The Last Mission

Operation Disclosure Official

By James O’Brien, Contributing Writer
Submitted on April 15, 2026

This will be my final excerpt and promotion for the novel Alias John Titor. While I will still include links to my book in my posts, this will be the last of the Alias articles.

I kindly ask that anyone who has read the novel or would like to support the book to please leave a review or rating on Amazon. The link is provided at the end of this post. While the novel has gotten all but one 5 star written reviews, it has also received many anonymous 1 star ratings. I would enormously appreciate it if anyone from this forum would show up and help raise the rating somewhat. What I can promise you is that there is no novel quite like Alias John Titor, and the journey that takes place between its covers is unbounded in the truest sense of that word. The path to the Golden Age is both linear and multidimensional.  

There comes a time where you have to let a work live on its own, and this is that time. Thank you to all who have taken that journey and supported the work. Godspeed!

Excerpt from Alias John Titor:

in through the out door

The call came with simple instructions to meet in an alley five minutes before the hour. We arrived there and then Sariel appeared from the shadows with a welcoming smile, dressed in a tan Pierre Cardin overcoat, a black Hermes rib knit V-neck cashmere sweater, black jeans and black combat boots. The height of casual sophistication.

He said: “You both look lovely. Thank you for coming. Please follow me.”

Kasdaye led us through a maze-like passage which terminated at a black door. He knocked three times on it, then three more. An iron door-viewer opened and closed. Then, the heavy door was unbolted and swung open by a tall, grey-haired gentleman in a black suit, who extended an outstretched arm into the establishment.

“Ich bedanke mich,” Sariel said. The tall man nodded. We proceeded into a freight entrance and through a series of dark storage areas into the back of the house, where we emerged through double swinging kitchen doors into the restaurant proper.

The dining room had the atmosphere of a clandestine bar from the Prohibition era. The lighting was dim, the design reminiscent of the 20’s, with plush velvet seating, antique wood and ornate mirrors. The floors were black-and-white checkerboard tiles. A copper bar with an industrial foot rail was on one side of us, stationed by a bespectacled young man in a tuxedo. The all-male wait staff was also in tuxedos. There were no menus.

Kasdaye sat us down at a seat of his choice. He would order the drinks and food. The staff was very obsequious, almost in the shadows. They nodded formally, but said virtually nothing. I told Sariel that Janelle would not be drinking any spirits due to her pregnancy and he congratulated us, ordering her an elderberry hibiscus sparkling iced tea. For the two of us, he ordered X Muse vodkas with pomegranate & basil tonic water. We started with oysters on the half shell with caviar, followed by the wild mushroom crostini with chèvre, and crispy short ribs with radish soubise. It gave us time to talk.

“You deal in gold coins, yes?” Sariel began.

“Gold and silver,” I answered.

“Gold, to the eyes of the Initiates, is Light condensed,” Kasdaye stated.

“Initiates into what?” Janelle inquired.

“Magical knowledge,” he answered. “Most magical worldviews include a belief in reincarnation, alchemy, the Atlantis myth, astrology and other divining arts. It is the Sacerdotal Art. The Royal Art.  Many would argue that these tenets constitute not a religion, but a philosophy with religious overtones. Yet, in the ceremonies practiced at reception by all secret societies, there are found indications of a doctrine which is everywhere the same and everywhere carefully concealed. Masonic orders have contained the most influential men in many governments, and virtually every occult order has deep Masonic roots.”

“Are you a Mason, Sariel?” Janelle asked, with shocking coolness. She surprised even me with her directness, which was nevertheless veiled in terms of her intentions. Sariel was silent for a moment, poker-faced.

Then, he ate a crostini.

“Ordo Templi Orientis,” he replied. “I believe in the power of ritual. Gnostic, Cabbalistic, Hermetic. Incorporating nomenclature and vibratory words of power from virtually every mythos. Those who enter such sects, driven by emotion alone, are followers. Those driven by emotion and reason are the leaders. I recognized a certain something in the two of you when we met. You have a quality. One that I find is rare. More rare than your coins or my books.”

We thanked him, playing our cards close. I was getting an off-putting, uneasy feeling, but Janelle seemed okay. I got a handle on it, as Sariel ordered more food and drinks. There was le jardin des sens salad, quail egg soup, then pan-fried foie gras and butternut squash, roast lamb and garlic confit mashed potatoes, along with prosciutto-wrapped asparagus. It was a feast.
And I was getting lost in the sauce. What were we doing here anyway?

Eating, for one, most certainly.

“A philosophical commitment is a prerequisite for acceptance into ritualistic activities and serves as a rudimentary screening process for initiates,” Sariel Kasdaye continued. “Of course, anyone can say I believe, simply to gain access. It is up to the discerning magician to determine actual sincerity. A very finely attuned sense of discrimination is essential for all accomplishment. We demand study – not worship!”

“Are you speaking in the royal we, or referencing your specific order, Mr. Kasdaye?” Janelle said, with an elegant smile. Sariel and my beloved Janelle seemed to be on the same wavelength. I was feeling like a tourist in over my head and it was starting to trouble me. The room began to shift around my auric field. I was seeing geometrical patterns that shouldn’t be there. Sariel Kasdaye’s eyes sparkled and danced like enflamed jewels. He had Janelle’s complete and undivided attention now.

