The Nephilim Imperatives: Dark Sentences (The Second Coming Chronicles Book 2)

by Terry James

“Hello,” Lori said, answering her husband’s phone while she continued to blot at her eyes.

  “Christopher!”

  Christopher Banyon said, from the other end, “You guys want to go to Colorado?” His tone was bright, meant to lighten the gloom he knew must hang over the parents.

  “As a matter of fact, Chris, we’re about to do just that,” Lori said.

  “Oh?”

  “We’re headed for LAX right now, to fly to Denver. We were hoping you, Susie, and Randy will join us when you can.”

  Banyon said, with laughter in his voice, “Well, to paraphrase, your ticket, not to mention your money, is no good. I’ve chartered a plane for all of us. Randy got it for us in New York, and it’s on the way. They’ll pick you up at LAX in a few hours. Then you’ll pick up Susie and me at Phoenix, and we’ll fly out together.”

  Jeremy Lasceter steered the dark gray Chevrolet onto the entrance ramp and into the flow of traffic on the interstate. Wayne Snidely thumbed through several the documents in the open attaché case sitting atop his lap. He grinned his pleasure with each page he turned. The evidence was simply overwhelming. Jenkins was diverting funds, using them to abuse prisoners from Guantanimo for experimentation. And, it was all in black and white on these pages and in the video his operative had snuck out of the complex. It was printed directly from computers manned by Snidely’s own mole within the Colorado mountain complex. After saving DOD’s –Rumsfeld’s--hide, he, Wayne Snidely, would be given the black ops position. No doubt about it. There were those in the Pentagon who guaranteed that if he got the goods, they would deliver the position. This was a no-miss proposition.

  Snidely’s young driver glanced at his boss’ face. He hadn’t seen the usually somber, or at best, smirky Snidely look so gleeful.

  “You will get a pay grade higher, Jeremy-boy. Maybe two pay grades...” Snidely’s words brought a smile to the driver’s face, his eyes meeting those of his boss in the mirror.

  “Yep. We will soon be directing things from Colorado. You ever skied, Lasceter?”

  “Oh, no sir. I’ve never been around snow much, until I moved to Washington,” Jeremy said, glancing first at the traffic ahead, then into the rearview mirror at Snidely.

  “Neither have I. But, we can learn together, if there is time. There’s so much I want to do with these projects, kiddo. But, we’ll find time for some recreation.”

  “Yes sir,” the younger man said, knowing, firsthand Snidely’s preference for male companionship over female.

  Jeremy forced the sedan to pick up speed, the traffic having thinned considerably along the usually congested interstate.

  He noticed, then, a semi-tractor-trailer truck in the rearview mirror while it approached the tail of the government car. The truck would swing around them, Snidely thought, while keeping the speedometer on the permitted 70 MPH.

  Traffic ahead, he could see, was growing heavier, and he had to start braking, or would soon be in a position that braking would have to become more dramatic to avoid rear-ending the cars ahead.

  He slowed to 65, then to 60.

  The huge tractor rig suddenly loomed larger and larger. The driver of the big rig would begin braking at any second –surely…

  But the truck continued to get bigger in the mirror, getting dangerously close. The cars ahead demanded that Lasceter brake immediately. The guard rails on both sides of the beginnings of an overpass now hemmed in the car driven by Lasceter, as well as all in front of him, between heavy concrete and metal railings. There was no place to go to get away!

  Snidely’s wide, terrified eyes saw only the massive windshield when the truck closed in on them at 80 miles per hour. No one was behind the wheel. The truck was driverless!

  Less than an hour later, George Jenkins sat behind his huge desk, sipping black coffee an assistant had just poured for him. He watched the center monitor that was twice the size of the other monitors inset in his oak-paneled wall. His gray eyes squinted from between the nearly closed eyelids, the hot liquid painfully making its way to his ulcerated stomach.

  “Our Washington, D.C. affiliate traffic helicopter caught the tragedy as it unfolded,” the network reporter said from the monitor’s speakers.

