A Matter of Degrees

by Alex Marcoux

  Henry Shafer was one of the anchormen for Over the Edge. Earlier in the year, he had announced that he would retire the following year.

  “It would be better if we maintained a civil business relationship. Steve handed the note to Rachel, pointed to it, then said, “Do you think we can do that?”

  Rachel read the note: Meet me at McNally’s Pub. Ten o’clock. “Yes. We should be civil to one another.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Rachel parked herself across from Steve in the pub. “Do you want to tell me what the hell’s going on? My office is bugged?” she whispered.

  “I wouldn’t put it past them. I didn’t have anything to do with the fire, Rachel.”

  “Is that what this is all about?”

  “You were right about my nagging feeling, and I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been playing the game. I’m a Degree Master in the Scottish Rite.”

  It took Rachel a moment to understand what Steve was really telling her. “Do you think you’ll get an invitation?”

  “I don’t know. I do know that since I’ve played the game, I’m hearing more things and I’m getting more attention at work. My annual review wouldn’t be for another four months, but last week, Neil gave me a raise.”

  “Is he a Mason?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he a member of the Thirty-Third Council?”

  “I’m not sure. Freemasonry has a pyramid hierarchy. You can find out who is below you, but not above. And from what I’ve gathered, the thirty-third degree has its own pyramid structure.”

  “Then, who’s top dog? Do you have an annual election? Or is it a dictatorship?”

  “I don’t know. The secrecy of the organization doesn’t allow that information to filter down. Because of the chain-of-command, only two people know the leader’s identity. Those two people have two others reporting to them, and so on.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry about the fire. You clearly had them nervous. What exactly were you working on?”

  Rachel smiled. Do you really think I’m going to confide in you? she thought.

  As if reading her mind Steve said, “I wouldn’t blame you for not answering.”

  She contemplated whether to tell him. When he wouldn’t divert his eyes, she took a chance. “I’ve already told you some of this. I was connecting secret societies, specifically, the Trilateral Commission, CFR, Bilderbergers, and Freemasons. In my story, I had emphasized that members of these societies exert control over corporations and banks, which control the essentials of modern life. I had demonstrated that the objective of these groups is to bring about a one-world government.”

  Rachel and Steve were silent as the waitress served a beer and a glass of chardonnay. When she left, they continued.

  “Who was named in your report?” He whispered.

  Rachel hesitated. “The Rockefellers, Morgans, Rothschilds, the banking system, and the Federal Reserve.”

  “Well, that’s one assortment I wouldn’t want to piss off. What about the banking system and the Federal Reserve?”

  “The Fed is the central bank of our country. But the government doesn’t create money, the Fed does. Did you know that there hasn’t been an impartial audit of the Federal Reserve, which began in 1913?”

  Steve retrieved a dollar bill from his wallet. “I’m sure you know that the dollar bill itself shows Freemason involvement in the Fed. George Washington is a famous Mason.” He flipped the bill, “The pyramid and the All-Seeing Eye are also Masonic symbols.”

  “Yes. Along with the apron, compass and square, letter G, and the Star of David. What’s with the letter G anyway? Or is that one of those secrets you’ve taken a blood oath on?” Rachel’s eyes teased.

  Steve whispered. “Some believe G stands for God. Others believe it means geometry. Several speculate that the terms masonry and geometry are one-and-the-same. The modern geometric symbols are believed to be fragments of geometrical secrets of the Medieval Mason. From what I understand, though, the mysteries have been lost.”

  “Or perhaps only a select few know them,” Rachel’s eyes settled on Steve’s.

  “I’ve been thinking about the question that was bothering you the last time we spoke,” Steve admitted. “You know, how come Sixty Minutes or even Over the Edge hasn’t done a piece on this?”

  “There’s a group of conspiracy theorists that suggest the media is a pawn of and actually controlled by secret societies,” Rachel offered.

  * * *

  The months passed. It was Friday night, and Rachel was driving home from work when her cell phone chimed. “Rachel Addison.”

  “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

  Rachel recognized Steve’s voice. “Why?”

  “Are you familiar with Middletown?”

  “Up toward the Catskills?”

  “That’s correct. There’s a Holiday Inn at exit 122 on Route 17. Meet me in the restaurant at ten.” Steve hung up.

  * * *

  Under different circumstances, Rachel may have been excited about their mysterious meeting. Today, however, she was angry to be beckoned by his call and her anger swelled as she searched the restaurant for Steve. “What’s going on?” she asked as she settled in the booth.

  “Shh.” He didn’t want to draw attention to them. He casually sipped his coffee then turned Rachel’s mug upright for the approaching waitress.

  “Coffee?” the waitress asked Rachel.

  “Please.”

  The waitress left and Steve got right to the point. “I heard that you’ve been continuing your investigation.”

  Rachel had been so careful. How did he know? She couldn’t deny it.

  Steve reached for Rachel’s soft hand and he squeezed it. “You must stop,” he whispered. “It’s too dangerous.” He released her hand.

  “It’s also important.”

  “What is so important that you’re willing to risk your life?”

