“If he’s already an official in the church why didn’t
he simply go and see them himself?” Though Martin did not accept Bae’s
explanation he wasn’t sure if he was being cagey or indifferent.
The telephone on the cardinal’s desk rang and he
answered with exasperation, which escalated to belligerence as he told his
secretary to bid the seneschal enter. Cardinal Bae steeled himself for the
worst as Father Quentin joined his friend and related his own version of what
Martin, Ciriaci and Raimondi had already told him.
“Gentlemen, these texts are quite a topic of
conversation. What more do you have to say about them, seneschal? Your partner
has already implied that I was involved with their sale as well as insulting
both the Secretary of State and the Major Prefect in a span of the last five
minutes.” Bae began to tap out an impatient rhythm with his foot as he waited
for Quentin’s response.
“With all due respect, Cardinal both to yourself and
to Cardinals Ciriaci and Raimondi, we have our own mandate and goals in regard
to this subject. Each of you is aware of this, since you were present when we
were given this responsibility. These texts, which you dismiss so easily are
crucial for the continuation of our work. Not only is their unavailability
problematic, but also the possibility they are now in the hands of our
enemies…”
Quentin was cut short as the Jesuit Master-general
stood, and with an exasperated bellow, verbally launched himself at the glaring
Templar.
“This is the twentieth century, Father Quentin! You
and your order are but a quaint relic of our violent past! No matter what the
pope tells you the cardinals are the ones who set the precedent. The pope is a
nice centerpiece at our table. The Secretary of State, the Major Prefect and
the heads of every order of the church are dealing with the modern world my
misguided fellows! Don’t lecture me on Paul’s pet project of Halloween missions
and gods and devils. We are in a world with which we must bend, lest we get
left behind. Both of you grow up and get out of my office!”
Martin fell into a chair, shocked at how he had
misjudged his master. More than eight years before, he had approached Bae with
his fears and was proud when they were taken straight to the pope. Today he
couldn’t understand how he had completely changed his position. His mouth hung
open, his voice and breath knocked out of him. Quentin, on the other hand was
far from silent.
“You are not my Grand-master, and as per the Holy
Father’s orders, you are not Father Martin’s Master-general. We will leave your
office but we will get to the bottom of this sudden acquisition of codexes with
information that is critical for our Halloween mission. You and the College of
Cardinals have not heard the last of this. Come, Lancaster, let’s go.”
Quentin bent down and helped Martin to his feet. They
quietly left the fuming cardinal behind his desk, reaching for his phone. They
continued past the secretary and the hallowed halls and out into St. Peter’s
Square. Martin hardly noticed they were outside and still leaned on Quentin,
who had taken his arm and slung it across his hard shoulder. The rogue Jesuit
finally found his voice and asked, “Why are we outside, Father Quentin? Are we
going somewhere?”
Quentin spoke slowly and in a whisper as he scanned
around them for prying eyes and ears. “We’re leaving Rome Lancaster. It’s no
longer safe here. The names we uncovered in the South Carolina records go much
deeper than we imagined. We’ve seen how subtle and daring they are, as well as
how easily they can get others to cover their tracks.” Quentin still held
Martin in a surprisingly gentle hold. “Don’t worry; our work is not done. We
still have all the resources we’ve always had, simply not the overt aid of the
cardinals. We do, however, have papal sanction and autonomy. Our work has just
begun.”
TIME: FEBRUARY 24TH, 1971. DIGBY ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA,
CANADA.
A new decade began, not so much with promise, but providing
a much needed rest and distance from the chaotic past ten years. The first few
months were a continuation of points from the 60s.
In March, the New English Bible was published with
the changes made at the Second Vatican Council. In Kosta’s opinion, it read
like a desperate attempt to garner new converts, but he knew what the changes
meant. They were a dim reflection of the alterations happening in the Vatican,
itself.
