The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  “Only for the worse – or better, depending on your perspective. Johnson finished his second interview with our visitor and then immediately left with his wife for the night. They should be in their room at the Watergate by now. The second interview didn’t really yield any bombshells; it was more philosophical than anything from what I understand. The transcript is being e-mailed to me shortly.”

  “What did you mean by ‘worse or better’?”

  “Our friend was quite candid with Johnson about several things. Apparently, he is here to fulfill the prophecy of the Judgment Day.”

  “The End of Days?”

  “Well, that’s where it gets a little strange. He told Johnson that the Book of Revelation was a bit overblown and exaggerated. There will not be any fire and brimstone, no great cataclysm. He is simply here to collect the Chosen, as he calls them.”

  “There has always been some controversy as to the authenticity of Revelation. Many who have studied it have been convinced that, shall we say, artistic license was used a bit too heavily. So what, according to our guest, becomes of the non-chosen?”

  “Nothing. They just remain here to continue their lives.”

  “Well, Bill, that is certainly a more benign God than our Old Testament scriptures describe.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. He told Doctor Johnson that when the few who are chosen are removed, their absence is profound, leading to chaos and an eventual disintegration of the society.”

  “I’m surprised that he would be inclined to share the future with us.”

  “Oh, no, it isn’t the future; it’s the past. I hadn’t mentioned that to you. He has been here and done this twice before.”

  “Twice before! That cannot be. It isn’t written….” The Archbishop faded off in mid-sentence, scouring his lifetime of readings for a clue.

  “Reese Johnson seems to think that the previous visits would explain the mysterious collapses of societies in the past.”

  “I don’t know, my friend. It is obvious that I must speak with him. He is clearly an imposter.”

  “Kerry, the man has healed the lame, caused objects to appear from nothing, and, as I told you earlier, he knows things that no one knows.”

  “Bill, I know. But there must be some other explanation. This is not how our God would come.”

  “If you already have reservations, you’ll have more when you read the transcripts. If he is God, he is a harsh God, a cold God.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Much of what I have been taught, by my parents and in church, about caring for the helpless and downtrodden…he seems to be saying they deserve their lot.”

  Both men were silent for a full minute. Finally the priest spoke. “Will the transcripts be at my office?”

  “Yes. I’ve sent the pages I already have and will forward the rest to you as I get them.”

  “Very well. I’ll read them tonight, and we’ll speak in the morning.” Pausing a moment, the Archbishop asked, “According to our guest, will there be a morning?”

  “It appears so. He has told Johnson that he is in no rush. He apparently wants the world’s political and religious leaders to call a press conference to endorse him.”

  Coughlin snorted, “That will never happen.”

  “He appears confident that it will. He’s willing to take the time to convince all of us.”

  “Has he convinced you, Bill?”

  Burke hesitated. Not wanting to concern his friend and mentor, he also did not want to betray his true feelings. “Kerry, I don’t know.”

  א

  Reese lay face up on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. Claire was tucking the last of the clothes she had packed into a dresser drawer. After leaving the interrogation room, during the drive to the Watergate and the process of checking in, Reese had not felt like talking. Claire was always sensitive to him and respected his desire for silence. She knew that he would talk soon enough.

  “Honey,” he asked softly, “do you believe he is God?”

  Without hesitation, she answered, “Yes. Don’t you?”

  “I think I’m pretty much there. In some ways he is so godlike, in the ways that I’ve always imagined. Yet, in others, he’s not.”

  “Are you having trouble believing that God can be a pragmatist?”

  Reese laughed. She always had a way of cutting through the crap. “I guess I am.”

  “Reese, He’s God, not Santa Claus.”

  א

  It was nearly midnight before Lynn Sheffield found a motel on the outskirts of Burke, Virginia. At least, he thought, it was not a fleabag. It was a national chain, the standard two-story layout with parking right outside the first-floor room doors. The room was clean, and the bed smelled okay.

  As Sheffield stripped down and climbed into the shower, he realized that his anger was still unabated. It had started smoldering in the parking lot with Johnson and the FBI jerks, then burst into flames after the aborted demonstration at the U of A campus, and escalated into an inferno at the airport. The fury clouded his judgment and shortened his breathing.

  It seemed to Lynn that all of his worst fears, springing forth when “his” President left office and was replaced by this born-again fanatic, were coming true. He had watched as the mindless superstition called “religion,” for the last seven years, had systematically crept back into every aspect of his life. Victories that had been won decades ago were being rolled back, one by one. The FCC was trying to strip the hard-earned freedom of speech from the radio and television stations, and return Americans to the “stone age” of the 1950s. The enlightenment which had taken decades to instill within the federal courts, and even the Supreme Court, was being chiseled away by appointment after appointment, returning the country to the knee-jerk, so-called conservatism of the past. Even the right to an abortion was in danger.

