PAPERBACK BOOKS
IMAGE OF JEALOUSY

Image of jealousy is set in tropical Queensland, Australia, in the near future. Excitement rises on every level as Jack McLauchlan battles for truth and integrity in government and religion on an international stage. 

An ancient bible prophecy comes to light, regarding aboriginal oil fields in the Australian desert. A secret British agency under the leadership of Sir Bernard Kesby, sends their most experienced man to make sure the British government finishes first in the race for profit. He takes a shine to Jack’s beautiful wife Diana, which causes more sparks to fly and finds himself as the chief suspect in the murder of a cult leader. 

This in turn brings the roman church and Islamic fundamentalists into a strange mixture of enemies hell-bent on killing Jack and his family. 

Angels and demons galore get involved in the carnage in the Roman Catholic Church as a battle for new, honest, bible based teaching and leadership arises. Jack finds himself smack in the middle of it and although he is peace-loving, family man, he rises to the occasion. He makes his presence felt by teaming up with his friend, Detective Superintendent Claude Czepl in their fight for freedom, and bangs together some international heads.

In Store Price: $AU27.95 
Online Price:   $AU26.95

ISBN: 978-1-921574-17-7 
Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 265
Genre: Fiction
/Crime

 

 

Author: Charles W. Simpson
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published: 2009
Language: English

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

CHARLES SIMPSON was born in the north of England in 1948. The son of a builder, Charles initially followed his father into the building trade.

At thirty-five he studied ministry for three years and wrote several studies, was involved in missionary work in England, Scotland and with the Humanitarian Aid to Israel from England and Savannah, Georgia and he ministered in England for three years in a large well-known denomination.

On arriving back in Australia, he lived on his boat, writing songs and poetry whist continuing with his speaking engagements. After touring for a season on his motorcycle, Charles and his wife instigated a charitable event called ‘The Walk of Faith’ which involved Charles and his family walking from Toowoomba to Brisbane to raise funds for Palliative Care and Cancer Research, having recovered from cancer himself.

Charles has written secular and religious songs and performed them accompanying himself on guitar at several events nationally and overseas.

He has been married for over forty-three years and has five children and fourteen grandchildren.

Charles is currently on a writing holiday with his wife, touring Australia.

Foreword

 

Ever wondered why the whole world seems to be against you? Why you just can’t win? Maybe you’re on the wrong spiritual side – there is a wrong side you know… The ones who know this, and work within its boundaries are the winners – for eternity. The ones who choose not to take sides will lose many spiritual battles without even realising.

Join Jack McLauchlan, a man on a mission to uncover the truth, which will empower all who discover it.

The mission puts him in dire straits with the Roman Catholic Church, international governments and Islamic Fundamentalists.

This is a supernatural adventure set in the near future in Australia and international hot spots, with bible prophecies and legions of angels and demons.

Every person on planet earth needs to read and understand this book and its message about the future – your future. 

Accept the challenge. 

 

“And it was in the sixth year, in the sixth month, on the fifth of the month, I was sitting in my house, and the elders of Judah were sitting before me, and the hand of the Lord Jehovah rested on me there.

And I looked, and behold, a likeness as the look of fire; from the appearance of his loins and downward, like fire, and from his loins and upward as the look of brightness, like the colour of polished bronze.

And he put forth the form of a hand and took me by a lock of my hair. And the spirit lifted me up between the earth and the Heavens, and brought me to Jerusalem, in the visions of God, to the opening of the inner gate facing north, where there was a seat of the image of jealousy, which causes jealousy.

Ezekiel 8:1-3

Ancient bible Prophet

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

Jack McLauchlan lay alone and bleeding from a gaping head wound in the long grass of the windswept ocean foreshore, in his hometown. A couple of hundred metres and a low cliff separated him from the twinkling lights and the company of late-night shoppers and tourists, wandering up and down the sodden street. Jack was soaked to the skin and in pain as he tried to piece together the recent, and not so recent events that had led him to this place – usually a safe place.

The rain was still falling, though no longer a tropical downpour, but an apologetic drizzle that mixed with the blood seeping from the wound on his forehead and ran into his eyes and mouth. Every bone and joint in his body ached, as he struggled to his knees and took a look at his surroundings. He dragged a wet shirtsleeve across his eyes, in an effort to clear his blurred vision, and squinted at his watch – it was about nine o’clock in the evening. He was alone except for a red coloured car on his left, about fifty metres away. ‘Probably lovers’ laners,’ he thought to himself.

