I was sitting in the van for a few minutes when I felt it come to a stop. the doors opened and Randall appeared.

"Here," he said, giving me some new clothes. "Change into these. You do not want to be seen out with a mental patient uniform."

I changed into the blue shirt and black pants Randall provided me. I then got out of the van. I saw we were parked in an alley. Randall led me to a parking garage where a green Pontiac was parked.

"It may look old," he said, "but it still runs good."

I got into the front seat of the Pontiac. We got onto a freeway. I could see that we were on U.S. Highway 50, heading east towards Stockton.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked.

"We were watching you ever since we found out you were still alive,"he said. "It is by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ that you survived. Now we can join Father Paul."

"Paul?' I asked. Then I remembered. He must be referring to the Reverend Paul Hill, founder of the Sword of the Lord.

We drove through Livermore, Tracy, and Stockton. At Stockton, we got on State Highway 4 and then headed south on U.S. Highway 99. We drove for a few more hours until we reached Merced. It was sunset by then. He stopped at an Exxon station to fill up the gas tank.

"How did I get out of jail?" I asked. "There must have been high security there."

"There are many people who devote their lives to mammon," answered Randall. "We use them to fulfill the will of the Lord."

We hopped back into the car and headed east on Highway 120, heading to the Sierra Nevada mountains. The city of Merced was soon replace by the forests on the western slope of the mountain range. Randall made a left turn on a side road and we continued down that road for a few more minutes.

then he parked the car. "Here we are," he said.

It was a clearing in the forest with a huge fishing lodge. I saw some pickup trucks and a boat on a trailer. Randall and I went inside the lodge.

There were bearded men and some women in there. One of them stood out.

"Brother Colin Mallory," said the man who stood out. "I am pleased that Christ speared your life to serve Him again."

"Your Holiness," said Randall, "Brother Colin is truly blessed. Only through the grace of God did he manage to get out of that prison and to a quarantine center where we could get people out more easily. Of course, we should thank the guard who assisted in his escape, even if he was only serving mammon."

"You must be Paul Hill," I said.

"Father Paul Hill, Vicar of Christ," he said. "Chosen defender of the faith."

"How did you spring me out, Father?" I asked.

"We were watching your every move since we knew you were alive," said Hill. "We have contacts inside prisons. We also paid off the staff. Amazing how useful slaves to mammon can be to Christ and His loyal followers."

"So what is up?" I asked.

"Now that you are here, I believe it is as good a time to strike against this satanic nation! Tomorrow we leave early in the morning."

"You know, Brother Colin," said Randall, "I thought you had been martyred in yoiur strike against the Antichrist in Mexico last month. But Jesus had spared you."

Last month? Then I remembered the bombing in Mexico which killed the Pope.

My duplicate was behind the bombing. And he was dead and most likely roasting in Hell.

I discreetly examined by surroundings. There was a television in the room, as well as couches and tables and clocks.

I noticed there were no phones, either in the living room or the kitchen.

These guys were planning something. I had to stop them. But how?

My only chance was to join them for the moment.

Then someone came in with paper bags from Kentucky Fried Chicken.

"Dinner is served," he said.

"Everyone eat," said Hill. "Let us feast on what the Lord has been generous enough to provide for us."

So I had some fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and a Pepsi. This version of the colonel sure knows how to cook his chicken.

"Brother Colin," said Paul Hill, "may I see you outside."

So the two of us went outside. It was dark, and I could see all the stars in the night sky.

"Did the Lord say anything to you after your attack on the Antichrist?" he asked. "Why he spared your life?"

"No," I said.

"Why did you go back to your brother?" asked Paul.

"I wanted to see him again," I said, which was truly the reaosn I went to see Quinn.

"He turned you over to the FBI. He is a traitor to you and a traitor to Christ." He clenched his fast. "I am your true father, and these people here are your true brothers and sisters. We are your family, Colin. Tomorrow, you shall be reunited with the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Jesus has not abandoned me," I said.