  Lynn Sheffield saw himself as a man of reason and logic. Science, throughout the history of mankind, had pulled back the curtain of ignorance and replaced blind, unthinking faith with knowledge and understanding. It had dispelled destructive myths and allowed those who dared to be different to feel free to join society at last. Religion was the giant green face exhorting us to pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. Sheffield’s agenda, and the agenda of his ilk, had been to expose that man behind the curtain who called himself “god,” because the god of the born-agains and the god of the churches and the god of this stupid, provincial country’s President was an evil god. He had to be an evil god if he allowed all the travesties that had occurred to be done in his name.

  Lynn did not have to go back in his mind as far as the Crusades or the Inquisition to find sufficient offenses to outrage him. It was in the name of god that blacks were excluded from society. After all, man was made in his image and he was not black, so the blacks must not be fully man. It was in his name that women were subjugated by men and regarded as property, unworthy of even walking into a Catholic church without covering their heads. The word of god had been used to justify the endless, self-perpetuating cycle of violence that gripped the world – “an eye for an eye,” indeed. Perhaps the worst offense, the most grievous in Sheffield’s mind, was the belief among so many that America was somehow blessed by god, and therefore was sanctioned to carry out its imperialism and adventurism. A real god would bless no country, Sheffield thought, no race, no gender, no one religion or people. If there was a god, and Lynn did not think there was, he would bless everyone with no exceptions.

  Continuing his mental tirade, Sheffield thought that god had been an expedient excuse, an elaborate rationale, and a club with which to beat people into submission. It had been people, not god, who imposed god’s judgment upon them. It had been people who condemned the woman who dared to have a child without first having the church-sanctioned and church-defined marriage. People had condemned a loving relationship between two men, depriving them of the privileges of a marriage. It was people who declared the Taliban and Al-Queda to be godless
groups, simply because they reacted to America’s effort to dominate the world. And once godlessness had been ascribed, America could attack. Only the so-called god-fearing countries joined the attack; the enlightened nations of the world attempted to stop the madness.

  People decided, time and time again, what god would not approve of – imposing their edicts upon all of humankind, as if they actually came from some divine being. Those days must end. Humans must reach a point where all of these crutches would be thrown away, all of these beliefs would be eradicated, and all who continued to spew this hatred in the name of love would be silenced once and for all.

  Sheffield noticed his skin was wrinkling from the time in the shower. Not remembering whether he had soaped and rinsed, he turned off the water, dried himself, and went to bed to sleep a troubled sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Reese and Claire had arrived early at the Hoover Building, anxious to begin the day, when Reynolds stopped them in the hallway. “You might as well hold up for a while.”

  “Why?” asked Claire. “Is something wrong?”

  Reynolds’ face was impassive. “No. The Director has decided to insert another person into the process now, instead of waiting until you are done.”

  Reese spoke up, “Who? Why?”

  Before Reynolds could answer, two Catholic priests, followed by the Archbishop, who was attired in full vestments, walked up to the group. The Archbishop, addressing Reese, said, “Doctor Johnson. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you.”

  “It is my pleasure, Your Excellency. This is my wife, Claire, and this is Special Agent Nicholas Reynolds.” Coughlin shook each of their hands and introduced the young priests as Father James and Father McGonigle. After the formalities ended, Reese asked, “I assume that you are here in an official capacity?”

  “Yes and no. William Burke is an old and dear friend. When he shared the details of this gentleman’s visit, of course my curiosity was piqued. He asked if I would take some time to talk with our guest, and I immediately agreed.”

  “So I am to assume that Rome is not yet aware of this story.”

  “Quite the contrary, I spoke with Cardinal Bonavente last evening. He has yet to confer with His Holiness, but saw no reason why I should not come here and meet this remarkable man. So tell me, Doctor Johnson, what is your opinion of him and the claims that he has made?”

  Reynolds interrupted, “Perhaps we should move this discussion out of the hallway and into a private room.”

  The Archbishop, seeming to have forgotten that Reynolds was there, turned to him and said, “Actually, I’m afraid I have limited time.” Turning back to Reese, he excused himself. “Perhaps we could postpone our talk to a more agreeable time?”

  “Yes, of course, Your Excellency.”

  “Then I’d best get to this. Agent Reynolds, was it?…Yes…could you direct me to our mysterious guest?”

  Gesturing toward the door they were standing near, Reynolds said, “He’s right through there.”

  “Thank you, sir. Doctor Johnson, will you be joining us?”

  “Please go ahead. I’ll be right in.”

