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Chapter Five - Sharing Secrets

by Dennis R. Cook


Chapter Five - Sharing Secrets

by Dennis R. Cook

"Wait, wait, wait," Steven cautioned, snapping the power off before we could move. "I think we have accomplished enough for one day. Let's not push our luck. We really don't know what we're up against here, and I think it would be wise to plan our investigation. Besides, the fact that there is electrical power inside this mountain could mean someone lives above or below.I, for one, am not eager to make any new acquaintances that might find my knowledge about them just convenient enough to demand my termination.

"Besides," Old Blackgoat continued, "I am a tired old warrior who needs to rest before the evening service."

"Well," I hesitated..., "perhaps I was a bit hasty."

After an uneventful return trip to Old Blackgoat's living quarters, which, as it turned out, consisted of a small trailer, barn, and corral behind his church, we had an evening meal which consisted of leftover pinto beans, raw onion, goat's milk, butter, fry bread and cheese. Revived, we changed clothes and walked over to the chapel.

The evening service was filled with an unusual anointing that absorbed me into a state of semi-consciousness. I soon forgot the turmoil of the day as I entered deeper into the Spirit.

It was about eight P.M. when I began to return to my physical senses. I was startled by the realization that at some point during the service I had left my seat and found my way to the altar to pray. I had altogether missed Old Blackgoat's call for an emergency board meeting after the service, not to mention his sermon.

A few men and women were in the process of adjourning to one of the two church Sunday school rooms when Old Blackgoat laid his hand on my shoulder, and with a great deal of pastoral care and concern, motioned for me to join everyone else.

The purpose of the meeting soon became clear to everyone. Blackgoat unfolded the events of the preceding weeks; first, about the missing sheep, then, what he and Steven had been privileged by the Lord to discover, and finally, our findings that afternoon.

His candor was admirable. So much so that I marveled at the old fella'. He had concluded that his board members were worthy of knowing about, and capable of dealing with such anxiety producing information. As Old Blackgoat put it, "the reality of the devil."

I didn't know Blackgoat's congregation well enough to make any assumptions about them. However, from my experience with church board members back in Palo Alto, the numb skulls were more likely to endorse Hindu meditation instead of skilled prayer. I doubted they could be trusted with the truth, and, so did Reverend White.

I only had one question about Old Blackgoat's congregation...would they stick it out with their pastor if the warfare threatened the peace and welfare of their own families?

Steven, maintaining a sincere look of concern throughout the proceedings, alarmed me by his silence. I hadn't realized the depth of his respect and commitment to Old Blackgoat.

When the question was posed to the enlightened board members if any had knowledge of any overt or covert Satanist activity, one middle aged Navajo lady named Mrs. Begay, who worked as a secretary at the local high school, thought she might have some information to share.

There was a problem, however. She refused the opportunity to share her knowledge with all of us, preferring rather the confidentiality of a private conference with Old Blackgoat. That made sense to me.

Steven suggested we adjourn and retire to Old Blackgoat's trailer in order to afford Mrs. Begay and Old Blackgoat some privacy. The other four board members went home.

As we walked toward the trailer, I couldn't help but be in awe of the southwestern nighttime sky. The stars, especially the constellations, looked as if they formed a great hair net, protecting us from the tenacious solar winds. "Big sky," the Navajo called it. It seemed so inappropriate a label, why not,, giant, humongous, or awe inspiring?

"Do you think Blackgoat was right in trusting the board members with so much knowledge of the situation?" I queried Steven, as he opened the front door to Old Blackgoat's trailer.

"Tough call," Steven reasoned, stopping to reflect while holding the door open for me to pass by him. "I know I would have done the same thing, though, even if it meant losing half my sheep to another church."

"Now why is that?" I demanded to know.

"Christians in America are too soft. They need a little sand paper from time to time to toughen them up. Too many pastors keep their people on the bottle. When a believer demonstrates a little boldness, and draws a touch of persecution into his or her life, every congregation should have enough mature warriors to come to the saint's aid, and give him or her strength. I don't know of many churches that have any warriors, let alone, enough! Christians under the gun, more often than not, get slapped down by their own brothers and sisters. To tell you the truth Joseph, I don't know how many church members Old Blackgoat will have left when this is all said and done, but I admire Blackgoat for giving his sheep a chance to grow into spiritual manhood, and that is the will of God!"