Kosta half listened to another publicity stunt by
Lennon’s banshee — something about them having dual sex change
operations. Kosta wondered why they would even bother, considering she already
had the poor bastard’s balls. With them in her mouth all the time, it was
actually amazing she could say as much as she did. He put aside his animosity
for the hideous geisha when he saw Adam was inconsolable about Paul McCartney’s
decision to leave the Beatles. Given Yoko’s constant grandstanding and public
statements Kosta couldn’t blame him. It must’ve caused a scene in the Lennon
household when Paul’s news upstaged Yoko’s dual sex change story.
In May, the Blues were beaten again in four games,
this time by Boston as Bobby Orr’s Bruins swept the cup. A whole lot of music
was released in 1970, but Adam and many others were transfixed by the breakup
of the Beatles.
Bridge Over Troubled
Water, War, Whole Lotta Love, Lola,
and
The
Tears of a Clown,
didn’t distract him from
Let It Be,
and
Long &
Winding Road.
These were forever etched on his psyche. Kosta couldn’t help
but roll his eyes at the adolescent melodrama.
Television wasn’t much of a distraction either but
movies proved to be welcome diversions from the ache in Adam’s heart. George C.
Scott’s
Patton
and Dustin Hoffman’s
Little Big Man
were both historically
based fiction that gave Adam a new appreciation for history. He began devouring
biographies about any number of prominent historical figures. Their monthly
forays into Vancouver turned into biweekly outings so that Adam could visit the
public library, check out more books and return his previous selections. They
could have bought the books but with Adam averaging 10 books a week, they
didn’t have the space to store them all.
Five Easy
Pieces
and
Catch 22
brought out his subversive side, and
Kelly’s Heroes
gave the dissenter a spine. Outwardly, Adam didn’t
have a problem with anyone, but he was opposed to most public opinion, almost
as a matter of pride. Whenever he spoke about the weather, a show or a movie,
it turned into a debate and, at times, open argument. Adam liked to test
beliefs, simply to see how deeply they were ingrained.
November ended with another assassination attempt,
this time in the Philippines, when a Benjamin Mendoza, a Bolivian painter
dressed as a priest, tried to stab Pope Paul VI. Ordinarily, this would not
have meant much to Kosta, except that when he read the name of the bumbling
murderer, Kosta recognized it as someone who had shown interest in long
forgotten texts and lore. A few days later, things got even more bizarre when
he received a letter from the same man, postmarked days before the attempted
murder. In the letter, the man detailed why he was after the pope and asked
Kosta to bear witness to his martyrdom. Benjamin wrote that he was determined
to kill the impostor who now sat on Peter’s seat. He went on to claim he had
proof that some of the top cardinals had replaced the pope with a look-a-like,
programmed to do their bidding. Mendoza was not clear about the nature of this
bidding, nor the motives behind the believed switch, whether diabolical or
political.
Newspaper reports went on to say that Ferdinand
Marcos foiled the attempt with his karate skills, striking the kris knife from
Mendoza’s hand with a chop, leveling him with a flying kick. The report must’ve
been true, because Imelda saw it all. Kosta was grateful that Mendoza didn’t
contact him any more and that the letter was not discovered in the ensuing
investigation. Dealing with secret organizations was hard enough, but when
devout police and pious cops were added to the equation; Kosta just didn’t want
to deal with it. He built a nice, uneventful life in the woods of Digby and the
defenses he had constructed would take years to reproduce anywhere else.
TIME: JULY 29TH, 1971. BILDERBURG GROUP, COUNCIL ON FOREIGN
RELATIONS, NEW YORK, U.S.A
Albert Pike had just left the room he kept at the
Dark Nobility’s chapter house in northeast, North America. He was supremely
relaxed and languid as he made his way to the west wing, where he looked
forward to sipping coffee and allowing his mind to awaken. He spent the
previous night, most enjoyably, with his current sizeable Filipino woman,
Imelda. She was not as plump as he generally liked his women but she made up
for it with her enthusiasm and sheer venom. She had a wicked streak, matched
only by her fascination with footwear. Their preferred foreplay included
insulting the servants, then making them watch as he humiliated her with
footwear and other toys for which they both lusted.
