It was as if he could feel the hot flames licking at his soul waiting to consume him.
Mulrooney’s attention was diverted from the Catholic priest to the countless demons he saw coming out of the statues and all other points of idol worship throughout the church. Their hideously distorted shrieks and moans were such that they echoed throughout the universe, as the demons fled the smoke and flames.
Then there was a loud explosion, as if a bomb had been detonated. Once the smoke finally cleared, all things pertaining to the Catholic Church were gone, completely incinerated in the flames, replaced by a serene field full of fertile soil where the church once stood.
Smack dab in the center of the harvest field was Jesus, saying, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me. Everything else is merely chasing after hell.”
No one else was with Him. No Popes. No cardinals. No bishops. No priests. No Mary. No statues. Only Jesus!
And that’s when Brian woke up in a pool of sweat, without ever knowing what had become of Father Dunleavey. Crazier than the dream itself was that he had never met the Catholic priest in person and, therefore, had no idea what he looked like.
Yet, aside from the Pope and Salvador Romanero, his was the only other recognizable face in the dream. Brian reached for his phone and Googled the website of the Catholic church in Ann Arbor. Searching the staff online, he nearly swallowed his Adam’s apple! It’s him! It was almost too much to absorb.
At 3:16 a.m., Brian felt prompted in his spirit to make contact with the Catholic priest. He called the church not expecting anyone to answer. It went to voice mail. “My name’s Brian Mulrooney. I’m calling for Father Dunleavey. I spoke with him last November after the disappearances. There’s something of vital importance I need to share with him. Can you have him call me at his earliest convenience? It’s an emergency. Thank you.”
Mulrooney got out of bed and went to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. The last thing he wanted was to sleep again.
As it brewed he put two pieces of wheat bread in the toaster and dropped to his knees, “Father, is this Your way of calling me into service? Do You want me to share my dream with Catholics everywhere, including my parents? If so, I am willing.”
What Brian didn’t know was that millions of new Christ followers were having similar dreams regarding the many false religions they were part of prior to the Rapture.
Another thing Mulrooney didn’t know was that the two men preaching in the back of the church were the Two Witnesses prophesied in the Book of Revelation.
Nor did Mulrooney know that the Sovereign God of the universe was fulfilling Joel 2:28-29: “And it shall come to pass afterward that I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh; Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, Your old men shall dream dreams, Your young men shall see visions. And also on My menservants and on My maidservants I will pour out My Spirit in those days.”
And this meant, without exception, that God was connecting people through supernatural dreams. Those belonging to the Most High woke feeling prompted in their spirits to arrange meetings with the person or persons of their dreams.
As for the rest—the unbelievers—Yahweh God allowed their reprobate minds to fall under Satan’s powerful lure and influence. Their dreams and visions were so vile, so reprehensible, that only a few had entertained such thoughts and visions in the past.
Longtime Satan worshipers, especially, were in a total state of renewal, receiving supernatural powers directly from the devil himself, powers they’d never before felt. They sensed something huge transpiring, only they didn’t know what it was.
Was their leader coming back for them? It sure felt like it.
If they only knew the grim consequences of their actions, they’d turn from it in an instant. But through the constant denial and rejection of the things of God, their hearts became wickedly hardened to the point that they were blinded to the Truth.
Their master didn’t care for them. They were merely being deceived. Satan’s sole purpose, using Salvador Romanero as his puppet, was to deceive and ultimately destroy as many souls as possible before his time ran out.
Everyone under his spell would soon share in the unspeakable horror that awaits each doomed soul on the great Day of Judgment.
They didn’t know it yet, but they were on a collision course with eternal damnation...
4
CHARLES CALLOWAY WAS DRIVING north on I-75 in the state of Florida, 50 miles south of the Georgia state line, en route to Atlanta. The meeting he’d been praying for, begging God for, was finally about to happen. He couldn’t wait to get there.
Even four months later, mangled guardrails and medians lined parts of the highway upon which Calloway was traveling. And a few burnt out vehicles still littered the shoulders in some places or were left under bridges to decay. All were sobering visuals of what happened after the silent evacuation of God’s true saints.
But all in all, workers had done a commendable job in restoring the roads to where they were once again safe to travel on.
This was Calloway’s third time driving to Atlanta since the Rapture. The original plan was to leave 24 hours from now. That all changed after he received a text message early this morning from the founders of www.lsarglobal.org, Travis Hartings and Clayton Holmes.
Calloway scratched his head in astonishment. After having virtually no contact with the two men since before last Christmas, the timing couldn’t have been any more peculiar, since they were the sole focus of a dream he’d had the past three nights.
From what he could remember, in his dream Calloway saw himself involved with a growing Christian organization led by the two creators of the widely-popular website. Suddenly they’re contacting me requesting a meeting the next time I’m in Atlanta? It could only be God.
