Rise of the Beast (43 page)

The clear autumn night sky gave way to the brilliance of day and the roar of thunder as the Atlas V-Heavy lifted from the Kennedy Space Center pad 41 above a 300-foot-long column of fire. Although it was a late evening launch, it was televised to the people of the nation and the world. Atop the
Centaur
B2 upper stage rode the Herschel Spacecraft that would study Comet Florence in unprecedented detail.

Never in the history of NASA had a mission been put together so quickly. It had been less than three years from concept to launch. The spacecraft would travel to the planet Jupiter in record time, 12 months. Then it would use a gravitational slingshot from the enormous planet, as well as its on board booster, to place it into the same trajectory as the comet, monitoring it with 11 different instruments, mostly spares borrowed from other past missions. Nonetheless, it was one of the most expensive unmanned missions ever flown.

Normally, an unmanned planetary mission could use a series of gravity assists and a few extra years of flight time to finesse its way to where it wanted to go at a minimum cost. This mission, however, was all power and boosters, a real muscle mission.

Sam Florence watched with a sense of awe as the spacecraft vanished into the east. He’d never been present at a launch, and this one would be studying his comet. In very fact, he was a member of the science team that would be using the spacecraft to unravel its mysteries. In particular, he would be studying the
comet’s atmosphere and dust content, determining just how much of a threat the environment around the comet posed to our satellites in Earth’s orbit.

“We have confirmed booster cut off and ignition of the
Centaur
upper stage,” announced mission control over the loud speaker. “Trajectory and speed look very good.”

Sam thought back. He had heard complaints from other members of the team that they had too little access to the real nuts and bolts designs of the craft. Most spacecrafts were designed by major universities in conjunction with the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena, but not this one. This one was designed and built primarily by the military, with only minimal input from the outside. Sure, many of the instruments on board were designed by universities, but it was the military that had incorporated them into the spacecraft’s design. It was rumored that the spacecraft itself was actually a modified spy satellite, though that could not be confirmed.

Sam put those thoughts out of his mind. He stood there amidst the other honored guests and members of the science team, waiting to hear that the
Centaur
stage had done its job. He glanced at his watch expectantly.

“We have
Centaur
cut off at 23:54, right on the second,” announced mission control. “We’re on our way to Jupiter.”

A cheer arose from the crowd. This was an encouraging start to the mission. In 23 months, the spacecraft would be passing by the Earth one last time, circling the comet’s nucleus at point-blank range and giving humanity a three-dimensional view of the comet’s structure. What a priceless opportunity.

As Sam prepared to go to bed in the wee hours of the morning, all was still looking good. The spacecraft was in good health, ready for its record-setting mission. Still, he was troubled. Something wasn’t right, though he knew not what. He offered a brief prayer for the planet and its people.

From their home on wheels, now parked in North Carolina, Chris and Serena also watched the launch on television with interest. They were happy to see the successful lift-off, yet like Sam, they had a sense that something wasn’t quite right.

In reality, things hadn’t gone as well as Serena might have hoped these past
months. The miraculous healings that had accented their ministry during the late spring and early summer had faded in the fall along with the summer heat. Serena spent hours in prayer every night, as did Chris. They had fasted for two weeks in late August, yet it seemed in vain. The gift of healing seemed to have passed from her. Yet now on his second U.S. tour, Lusan’s ministry was blessed with incredible miracles at every service.

Her sense of dejection deepened as she opened her email. She hadn’t heard from Mark, the young man who had been healed in Mississippi for over a week. Up until this point, he had sent her at least one or two messages a week. He spoke of running and playing, of studying the Word, and of witnessing of God’s goodness to others. He had dreams of going into the ministry, of becoming an evangelist. Now here was an email from his mother. Her words were indeed dire. Mark was gone. He’d been killed walking home from school by a stray bullet from places unknown. How could such a thing have happened?

“Lord, why have you abandoned your people?” asked Serena, sitting on the edge of the bed weeping.

Her cries awakened Chris, who joined her in her grief. It just didn’t make sense. Here they were in Earth’s darkest hour, and God seemed to have turned His back on His own people. Chris held her, tried to comfort her, yet he knew not what to say. In fact, he seemed more frustrated than Serena.

Chris spoke of the day of the martyrs, of the Christians who had perished at Nero’s pleasure. Had there been any miraculous and inexplicable acts that had spared them? Not to his knowledge. Yes, those martyrs had gone to Heaven; he had met some of them. Yet what message had God sent to the world in allowing them to die at the hands of a madman?

Some people might have lost faith in God, but that wasn’t an option for Chris. He knew the Father like no one else. He had spoken to Him personally, had heard His voice time and time again. He had seen him. Still, he just didn’t understand His reasoning. Was He just giving Satan enough rope to hang himself? He couldn’t say. But with the passing of the days, Satan’s plan was becoming ever clearer.

Chris and Serena had to move on, but their evangelistic ministry was starting to wane. There was more time between revivals, and the crowds were once more starting to shrink.

Yet another blow was dealt to them with word of the relapse of the man who had regained his sight in Mississippi. Indeed, his condition was even worse than before. What was going on?

Even worse, Lusan’s people were taking full advantage of this series of events. They spoke of lasting healings at the hands of Lusan, of a god who will not abandon his people. Lusan’s miracles, over a 100 of them, had been recorded on video. There could be no doubt as to their authenticity.

Lusan said it was the narrowmindedness of these Christians that was causing their miraculous acts to fail. God didn’t like their judgmental attitudes, their audacity in suggesting that there was only one path to His presence.

