Rapture Advent of the Last Days

by Jocolby Phillips

  “Wow, that’s a lot to comprehend. I still don’t know why he shot that guard in Brazil. I’m not sure if the guy even saw us.”

  “That’s what I am telling you. Barnes is a nut job. He got into special operations thinking it was some sort of video game. He has zero internal conflict with killing someone, which is an indication of his dangerous mental state.”

  “I’ll speak with Gabriella to discuss reassignment options for Barnes, but in the meantime, you need to keep your composure when you’re near him,” Christopher instructed. “Speaking of trouble…” He winced as he picked up his ringing cell phone. “Hello,” he answered while mouthing to Jackson that it was Gabriella. “Yeah, he’s here with me. We’re roomies now,” he said with a laugh. “Thanks for setting up this apartment. I figured you had a hand in me landing this place. Really? Okay, we’ll be there. Bye.” He hung up the phone.

  “What’s up? And by what’s up, I mean I don’t want to hear about another mission or problem somewhere in the world. I only want to hear you say that Gabriella just called to see how old Jackson is doing today,” Jackson teased.

  “It seems that we are going to get a good glimpse of Mr. Draven Cross. His first stop on his world domination tour—”

  “That’s not funny,” Jackson interrupted.

  “Anyway, he plans to meet with President Rodgers and speak at the United Nations. Omega has been offered up to beef up his security detail. We have to meet Gabriella at the Pentagon in a few hours,” Christopher explained.

  “Man, are you serious? Forget surviving until Jesus returns in seven years. You guys are gonna kill me before next week.”

  “You’re so dramatic, Jackson, old man. I swear you should’ve been an actor. I mean, you have to be the luckiest person on the planet. This is the perfect time to roll into an easy mission like guarding a politician. Plus it gives you the chance to figure out if this guy is the ‘Antichrist,’ as you described him.”

  “I consider myself blessed, not lucky. Secondly and almost as important, am I going to have to wear a suit and tie?” Jackson questioned in an aggrieved tone.

  “Yep, no flannel or beer when working with dignitaries. I got you covered. I know a place on the way to the Pentagon where we can pick up a suit for you. I just hope the guy is still in business—or more accurately, still there.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Gemma was right to dread the post-Draven speech media blitz. Her phone had not stopped ringing since the moment Draven concluded his remarks. She was surprised, though, that the first leader seeking an audience with Draven was the president of the United States. Draven expected the U.S. president to be a significant obstacle to his political goals, but after hearing the VIP treatment President Rodgers had in store for him, Gemma remembered Draven saying, “I guess the world is mine.” The first stop on the “coronation tour,” as Gemma called Draven’s series of meetings and engagements with world leaders and influencers after his speech, was the United Nations.

  Draven was pleased to see a media frenzy as he disembarked through the international terminal of JFK International Airport in New York, ahead of his U.N. speech. A mere twenty-four hours before, he had been preparing to give what he saw as the speech of his life. Now he was poised to take the world as his own.

  “Gemma, you have done unexpectedly well. I can feel the world’s anticipation of my next move,” Cross said, the compliment a rarity.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Stopping suddenly, the EU president demanded, “Where is my security detail?”

  “Sir, we have our usual four men from the EU tonight, but President Rodgers has offered up an elite U.S. military unit to augment our security personnel during your visit to America. He is also sending Air Force One to pick you up after your speech at the U.N. in the morning.”

  “I am almost impressed by the hospitality, but Rodgers is no fool,” Draven responded cynically. “He is likely hedging his bets—trying to use my political stardom to ensure himself a second term. No matter. I will accept his flattery, nonetheless.” The disappearances forced Draven’s NYPD escorts to negotiate a path to his Upper Eastside luxury hotel through abandoned and wrecked cars as well as looted, fire-ravaged buildings in the borough of Queens. Draven felt a tug in his mind, oblivious to the suffering around him. The shifting of his typically razor-sharp mental focus to thoughts beyond himself usually meant his spirit guide was close. Draven had learned over the years that a sudden loss of concentration often indicated the Prince of This World would soon speak into his mind regarding some pressing matter.

