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“It is true that I was denied access to a facility at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base…. I can’t tell you what was inside. We both know about the rumors [of a recovered saucer]. I have never seen what I would call a UFO, but I have intelligent friends who have.”

U.S. Senator, U.S. Air Force General, and candidate for U.S. President, Barry Goldwater

Shaken from sleep by the ringing of the special cell phone, Joe sat on the edge of the bed and listened to Phobos as he described what had happened the night before. As a result of the Nibiruan Key’s effect on the atmosphere, Operation Gadfly was moving ahead of schedule. If Joe were going in, it would have to be now. There would be no more opportunities to peruse tacticals.

Agreeing to the accelerated plans and rushing to meet Phobos in Portland, he found himself an hour later dressed in a Montero employee uniform, his hair tied back out of sight, riding through the entrance to the research facility. From the passenger seat inside the green Suburban, and with the morning sun just peeking over the mountains, the block and mortar façade looked deceptively normal, like one of a million commercial plants.


What Joe couldn’t see inside the building was a male nurse pushing a hospital gurney along a hall on Level Twenty. His sister Sheri wide-eyed with fear, was strapped to it.

Moments before, in the room where she had been imprisoned, she had tried to put up a fight, but the muscular orderly and equally powerful door guard had quickly subdued her and Katherine. Also, because, unknown to her, the angel that had been casting away her fears all morning was gone now, forced from the building moments before by dozens of newly arrived “strong man” demons, Sheri’s anxiety was going through the roof. She didn’t understand the abrupt change of emotion, only that apprehension had suddenly fallen on her like a thousand pounds of smothering dread.


As Sheri thought back over the last five minutes, an eerie, inescapable impression convinced her that she was being evaluated. Malevolent eyes somewhere in the walls, the ceiling, or maybe even the air were watching her, examining her.

She squirmed against the restraining straps as she rolled into Genetics. The nurse released the table, backed out into the hall again, and turned and hurried away. She caught his uneasiness, as if he was afraid of something, something in this room.

Her eyes slowly examined the darkness, straining to identify the vague images filling the cubicle around her. What little light she did have was coming from bits and pieces of electronic equipment near her bed and from the imperfect seal around the entry door. She could just make out a large table of some kind, and the outline of a closet or bathroom a little ways away. A statue or something like it stood in one corner near several suspended attachments.

Inexplicably, the smell of sulfur began wafting through the room.

No, not sulfur, more like gas: cadaverous, decomposing, a rotting stench of some kind lacing the air.

As she considered the odor, the “statue” by the wall inexplicably bobbed. It looked like a cluster of balloons had been jerked sideways by a hidden, invisible clown.

Her eyes jumped to it, trying desperately to make out the image in the darkness.

Her stomach filled with nausea.

She forced herself to think, Your mind is playing tricks on you, your mind is playing tricks on you…

Then the form twitched…and she defined it, them…vacuous, horrible creatures, studying her.

The floating monstrosities acknowledged her glare, made a clicking sound, and slunk along the wall, their bodies turning but not their heads, until spider-fast they formed a semicircle around her. The vague light cast golden sheens on their bulbous-headed bodies, chalky and decrepit, as their elliptical, horrifying eyes came in contact. The light vanished into them as if into black holes: dead ocular cavities not unlike those of the minions of Dante’s Inferno.

She wanted to scream, but couldn’t.

Vivid extrasensory projections began raping into her mind, diminishing her will to resist.

Now she could see the room, indeed herself on the bed, through their eyes. For reasons she could not understand, the beings wanted her to perceive telepathically what she wouldn’t otherwise choose to know—dreadful things about the cloning lab where…WHERE…WHERE THE EMBRYO OF THE ANTICHRIST WOULD BE IMPLANTED IN THE VIRGIN THAT WOULD CARRY IT TO TERM!



Outside and above the Earth, the rip in the fabric of space continued to widen. It had grown during the night and now spanned an area sixty-six thousand miles wide and millions of miles long, the current distance from Earth to Mars.

Peering into the rift at 6:00 am Pacific Daylight Time, NASA’s most powerful telescope had turned up nothing unusual. To make maters worse, NORAD’s infrared and ultraviolet detections were still undeciphered. Top-level specialists from NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory had been called in, and had rushed to the military center to study the phenomenon.