I slept in a huge room with many bunk beds. There were two rooms, one for men and one for women. I hoped that the guy who was contacting me in my dreams would contact me again. He did not.

I woke up before sunrise, due to the fact that someone sounded a very loud horn. I was still groggy.

"We leave in thirty minutes," said Paul Hill. "Let's get ready to go."

I got dressed in the clothes that the Sword of the Lord provided me, and then I got into this green Ford Explorer. Randall Simmons was driving the Explorer. We left the lodge and headed west on Highway 120, until we reached U.S. Highway 99 in Merced. We drove south as the subn rose to the east. We passed Fresno and Bakersfield. We then climbed over the Grapevine Pass. It was clear frpom the AAA map of California I was reading that we were headed somewhere in Los Angeles County.

We left U.S. Highway 99 after entering the San Fernando Valley, going south on State Highway 7, which was known as the Sepulveda Freeway. I could seeon the map that the Sepulveda Freeway goes through Santa Monica, Culver City, and ends with State Highway 3 in Torrance. Traffic was getting a little heavy. We left the Valley through the Sepulveda Pass, passed Junctions 66 and 26.

Finally, Randall took the 10 Freeway west, which headed for the Los Angeles International Airport. We did not go into the passenger terminal though; we went to a freight terminal.

We drove along the roads in the airport, until we reached the Federal Express terminal. I saw boxes being loaded onto a Boeing 737 cargo plane.

"This is it," said Paul. "This is our destination."

I wondered what these people wanted to do with this Federal Express terminal. I had thought there would be a bombing, but none of us brought any explosives.

"Okay," said Randall. "Let's move in!"

So we did. The Swordsmen went into the hangar. Some of the Federal Express workers told us to halt. They were grabbed by the Swordsmen, and they stuck some sharp tool next to their throats.

Randall motioned for us to get in, so I did. The Swordsmen tied up some of the Federal Express workers and put them in the cargo compartment of the plane.

Randall then closed the door. he got into the pilot's seat.

"Brother Damon," he said to this Negro fellow, "good work."

"Hacking into their flight schedule was real easy," he said.

So this was it. We were taking hostages, but why? I could see why they took a cargo plane. The airport has security procedures for passenger planes, at least I think so, but there were no metal detectors and no guards for cargo terminals.

I was watching over the hostages. "hey you guys," said Damon. "We should get rid of their cell phones. One of them might get his hand free during the flight and notify someone."

Some of the Swordsmen took cell phones from the workers and smashed them. I kept the Nokia cell phone I took from a worker into the pocket of my cargo pants.

"Everyone," said Randall over a speaker. "We are ready to go."

I took my seat and fastened my seatbelt. Soon, the plane was taxiing down the runway, and then was in the air.

"Our destination will be San Francisco," said Randall. "Remember to make peace with Jesus."

Something was definitely up. I wondered if these Swordsmen knew about it too.

I felt the plane rise for a few minutes, and then we reached cruising altitude. I estimated there were forty minutes left until we reached San Francisco. I decided to walk over to the 737's cockpit.

"Brother Randall," I said. "What demands will we be making?"

"That is not your place, Brother Colin," Randall said. "You duty was to secure this jet."

"And I did. But surely you can tell me our demands."

"You were willing to lay down your life for Christ once, can you not do it again?"

"I see," I said. I remembered that my duplicate had been believed to have been killed in the attack which killed the Pope last month.

I looked outside the window in the cabin, and I could see the California coastline. Everything looked so small from up here. It had been along time since I had flown in a plane.

I went inside the cargo compartment, telling the others that In just wanted to give some water to the hostages. One of them said, "Might as well. they should enjoy what is left of their life." I went to give them water and loosened the ropes they were tied with.

"Don't move yet," I whispered. I then went to the others. No one suspected a thing for me. I guess my duplicate had a reputation for being a fanatic and a zealot, so they did not suspect anything from me.

