The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  “But this geometry is static and rigid. There is no dynamic tension within it. It’s stable with nothing exciting. If you look at it under an electron microscope, you see a perfect matrix of atomic structure. Now add the ‘division in extreme and mean ratio,’ the relationship between square root two, square root three, and square root five in the dodecahedron – and things get interesting. It’s also a flawless division, in perfect harmony, with not even the tiniest particle left over to cause ‘noise.’ The problem is, this division cannot be attained in the physical universe because it has no origin point, no starting point! It can only be approximated in nature by the Fibonacci Sequence.”

  Beginning to show excitement in her voice, she continued, “But the payoff is that life based upon the ‘division in extreme and mean ratio’ is vibrant, impetuous, and exhilarating. Because it cannot attain the perfection it is conceptually based on, pentagonally-based life constantly strives for this impossible dream. Mathematically, it is always searching for its origins, for the truth about itself. This is the basic impulse, geometrically, of creativity.”

  “And I always thought geometry was boring,” said Melissa, touched by Doris Penfield’s passion.

  “It sounds like a numerical representation of Elohim’s struggle to create free will and mankind’s struggle for perfection,” added Reese.

  “As I said, an auspicious number,” said Elohim. “Many of the allusions to the number twelve resulted from the symmetry of the energy field created in multiples of twelve, a fact more sensed than understood throughout history. The convergence of a lesser or a greater number of energy sources is merely the sum of its parts. When twelve beings, filled with energy, come together to combine their power, a resonance occurs, reinforcing and amplifying the energy to a far greater level than its sum.”

  Margo asked, “Is that why Satan lured Judas, to break the group of twelve?”

  Elohim smiled at her and answered, “It is. The difference in magnitude of energy between a group of eleven and a group of twelve is a thousandfold. Diminishing that influence, on the eve of my Son’s departure, was paramount to Lucifer.”

  “Does this mean,” asked Matthew, “that if we’re your Apostles, we have to stay here instead of going to Heaven?”

  Favoring Reese and Claire’s son with a broad smile, Elohim answered, “No, Matthew. You are to depart with me this evening, as are all of you.” Glancing at Leo, Elohim added, “All who choose to go. When I agreed that, in a sense, you were my Apostles, I was merely suggesting that each of you has had a role, for the most part fulfilled during these past few days. Reese…you have set down, in written form, our conversations, as well as my dialogues with the others, for all to read in the years ahead. Rabbi, you have already begun your work with your friends and colleagues. Bill, Margo, Nicholas, and Craig, you have valiantly fought to preserve the safety of this group, as well as all of my children, during this time. Walter, since we spoke, you and Doris have planted many seeds in the minds of your fellow scientists, seeds which shall grow and blossom as time progresses. Cardinal, in the days since my Son walked this Earth, your Church has drifted the smallest bit from His path. You have initiated the changes He desires.”

  Claire began to speak. Elohim, raised his hand to stop her, saying, “I know you are wondering what your contribution has been.” Her expression showed her agreement. “Your husband’s love for you and his respect for your intelligence and intuition are as profound as any I have ever witnessed. Despite his own intellect, regardless of the clarity of evidence he may find, Reese will not reach a significant conclusion or make a momentous decision without the benefit of your wisdom. This is so true that you have both become one. The legacy of Reese’s journal contains not only a faithful description of events, but it is imbued with a deep and fresh philosophy which will affect the lives of millions. That philosophy is a product of the oneness you share and is as much a reflection of your insights and beliefs as it is his.”

  Claire, touched by Elohim’s words, felt a tear drift lazily down her cheek. Wiping it away, she asked, “Matthew and Melissa. What…?”

  Elohim, anticipating her question, said, “Our moment of departure is not yet at hand.”

  “In other words, the day isn’t over,” Claire surmised, a tinge of worry touching her face.

  The last of the feeble sunlight, weary of struggling to penetrate the blanket of clouds, surrendered to the advancing twilight, achieving a near total darkening of the alcove. The timers controlling the exterior lighting, unprepared for the prematurity of nightfall, did not switch on.

  Walter Penfield asked, “I understand the roles we’ve all played recently. What is the reason for assembling this evening? Does it have to do with the power you described?”

  “It does,” replied Elohim.

  א

  Mahmoud made the course adjustment gently. As the Cessna settled into its new direction, he activated the autopilot and released the yoke, trying to relax by visualizing the others in numbers unknown to him, maneuvering toward their targets in the darkening sky.

  א

  Suri Kaval stared through the window at the indigo blackness of the night. There was nothing more for him to do. All of the names on the list were lined out, signifying that the mobilization was complete; the loyal and the recruited agents of death were en route. His mind labored to visualize the new world that tomorrow would bring. He knew the anticipation and excitement he felt would preclude the possibility of sleep tonight.

  א

  “Let’s go have a drink,” Clayton Dean said to Preston Bennett, noticing the nightfall outside his window.