Jack winced with pain as the car started and the flash of the powerful lights stabbed his bloodshot eyes. His head pounded with pain, which immediately took his mind off his other injuries. The car roared off up the cliff road and he watched it speed along the esplanade, past the shoppers and tourists, and on towards the highway out of town.

He groaned as he adjusted his sitting position in the wet grass and surveyed the immediate area. His head was still aching, as he struggled to his feet and stumbled towards the sanctuary of a nearby picnic shelter.

As he sat down gingerly on the wooden seat, scanning his cuts and bruises, he remembered something. His hand reached shakily into his jacket pocket. ‘As I thought; it’s gone,’ he said to himself. A letter had been taken from his pocket. The letter was from a Jesuit named Enrique Despar, which he had received from Rome one week previously.

The letter had outlined the support Jack enjoyed, even in the Vatican. Enrique Despar had given Jack permission to use names and dates of enemies and Vatican supporters of his ‘Keep it Simple’ conference in Sydney, Australia, the following week. Jack wouldn’t have used the names of his supporters, of course, because he would be dumping criticism on the pope at the Sydney conference; precisely as many people around the world were expecting – friends and enemies alike.

As Jack took stock of his situation and began to relax a little, he estimated that he’d been unconscious for only about ten minutes.

With the aid of his usually well-folded handkerchief, he wiped his face and clothing. This was some distance, he thought, for him to return to his home village of Seahaven, on the Queensland coast, near Brisbane, Australia.

He sat for a while longer, waiting for the shops on the cliff top to close and the tourists to thin out. He remembered getting out of the taxi and walking up the shrub lined path to his mother’s front door. It was a beautiful old Queenslander, with ground and upper floors, which occupied a large tree-studded block on the cliff top overlooking the bay. He loved both the house and the memories it held. No matter where in the world he found himself, this was his spiritual home base. He had heard an old rock and roll song playing, a bit too loudly, around the rear of the house, and plenty of lights were burning. Jack had heard a slight noise behind him, to the right and before he knew it, his lights went out.

As he fell, he had been caught by two big men and half carried, half dragged, silently to a red car that had appeared from the shadows of a Moreton Bay fig tree, further down the deserted road. The rock and roll played on.

Jack started to regain consciousness as the powerful car roared up the road, and he managed to punch one of his captors, before another blow to the head and several blows to his body settled the issue until he awoke on the beach. He nearly jumped out of his skin as his cell phone vibrated, and then rang in his shirt pocket. It was his wife of forty-two years, Diana, and he could tell she’d been crying.

“Where are you?” she asked with a sob.

“I’m okay… I’m down on the beach, opposite the pub.”

“We found your briefcase and carry bag by the front door and we didn’t know what was going on. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied calmly.

After a brief pause, she said, “I’ll send young Jack to pick you up.”

“Thanks dear that’s great. Oh and don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“Okay, see you soon,” she replied with a sigh.

A few minutes passed and Jack heard the sound of the powerful V8 engine of his eldest son’s pickup truck. Shortly, it rumbled down the slip road onto the cliff and the grassy area above the beach. He shielded his eyes from the headlights of the truck, as it drove towards him at the picnic shelter.

The pickup truck stopped and Jack’s eldest son jumped down and ran towards his father. He was the mirror image of his dad; tall, well muscled and with a mop of dark hair. He too was a builder and had the wisdom and peace of his mother.

“All okay, Dad?” he said, with a look of genuine concern.

“All okay, Chip,” his dad nodded.

“Chip,” was young Jack’s nickname, as it had been his father’s before him – it suited.

“When are you going to learn to keep your head down?” he asked his dad. He helped his father up onto his feet and over to the pickup. He was relieved to see his dad wasn’t as beat up as they’d imagined back at the house.

“Somewhere there has to be a man in black, son,” his father replied with a smile.

“Yeah, you and Johnny Cash, eh?” said Chip.

“Maybe!” his dad replied, laughing. He winced and said, “You haven’t got an aspirin, have you?”

In the warmth of the pickup, Jack felt comfortable and proud also, as he glanced over at his big son who had come to rescue him. As his eyes settled back on the road ahead, he thought about his wife and family and looked forward to being back at the house on the cliff top.

Chip drove the pickup into the driveway of his grandmother’s house and killed the lights. His father eased himself out of the cab and they walked towards his family, gathered at the front door. After a few steps, his wife ran towards him and put her arm around his waist.

“He’s alright, Mum,” Chip said. “He’s lucky they only hit him on the head, that’s his toughest part.”

“Should I call a doctor, Jack?” said Diana, shortly followed by an anguished, “I wish you’d give up this crusade.”

