Two boys born the same day, on opposite
sides of the world…
And I will put enmity between thee and the
woman, and between thy seed, and her seed; he shall bruise thy head, and thou
shalt bruise his heel. Genesis
3:15
December 25,
1963
Early morning … a convent high in the
mountain forest of northern
Italy
.
During the night
snow fell, blanketing the forest in a shroud of white. The smoke-grey sky was
barely visible through thick clusters of dark, barren trees. Other than a
snowflake floating downward now and then, the air in the woods was still. No
bird flew, no animal moved. The black and white forest was ominously
silent.
Amid the trees, in a small
clearing, stood a large three-story structure, a massive castle of grey rock.
The citadel looked deserted, but it was not. Inside its 300-year-old walls lived
more than fifty sequestered women — nuns and novices set off and apart from the
outside world. The few inhabitants of the surrounding countryside seldom saw the
occupants in the convent. The neighbors were, for the most part, shepherds, and
not one of them ever ventured near the solemn-looking
structure.
The shepherds were a superstitious lot. Through the years, stories of
supernatural happenings had been told about the area around the convent.
Witches, demons, ghosts, and devils had been seen countless times, by folks of
good stature and sound mind.
Except for a yearly visit by a few nuns from the flatlands, no one ever
came around. To the villagers, fear always seemed to hang in the heavy air of
the forest that surrounded the convent.
Amid the dark trees, a figure of
a man suddenly emerged and stared at the convent. He wore a long, dark topcoat,
with his hands shoved into the side pockets. A black fedora covered most of his
grey hair. His face bore many creases, like the jagged lines on a battle map.
His eyes — shining, piercing, blue diamond eyes — had witnessed countless events
over many thousands of years and spoke of great wisdom. Although possessing a
name, he was generally known as “the Messenger.”
An invisible — and sometimes
visible — observer of life on earth, the Messenger was not of this world. His
deep voice resonated when he spoke:
One of the
final stages of Satan’s 5,000-year-old plan for his kingdom on earth will start
here. This is the first of many occurrences that will take place in this
concluding time of mankind. The people will be known as the “Terminal
Generation,” a generation that will lose its spiritual equilibrium with God and
start to invert His values.
The Messenger paused for one
last look at the convent, his brilliant blue eyes searching as if they could
pierce the stone walls. He then turned and walked away, disappearing into the
forest.
Morning sunlight filtered
through the grey clouds and snow - covered trees and streaked the walls of the
convent. The sunlight also angled across several windows of a chapel adjacent to
the convent. Inside the chapel, candles flickered. The stone interior was bare
except for a large wooden crucifix hanging on the chancel wall. Rays of sunlight
slanted through the windows, illuminating particles of dust floating in the air.
The light sent long silhouettes of the window frames across the stone floor and
up the opposite wall. Two rows of rough wooden benches filled the room, with an
aisle down the middle. The chapel felt gloomy and cold, like a
tomb.
At the front of the aisle, a
woman knelt in prayer.
Her black veil and habit were
meticulously clean and pressed. The bulky garments hid her well-shaped body and
long legs. The proportions of her face and high cheekbones showed a Roman
heritage, for she had been born to an aristocratic Italian family. Her eyes, now
closed as she bowed her head, were the color of the clear sky, and they usually
gleamed with defiant authority. Her once-beautiful hands, folded in her lap,
were beginning to look worn from a lifetime of hard work.
Ann Stefannelli, Mother
Superior of the convent, felt every year of the heavy responsibility. The
subject of Ann’s prayers this morning was the same as it had been every morning
for almost a year. A continuous feeling of dread had come over her, and no
matter how she prayed she could not rid herself of it. She had sensed it in the
other nuns, also. She suppressed these thoughts daily —continuously — trying to
displace the horrible sense of fear onto something else, anything else. How
could evil possibly exist here? This place was property
of the church. The
work of God was performed here. Yet, no matter how she tried, an intense sense
of danger filled her every thought. Everywhere she went inside the convent she
felt the presence of evil.
The calm and peace of the
convent had evaporated. She wanted to escape, to flee, to run away, to feel
peace again — if only for a moment. But her pounding heart reminded her she
would not, could not, forsake her responsibilities.
So, as she had for so many
mornings, she bowed her head, closed her eyes, sighed, and prayed to the Lord
for peace. Peace for her, peace for her convent.
The heavy back door of the chapel
creaked open, interrupting Ann’s thoughts. She heard footsteps in the aisle
behind her. Someone had come in during her prayers. This was odd. No one had
ever bothered her during prayer time before.