Then at 7:35 am, astronomers working at the Marshall Space Flight Center came up with something unusual. Using a modified high-sensitivity “hard” x-ray telescope, mysterious objects deep inside the rift had been located—hundreds of thousands of them—some bigger than football fields and others smaller than houses, moving toward Earth. The researchers couldn’t explain the curiosity, only that the armada of objects would breach the rift’s opening and enter Earth’s atmosphere in less than an hour.


Outside Portland, Oregon, hundreds of feet below ground, the Enigma pounded harder and prouder, increasing in speed and intensity as the Dark forces neared. Apol rubbed his hands together like a mad scientist. The deception was nearly complete. The Armageddon train had left the station.


“We have a situation,” General Layton whispered to the President, being careful not to let the secret service agent standing outside the door hear him. “It could be a problem.”

The president swiveled in his stately chair and brought the tips of his index fingers to his chin as he stared at the secretary of defense.

A highlighter pen lay atop the Oval Office desk next to a devotional Bible. Portions of the book of Revelation, chapters eleven and twelve, were marked.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“By now I’m sure you’re aware of the anomalous situation first reported by NORAD earlier this morning.”

“Yes, I’ve been briefed on the expanse in space, the aberration.”

Layton nodded. “We believe the phenomenon corresponds to the space-time vortex described in the Dropa text—the Enigma’s multidimensional gateway we were hoping to achieve. As soon as we restore contact with Outpost Alpha, we plan to work with them to introduce a probe into the expanse. Of course we also need to ascertain Alpha’s condition.”


“But a third situation,” he began tenuously. “One that you’ve not been advised on, has developed since the insertion of the key. The chimera have lined up and are standing at attention.”

By that Layton meant the Nephilim army had spontaneously moved into standing uniform columns at 12:01 am. The unexpected event had occurred at each of the factory dungeons, simultaneously around the world.

“What do you mean…lined up?” the president said.

“Both cages of five thousand creatures have arranged themselves in military formation, fifty wide by one-hundred. The problem is, we didn’t order them to do that, and we can’t get them at ease.”

Layton’s cheek twitched as he stared at the president. “I guess what I’m saying is, something spooky has happened to the giants, something we are unclear about.”

“Spooky, General Layton?”

“Unexpected, sir. The AngelStar system seems to have malfunctioned at the very moment we placed the key in the Reindeer.”

“And…? Are you suggesting that an active connection exists between the giant army and the Reindeer’s onboard system? That the Reindeer is somehow controlling the giants?”

“It’s a strong possibility, Mr. President. The phenomenon occurred in tandem at each factory, at the exact moment of insertion. Currently, the chimera remain in that position, frozen like zombies. They are unresponsive to our commands.”

Layton wanted to say, It’s spooky because it’s as if they’re awaiting orders from an unknown authority, but he knew better.

The president sounded miffed about being out of the loop. “Why am I just now being advised of this situation?”

“We assumed it was a technical problem, sir, a…”

“Never assume anything, General,” the president cautioned. “Especially when the technology is a product of reverse engineering, as the AngelStar microchips are.”

Layton started to point out that neither the Department of Defense nor the National Security Council was mandated to brief the president on every detail of the Reindeer Project. Reverse engineering was regularly used by project leaders to re-create alien hardware and software designs. Technicians deconstructed the final products to discover how they worked, and uncertainties were to be expected under such circumstances. When he hesitated, the president said, “Have you tried shutting the AngelStar system down? The beasts wouldn’t be reacting without satellite transmission, would they?”

“That was our opinion, too, sir, but we tried it and it didn’t work. It’s as if the microchips are being controlled by a separate, alien transmission,” he said, meaning an unknown frequency source.

The president rose to his feet, circled the desk to the middle of the room, and said. “Alien? As in the Reindeer’s owners?”



General Layton joined him. “That’s not what I meant, sir. It’s a possibility of course, but we’ve not come to that conclusion. Our top men are analyzing the situation as we speak. We hope to have something definitive by this morning’s briefing.”

“Perhaps we should just remove the Nibiruan Key and stall the project until further safeguards can be considered.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. President, that’s a problem too. The key won’t come out.”

“What do you mean, it won’t come out!? It came out before…at the crash site…”

“Evidently things have changed. The ETV was either dated to lock the key at a specific time, or the crash in Sedona produced a systems failure that inadvertently released it in the first place. Either way, it’s fused solid now. We have a team of specialists trying to remove it, but I’m afraid we’ve lost control of that situation for the moment.”

“Well, until we get that situation back under control,” the president fumed, “I want those beasts locked down, understand? God help us if the giants get loose without our constraints.”

