Books by Len du Randt

Monday, 30 April 2012

This is the cover I've decided on for my next novel, The Incubus. In a nutshell, the book is about a demon sent to prevent the birth of a child that will one day lead millions to Christ.

ETA for release = 11th of May, 2012.

If you haven't done so already, grab my end times thriller, The Son of Perdition at

Sunday, 8 April 2012

Sample Sunday

The following is an excerpt from the end times thriller, The Son of Perdition, available at

Let no man deceive you by any means: for that day shall not come, except there come a falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed, the son of perdition.

- 2 Thessalonians 2:3, KJV


‘By the grace of the Almighty, the great Monarch will annihilate heretics and unbelievers. He will have a great army, and angels will fight at his side.
He will be like the sun among the stars.
His influence will spread over the whole Earth.’

- St. Francis of Paola (15th Century)

Germany: September, 1931

The scream chilled his blood. Hanz rushed towards the closed door and hesitated before opening it. Was he prepared for what he was about to see?
He slowly opened the door and peered around it into the vast and beautifully furnished room. His master stood in the middle of the room, swaying from side to side while his eyes darted around wildly.
‘He...he...he was here!’ he gasped.
Hanz noticed that his master’s lips were white and that sweat was streaming down his face. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The swaying man—at most times a very intimidating person—was now nothing more than a broken down man; pathetic looking and almost childlike in nature.
Hanz slowly reached out to his master. He had never before seen him shaken up like this. What on Earth is going on? Hanz wondered.  The sweat, the wild eyes darting about, searching—something had scared his employer out of his wits.
‘Sir?’ he asked and gently touched the man’s shoulder and in an instant Hanz lay sprawled across the carpet, a few feet from the man he had just touched. A force so violent that it almost knocked him out cold had flung him across the room as if he was nothing more than a mere rag doll.
‘Mein Herr?’ Hanz managed to utter with what strength he had left.
He looked at his master who had now begun to reel off numbers and odd, broken off words that were entirely void of meaning or sense. He used strangely composed and entirely non-German word formations. Then, eventually, the man stood quite still, only his lips moving. Gradually he grew calm and dismissed Hanz.
Once Hanz left the room, his master went to bed and fell into a very deep, dreamless sleep.

Germany: April, 1932 (Seven Months Later)

‘What exactly happened that night, Meister?’ Hanz asked. ‘Who or what did you see?’
The man that Hanz addressed as ‘master’ sat silently for a moment, stroking his moustache and staring intently at the wall across the room. Minutes felt like hours, and he finally spoke in a soft, almost quivering voice. ‘The new man is among us,’ he said. ‘He is here!’ He paused and darted his eyes about the room, as if searching for someone; or something. ‘I will tell you a secret,’ he finally said, his voice slightly above a whisper. ‘I have seen a vision of the new man; fearless and formidable! I shrank from him! I was afraid!’
Hanz was confused. ‘The new man?’ He could see unadulterated fear in his master’s eyes; something he had only ever seen that evening in September; and now...
Who could manage to scare this man so? This man that stood up against Hindenburg himself during the voting rounds in March and April, despite overwhelming odds. Sure, Hindenburg won the elections, but still his master stood tall and proud, more determined than ever.
Adolf Hitler stood up and glared at Hanz and it felt as if Hitler’s eyes bore holes into his retinas. Hanz could feel an invisible force drain the strength from his body.
‘We are never to speak of that night again, Hanz. Do you understand me?’
‘I… I understand…’ Hanz uttered, weakened.
‘Good!’ Hitler said and broke his gaze as he turned to leave the room.
Hanz could only breathe deeply as his strength slowly returned.


 Birth Pangs

 ‘We do not want another committee.  We have too many already.  What we want is a man of sufficient stature to hold the allegiance of all people and to lift us out of the economic morass into which we are sinking. Send us such a man and whether he be God or devil, we will receive him.’