  “Sure. I’ve got to make a couple of calls and check my e-mails first. Give me about fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you out front. I’m ready for some fresh air.”

  Preston rose from his chair. “Yeah. See you out front,” he said as he exited Dean’s office and walked to his own. Clayton turned off his computer and followed him out. The elevator doors opened instantly after he pressed the button. Dean stepped into the empty cage and selected the ground floor, his normally churning mind blank during the brief ride down.

  The elevator corridor and main entrance area was unusually quiet as he stepped out. Even this late, he thought, the State Department was generally a bustling place. Listening to the echo of his footsteps, Dean suddenly felt like an intruder locked in a museum after closing. Shaking off the spooky feeling, he pushed through the main entrance doors to the cooler air outside and paused for a moment to survey the street.

  “Clay!”

  The shout came from his right. He turned to see its source and, in the darkness, barely made out the image of Bill Burke, standing in the archway and waving. Dean turned to join him. As he approached the alcove, he began to see that there were others standing with Burke. One by one, he recognized most of the group.

  “Bill, how are you?” he said, reaching the entrance.

  “Good, Clay. And you?”

  “A little tired.” Dean, after shaking Burke’s hand, stepped into the alcove, greeting the others, when he saw Elohim. “Good evening,” he said. “I haven’t seen You since the announcement, which is a little odd since You’ve been living right here in the building.”

  Elohim smiled. “It is a pleasure to see you, Clayton.”

  “Are you on your way somewhere?” Burke asked, unsure of whether to invite Dean to stay with the group.

  “On my way out to grab a drink. No offense.” He directed his last comment to Elohim.

  “None taken,” Elohim answered. “I’ve been known to have a glass of wine myself.”

  Chuckling and shaking his head, Dean replied, “Somehow, I just don’t see You as a drinking buddy.”

  Several of the group laughed, including Elohim, who said, “You are welcome to stay here with us this evening.”

  Looking around at the assemblage, Clay declined. “No, thanks. It looks as if I’m interrupting something. Besides, Preston is on his way down to join m
e.”

  Reese coincidentally was observing Elohim face and noticed a sudden frown. As Reese watched, it quickly disappeared.

  Craig asked, “How’s he doing?”

  “Okay,” answered Dean. “Just a little off, I guess.”

  Reese was curious. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if my wife were under arrest for treason, I wouldn’t be up in my office checking e-mails. Maybe that’s just his way of coping with it.”

  Reynolds said, “You know, when I took him into the observation room while Craig was interrogating Debbie, Preston stood at the glass and watched her flinch, watched her start to cry, and didn’t react. All he asked me was if we could turn on the sound. When I told him I couldn’t, he asked if she had told us anything. I told him ‘not really.’ Then he said there wasn’t any point in staying, and we left. It struck me as odd at the time.”

  Reese suddenly bolted up and began to pace. Claire instantly recognized the familiar tendency and wondered what conclusion his mind was reaching. Everyone else noticed his intensity and waited. He stopped pacing and asked, “Elohim, have You met Preston?”

  Elohim answered by slowly shaking his head.

  “All that time during the interviews, he never met Elohim. Those of you who hadn’t met Him or touched Him were anxious to do it. Preston was right outside the door all that time and didn’t want to.”

  Reese resumed pacing and, as he walked, asked, “And when that started to become obvious to all of us, when we started to ask him why he didn’t want to meet Elohim….”

  “He suddenly got sick,” said Margo.

  “Exactly. Got sick and stayed home. And since then, he’s been working in the same building as Elohim and hasn’t seen Him once.” Stopping again, a brief flash of inspiration appearing on his face, Reese asked, “Clayton, have you…actually have any of you heard Preston speak Elohim’s name?”

  Clayton answered immediately, “Yes, I have.”

  Reese, receiving the answer he did not expect, said, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am. We were talking early in the interview process, right after you had arrived, Reese. And he told me that we had finally gotten a name for Elohim, that Elohim had given it to you.”

  “You’re sure he spoke it?”

  “Yes, I’m sure….” Dean hesitated. His eyes darted as he replayed the conversation in his mind. “No. Wait. I asked him for it. But I didn’t get the name until I read his report. What’s the point of this?”

  “In a minute,” Reese said, deflecting the question. Looking around the group, Reese asked the rest, “Anyone? Does anyone remember Preston speaking the name?”

  The group did not answer, most shaking their heads.

  Thinking aloud, Reese said, “Behind the scenes. Close to a seat of power. It makes sense.” Everyone stared at Reese, attempting to discern his direction. Again addressing Dean, he asked, “Has Preston had any dealings with Stavros or Kaval?”

  “Wait a minute. You think Preston is a traitor? That’s ludicrous.” Reese did not respond, instead just stood before Dean, waiting.

  “Well, yes. Both of them. He was our liaison to the UN. He was actually more effective working with Kaval than was our ambassador. He knew Stavros…hell, everybody in politics knew him.” Clayton hesitated, remembering something, then continued in a neutral tone, “As a matter of fact, it was Preston who introduced Debbie to Stavros.”

