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“We have, indeed, been contacted—perhaps even visited—by extraterrestrial beings, and the US government, in collusion with the other national powers of the Earth, is determined to keep this information from the general public.”

Victor Marchetti, former Special Assistant to the Executive Director of the CIA, Second Look, Vol 1, No 7, May 1979


Admiral John Stark punched his number into the security keypad and watched as the elevator gate opened. He stepped inside, followed by Apol Leon, and the doors to the oversized room closed. To initiate the voice-activated security cab on its rapid descent to seven hundred twenty feet below ground, he simply demanded, “Level thirty.”

The stoutly framed admiral was a no-nonsense soldier, his graying hair cut short around his stern bulldog face, his demeanor was serious, his jaw set for confrontation. Staring straight ahead, he said roughly, “Agent Leon, I cannot overemphasize the need to follow regulations on this matter. Some in the Pentagon are concerned things may be moving too quickly. There are unanswered security questions. There are fail-safe questions.”

Apol stood against one wall of the elevator looking at the admiral. It was no secret the two men didn’t get along. He smirked caustically, “Begging your pardon. You know that every question was answered in the military appraisal. Furthermore, the commander in chief has authorized each move persssonally, has he not?”

“I’m sure he has. But the president’s concern is with NASA’s budget appropriations and his campaign promise to keep the United States at the lead in space exploration. I’m worried about public safety.”

“Level ten,” a female voice uttered softly over the elevator speaker.

“Some would think such language could get a man relieved of duty, John,” Apol challenged.

The veins in Stark’s neck swelled. “First of all, you will address me as Admiral! Second, oversight of this project is in my purview. I’m darn well going to see to it that nothing goes wrong here. If I don’t like what I see, your precious research will be stalled indefinitely. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Sssertainly, Admiral, but need I remind you of the separation of powers? I have responsibility for the project’s integrity. There are deadlines, and frankly we’ve had our share of setbacks. I insist we go green. Safety measures have been checked and rechecked, as was verified in the appraisal. You’d know that if you’d read it. There’s no reason to wait any longer.”

“Level twenty.”

“I read your so-called military appraisal, every page, and truthfully, I’m unimpressed. It was measurably ambiguous. We don’t even know what this vessel will do when she’s fired up. Will we be able to contain the situation once the key is in place? Are we 100 percent certain? We’re talking about national security here. We’re talking about American lives.”

“Nothing I haven’t thought about a hundred times myself, but ssso far everything we’ve gleaned from the Dropa has been accurate. The army of giants is nearly finished, the monuments on Mars were discovered right where the discs said they would be, and there’s no reason to think the Enigma is any different. If anything—you should be eager! We’re ssstanding on the threshold of our next big evolutionary step forward.”

Stark didn’t care a whit about evolution. “I’m glad you’re excited about it. Now let me reaffirm my position. I’m not about to let anyone commit this country to an unknown course of action until I’m satisfied with the safety issues. That includes you…you got me?”

Apol’s face was turning red, illustrating difficulty at hiding his rage. He looked at Admiral Stark as if he wanted to slit his throat from ear to ear. “Then what would it take to sssatisfy you, Admiral?” he seethed, sounding barely able to contain his need to kill him.

“All that I require, Mister Leon, all that I require. Now show me what you’ve got.”

With that, the female voice said, “Level thirty,” and the elevator bumped to a stop.

As the doors to the room opened, the two men marched out into a colossal hanger filled with white-robed technicians. Both of them looked as small as ants beneath the Reindeer—the largest extraterrestrial vehicle ever captured.




Joe followed behind Andrew Corsivino as the three men walked from the Gray Hideaway toward Dave’s car. He knew it would be naïve to accept everything the physicist had offered—especially the unearned favors—for in his experience, nothing in life was free. Everybody wanted something, only in this case he didn’t know what the “something” was. Yet if only part of Corsivino’s offer to help was truly a gift, he owed the man a word of appreciation. Pushing aside his suspicions for the moment, he said, “I guess I should say thanks for setting me up with Phobos.”