He strode down the immaculately polished oak-paneled
corridor, adorned with images of past Nobility. Astors, DuPonts, as well as
Rockefellers, Rothchilds, and Merovingians, all outfitted in full regalia,
which was never seen by anyone outside the top strata of the Master’s pyramid.
Pike sat at his table and reached for the
New York Times
, unfolded it and scanned
the headlines as he sipped a cup of coffee. He began his morning reading with
this preliminary perusal, by which time his toast would be ready. When his
breakfast and second cup of coffee arrived, he began the meatier part of his
reading, finishing the
Times
with his
sixth cup of coffee and third water. When he completed his morning ritual, he
lit his first cigarette and motioned for a waiting man, who, for a year had
been watching him do the exact same thing.
He rushed forward, but stopped short of sitting when
he saw the forbidding look on Pike’s face. Since August of the previous year,
Emil Grungeburg had been dissecting and scrutinizing four codices. Every week
since then, he met with Albert Pike to update him on what he read. Nothing was
added to the information that Kosta Paleologos gave close to seven years
previous. However, this day was different. The kinetic little man craved his
attention and gasped as he attempted to recount what he discovered. Pike nodded
slightly encouraging Emil to launch into an orgy of sentences and paragraphs.
“It’s writing itself, sir. The fourth codex you gave
me is writing itself…” Emil stopped short so that his master could fully absorb
this information. Instead of registering surprise, Pike’s expression did not
change, though he did ask Emil if he had been getting enough sleep or if he was
smoking too much reefer.
“No, sir, I assure you that pot has no negative
effects on the mind… it even expands it. I’m telling you that the
Idammah-Gan Codex
has no end. Every time I look at it, an additional chapter seems to have
appeared after the last one I read. Several times over the last week, I thought
I finished the codex, but each following day I checked, I found another
chapter.” Spittle flew out of Emil’s mouth and some collected on the edges of
his lips, forming a film that clung to them and kept Pike’s eyes transfixed. As
he continued to speak, Pike could hear the spittle collect deeper in his throat
and add a gurgle to his continued explanation. “The codex tells of a Messiah
and his past incarnations, including, as far as I can figure, Jesus Christ. The
latest incarnation is a boy named Adam Savourez or Paleologos.”
“Paleologos did you say?” Pike snapped out of his
trance. “Where is this Adam now?”
“He’s in Canada, sir. Digby, British Columbia. That’s
a small island off of the coast of Prince Rupert, British Columbia. He’s been
there since October 1963.”
“Does he live there alone? He can’t be more than nine
years old. Who’s keeping him?” Pike always preferred a direct interrogative
approach; he detested conversations with underlings.
“According to the codex, someone named Kostadino
Paleologos, hence the confusion with the last name. Adam refers to himself,
interchangeably, as Savourez and Paleologos,” Emil answered, waiting for
further queries from his master.
“Son of a bitch!” Pike burst out with indignation.
Emil nervously glanced around the room expecting he might have to escape from
his volatile master. “He knew all along and was either hiding him for himself,
or another faction who has kept him for their own purposes! What a glorious
bastard you are, you fucking Greek cocksucker!” Despite his fury Pike burst out
laughing, making Emil even more uncertain, wishing he were somewhere else.
“Emil, keep reading and tell me everything that led up to this union. How did
Paleologos get the child and what, if anything, can you discover about his
motives and intentions in regard to him?”
Grateful for Pike’s emotional shift, Emil nodded and
nearly sprinted out of the room. Pike continued to think about this recent
revelation and decided to put his own plan into motion. He motioned to one of
the servants for a telephone and dialed one of the top members of the Great
Work.
“Hello, Bob, I’ve got news about our search. Your
acquisition of the texts from the Vatican last year bore fruit. You must thank
our Grand Master for championing the cause. There is a grave matter we must
bring before the Architects for a vote; another execution, I’m afraid.”