|
CHECK
IT OUT!
NEW
LOW COST SURVIVAL KITS AT SURVIVOR MALL!
 
Camping
Gear, Survival Gear!
Military
Knives, Hatchets!
Stun
Guns!
Night
Vision Goggles!
Stealth
Pepper Sprays!
Police
Gear!
Climbing
/ Rapelling Gear!
Tactical
Holsters!
Motion
Detectors & Alarms!
Spy
Cameras, Hidden Cameras!
Security
Cameras!
Voice
Changers!
Phone
Tap Detectors!
New
Hand Crank Radios!
Hidden
Wall Safes!
Police
Handcuffs!
Undercover
Shoulder, Chest, Ankle Holsters!
Emergency
Survival Kits, Water Rations, Food Rations... EVERYTHING
You Need To Survive AT WHOLESALE!
-
Military
Clothing, Accessories & Gear
Clothing,
Outerwear & Gear for Men, Women
& Kids
-
Survival
Accessories Survival
Gear, Tents, Compasses, Duffle Bags,
Alice, Snake Bite Protection.
-
Serious
Defense Body
Armor, Tactical Gear
-
Self
Defense Products
-
Masks
& Suits
-
Food
Rations Emergency
Supplies for Disaster Preparedness
-
Water
Supplies
emergency
water supplies
-
Lights
& Radios Lights
& Radios, food rations, water
supplies, first aid, lights and
radios, search & rescue supplies,
sanitation, terror survival, shelter
supplies
-
Search
& Rescue food
rations, water supplies, first aid,
lights and radios, search & rescue
supplies, sanitation, terror survival,
shelter supplies.
-
Terror
Survival Terror
Survival, food rations, water
supplies, first aid, lights and
radios, search & rescue supplies,
sanitation, terror survival, shelter
supplies
-
Sanitation
Supplies Sanitation,
food rations, water supplies, first
aid, lights and radios, search &
rescue supplies, sanitation, terror
survival, shelter supplies
-
Emergency
First Aid First
Aid, food rations, water supplies,
first aid, lights and radios, search
& rescue supplies, sanitation,
terror survival, shelter supplies
-
Shelter
Supplies food
rations, water supplies, first aid,
lights and radios, search & rescue
supplies, sanitation, terror survival,
shelter supplies
-
Survival
Books & Media survival
books, art of camouflage, hand to hand
combat...
-
Deadly
Science, Biotech
biotechnology,
transgenics, wmds, biological
terrorism...
-
Prophecy
& End Times end
times, signs of the times, rise of
antichrist, middle east......
-
Anomalous,
Unknown crypto,
extraterrestrial, mars anomalies,
unexplainable...
-
Spiritual
Warfare demonology,
angeology, psychotronics,
deliverance...
-
Science
& Faith ethics,
philosophy, changing worldviews...
-
Bargain
Blowout Items bargain
books, DVDs, CDs, clothing,
accessories...
|
|
|
"The
One You Waited For"
PSYCHOTRONIC
WARFARE
What In The
Otherworld Is Going On?
FOR
A LIMITED TIME ONLY!
Purchase Three
Books By Tom Horn For The Price Of One!
Learn
More In The Store!
|
Ahriman
Gate Reviews
"Most
people hold Christian fiction up against the
Left Behind series. Although I was a
fan of the Left Behind books, the Horns have
surpassed Jenkins and LaHaye in writing a book
that carries Christian themes with a storyline
you don't have to be an avid church-goer to
enjoy. The Ahriman Gate is a high energy
thriller in the vein of Dean Koontz or John
Saul... among the most riveting books I've
read... [it] will leave you yearning for a
sequel."
~1340
Entertainment Magazine, Jim McDonald
"Dr.
and Mrs. Horn are obviously conversant with
ancient Biblical sources, and make good use of
it in their fantastic novel."
~Legendary Ufologist Dr. I.D.E. Thomas
"The
Ahriman Gate brings the reader face to face with
the return of the Nephilim... and that might be
a little too close for some folks!"
~Dr. Lynn Marzulli, Best Selling Author Of
"The Nephilim Trilogy"
"My
reaction is that the world is right on schedule,
winding down. Our redemption is ever closer as
the world does what it can always be counted on
to do apart from God."