  Rachel wondered if she could trust him. There was a part of her that must have, since she had agreed to meet him. “My father…was a Mason.” Her voice was distant.

  “Your father was a Freemason?” Steve’s tone was caring. “What happened?”

  Rachel closed her eyes for a moment. She needed to detach herself from what she was about to tell him. “When I was eleven, my father went to DC for a Freemason meeting. Something happened while he was crossing a bridge. His car ended up in the Chesapeake Bay.”

  “I’m sorry.” Instinctively, Steve took Rachel’s hand. His tenderness surprised her, and when he sensed it, he released his grip. “He died, and you believe the organization is responsible for his death?”

  “Yes. I’ve had my suspicions. It was almost like he knew he was going to die. The month before, he increased his insurance policy and paid off the house.”

  “Is it possible that it was a suicide?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Not my father. He loved life too much.”

  “Could he have been doing what you’re doing now, and got himself killed?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that since I was a child, I vowed I would learn about this group. I need to understand why my father spent so much time away from us.”

  “What are you working on now?”

  “Assassinations,” she whispered.

  “Can you expand on that?”

  Rachel faltered. Internally she debated whether to confide in him. I don’t have to tell him everything, she decided. “Do you know what greenbacks are?”

  “It’s when the government issues debt-free money through the U.S. Treasury.”

  “Who would get hurt in that scenario?”

  Steve appeared thoughtful. “I guess the banks.”

  “There have been only two times when the government issued debt-free currency—during the Abraham Lincoln and JFK administrations.” She paused. “Both presidents were assassinated.”

  “Coincidence,” Steve shrugged his shoulders.

  “John W. Booth, Lincoln’s assassin, was a member of
the Knights of the Golden Circle. I’m not sure if Oswald was a Mason, but he claimed to be a pawn, and that he wasn’t acting alone. The ballistics supported that theory, but he never had a chance to elaborate on it since he was murdered two days after he was arrested.”

  “So you’re suggesting that the banks killed them?” Steve fought to hide his disbelief.

  “I think Kennedy got himself killed because he was a mover and a shaker, which pissed off big corporations and the Fed. Did you know that Kennedy approved National Security Action Memorandum Number Two Hundred Sixty-Three, which called for disengagement in Vietnam? One month later, he was assassinated.”

  “Are you implying that he was killed because he was going to pull troops out of ’Nam?”

  “I think he pissed off the wrong people. Disengagement from Vietnam might have been the last straw.”

  “Listen to what you’re saying. Why would he be killed for ending a war?”

  “Steve, who benefits from war? I’ll tell you—the banks, big corporations like steel and oil; do I need to go on?”

  Steve sighed. “What else are you looking at?”

  “The Reagan assassination attempt by Hinckley in 1981.”

  “What about it?”

  “Reagan conducted a press conference a month after his recovery, and in it he claimed that he thought he was shot by a Secret Service agent, accidentally of course. He said that he didn’t feel the pain until he was in the limo and a Secret Service man was on top of him. The FBI’s report claimed that one of Hinckley’s bullets ricocheted on the limo’s door as he was being pushed in.”

  “Sounds plausible,” Steve said.

  “The bullets were the exploding kind. How come the bullet didn’t explode when it hit the metal door? Also, Hinckley himself claimed that he was part of a conspiracy. He even wrote about it while he was waiting for trial. And yet, the FBI confiscated his papers and without explanation concluded that he had acted alone.

  “The judge that heard Hinckley’s case ordered the witnesses and the attorneys not to disclose the content of his documents to the public. Would you believe they went to trial and neither side brought up a conspiracy?”

  While Steve didn’t really know what to say, Rachel couldn’t stop herself from continuing. “John Hinckley Junior was the son of a wealthy Texas oilman who was a longtime personal friend and political supporter of George Bush, who at the time, was Reagan’s vice president.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And Hinckley’s brother scheduled dinner with Neil Bush the night Reagan was shot.”

  “Rachel, these are just unrelated facts and they don’t prove a thing.”

  “Here’s another fact, George Bush was a Trilateralist, a CFR member, and the former CIA director. Some conspiracy theorists allege that one of the CIA’s primary purposes is to protect Freemasons and other secret societies.” Rachel leaned closer. “Bush was also a member of the Skull and Bones.”

  “Have you connected the existing administration with any of this?”

  To Rachel, Steve’s question felt like a two-by-four to her head. She had become so caught up in discussing the information she had forgotten who she was speaking with. “Let’s change the subject. Tell me something about yourself, Steve.”

  He sensed the change in Rachel. “I guess there’s not much to tell. You know where I live and where I work. I’m not married. My parents died when I was in my twenties. I have a sister, Jessie. She lives outside of Los Angeles. Rachel…what do you need from me, to trust me?”

  “Trust is earned by getting to know a person.”

  “You get to know people by spending time with them. We don’t have that luxury. We shouldn’t even be seen together.”

  “I realize that,” Rachel said. “I’d like to trust you, Steve. In some ways I must, because I met you here.”

  “Rachel, trust me about this—back away and drop your investigation for a while.”

  “Okay. For a while.”

  “What are you doing next Saturday?” Steve asked shyly. “I was thinking that perhaps we could meet, away from the city, perhaps take a drive upstate.”