“For the initiates it’s not about a person or organization, but a Force. It is the instrument of Liberty or Freewill. We represent this Force, which presides over the physical generation. Illumined by the Light-bearer. That Angel who was proud enough to believe himself God; brave enough to buy his independence at the price of eternal suffering and t-----e; beautiful enough to have adorned himself in full divine light; strong enough to still reign in darkness amidst agony, and to have made himself a throne out of his inextinguishable pyre.”

I rose and excused myself for the bathroom. I did not hesitate for direction or even look at Janelle or Kasdaye. I felt like I was about to pass out. Like I was about to fall off the face of the earth. A tuxedoed server directed me to a lavatory down a long gloomy hallway. The walls seemed to close in on me. The checkerboard floor was a dark to light and light to dark passageway. I concentrated on the black-and-white tiles, willing my feet, which seemed far below me, from one marble square to another, like I was on an existential game board. After a mini-eternity, sweat dripping from my brow and splashing in slow motion off the tiles– my vision blurred and hazy, hearing indistinguishable voices from far away– I found the  black restroom door, pushed through it, and with eyes closed, by second sight and energetic spatial awareness only, found the single stall and entered its enclosed sanctuary, locked the door, dropped to my knees before the porcelain bowl, grabbing it with both hands like a poisoned, dying supplicant. I was lost in this place. I was in a labyrinth that I’d never escape from. And I had been lured in here. Like a fool. What the hell had happened to me? Who did I think I was? Where was I? The answer came with a profound and simple devastation:

I was in hell.

I retched into the toilet. I was a wretch. I was wretched. Fumbling for the handle, I flushed my remains down the swirling pipe hole, watching my spirit depart from me, leaving me all alone and helpless in this place. I knew that Sariel would take Janelle, would take our child, like it was Rosemary’s Baby. There was nothing I could do about it. I was weak. Defeated. All that I thought I was had come to nothing. And the sick thing was, I had agreed to come here. Accepted the invitation. Offered my bride Janelle up to Kasdaye like some sucker chump loser. She was now his. I could see it in her entranced eyes. She would f--k him and be gone forever.

I tried to puke again but nothing came out. I feared they would both soon be in here, Sariel and Janelle, in each other’s arms, laughing at my fallen state. They would leave together and I would never see them again. I would die here. In this stall. From a heart attack or from whatever the coroner would list. It wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t even stand up and face them. I was finished. Devastated. Cucked. Exiled. Destroyed.

A dizziness overtook me. My heart raced too fast to sustain itself.

I couldn’t breathe.

All I could do was pray:

“Lord, help me. Don’t leave me here… I am your son. Help me, God. Save me!”

Time slowed down.

Then, it slowed down further.

Until it seemed to stop.

My sickness left me. I was all alone, but it was okay. I felt a presence.

I rolled to my knees and assumed the posture of prayer, repentant.

I heard a voice from within, quiet, but firm.

Do not let anyone who delights in false humility and the worship of fallen angels, and who has access to some visionary world, beguile you and trick you. So then, just as you received Jesus Christ as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness. See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ. For in Christ all of the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form, and in Christ you have been brought to fullness. He is the head over every power and authority.

I felt my strength of consciousness return. I rose to my full standing height. I raised my arms over my head in triumph. I made the sign of the cross, pointed to the heavens above and said:

“I can do all things through Christ who is my strength.”

I exited the stall.

I splashed my face in the sink. Dried my face and hands with a towel. I regarded my redeemed countenance. My eyes were a brilliant blue, my aura softly glowing. I felt strong and whole. I flexed front double biceps. Felt like I could move a mountain.

“Thank you,” I said into the mirror.

Not to myself, but to the One beyond the Self.

I was ready to go back out there now.

I strode down the hallway, which only a moment ago seemed like a passage to damnation. Now, it was just another hallway, in any ordinary restaurant. And Kasdaye was just a man. I didn’t have to defeat him. I didn’t have to do anything.

I smiled as I entered the dining room. This was fun.

Sariel Kasdaye and Janelle turned to look at me as I approached.

Kasdaye was saying: “Love is the Law, love under–” He stopped when he saw me. Then said, “He’s back,” with a glimmering grin.

“But not staying,” I stated to him. “Don’t get up.”

I said those three words with an authority which transformed the atmosphere. I was quite certain, in that moment, Sariel Kasdaye could not have risen even if his life depended on it. It was a kind of spell, tailor-made for him, not of my doing, but spoken by me nonetheless. A stricken shock overtook him.

I reached into my pocket for a gold coin. A Saint-Gaudens double eagle. 1924. I flicked it at him and he caught it reflexively.

“That’s for the meal.” I extended a hand to Janelle, declaring, “My dear. The time has come to leave this place. We are more than conquerors.”

She looked relieved to the point of salvation. I’d later learn all she experienced while I was gone. I trained my eyes onto Sariel with a stare that rippled with portent through the ages. The depths of my pupils could have swallowed him whole.

“Say goodbye, don’t follow,” I directed him.

He did his best to maintain his cool, but it was an unsteady effort. He didn’t know who I was or who Janelle was. This was a younger version of the Sariel Kasdaye we first met. He was on an occult path, but had yet to come into his own. Not realizing who we were, I’d frightened him with the unexpected power of my return. Now, he could only do what he was told. Or face the consequences of the hand I represented. Which wasn’t a bluff.

“Goodbye,” he said, tepidly.

We exited the place without any difficulty whatsoever.

Janelle was back in my strong and able hands.

I felt totally confident. A Man on the Move.

We split town that very night. 

∞∞∞

Alias John Titor
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DWT4KB4D

Parting the Washington Sea
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B092P78P71

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