There are incidents and emergencies in the world that defy logical explanation, events that could be defined as supernatural, extraterrestrial, or simply otherworldly. Standard laws do not allow for such instances, nor are most officials or authorities trained to handle them. In recognition of these facts, one organization has been created that can. Assembled by a loose international coalition, their mission is to deal with these situations using diplomacy, guile, force, and strategy as necessary. They shield the rest of the world from their own actions, and clean up the messes left in their wake. They are our protection, our guide, our sword, and our voice, all rolled into one. They are O.C.L.T. A vision from ancient Egypt and a call from an old acquaintance send Rebecca York, mystic, occult expert, and adventurer to Arizona, and then Jerusalem and the Dead Sea to prevent a horrifying attack from the annals of history. Rebecca and computer expert Wendell "Mack" Macklemore team up with a renegade Vatican monk, a street urchin from Jerusalem, and an agent of the Mossad to prevent Amunet, an Egyptian sorceress, from exacting an ancient revenge and unleashing a terrorist attack that could plunge the Middle East into an era of darkness. This is the first full length novel of the O.C.L.T. - the Orphic Crisis Logistical Taskforce. The events of this novel predate the actual formation of the O.C.L.T., joining with the novellas "Brought to Light" by Aaron Rosenberg, and "The Temple of Camazotz," by David Niall Wilson. Each of these works introduces another facet of team, which is formally introduced in the O.C.L.T. novel by Aaron Rosenberg : Incursion.
David gives an overview of the book:
Rebecca York was a woman of ritual. Her father had taught her at a very early age to treat every moment of every day with the significance of a final ending, and a great rebirth. To do less was disrespectful to the powers that created the heavens and the Earth. The end of her day was no less to her than the beginning, and in some ways, far more important.
She had expanded on her father's wisdom over the years, caring for her mind and body with equal parts of her attention. At 5'9" she was taller than most women. She was slender, which accentuated her height, and wore her hair in one long braid, normally draped forward over one shoulder. She kept to herself – evident in her choice of homes – and her clothing was usually dark and plain with only a few meaningful ornaments to set off the glitter of her eyes.
You would not know from looking at her that she'd traveled the world, or suspect the mystery that had surrounded her life from a very early age. If you didn't know her, you would not suspect the power she was intimate with, or the iron will with which she controlled it. Not unless you met her gaze full on. That was an experience none could ever forget. Rebecca York might appear unassuming, but that appearance was the epitome of the old adage about books and their covers. And despite her best efforts to hide it, she was beautiful.
Her cottage was tucked in among rolling foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, just west of Asheville, North Carolina. There was a road leading in, but it was closed off by a series of gates she locked carefully each time she drove in. She had other ways out; but they were not shared with the world at large. As far as anyone was concerned, she was the crazy lady who lived in the woods, and that was fine by her. Those who knew her often kidded her about her lack of a social life, and her affinity for seclusion, but she only smiled and ignored them. Born in Israel, she'd lived in France, England, Tibet, and several other even more exotic places over the years, and each of them had left its mark on her. Her worldliness made her choice of homes seem even odder, but she always explained it the same way – she did not choose the place, it chose her.
If the person questioning her had the proper background, she'd explain about the lines of power, and their convergence. She'd tell them how this was the single place in all the world she'd found completely in line with her energies. In this small cottage she could reach levels of concentration that were impossible anywhere else, and for her work, concentration was essential. That was another reason she chose solitude. There were so few who understood her life, and she grew tired of matchmaking friends and curious colleagues.
As the sun dropped toward the line of mountains to the west, she walked through the small home, tracing symbols of protection against the glass of each window, checking the wards at the doors, and setting things to rights. Her books were perfectly aligned. The small fountain in one corner of her den trickled with just the right amount of clear water. There were no stray papers on her desk, or pencils laying askew on the blotter. Among other interests, Feng Shui occupied her mind on a constant basis. She was keenly aware of any shift in energy, and quick to correct it. She abhorred imbalance.
David Niall Wilson has been writing and publishing horror, dark fantasy, and science fiction since the mid-eighties. An ordained minister, once President of the Horror Writer's Association and recipient of the Bram Stoker Award for poetry and short fiction, as well as being...