The Third Trumpet

by Anthony R. DiVerniero

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The Third Trumpet

  Published by Gatekeeper Press

  2167 Stringtown Rd, Suite 109

  Columbus, OH 43123-2989

  www.GatekeeperPress.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Anthony R. DiVerniero

  Author can be reached at tdproph20@gmail.com.

  www.anthonydbooks.com

  Edited by Alice Peck

  Copyedited/proofread by Ruth Mullin

  Cover design by Duane Stapp

  All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  ISBN (hardcover): 9781642374087

  ISBN (paperback): 9781642374070

  eISBN: 9781642374063

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my mom and dad, Lucille and Dominic.

  Thank you for your love, kindness,

  and support throughout my life.

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, to all the readers of my first novel, Messenger From God. Thank you! Thank you! I hope you enjoy The Third Trumpet.

  Thank you to my editor, Alice Peck, a true wordsmith. Thank you for your guidance.

  Thank you, Duane Stapp, for the cover design and your patience.

  Thank you, Ruth Mullen, my copy editor. Your inputs are invaluable.

  Special thank you to my Barnes and Noble family in North Haven: Frank, Ellen, Marjorie, Clive, Diana, John, and Emily. I so enjoy the mornings when we are all together. To the marvelous employees who allow me to spend countless hours writing and drinking espressos, especially Jean-Marcel, Noelle, Lisa, Nye, Michelle, Robert, Jaylyn, Rachel, Paul, Holly, Jay, Nyzae, and Anna.

  To my longtime childhood friends Lisa, Bunny, and Janet. Thank you for reading the manuscript and giving your input. I hope the final version doesn’t disappoint.

  Debbie Abrams and the book club babes Diane DuPont, Cindy Gilhuly, Nancy Labanara, SueCroce, Susi Zuse, Carol Cusano, Kathy Mitchell, and Gina Hart

  Thank you, Sharon and Joe, for your resounding wows.

  Monte Cassino, Italy, 1510

  A priest sat at a wooden desk. He read the yellowed scroll, written in AD 34. The Benedictine translated the Hebrew words on the papyrus into Latin: From the ancient village will arise a family from an orphaned child.

  He was interrupted by the call for afternoon prayers and would return to his translation the following morning.

  The last page of the hidden journal read:

  There are three absolutes to our world: we are born; we live; we die. We have no choice when, how, or where. In our youth, we are dependent on others to mold our minds. What we see, what we hear, what we are taught, and how we are treated shape who we become. These events form our perceptions and ideals. Objectivity is swayed by the truths and lies of the era we live in. We all meet the same demise, whether young or old—our life span is a miniscule fraction of eternity.

  A time of deep spiritual deception summons us. The reality of life is distorted. We believed in the good that we accomplished but failed to recognize the injustice we caused. Those who shone like bright stars were the ones who tried to help us understand the power of evil, but the light of their souls was often obscured by the pervasive darkness of humanity. In our ignorance and pride, we failed to follow their example. Our hearts hardened; we grew deaf. Humankind rationalized the truth to further its agenda. We were absorbed in ourselves, in the complexity of our existence.

  When we study the tapestry of life, we see the prejudices we created. The choices we made and assumed correct were, in fact, wrong. We did not follow the blueprint bequeathed to us.

  The war between good and evil, the battle within the mystical world, will deceive the religious as the secular powers gain momentum in these final days—the end of an era begins. The confrontation I speak of started with a mere aberration of the truth—a tiny lie—our unwillingness to live a simple life.

  The deceivers are in your midst; their actions, coupled with the world’s ignorance, will culminate in a thunderous crescendo. Many will be misled. The evil tentacle will grasp the souls, minds, and hearts of all humankind.

  The governments will be brought to trial for their injustice, for over the centuries, the deception stayed hidden within all humanity, deep within the fabric of our beings. Truth is truth and can never be changed, no matter how we rationalize. Remember, Ishmael’s descendants became the fathers of Islam, while Isaac’s offspring became the fathers of the Hebrews and Christianity. All were created by the same true God.

  The time has come to make amends for our actions. First, the prophecy of old must come to fruition.

  —Paolo DeLaurentis

  November 11, 2001

  Chapter 1

  July, Four Months before the American Presidential Election

  “Thank you, Eten. I agree. We need to ally ourselves in the fight against financial inequity. I’ll be in touch.”

  Rio DeLaurentis ended the phone conversation with the president of the European Union. She had been in Washington, DC, for four days. As the founder of the three-year-old American Party, a bipartisan congressional committee subpoenaed her. Republicans and Democrats joined forces to discredit her leadership. Today, the contentious battle of ideologies would strengthen the resolve of those who wished to destroy her. The media labeled Rio a “legal revolutionary.” The established parties had another name for her—traitor. As she put it, the American Party was, “a true political organization that would transform America.”