- Paul-Henri Spaak, Secretary-General of NATO, 1957

South Africa: Today

It was a hard day at work for Trevor Elliot. His eyes burned from the constant glare of his computer screen. He spent his day solving Internet problems over the telephone and found the customers’ relentless queries physically draining.
    His numb fingers turned the keys to his apartment door and he heaved the door open with exaggerated effort.
    ‘What a day,’ Trevor sighed as he slumped comfortably onto the sofa in front of his television. He kicked off his shoes and, with exaggerated effort, reached for the remote control next to him. As he suspected, all the channels were covering the birth of the new media giant: Global Media Network. The network was the result of a global merger between all Television, Print, Radio, Internet and news related businesses, be they private or government institutions. Those not willing to join the GMN team were forced to shut their doors.
    ‘Tune in to GMN,’ the voiceover boomed, ‘and become involved as we cover all the news, all over the world, all the time.’
    ‘While the tax payers pay your ridiculous salaries,’ Trevor mused. They had a complete channel to themselves seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. They also pulled the best crew from various media sources and doubled their salaries. The conspiracy theorists yelled ‘Big Brother’ from day one, claiming that GMN was the government’s method of brainwashing the masses. Trevor couldn’t care less. He just wanted the news without all the fuss; and while talk shows on all the other channels covered the merger, GMN covered the news.
    Let’s see how good these guys are, Trevor thought as he turned up the volume.
    ‘Israeli police say that the double suicide bombing earlier today claimed the lives of at least seventeen people. The identities of the victims will be released once their next of kin have been notified. Israeli troops are positioned at the border, and all Palestinians are subjected to a thorough search whenever entering Israeli territory. This has been the ninth suicide bombing in just four days, and Israel’s Prime Minister, David Cohen, will release a formal statement at 9 PM, Standard Eastern Time.’
    ‘Why don’t they just nuke the whole lot?’ Trevor asked aloud and rolled his eyes. He couldn’t understand why the Israelis would allow this to happen and not retaliate. If he had been in some position of power, he would have shoved hundreds of tanks down the Palestinian leader’s throat by now.
    ‘The European Union’s bid to create what they call a ‘United Europe,’ was stalled today as three countries, Egypt, Britain, and Iran were in deadlock about converting to the Euro as their primary currency. The United Europe would consist of countries currently within the EU, as well as some outside its borders. A spokesperson for the European Union said that the United Europe would be built on the blueprint of the old Roman Empire, which included Egypt and Iran as two of its member countries. European Union negotiators will try to convince the leaders of the three countries to join their efforts in what the EU refers to as: a Greater Empire.
    Trevor flipped through the rest of the channels, wondering if there would be something, anything, that he could watch instead, but before he realised it, he was back on GMN.
    ‘A major Earthquake wreaked havoc in India today as highways were ripped open, and buildings came crashing down to their foundations. The quake struck earlier this morning, just after ten o’ clock, and measured seven point nine on the Richter scale. The death toll is currently standing at twenty thousand while thousands more are missing.
    ‘The country has turned to the United Nations for financial assistance to provide food and shelter for those left homeless or have been injured by the quake.’
    Trevor flipped through the channels again, and again there was nothing interesting on except the hype around the GMN merger. After watching a quick interview with the broadcasting manager of GMN, Trevor returned to the news.
    ‘Tragedy struck as almost all the members of the religious cult group known as The Oracle of David committed mass suicide today. According to eye witness reports, their leader, John—no known last name—shot seven of his eight ‘elders’ before setting their communal home on fire. He then turned the gun on himself. Tune in next week as we interview the sole survivor of this terrible ordeal.’
    How stupid can one person be to fall for garbage like that? Trevor thought as he contemplated making himself a quick something to eat.
    ‘A man has been arrested for raping and killing a three-year-old girl. Her badly mutilated body was discovered last week in a field near the outskirts of Cape Town, South Africa. When asked by prosecutors why he did it, 27-year-old Joseph Kanizene merely shrugged and claimed that a ‘witch doctor’ told him that raping and killing the girl would cure him of Aids.
    ‘This has been the four hundred and fifty-sixth reported case in only six months, with the number climbing daily. Kanizene’s medical records indicate that he is still HIV positive, and the local community are demanding the reinstitution of the death penalty at the—’
    The television went black as Trevor pushed the power button on the remote. He had just lost his appetite. ‘What is this world coming to?’ he sighed. As he sank deeper into the sofa, he closed his eyes for a quick nap.