Bed came early. We weren't going to be afforded the luxury of continuing our discussion, or rehashing the day's activities, or waiting up for Old Blackgoat to fill us in on what Mrs. Begay had to say. 4:30 A.M. would beckon us to tend the sheep, and take them out to graze. I rolled out my sleeping bag and hit the sack.

Breakfast consisted of fresh eggs from the barnyard, which I thought was a real treat, along with oatmeal, and goat's milk, biscuits and coffee. Normally I didn't eat breakfast. Of course, normally, I didn't rise at 4:30 A.M.. Nevertheless, that morning, everything smelled so tantalizingly appealing, I couldn't resist.

I was glad Steven and Old Blackgoat had moved the sheep back down to Old Blackgoat's barn and corral area after they discovered the passageway of the serpent. Looking after the sheep, I thought, would be much easier, if they were close by.

Trekking across the arid plain, we stopped as occasion offered the sheep opportunity to munch on a plethora of thorny and tender morsels. It was virtually the most rewarding experience of my life. I fancied myself the shepherd David, fearless defender of my flock, destroyer of all ferocious predators within reach of staff and slingshot. The Word of God was my courage, His every promise my shield. I was a covenant child of His and no weapon formed against me could harm me. I slew my ten thousands. A lion's tooth was as a blade of straw. Some man that King David...poet, conqueror...peace-maker. Luckily, no Goliath came to interrupt my reverie. Ha!

Arriving at our midmorning resting place I took note of the gleaming still water afloat the mountain valley lake. Blackgoat pointed out to Steven that soon the spring winds would subside and it would be time to move the sheep to the mountains beyond the plain.

Smiling broadly, he said, "my sheep haven't eaten the broad leaves or nipped the tender flower petals of the plants in the high pastures above the gorge in many years, but with my new found sons to help, I believe it is time to return there."

We understood his smile. Tending sheep above the gorge would give us the perfect vantage point and cover needed to keep watch on events at what I was beginning to refer to as "hell central".

Old Blackgoat asked Steven and me if we were interested in hearing what Mrs. Begay had to say. Of course that was an understatement. We both had been chomping at the bit all morning long, but hadn't let on.

"I'm all ears," was Steven's compact reply.

I, too, turned and waited, anxious to hear.

Old Blackgoat was silent for a few seconds as if mulling over the best way to present his topic. Then, he surprised both of us, catching us off guard so to speak. If I had heard the story from any one else, I wouldn't have believed it.

"I know the man behind the sheep killings," Old Blackgoat began. "He is Navajo. The night Steven and I first discovered him, the Holy Spirit let me see his face. I have kept silent until now, because, as a child, he used to come to my church with his mother and father. It has been my prayer the Lord would bring him to repentance and not make me be the one to silence him. I do not wish his parents to suffer the shame of his disgrace.

"I have petitioned the Lord daily since my vision of him that the Lord might confirm my vision and mission by adding another's testimony to my own. Mrs. Begay was the Lord's answer, and I know now it is not the Lord's will that this man be permitted any longer to work evil before His eyes.

"Mrs. Begay shared with me that she has made flight reservations for this man that coincide with reputed occult meeting periods going back five years.

"Like what?" Steven asked.

"Like Winter and Summer Solstices, full moons, you know...

"She said he told her when he became principal of the high school where she is a secretary that he often attended educational seminars in Los Angeles where he earned his doctorate and baccalaureate degrees. Mrs. Begay didn't think anything of it for a couple of years. Recently, however, she began noticing the man focus his eyes on teachers he wasn't getting along with in a manner good Navajos have been taught never to do.

"For a Navajo to focus his eyes in anger on a man is to announce one is a witch by calling forth a curse. It is strictly forbidden in our culture.

"Only one hanging on to the old ways which are evil would be so careless, but I am certain the man felt his deed was hidden from all but his intended victim, a victim naive to the power."

"What is the man's name?" Steven asked.

"Sheolman," Old Blackgoat replied angrily, "Dr. Sheolman."

Old Blackgoat had given Steven and I a lot to ponder. Putting all about Sheolman aside for the moment, I honed in on the sheep. Old Blackgoat was herding them back toward the corral. Steven and I would have to kick it in gear if we were to be of any benefit to the old sage getting them in the pen, but that got me to thinking about moving them to high mountain greenery..., no doubt the sheep would benefit, but wasn't it a tad too early in the season? Wouldn't showing up too soon tip our hand?

"I suspect I'll recognize good ol' Dr. Sheolman when I see him," Steven said, as we quickened our pace. "After all, the Holy Spirit did let me get a good look at his backside."