  She leaned against the window of her hotel room and undid the top button of her white silk blouse under her gray Armani jacket. A pigeon landed on the sill, and the movement of the bird’s wings focused her attention outside. She took in the sights of the city. To her right, bright orange fencing surrounded the toppled Washington Monument, the lawn still speckled with spots of burned grass. Climate prognosticators had been correct; the summer was the hottest and driest in a hundred years.

  The thirty-nine-year-old attorney known for her philanthropic activities had grown tired of a government that refused to help the poor, so she focused her energies on the American people. She became a patriot who helped the multitudes who didn’t have the resources to protect themselves. The United States had become a two-class society, a schism perpetuated by a president who manipulated the system. Troubled by a divided country, Rio believed there had to be a better way. At least her influence helped defeat a debtor’s prison law Congress tried to pass in 2018.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when her cell phone rang. “Hello? Yes . . . I’ll be right there.”

  Rio was disappointed it wasn’t Dean Essex confirming their dinner plan for tonight before she returned to New Haven. Her fortieth birthday was less than a year away, and she felt motherhood beckoning. Although she dated, she had never found the one man to make her heart pound with awe—like the love her father had for Sydney. Maybe today was the day. Maybe Dean was the one.

  * * *

  A black SUV pulled up to the Capitol.

  “Thanks for the lift, Danny.” As he was about to close the door, Giacomo added, “Good sparring match today. Thanks for the workout.”

  �
�No problem. We’ll talk soon.”

  “Will do.” Giacomo DeLaurentis jumped out of the vehicle as a similar one parked behind him. The chauffeur exited the car as the rear passenger door opened. Giacomo walked the short distance to meet his twin sister, Rio.

  “Day three. Are you ready, little sister?”

  “I am, big brother.”

  The two hugged. Born less than four minutes apart, they often joked about their age difference.

  “When did you arrive?” Rio asked.

  “Landed an hour ago. Your news groupies are circling.”

  “Please . . . just what I need. Ignore them.”

  “Miss DeLaurentis!” someone shouted.

  “Rio, can you answer . . .”

  “What’s it like to be attacked by the Senate?”

  That question made Rio stop. Her face flushed with anger as she turned to the cameras. Ten reporters shoved their microphones at her.

  “I don’t care.” The lines of tension at the corners of her eyes told a different story. “Let me say this: they attack me because I represent the poor, the downtrodden people of our country. They malign me because I’m not influenced by their greed or power. It annoys the hell out of them that I can’t be bought. They badger me because they can’t face the truth. They betrayed the citizens of our country. They are the traitors, not I.”

  “We heard that kind of talk in the past from President Waldron, but he failed. What makes you different?” another reporter asked.

  “I’m not a man. And I don’t lie.”

  Rio took her brother’s arm, and they climbed the steps of the Capitol. “Rio, be careful what you say today,” Giacomo cautioned.

  “If I don’t tell the truth, who will?”

  “I understand. But remember who you’re talking to.”

  The congressional hearing room overflowed with reporters. American flags hung on either side of the grand dais. Perched high on their throne-like chairs, the ad hoc committee consisted of leaders of both the Senate and the House. These political elites were surrounded by fourteen bipartisan representatives who would question Rio. As she adjusted her seat, she eyed her inquisitors with malice. Cameras flashed, and a screech from Senator Rawlings’s microphone opened the proceedings.

  “Good morning, Miss DeLaurentis.”

  “Senator.”

  The political leader shifted his papers and skipped the formalities. “Miss DeLaurentis, why do you wish to subvert the US government?”

  “I take offense at your statement.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Can you be more specific, Senator?”

  An aide whispered in the senator’s ear and presented him with a sheet of paper.

  “You own a house in Italy?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you have ties to the Italian government?”

  “No.”

  “No, Miss DeLaurentis? What is your relationship with Sergio Esposto?”

  “He’s a close family friend.”

  “Was he not the prime minister of Italy?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  The craggy senator blew his nose into a white monogrammed handkerchief. He sniffed as he continued. “Is the ex-prime minister a business partner of your brother, retired Colonel Giacomo DeLaurentis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you familiar with your brother’s company . . . um . . .” The senator fumbled with his notes. “Remote, LLC?”

  “No, I am not.”

  Giacomo was unfazed by the interrogation. As ex-commander of the Black Operations Elite Team—BOET—he’d been through worse. He just hoped Rio would stay calm.

  “No further questions, Mr. Chairman.”

  Senator Esther Boyle was next. Chair of the Energy and Natural Resources Committee, she served the constituents of Texas. In her twenty-four years in office, the career politician had held the top positions on the Foreign Relations and Intelligence Committees. Her peers referred to her as “the bitch of the Senate” because she was not afraid to clash with the legislative body. Half Cherokee Indian, she had overcome prejudices by touting herself as the only real American in politics. A proud woman, it was her way or no way. Now she had the task of defeating the American Party.