“Mother Superior,” whispered Sister Bregga.
Ann did not respond.
“Mother Superior,” the young
woman urged.
Ann slowly lifted her head,
focused her brilliant blue eyes on the crucifix.
“Yes?” Ann
replied.
“Mother Superior, Sister Volonte told me
to bring you immediately!”
Sister Sarah Volonte was the
only certified nurse in the order, Ann remembered with alarm. She rose, turned,
folding her arms into the sleeves of her black robe, and studied the young nun.
The novice trembled under her grey clothing, her face a mask of fright.
“What’s wrong,
child?”
“It’s … it’s … Sister Mary,” said the
young nun, her eyes dropping to the floor, unable to look directly at her
Superior
.
“What about her?” Ann asked.
“She’s having a
baby.”
Six thousand miles away on an Indian
reservation near Red Bluff,
Oklahoma
, at exactly the same time as Sister Mary’s delivery
that Christmas night, Linda Allen was also having a baby.
Married less than a year,
Jim and Linda were very excited over the arrival of their new son. Jim was
full-blooded Cherokee, with many relatives living in the area. Linda was
Caucasian; her widowed mother lived in town. Linda, her mother, and all the
Allen clan celebrated Christmas that night, elated over the new addition to
their family.
Grandpa Karrel Allen was
especially proud of his new grandson and namesake, John Karrel Allen.
December 26, 1963
—
3:12 p.m.
Mountain forest in
Italy
on the road 10 miles from the convent.
A black Cadillac limousine
crept along the narrow mountain road. More snow had fallen during the night, and
fog draped like a grey shroud over the forest.
Two people rode in the front seat, a male
driver and a woman passenger. The woman was middle aged and wore a nurse’s
uniform under her winter coat. The driver, dark - complexioned and husky, was
chauffeur and bodyguard to the single occupant in the rear of the limousine.
The man in the spacious back
seat made a stark contrast to the two people in front. He would have stood out
in a crowd of thousands.
The lone passenger, who looked younger
than his fifty-seven years, had an air of absolute authority and radiant power
about him. At 6 feet 9 inches he towered over, — and intimidated — most men. His
large body, broad shoulders, and wide chest matched his height. He wore a
custom-tailored suit, midnight-blue with a rich purple tint, a matching silk tie
and shirt. His supple skin was light bronze. His hair, combed straight back,
gleamed jet black. Sharp lines in his face were bold and accented, as if
chiseled from granite. A hawk-shaped nose loomed above his cruel thin
mouth.
Some might call him brutally
handsome, but what frightened men and women most were his vibrant jade-green
eyes. Extraordinary submissiveness seized nearly everyone who looked into them
for more than a moment.
Frank Pettinati posed as an
envoy for the Curia, the administrative arm of the Catholic Church. A strange
role, for he was farthest any man could be from religious. However, he was on a
personal task, one on which his destiny depended, and he would do anything, no
matter what, to complete his mission.
Frank pressed back into the leather seat, held his
head up, and looked out the window at the snow-covered forest. What he had to do
today would be simple. He would play his role and take what he came for.
If my little charade doesn’t work, he
said to himself, eyebrow arching as his eyes narrowed in determination, I’ll take what I want anyway.
Frank was a man of a
thousand desires. Whether it was his sexual appetite, material things, or
anything else that pleased him, he was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
The Cadillac arrived in a
small village. The only person in sight was an old man sitting in a chair,
reading a book in front of one of the hamlet’s few buildings. He was dressed in
a brown winter coat, a leather-and-fur hat with floppy earflaps perched on his
head. The limousine’s tires crunched to a halt in the snow in front of the old
man. Frank rolled down the window and leaned
his head out.
“Bon giorno, signore,” said
Frank, his words turning to vapor as they hit the outside air.
The old man looked up from
his reading and stared for a moment at Frank. “Bon giorno,” the old man said
without emotion. He rolled a cud of chewing tobacco inside his mouth, adding
more stain to his full white beard, as he stared at Frank.
“Excuse me. I wonder if you
could tell me how far is the convent la casa?”
The old man broke his stare
after a moment, his eyes traveling down the long automobile. He leaned over to
spit a stream of brown juice. “About 2 kilometers, signore,” he said, nodding up
the road, resuming his study of the stranger.
“No capiso? Why not?” Frank sensed hostility from the
villager but was about to tell him thank you anyway. Then, looking around, he
began to wonder. “Are there no other people here, signore?