I then felt the plane descend. I guess we were approaching San Francisco. I looked out the window, and I couild see the San Francisco Bay on the starboard side, and the Pacific Ocean on the port side.

I wondered if the FBI and the airport security had been notified of this event.

I looked out the window. Everything appeared to be bigger now. I could see one of the bridges that connects the opposite shores of the San Francisco Bay, and can see the cars and trucks and vans driving along the bridge.

"Soon and very soon, we shall see the King," said Randall. "Take a seat everyone."

I did not. I went to the cockpit.

I stood at the door. I saw Randall sitting at the controls. Ahead of the cockpit, I could see downtown San Francisco. I could see all the skyscrapers, which were buiolt on then hills.

Then I saw there was no runway. Randall was flying in for an approach, but not to land the plane on an airport runway.

He was going to crash it.

The 737 was full of jet fuel; it would surely explode upon impact. He was going to kill us all!

"Brother Colin," said Randall, "so you have joined me. Together, we shall be martyrs for Christ!"

Wtihout warning, I grabbed Randall. Before he could move, I smahed his fasce with my elbow. Then I kneed him right in the groin! When he went down, I delivered a few more kicks and then stamped hard on the back of his neck, hearing a crunch as I did so.

The others got up, shocked at what I had done.

"Brother Colin turned traitor!" shouted Damon. "Get him."

So I decided to fight them off. I useds my fists and feet as weapons. I even grabbed one of those sharp tools and started slashing away. I took down a few of them, but three of them surrounded me.

For a moment it looked like that they would kill me, not the plane crash. But then, I got reinforcements. The people whom I untied joined my side, overpowering them and hitting them with pipes and stuff they got from the boxes. It was an all-out brawl. We managed to defeat them.

I decided to go to the plane. The buildings of downtown San Francisco were dangerously close! I could see we were flying right towards the TransAmerica Pyramid.

I remembered that I had to pull back on the yoke to get the plane up, so I did. I pulled up and increased the throttle.The nose was pointing up. I couild still see the TransAmerica Pyramid getting closer. I hoped that the 737 would miss the building.

the TransAmerica Pyramid disappeared from my sight. I could see a blue sky above. We were safe.

"Hey, we got them all tied up," said a woman in a Federal Express uniform.

"Do you know how to land a plane?" I asked.

"No," said the woman.

"Does anyone?"

None of them answered.

This was it. There was enough fuel to stay up here for six hours. I could set the plane on a course over the Pacific, and then slide to the next world, and let the plane crash with all these Swordsmen.

But these hostages were here, and I had to land the plane for them.

I slid through many parallel universes. If anyone could learn on the fly, it was me.

"I guess I'll have to learn to land this thing," I said.

"I'll sit next to you," said an Asian man who did sit in the copilot's seat. "My name's Wing. I always wanted to learn how to fly planes. Now I guess I'll get a chance."

I put on a headset and adjusted the radio. Wing told me what frequency to use.

"This is Federal Express 103," said Wing. "We have a situation here. Some intruders took us hostage and we managed to secure the plane, but the pilots were not on board. We need assistance to land."

"copy that, Federal Express 103," said someone from air traffic control in San Francisco. "We've cleared the runway for you."

I turned the plane to the right and pressed the right rudder pedal as I increased the engine power. I could see the airport.

"Line up the plane," said the air traffic controlman. So I moved the yoke to the left and right until the runway appaeared in the center of the cockpit window. "Reduce speed to one hundred fifty knots and lower altitude." I powered down the engines and pushed down the yoke. I saw the airspeed indicator go down. Four hundred knots. three hundred knots. Two hundred knots. One hundred fifty knots.

"It's at one hundred fifty knots," I said.

"Now engage flaps," said the air traffic controlman.

I engaged the flaps by pulling down a lever marked "Flaps". "Okay, the flaps are down."

"Stay at one hundred fifty knots. Make sure the white approach lights appear in front. When you are near the runway, pull the nose up."

