The suspense-filled sequel to the story begun in Nephilim and The Unholy Deception. The events in the Middle East seem to be culminating in the fulfillment of ancient prophecies found in an unpublished Dead Sea Scroll. Because of his work exposing the Antichrist, Cardinal Fiorre was murdered by alien hybrids. All his research was destroyed except for a single diskette. Former reporter Art MacKenzie and his spiritual mentor, Johanen, are desperate to try to locate it. But a fallen angel---and the organization known as the Cadre---will kill to get their hands on it. Meanwhile, escalating wars, disease, famine, and the instability of third world nations prompts a secret government think tank to move its Doomsday clock to midnight. Threatening war between a confederacy of Arab states against Israel, threads of biblical prophecy, and alien and UFO activity drive this tension-filled story to its thrilling climax.
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Lynn Marzulli is the author of Nephilim, The Unholy Deception, and The Revealing. He possesses an in-depth knowledge on the topic of UFO cults, and is a musician and composer who has recorded a number of albums. He received an honorary Doctorate degree from Pacific International University for his work on Nephilim. He lives in the Santa Monica Mountains with his wife, Peggy, and their two children, Corrie and Sarah.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
The Revealing Copyright 2004 by Lynn Marzulli Requests for information should be addressed to: Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Marzulli, L. A. (Lynn A.), 1950-- The revealing / L. A. Marzulli. p. cm. ISBN 0-310-24086-7 (softcover) 1. Human--alien encounters---Fiction. 2. Middle East---Fiction. 3. Antichrist---Fiction. I. Title. PS3563.A778R488 2004 813'.54---dc22 2004013485 All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible: New International Version. NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means---electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other---except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher. Interior design by Laura Klynstra Printed in the United States of America 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 /.DC/ 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Prelude: Nazi Germany, the Last Days of the Third Reich Wolfgang Von Schverdt hurried up the last few steps of the Fuehrerbunke, the vast underground complex that Adolph Hitler had constructed for his protection, and had made his home for the last 105 days of his life. Pushing open a heavy steel door, he saw an overcast May sky, his first glimpse of daylight in over a week. Then he gasped in astonishment at the twisted steel, broken concrete, and rubble that surrounded him . . . all that was left of the Reichschancellery. The Allied bombing had been unrelenting, pounding Berlin day and night without letting up, until much of the city had been reduced to ashes. An ubiquitous layer of dust and smoke, combined with the smell of rotting corpses and seared flesh, created a living hell. Von Schverdt breathed the foul air deeply, enjoying it, tasting it with the tip of his tongue. He loved the smell of war, relished it, was born for it. If only that madman, Hitler, had not proven to be such a weak vessel, things might have been different. If only someone else with more vitality had been chosen . . .He let his thoughts slip away as his adjutant, who carried two overstuffed satchels of papers, caught up with him. Von Schverdt picked his way through the rubble to where the garden had once been. There he came upon a small group of Nazi SS who were dousing two bodies with gasoline. A captain who noticed Von Schverdt snapped to attention. 'Heil, Hitler!' he shouted as another soldier threw a match on the gasoline which exploded in a rush of flames. 'Look around you, you idiot! The war is over,' Von Schverdt said, and glared at the man. The captain, unsure how to react, remained at attention. Von Schverdt walked closer to the shallow pit and looked at the bodies of Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun, his mistress. He gathered a mouthful of saliva and spat toward the flaming bodies, then pivoted on the heels of his boots and walked away. He turned up the sleeve of his black leather greatcoat and glanced at his watch. It was almost five. He had less than an hour to meet the Americans and surrender. A burst of machine gun fire sounded very close, and he reacted with a start. The Russians will be here soon. That realization made him hurry toward a car that was waiting nearby. Shortly after Hitler had committed suicide by shooting himself, General Wolfgang Von Schverdt had made a series of telephone calls to the Americans from his private room in the Fuehrer's bunker. He had offered them information, and as he had expected, they had responded eagerly. Others in the bunker had begun to flee, knowing that capture by the Russians would mean imprisonment or death. Those remaining in the bunker had all agreed that it would be better to surrender to the Americans than to fall into the hands of the Red Army. Von Schverdt stepped next to the waiting car. He glanced at the driver. Little more than a boy, he thought. 'Heil, Hitler,' the youth blurted. Von Schverdt smiled with feigned affection. 'Heil, Hitler,' he responded, and returned the salute. His adjutant, Heinz, struggled with two bulging satchels, put them down a moment to rest, and then, getting a fresh grip, continued toward the car. Von Schverdt leaned against the car and watched as the man approached. 'Put them in the back,' Von Schverdt ordered as he stepped away from the car. 'Ja vol,' Heinz puffed, as he set the briefcases down and opened the rear door of the car. He lifted one of them, set it on the floor of the backseat, and then turned to retrieve the other. Von Schverdt watched Heinz's every move, as he slowly undid the leather strap on his holster and brought the P.38 to his side, fitting the silencer to it. It's a pity, he thought, Heinz has been loyal. Still . . . Von Schverdt waited until the man had finished his task and faced him, awaiting new orders. Von Schverdt raised the handgun and Heinz took a step backward, a mixture of terror and confusion filling his face. 'No, Herr Von Schver---' Von Schverdt fired once, and the bullet went neatly through the forehead of the man, the force of it driving him into the rear door of the car, where his lifeless body slumped to the ground. Von Schverdt moved, catlike, to the driver's door, opened it, and caught the boy by the oversized sleeve of his uniform, and yanked him out of the car. The boy fell in a heap at Von Schverdt's feet and began to claw at his boots, crying out for mercy. Von Schverdt fired once and the boy lay still. He unfastened the silencer, reholstered his sidearm, and as he did so, noticed that a few spots of blood had splattered on his boots. He went over and wiped them off on the dead boy's pant legs. That done, he slid into the driver's seat and sped off to his meeting place with the Americans. The drive was treacherous. More than once he fired his gun to ward off those attempting to hijack his car. At one point a group of fleeing women and children clogged the road. Von Schverdt held his hand on the horn, but didn't slow the car. Women and children scrambled to get out of the way. One old woman tripped and fell on the road in front of the speeding car. Von Schverdt ran over her, not even glancing in the rearview mirror as the car sped on. Desperate times require desperate measures, he reminded himself. There's nothing left . . . They've destroyed everything, he thought, as the car rolled by block after block of leveled, smoldering buildings. He had trouble getting his bearings, as many of the street signs were missing, and most of the familiar landmarks that would have aided him had vanished. He stopped the car and looked around, trying to get a sense of where he was. Nothing here . . . But wait. He noticed the base of a statue by the side of the road, all that was left of a beautiful bronze sculpture he had once admired. He turned the car, stepped hard on the gas pedal, and the car lurched forward. Only a few more miles and then, the Americans. The thought made him anxious. How much of his work had been destroyed, or discovered? He gripped the steering wheel tighter. A short time later he saw a roadblock with an American flag flying alongside it and a dozen armed American GIs brandishing rifles. To the left a machine gun nest was lined by rows of sandbags. Von Schverdt slowed the car and stopped twenty yards away from the roadblock. He opened the door of the car and stepped out, being careful to raise his hands over his head as he did so. One of the Americans shouted to him in very bad German, 'Ubergeben sie sich mit ihren hande hoch!' (Surrender with your hands up.) Von Schverdt raised his hands higher and stood motionless. More shouting, this time from behind the roadblock. Four GIs approached.
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