“They are all hiding in
their houses. They are afraid.”
“Afraid of what, signore?”
“Banshees, ghosts and demons
… evil spirits.” The old man chewed his tobacco and assessed Frank’s reaction to
his words. “They made quite a ruckus last night, flying around, howling, and
carrying on. Between that and the wind blowing, it has everyone scared.”
“Evil spirits?” said Frank,
lifting one eyebrow. “But you are not afraid, signore?”
“I am not afraid of such
things.”
The old man
reached inside his coat and brought out a silver Christian cross that was
hanging on a chain around his neck. He held it in front of himself
in Frank’s direction, as if in a gesture of
warding off evil. Frank glared at the cross as he leaned back from the window.
“Ah, si signore, I see.” He smirked as the tinted window closed. The car pulled
away. The old man went back to his Bible.
Ann Stefannelli stood
motionless at the third-story window of her office. Long shadows stretched
across the snow-covered forest. The landscape looked cold and forbidding. It was
not, however, as remotely chilling as the fear and uncertainty that gripped her
heart.
Yesterday had been a
nightmare. She would never forget the shock, much less the confusion and
unbelief, as she rushed to the room of Sister Mary Giuffre. Mary had been with
the order for two years and was still in novice training. When Ann arrived at
the doorway of the young sister’s room, Mary was lying on her bed with an
exposed belly that most certainly contained a baby.
Sister Sarah Volonte
scurried about the room, getting ready to assist with the coming birth. She was
helped by two other sisters. More nuns stood stone-faced in the hallway like
spectators at an accident. Panic was palpable in the room and, if Ann guessed
correctly, the baby was coming soon.
As Ann walked in, Sarah
stopped her work briefly, her eyes rising upward and locking on Ann’s. For a
moment, the critical question flashed in silence between them: How could a
woman, sequestered away from any outside contact with the world for more than
two years, become pregnant? Neither had an answer, because there simply wasn’t
one.
The convent was in a remote
area and the outside windows and doors were always locked. Could a man somehow
miraculously slip in and out under such daunting circumstances? If so, how could
it have happened without anyone noticing? If someone had impregnated her and she
knew it, why hadn’t Sister Mary told anyone? Mary apparently kept her incredible
secret hidden under
her loose clothing, but why? What was the reason for it
all? Ann’s thoughts were in disarray.
Sister Mary’s eyes were
closed, and she was delirious with pain. She screamed out — cries that to Ann
were more yells of terror than pain. Ann’s eyes widened with fear as the screams
became more hysterical. Shrill, piercing cries echoed down the hallways,
flooding the convent with ever more dread.
At the time, Ann told herself that the
answer to the frightful mystery could and would have to wait until after the
baby was born.
That was yesterday.
Spellbound, Ann now stared
at the snow glistening on the tree branches outside her window.
Today is another day. Today
is the day they will bury Mary. The baby boy had come, and Mary had died giving
birth, never uttering a word. The incident was a paradox of troubling and
unanswered questions. Moreover, Mary, the only source of those answers was gone
forever, sealing off any reply to Ann’s questions.
Since yesterday, no one in
the convent had spoken about the birth. It was too hard to think about it and
Mary’s death. Through the night, the cold air outside the convent had blown and
howled relentlessly, the wind filled with the sounds of eerie screaming, as if
echoing Mary’s torment. To Ann, it seemed like a taunting after the day’s
events.
Ann pressed the long fingers
of one hand on the cold glass of the window. The sensation was as chilling as
the reception of her telephoned report of the seemingly miraculous and literally
inconceivable birth to her superior in
Rome
. And who could blame him? It was unbelievable that a
woman, showing religious devotion and supposedly a virgin, had given birth to a
son. The fact that it had happened once before in history, and by another virgin
named Mary, was not lost on Ann. What had they thought of this in
Rome
? To her surprise, her superior hadn’t really
commented on the strange situation. He just said that he would send someone for
the baby.
Ann then remembered that
Mary Giuffre had come from a Jewish family. She strained to recall from the
outer edge of her mind a Biblical foretelling long buried from the education of
her youth. Suddenly her concentration was broken by movement through the distant
fog. It was a vehicle, a long black car, coming up the snow-covered road to the
convent.
Well, they certainly came quickly, she
thought.
The limousine pulled up in
front of the convent’s main door and stopped. Ann watched a chauffeur and a
woman get out. The chauffeur opened a side door and a big, well-dressed man
stepped forth. Ann closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She turned and sat down at
her desk.
