Brown laughs about it now and rolls her eyes, but she acknowledges volunteering to work with Cole.
Brown offered to do Internet research and compile information for volunteers. Within days Cole had convinced Brown to move in with him and his "team" when the hurricane approached. She attended a meeting at his house with six other women. "I felt a little funny, like, aren't there supposed to be men here too?" Brown says. "He said we were going to be in the house for three months because the devastation would be that bad. Little things like that should have clicked with me." Brown lets out an embarrassed groan. "He made it sound like it was going to be a war zone: We weren't going to be able to get out, people weren't going to be able to get back in, and dead bodies would be lying around."
Cole confirms that he fears post-hurricane violence. "We advise every rescue station to have self-defense," he says. "The criminal element will not hesitate to shoot someone for their food."
To that end, Cole told Brown and the others to learn to use a gun. They made plans to go to a firing range. Cole bought a Mossberg pump shotgun and asked Brown to assemble it. "I called my father in Texas, and he told me how to do it," she says.
Brown returned several times during the next two weeks. Cole requested a donation, and she gave $100. Then he exhorted her to buy Jamaican currency. She changed a few dollars.
The end came one night as Brown and Cole worked on some flyers in her apartment. They had worked late for several days, and Cole had slept on the couch. He confessed he was strongly attracted to her and tried to kiss her, Brown says. She was not attracted to him. Cole counters that "there was something from both sides," but declines to give details. The next day Cole announced God had spoken: Brown was no longer needed at his house. Oddly, Brown still wanted to participate.
"It's so strange looking back on that now. It's like looking at a different person. I mean, you know how you hear about a cult and wonder how someone could get involved in that? Well, now I know," Brown says.
By late November Cole has disappeared. His telephone is disconnected and no one is home. A sign hangs on the wooden fence: "Home for Sale by Owner: Unique and Hurricane Ready." Even Operation Nineveh volunteers don't know where to find him.
"I haven't seen him in quite some time," says Miller, the car wash owner. "I told him several months ago not to call me about hurricanes because God will tell us when we need to know. Chris was getting very anxious about every hurricane crossing the Atlantic. I had to put him in check, so to speak."
Pastor Pedro Martinez, who at one time allowed Cole to speak at his Iglesia Cristiana Amor Church in southwest Dade, also has lost contact with the erstwhile prophet. "The last time I spoke with Chris was probably a couple of months ago," Martinez says. When asked about other churches' reactions to Cole, he adds, "I still consider him a friend. But the prophecy didn't come true, and I understand why other brothers and sisters would distance themselves from him."
After several inquiries Cole surfaces. He is working in Palm Beach County learning a new trade as a home health nurse. His hair is cut into a broad Mohawk. He explains that he changed his phone number because of harassing calls and, in the process, the phone company made a mistake and disconnected his line. Then he brings up the For Sale sign: "I'm in a time in my life where I am being violently uprooted," he explains, almost cheerfully. "We go through tests, and I'm being tested. I'm in a situation where everything I have is falling away. My income has dropped considerably."
Of 100 photography clients, 90 have deserted. Perhaps his proselytizing alienated some. "I warned a lot of people on South Beach because they were my clients. I think I scared some of them off."
Meanwhile the churches shun him. He's even been attacked from within his organization. "I've had women come into the group who thought if they helped me, I'd marry them. When I refuse their advances, they spread nasty rumors."
But his resolve to prepare for the hurricane is stronger than ever. He sees warning signs everywhere. As an example he mentions the murder of Gianni Versace. Versace's killer was Andrew Cunanan. He points out the killer's first name is the same as the 1992 hurricane. "I believe it was a sign showing us where the next Andrew is going to hit," he says.
He pauses, then says sternly, "I have a strong feeling that next year it will come to pass.