Lusan’s most vocal spokesperson was one Krissie James, and her beauty and grace were winning many over to Lusan’s side. She now had her own syndicated talk show out of New York, and ever more television and radio stations were carrying it.

By November, the ballots in Europe had been cast, and Julien Devereux had been voted into the position of president of the European Union by a landslide. From the beginning, Julien made no mystery as to his religious convictions. He was a follower of the man who had restored his son to him. And he wasn’t alone. Polls in Europe showed that fully a third of the continent’s people were either members of Lusan’s New Age religion or had their sympathies leaning in that direction, and that number was growing.

With his Southeast Asian crusade upcoming, Lusan was riding high. Even in the United States, his popularity was rising, though it lagged behind the rest of the world. Throughout the presidential campaign of 2016, Lusan’s influence was felt. In the end, however, the candidate whom Lusan’s people had unofficially endorsed was defeated in the election. The new president, who described herself as a born-again Christian, had her work cut out for her. She was finding her nation ever more at odds with the rest of the world, a world in love with a modern day messiah.

Never in recent memory had the world’s people seemed so hopeful about the future. They spoke of a new light, an awakening. But it was not the light of Christ, but a false light that was leading the world toward disaster. Chris and Serena knew this, but there seemed to be nothing they could do about it. Still, their crusade moved on.

It was late February as they rolled into Brooklyn. They had been invited to hold a three-day revival at the Light House Church. Serena recalled that they had been there once before, about four years ago. This was where they had originally met Claire James. It seemed strange to be back, considering the circumstances. Indeed, it had involved a last-minute change in plans. Ron Smith, the pastor of this church for the past 20 or more years, had practically pleaded for them to come. It had been a long drive through harsh winter weather, but they’d felt the need to come nonetheless.

The Lighthouse Church had a large congregation, over 2,000, and it was known for its lively services. For this reason alone, Chris and Serena wanted to come. They were convinced that they would be encouraged from this revival as surely as the people who would be attending.

“I’m so glad you were able to come,” said Pastor Smith, showing Chris and Serena to his study.

Pastor Smith was a gray-haired, African American man in his late fifties with the excitement and charisma of a man half his age. Chris and Serena remembered him well. While many Christian churches had experienced declines in their congregation, his had actually grown. Here, right in the Devil’s backyard, his church had remained vibrant, even defiant. He had come out against Lusan’s organization boldly and publicly. In the process, he had made enemies.

“You know, people have been calling me a hater,” said Pastor Smith, leading Chris and Serena to his study in the parsonage. “After so many years of serving this community, I never thought I’d be called that.”

“These are strange times,” noted Chris.

“Don’t I know it,” said the pastor. “I’m very glad to have you back. You need to know something before tonight’s service. What I’m about to tell you may seem incredible, but it is true.”

As they entered the pastor’s large and well-furnished study, they noticed that five folding chairs had been arranged in a circle. Sitting side by side in two of the chairs were a young man and woman. They were both Hispanic and appeared to be about 20 years old.

“Chris and Serena Davis, I would like to introduce you to two precious members of my flock,” said Pastor Smith. “This is Julio and Karina Mendoza. I had the great pleasure of joining them in marriage just last week.”

“Congratulations,” said Chris and Serena, almost simultaneously, as they sat down beside them.

“They have an incredible story to tell you,” continued Pastor Smith. “It is a story about this Lusan character. They were both members of his youth ministry before they came here. They were brought to us by one of our long-time members, Claire James, just a week or so before she went to be with the Lord. I believe you met her some years ago.”

“Yes,” replied Serena, barely able to speak. “We both know her.”

Apparently, Pastor Smith picked up on Serena’s reaction. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” replied Serena, “Nothing is wrong.”

Pastor Smith turned to the young couple. “Go ahead; tell them what you told me.”

It was Julio who opened the conversation. “Grandma Claire was very special to me. If it hadn’t been for her, I might be in Hell this very minute.”

Julio had a tough time telling the story. He came to tears several times. Yet he unfolded a tale of his time with the Latin Kings, of an encounter with a couple in Central Park, and the beings who came to their aid. He related his experience of being possessed and of the terrible things he had done under the demon’s influence. He spoke of the woman he had been sent to kill, only to be delivered by her healing hand.

Karina, too, told her story to Chris and Serena. Being possessed by a being so foul had been a horrible experience. Under his control, she had come to realize the depths of depravity that was the heart of a demon. Her release by Grandma Claire had been a release from Hell itself.

“But there’s more,” said Karina, fighting back the tears. “Less than a month ago, I saw Grandma Claire in my dreams. It was so real, like no dream I’d ever had before.”

“We both did,” interjected Julio. “It was so good to see her again. She told us that we had to get the two of you here, that there were things we had to tell you.” Julio pulled a stack of papers from a large envelope. “The night she died, she sent out an email to several people. Pastor Smith was one. I was another. She also told me that, if anything happened to her, I should remove the hard
drive from her computer. I didn’t know why at the time. I do now.” He handed Serena a flash drive. “Here is the thing that she wanted to keep from Lusan. She was convinced that he would come looking for it. It’s a sort of series of prophecies. I don’t know what else to call it. She didn’t want to send it out on the email. This may seem crazy, but I think she wanted you two to have it. You are both mentioned several times.”

“I know how all this must sound,” said Pastor Smith. “But she appeared to me, too. She told me that I should believe what Julio and Karina were about to tell me. She asked me to contact you. Never in my career as a pastor have I experienced such a move of God’s Spirit.”