The Arcturus Man

by John Strauchs

  Eventually, Chávez was pardoned by the new president, Caldera. Chávez would not accept the pardon unless his followers were also freed. Some were freed, including Gustavo. But his father didn’t return home. He was ignited by the dreams of Chávez‘s Bolivarianism movement and the populist visions of egalitarianism spreading throughout Venezuela, and eventually, Colombia. Gustavo stayed to fight.

  Gustavo’s friendship may have lifted Rubio’s family out of poverty when Chavez became president in 1999 and the family returned to Venezuela, but it wasn’t meant to be. Rubio’s father’s death came suddenly. It was in 1995 when word came, first to his mother, that his father had been trapped by the Colombian army military at a labor rally in the mountains outside of Medellín. They had killed him slowly by cutting his arms and legs off with a chain saw until he had lost so much blood that he died from shock. His father told him that God never asks of anyone to endure more than can be endured. He died mercifully, much quicker than his captors wanted. Only 7 at the time, Rubio was told that his father had been very brave. The body parts were thrown into a fast mountain stream and could not be found later by friends of the family. There was no funeral. He and his brothers came of age much faster than any of the succeeding government regimes in Colombia and Venezuela could kill the millions who came of age each year. There were more and more each year and sooner or later, there would be too many to kill. It was only a matter of time and sacrifice.

  Rubio was 18 when he joined the M-19 movement in Bogotá in 2006. Finding them lacking in every thing that was important to him, he eventually became a soldier for various narco-terrorist groups in Colombia. Eventually he came to the attention of the Santos Family in Medellín. He was hired as a body guard out of respect for his father, but it was soon evident to everyone who dealt with him that he was exceptionally bright, strong and ambitious. Soon he was an enforcer and assassin, working directly for Eduardo Santos, the family Patriarch.

  When Santos spoke of Rubio to others, he never failed to mention that Rubio had no sentimentality, had no conscience, and that his eyes were as dark as a shark’s. He could hack a man apart with a machete and enjoy a good meal afterwards, barely recalling the killing. He never spent money on flashy cars or expensive clothes. He kept to himself and spent most of his free time reading. No one knew what books he read. Few cared. If he wasn’t reading he was exercising. He never slept more than five hours a night, but he never looked tired. He never smiled and he never joked with friends. In time, most of the men avoided him.

  He often had sex with whores, but avoided any relationships with decent women. He didn’t keep a mistress. He didn’t smoke. He never used drugs and never drank to excess. The old man had personally given Rubio a bottle of Aquardiente Nectar. It didn’t escape his attention that it sat on Rubio’s bed stand unopened for months when it finally disappeared. Santos never asked about it. Had he disposed of it or had he drunk the entire bottle at one sitting? No one knew. Santos once told him that he could never trust a man who didn’t smoke or drink, but that Rubio was clearly an exception. Santos was surprised to later learn that Rubio had a wife and four children. Rubio never spoke of them.

  Rubio’s father hated the drug traffickers and taught his son that they would lead to the ruination of the proletariat. But his father was gone and he had to find a way of taking care of his mother and brothers, and now his own family as well. He would work for the drug cartel, but on his own terms. He would not be poor again. The poor had no voice.

  Later, he was sent to Cuba for specialized training. He excelled at everything and before the year ended he was sent to Patrice Lumumba University in Moscow, now called Peoples Friendship University. The Great Russians despised the dark races. Lumumba University was founded to keep them out of Moscow. Soon, it quickly acquired both reputation and popularity among third-world nations across the globe. Rubio made life-long friends at the University.

  A brilliant student, he earned a degree in civil engineering in three years. More importantly, he was now a highly trained and educated terrorist who understood how buildings are constructed and how buildings can be deconstructed. By now he was being groomed directly by the SVR. We went through four years of Speznaz training and fought for one year in Chechnia. He disliked Muslims. They had no respect for the Virgin Mary.