  “The truck, as you can see, is a gasoline tanker that was fully loaded. For some reason, the driver couldn’t brake as the other vehicles, which had, because of congestion ahead, come to a standstill.”

  Jenkins sipped again while he watched the gigantic tanker rig crush into the dark gray vehicle directly in front of it, then quickly become one with the first car contacted and several vehicles in front of the first car hit. The whole scene erupted in a tremendous fire ball, gasoline exploding and sending a wave of the burning liquid over the decimated vehicles, and over the bridge onto the roads crossing beneath.

  George Jenkins’ lips raised at the corners only slightly while he sat with his feet crossed on one corner of the big desk. He lifted his cup in mock-toast to the late Wayne Snidely.

  Xavier Pass, same hour

  Nigel Saxton checked his backpack for the third time. You were taught to always check three times, as part of MI-7 training. To check less would be to be remissive. To check more would be compulsive- obsessive, a waste of time agents could, in most crisis situations, not afford.

  The GPS device was critical. That must be kept in operational order at all cost. Even if Nigel Saxton met an untimely end, the satellite must be able to relay to those in London, where it happened, where the body could be located.

  “Ya ‘bout ready, there, young feller?”

  Zeke’s words pulled Nigel’s thoughts from the pack, which, after all, had been checked three times. The old man’s question interrupted the Brit’s urge to check for a fourth.

  Jeddy stood by Zeke’s right leg, looking up at the man while he questioned Saxton.

  “Got everything ya need?”

  “Think so. Except one.” He pulled from the pack a camera. “Do you mind, Zeke? Can I get one of you and the big fellow?”

  “Don’t see why not,” the old man said.

  Zeke stood looking at the camera, his left hand on the dog, who looked up at Zeke, then at the camera. Saxton snapped the picture.

  “Thanks. Something to remember you by, my friend,” the Brit said.

  Saxton knelt, stored the camera, then rummaged through the backpack.

  “Yes. All seems in order,” he said, snapping a pocket on the back shut, then putting his arms through the straps before jumping the backpack high on his back.

  “You say there is a short cut to the town?” The Brit inquired while buckling the clasp that secured the pack at mid-chest.

  “Yep. That I do, sonny. There are places ain’t nobody but ol’ Zeke knows ‘bout within that big rock.”

  “How much time can I save by cutting through?”

  “Days, sonny. Ain’t no way ya could get to that town by hikin’ over that mountain pass. Not with the white stuff so deep.”

  “Well, let’s get started, then,” Nigel said, putting sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.

  “What about the dog?” the Brit asked. “He won’t fare so well in that snow, as deep as it is. Haven’t got any high boots, have you, big guy?” Saxton said, rubbing Jed between the ears with the thick gloves.

  “He needs ta find his friend,” Zeke said. “Gotta let him go, bad as I hate ta. He’ll be okay. Ain’t but a short distance ta where I’ll take ya. Ya will be on dry ground, then, and outta the wind.”

  The canine licked Zeke’s hand when the old man rubbed the dog’s chin.

  “Shall we be off, then?” Saxon asked.

  The snow was again falling, but the sunglasses were a good idea, Nigel thought. The brightness, despite the clouds and profusion of snow, hurt his eyes when he thought at first to remove the dark lenses. He noticed that the glare didn’t seem to affect the old man. Neither did the cold, and wind, apparently. Zeke led the way through the deepening snow, cutting a trail for Jeddy to follow. He wore neither sungla
sses nor a heavy coat. He was a very strange old man, but a wonderful one, Nigel thought, walking the path that somehow seemed more heavily trodden than one cut only by one old man and a dog.

  They approached a sheer cliff wall within 10 minutes, an opening becoming visible as the snow shear thinned. It was a small opening, but one that would easily accommodate a man and backpack, Saxton surmised.

  “Here’s a flashlight, young feller,” Zeke said handing Nigel a long instrument. “This’ll get ya through the mountain.”

  He knelt in front of Jeddy and hugged the dog, who returned the affection by licking the man’s face. “Ya take care of this feller,” Zeke said.

  “I’ll take good care of him, Zeke,” Nigel said.