Frank stood by the car and
arched his back, then stretched his legs, his eyes disecting the area. It had
been a long, dull journey, and he was anxious to get the next part over with.
Looking up, he noticed
hordes of black-winged demons lined up on the peaks of all the convent roofs,
like rows of birds on a telephone line. The horrid creatures sat motionless,
staring at Frank with piercing red eyes, knowing who he was.
Of course, he nodded slyly,
there would be “angels heralding the advent.” They were the cause of the clamor
last night that the old man back in the village had mentioned.
“Announcing … the birth … to
the shepherds,” he chuckled to himself, looking to see if the nurse or the
driver saw the demons. But of course, they did not. Only he could see them.
Looking back up at the demons, Frank solemnly met their fiery gaze. Yes, they
knew why he was here.
Frank tightened the knot in
his tie and slid his hand down his suit coat. He gave a heavy sigh. The driver
and nurse stood by the car, glancing around at the
convent and woods. The
driver broke out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to the nurse.
“I’ll call you if I need
you,” Frank said. As they lit up, he walked
to the front door of the
convent.
Frank stared at the ugly
grey walls; he hated any religious buildings, especially churches. He sometimes
fantasized on the idea of burning churches. Someday, he thought, he would
fulfill that urge. As for now, he needed to bear the repugnance he felt at this
place. A mental transformation came over Frank as he knocked on the convent
door. He became a gentleman.
A nervous nun ushered him
into the Mother Superior’s office, a room far better appointed than the bleak
foyer and halls he had just walked through. It felt cozy, with light-colored
wood on the walls and a large rug covering the floor. A panoramic view from the
windows showed the surrounding forest. Seated behind a large wooden desk, the
Mother Superior rose in greeting. She
does not look like she’s having a good day, Frank thought.
“Signore,” said Ann with a
slight bow of her head. “I am Sister Ann Stefannelli.”
“Good afternoon, signora.”
At first, Ann was impressed
by the air and presence of this large, good-looking man. Suddenly, however, she
sensed that a wild beast had just walked into the room. She looked at him with
hidden trepidation, then quickly gathered her senses and came back to the
situation at hand.
“Please be seated,” she
said.
“My name is Frank Pettinati,
and I am from the Curia.”
“You have come for the child
I presume?” she said, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable from the intensity of
his green eyes.
“Yes, signora, I am charged
with finding the boy a good home.”
“You know, then, that the
mother had no living relatives?”
“Yes,” Frank replied. “Is it
true the mother was a Jewess?”
“Yes. Is that important?”
“Well, yes, but just for the
birth record.”
“Of course,” Ann said. She
bit her lip and turned her head to the window, sighing in distress.
“I do not know how to
explain this birth,” she continued. “We have many unanswered questions here. I
can’t even begin to sort this out.” She rose from her chair and walked to a
window, finding it hard to endure the evil she sensed radiating from Frank.
“We are burying the mother
today,” she announced as she looked out over the forest.
Frank’s right hand tightened
into a fist as he studied the woman’s back. He had expected an emotional
reaction from the nuns, and he was prepared for it.
“Signora, please let me say,
first of all, that Cardinal Vincenzoni sends his deepest concern for you and
your sisters here. He has instructed me to render to you any help you may
require. He has also asked me to tell you he is personally recommending a
commendation to your already outstanding record.”
Ann could not believe her
ears. She was speechless. Since the baby’s birth yesterday, she had been
troubled by what her superiors might think. She had never heard of Cardinal
Vincenzoni, but then she could hardly expect to know all of the cardinals’
names. But this, this was like they were giving her a reward, which was the last
thing she cared for. What she wanted were answers. She finally found her voice
as she turned to him.
“I do not understand any of
this.”
Frank looked her up and
down, noticing her body movements under the black gown. The fiery look on Ann’s
high-cheekboned face intrigued him. He wondered what it would be like to… For a
few seconds he toyed with a scenario of lustful images. Suppressing his
overactive desires, he returned his mind to the task at hand and turned up the
charm.
“Please, signora, do not
trouble yourself with this mystery. I can assure you
Rome
will make no inquiries. It is best, I think, to put
this all behind you and to simply go on with your work here. What good would any
further investigation be at this time? As you have said, the mother is dead.”
