The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  Before Williams could answer, Collins continued, “Other than not having a head guy named Adolf, nothing. Hitler saw what was happening in the world and realized Germany was soon to be dwarfed by Russia, China, and the U.S. He knew the only solution was to absorb the rest of Europe. Add their people and their resources to Germany’s, and you’d have a viable superpower. Add to that his belief that the Aryans were a superior race, and he obviously believed that the new super Germany would not only be viable, it would be the top dog. Cut through all of the crap, and the Japanese had the same motive for their part of the world. It all springs from a desire not to become inferior, not to become marginalized, as the individual European countries have become in recent decades since World War II.”

  Williams replied testily, “Thanks for the political science lecture, but there’s one big difference. The EU isn’t run by a dictator; it’s managed by a council of all of the member countries.”

  Before Collins could respond, Eades answered, “Maybe a couple of poli-sci classes wouldn’t hurt you, Dick, as long as you’d pick up a few history lessons along the way. When, in the history of mankind, has there ever been a major political power structure in existence which wasn’t hijacked by an individual? George is right. The people who put together the EU have done all the heavy lifting and the dirty work, accomplishing something Hitler, the Kaiser – hell, going way back, the Moors – couldn’t do. They’ve effectively rendered the borders invisible, created a single currency, removed all trade sanctions, and banded all of those countries together. And it has all happened without firing a shot, without losing a soldier. As George said, it’s the same result Adolf wanted.

  “What we have witnessed, since the end of World War II, is a paradigm shift in the way wars are fought. If you become too powerful, too unbeatable, the enemies don’t go away, they go underground.” Eades’ voice contrasted Collins’ in that Eades’ was calm, soft, and nearly hypnotic. He continued, “But that’s not the only change. When winning or losing wars was all about might, the swaggering, belligerent physical warrior was the primary player in the game. Think Patton. As the world reached the point where head-on military confrontations against superpowers became suicide, the underground enemies became typified by cleverness, sneakiness, and deceit. Think Bin Laden.

  “Whether the consolidation of Europe was a natural, political evolution or the result of some evil, secret conspiracy is irrelevant. The point is that the work is nearly done. The new European superpower is nearly finished. Now, all that’s needed is a leader.”

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  Nicholas Reynolds escorted Preston Bennett into the viewing room next to where Debbie Bennett was being interrogated. As Bennett looked through the one-way glass, he saw his wife seated at the bare table. Their lawyer sat to her side, his hand resting on hers. Preston could see the fear and anxiety on her face as Craig McWilliams and another agent Bennett did not recognize both paced behind her, asking questions.

  “Nick, could I hear what they’re saying?”

  “Sorry, sir. That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Sure. I understand.”

  Bennett stood rock-steady, staring at her, trying to interpret what was happening. Even without the benefit of the sound, he could see her interrogators interrupt each of her answers with another comment or another question before she finished answering the prior one. They took turns firing their questions at her, feeding her anxiety by shouting them. He could tell they were shouting by watching Debbie as she jumped each time one of them spoke from behind her. Nicholas stood to the side, next to the viewing window, leaning against the wall and facing Preston.

  “Has she said anything? I mean, you know, helpful?”

  Reynolds looked quizzically at Bennett. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, has she said why she did it? Why she betrayed her country?”

  “Oh, just the usual crap about loving America, seeing it going in a bad direction, wanting to put it back on track and make it a country she could be proud of again. They always see themselves as patriots.”

  “They? Who are ‘they’?”

  “There are two kinds of traitors. Some of them just do it for the money. Your wife doesn’t fall into that category. The others see themselves as cut from the same cloth as the founding fathers. They spout ‘true’ patriotism, the historical precedent for civil disobedience, and a deep, underlying love for a ‘just’ America where everyone is treated fairly and equally. I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that line. She’s in that group.”

  Bennett just nodded, continuing to watch his wife. After a long silence, he murmured, “I never knew. I never suspected.”

  “That’s the way it is sometimes,” Reynolds commented sympathetically.

  They both remained frozen in place for several minutes – Bennett looking into the interrogation room, Reynolds leaning against the wall. Watching the view through the soundproof glass was like watching a movie with the sound muted. Debbie appeared to be on the verge of a breakdown, chewing her bottom lip as tears streamed down her cheeks. When the silence was again broken, it was by Bennett, who turned to face Reynolds and said, “There’s not much point in me staying here.”

  “Okay.”

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  “Can we go to the arcade?” asked Matthew, swallowing the last bite of cake.

  Claire looked over at Reese, who shrugged. “Okay. It’s…” – she looked at her watch – “6:45 now. Be up to the room by 9:00.”