~Cal Thomas, LA Times Syndicate, on the
Transgenic Research
"....sets
forth a timely and important lesson [and] comes
a long way in helping to correct the dangerous
drift into a New Age mentality." [On Tom's
second book - free with the purchase of The
Ahriman Gate]
~D. James Kennedy, Ph. D.
"Thomas
Horn... has got his answers, and I've got to
tell you, they'll put chills down your
spine!"
~Barbara Simpson, The Babe in the Bunker, On
Coast to Coast
"...the
book itself grabbed me like no book has for a
long time. But Dear Almighty! PLEASE let this
only be fiction!"
~Jerry Jenkins, Amazon.com Review
"This
fast-paced novel is a page-turner because the
action never lets up. This one will climb the
charts."
~Gail Welborn, The Northwest Book
Reviewer
"Instantly
on the ‘A’ list of thrilling Christian
fiction!! Makes the Antichrist of those other
End Times books about as scary as the Tooth
Fairy."
~National Book Review
"It's
fascinating fiction and I sincerely hope it is
just that -- fiction! Genetically modified
creatures, spiritual alien forces, a clandestine
government research project and a sinister
kidnapping -- somehow, it all sounds too much
like today's headlines....I have to commend the
Horns for a gripping narrative that will send
chills down your spine."
~Randall Murphree, AgapePress and AFA
Journal
"Scared
the Hades out of me! Then I realized, that's
what it's SUPPOSED to do! ...Starts fast, then
rockets your emotions into pure adrenaline
overload! The authors explore the fascinating
science - and conspiratorial possibilities - of
an enigmatic World Government involved with
transgenic research, Extra Terrestrial Vehicles,
crypto-archaeology, and ghastly genetic
research, convening in a nightmare scenario that
makes you truly appreciate it when God enters
the scene."
~Historian of the Year, Egyptologist
Dr.
Donald C. Jones
"Wow!...
the best...I have read in several years. You
really did your homework and then you managed to
put it altogether with unforgettable characters
and a smart fast paced plot that was hard to put
down...!"
~R.C. Thomas, ProphecyUpdate.Com
"Cross
Tom Clancy with Frank Peretti and you might get
something close to The Ahriman Gate,
the new supernatural techno-thriller from
husband and wife authors Tom and Nita
Horn."
~Derek Gilbert, Watcher Magazine
"...rivets
the reader to...thrilling possibilities
involving our present time and the very near
future!"
~Terry James, RaptureReady.Com
"Never
have I seen the enigmas of ufology so deftly
woven into a plot like that before! Things I
have believed intensely for years were fleshed
out in extremely clear terms!"
~David Flynn, Author of "Cydonia: The
Secret Chronicles of Mars"
"...a
powerful instrument of thought about what awaits
mankind in the coming days. You can't turn the
pages fast enough..."
~Larry W. Taylor, From the Edge Alerts, The
Hyssop Chronicles
"Should
be used around the world to begin a serious
debate on the ethics of Genetic
Modification."
~Bill Carmichael, Founding Publisher of
Christian Parenting Today
"By
far the most intense piece of Christian fiction
in a long time. One can only hope this is the
first in an exciting new series"
~Christian News Service
"Forget
the Da Vinci Code! The Ahriman Gate shows us
that the Genetic Code will soon
unleash the mother of all conspiracies!"
~National
Book Review
"The
Ahriman Gate... is extremely well written and
researched."
~Evangelical Church Library Association
"...really
makes a person think about the reality of the
phrase 'ignorance is bliss' because you will
read it and have your ordinary humdrum
perspective on life clearly confronted to face
the fact that a battle of cosmic proportions is
occurring right under your nose and you didn't
even know it!"
~Mark B. Lundeen, The Josh McDowell Ministry
"The
Ahriman Gate races along with all the speed of a
runaway train. It reads like an action packed
'Die Hard' movie. If Tom and Nita Horn are right
in their calculations, then it begs the
question, what the Hell is going on?"