With the same serene expression he had seen earlier, the no-nonsense scientist simply responded, “We’re happy to do what we can.”

Corsivino opened the passenger door and paused. “Keep in mind,” he said, “the rescue of Sheri will be difficult even with the assistance of Phobos. Although,” he added, “I’m sure my enigmatic friend will have a couple tricks up his sleeve…something to help level the playing field.”

Corsivino sat on the front seat as Dave opened the opposite door and got in. It was a beautiful afternoon in the Rose City. Children were riding bicycles. Senior citizens were gathering at the Community Center across the street for bingo. Next door to the Center, an elderly man and his wife were having a garage sale while the grandkids waxed the car…and next to Joe was an angel.

Justice whispered to him, “You left your coat with the cell phone upstairs on the chair.”

“Oh…just a sec, Dave,” Joe said. “I have to grab my coat before we leave.”

Dave unclipped a key from his keyring and threw it to him. “Make it quick. I need to get Andrew to the airport on time.”

Joe nodded and headed for the building as Dave turned the ignition to start the car. It made a clickity…clickity…clickity sound.

He twisted the ignition again, grumbling.

Suddenly Corsivino’s eyes widened and he screamed, “GET OUT!”

It was too late.

The vehicle exploded with such ferocity that a large part of the framework disintegrated at once. Other pieces shot burning debris dozens of feet into the air as the energy wave created by the blast catapulted Joe across the parking lot and against the store’s block wall. Blood began gushing from his nose as he collapsed onto the pavement. The building rattled as store windows and automobile glass turned to shrapnel against the scrambling retail customers. Almost instantly the airborne sections of the mangled wreckage returned to the parking lot with a slamming squall of collapsing metal. Fire engulfed the burning fragments as people ran screaming into the street.

Blocks away, others heard the horrific boom and saw the showers of flame. Car alarms blared, dogs howled, a dark-skinned five-year-old on her tricycle tumbled onto the road screaming, “Momma, Momma,” as slowly, a collective human drone evolved into a symphony of weeping in and around the Gray Hideaway.

A few hundred yards away, a lone vehicle eased down the street and away from the store. Corsivino had been the shifty-eyed man’s target. Dave was collateral damage. Mission accomplished.


Allie was on the phone with Dave’s wife, Sharon, asking about Joe and Sheri when, for a split second, she thought she heard a bang and an alarm of some sort, then the phone at the video store went dead. Something unexpected had occurred. She shouted into the cell phone, “Sharon!? Sharon!?” When nobody responded, she shoved the gas pedal down and began nervously praying the Lord’s Prayer.


Confused and watching a golden-skinned man walking through the flames toward him, Dave found himself in the middle of the road, standing among the burning remains of what at one time was his automobile.

He looked at the glorious person and said, “W-what’s going on? Who are you?”

“My name is Justice,” the man responded. His voice was as cool as silky running water. “Don’t be afraid. Come with me.”

Now Dave was off his feet and ascending into the clouds. A little ways ahead, another man, equally shiny, was carrying Andrew Corsivino.

“Why an explosion?” he heard Corsivino ask calmly, as if somehow he understood that they were on their way to an appointment.

“The Lord has many ways,” the swifter being said. “His chariots are fifty thousand.”


As the orderly wheeled Sheri along the brightly lit corridor into the observation room, Perfect Love walked beside her. Sheri was fast asleep, unaware of the chemical taste metabolizing inside her mouth, the result of the powerful sedative given her. The male nurse removed the straps and lifted her limp body from the gurney, placing her on a bed next to another young woman named Katherine, then pushed the gurney back out into the hall. The door closed and locked automatically, and a guard positioned next to it pulled on the handle to be sure. This was level twenty, an area unavailable to anyone not cleared by Apol Leon.