- - -*  *  *- - -

Egypt: Four Months Later

Victor Sammael Yoshe took a long, meaningful drag of his cigarette. He liked doing everything with exceptional style, and even his 350 hair cut was trimmed to perfection, complementing his 2800 suit as if they were of the same substance. Every muscle in his body was perfectly toned. In short, he was the perfect human specimen.
    Ryan Archer stared at his employer from across the room. Victor had found him in an alleyway a little over two years ago, drunk and broken. His drinking had started casually at first, but soon got out of hand. It got worse after his wife left him, and then his sole mission was to see if he could drink himself to death. Had Victor not intervened, he probably would have succeeded.
    Since that fateful meeting in the alleyway, Victor had trained Ryan in the martial arts, taught him how to be a crack shot with any pistol, and even polished his etiquette. But aside from these life-altering changes that Victor had introduced to Ryan, one event stood out from all the others, etched into his memory like the burn marks of a hot poker. It was when Victor caught him in his private study, placing the rim of a glass against his lips as he tried to drink some of the most expensive liquor on Earth.
    With perfect stride and emotional control, Victor had walked over to Ryan, extended his hand toward the broken man, and said, ‘Be healed, and drink no more.’ Just that. Nothing else. He said those six simple words and left the room, leaving Ryan standing there with glass in his hand, looking at the golden liquid as if it was gasoline. He hadn’t touched a drop since, and probably never would again. Although Victor himself still consumed large amounts of alcohol at some of his extravagant dinner parties, Ryan never flinched. He just simply didn’t need to drink anymore.
    Ryan was more of a personal assistant to Victor than a bodyguard, but he still fulfilled both roles. It wasn’t as if Victor needed a bodyguard; it was more a case of keeping up the appearance that he did. Ryan didn’t mind being a lug-for-hire, as the job included lodging in Victor’s multi-billion Euro mansion, meeting world famous movers and shakers, and also earning more in one month than half the world population did in an entire year.
    Ryan shifted his gaze from Victor and examined the figure sitting opposite him more carefully, studying the man’s body language for any signs of unusual behaviour. So far, there were none. The figure was the Egyptian President, Ahud Somlal, and unlike Victor, he actually did need bodyguards. He had two of them standing behind him, towering over him like sentinels. They are brutes, Ryan thought, but I could take them out in less than fifteen seconds. Ahud himself was a short, stocky man with greasy hair and sported a show-me-the-money look. He clutched his whiskey glass tightly with his stubby fingers as if it was the most precious thing on Earth. Spittle flew from his mouth every time he spoke.
    ‘Now let me see if I understand you correctly, Mr. Yoshe,’ the Egyptian President spittled.
    Victor smiled warmly, and waited patiently for Ahud to recap the last hour’s conversation.
    ‘The European Union sent you to convince me to change the primary currency of Egypt to the Euro, and to join this ‘United Europe.’ Is that correct?’
    Victor nodded.
    ‘And this United Europe will be divided into ten regions. Am I right?’
    ‘You are,’ Victor said, still smiling warmly.
    ‘And in return for this United Europe, you will make me the leader of one of those regions, no?’
    ‘That is correct, President.’
    ‘And I will be granted free reign within my appointed region?’
    ‘No one would be able to touch so much as a hair on your head,’ Victor said. ‘But you do, of course, understand that you will fall under the jurisdiction of the United Europe, which will also be referred to as the European Empire.’
    ‘The European Empire,’ Ahud said as he painted a picture of it in his mind. ‘And I will be emperor over—’
    ‘More like king,’ Victor corrected him quickly. ‘A title which, I am sure, is more fitting to royalty such as yourself.’
    ‘You flatter me, Mr. Yoshe,’ Ahud said and studied the tall, charismatic gentleman in silence for a minute. He rubbed the stubble on his chin as images of royalty flashed through his mind. The European Union had sent many negotiators to him before, but something about Victor just felt right. He couldn’t figure out exactly what it was, but he liked it, and he wanted more of it.
    ‘Well then, Mr. Yoshe,’ Ahud said and extended his sweaty palm toward Victor. ‘I am pleased to say that we have a deal.’
    Victor took the President’s hand in a firm grip. ‘Let’s drink to it, shall we?’ he said and exposed his perfect teeth while he lifted his half-filled glass into the air. Ahud followed suit, and their glasses connected with a soft cling.

