however, one of the kids made an errant throw, and the ball soared over the head of his friend. The ball came to a stop against Scott’s foot. Bending over and picking it up, he tossed it to the boy nearest him.

“Thank you, mister!” the boy shouted, already turning away from him.

“No problem,” he muttered, wondering not for the first time what his life would have been like if he’d given Jennifer a child. He kept walking, exchanging courtesy nods with others of the populace. Eventually, due to his aching body, he developed an urge to sit. Finding a nice spot of grass and a flat rock on which to lean, he sat himself down and began watching the activities taking place within the commune. It seemed like the people here had settled down into a nice, simple form of living. He wondered how long it would survive once Malachi’s men raided the prison camp. A day? A week? The whole area would be scrutinized by satellites, Global Hawks, and MAVs as recon teams searched for those seeking shelter outside the System. The entire commune would end up in the camp.

The camp.

He sighed, trying not to dwell on Malachi’s promise to find out about Jennifer, when a voice suddenly sounded beside him.

“Hello.”

Scott turned toward the voice and saw a man standing over him, dark clouds haloing around his head. He wore jeans and an oversized sweater, his hair short and accompanied by a black beard.

“Hi,” Scott said without getting up.

The man reached down to shake his hand. “I’m Dan Ralston.”

Scott took his hand, shook it. “Matthew Scott.”

Dan Ralston stood back, smiling.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I think God gave me a word for you.”

Scott raised his eyebrows. “God gave you a word for
me
?”

He looked at Scott, his smile shrinking a bit. “I think so.”

“Why can’t
He
just tell me?”

He squatted. “I don’t question Him. I just try to obey Him.”

Scott felt a root of bitterness begin to pulsate. “I get that from everyone — priests, pastors, terrorists, psychopaths…”

Ralston smiled. “It’s a verse. Actually seven verses. Do you mind?”

Scott shook his head. “What the hell.”

“It’s from Psalm thirty-seven. ‘Wait on the Lord, and keep His way, and He shall exalt you to inherit the land; when the wicked are cut off, you shall see it. I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a native green tree. Yet he passed away, and behold, he was no more; indeed I sought him, but he could not be found. Mark the blameless man, and observe the upright; for the future of that man is peace. But the transgressors shall be destroyed together; the future of the wicked shall be cut off. But the salvation of the righteous is from the Lord; He is their strength in the time of trouble. And the Lord shall help them and deliver them; He shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them, because they trust in Him.’” He stopped, studied Scott’s reaction.

Not knowing what to say, Scott just mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Does it mean something to you?”

“That the wicked have it coming to them? Yeah, that’d be nice. Haven’t quite seen it play out that way though.”

“Which side of the fence would you fall on, do you suppose?”

Scott stared at him.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, is it?” His bright blue eyes flashed a warm smile as he stood. “I hope you figure it out, the verse I mean. It was nice to meet you.” He waved and walked away.

Once Ralston was out of sight, Scott turned the words over in his head.
I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a native green tree. Yet he passed away, and behold, he was no more; indeed I sought him, but he could not be found.
He automatically applied the verse to the world’s puppet masters, to the global Elite running the show, orchestrating the wars, the terror, the economies, the police states…
But the transgressors shall be destroyed together; the future of the wicked shall be cut off.
And then there was
Ralston’s question about which side of the fence he would be on, the side of all the wicked or all the righteous. His past made the answer abundantly clear. He would be counted among the wicked along with the very people he hated, that ruined his life, that made him do what he did…

He pulled out Isaiah’s composition book, not wanting to dwell too hard on where his thoughts would lead him. Repentance, surrender, spiritual awakening… he couldn’t afford those things right now. Not if he hoped to get his wife back. There was more killing that needed to be done, and he didn’t need an overactive conscience getting in the way. Turning back the cover, he saw, written in big bold letters at the top of the first page, a title of sorts.

SATAN’S GLOBAL COMMUNITY

New World Order stuff…

Throughout history, there has been a dream among men — the vision of a perfect society by which all peoples would finally be satisfied. Utopia. Within the following pages, we will look at how this dream has been unfolding, how it has become something much more than a simple dream but a probability. However, for the sake of time and practicality, we will not start so far back as Eden or the Tower of Babel. Though Satan’s scheme of uniting mankind goes all the way back to the lie he sold to Adam and Eve in the Garden, we will only refer to such ancient examples as it complements more recent history.

Perhaps a good place to pick up would be about 2,500 years ago with a man named Plato and a work he wrote entitled, “Critias.” For it was within that work that he wrote of such a utopia. He called it Atlantis.

Scott skimmed through Isaiah’s account of Plato’s Atlantis, trying to get right to his point rather than wade through the theories that supported it. He wondered how it could possibly be relevant to his current situation.

Over the centuries, many esoterics have claimed that Plato’s Atlantis was not simply a work of fiction, but that it once existed as a mighty empire that covered the entire world. Some have taught that the ancient wisdom of Atlantis has been preserved within the secret orders and is destined to be reborn. And while it is true that for at least 3,000 years, secret societies have been working to create a background for which an enlightened world democracy would be
necessary, Plato stands as one of the most popular figures to first express a philosophical basis for it.

And then came Francis Bacon, the leader of England’s secret societies during the 17th century and chief of the Rosicrucian Order. Interestingly enough, he wrote a work entitled, “New Atlantis,” in which he described a nation governed by scientific achievement full of marvels. Of special relevance to our subject is that Bacon has been referred to as the true founder of America. In fact, a 1910 Newfoundland stamp actually reads, “Lord Bacon: The Guiding Spirit in Colonization Scheme.” And while history has told us of those coming to America for supposed religious freedom, it has done well to hide another group of people who came with an entirely different agenda — those sent by Francis Bacon to establish his vision of a philosophic world empire, Bacon referring to himself as the “Herald of the New Age.”

It seemed that Isaiah had intended his research to be the foundation for either a series of articles or a book. It was at least easier to read than Father Baer’s thoughts that had been scribbled around partial passages of mysterious texts.

Skimming further, Scott read about “ley lines.” Apparently, the five Revolutionary War cities were built in perfect alignment across the eastern seaboard — Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Washington, and Baltimore — and that the ancient alignment of cities and other important sites were often associated with a series of “great circles” encompassing the earth (“ley lines” or “lines of power”). The equator and the meridians of longitude were said to be the most famous of these lines. It was suggested that ancient builders were aware of these lines, using them deliberately, and that they were even perceived as portals by which spirits could travel between the different sites.

On the next page was something about the 77th Meridian, or “God’s longitude.” Washington DC was built on it, and it was believed that Sir Walter Raleigh, a member of Bacon’s secret society, actually established the colony of Roanoke while searching for the sacred meridian, that his true mission was to plant the banner of Bacon’s esoteric principles as the New World’s philosophic capitol. DC’s Meridian Hill marked this “God’s longitude.”