  He had met a number of Palestinians at Lumumba University. Years later, he met them again at various times when he was sent to kill enemies of the State. They would celebrate after a bombing. It was of little consequence to Rubio if men, women or children were killed in the suicide bombings. It meant nothing, but why anyone would celebrate was equally inscrutable. A doctor must not have empathy for his patients if he was to be a good doctor. He would lose his objectivity. Rubio was a doctor who was asked to cut out the cancerous growths in the human population. He would always be objective about his profession. Rubio had become a master surgeon. He had not only lifted himself and his extended family out of poverty, he became moderately well-off, certainly by Colombian standards. He had learned how to cultivate his own garden.

  Rubio never found any contradictions between how he lived his life and his religion. Like his father, he was a devote Catholic, but he never depended on faith. He was taught by his father that knowledge was the enemy of faith. He never stopped acquiring knowledge. It was man’s work to protect his family. He was a loving father and husband. He never spoke of his profession with his family and they never asked. More importantly for Rubio, he never talked about his family to strangers. his family was a stranger.

  Many who worked with him suspected that he was a sadist. Everyone outside of It was an argument among them that went on for years. If he was a sadist, how could it be that he never became excited from a killing, or especially from torture? Rubio liked the parrot’s perch when he was asked to extract information from an enemy. The naked victim was suspended upside down by the back of his knees from a thin pipe. A cord was wrapped around his ankles and then around his or her neck. In less than an hour the victim was in agony. After a day, he would betray his own children to relieve the agony. Rubio would have the victim taken down and given as much food and water as he wanted. Then he would be put back on the parrot’s perch. Even if he talked, he would go back to the perch. Soon, the lies and false information were corrected. If the sufferer was female, she was never abused sexually—at least not by Rubio or his men. She was a prisoner, but she was also someone’s daughter. More importantly, it wasn’t necessary and didn’t yield truth. Rather, debasing cruelty fomented vengeance which would then give birth to clever lies.

  Rubio never took pleasure from torture. He was not a sadist, but he was nonetheless unfeeling and merciless. He saw himself as being a professional soldier. He did show some interest in Americans. He hated them and found satisfaction in proving how weak they were. They had once captured a Special Forces soldier who was a part of a black operation in Colombia. Within a few hours on the parrot’s perch the Green Beret was broken. His physical conditioning was outstanding. He was very disciplined, at first. Despite all the Norte Americano training, he soon screamed like a woman in child birth.

  The Green Beret had been issued specialized equipment that Rubio’s men could only dream about—at least back then. The Americans could give these men high technology gadgets and train them, but the men they trained had never felt real pain before. They didn’t know hardship. Their training was soft. When asked why he thought that his training had been difficult, the fool said that he hadn’t been allowed to sleep for two nights. It was laughable. They had never been truly hungry or thirsty. He said he was poor and came from the slums, but he had a stereo at home, a grand car and he wore a good watch. He didn’t know what poverty was. He spoke some Spanish, but he was clearly uneducated. He had been tricked by his government into believing that he was a warrior and was highly trained. He was fooled twice.

  American Special Forces training often lasted weeks, sometimes months, but it was not the many years that Rubio and his cad
re went through. How could you think of going to the School of the Americas in Panama and dare to call yourself as Jungle Expert after only two weeks. It was pathetic. When they finally found this Green Beret’s hidden cache, they discovered a Jungle Expert patch on his uniform. It was truly preposterous. Rubio’s right-hand lieutenant, Oskar, was born in the jungle and lived most of his life in the Matto Grosso—and even he didn’t dare call himself a jungle expert. Only the native inhabitants could call themselves that—the Indios. Rubio had the genes of the Great Indios.

  Chapter Nine – Cambridge

  M.I.T. – August 2013

  Jenny knocked and heard a familiar warm, welcoming, and melodic voice. “Come in. Come in.” Father O’Connor was at his desk, buried in books and papers, as always. There was a narrow path through boxes and piles of books that led to a chair. The dust had dust. These piles never moved. She followed the path. The human and prehuman skulls scattered around his office were distracting. She assumed that the skulls were castings and not the real thing.