- - -*  *  *- - -

Jerusalem: Passover, Three Years Later

The wind swung the wooden window frame open and shut, causing it to crash with a loud thunk sound each time it slammed back. A storm was brewing and Malcolm Freedman could smell the coming rain as he reached over to close the window.
    He paused to look at the clouds forming on the horizon and whistled softly. This is going to be a heavy one, he thought to himself as he locked the latches on the windows. Rain mainly fell during the winter season in Israel, and it was strange to see a storm of this magnitude in spring.
    In the distance, lightning bolts danced around playfully across the lavender sky as they set off little rumbles of laughter.
    Everything was ready for the Seder; the table settings, the food, the candles, as well as the wine glass and plate, set aside for the prophet Elijah each year. Elijah, it is believed in certain groups of Orthodox Jews, is to announce—and prepare the way for—the long awaited Messiah. No one really knew when Elijah was going to make his appearance, or at which household, but everyone felt that it was going to be soon, and hoped that it would be theirs. Families had faithfully set aside Elijah’s plate and cup for generations, and had—since the early 90’s—begun to fill it with food and wine.
    Malcolm looked at the eating utensils. They were the finest and were never used on any day during the year other than this day. It had been a wedding gift from his wife’s parents but, because of its value, Mary and Malcolm had decided to use it only at Seder. Everything else: the plates, napkins, wine glasses, and even the glass used for the water, were of exceptional quality, yet it still couldn’t match the elegance and style of the utensils. Malcolm took his seat at the table. The Seder was ready to commence.
    ‘Let the daughter of Zion come forward and kindle the festival lights,’ Malcolm recited. ‘As these lights are lit in Jewish homes throughout the world, we usher in the Passover of the Lord.’
    His wife lit the candles.
    ‘Thank you, Mary.’
    Malcolm waited until his wife was seated again before continuing, ‘At Passover we drink from our cups of wine four times. Each cup symbolizes a vital element of the telling: Sanctification, Plague, Redemption, and Praise. As we lift our first cup together, let us remember that we are sanctified by our relationship with HaShem, and praise Him, saying:’
    Mary and their two children; Angie, eight, and Timothy, sixteen, joined in and said along with Malcolm, ‘Blessed are you, O Lord, HaShem, King of the Universe, Creator of the Fruit of the Vine.’
    After a moment of silence, Malcolm concluded, ‘Let us drink together this first cup of the Passover.’ He raised his cup, placed it to his lips, and drank.
Mary and the children followed his example and drank from their own cups.
After drinking the wine, Malcolm dipped his fingertips in the wash bowl and dried them with a cloth. He passed the bowl to Mary, who did the same, and then passed the bowl to the children.
    ‘This parsley,’ he said as he held a piece in the air, ‘represents the newness of life, created by HaShem, which begins to bloom around us at this season of the year. It reminds us that HaShem is a faithful provider of sustenance for His people.’
    He then raised the bowl containing salt water up high, and concluded, ‘And yet the children of Israel were in bondage, toiling under cruel taskmasters to build palaces for Pharaoh. This salt water represents the tears of affliction that come in life. Let us dip our vegetables in the salt water and reflect on the mystery that, even in the midst of HaShem’s provision, life is sometimes immersed in tears.’
    Together they said the blessing again.
    ‘Let us eat the parsley together,’ Malcolm finished.
    Together, they ate the parsley.
    The four questions asked at the Seder meal each year followed next. Malcolm asked Timothy the first question, Angie the second, again Timothy the third, and Angie the last. Usually, only the youngest member of a family would answer the questions, but because they had such a small family, Malcolm felt it best to include Timothy. It also took some of the pressure off Angie.
    After the questions, Malcolm read his part of the Passover story. Mary and each of the children also had their separate sections of the story to read. The rest of the ceremonies proceeded perfectly according to the routine that they so diligently followed each year, and Malcolm was surprised at how Angie had improved since the last Seder.
    ‘Let us fill our cups again,’ Malcolm announced and raised his cup. ‘This is the cup of redemption. By tradition, it represents the blood of the Passover lamb.’
After drinking, Malcolm held up the cup set aside for Elijah.
    ‘Every year we make a place at our Passover table for Eliyahu Ha’Navi, the prophet Elijah. Now Elijah did not know death, but was carried into Heaven in a chariot of fire. The sacred scriptures tell us that the day of the Lord will be preceded by the return of Elijah.’
    Mary and the children quoted Malachi 4:5 together, ‘Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of the Lord. He shall reconcile parents with children and children with their parents, so that when I come, I do not strike the whole land with utter destruction.’
    ‘Now,’ Malcolm said, looking at Timothy. ‘Let one of the children go and open the door to welcome Elijah to our table.’
    Timothy stood up and walked to the door. He wondered why they kept doing these stupid routines each year. Everyone knew that Elijah would never return, and even if he did, he wouldn’t come to their crummy house. He turned the knob and slowly opened the door, trying to keep the wailing wind from wreaking havoc in their home. He peered around the door and stared into the darkness outside, trying to keep his face dry from the pelting rain. He almost didn’t see the silhouette, but his blood chilled when he did see the outline of the man standing in front of him. A sudden flash of lightning revealed the huge, burly man and Timothy fell over backward as he tried to get away.
    ‘Abba!’ he shouted, followed by a high-pitched, ‘Help me!
    Malcolm’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the man standing at the door. This isn’t happening! It cannot possibly be him!
    The man stepped into the tiny house and closed the door behind him. Malcolm noticed that neither his hair nor clothes were wet from the rain outside: a miracle in itself. Timothy scrambled to his feet and ran to his father, who moved the boy behind his chair as a protective measure. Mary and Angie were paralysed in their seats, unable to make even the smallest movement or sound.
    ‘I come in peace,’ the big man thundered.
    ‘Have a seat then,’ Malcolm gestured toward the table as a test. Maybe the man would sit in Timothy’s chair, exposing himself as a fraud. ‘And join us for a meal.’ He tried hard to hide the quiver in his voice.
    The man walked to the chair that had been set aside for Elijah, pulled it out, and sat down in it.
    Malcolm still couldn’t believe his eyes. Even the man’s belt and prayer shawl were exactly as described in the Torah. He gestured for Timothy to take his seat, which the boy obediently did.
    The man in Elijah’s seat said a prayer and, without saying anything else, he ate the food that Mary had prepared for Elijah. He then drank of the wine, and finally glanced at Mary with a look of satisfaction. He then looked at Malcolm and their eyes locked. Malcolm was certain that the man could see through his eyes and right into the very core of his soul. It could have been seconds, but to Malcolm it felt like hours had passed before the man finally spoke.
    ‘He is coming.’
    The Messiah! ‘Who is?’ Malcolm asked as calmly as he could manage.
    ‘He is coming,’ the man repeated. ‘After a time of terrible sorrow, there shall be true peace at last.’
    ‘Who is—?’
    A violent gust of wind suddenly flung open a window, and it banged so loudly against the wall that Mary jumped and let out a little shriek. The wind instantly snuffed the candles. Only the Menorah Lamp’s faint light kept burning. Malcolm picked up the lamp and transferred the flame to the candles. Mary had, in the meantime, managed to close the window again, and as the tiny flame of a candle lit up the room, Malcolm’s eyes searched frantically for his children to see that they were safe. They were. He then looked at Mary who was fixing her hair as she sat down again. Finally, Malcolm directed his attention at the chair that the man had been sitting in.
     It was empty.

