The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  “Of course. I have no way of knowing any of that when I decide to stop.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Craig interrupted, “I think we’d better tune back in to this,” turning the sound up on the television. The Assistant Director of the FBI, Margo Jackson, was answering reporters.

  “We are currently in discussions with a person who has made some rather startling claims. He is not being held against his will. Yes,” she said, pointing to another reporter.

  “Is he claiming to be God?”

  “Actually, from what I understand, he has refrained from using that name. He has described himself as the Creator, and the name that he has given is Elohim.” Seeing pencils raised, she said, “I believe that’s spelled E-L-O-H-I-M.”

  “Why is he at the FBI?”

  “He arrived at the Hoover Building at his own choosing and asked to speak with Bill Burke. He has simply remained there for reasons of convenience.”

  Another reporter asked, “Did he speak with Director Burke?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did.”

  “What was discussed?”

  “I do not know the details of the conversation. Apparently, Elohim was persuasive enough to convince the Director to proceed with additional interviews by various experts.”

  “Who are the experts?”

  “We asked several linguists to speak with Elohim. He was also interviewed by the head of our profiling division, Craig McWilliams. He is currently being interviewed by Professor Reese Johnson, an academic expert in religion, anthropology, and psychology.”

  Nearly all of the reporters shouted for recognition. Jackson selected another. “Are you saying that Reese Johnson, the controversial author of the pro-religion books and professor who was dismissed by Harvard, was brought in?”

  “First of all, Professor Johnson was not dismissed by Harvard; he resigned. And, yes, it is the same Dr. Johnson.”

  “What is the consensus of the people who have met with Elohim so far? Do they think he’s God?”

  “We are not taking any position on his claims, at least until such time as we have finished our process.”

  Another reporter asked, “Is all of this being done because of the President?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “What I’m saying is…under the previous administration, if someone walked into the FBI offices and claimed to be God, would that person have been given the same treatment, or escorted out of the building as a crackpot?”

  “At this time, the President’s involvement has been zero. We have pursued the avenues I’ve described at the direction of William Burke, as a result of his interview with Elohim. I’d like to mention that Mr. Burke was an appointee of the previous administration and not of this one.”

  “Is Director Burke available for comments?”

  “He is not. He has taken a brief leave to handle some personal business.”

  “Is his sudden leave related to this Elohim?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Those are all the questions I’ll take at this time. We will hold another press conference as soon as additional information is available.”

  The reporters all began shouting at once, wanting more answers, but Margo Jackson turned, left the podium, and walked briskly out of the briefing room. McWilliams muted the sound again.

  Addressing the group, Reese asked, “Well, what happens now?”

  Claire, McWilliams, and Reynolds all remained silent. Only Elohim responded, “Based upon past experience, I’d say that people will react in a manner consistent with who they are.”

  Reynolds snorted, “In other words, all hell’s gonna break loose.”

  Elohim smiled and said, “Exactly.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lynn Sheffield sat staring at the news channel in disbelief as Margo Jackson spoke Reese Johnson’s name. ‘So that’s what’s so big,’ he thought. Lynn decided that the President, finally going over the edge, had cooked up this scheme and brought in Johnson to swear by it.

  Springing up from the edge of the motel room bed, Sheffield paced. He needed to figure out where Shelby and her group would appear. He realized that it would be the Hoover Building. ‘The place must be crawling with press by now. It’s perfect.’

  Tossing on a T-shirt and blue jeans, he nearly ran out the door.

  א

  Cardinal Mario Bonavente listened patiently to the soft murmur of static as he waited on hold for William Kent, the attaché bishop and assistant to the Pope, to come on the line.

  “Mario?”

  “William. Blessings to you.”

  “And you, my friend. What is Kerry’s status?”

  “He is resting. After his…shall we say, surprise statement, he nearly collapsed.”

  “Did you have a chance to speak with him?”

  “Only a little. He is convinced that this Elohim is the Coming. When I ask him why he is so sure, he babbles almost incoherently, saying only ‘He knows…He knows’ repeatedly.”

  “Have his aides shed any light on this?”

  “Some. Apparently Kerry was asked by his friend Bill Burke to visit with Elohim. Upon his arrival he met, among others, Dr. Reese Johnson.”

  “I know of Johnson’s work. In some ways he is a friend of the Church; in others he is not.”

  “Yes, that’s true. He is the one chosen to authenticate this Elohim.”

  “A lay person? Wouldn’t that be our work?”

  “Although you and I may think so, America is not Italy.”

  “Italy is no longer Italy, my friend.”

