ENTRY 30 -- The Fifth Seal

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An Excerpt from the Travel Journal of Nigel Fox (c. 1940)

Entry 30 -- The Fifth Seal

Off to Ottawa - Update

Notwithstanding this one small victory, there could be no question that the Forces of Darkness were overwhelming the world. We had lost a major advantage: our mole was no longer in Wolf's Lair. The Armanenshaft continued to score victory after victory. Finally Greece fell, and with that almost all of continental Europe was occupied.

Panzer divisions under the evil genius of the Desert Fox (I particularly disliked Rommel's nickname) attacked the Empire in Africa. Britain stood alone, decimated. Every night, on their home ground, more and more of my fellow-countrymen, were slaughtered. Morale was at one of the lowest ebbs in history. The Royal family was preparing to flee. Members of Parliament as well as the Prime Minister had secret plans to set up a government in exile. By November, the Russian military had collapsed having been destroyed by Germany's 'Lightning War'. The armies of Evil were proving invincible.

Mister Parent's words were not comforting: "The situation is far bleaker than the Press lets on," he told me directly as I sat down across from him. "I have received reports that Germany is developing a whole new line of weapons, unlike anything the world has ever seen."

I sat listening intently as he explained that these new weapons were 'rockets' which contained bombs and, incredibly, were capable of being flown without pilots, by radio control. Flabbergasted, I shook my head as he continued to speak of what, to me, seemed impossible; a futuristic dream of some writer like the esteemed H.G. Wells. Mister Parent explained that the great speed of these new weapons would prevent them being shot down. In the back of my mind, a small niggling thought occurred: was the British Empire on the verge of defeat? I blotted such a preposterous idea from my mind.

Mister Parent went on. The enemy was also in the process of conducting 'heavy water' experiments to build a particle-bomb based on splitting the atom. My confusion tempered shock must have been evident. Mister Parent paused and began to explain the concept in simple terms. What he made clear was the incredible danger of such a weapon, citing the belief of one scientist that a bomb of this nature could, in theory, set the earth's very atmosphere on fire.

Staring at the RCMP officer in stunned silence, I tried to comprehend the incomprehensible. His next words lingered in my mind as if written in capital letters with indelible ink: "Mister Fox, we may be talking about the end of everything."

Another Secret SOE Meeting

"We would like you to attend a meeting," Mister Parent informed me. "The reason that you are being involved shall become clear later. I can tell you that the British Special Operations Executive was finally officially recognised following Cabinet approval to conduct espionage and operations outside the norm."

" I nodded my agreement and found myself following Mister Parent to his parked motorcar. We were well on our way before I finally found my voice.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Laurier House," he rattled off.

"Ah . . . " I replied vaguely, still in the dark.

As we travelled along in the government vehicle, I soon lost all track of time while watching the beauty of the passing Canadian countryside. There is a ceaseless music of the earth...tender and deep, for those who have ears to hear. In mountains lone, and woods, and murmuring trees. Marvelling at the light dusting of the first snow; like icing sugar on the stark tree branches and brown grass -- my mind would not let go of the irony of such lovely scenery in a world gone mad. Perhaps it would not be so beautiful for very much longer.

After a long ride, we pulled into the drive. It was an idyllic setting. The property was wooded and completely surrounded by security fencing. It seemed very well guarded and isolated from the city of Ottawa. Mister Parent presented his identification and we were escorted to a large, book-lined office. We sat waiting for only a few minutes when we were joined by a rather short, roundish man with a frog-like face. "I am delighted to meet you at last, Mister Fox," he said eagerly, grasping my hand in a hearty almost excruciating fashion. "You have been recommended very highly."

Although confusion still clouded my thoughts, I managed to pull myself together and murmur the appropriate words of greeting required. He then pressed his hands on the leather desk top and leaned forward. He gazed at me intently, trying to gauge my reaction. He was definitely bizarre. "The Special Operations Executive has another project . . ."

I nodded slowly, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out my pipe and tobacco stopper. My gaze never left this queer man. Taking a long puff to calm my nerves, I found myself able to do nothing but stare at him in amazement.

"I leave it up to you and Mister Parent to put this project into effect. Report back to me all your findings. Thank you, gentlemen."

The short, strange, meeting of the SOE came to an end and we shook hands once more. I had not even had time to finish my pipe as I followed Mister Parent out of the room. My mind was full of questions. "Extraordinary!"

The Project

At the end of our meeting, Mister Parent handed me a portfolio containing the details of 'The Project'. He asked me to familiarise myself with the contents of the file before our next meeting. Returning to the Kerr residence the following morning, I asked not to be disturbed. With a cup of tea in hand, I slipped quietly up the stairs, made myself comfortable at the small desk in my room, and began to read through the rather thick packet of information.