  Whirling to face Elohim, face flushed with emotion, Reese said, “You know all of our thoughts.”

  Elohim nodded, a worried frown creasing his face.

  “Can you single out anything from Preston?”

  Still not speaking, Elohim only slowly shook his head.

  Reese’s tone dropped lower, his expression one of intensity. “You told me Lucifer had learned to hide from you.”

  “Lucifer? Hold on, Reese! Are you saying he’s the devil?” asked Dean.

  “Clayton, right now, I’m just following my gut.” Reese returned his attention to Elohim. “Isn’t it true? You never know what’s in his mind, or even where he is?”

  Elohim nodded once more, saying, “Yes, many centuries ago he learned to conceal himself.”

  “I don’t understand,” interrupted Margo. “Elohim, when You pick up all of our thoughts, what we sense, don’t You pick up the thoughts of people interacting with Bennett…or seeing him? Wouldn’t You notice him through us, I guess?”

  “Margo, that isn’t how it is. You are imagining the input coming to me as being like a movie. If it were that way, then yes, an invisible actor would be obvious. But it is rather like listening in on multiple conversations.”

  “Like a conference call,” offered Matthew.

  “Very much so, yes. Except there are billions of voices speaking at once. I am able to distinguish each voice, hear each word and thought in the dim, but I cannot discern one which is missing from the chorus. Through all of your eyes, I have of course seen Preston Bennett and I have heard his words through your ears. But to have realized this person in front of you was concealing his thoughts from me would have required me to focus directly on him as he spoke with you, sifting through the cacophony of thoughts, attempting to match his thoughts to your interaction. To do that, I would need a reason, even if it was only curiosity. Lucifer has learned how not to catch my attention.”

  “That’s why he stays behind the scenes, doing his work through others instead of seeking out a prominent position in society,” Reese said.

  “Yes,” acknowledged Elohim. “A person of great fame or power would become too important for too many people. Their attention upon him would cause me to notice the lack of input from him.”

  “That’s what happened a minute ago, wasn’t it?” Reese asked. “When Clayton mentioned Preston, I saw a look of confusion or concern on Your face. You finally focused on him and noticed there was no input.”

  “Yes. You are correct.” Elohim looked worriedly at Michael, who was still standing at the entrance to the alcove. Reese saw the contact and noticed the angel’s reaction. Elohim resumed, “I found nothing coming from him.”

  As Elohim finished his response, Reese saw Michael unobtrusively skirt the wall behind the group, moving from the mouth of the alcove to the end opposite from the entrance.

  Margo stood, unbuttoning her jacket to allow access to her pistol. “I’ll go get him.”

  On her words, Reynolds and McWilliams quickly stood. Their obvious intention was to back her up, when Elohim said, “No. Please stay.”

  “Why? If he’s behind so much, why not grab him?” asked Margo.

  “Preston Bennett,” Elohim explained, “is not Lucifer; he is only the vessel, to be disposed of once his usefulness is gone. If you were to detain him, all you would have in custody would be a shell.”

  “Like Sheffield,” offered Burke.

  “Yes. Except Sheffield’s soul was removed by force. Lucifer may depart at will.”

  “I still don’t understand something,” Dean began. “If he’s Satan, why was Debbie spying on him? Why didn’t he just give the information to Stavros himself?”

  “That’s easy,” Reese answered. “Stavros, probably at Bennett’s design, saw Preston as the ‘other side,’ the enemy politically – on the side of the administration he despised. Having the information, carefully packaged by Bennett, delivered surreptitiously by his wife gave it a lot more weight, a lot more credibility. Plus, if he overtly conspired with Stavros, he would run the risk of discovery. This way, if what Debbie Bennett did was discovered, as it eventually was, he would look like the victim and retain his position in the political structure.”

  “How Machiavellian,” remarked Schmidt, who had been silently absorbing everything to this point.

  “There are some theologians who believe Machiavelli was possessed by Lucifer,” said Reese.

  “What about Kaval?” asked Burke. “Is he dealing directly with him, or is there some sort of intermediary?”

  “Kaval is a pawn and a fool!”


  The gathering all spun to see the origin of the voice. Standing at the entrance to the alcove was Preston Bennett, his face contorted in a snarl of contempt. Everyone stood as Margo instinctively pulled her pistol, swinging it toward him. Ignoring her and addressing Elohim, Bennett advised, “Counsel her, Father, on the imprudence of her actions.” Never in Reese’s life had he heard the word father imbued with such hatred and disgust.

  Elohim simply lifted his hand, signaling Margo to stop. She slowly lowered her weapon, not looking away from Bennett for a moment. When the pistol was holstered, with tremendous sadness in his voice, Elohim said, “So much time, my son.”

  Preston Bennett, his eyes seeming to blaze with emotion, answered, “So much time? What does that mean? Has it been too long since I came home for a visit? Oh! That’s right! I can’t come home, can I? You’ve locked me out.”