  “Ms. DeLaurentis, once again I would like to thank you for your concern for the poor.”

  “You’re welcome, Senator Boyle.”

  “You made the following statement. I quote, ‘The time has arrived when we the people must rise up and take a stand against our government.’ Those are treasonous words, Ms. DeLaurentis.”

  “Your point, Senator?”

  “I’m saying, Ms. DeLaurentis, it sounds like you have a problem with our government.”

  “I do. What’s your point?”

  Ignoring the question, Boyle continued, “Are you familiar with the militant group called the Fighters for Freedom Brigade, or FFB?”

  In May 2004, the FBI warned the director of Homeland Security of the threat to the country from the militant group. To the dismay of both directors, the congressional Intelligence Oversight Committees terminated the investigation. FFB leaders planted their followers in the southwest and northwest parts of the nation, establishing homegrown American terrorist cells.

  “I am. I disagree with their philosophy of violence.”

  “Do you or the American Party support them financially?”

  Rio’s anger swelled. How dare she ask me a question like that. She could see how Boyle earned her nickname. “No! Don’t be absurd. But let me warn you: given the chance, the FFB will attack us.”

  Composed of a cross section of disgruntled Democrats, Republicans, and political independents who wanted their country back, the FFB believed the democratic system had failed to enforce the constitutional rights of the people. Their desire for revolutionary change was precipitated by the fierce battle over gun control, the intrusion of the Internal Revenue Service, spying on private citizens, censorship of the news media, and a decline in moral attitudes. The 120,437-member militia waited in abeyance for their opportunity to attack.

  “How do you know?” the senator demanded to know.

  “Because my father said it would happen.”

  “Oh, yes, your father? The famous Paolo DeLaurentis? The man who could tell the future.” Boyle snickered.

  “Ms. Boyle, my father’s words were truthful. The events he foretold came to be.” Rio’s voice flowed louder and stronger. “His words could unite a broken society, an injured people, and most of all, bring peace to our world.”

  Giacomo tried to catch her eye as he shook his head. Please, Rio, stop. Keep your mouth shut. They didn’t listen to Dad then. They won’t now. As the interrogation droned on, Giacomo recalled that day.

  It was October 28, nine months after their father’s death. A beam of sunlight streamed through the big window. Giacomo and Rio sat on a couch in the corner of what had been their father’s study. Not much had changed. There was a new Oriental rug, and law journals had replaced the various business books. Paolo’s old desk was still cluttered with papers. Pictures of the twins and their parents were scattered throughout the room.

  “How are you feeling, older brother?”

  “Better now that I’m out of the hospital.”

  “Tell me about it. Mom and I were so worried. I can’t believe your fever got that high.”

  “Yeah, the doctors were puzzled.”

  “Sounds like the story Dad told us about when he was a boy. Did a white light surround you?”

  “No, no white lights.” Giacomo changed the subject. “Do you have the key?”

  “Yeah. Came yesterday by FedEx. I found the box hidden under the floorboards over there by the window. I’m surprised we received the package, considering how much damage Hurricane Adam caused.”

  “Did you
see the news footage of Florida? Totally devastated. How are they going to recover? Not to mention, how is the government going to pay for it?”

  Rio wiped a tear from her eye. “Those poor people. This is unbelievable; our world is going to hell. The coastline flooded to Lake Okeechobee, and hundreds of thousands are homeless. I don’t understand how a flood could be that bad.”

  “The president told me this morning the satellite pictures show a tsunami hitting the coast. They estimated the first wave at over one hundred fifty feet. Thank God most people were evacuated—Adam was a category 5 when it slammed into the shoreline.”

  “Unbelievable.” She shook her head and handed the key to Giacomo. He opened the box. Inside was a note attached to a journal. They read the pages together.

  My dear children, if you are reading this I am dead. I always wanted to say that.

  Giacomo and Rio laughed.

  I hope you are both well. I am sure you are. Attached is my journal containing all the visions I had. I give this to both of you. Giacomo, with your contacts, and Rio, with your legal mind, and with all your financial resources, maybe the two of you can do better than I did. I love you both. What you hold in your hands is a burden, I know—I lived with it for many years. Giacomo, if you and your sister feel the burden is too great, you have my permission to give the journal to the president. Whatever you do will be the right thing—there is no wrong decision.

  I love you,

  Dad

  Brother and sister leaned back on the leather couch, tears in their eyes. Rio reached over to the coffee table and picked up the journal. She sat close to her twin and opened the prophetic book. Together they read the first page.

  When Adam, the giant hurricane, hits the coast of Florida and Lake Okeechobee becomes part of the Atlantic Ocean, humankind will enter an era when the earth will shudder and quake. The meteorological events will tax the economies of the world, igniting a maelstrom of want and greed. The nations will rise against each other as foretold, until a new era of peace, a new dawn awakens humankind . . .