  “Weren’t talkin’ ‘bout ya takin’ care of him,” Zeke said, a twinkle in his eye while he stood. “Off with the both a ya, then,” he said.

  “Will you be okay?” Nigel grabbed Zeke by the shoulders and gave a brief hug.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout me, Nigel. Just do what must be done.”

  When they had moved within the mountain opening, Nigel searched the tunnel with the flashlight beam. A sound of thumping just outside the cave entrance caused him to switch the light off and hurry to the opening.

  Several white helicopters hovered high above. They would get the old man. The thoughts ran quickly through his mind. What could he do to save the old man? But, the copters moved on, and soon the thumping of the chopper engines faded to silence.

  Nigel searched the snow field. The snow had stopped. Zeke was nowhere in sight. Neither was the pathway they had cut through the snow.

  The undersecretary of defense spoke in a consoling tone, although he knew the man on the other end of the secure transmission was most likely jubilant with the news. He didn’t care. George Jenkins was a man who had the knowledge and the ability to get the job done. Those who mattered within DOD agreed. The loss of Wayne Snidely was a blessing, not a thing to be regretted. The undersecretary knew that Jenkins felt even more that way, knowing the frustration the black ops chief must have had to endure, with Snidely acting as the filter between Rumsfeld, and every jot and tittle of the top-secret matters involved in Project Scotty.

  “George, I know this is a hard time for you, as for all of us. But, we are depending on you to now keep things on the positive track, even more than ever,”

  “Yes, Mr. Secretary. We must move on through this tragedy,” he said solemnly, barely able to contain his glee over Snidely’s fiery end.

  Jenkins listened to the undersecretary’s words but kept watch on the monitors. He couldn’t fully enjoy the moment for the things transpiring at Xavier Pass.

  “Yes, sir. Access directly to you and the Secretary will greatly expedite our efforts here at the project.”

  “And, the BORG Imperative?” the voice from the Pentagon said. “Is that…moving along as well as Scotty?”

  “There are a few snags with the biology, sir. But the technology, the RAPTURE things, I’m assured, are right on schedule. BORG should be fully operational within the time frame we’ve discussed,” Jenkins said, frowning at seeing the helicopters moving away from their prime area of search.

  His mind returned to the BORG Imperative. He was not nearly as confident as his words to the man closest to the Defense Secretary implied. Battlefield Operations Ready Giant, he forced himself to admit to himself, if not the undersecretary, was not under control. The things could only be handled through the RAPTURE devices, and development of an army of BORGs would, it seemed from his present circumstance, take longer than had been discussed, and promised.

  With their phone conversation about his now having direct access to the Secretary of Defense through the undersecretary completed, the black ops chieftain returned his full attention to the troubling matter in the mountains.

  April Warmath opened the door to the office. George Jenkins stood in the middle of the room, glaring at the monitors within the wall. He cursed, slamming his right fist into the palm of his left hand, while the white helicopters scanned Xavier Pass, then broke off their surveillance of the high-mountain plain to move to other areas. Why did the day that was going so well have to be marred by the incompetents’ inability to find the intruder? The eradication of his thorn in the flesh in D.C., and now the operative from –from where? From the EU? From Great Britain? --just disappearing. All the satellite data said he was in the Xavier Plateau, the area of the mountain pass where they should easily be able to spot a man against the field of white. Especially with having been given coordinates, and special infrared devices. Why had the beings who had given the coordinates not been able to lock on the intruder?

  April Warmath said nothing, but moved behind Jenkins to the desk, where she searched through a stack of papers.

  “They won’t find him now. If they haven’t spotted him with all the help they’ve been given, they won’t find him,” Jenkins said with disgust. “He just seems to have disappeared.”

  “Maybe he’s buried himself in snow, right there in plain sight,” April said, glancing at her boss, then at the monitor screens.

  “No! No…”

  Jenkins scowled his disagreement while he walked to behind his desk. “The infrared detectors would detect body heat under the snow. Those things can find a rabbit in an underground nest beneath that snow field, no problem.”