~Patrick Heron, Best Selling Author of The
Pyramid of the Apocalypse
"The Ahriman
Gate is a novel about a nightmarish scenario of
shadow governmental secrets, ghastly genetic
manipulation, and the brink of discoveries that
could spell the end of the world. A thrilling
saga..."
~Midwest
Book Review
"Romance!
Intrigue! Thrilling Cat & Mouse
Scenes!"
~Donna Anderson, Raiders News Service
TV
/ RADIO SAMPLES
"...one
of the most astonishing radio interviews ever.
We need to do two more hours as soon as
possible." Gianni D. Hayes, Ph.D., The
American Voice
"One
of the most interesting people alive... an
astonishing memory... maybe THE best reporter
out there." Stephen Quayle, The Q-Files
"Thomas
Horn... has got his answers, and I've got to
tell you, they'll put chills down your
spine!" Barbara Simpson, On Coast to Coast
"Tom
is the most interesting person we've ever
interviewed. A modern day prophet." Zeph
Daniels, Channel Z
"I
find the stuff [Tom] talks about absolutely the
most fascinating ideas." George Noory,
Coast to Coast AM
"Every
time we have [Tom] on, it blows our listeners
minds." Derek & Sharon Gilbert, PID
Radio
"A
delightful voice from the past. We will schedule
tanother show as soon as we can." Dr. Stan
Montieth, Radio Liberty
"I
need to get you back on right away, Tom."
Rick Wiles, American Freedom Network
"Tom,
having you on the show is like visiting with an
old friend." GeorgeAnn Hughes, The Byte
Show
"Everybody
who interviews Tom wants him back on again, most
people several times or even for a series."
Donna Anderson, Raiders News Network
"I
would love to have you on the show again at your
earliest convenience." Frank Whalen,
Frankly Speaking Radio
"When
looking for National Spokespersons to promote
their UFO-Related film - Deceived - staring
Louis Gossett Jr. and Judd Nelson, Cloud 10
Pictures selected Tom & Nita Horn as their
UFO-representatives to the media."
|
PROLOGUE
Darkness enveloped the treetops as the dreadful
scent of the predator closed in on the herd of
elk. The approaching creature was unidentifiable
and menacing, a strange presence unlike the
animals had sensed before. A blood rush moved
through the bull elk’s limbs as it froze to
survey the murky shadows descending through the
trees. Its alert brown eyes gradually settled on
the pathway where the pursuer’s steps, heavy
and temblorous, bent the brush along the edge of
the clearing.
As the stalker drew
near, it hissed deeply and stepped from around
the back side of a large Douglas fir, its eyes
smoldering red, its arms grotesque and
contorted, its open jaws stretching torturously
around its black and oily fangs. The bull,
nearly incapacitated by instinct and by the foul
scent of the colossal creature filling the woods
on every side, snorted and lowered its head at
the entity.
The nefarious hunter
flared its apelike snout and relished the air,
as if amused by the eight hundred-pound bull’s
defensive posture, the sound of its heartbeat
slamming uncontrollably in its chest.
Then, with a throaty,
muffled roar, it attacked.
1—ESCAPE
"Human
skulls with horns have been found in a burial
mound at Sayre, Bradford County, Pennsylvania.…
Except for the horny projections two inches
above the eyebrows, the men to whom the
skeletons belonged were anatomically normal,
though seven feet tall…"
Pursuit, 6:69–70,
July 1973
July 7
On this damp early-evening in July, Joe’s
heart was pounding like a hammer. He was not
sure he could make it through the overgrown
flora, tearing his arms on berry vines, trying
not to curse as he jumped fallen trees and
dangerously random hollows, running for his
life.
For a moment, a vague
malaise told him it couldn’t get any worse,
then a new ambush concealed beneath the vines
tripped him, and he fell headlong into a dump.
Round, black objects, wet from an early rain,
glistened in the starlight beneath the leafy
growth: Michelins, Firestones, entombed inside
the prickly Oregon blackberry.
The smell of rotting
flesh was heavy around the tires. The source of
the odor stared at him forebodingly from on top
the rubber heap. A bull elk’s decapitated
head, putrefied and bloated, appealing for him
to hurry. Get up! the dead beast’s eyes
screamed. Keep running! Brutal creatures roam
these woods!