  “Remember, the promise of peace is the key to the hearts of humanity. Tomorrow I will give you the world,” the Prince promised.

  “Finally, my talents and genius are rewarded,” Draven said aloud, obviously excited.

  “I am sorry, sir, what do you mean?” Gemma asked, confused.

  “Nothing you would understand. Just ensure you’ve prepared a time for me to address the press after my speech. The world will want to hear from its leader,” Draven ordered with satisfaction.

  Gemma trembled at the thought of Draven ruling the world. Not for the first time, she thought perhaps her family had been right about Draven, that he represented something wicked.

  * * *

  Christopher and Jackson enjoyed the walk to the Crystal City Metro Station the next morning in the bracing fall air, chatting as if nothing in the world had really changed. However, Christopher’s well-honed attention to detail did notice the absence of traffic and fewer people than usual moving about for a Monday morning in Crystal City. The harsh reality of the new world in which the two men found themselves living stared Christopher and Jackson in the face as they waited for the blue line metro train to arrive.

  The metro department had installed a portable ten-foot wall down the entire length of the train platform. The wall had integrated sensor doors at intervals that aligned with the train doors, but those doors remained closed until the train arrived in order to prevent suicides. Signage every five feet or so urged, wait! don’t jump. call for help.

  “What a depressing world we now live in, my friend,” Jackson remarked sadly.

  “Yeah, I am afraid of what’s to come,” Christopher replied.

  “I try not to think about what’s next, what we’re facing.” Jackson pointed to the wall. “That’s like something out of a nightmare.”

  The two men boarded through the automatic platform doors a few moments later and arrived at their next stop, the Pentagon City Mall, a little less chipper than when they had left the apartment that morning.

  “I thought you said you were taking me to a tailor or something. This is a mall,” Jackson accused.

  “Patience, grasshopper. There is a method to my madness,” Christopher responded, trying to inject a little humor after the depressing metro ride.

  Jackson followed Christopher into the men’s section of a larger department store, questioning the plan he was following all the way.

  “Here, go try this on. What size shoes do you wear?”

  “Size ten in sneakers, and where do you want me to change clothes, right here?”

  “Sir, may I help you?” queried a female sales associate as she approached the two men.

  “Sure, where can I change into this suit without being charged with a misdemeanor for public indecency?” Jackson asked sardonically.

  “Follow me, sir,” the young woman responded.

  Christopher watched as Jackson followed the woman like a sulking boy following his mom on a school shopping trip.

  A few moments later, an obviously uncomfortable Jackson emerged to stand in front of Christopher.“Would you like me to do a turn, so you get the whole picture?” Jackson quipped.

  “Nope, I can already see from just this point of view that we have a long way to go,” Christopher responded in kind.

  “Oh, now you’re a funny man. Can we go? These clothes make me feel funny,” Jackson whined.

  “Yep. Our next stop is Mr. Lee.
He is the method behind my madness.”

  As the sales associate placed Jackson’s new suit in a garment bag, Jackson began to laugh and said, “I’ve got new church clothes, but no church to attend. That’s ironic, don’t you think, Christopher?”

  “Well, a suit can be multipurpose, but I see the irony. Let’s go so we’re not late meeting Gabriella.” Christopher led Jackson out of the mall and into a luxury hotel not far away. As the two men made their way across the marble-floored, crystal-chandeliered lobby, Christopher was heading toward a small tailor shop with a simple sign above the entrance that read, lee’s suits.

  “Hello, Mr. Lee, are you here?” Christopher called as he entered the tailor shop with Jackson.

  “Yes, yes, I am here. Oh, Major Barrett, it’s you. I am so glad to see you. Wait one second.”

  Christopher and Jackson watched as the older man turned the sign on his door from open to closed.

  “Special customer deserve all my time. Please sit, sit…” Mr. Lee directed Jackson and Christopher to two small chairs in front of rows of varying patterns of cloth. “So how can I help you today, Major?” Mr. Lee asked.