The room was pastel blue, accented by a silver-gray border at the ceiling, with no windows, no phone, no television, and no amenities except for a place to sleep and a small sink and water closet in an open corner. The bed was standard size, mounted to a stainless steel frame, which in turn was bolted to the floor. When lying upon it, a person could see a mural on the ceiling of a winged goddess surrounded by six adoring gray aliens. The artistry was captivating, but evil lurked within the image. The goddess’s eyes followed you wherever you went, recording every move.

Katherine, the seventeen-year-old sitting up on the bed, wore a standard medical gown, the same as Sheri. She was pleasantly thin with beautiful blue eyes. Before running away and living on the streets in Portland, she had kept her dishwater blonde hair stylishly down to her shoulders. Her cheekbones were among her most striking features, high and defined like a runway model’s. She was curvaceous and flirty in an innocent way, attributes that undoubtedly contributed to her abduction. She was allowed one hour in the morning to bathe, to put on makeup, and to do her hair. Her physical beauty was obviously important to Apol Leon, as were other parts of her, like her ovum. Fortunately her eggs had not been needed yet. Soon they could be.

Katherine stared at Sheri, thinking how much she resembled the emerald angel from her dreams. Every night for the past week, the night vision had been the same. She was precariously balanced on a dirt ledge overlooking the ocean. She didn’t know how she got there, only that somehow she had slipped over a cliff’s edge and was holding on to a tree root for dear life. The sea beneath her was inundated by millions of apelike monstrosities, swimming about, feeding on legs and heads and other mortal remains. Farther away, a great monster, a dragonlike devil impossible to look at for very long, wanted her. Its eyes were a burning lamp of fire, its tongue deeply forked, and when it breathed, the ocean bellowed before it, swirling and churning out a blood-soaked foam. The earth shook when it exhaled, and when it inhaled, millions of souls were swallowed deep inside its dreadful bloody gullet.

It watched her, waiting for her to lose her grip, spewing tidal waves of fury in its effort to consume her. Each time the water crashed against the mountain face, she’d scream and pray to the unknown God. Then the root would dislodge, and she’d start to fall, but a redheaded beauty with green-tinted skin would reach over the cliff’s edge and grab her in the nick of time. “Don’t be afraid,” the angel would say. “Follow me, and I’ll show you the way.” That’s when she’d awaken in a frightful, desperate sweat.

But this was no dream, and the girl on the bed next to her—although bearing an amazing resemblance, minus the green skin—was no angel. Just another female, young like the others, a potential donor to their captor’s mysterious plan.


What the young woman named Katherine didn’t know was, as with her, physical beauty and especially virginity had been mandatory in accepting Sheri. Unscreened eggs from fertility clinics were good enough for Montero’s regular embryo needs, but the Super Nephilim’s body needed to come from Apol’s DNA and the purest female contributor. Virgins were therefore selected, preferably with blue eyes, then injected with hormones and sucked dry of eggs. Afterward they were considered as candidates to host the impending child, or given to the Nephilim as food.

As this was Apol’s private nightmare, the formula for the New Messiah project was unknown by other scientists working at Montero. The genetic blueprint for creating the alien god had been provided by the sole survivor of the Sedona UFO crash before its death at Wright-Patterson Airforce Base. Apol was the altered result of the first stage—the most manlike Nephilim ever mutated from a living human specimen, a virtual ambassador of the Annunaki of Nibiru. His offspring would be the result of the second stage, a deity by mythological standards.

For reasons unknown, the second phase of the New Messiah project had been unsuccessful thus far, and Apol was getting nervous. Every moment he could use was spent gazing through a microscope into a petri dish, making minute adjustments on the micromanipulator and inserting restriction enzymes and strands of his DNA into the abducted eggs.

He’d never run short of such material. A typical woman supplied thousands of eggs, and the process for multiplication, unlike at other government funded cloning labs, had been solved at Montero thanks to the Dropa, which explained the process of cell division in humans and primates using a combination of egg fertilization to jump-start spindle formation. After that, it was a simple process of replacing the human DNA with Apol’s. As the alien cells divided into two cells, then four, Apol would manually separate the cells and allow the replication process to start again. By dividing cells in this way, he had created as many as sixteen single-cell embryos at a time. All but one were typically frozen, while the remaining embryo stayed in the petri dish, dividing, specializing: transforming into Homo nephilim.