  “My gracious! Jennifer. It’s so delightful to see you dear. Do come in. It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? Good morning. Or, is it already afternoon?”

  “Good afternoon, Father.”

  She was one of the very few students that he addressed by her first name. It was regarded as a high honor. He taught Origin and Development of Man and similar courses. He had international renown and was extensively published. He used his own texts for his courses. He was Jenny’s favorite professor and she was his favorite student.

  He didn’t teach religion, but nevertheless insisted on being called Father, despite that he wore civilian attire. He thought the cassock inhibited free debate. He could be quickly annoyed if he was asked how the Church would allow him to teach human evolution. The Church, he would say, allowed for the possibility of man’s body developing from earlier biological forms, under God’s hand of course, but not the soul. The soul could only be imbued by God at conception. The soul did not evolve.

  If you asked him anything else, he would generally manage to bring up the fact that he was a Jesuit on loan from Marquette University. No one was quite sure that Marquette even did that. He had been at MIT for almost thirty years. Any paperwork about the transaction was lost decades ago, if it ever existed. No one argued with him about it, not even the administration.

  Jenny only had him for one course but was thereafter drawn to his light humor and uncommonly good sense about virtually everything. She couldn’t help thinking that he looked like a giant Yoda. He would ask students, “do you know why angels can fly…it is because they take themselves lightly.” Father O’Connor could fly with the angels.

  He often went out of his way to courteously compliment females on their appearance. It was his personal crusade against political correctness and the notion that telling a woman she was beautiful was sexual harassment. Even the hard-core “libers” on campus never dared to challenge him because they understood that he would never back down. He was like wolverine. Father O’Connor was a fanatic about civil liberties and the freedom of speech, especially in an institution of learning. He would drink hemlock before we would yield even the thinnest sliver of principle. Everyone knew that, especially his detractors. He was widely respected for it.

  Jenny was wearing a dark business suit and her hair was up. This was not her usual uniform. It was not the accepted MIT student uniform.

  Father O’Connor, on the other hand, had on the same brown tweed he always wore. Students hoped that he had several identical suits that he rotated, but no one was sure about that. He had a shock of snow white hair spilling over his high forehead and a cherry cherub’s face. He had heard the cherub analogy and liked it. They were, after all, angels of the second order. And no one knew how old he was. He had passed the point where it could be judged. He didn’t wear glasses so some students assumed he couldn’t be Methuselah. He had the most intense blue eyes. They were mesmerizing.

  “Please, sit down. My word, you look lovely today. Special occasion?” asked Father O’Connor.

  “Well, sort of. My grant is up for renewal today, but Professor Hartung rescheduled it for next month. He hadn’t read my thesis yet. But I really came to see you. You look very busy. Is this a good time?” she asked. “I’m actually running a bit late as it is. Parking was impossible today.”

  “I always have time for you, Jennifer. How can I help you?”

  “Do you remember a student named Jared Siemels?”

  “Mr. Siemels. Who could not remember him? What a remarkable, remarkable young man. Why are you asking?”

  “I ran into him in Maine,” she said.

  “That may have been a mistake,” she thought. Had she just violated Jared’s privacy?

  “Can that me our secret, Father O’Connor?” she asked.

  “My gracious! Really? If you think that’s best. We lost touch with him a number of years ago. I can’t quite remember how long it’s been. I had no idea that he had moved to Maine. I would love to see him again. I know that Dr. Smolenskiy would for certain. He asks about him frequently. But why the interest in Mr. Siemels?”

  She should have realized that he would ask her that.

  “Ahh…we’re sort of seeing each other. Let me be honest about this. I have feelings for him and I was hoping to learn more about him. You know, what kind of man he is. It’s difficult to explain. I’ve never been serious with a man before. It’s not an obsession, please believe me. I sound like a stalker, don’t I?” said Jenny.