  Melissa held out her hand, smiling and saying nothing. Reese pulled one $20 bill from his wallet and handed it to her. She took it and said, “Thank you, Daddy. What about Matthew?”

  “Very funny,” he answered. “That’s for both of you.”

  She giggled softly, saying, “JK, bye,” and kissing him on the cheek.

  As Melissa and Matthew crossed the crowded restaurant, Claire asked Reese, “JK?”

  “Just kidding,” he explained.

  “Got it.”

  The restaurant was fairly crowded, but the tables were far apart, and the tuxedoed man at the grand piano was playing quietly enough to allow semi-private conversations.

  “Are you ready to tell me what the big deal is?” Claire asked.

  “I guess so. I was just visualizing a nice, quiet chat in our room, but this will do.”

  Sipping her coffee, Claire said, “This must be something. We can go up now, if you want.”

  “Right,” he replied sarcastically. “I walk in the door, and the first thing out of your mouth is that if you have to spend one more minute in a hotel room, you’re going to blow up half of Toledo.” Looking around the room, he added, “It’s fine here.”

  “All right, then. What is it?”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table, and in a soft voice described his discussion with Elohim. As he neared the end of the narrative, Claire interrupted, “Good grief, I’ve been working my butt off for years to keep your ego under control, and now God has asked you for advice!”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” Reese replied, grinning. “He succeeded where others have failed. The limits of my ego have finally been surpassed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just don’t feel comfortable in this spot.”

  “I understand, believe me. ‘Hello, I’m God, and I’m stumped. Please, Reese, tell Me what to do.’ You’re right, that’s a bit much even for you.” Sensing his tension, she reached across the white linen tablecloth and rested her hands on his. “Honey, it’ll be fine. What Elohim said makes sense. He’s created kind of a ‘Catch-22’ for Himself and needs a fresh set of eyes and a fresh mind to help Him unravel it. Who better than you? With me, of course, in the background advising you.”

  Reese shook his head and chuckled. “I can always count on you to put things into perspective.”

  “Damn straight!”

  Reese’s mind drifted back to the earlier meeting. “He just looked so troubled. I haven’t seen Him quite like
that before.”

  “Of course, He’s sad. He’s dealing with a bad kid. If ours did something wrong, even major like murder or something, would you bust them?”

  “No. I couldn’t do that. Could you?”

  “Heck, no. It might be different if it was the Unabomber. I don’t think his brother would have turned him in if it had just been one victim. He did it to stop the attacks, prevent more killing.”

  “Yeah. Even then, I’d try to stop him myself before I turned him over to the system.”

  “You know, it’s weird,” said Claire.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, we’re both saying that if our kids killed another human being, we wouldn’t turn them in. Yet we both have the mark…we’re both going to Heaven tomorrow night. Does that sound like the kind of behavior one of the Chosen would exhibit?”

  “Well, it may not be the ideal behavior for a person living in this society, but it makes sense from Elohim’s perspective. His own actions regarding Lucifer tell us that. Remember, if individuals do something bad here on Earth, regardless of what their parents may or may not do, they’ve got to face Elohim’s judgment. And the impression I get from talking to Him is that the people here who do bad things are under Lucifer’s thrall.”

  “The devil made me do it?”

  Reese laughed. “Pretty much. Not so much ‘made me do it’ as gave permission.”

  “From what you said, he gives all of us permission.”

  “He does. The scene Elohim described of twenty spirits circling around you and the kids, looking for a way in, really spooked me.”

  Unconsciously, Claire’s eyes darted around their immediate area. “Yeah…me, too.”

  “Anyway, I guess the way Elohim looks at it is that they aren’t guilty of the crime…they’re guilty of being weak. Certainly a lesser offense.”

  “So He’s created an environment where, because of His hands-off policy on Lucifer and the other bad spirits…,” Claire paused. “Why do I feel as though I’m acting in the opening scene of a grade B horror movie, saying these lines?” She took a deep breath and continued, “We’re bombarded all the time with these negative spirits, whispering in our heads, urging us to let them in. Tell me again why He doesn’t just zap these spirits at the same time He takes the good folks with Him. You know, just to even things up for the next round.”

  “There are two reasons. If He removes them to another spot in the universe, they come back. This is their home. This is where the people are. So His only other choice is to make them cease to exist by absorbing them, the way we saw the angel Michael do with Sheffield. That solution is forever. They’re still His offspring, His children, and He can’t make Himself do that any more than we could. And, every once in a while, one of them ends up taking over someone who is strong enough to get the spirit back on track.”

  “Who pulls that off? It seems like a pretty major accomplishment.”

  “According to Elohim, mostly monks and nuns. It is a personal mission for them to save the soul within them, even though it isn’t their own, original soul.”