Well, that’s easy for Mr. Fancy Suit to say, thought Ann, her head turning once more to the
window. He didn’t have to live with more than fifty other women who were
wondering what in God’s name had happened here. Moreover, he didn’t have her
nagging suspicions that something was terribly wrong about this whole affair.
Something strange was happening here, she felt, something that was evil and out
of her control. It was dark and powerful, and it was rushing past her like a
runaway horse. However, Ann sensed her superiors had already swept the matter
aside. They did not want annoying events like this one to become public. She had
witnessed similar coverups before.
“I see. I guess there is no
more to be said,” she said, capitulating outwardly but not in her heart. “I will
have the child brought to you in the foyer.” She gave Frank one last glance,
then faced the window. She looked out at the dark trees standing in the pure
snow. Things do not always appear black and white, she said to herself.
Sometimes God does not give us all the answers to our
questions.
“Good day, Mr. Pettinati,”
she said finally.
“Thank you, signora.” Frank
stood to leave.
The front door of the
convent creaked open and Frank stepped out with the baby in his arms, wrapped in
a blanket. The boy was asleep, but just before he handed him to the nurse, the
baby stared at Frank with wide-open eyes. Yellow eyes, like twin burning suns. Yes, thought Frank, he has his father’s eyes.
From her window, Ann watched
the black limousine move down the forest road. To her amazement, she began to
feel better. She sensed that the wicked presence in the convent was gone. The
dread that had surrounded her and the convent for so long was dissipating like a
fog. Her blue eyes trailed after the black automobile as it disappeared into the
distance. Dread had left in that car.
As the Cadillac moved down
the road, Frank relaxed. The baby was up front with the nurse and sleeping
again. After closing the private window between the front and the rear of the
luxury car, Frank stuck a cigar in his mouth and savored its taste. At the end
of the cigar, a small flame suddenly arose as if by magic — with a flicker out
of thin air — and an ash began to grow.
Frank Pettinati was not his
real name. He had been born Sergio Morricone in 1907, the child of a farmer and
his wife in a small village in southern
Italy
. From early childhood, Sergio had been obsessed with
the pleasures of life — money, power, and all the things you could possess with
them. Now, at age 56, he was one of the wealthiest men in the world.
As a boy, he had wanted to
be a chemist. In school he studied everything he could find about science. By
age seventeen, he was working for one of
Italy
’s largest chemical companies. During World War II,
the German Army occupied
Italy
. A German chemist, visiting his company, noticed
Sergio’s talents. He was especially interested in research Sergio was doing with
a chemical compound called Zyklon B. The German, Hans Meyer, would become
instrumental in Sergio’s life. He invited the young man back to
Germany
to work on some special research projects, and
Sergio eagerly agreed.
In
Germany
, Sergio lived with Hans on a large estate outside of
Berlin
. Meyer, it turned out, was a general in the
Reichsführer der SS, Heinrich Himmler’s personal staff. In addition, Sergio
learned, Hans had mystical powers, achieved by practicing in the realm of the
occult. In the following months, Sergio worked with Meyer in the laboratories of
the Reich’s main security building
on the Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, the
headquarters of the SS and the Gestapo. Working together, the two men developed
a new poison gas made from Cyanide, Zyklon B, and Malathion. At the same time,
Hans taught Sergio about the god of his world, Satan. Hans told his protege
about the power that could come to those who worshiped and served Satan. Over
time, Hans introduced Sergio to many influential and powerful men in
Germany
and
Europe
, who belonged to numerous secret societies in the
occult. Before long, Sergio grew his own powers of darkness until he had
surpassed even Hans.
One night, in an occult
ceremony in
Germany
’s
Black Forest
, the lord of darkness, the devil himself, appeared
to Sergio. Satan gave Sergio the power to create FIRE, and he promised him that
he would live forever and never grow old. The devil also told him, that he,
Sergio, would be part of a three-point power structure that would someday rule
the world. Years would pass before Sergio would understand fully the
implications of the promises given to
him that night.
As a prince of evil, Sergio
grew to hate God’s chosen people, the Jews. One day when he and Hans were
testing the poison gas on a group of mice, Sergio asked, “What are you going to
do with this stuff, Hans?”
“Kill Jews.”