The object, or purpose, of the project was described at the outset. I was to analyse those sections of eschatology pertaining to the present World War. As I read on, it was explained that I would be given a number of 'resources' in order to obtain the objective. The first and most important 'resource' would be my associate, Professor Chaim Levine. Professor Levine had studied under Rabbi Michael Dov Weissmandl and had written several scholarly works. His areas of expertise were ancient Hebrew and archaeology. He had an extraordinary knowledge of the culture of the Near-East in Biblical times. Professor Levine had put forward the theory of Equidistant Letter Sequencing.

The second 'resource' to be made available was an ultra-modern cryptographic decoder. This machine could compute, calculate, and, if I may be so bold as to say, 'think', in a fashion that was truly incredible. The file detailing the numerous complex operations that it could perform.

Further, an extensive library was made available to us. It contained virtually every book and journal having to do with eschatology.

Pistolet Bay

The second section of my information package detailed how the project would be administered. My colleague and I had been given 'background synopses' from which we were never to deviate. The project was to be set up in a house in a small village on Pistolet Bay, Newfoundland. A special security agent was already in place; having been hired as a teacher at the local school. Presumptuous, I thought to myself.

The next ten pages or so contained information on my new background. Professor Levine was to be my personal physician. The reason given for the move to Pistolet Bay was my failing health: my doctors had ordered me to move to a secluded, quiet community, a pristine area unspoilt by the waste of modern factories; devoid of any stress related to a world gone mad. The cover was perfect. I read and re-read the contents of the file until well into the evening; jotting down a number of questions that came to mind. I was well prepared for my next meeting with Mister Parent.

It was gone half three when I walked downstairs and saw the ladies huddled near the wireless in order to listen to the newscast. Odd... it was not the regular programming. To my horror, I learned that several hours earlier the United States of America had suffered an air attack; the greatest defeat ever inflicted upon the country in its history. Most of America's navy had been destroyed. The President was speak to the nation in order to prevent panic and to raise morale. Almost three and one-half years into the Tribulation, everything looked so very, very hopeless.

The Package

"Why am I to be situated at Pistolet Bay, of all places?"

"The Pistolet Bay area is totally isolated. If a foreign agent were to arrive, no matter how spectacular his cover, he would be observed immediately."

"Reasonable; I doubt anyone could arrive in the area without being the centre of conversation and speculation."

"Also Mister Fox, you have lived there in the past. Our report indicates you spent a summer there with Norah LaPierre. You are remembered and thought of quite fondly. When you have the trust of the people of an out port, they shall go to Hell and back for you."

"Hmmm. I see your point," I agreed.

"If German agents were to learn of your location, the operative I have posted in the school shall ensure your protection."

"One man."

Mister Parent smiled. "One woman, actually; we also have a secret military base that can fly in fifty soldiers within ten minutes of being notified."

"There are no Canadian bases in Newfoundland?"

"No, but across the Strait of Belle Isle there is one. Its role is to stop U-Boats. I can tell you no more, except that you shall be very secure."

"What do I say to the Kerr sisters about my departure?"

"We have that all under control. You'll be advocating citizenship rights for Sikhs who had settled in Vancouver, and be taken into gurdwaras. After your death on April 5, your body shall be "returned" to Fiji. You will have a most splendid "funeral". As far as the ladies are concerned you shall be as dead as a doornail. They've been told to contact us immediately if anyone comes to the house and asks for you after you are gone."

"A bit of overkill? And surveillance of the Kerr home; their protection?"

"It shall be continued."

"Good," I said. "They are a pleasant group of ladies. But falsifying my demise. . ."

"Any more questions, Mister Fox?"

"Oh yes; dreadfully sorry. I have made a list. Where was I? Here it is? Am I supposed to mix with the local population?"

"Try to act as normally as possible. If you go for a walk, something your doctor does recommend; walk into town. Go to the local tavern or 'club' and have a few drinks. Do what you'd do in your own home town. I suspect that the people shall have an idea that there more going on than meets the eye, but they are loyal to King and country"

"And how am I to communicate with you?"

"We are providing you with a 'secure' radio transmitter and receiver. It's rather complex and shall take a couple of days for you to master. Yet through it, you'll be able to have all your communication needs met."

The question and answer session at RCMP headquarters went on for several more hours until both Mister Parent and I were certain that we had covered every aspect of the project. I was pleased that all my objections and fears had already been considered, and dealt with very efficiently. Although not as heroic as Norah and Hans had been, I felt certain I would be doing my part. It had become clear to the SOE that the madman who ruled Europe believed in the occult, and our job was to turn his superstitions back on him!

As I sat thinking fondly of my former bride to be and my dear friend Hans; Mister Parent rose from his desk and went to the other side of the room. He opened a safe hidden behind one of the paintings on his wall, explaining that he had something that belonging to me. As I unwrapped the package he had set in front of me, my eyes were transfixed. There before me was the humble 'cup'. . .

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