Get the rest of the novel at

Thursday, 5 April 2012


I wrote the Like Father… blog post on Thursday afternoon before I left the office. On my way home, I received a phone call from my father’s best friend, saying that the Hospital called and would like all family and friends to come in. They said it looked bad—whatever THAT meant.

To be blatantly honest, I didn’t feel it was as serious as they made it out to be and almost considered not going; but I called up my sister and we went.

On our way there I thought about the seriousness of his condition and how it would affect our relationship going forward. My grandfather had a few strokes and he’s fine, so I didn’t really worry.

It was when I walked into the room that I realized just how serious (and real) his condition was. There he lay on a bed with nothing but a blanket over him. His head was burning hot and drenched in sweat, yet the rest of his body was ice cold. The nurse explained that he couldn’t talk, but that he might be able to hear us. The way his breathing and heart rate responded every time I spoke into his ear makes me believe that she was right.

I’ve never seen him that vulnerable, and it hit home HARD. In my mind, a father is supposed to be a protector and a pillar of strength. Seeing him like that punched me in the gut and left me reeling. I felt utterly useless and overwhelmingly sad for him. It slowly started dawning on me that it might be the very last time that I would ever see him.

The nurse further explained to me that he had a stroke that led to an aneurysm or something like that. He had blood in the brain and if they operated on him, he would die on the operating table with no one there but nurses and doctors. They figured it would be best if he went surrounded by family and loved ones. She said that it wasn’t a matter of “if” anymore, and that it was more like a matter of minutes.

She was right.

A few minutes later I saw my father take his very last breath. We had the funeral on Tuesday.

Although I am extremely saddened by his passing, I do believe that he was saved, and that gives me great comfort. As I think back about our times together, I realize that we spent more time (especially quality time) together than I had initially thought. There are some AWESOME memories that I can hang on to until we meet again.

I love you dad, and always will. May you rest in peace…