  “Mr. Lee, I brought a good friend to see you. He has an off-the-rack suit that needs your magic touch. Do you think you can help him out?”

  “You military?” Mr. Lee asked, pointing to Jackson.

  “Yes, sir, I am,” Jackson replied.

  “Come, follow me,” Mr. Lee said, grabbing Jackson’s arm and leading him to a grainy old photo on the wall behind the register. “You see? Min-jun Lee was a warrior like you. I fought against the communist in Korea.” The old man beamed with pride.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Jackson responded warmly.

  “You know a custom suit is better than buying one in the mall.” Mr. Lee made this statement as though anyone should certainly know it to be true.

  “Well, you see…” Jackson flushed, embarrassed by his apparent fashion faux pas.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Lee. He’s a hardworking man. He usually doesn’t need a high-quality suit,” Christopher explained, winking at Jackson.

  As Mr. Lee grabbed the suit from Jackson and pointed him toward the changing room, Christopher noticed that the man was not his typical jovial self. Hoping to bring a smile to his face, he inquired, “Mr. Lee, where’s Mrs. Lee and her famous tea cookies?”

  “She gone. Disappear with the others,” Mr. Lee replied somberly as Jackson emerged and stepped up on the tailoring block.

  “I’m so very sorry, Mr. Lee. You doing all right? You need anything?” Christopher asked.

  “I’m fine. Do you know why Mrs. Lee leave me here? I went to church, too, you know. Why am I here?” the man asked Christopher, his genuine confusion evident on his face and in his voice.

  “I don’t know, sir. I wish I could explain why you were left,” Christopher told the puzzled man. He sat in silence as Mr. Lee applied his expertise to Jackson’s run-of-the-mill suit and made it look like the man had been born in it.

  “I am done. What do you think?” Mr. Lee asked Jackson.

  “I think I look sharper than my mother-in-law’s tongue,” Jackson replied, laughing.

  “Major, what does this mean?” Mr. Lee questioned a bit suspiciously.

  “Sir, it just means that Jackson likes your handiwork. We have to go, but how much do I owe you today?”

  “No charge, my friend, no charge. I am just glad to see you’re still here…” The man paused, obviously not finished speaking. “Major…I lie. I know why I was left. I didn’t really love Jesus, never knew Him. I just like to socialize at church. It looked good, you know,” Mr. Lee confessed as the tears ran down his wrinkled cheeks.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Lee, but I do believe what many people say. God is a God of second chances. Just pray for help. I know God will not let you down if you’re really trying to find Him.”

  “Thank you, Major, and take care, Mr. Jackson. When you want a real warrior’s suit, you come see me, okay?” Mr. Lee encouraged.

  “Yes, sir, I will, and thank you again for your help,” Jackson replied.

  As the two men left the shop, Christopher looked back, wishing he could have said or done something for Min-jun Lee. He was a good man who was searching, like a lot of people, for answers as to what had just happened.

  “Hey, let’s just walk over to the Pentagon. I don’t want to see that wall down in the metro ever again,” Jackson asserted firmly.

  “Sure. Let’s get moving. We don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

  * * *

  Christopher and Jackson entered Gabriella’s office and stood in front of her desk like two schoolboys called to the principal’s office while she finished typing on her computer.

  “What took you guys so long? You just live in Crystal City,” Gabriella questioned.

  “Christopher was getting me fixed up with some new clothes for this next thing you’ve signed our names to,” Jackson answered.

  “Ahh, that’s sweet of Chris to help you expand your wardrobe beyond the outdoor recreation look,” Gabriella said teasingly.

  Laughing, Jackson responded, “Yeah, I guess flannel and tactical pants don’t fit in with every crowd.”

  Gabriella chuckled as she threw a set of bath towels at Christopher and Jackson. “Here you go, guys. I didn’t know what else to get you for a housewarming gift.”

  “Oh, you’re a funny little thing there, Gabby,” Jackson responded.