  “Why?”

  Steve averted his eyes. “Maybe we can spend a little time together…an effort to earn each other’s trust.”

  Rachel shook her head, “I’m not sure, Steve. Do you think that’s smart?”

  “It was just an idea. Think about it.” He wrote his cell phone number down on a napkin and passed it to Rachel. “No pressure. If you’re interested, call me.”

  Rachel debated all week whether to call Steve. In the end, she called him and they started meeting every other weekend. They always met someplace remote, away from the city, for a late Saturday afternoon lunch. After their meal they would walk, then part. Each eagerly waited for their next meeting. Their friendship grew and, as expected, so did their trust in each other.

  During one lunch, Steve demonstrated that trust. “I haven’t told anyone this,” he said as his fork cut into his salmon. “I have a second house.”

  “You do? Do you have a wife and kids, too?”

  “No,” he said, “just a getaway house in the Catskills. I usually spend my weekends there. Nobody knows about it. Next time we get together, would you like to meet there?”

  * * *

  Later that week, while Steve was surfing the Internet, he stumbled upon an interesting article. He printed it, placed it in an envelope and addressed it to Rachel. “I wonder what she’ll think of this.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Rachel arrived at Steve’s cabin near Jewett, in the Catskill Mountains. It was a simple A-frame, nestled in a densely wooded lot. The house had two bedrooms on the main level with a larger bedroom on the upper floor. One of the small bedrooms had been converted to an office. There was a small dining area with a table set beside the tiny kitchen. The scent of freshly roasted turkey filled the air, which impressed Rachel, since she was an awful cook.

  After dinner, the couple ventured out on their customary walk. But it was a cold winter day, so their trek was cut short. When they returned to the cabin, Rachel made her way toward her car. Steve followed close behind her, until she reached the Saab.

  Rachel opened the car door and nestled between the door and the car, shielding part of her body from the bitter wind.

  Steve smiled and shyly moved closer to the door that separated the couple. “I had a good time,” his eyes strayed to her lips, “as usual.”

  Rachel smiled. “I did too,” she whispered, but the words were lost in the wind.

  “Rachel, there’s something I’ve wanted to do for some time.”

  Rachel didn’t have a chance to ask Steve what that was, as his lips had found hers, and they kissed. The car door between them prevented him from taking her in his arms, and when they parted, neither one could take their eyes off the other.

  As Steve approached her for a second kiss, she raised her fingers to his lips. “We shouldn’t do this. Not while it’s this complicated.”

  Steve knew she was right, and retreated. “You’re right. Tempting,” he said, “but not smart.”

  * * *

  Time passed. Rachel and Steve started to meet weekly. Outwardly, they acted as if their intimate moment never happened. Steve’s mountain home was the perfect place to spend time. It was Rachel who realized that they had not discussed conspiracy theories or secret societies in over a month.

  It was a rainy spring Saturday and Rachel was en route to the cabin. She hadn’t seen Steve in two weeks as his sister, Jessie, had visited him for Easter the weekend before. She felt a wave of excitement at the thought of Steve, and in that moment she wondered if she was ever going to be honest with Steve about her feelings for him. For today, anyway, it didn’t matter. What had become important to her was that she had developed a type of friendship with him that she had never shared with another man. For today, that was enough.

  It was about four o’clock when she knocked on the cabin door. Steve opened the door a
nd uncharacteristically hugged her. He must have sensed her surprise, because he backed away, grinning. “I’m sorry. I’m just so excited. I have some great news. I’ve been waiting since Tuesday to tell you.”

  “What is it Steve?”

  “Let me tell you over dinner. Your timing is perfect. Appetizers are ready. Do you want to freshen up before dinner?”

  As usual, when Rachel joined Steve on the couch, she found everything to be perfect. A fire was ablaze in the fireplace, candles were lit on the dining table, and appetizers were set up on the coffee table.

  “So what have you been waiting to tell me?”

  “I have two surprises. First…” He handed Rachel an envelope. She opened it. There were two cruise tickets, one in Steve’s name, and the other in Julie Harris’s name.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a weeklong cruise, for the two of us. There are two adjoining cabins,” he said shyly. Then his eyes met Rachel’s. “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like to spend more than an afternoon together?”

  “Maybe…but a week?”

  He smiled. “Just think about it, don’t say no until you’ve thought it through.”

  “Who’s Julie Harris?”

  “It’s an alias I set up for you so that we can travel together.” He handed Rachel a passport with her picture and the name Julie Harris.

  “How did you do—No, forget it. I don’t want to know.”

  “There’s something else.” Steve paused and his eyes met hers. “I received a special delivery at work this week.” His face lit up. “I got an invitation.

  She mirrored his excitement, and smiled. “An invitation for what?” Then it hit her and her smile slowly vanished. “My God, Steve, you got an invitation for the thirty-third degree?”

  He nodded. “I got the letter from the Supreme Council on Tuesday.”

  The smile on Rachel’s face was gone.

  “What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

  Rachel sighed. “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken about all this conspiracy stuff in such a long time. I don’t like the thought of you going there.