  “OH, I UNDERSTAND. An affair of the heart,” said Father O’Connor.

  Father O’Connor was delighted. He and other faculty members who cared about Jared had been extremely concerned about his obvious inability to socialize. They openly hoped that he would eventually form an emotional attachment with a woman, or even a man if he was so inclined. As he grew older, Jared became aloof and increasingly withdrew from people and social situations. Gregarious and inquisitive about girls as a boy, he progressively retreated into himself as the world around him failed to accept him. Jared was seen as a freak and darkly odd. He had no friends. He slowly rejected relationships before he could be rejected. That he may have met someone who accepted him and perhaps had feelings for him could be highly redeeming…if true.

  “Well, yes. It happened very suddenly,” she said. “To be frank, I only met him two months ago, or so.”

  “Only two months…and you are…investigating this young man. Isn’t that a bit dramatic Jennifer?” he asked.

  Father O’Connor knew Jenny to be a serious and level headed student, not given to emotionally vagaries. She was a strong young woman and committed to her academic goals. He also knew her to be fairly conservative. She was Lutheran, but he didn’t mind. She rarely, and perhaps never, attended campus beer parties or displayed the wild behaviors like so many of the other students who were suddenly freed of parental oversight for the first time in their young lives.

  “Yes, it is. But, I am not spying on him. I just want to know him better. I need to learn if…well…if we are compatible. I know this sounds ridiculous. The fact is that I’ve heard some disturbing things about Jared and I want to know if any of it is true before I let our relationship get more serious. Does this make any sense, Father O’Connor?”

  She didn’t know how to ask the question she really wanted answered without betraying Jared. She had seen him kill. How could he kill a person…without hesitation or remorse? Could she ever be with a person who could do that?

  “My my my! Well of course it makes sense. If you think that this relationship could become…let’s say…more than serious, your concerns about Mr. Siemels are understandable. What exactly have you heard about him?” asked Father O’Connor.

  “This is very awkward. To be perfectly frank, I’ve been told Jared is mentally ill. Some have even said that he is dangerous. Not everyone, mind you. Professor Cunningham couldn’t praise him enough and said that I shouldn’t be surprised that many people say cruel
and unkind things about Jared. He said society punishes anyone who is different. In fact, Professor Cunningham urged me to come to you. He insisted on it. He said that even though Jared lived with his family for several years, no one knows Jared as well as you do.”

  “Really? Professor Cunningham said that?”

  “Yes! I met with him yesterday,” said Jenny.

  “Please be clearer about your feelings about Mr. Siemels and why you are making these inquiries. It is important for me to understand the context before we go farther into this matter.”

  Jenny didn’t immediately answer.

  “I think I’m in love with him, Father O’Connor.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “I see. I thought as much. Yes, genuine love demands a high price…a high price, indeed.”

  “Can you help me?” asked Jenny.

  “Have you been…well…intimate?” If you asked Father O’Connor for help, he demanded complete honesty and openness.

  “Yes,” said Jenny.

  Father O’Connor spun his chair around and now spoke to her without looking at her.

  “As you know, I regard the rights of students to privacy as a solemn duty of all faculty members. Please wait outside until I call you. I have to search my conscience about your request.”

  “Of course. And please feel free to call Professor Cunningham to verify that I am being truthful about what he said,” said Jenny.

  “Your truthfulness is beyond reproach Jennifer. I simply want a few minutes to consider the ethics of this matter. I won’t be long,”

  “Thank you.” Jenny left the office.

  Father O’Connor picked up the phone and dialed Bill Cunningham’s cell phone.

  “Bill, O’Connor. Is this a good time to talk?”

  “Ian, I’m glad you called. I assume that Jenny paid you a visit,” said Bill. “Indeed she did,” said Father O’Connor.