  “Little thing and Gabby? You’d better watch yourself, Jackson. I am not afraid to smack you even in your fragile condition,” Gabriella warned as she rose behind her desk.

  Jackson howled with laughter. “I bet you could take a gator’s dinner.”

  “Wow, are you two through acting like a dysfunctional set of siblings?” Christopher asked.

  “Excuse me, Major Barrett. I am sorry to take some of your precious time with humor. What’s got you in such a bad mood today?” Gabriella asked.

  “Nothing. Could you just tell me about my assignment babysitting the savior of the world?” Christopher questioned, his disdain for the task evident in his tone.

  “I told you—” Jackson began.

  “Savior of the world… I am guessing you mean Draven Cross. So you’re not a fan of his explanation for the disappearances, I take it, Chris?” Gabriella questioned, interrupting Jackson.

  “I am still evaluating all possibilities, unlike Jackson or you. This guy is not even a head of state yet, and he’s commanding this type of attention. My gut says that cannot be good considering the rapture just occurred,” Christopher explained.

  “The rapture! You must be joking, Chris. Mr. Cross presented scientific evidence that we are not alone in the universe, that an alien force took religious fanatics out of our world. I have some reservations about that part of his analysis, but his argument makes sense to me,” Gabriella defended, moving in front of her desk to face Christopher.

  “What I have is a growing belief, my friend. Keep in mind that my refusal to believe in the rapture before this event has cost me much.”

  “Hey, um, I can leave you two alone, if you want?” Jackson offered. “Seems you’ve got some stuff to work out.”

  “Real funny, Jackson,” replied Christopher. “I just have one more thing to say. Just a few days ago, we saw millions of people disappear simultaneously. And now I am just supposed to believe the word of some rich guy that aliens popped up from nowhere because religion has been stopping humanity from achieving universal peace? I am more inclined each day to admit the truth of the Bible, as hard as that is for me. The Bible speaks of a man who would appear during a time like this promising peace, but who would actually be far from peaceful. I am not saying Draven Cross is the Antichrist, but I am not buying into him yet, either.” He then slammed himself back into his chair.

  Gabriella leaned forward to look Christopher right in the eyes. “Fair enough. I’ve also heard all the Sunday school stories regarding the end of the world. I believe i
n science, and the solutions science produces. I will evaluate Mr. Cross and come to my own conclusions. Now that we are all fired up, your mission is a simple one. You will fly out of Andrews Air Base tonight on Air Force One and integrate within Mr. Cross’s security detail. Your point of contact is Gemma Sutherland, Mr. Cross’s executive assistant. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, one. Why Air Force One?” Jackson queried.

  “President Rodgers is extending America’s hospitality to the man that has captivated the world,” Gabriella answered.

  “Well, that’s kind of like a man allowing another man to take his wife on a date, just because the other fella’s wife is less attractive,” Jackson retorted.

  Christopher rolled his eyes, saying, “I’ll take the Southern Aristotle here and get the team ready.”

  “What? Does that not make sense to y’all?” Jackson asked, clearly dumbfounded.

  “No!” Christopher and Gabriella shouted in unison.

  Gabriella added, “In any case, I will follow up with you two after, Mr. Cross’ White House visit tomorrow afternoon. Just make sure you keep him safe.” She addressed her final remark to Christopher. “And don’t let Jackson talk to him.”

  “Heeeeey,” Jackson protested.

  “No promises,” Christopher said over his shoulder as he exited the room with Jackson.

  As the major and the sergeant major stood in the vast, bustling U.N. building lobby, Jackson was pensive as they waited to link up with Gemma Sutherland.

  “You feeling okay, man?” Christopher asked.

  “I’ll make it, thanks to the wrap around my ribs and some strong painkillers in my system. By the way, how do I look?” Jackson asked.

  “Out of place and uncomfortable,” Christopher responded dryly.

  “Awesome, I am nailing the look I was going for today. Just so you know, I have Barnes and the rest of the guys waiting in the SUVs, just in case. Heads up, I think Ms. Sutherland is coming our way.”