“I’m fine, really I am – no doctors please.”

“Hello Mother, hello kids,” he said, as he tried to hug them all. The scene resembled a rugby scrum.

“Let’s get inside,” Jack said, as he turned and checked the road before they passed through the double glazed doors from the veranda.

They walked, chatting excitedly, down the hallway towards the kitchen-dining area of the house. They always seemed to bypass the beautiful large sitting room and gather round the big old oak dining table. It had been handcrafted by Jack’s father and seated ten people in comfort.

The large stained glass windows of the room looked out over the bay. The gentle evening breeze pushed the curtains aside and cooled the room as they took their seats.

Around the table were Jack’s wife Diana, his mother Elisabeth, his two sons Chip and Nick, and his three daughters Lee, Tessa and Chris, who had all gathered to see their dad after his trip to Los Angeles, in America.

His children had their own lives and families and he appreciated the rare times when he could see them all in one place.

“Sweetheart, I think you should stop doing this and settle down for a while,” his wife said. “Let someone else save the world. It’s getting too dangerous.”

Jack’s younger son, Nick said, “Mum, you know no one else is able to do it. You must be called, and passionate, to do what Dad is doing.”

“I know that.”

The daughters agreed with their mother, except Lee, the artist, who said, “I think it’s awesome what Dad is doing. He’s sort of like Billy Graham with boxing gloves on.” She swung a couple of play punches at her sisters on either side of her. They all laughed together and at each other.

Jack said to his wife, “Honey, how are the bookings going for the Sydney conference?”

“Unfortunately, it’s almost booked out,” she replied.

“Now, now, don’t be like that.” Her husband smiled at her and hugged her around the shoulders.

“I think Diana’s right,” his mother chipped in. “It’s too dangerous now, you’re stirring up half the world. Surely someone else can take the baton now.” There were murmurs of agreement from most of his family.

“All right,” he said, looking at each of them sat around the large table. He felt very tired all of a sudden.

“I’ll give it some thought after the next conference – after next week that is.”

“Do you promise?” Tessa said. “Anyway, I suppose it’s no good going to the police again.”

Nick spoke up and said, “That’s no good, Dad’s on his own apart from us, Claude and God.”

Jack’s youngest daughter, Chris, joined in. “I thank God he’s looked after Dad and Mum through all these years and Claude has been such a great friend to Dad.

Everyone said, “Amen.”

Chris followed with, “Guys, your rooms are all ready for you, Granny told me you’d be staying the night.”

“Thanks Chrissie,” Lee said. “I suppose it is nearly bedtime.”

“Tomorrow is going to be a long one; we all have to go back to our homes, except for Mum and Dad.”

They all rose from their seats and hugged, wishing each other “Goodnight” and “Sweet dreams” before heading to their rooms.

Chip held his father’s arm, holding him back.

“I’ll be with you in a minute, Diana; Chip needs to speak with me.”

“Okay honey, don’t be long,” she replied in a tired voice.

Chip stood in the empty room with his father and took his other arm in his hand. For a moment, he just looked at his dad, and then he spoke in a low steady voice.

“Dad, this was another serious one tonight. They’re becoming bolder and getting closer to home – Grandma’s home.” He paused before continuing, “Prophets of God were sometimes killed in the line of their duties.”

Jack thought for a moment, and then hugged his eldest son. “Son, you know when they torched our house, I almost gave up on this thing, but you know yourself how much progress has been made since then.” The arson attack was the reason that he and Diana were staying temporarily with his mum. “I don’t see myself as a prophet. I think I’m too worldly to be one, but I am a messenger of sorts and the message has burned within me since I first received it twenty-five years ago.” He continued in a quiet voice, “I love your mother and you kids more than anything else in the world and I’ll be extra careful now, I promise, but I have to see it through.”

Chip put on his best John Wayne voice and said, “A man’s gotta do, what a man’s gotta do, huh?” They both laughed, feeling much relieved, before Chip said, “Go for it Dad, we are all behind you.”

“Thanks son. I’ve always appreciated your support,” Jack replied. “Try not to worry, but always be alert. Now go to bed and get some sleep, I’m sure you’ve got a busy day tomorrow, with the business, and all.”

“Goodnight Dad,” Chip said.

“Goodnight Son,” Jack replied, as he switched off the dining room light.

No one noticed the shadowy figures, silently slipping in and out of the pools of darkness cast by the trees in the garden. The house soon fell into silence, but Jack knew sleep would elude his family for quite a while that night.

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