I looked at the runway ahead. I coild see lights right before the runway. some of them were red.

"you're flying too low, Flight 103. Pull up!"

I pulled up and increased the throttle a bit, and the plane climbed a bit until I saw the white lights. I was feeling the pressure, not a new feeling for me. I could see the tension on Wing's face. Then there was a beeping sound.

"I think we should put the landing gears down," said Wing, as he pulled down a lever.

The runway appeared closer and closer. I could see the police cars and fire engines on the runway.

I then pulled back on the yoke even as the 737 flew over the runway. I felt a thud; the main landing gears must have touched the runway. I pushed forward, bringing the nose down and the nose landing gear touching the ground. The impact was hard, and I wondered if I broke the nose landing gear.

We were now taxiing down the runway at over one hundred fifty knots. We were on the ground, but I did not know how to stop.

I looked at the throttle, and there was this second lever on it for reverse thristers. I pulled it, and the plane slowed down considerably. I also pushed down on the foot pedals. The 737 slowed down until it came to a stop on the runway. Police cars and fire engines surrounded the plane.

"Well," said Wing, "at least I'm home."

"I haven't even eaten breakfast yet," I said.

We all activated the emergency slide, and we slid down to meet the police officers. None of them suspected that I had escaped from a mental institution yesterday. The police went on board the plane to take the hijackers.

"So you were the one who rescued these people," said a police officer. You're a hero."

I told them that I had been caught up in their hostage taking, and I managed to overpower them and retake control of the plane. It was the truth.

I still had a few hours to kill, so I took the BART train to San Francisco. I decided to go to a Irish tavern near Golden Gate Park. My brother and I went there sometimes.

I was served a steak and some french fries, as well as Budweiser beer. There were some people here, including some San Francisco police officers. I saw a news report on today's events.

"A hijacking by the Sword of the Lord was foiled just today," said a news reporter. "A Federal Express cargo jet was hijacked by people from that terrorist group. During the flight, the hostages freed themselves and fought the terrorists to regain control of the plane. With instruction from air traffic control as San Francisco International Airport, they managed to land the plane.

"The Reverend Paul Hill, founder of the Sword of the Lord, was finally arrested. He was pulled over by the CHP on U.S. Highway 99, near Gorman. When they scanned his fingerprint and found a warrant out for his arrest, he was taken into custody. He is expected to be delivered into FBI custody by this evening.

"There is still one person out on the loose. He is Colin Mallory, a follower of the Reverend Hill. He was reported missing frok the Gate Haven Insanity Quarantine Center where he was undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. He was convicted ealrlier this year of thje attempted assasination of King Leonard and the murder of his aide Kelly Welles."

"That's jim!" shouted a police officer. "Get him!"

There were only a few minutes left before my slide. I ran out of the bar and down the street and into Golden Gate Park, with police officers and others chasing me. I ran and ran as fast as I could. I could feel myself being detached frokm this universe. Finally, I got tired, and lay down. I was in front of a statue, the plaque identifying the statue of that of King Samuel.

Then I felt even more dizzy. when I regained my balance, I noticed the statue was different. It was a statue of a man named Abraham Lincoln. I was in the next world, and I still had my head.

I saw a crowd lined down the street running next to the park. I decided to check it out, as I had a few hours on this world, which was not enough time to find Quinn.

there was confetti and balloons all around. It looked like there was a parade. I saw two police officers watching, duplicates of the ones who were chasing me in the previous world. People were carrying signs reading "Welcome Back from the Red Planet" and "San Francisco Cheers Hometown Hero".

"Hey," someone said. I looked and saw a teenage girl.

"What?" I asked.

"You looked just like him."

I saw him less than a minute later. He was riding in a red Cadillac convertible, like the one Rembrandt used to drive. He was riding with some dignitaries, whom I figured was the mayor and maybe the governor. I saw him wearing a NASA uniform. I saw his face.

He was my duplicate.