He measured his
breathing and glared over the animal carcass,
behind him through the drapes of forested earth,
where weak scalpels of twilight and a reflective
reddish moon softly illuminated the angry men
and their excited dogs uphill. Sliding quietly
on his belly against the foul-smelling garbage,
he found a good location and looked deeper into
the grove. A security truck’s spotlight
pierced the foggy shelf like a single strand of
aurora borealis, while a cool breeze, chilled by
nearby water, carried the unguarded voices and
muffled barking down the slope toward him. The
light cast eerie illuminations on the bloodhound
pack as they continued their relentless pursuit.
The canines sniffed the ground, pulling against
the guard’s ropes as they struggled down the
hill. Nearby, he thought he saw something else,
lumbering off to one side, tall and indefinable.
Joe lowered his head
and wondered how it had come to this.
He was only twenty-six,
chestnut brown hair to his shoulders, hazel
green eyes, and, thanks to his Lieutenant
Colonel father, in excellent physical condition,
not that poor dexterity was ever an option in
the Ryback household.
Enrolled in the Yuma
Young Marines at only nine years of age, he had
stayed in the program through high school.
Later, at the behest of his father, he attended
Parris Island where he concluded his marine
training at the top of his recruit battalion.
After eighteen months in Fox Company’s Second
Platoon, Third Marine Regiment, Hawaii and six
months at Twentynine Palms in California, he
received an honorable discharge when his
esteemed father, Clarence Ryback, was
mysteriously and famously murdered. This was the
trigger that brought him back to Yuma, to his
own nightmare and to that of his mother alone.
Ten months later, when
he felt he could, he’d moved to Portland,
Oregon, to work on the docks with Garth, his old
high school buddy. He’d told himself that the
Northwest was calling him to watch over his
adopted younger sister, but he knew better. It
was a ploy to get away from home. There were
simply too many ghosts in Yuma…although
looking back, they didn’t seem as threatening
as the ones in this grove.
Now something warm
oozed along his midsection through his ragged
blue jeans. He pushed into a crouch. At once the
stench of rotting flesh blossomed even stronger.
A maggot cluster, like squirming rice, clung to
his belly. He scraped the wiggling larvae off
with the palm of his hand and quietly shook it
clean.
Inching forward to ease
out of the rot, he cracked a branch beneath his
foot.
He froze.
The snap of the twig
had been so loud it seemed to be amplified over
a speaker.
Somebody shouted,
"Point the light over there, and release
the beast!"
Had he heard that
right? A beast?
He clutched the fanny
pack containing the graven image, the one his
dad had hidden a few years back, and charged
over the rubbish into a small opening in the
trees, black and cavernous, possibly a deer
trail leading deeper into the woods.
Moving as fast as he
could beneath the desultory light, he ducked and
jumped like a crazed gazelle over decaying trees
that had fallen years before.
Though the unfamiliar
course was dangerous and challenging, marine
training enhanced his natural athleticism. His
breathing synchronized perfectly with the liquid
motions of his feet. He slipped, slid, palmed
mossy limbs, avoided stone projections, and
prayed for protection against a broken arm or
leg.
Except for the howling
of the dogs behind him, the woods were ghostly
quiet, making stealth nearly impossible at the
speed he was travelling. He kept the pace
anyway, sensing the trail would continue due
north toward the Columbia River, and when he
finally arrived at an area where low hanging
limbs encased the crooked pathway, the vague
light faded beneath them.
Thirty feet further the
thicket boxed him in.
He considered turning
back, decided against it, and dropped beneath
the brambles onto his belly. Crawling forward,
he struggled to find space until soon he came
into what felt like an oversized briar hole. Now
his shoulders became guides, probing both sides
of the burrow’s claustrophobic walls, testing
the area for concealed branches and thorny
vines. He explored the darkness with his hands
to block the hidden dangers. No matter how he
wanted to hurry, he couldn’t afford a jagged
branch in the eye.
He slid around a rough
curve in the passage and smelled what he thought
to be an animal nest. He studied the musky void
as far as he could reach, feeling with his
fingers, searching the swarthy space where he
thought he needed to go, inspecting it for
hazards.
That’s when something
inspected him.