  “Well, let me cheer you with a bit of good news. The first phase of the insemination seems to have gone quite well,” April said, picking up the papers she had been searching for.

  “They will be thrilled with that,” Jenkins said with dismissive irritation in his tone while he continued to glare at the monitors, thinking of the failed attempts to catch the intruder.

  “Still the self-absorbed creature,” the voice growled from the girl’s throat.

  The words caused Jenkins to jerk with startled spasm. April Warmath’s possessor manifested itself in the glare from the eyes, which now blazed with blackness from the eternal pit.

  “You obsess over this human microbe. Our imperative seems not to matter, Jenkins,” the thing inside April Warmath’s body said.

  George Jenkins stumbled backwards slightly, the force of the sarcastic anger causing his knees to weaken.

  “No…I…I just know he can cause us problems, can cause your imperatives great problems, that’s all…”

  “You don’t successfully lie to the chief of liars, Jenkins,” the thing’s voice growled. “You care about what we can do for you. And that will amount to nothing except major troubles for you if you cannot get priorities straightened.”

  A chloros-colored mist grew darkly within Jenkins’ office, engulfing him and April Warmath. The cloud boiled and became stifling. They did not possess him this time, he thought with trepidation rising, while the sickly yellow-green coagulance seemed to lift both him and the girl, finally obscuring her form totally.

  He moved through bone-chilling cold darkness, feeling as if he tumbled, the winds of the mist becoming a vortex-like movement that spun him, then seemed to settle his body on solid footing again.

  He recognized it immediately. It was the place he had not been allowed to physically visit. At least not as he remembered. It glistened, like polished steel. It was huge, and oval, its top a hundred feet above him, curving seamlessly, forming ovaled walls of stainless steel-like …was it metal?

  The surface felt like metal against the leather soles of his shoes. Stainless steel, or something more…

  The obscuring mist dissipated, and he stood beside April, whose eyes were wide and again human.

  Neither said anything, their senses frozen by astonishment and fear. They were paralyzed by the rationale-confounding sights they witnessed.

  The black, boiling creatures appeared and disappeared from the very air within the chamber. The things seemed to pay Jenkins and the woman no attention, while the pair gawked at the eerie movements and activities of the cloud forms, which appeared, disappeared, and seemed to manipulate the two human for
ms upon the surgical gurneys at the center of the massive chamber.

  Why had they not possessed him? Why did they no longer possess April Warmath, who stood at his side, as amazed as himself at the mind-boggling sights before them?

  The light in the chamber, to this point bright, but with an amber tint, grew darker, as if turned down by a switch somewhere on the fantastic array of technological wonders he had never seen, not even at the heart of NORAD’s computer control centers, which housed the most advanced technology on the planet.

  But this chamber was on the planet, he reminded himself. Or was it on the planet? The things, they did their work--or were for the moment doing their work--in the valley. Somewhere, somehow, within the forest, where there was no room for such a disc. Yet it was among the forest, the valley. The thick, evergreen forest beyond Xavier Pass. Miles from his own office, from the complex, where their…experiments…so different from his own Project Scotty, would be taken to grow, to gestate, to incubate.

  Why had they brought him here? Brought April Warmath here? They had given him view, through the monitors, of the things transpiring within this--what was it? This ship? This conveyance from other worlds?

  “So many thoughts,” the voice rang out from the darkened laboratory. Light exploded from a singularity in mid-air, and in a millisecond a human-like figure strode from the portal that seemed to rip the dark fabric of the room’s ambience.

  “You have many questions, George Jenkins.”

  The form was human, yet not, Jenkins immediately knew. The man-like face was possessed of beauty beyond any, and Jenkins knew, or feared that he knew, its owner.

  “You will experience the true imperative of this creation, Jenkins,” the cavernous voice of the ultra-human said, his golden eyes aglow, penetrating the man’s soul. “We have completed one-half of the imperative. This woman at your side will provide the second half, making the whole. We will show you all that comprises the Imperative, Jenkins. You will understand the crucial nature of the position you will shortly occupy within the puny human governments.”