  “The world is changing. To continue, he met briefly with Dr. Johnson and then met with Elohim. Elohim asked Kerry’s aides to leave them alone, and they did, waiting in the observation room.”

  “So they saw it all.”

  “They saw it all, but they heard nothing. The moment they left the interview room, the monitoring speakers malfunctioned.”

  “Did they hear anything at all?”

  “The malfunction continued until they saw Kerry drop forward onto the table. At that point, Elohim looked directly at them through the one-way mirror and spoke to them over the speaker, which had begun to work, asking them to help their friend.”

  The Cardinal waited through the long pause, as the attaché bishop absorbed the details. After several moments Kent prodded, “That was all they had to offer?”

  It was Mario’s turn to pause. He had made a real effort to remain as neutral and clinical in his description as possible. It would be much more difficult to do that while giving this last bit of news. “Both Father McGonigle and Father James shook the hand of Elohim.”

  Sensing something important, Bishop Kent asked warily, “And?”

  “They both described to me a feeling of euphoria and pure joy, such as they have never felt, that lasted until the touch was broken.”

  Again, silence filled the line. At last Kent said, “I am aware of no guidance for this. It has always been taught that when He arrives, there will be no doubt. Tell me, Mario, did Elohim touch Coughlin?”

  “He did, but not until the very end of their talk. It was his touch that appeared to plunge Kerry into the abyss.” The Cardinal paused before asking, “Do we have a word from His Holiness?”

  “He has been briefed but, as yet, has made no comment. I will pass on this latest information and get back to you.”

  “Is there anything else that you would like me to do at this time? The press is becoming insistent for an official statement.”

  “They may wait a thousand years as far as the Pontiff is concerned. I suppose it would be appropriate for you to meet this Elohim. Do you have any feelings about that prospect?”

  “You mean other than unbelievable excitement and profound fear? No, I have none.”

  The bishop in Rome laughed. “I understand. Contact his hosts and inquire as to whether they would welcome a visit from you.”

  “I will do so.”

  “Thank you, Mario. I will call af
ter I have spoken with His Holiness.”

  “Good-bye.”

  א

  Reese and Claire stepped out into the heat and humidity of a Washington, D.C. midday in August. Reynolds and McWilliams had asked them to lunch, but Reese refused, wanting to spend some time with his wife. The front steps of the Hoover Building were already inundated with the personnel, cables, and equipment of the press, so Reese and Claire followed the route suggested by Craig, using a tunnel that connected to an innocuous looking office building two blocks away.

  Reese studied the faces of his fellow pedestrians, looking for a sign of something different and finding none. He and Claire were but two of thousands flocking into the streets at lunchtime. The announcement from the Archbishop that God had arrived to judge mankind apparently caused no discernible difference on the street.

  As if reading his mind, Claire said, “Doesn’t it seem that everything should be different?”

  “I was just thinking the same thing. I guess that right now, all they have are the ravings of a nut; at least, that’s the way the folks in the press are portraying it. It’s business as usual until people get something definitive.”

  “That would be you, I suppose.”

  Reese laughed. “Hey, no pressure, huh? No, people have different triggers. For some, it will be when their government announces it. For others, that announcement will be proof that it can’t be the truth. For some, it will be an endorsement from their church. Others will wait until the media declare that it’s real. The rest will simply react to the mob, whichever direction the masses may go.”

  “Do you think the Catholics are going to buy into this?”

  “The rank and file?”

  “No, I mean the Vatican.”

  “I don’t know. There hasn’t been a single visitor who has walked out of that room a nonbeliever. I guess the Pope will just have to meet him.” Chuckling, Reese added, “I hope I’m there for that.”

  “What about the Jews?”

  “They’re not nearly as monolithic as the Catholics. None of the movements – the Orthodox, the Conservative, and the Reformed – have a single head. The rabbis control and organize their religion by committee. There are a few rabbis who are pretty influential, like Rabbi Schmidt in New York. I imagine if he were to endorse Elohim, it would sway many within the faith.”

  “The Protestants?”

  “Which ones? That’s the problem. There are several major Protestant Christian faiths, hundreds of significant ones, and literally thousands of small splinter groups. Ideologically, they are all over the place. I guess they’ll have to figure it out for themselves or take their cues from the others.”

  “The Muslims?”

  “That’s a big question mark in my mind. For one thing, the Quran foretells of great battles where most of the Jews and Christians are killed, and the survivors convert to Islam prior to the possibility of a day of judgment. There are many other things that are to happen beforehand. These are called the Signs of Qiyamah. Other than the epidemic consumption of alcohol, ignorance prevailing over knowledge, and widespread immorality, the rest of the signs have not happened yet. My guess is that they will not accept Elohim as their God, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “What about you, hotshot? Have you made up your mind yet?”