  “Very well.” The Archbishop turned and paused while one of the young priests opened the door; then they all entered the outer room of the interrogation area.

  After the door closed, Claire said, “I did not like him!”

  “Neither did I,” said Reynolds.

  Reese, chuckling, added, “I’m not exactly a fan myself.”

  “Let’s get in there,” said Claire, reaching for the doorknob. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  Father James and Father McGonigle entered the interrogation room first, followed by Coughlin. Elohim rose from his seat and reached out to shake the hand of each of the young priests. Reese could see through the glass that Elohim’s touch was having the same effect on each of them that it had twice on him. Reese saw Coughlin extend his hand to Elohim, not in the manner of a traditional handshake, but as a lady offers her hand to be kissed. Elohim just stared at the Archbishop, making no effort to take his hand. After an uncomfortable moment, Coughlin dropped his hand back to his side.

  Through the speaker above the window, Reese and the others could hear Elohim say to the priests, “I am honored, my children, to meet both of you. I have some matters to discuss in private with your archbishop. If you would be so kind as to leave us, I would be most appreciative.”

  The two looked at Coughlin, who nodded. They turned and left the room, closing the door behind them. At the exact moment they walked through the door into the observation area, joining Reese, Claire, McWilliams, and Reynolds, the speaker above the window began to produce a hissing sound. McWilliams immediately reached for the phone, calling the techs in the control room. The technician reported that they were still receiving the video, but that their audio feed had also been lost.

  “I understand that you wish to be called Elohim?”

  “Please have a seat, Kerry,” Elohim said, ignoring Coughlin’s question and seating himself.

  The Archbishop lowered himself into the seat across. “Please, sir, my title is Archbishop or, if you prefer, Your Excellency.”

  “Why have you come here today?”

  Coughlin was taken aback by the directness in Elohim’s voice and the piercing stare from his eyes. He responded, “I was asked by William Burke to speak with you.”

  “I am aware of that. What confounds me is why you would accept.”

  “Why, he is a friend, a friend in need.”

  “You are correct that he is in need. What you do not state is that your friend is in need because you have failed him, as you have so many others.”

  “I don’t understand. And besides, I have questions to ask you.”

  “I have no answers for your questions and never will. However, I will explain, if you truly do not understand, exactly how you failed your friend.”

  Kerry Coughlin was off-balance. This was certainly not a direction that he expected this interview to take. “Please do explain.”

  “You hold the position of an archbishop in the Catholic Church. Your diocese includes Washington, D.C., perhaps the most powerful city on Earth. You, more than most, should realize the tremendous responsibilities your position entails. In the seminary you were taught of the trials and tribulations of the early believers of your faith. Many were stoned to death merely for allowing their belief to become known. Others were put in a ring with gladiators and told that if they renounced their faith, they would live. Most did not renounce; all who did not died a horrible death. Throughout the early years of Catholicism, in many parts of this world, to be Catholic meant to be persecuted or ostracized. It took this country nearly two hundred years to permit a Catholic to be President.

  “The believers in your religion have a long and noble history of resisting, in some cases, massive pressure to abdicate their faith, including the threat of torture and death. You, sir, have sold out the very basic tenets of your Church, not because you feared for your life, not because you had succumbed to torture, but simply so that you would be liked.”

  Coughlin sat hypnotized by Elohim’s voice and the message it conveyed. He was speechless. Elohim continued, “As the archbishop of this diocese, you not only had your parishioners to lead, but you also had many who held positions of great power look to you for guidance. In their times of darkest personal need, when they were at a crossroads and desperately needed your help to make a wise decision, needed a solid foundation of faith to comfort them on a difficult but righteous path, you chose to forsake those standards that had been taught to you from the time you were a small boy. You, in your infinite wisdom, believed that you could pick and choose which of the commandments were to be followed and which could be ignored. You, with your ultimate hubris, could supersede the Holy See and tell a sinner that his sin was not a sin at all. How can I judge a man for his sins if he sought out my representative on Earth for counsel and forgiveness, for guidance and a firm reminder of what his Creator expects
of him, and that representative told him that he needn’t worry…that his transgressions were not offensive to God, that the sinful act that he contemplated was not a violation of the rules of his faith.

  “Kerry Coughlin, many years ago you were seduced – not by a woman, but by the power and prestige that reflects onto you from the famous and influential. You decided that you must make certain never to express displeasure or disapproval at what you were told, that you were never to advise the powerful to abandon their courses of action, no matter how imprudent. You decided that you must never find fault with members of this elite group or you might simply be ignored by them from that point on. Your predecessors had the strength of their convictions to die for their beliefs…you did not have the courage within yourself to risk missing the next Washington party.