Layton raised his finger. “While controlling the chimera may be a problem, sir, containing them is not. As you know, we have contingencies. Every such scenario was contemplated from the outset. The Pace-Stoppers alone would be sufficient to kill the giant army if necessary.”

Layton’s reference was to small shape-charged plastique capsules that had been surgically attached to each Nephilim’s heart. The radio-controlled miniature explosives were part of the Department of Defense’s Nephilim-restraint fail-safe system. It was this very procedure that had killed the Nephilim that Buck and Tater found in the ravine. That giant had detected a problem with its AngelStar-GPS linkup and had tried to escape. When Montero technicians couldn’t reestablish connection with the beast, the Pace-Stopper was signaled and exploded, rupturing the creature’s vascular organ and killing it. Had the beast not fallen into a deep ravine and been covered up by Buck, the recovery team no doubt would have found it.

The president looked disdainfully at him. “Yes, that was your guarantee from the very beginning, wasn’t it? The possibility of the giant army getting out of control and presenting a public endangerment was a mathematical improbability. Yet, here we are, facing something that neither the Department of Defense nor your experts at Montero saw coming.”

Walking to a large aquarium near the informal sitting area, the President touched his finger to the water and watched as orange life forms swam toward him. As the goldfish gazed up, expecting food to drop down from the heavens, from the god who feeds fish twice per day, he said contemplatively, “Look at how these fish come to me, General. They cannot understand me, what I am, what motivates me. I am infinitely beyond their ability to comprehend or to control. I assume the power of a god over them, to feed or to destroy them, depending on whether they please me. While natural instinct tells them to run away, to hide from my power, their bellies bring them back day after day to feed on my gifts. I’ve been thinking about this all morning. Perhaps we’ve been acting like these goldfish.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

The president bit his lip. “Did you ever stop to question where the Montero research was going, General?”


Layton was confused. The president, an avid supporter of the Reindeer project, sounded like he was having second thoughts. “I’ve followed my orders, sir.”

“Of course, and don’t misunderstand me. I’ve been on board from the beginning too, choosing to believe that mankind would ultimately benefit from our research and from the startling possibilities represented by the alien technology. But did you ever stop, just for a moment, and ask yourself if we were getting in bed with the Devil?”

“The Devil, sir?”

“Yes…the Devil…you know…the horned guy…the Evil One. Haven’t you ever wondered if an unseen, incomprehensible power could have planted the ETV on Earth as a Trojan horse? Something to trick the Alliance of Ten Nations into building a fish bowl for humanity?”

“I’m not following you, sir.”

The president looked disappointed. “Never mind, General. It was just a thought.”

Truth was, Layton understood very well the point the president had made, he just didn’t want to think about it. It went along with another concept—the idea that thousands of ferocious Nephilim were standing in uniform columns at Montero waiting orders from some unseen dragon—a power who could not have acted without man’s invitation…like the one made by the insertion of the Niburian Key. It sent a cold chill up his spine. Nephilim were as strong as ten men, stealthy, cunning, and immanently superior soldiers.

His thoughts drifted to the Urban and Jungle Warfare Report he’d received nine months earlier. The UJWR had described in detail the average Nephilim’s unusually strong attack-kill instincts, not to mention their sheer savagery of an opponent. Only when sporting an adversary, like a dog playing with a rodent, did Nephilim let a man believe he could survive hand-to-hand combat.

The report also estimated that, without use of sophisticated weapons or contingencies such as Pace-Stoppers, more than ten million ground troops would be required to defeat the existing giant army. Whoever controlled advanced weapons and the Nephilim would therefore rule the New World Order.

With such power, peace could be forced on terrorists, the rule of law on anarchists, philanthropy on the greedy—and that was the whole idea. Wasn’t it? To create a utopian world? The president must have thought so, at least at one time. He never would have joined the surreptitious Alliance of Ten Nations otherwise.

“Anyway, sir,” General Layton said. “I did want to bring you up to speed on the developing situation and to make sure you were aware of the additional information we’ll be reviewing at this morning’s briefing.”

“All right, General. I’ll expect solid answers from your experts.”


As Layton excused himself and walked out, the president returned to his desk and stared down at the mysterious devotional Bible somebody had highlighted and left open on his desk during the night. For the third time in as many hours he read the troubling section from the book of Revelation:

And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns…

The phrase “and upon his horns ten crowns” was circled with a line drawn to a publisher’s note in the margin. The note speculated that the ten crowns represented an End-Time alliance of ten nations, which Satan would use to provide the Antichrist with an earthly seat of authority.


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