"From what I just heard, Steven," I joked, "we might all be better off if we never get another look at his front-side."

Old Blackgoat looked dismayed.

"Cheer up," Steven said, "the Lord may yet save Dr. Sheolman. Our job isn't to send the man to hell, just stop him from bringing hell to anyone else."

"And just how do we propose to do that?" I asked.

"Carefully," Steven laughed. Then added, taking a more serious tone, "It's clear to me Dr. Sheolman hasn't been working alone. He's probably receiving money from a person or persons with which to carry out his portion of a plan that encompasses far more than either of us could ever dream of."

"I suspect you're right," I said, a tad more enlightened. Let's talk as we walk," I added, pointing out that Old Blackgoat and his herd of sheep were starting to pull away from us again.

"But now Steven," I continued, getting back to the original subject, "how do we stop Sheolman? I mean, like agape, or what..., combined prayer..., fasting? This guy is more like a Pharaoh, a man god. He isn't going to repent if the Lord fires a lightning bolt up his aaa, uh, rear end. Steven, answer my question, how do we stop Sheolman?"

"Sheolman's not the problem, Joseph," Steven said. "You're missing my point. The better question would be, how do we stop the force behind Dr. Sheolman? We're going to see to it that Sheolman gets what he deserves no matter what. That is our Christian responsibility. After all, we still have laws in this society.

We could have taken the FBI to Sheolman's mountain last month and shut the operation down, but where would that have left us? I mean, think about it, if Sheolman could drain the faith out of the blood of a lamb, don't you think someone else could do the same?"

Steven had a point.

"If we shut Sheolman down, there will just be someone standing there ready to take his place," Steven added. "No, if we want to serve God right, we need to shut this program down at the source."

"Then how do we do that?" I said, still perplexed by the fact he wasn't getting to the point."

"I have a three part plan in mind," Steven said, as we approached Old Blackgoat's sheep corral, "but let's help Old Blackgoat put his sheep up, and maybe eat a little lunch before we get into it."

I could see why Steven unnerved some people. I figured the sheep could wait. I wanted to hear his plan, but had little choice in the matter. Sheep, one; Joseph, zero.

Old Blackgoat's corral was tidy. At least I didn't have to roll up my car windows or put a clothes pin on my nose like you do driving past the stock- yards on the outskirts of Amarillo, Texas.

I surmised that those Amarillo stockyards must have saved the lives of many a sleepy eyed truck driver. I could just imagine that once awakened by the putrid smell, the awestruck trucker didn't get dreary eyed again all the way to Flagstaff!

No, Old Blackgoat kept a tidy pen. I only had to scrape one reminder off my boot before lunch.

Lunch consisted of sliced ham, corn bread, butter and goat's milk. Steven seemed a little disgruntled that there wasn't more to feed his above average frame, but I knew he was thankful God had given him the opportunity to fast, even though the morning's outing had given us both appetites that couldn't have been satisfied by a basket full of Big Macs.

I did like the idea that the meager meal didn't leave too many dishes, since the chore of clearing the table fell to me.

"Ok," I yelled, as I shoved the last clean plate back up in the pantry, "let's have your plan, Steven."

"Yes," Old Blackgoat bellowed from the bathroom, "I'd like to hear it, too."

Steven and I sat down at the kitchen table and waited for Old Blackgoat to come out of the bathroom. Because of the compact size of the trailer home the kitchen was the only room where three people could sit and not knock knees. The kitchen table seated four. It was the ideal spot for a powwow.

Once Old Blackgoat was seated, Steven began his analysis. "We couldn't have a better target for our investigation," Steven said. "The fact that our satanist happens to be a public figure means we can easily pinpoint when he will be working late. In the very near future he will have to attend a board meeting or an athletic event of some sort. When that day comes we'll give his mountain hideaway a visit.

"Blackgoat," Steven said, "you find out from Mrs. Begay the earliest date Dr. Sheolman has been scheduled for evening duty regardless of the nature. Be sure and tell Mrs. Begay to call us if for any reason Dr. Sheolman finds an excuse to wiggle out of his obligation.

"One more thing," Steven said, "Easter is coming up, which means Dr. Sheolman has made plans to attend another seminar in Los Angeles. From what I've read, satanists never miss Easter because some unlucky soul gets to relive our Lord's crucifixion. I want you to find out the airline and the time of Sheolman's departure.

"Joseph, you and I are going to book ourselves on that flight with Dr. Sheolman, and see if we can't put a few more pieces of this puzzle together."

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