In the Twinkling of an Eye
The Time is at Hand
by
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Mobile Bay was silent and still. The orange, autumn moon glowed and lit up the darkness of the night while throughout the vast infinite sky, the numberless stars twinkled and danced. The signature of God was forever present as the water’s mirrored surface reflected the beauty of His creation.
Artificial lightning of any type was strictly prohibited, so the 4 terrorists, 3 men and a woman, their bodies covered by the traditional terrorist black, methodically continued their present task in the enhanced, focused greenness created by their NiteSite goggles. As quietly as possible they transferred their gear, abandoned, and sank their stolen shrimp boat, which strictly by coincidence, had been christened the “Southern Night.” About half of a mile to their east, a barge slowly chugged northward toward the red mud-colored waters of the Mobile River, and, occasionally, its foghorn interrupted the silence of the quiet, cool, and almost windless November night.
Designed and manufactured by a well-known American company, PlasticsNow, the black rubber raft was ideal for their mission, and the Japanese built outboard motor, as advertised, ran and idled in complete silence. For the glory of Allah, but more importantly for them to receive their full reward in the glorious afterlife, the terrorists had to be at the appointed place, Downtown Mobile, at the appointed, synchronized time--0500, CST.
At this point of the mission, contact with any of the locals wasn’t a major concern, in fact, it wasn’t a concern at all, for on his own, the squadron leader decided to simply kill anyone they encountered. One unsuspecting, apparently very unlucky fisherman spotted the sinking boat, pulled his small craft alongside, and offered his help and assistance. Right before the Good Samaritan could connect his emergency call to the Coast Guard, a silent and deadly bullet entered his opened mouth. The terrorist who shot the fisherman holstered his gun, and, almost as if he was in a trance, stood quietly, smiled and watched the man’s body, knocked from his boat by the force of the bullet, slowly drift away and eventually sink. The proud full terrorist then turned back to his friends, the cold, indifference in his voice very apparent, and calmly asked, “Anna, what time is it?”
“Karim, where is your watch?” replied the woman, agitation definitely in her voice. Petite Anna, the Arabian beauty’s short black hair wet with salty sweat, was the epitome of organization, and showed little patience for sloppiness or anything else she even thought hindered her mission--a fact she didn’t care nor try to hide. Often used to pry the most guarded secrets from the infidel’s most prized agents, her exquisite beauty, combined with her childlike innocence, would often cause one’s daydreaming mind to reminisce about the girl next door. But in all actuality, Anna was a nightmare. A nightmare fueled by hate...hate of America and an extreme hate of Israel.
“Somewhere at the bottom of this beautiful bay, my dear. By accident, I hit it against the side of the boat, it popped open, and down it went.” He smiled at her.
Anna removed her goggles, actually glared at her leader, and, for a second, froze. She wanted to say, “Stupid, clumsy man,” but didn’t, she just thought it. Her agitation now coated with disrespect, she loudly said, “It is 8 o’clock, which means we have 9 hours, so we must hurry!”
Karim momentarily disregarded her obvious lack of respect for him, for his leadership and authority, but he continued smiling at her. “Anna, my friend, let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, so there will be no more disrespect. It is my responsibility to make sure our mission is successful, and our package is there on time, not yours.” He perfectly understood Anna’s position, the pressure she was feeling, the pressure they were all feeling, but he felt her superior attitude was becoming a very serious problem. He could not afford to tolerate her insubordination anymore, and he wouldn’t. Anna still stood silent, still glaring at her leader, the hate emitting from her dark brown eyes. Without warning, his voice rose, his dark brown skin slowly tinted crimson. “Anna! I am giving you a direct order! You are to keep me informed of the time hour by hour!” He started to say something else, wanted to say something, but because she was a very dedicated servant of Allah, he quickly caught his tongue. Remaining silent, waiting for her response, he returned her hateful stare as the moisture, caused by the sudden rise in his body temperature, watered his dark brown eyes. She still stood looking at him, and, their immediately locked--his reflecting authority--hers reflecting defiance. Cautiously, his right hand moved to his holstered handgun. “Anna, is there something you would like to say to me?”
Slowly intensifying since the moment she was informed a Pakistani of low esteem was named her squadron’s leader, Anna’s animosity toward Karim was finally coming to a head. Born in Saudi Arabia, the illegitimate daughter of a member of the Royal Family, her sacred blood was beginning to heat up. She quickly glanced at his right hand as it rested on his prized silver-plated pistol, but quickly looked away. “No, Karim, I have nothing to say to you.”
“Good! Now get back to work.” He turned to the other 2 men. “Is the suitcase secure?”
“Yes, it’s right here,” answered one.
“Good, secure to the raft, and let’s proceed on our mission.” His face tightened, he spit in the water and looked away from his 3 comrades.
Reaching the point of no return the minute they entered Mobile Bay, the 4 knew their eternity was a short 9 hours away. Their spirits, as well as the spirits of their comrades, who comprised the other 13 squads, would enter into the unending presence of their god, but unfortunately for the millions of unsuspecting Americans, their et
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About the Book
David Golden had it made. He was the quarterback for a major university, and considered by many to be the best college football player to have ever played the game. He was loved throughout America, worshipped in the football-crazed State of Alabama, and the definite number one pick in the upcoming draft. His girl friend was a stunning emerald-eyed, red-haired beauty. His best friend, and favorite receiver, was going to be drafted by the same professional team. Yes, his future looked very promising, very rewarding. King David definitely had it made. But then an event occurred, changing his life, as well as his eternity, forever. The rapture of the Church became a reality.
Two barefoot men, dressed only in sackcloth, stood silent on the small, grassy slopes of the Mount of Olive. Their eyes locked on the ancient, Biblical City, one sadly proclaimed, “Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem.” The 7 - year tribulation period had begun.
In the third Heaven, at the right hand of the Father, the true Christ sat on his majestic throne. Saddened by the prophesized events occurring throughout the Earth, enveloping his beloved creation, Jesus wept.
Read it before its too late!
About the Author
In the quiet, picturesque town of Satsuma, Alabama, about 20 miles north of Mobile, first time author Neil Cole lives with his wife of 27 years, Deborah. He is currently working on his second book, The Bottom of the Ninth, a 3 part series with a story line of ace-right handed pitcher, Roy V. Nelson, his unbelief in Jesus and Christianity--until the rapture takes place.