Calloway replied, Nice to finally hear back from you, gentlemen. Your timing couldn’t be better. I’ll be in Atlanta this weekend to preach at my father’s church. I planned on leaving tomorrow but can leave today if it’s convenient for you. He didn’t mention the dream in the text. That would come later.
Hartings replied, giving Calloway the address of a Denny’s Restaurant just off the interstate he was traveling on. See you there at 3 p.m. sharp. No need to reply back.
Calloway jumped out of bed and packed his suitcase. Carrying his suitcase to his car, he was struck with a thought: Did Travis and Clayton already know he would be in Atlanta this weekend? Had they somehow infiltrated his father’s church and already knew this was his third trip to Georgia over the past month and a half?
Calloway did not know. At any rate, leaving a day early posed absolutely no challenge to him. It’s not like he was busy with his once-successful network marketing business. He seriously doubted if Cell-U-Loss International would survive the mayhem.
Who wanted to purchase nutraceutical products now? Even the hundreds of bodybuilders who’d faithfully used his products—earning him a small fortune in the process—stopped ordering from him. It was suddenly the furthest thing from their minds.
Charles Calloway wasn’t the only representative faced with this debilitating dilemma: the company that generated $37M in the month leading up to the Rapture, had averaged just over $50,000 per month since. Charles was surprised the number was that high.
By gazing into the president of Cell-U-Loss International’s eyes—even online—Jonathan Steinberg looked like the captain of a sinking ship. The eyes never lied.
Calloway felt for his former mentor, he really did, but not enough to help him try and salvage his barely-on-life-support nutraceutical company. Because Steinberg’s faith remained rooted in the world and Calloway’s faith was now rooted in Christ Jesus, it meant they were suddenly going in opposite direct
ions.
My mentor should have been my daddy, not some man working to gain the whole world at the peril of his soul!
With no business to work and with no family around to occupy his time, Charles Calloway had the freedom to travel extensively, if need be, and go wherever God wanted him to.
Especially now that his house was off the market. It sold rather quickly to a wealthy Arab consortium from Dubai out buying multiple “choice” properties around the world. After just one walk-through they made him an offer. The closing was set for next month.
Even more miraculous was that Calloway would net approximately $25,000 from the sale. Given the present climate, it was a tremendous blessing from God.
Passing an eighteen-wheeler truck on the highway, Calloway was still puzzled by the meeting location. Clearly, the place he saw in his dream wasn’t a Denny’s Restaurant, or any other restaurant for that matter. It was a log cabin surrounded by hills and trees, far away from any big city.
Hence, the mild uncertainty on his part.
But nothing would stop him from meeting with Travis Hartings and Clayton Holmes. Calloway knew dreams were oftentimes hard to decipher, impossible at times. Still, if they offered him a position within their organization, Charles would accept it, no questions asked.
As per strict instructions, no one could know about this meeting, including the members of his church in Sarasota or those from his late father’s church in Atlanta. Calloway was sworn to secrecy and had every intention of keeping it that way.
As much as he wanted to preach from the pulpit his father had faithfully occupied for more than 40 years, until he knew for certain which direction the Lord was leading him, he would serve as interim pastor at both churches. He didn’t mind making the 500-mile trip from Sarasota to Atlanta every other week. In this strange new world, it was sort of therapeutic.
Even so, if the two men he was about to meet offered him a position with their organization, Charles would receive it as confirmation from above, resign as interim pastor at both churches, and join them in the capacity of their choosing.
“Thy will be done, Father!”
5
CHARLES CALLOWAY PULLED INTO the agreed-upon Denny’s Restaurant parking lot 30 minutes ahead of schedule.
Parked across the street in a white, windowless passenger van with a long range thermal surveillance scope pointed at Charles Calloway’s body, was Braxton Rice. Rice was also equipped with a surveillance cone with the most advanced listening capabilities on the market in case his subject’s cell phone remained stuffed inside his pants pocket, causing all surrounding sounds to be muffled.
One way or the other, each word out of Charles Calloway’s mouth in the next few minutes would be recorded.
Braxton Rice was one of a dozen or so reconnaissance men hired by the founders of www.lsarglobal.org to eavesdrop on those for whom they had an interest.
Thanks to a $10 million donation made by a billionaire friend from Australia, whom Travis Hartings had known for many years, they were able to purchase the necessary equipment to properly vet and spy on multiple potential candidates simultaneously.
With the peace treaty signing fast approaching, they hadn’t a moment to waste. Time was of the extreme essence.
The equipment in Braxton Rice’s possession had real-time video recording capabilities, which allowed the two founders to watch and listen from anywhere on the planet, whenever they wanted.
With Calloway being of such great interest to them, Holmes and Hartings cleared their busy schedules so they could listen and watch everything that was about to unfold, from a hotel room less than a mile away from the restaurant.