  “I’ve made up my mind that he isn’t a mere mortal. That has been a fairly easy conclusion to reach. Well, let me ask you…after making the mental adjustment from believing you’re dealing with a man to believing you’re dealing with a supernatural being, what test can be contrived by a mortal that would separate God from Satan?”

  Claire was silent, looking thoughtful. Reese quickly added, “I’m not saying he is Satan.”

  “Especially since you know He’s listening.”

  “No,” Reese said, laughing. “I’ve discussed this with him. What I’m saying is…I don’t believe that he is Satan, and I don’t have any reason to suspect it. It’s just that….”

  “Reese, it’s just that the whole world is waiting for your answer.”

  “That’s an overstatement! But I do feel it is crucial that I get it right. Crud! I don’t know, honey, what do you think?”

  They reached the front door of the restaurant that Craig had recommended, both hesitating before they went in. Claire answered, “I’m sold. I think He’s the real thing. I’m just wondering when you’re going to get around to asking Him the big question.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is…are we…you and I…Matthew and Melissa…four of the Chosen?”

  א

  Sheffield had circled the monumental Hoover Building twice in search of a sign of Shelby and her group. The press was there in abundance. Several small groups were beginning to form up on the sidewalks, but nothing looked organized to Lynn. The hot, humid air had long ago caused him to soak his T-shirt with sweat. His hair was plastered to his scalp and his beard itched. ‘God, this is miserable weather!’ he thought as he lowered himself to sit on the steps in the shade of a column. It did not help. ‘Back in Tucson, you can find relief in the shade. Here it’s just as bad as out in the direct sunlight. It has to be the humidity.’

  Sapped of all his previous enthusiasm, Lynn just leaned back against the stone column, disgusted.

  “What are you doing here, mister?”

  Sheffield, thinking he was being hassled by some beat cop for loitering, answered, “Just resting for a min….” Looking up, he saw Special Agent Reynolds, accompanied by someone other than the black agent he had seen in Tucson.

  “I mean,” Reynolds asked, “what are you doing here, in D.C.?”

  Lynn stood to face the agents, intent on showing them both that he was unintimidated. “Still a free country, right? Or do I need your permission to travel, Herr Kapitan?”

  The other agent spoke up, at least Lynn assumed he was another FBI goon. “What’s the deal, Reynolds?”

  “When I was in Tucson picking up the professor, this guy was there, trying to accost him in the parking lot. Now he’s here. Coincidence?”

  “Accost! Wait a minute. I wanted to talk to him. Still do!”

  “It’s Sheffield, right?” Reynolds asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Look, Mr. Sheffield, here’s the situation. I could pull you into that building and hold you several hours for questioning. It’s not a lot of fun, but you’d survive it just fine. While we had you, we could check into every activity you’ve ever been involved in, look for outstanding warrants in all fifty states, take your DNA and add it to our database while checking to see if a drop of your blood ever turned up on a crime scene, talk to your associates, do all of the stuff that we here at the Bureau do so well. Again, not a lot of fun but you would do just fine.

  “My other option is to let you walk away from here right now. This is the second time that I’ve told you to walk away and not look back. Not only do I want you not to look back, I want you not to come back. If you do, I promise you we’ll have that little party I just described.” Reynolds pointed up at two surveillance cameras mounted on different columns. “Those cameras are all over the place on every government building in town. Your mug has just been added to our face-recognition database. When I go inside, I’m going to put a nice red flag next to that face. The next time you walk within a hundred yards of the Lincoln Memorial, alarms here at headquarters will go off. I don’t know what you were planning, but I can tell you right now that those plans are ruined. You might as well spend the rest of your stay in our city wearing a clown suit and big, red nose. Am I clear?”

  Sheffield, through Reynolds’ entire lecture, felt his anger growing. He struggled to tamp it down, to keep a lid on it somehow. When Reynolds finished, it was all Sheffield could do not to spout off. Not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded.

  “Good. Now clear out of here.”

  Sheffield turned to leave. As he did, he saw Shelby, as well as two of the others he met in Tucson, standing a few yards away. They had recognized
him, had seen him being scolded by the FBI agent, and were hanging back, not wanting to get dragged into his situation. Lynn realized they were more than close enough to have heard the part about his face being “red-flagged” in the system, making him persona non grata just about anywhere that he could have been helpful to the cause. As he walked down the steps toward the street, the erstwhile brothers- and sister-in-arms backed even further away, as if he were contagious. Lynn Sheffield felt that he was about to explode.