Yet unlike regular Nephilim code, which had been highly successful, every embryo made of Apol’s special DNA had degenerated into worthless cell matter before developing far enough to be implanted, or died shortly thereafter.

Yet any day now, with blessings of the goddess mother, he told himself, he would triumph. His son, the son of perdition, would inevitably be conceived. It had to. The Enigma was about to open, and the Master would step through it. He would expect a body, a host for his transmigration; the biblical seed of Satan depended on it.



Speeding was not something Allie usually practiced, but this was different. She pressed the accelerator, swerving around cars and trying not to vomit as the nausea in her stomach reacted to her worst fears. Her spirit told her that something unspeakable had occurred at the Gray Hideaway video store, something involving casualties. She could see a black cloud in the distance, a few blocks away now, and she was starting to smell the smoke. She flipped her scanner on and found the police band abuzz.

“Unit twelve, unit twelve, this is base, do you copy? Over.”

“This is twelve, base. Over”

“The chief is en route. ETA is two minutes. Set up roadblocks and advise the bomb squad that the Anti Imperialist Liberation Army is claiming responsibility for the explosion. Block press and civilian access. Other explosives may be in the area. You copy? Over.”

“Copy, base. No press or civilians. It seems awful quick for AILA to claim responsibility, doesn’t it, base? Over.”

“Chief will explain on arrival. Over.”

“Roger that, base. Over and out.”

The smoke was billowing from the rear parking lot where a crowd had gathered, but Joe was on the front side of the store holding Sharon on the curb when Allie slid to a stop beside them. His face was covered with dirt and blood. It scared Allie enough that she jumped from the car screaming, “Joe! You okay!? You okay!?”

Grabbing him by the arms and quickly looking him over, she found him blackened with soot and smelling of gasoline. Blood from a cut behind his ear was trickling down his neck, mingling with ash, forming a tiny black pool near the base of his shoulders. His hair was slightly singed and matted as if he’d slapped at it to put out a fire.

He wheezed through his blood-stuffed nose, “I-I’ll be okay. Help me get Sharon into the car…I think she’s fainted.”

Allie could see a battalion of emergency vehicles coming down the road toward them. “Wait…here comes the ambulance now.”

“We’re not safe here,” Joe snapped. His tone was a flat-out order to move. “She’s not safe either, now help me,” he said, picking Sharon up and walking quickly toward the car.

Allie ran ahead of him and opened the rear door as he laid Sharon on the backseat and crawled over her to the front. He doubled over as Allie jumped in, started the engine, floored it, and nearly hit a police officer pulling a ribbon across the road.


Twenty minutes later the phone rang at Dr. Jones’s residence. Allie’s husband, Carl, was panicked and wanted the prayer chain to intercede in prayer. Mrs. Jones picked up the receiver.


“Hello, Joyce!?”


“Joyce, this is Carl, Allie’s husband?”

“Oh, hi Carl, what’s up?”

“I needed to speak to Indy. Is he there?”

“Afraid not. To be honest, I’m not sure where he is. He called earlier and said school had to be cancelled due to a break-in. Seems the thieves were after the school’s computers again. Anyway, I don’t know where he is. You want me to have him call you when he gets home?”

From the sound of things Joyce was unaware of Sheri’s abduction. Carl would have been too, if Allie hadn’t called and filled him in, telling him to be ready to leave for Granny’s farm as soon as she arrived. “But call the prayer chain first and tell them to pray,” she had said in an urgent shout. “Especially for Sheri!”

He had packed in a rush and dialed the number to start the intercession circle, mostly because he said he would. Now he wondered if he should be the one to tell Joyce about the abduction and explosion. It was obvious she was uninformed. Dr. Jones had either lied about the cause of the break-in, or Joyce had assumed the facts. Either way, the truth would come out eventually, wouldn’t it? He determined it would and spilled the beans to get the chain started.


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