When Charles exited his vehicle, Rice powered up the hand-held device then pushed and pulled on the dial, making corrective adjustments, until his subject came into view.
At first, Calloway appeared on Travis Hartings’ laptop screen with a magnification range of 25 times. With a simple push of a button, it increased to 100 times, with an automatic direction finder that would keep their subject locked in at all times.
“Good job, Braxton. You’re a real pro!” Travis Hartings said.
“Thanks, boss. Sound coming momentarily,” Rice said evenly, into his static-free microphone, turning on the digital audio recording system. Capable of NSA-quality recordings at a distance of more than 1000 meters, this was well within its range, making this surveillance job a piece of cake, really.
The way Calloway’s shoulders slumped as he ambled inside the restaurant, it looked as if he’d just finished carrying a 50-pound bag of concrete mix on each shoulder. The man who once brimmed with unbridled confidence now slouched with great indiscipline.
His body wasn’t wounded, but you’d never know it by looking at him. Then again, it would be difficult for anyone to walk upright, after suffering the many knockout blows their subject had endured over the past few months.
Having closely monitored Charles Calloway since before last Christmas, Holmes and Hartings were quite mindful of his latest body blow. They were listening when Brian Mulrooney called Charles at his home last Christmas Eve, on live video chat, so he could watch the church service at Southeast Michigan Evangelical Church.
When Pastor Jim Simonton lamented to a full congregation that those who were redeemed from this point forward wouldn’t be part of the Church Age, the comment struck Calloway hard. Even after the pastor reiterated that they all had eternal assurance and would be invited to the Wedding Supper of the Lamb, only not as part of the Bride of Christ, he was unaware that his words had totally devastated someone a thousand miles away in the state of Florida.
First there were a few gasps and sighs. Then it sounded like Charles had buckled to the floor, as if being kicked hard in the gut. Though unsure of what it all meant—even Pastor Simonton confessed that he didn’t understand the difference between the two, how could anyone brim with confidence under such conditions?
Holmes and Hartings knew how their subject felt. Hopefully his involvement with them would breathe new life back into him.
But first Calloway had to pass this final test. After performing an extensive background check on him without his knowing, it was time to see if he was worthy of a position with them.
Totally clueless that he was under surveillance, Calloway took a seat and perused the menu, mentally rehearsing what he would say once Holmes and Hartings arrived.
A waiter approached. Charles ordered an orange juice. A moment later the long haired, heavily-tattooed, fair-skinned waiter placed the juice on the table and left him.
After twenty minutes of waiting, there was still no sign of Clayton Holmes or Travis Hartings.
His phone rang. It was Brian Mulrooney. “Hey Brian!”
“Sorry I missed your call. I was in the shower.”
“What call? I didn’t call you. Must’ve been a pocket dial. Sorry, bro!”
“No worries. How are things in Florida?”
“I’m not in Florida.”
“Where are you?”
“Atlanta.”
“Thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow?”
“Quick change of plans.”
“Oh, yeah? What plans?”
“Let’s just say it has to do with a dream I had for three consecutive nights.”
“You, too, huh?”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “You’re having dreams too?”
“Yep, the past three nights about the Catholic Church. It was bizarre, to say the least. What about your dream?”
“Can’t tell you just yet, if ever at all.”
Mulrooney sighed. “Why not? I told you my dream.”
“I know, Brian, and I appreciate it. If I could tell you, I would, but I can’t. Don’t ta
ke it personally. Perhaps someday I can, just not now. I’m sworn to secrecy. Truth be told, I’m not comfortable even talking about it on the phone or out in public like this. Never know who’s listenin’. Please try to understand, my brother.”
“What choice do I have?” was all Mulrooney could say.
Charles knew Brian was disappointed. “Thanks for understanding. Call you later.”
“Okay, Charles.”
Just then the waiter approached. “Are you sure your guests are coming, sir?”
“They’ll be here soon enough,” Calloway replied, noticing the many empty tables. “Do you need the table? I mean, the restaurant’s dead!”
“No, sir. Take all the time you need.”
A half-hour later, there was still no sign of Clayton Holmes or Travis Hartings. Calloway was getting fidgety.
The waiter approached again, “May I know how you know the two men?”
Calloway flinched. “Why are you so interested in me and my two friends? And who said I was meeting with two men anyway?”
“No one, sir.”
“How do you know they’re not women?”
Seeing that his guest was becoming visibly irate, the waiter’s eyes darted left and right to make sure no one was listening. “Relax, Mister Calloway,” the waiter said calmly, evenly. “I have just as much interest in them as you do.”
Calloway blinked hard. His pulse raced in his ears. A red flag went up. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”
“A servant of the Most High God, just like you.” His green eyes were ablaze. “I regret to inform that the two men you’re here to meet won’t be coming, sir.”
Calloway’s heart sank. He paused to let his tone settle, “Why not?”
The Countering Page 3