Wet fur brushed against
his hand, bit him, and scrambled onto his arm.
He shouted, shook the
bristly creature into the briars, and clambered
desperately forward, telling himself not to
panic. He would be okay if he only remained
calm.
Well, you finally
got what you wanted, his alter ego
complained as he shuffled along the ground. You
just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could
you?
An equal part of
him silently argued: Oh yes I could have, if
that big shot hadn’t pushed me.
Uh-huh. Ever since
Dad’s death you’ve been looking for a fight,
and you know it.
Bull. I was trying
to return the item.
And to kick butt, he
rebutted himself as he pushed feverishly ahead.
But I ran, didn’t I?
Not until you
analyzed the situation and determined you were
outnumbered, only then.
What was I supposed
to do, stick around to see what would happen?
They knew about Dad’s death, for Pete’s
sake. Something was wrong.
Drudging forward…fussing
with himself…controlling his breathing…searching
for an escape, he thought,
Even so, you should have given them the
image. You need to back off and let it go!
You heard what the
man said.
What? That enough
people had died already? So what. Whatever this
thing is…it isn’t worth getting killed over.
Dad must have
thought it was. So did those who tortured and
murdered him.
If you die, it
won’t bring him back, you know. Let it go.
It’s too late for
that. First blood has been drawn.
Suddenly what sounded
like the trickling of a stream caught his
attention. He knew from the area that the water
would be moving toward the Columbia River. He
spotted the moon peering through an opening in
the brush, headed for it, and heard something
else. Uncertain at first, he recognized the
baying sound of the well-trained hounds. Montero’s
thugs were closing.
For a split second it
grew quiet, as if the dogs were afraid of
something, then a loud crunch echoed behind him.
He propelled himself toward the opening with
frantic abandonment, no longer concerned with
protecting his face.
Reaching the end of the
lair and dragging himself outside, he heard the
frenzied sound of the canines closing on the
stretch where he’d first entered the crawl
space. Something was with them, bigger, much
bigger.
He stood and gazed
ahead. The area looked odd, dark blue,
expansive. When he realized what it was, it was
too late. The ground gave way, plummeting him on
his heels, arms flailing wildly, until finally
he caught a tree limb and jerked to a painful
stop.
He was sixty feet above
the Columbia, standing on a steep and slippery
embankment. A few feet ahead of him was a sheer
canyon wall.
It wasn’t the
trickling of a stream he’d heard, but the weak
echo of the river far below.
Of all the luck.
Now a huge presence was
plowing through the thicket toward him, the thud
of heavy footsteps on dry leaf mold and the hard
crack of breaking branches snapping terrifyingly
loud. He remembered the top-secret project his
father told him about. Biometric chips implanted
in soldiers…secret military experiments on
unconsenting guinea pigs…"Rambo
Chips" he called them…. Somehow the
technology increased adrenaline flow and made
experimental soldiers temporarily stronger.
With split-second
reasoning, he decided to jump into the river.
Looping the fanny pack tightly behind his belt,
he whispered a quick prayer, drew his breath in,
and thrust his body toward the rim.
Just then a creature
bolted from the brush, low to the soil,
unnerving and rabid, growling as his feet left
the ground, its hot breath snapping ferociously
for his legs.
And then it was gone.
If the animal had been
some kind of dog, it seemed much bigger and
unlike any he had seen before. And that
smell!
His stomach was in
his throat now, his eyes bulging widely,
plunging down, down, until a tree limb
protruding from the crag came out of the mist
and smacked him across the brow, twisting him
violently into a reverse somersault.
He hit the deafening
river like a solid block wall, crushing his
tongue and filling his mouth with blood. The
bitter substance gagged him as the Columbia’s
swirls clutched his arms and legs. His forehead
was on fire. His thoughts were spinning too, yet
he had the presence of mind to listen for the
splash of the huge creature.
Nothing.
Whatever it was hadn’t
followed him over the ledge.
Dazed and descending
into the water’s ominous throat, his last
breath had been shallow; it wouldn’t sustain
him long.
He knew the augmented
muscular movements would likewise diminish as he
vanished beneath the waves.