The limousine hit a bump,
and Frank popped out of his past. He often wondered what some of the people he
associated with now would think if they knew of his wartime activities. However,
no one would ever know. He had worked long and hard to cover his tracks. As the
war ended, Meyer and many of the industrialist friends were on the list of war
criminals. Before facing trial, many of them signed over their holdings to a man
named Frank Pettinati, who
was in fact Sergio. They had done so on Frank’s
promise that he would return their fortunes when they desired. Instead, Frank
stole it all for himself. Through systematic deceit, intimidation, and murder,
he held on to all the factories, businesses, real estate, and bank accounts. In the
two decades since, he parlayed those holdings into an immense worldwide
financial empire. Meanwhile, Satan taught Frank the role he would play in the
plan to create the devil’s kingdom on earth. Frank became so powerful, both
financially and supernaturally, that he now feared no man or country.
This baby in the front
of the car represented the beginning of Satan’s kingdom on earth. Frank had been
waiting for the start of these events for a long time. They would change the
world forever, and as they happened, Frank would be part of it. The baby boy
would be part of it. His lord Satan would be the third part of it, a trinity
that would someday soon set up its kingdom over the entire earth forever.
As the limousine traveled
through the forest, the Messenger stood by the roadside and watched the car
travel out of sight.
There is a secret group, consisting of ten men who rule the world. They
claim to be mystical guardians and divine rulers of mankind. The men call
themselves the “Circle.” Their secret symbol, down through the ages, has been
the All-Seeing Eye of the pyramid. Over the centuries, these men have consorted
together, amassing wealth and power beyond that of most nations. Although the
individual men in this group have come and gone through the years, their number
and objectives have stayed the same throughout the centuries.They are not known
by the public generally, nor do they appear on the list of the richest men in
the world. They keep their identities secret along with their actual wealth.
They are kings, although their kingdoms have no borders. They are
internationalists. They have no loyalty to any country. Their ultimate goal is a
New World
Order,
ruled by Satan. This plan, for the devil’s kingdom on earth, began more than
5,000 years ago on the plains of
Shinar
, in what
is now the country of
Iraq
. It
started with a man named Nimrod, who built a tower.
The
tower
of
Babel
was built
to commemorate the first adulterous religion against the true God. From that
beginning, through the centuries, a conspiracy of secret societies, coupled with
the worship in the occult, have worked toward a common goal, to set up Satan’s
kingdom on earth.
The men of the Circle accept Satan as the one and only true god. They
consent to blatant occultism and reject the absolutes of Christianity. They
claim that they work to better mankind, but in reality, they view most of
humanity as useless eaters. They control governments; create wars, famines, and
diseases; and direct the financial rises and crashes worldwide.
These ten men are supported by many secret societies around the world,
each having his own place in the
New
World
Order. Some of these groups are centuries old and
claim to possess religious relics of great power, like the robe that Jesus wore
before he was crucified, or the spear that was used to pierce his side on the
cross. Others claim to have the cup that He used at the Last Supper. These items
are thought to bring power to any world leader, and have caused power-hungry men
like Napoleon and Hitler to seek them down through the ages.
The Circle meets several times a year in secluded locations, usually
resorts or private estates. Plots are hatched, and events are orchestrated.
Masks, ruses, and treachery are their tools — used for whatever they desire
accomplished worldwide. It matters not whether people believe, or disbelieve,
the Circle exists.These men control the lives of everyone on earth,whether they
believe or not.
The people of the world assume they control their own destinies. They
think they have the freedom to choose their own leaders. It does not matter
which political party they choose; the Circle controls all sides. They pick the
leaders of governments, they control economies, and soon they will cause the
world to forget the living God, and worship in a single worldwide unholy
religion.
One of the ten men of the Circle is Frank Pettinati. Tomorrow Frank will
announce to the Circle the birth of the future “
New
World
Leader” anticipated for centuries. His name will be
Denzel Marduk.
There will be rejoicing and much anticipation within the group. They will
set long-laid plans into motion. Ideas will emerge and events will take place in
the coming decades that, later on, people will look back and say that they
marked the start of the age of lost innocence. It will be the beginning of the
“Terminal Generation.”
In November of this year, 1963, the Circle made an example out of one who
refused to ally with them. They spilled his blood on the streets of
Dallas
,
Texas
, in a
military-textbook three-point ambush. The blame was expertly placed on an
innocent patsy. But those who know the truth understand its meaning: That those
who resist the Circle are dealt with harshly.
The Messenger turned his
head slowly and gazed at the forest for a few moments. Piercing blue eyes
searched the snow-covered ground and trees. He walked into the forest and faded
from sight.
And
the ten horns, which thou sawest, are ten kings, who have received no kingdom as
yet, but receive power
as kings one hour with the beast. — Revelation
17:12