  “I’ve always wondered why they do what they do. I mean, the nuns who live in those cloisters spend every waking minute praying. I’ve always admired their dedication but I never could see the point.”

  “If you think about it, it makes sense. It’s a little like reprogramming a brainwashed cult member. Except it’s inside you. They both, the monks and the nuns, take the vow of celibacy, cut themselves off from all of the temptations and indulgences of society, and spend all of their time repeating positive messages to their own souls. When you do get a chance to speak with them…and I never have spoken with a cloistered nun, but I have with a few monks while doing research…the message is the same. They sleep on hard beds, live in rooms that are no better than cells, eat meager meals for sustenance only, rarely speak, kneel for hours on wooden or stone floors, and all of the other things they do because they must serve penance.”

  “Penance for what?”

  “They’ve never said, to me at least. Probably because they don’t know consciously. But the net result is that they take a bad soul as their own, remove that soul from everything it values and craves, deny it any indulgence whatsoever, and devote their lives to rescuing it from its apparent destiny.”

  “Wow!” Claire said, her face expressing a newfound respect.

  “And the way Elohim describes the recharge which must occur, the souls draw their energy from us. It has to be surplus energy created by our bodies but not needed to get through our days. The nuns and the monks seem to minimize the demands upon the energy created by them, devoting as much of it as possible not only to recharging the soul, but also to rebalancing the polarity, neutralizing the negative charge which comes from hanging out with the devil.”

  Claire stared at Reese with a half smile on her face. “Well, at least I don’t feel as though I’m in a grade B horror movie anymore. Now, I’m in a shop which sells magic crystals, herbal tea, and books by Drunvalo.”

  “Yeah, I touched on that with Elohim. His response was that there’s a little bit of truth in every movement.”

  “We’d better get back to your issue. I mean, if you’re going to solve a problem Elohim has been working on with the benefit of all of the minds on Earth for thousands of years, and do it before breakfast, we should probably focus on it.”

  Grinning, Reese replied, “What’s the rush?”

  They both fell into silence, obviously contemplating the question. After a minute or two of quiet, Claire asked, “And He doesn’t know where Lucifer is?”

  “Apparently not. Lucifer has had hundreds of thousands of years to learn how to conceal himself from Elohim. I guess he perfected the technique.”

  “It’d be nice if we could help Elohim find him.”

  “I suppose. I just don’t think Elohim knows what to do with him once He finds him.”

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  Lazlo watched the two teenagers from the corner of his eye as he played an old-fashioned pinball machine in the hotel arcade. The girl was playing Skee-Ball, stacking her acquired coupons on the ledge beside her. Her brother was two machines away from her, completely immersed in maneuvering a virtual red Ferrari at high speed through the streets of San Francisco.

  There was not any practical way he could accomplish his assignment in the crowded arcade. He would need to make his move during the return trip to their room. His mind began planning it out while his fingers absently tapped the flipper buttons on the sides of the machine. He was silently thankful the opportunity finally presented itself, as this was the first time they had been separated from their mother in more than a day.

  One after another, Lazlo visualized and discarded several plans. He had already rejected the arcade as much too crowded. The lobby was also problematic, too many people, he reasoned coldly. That left the elevator and the hallway on their floor. The hallway was risky. He was alone, and there were two of them. If one screamed, as surely would happen before he could overpower them both, a door to one of the rooms could open and someone helpful could arrive very quickly. No, he thought, the elevator was his only option. And he would need to ensure that they were alone for the ride up.

  Lazlo was looking forward to the night. His boss had been explicit. These two kids had the mark; they were going with Elohim tomorrow night. There would not be much gained by killing them. On the other hand, per his instructions, twenty-four hours of brutalizing and rape would be an appropriate going-away present, not only for them but for their parents, as well. He knew he had been chosen for this assignment because he would relish the work.

  The girl, Melissa, was a pretty mid-teenager. Dark brown hair, which fell beyond her shoulders, swirled with each of her enthusiastic tosses of the wooden balls. Although her normal attire, as Lazlo had observed recently, was not-too-tight blue jeans and an oversized T-shirt, tonight, out of deference for the hotel restaurant’s dress code, she wore a long skirt and a white blouse, buttoned to the top,
concealing her young figure. Lazlo looked forward to revealing it later. The boy, Matthew, had short hair by today’s fashion standards. He also wore a button-down shirt, and his choice for slacks was a pair of Dockers, pulled up to his waist and belted, rather than sagging down to match the current prison style of the gangs.

  He had hoped they would be wearing impractical footwear, such as flip-flops, impeding their ability to run. Unfortunately, again probably due to the dress code, they both wore regular shoes, probably Sketchers, with rubber soles. Oh, well, he thought to himself, he would just have to make certain they did not run.

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