He, like other Marines,
had been trained in escape and evasion, jungle
survival, water aircraft ditching, and sea
survival techniques. Although he didn’t have
an EPIRB emergency radio beacon and he wasn’t
wearing an immersion suit, he did have the
initiative and determination to survive. He
focused his energy and fought the would-be
grave, scissor-kicking the liquid enemy down in
powerful desperate strokes.
With his heart pounding
like a hammer for several fear-inspiring
moments, his head finally bolted from the water,
coughing and sucking in a lungful of the river’s
misty air. His ribcage felt like a mule had
kicked him, his vision was blurred, and he was
spitting out drool and blood. The icy current
would be impossible to withstand very long; he
knew that. He only had minutes until hypothermia
overcame him. Delirium and death would quickly
follow. This was no ordinary river. It was
frigid, powerful, and carrying him out to sea.
"Y-y-you…can…b-beat…this…"
he chattered in the freezing water, "and…Montero’s…d-devils…"
With the feeble attempt
at self-encouragement in play, he noted the soft
expanse of the heavens—God’s eternal
night-light—illuminating random blotches of
glittery waterscape in each direction. As the
swells lifted him, he pushed up and peered at
the images passing by. A canyon was thirty yards
south and fading. The water was churning there
anyway; it might have pulled him under. The
faint silhouette of what looked like a beach
flashed to the right. He could try for that.
Then something closer caught his attention. It
bobbed on the current, matching his drift. What
was it? A large log, or was the growing numbness
in his arms and neck causing delirium?
He was fainting away,
wasn’t he…getting dizzy…losing
consciousness…hallucinating…dying.
The commanding voice of
Gunnery Sergeant Hubert Franklin screamed from
out of the past.
"A MARINE DOES
NOT KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD QUIT, DOES HE,
MAGGOT!?"
Joe heard himself,
slightly younger, reply, "NO, SIR!"
"A MARINE
DOES NOT KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD FEAR, DOES
HE, MAGGOT!?"
"NO,
SIR!"
"A MARINE
WOULD NOT STOP UNTIL HE CONQUERED THIS OBSTACLE,
WOULD HE, MAGGOT!?"
"NO,
GUNNERY SERGEANT, SIR!"
"THEN OFF
YOUR SISSY BUTT, BOY, AND SHOW ME WHAT YOU’RE
MADE OF!"
"YES, SIR,
GUNNERY SERGEANT, SIR!"
He shook his head
and snapped from the memory, focusing on the
log. He started toward it, swimming as strong
and as fast as he could, fighting back the
blackness that clawed at his vision. The pain
was in his chest now, worsening, constricting
his upper body strength. He could feel his legs
slowing too, and his arms, like a mouse that
consumes poison and gradually dies away.
Drawing on inner
strength, he thought of his father.
Others might die the
death of a dirty rat, Dad, but not me, not
today.
Fighting
desperately, his heart pounding like a hammer,
his chest heaving forcefully for another needed
breath, he reached the mammoth log and with some
effort pulled himself onto its crumbling bark.
He rolled onto his back, feeling the movement of
the tree as it lilted to and fro, while from
above, the moonlit sky became a swirling,
churning fog, quickly filling the vortex of his
unconsciousness.
****
"There he is!" a voice on the ridge
shouted.
"Where, sir?"
"There! In the
water! Somebody put a light on him!"
"Is he dead,
sir?"
"How should I
know!? Do you see the item!?"
The marksman stared
through the night vision scope. "It’s
tied to his waist!"
"Good. Secure the
body. Have river patrol pick him up and take him
back to the lab. And private, be sure I get that
package!"
As the dogs broke free
of the brush overhead, blue flame flashed twice
from the tip of the soldier’s rifle.
Behind the canines, a
large, menacing shadow drew back into the trees.
Sixty feet below, the
undaunted Columbia seemed to come alive, its
ancient waters ascending like Kraken from the
sea, gluttonous, slavering, lapping hungrily for
the blood.
|
|
|
|
There's
Nothing Else Like Raiders News Network On The Web!
Please
Forward This Weekly Journal To Your Friends!
(Real
News So Incredible It's Hard To Believe It's Happening!)
| |
The
Blue
Pill
People