by Mark Goodwin
He exited the highway at Woodstock and drove out to a small country road called Wolf Gap Road. The road snaked around the foothills of the Appalachians then up into the mountains. Everett finally reached the coordinates and found a humble cabin.
He turned off the car and brought the food to the door.
Jones opened the door. “You found me.”
Everett was taken aback by his appearance but tried not to show it. “I brought fried chicken. I hope you’re hungry.”
“That was very kind. I’m actually very hungry.” Jones stopped to put the oxygen mask on his face and took a deep breath.
As Everett followed Jones into the cabin, he suddenly appreciated the ability to breathe a deep breath of air.
Jones rolled the oxygen tank over to a chair in the kitchen and sat down. “I couldn’t breathe this morning when I was getting ready for work. I went to the hospital, and they gave me a shot of prednisolone. They also chained me to this contraption. I can’t blame anyone but myself. It scared the heck out of me, though. I’ve always been ready to take a bullet, but you don’t want to experience what it feels like to suffocate because you can’t breathe.”
Everett took the chicken to the small dining table. “Wow, that was all of a sudden, huh?”
Jones picked up a cup and spit tobacco in it. “Yeah, all of a sudden. There are some plates in that cupboard. The good news is that I quit smoking.”
Everett took the plates and sat them on the table. “And started chewing?”
Jones snickered. “I won’t be around long enough to get mouth or throat cancer. I don’t want to spend my last days going through nicotine withdrawal.”
Everett got himself a glass of water and sat down to eat.
Jones picked up a piece of the chicken then paused. “Do you mind if we pray?”
Everett was surprised. “Uh, sure, go ahead. I didn’t know you were religious.”
Jones bowed his head. “God, thank you for this food . . . I don’t know what else to say. Amen.”
Everett looked up and started eating his food.
Jones spooned some of the potatoes onto his plate. “I take it you don’t believe in a higher being.”
Everett shrugged. “I don’t know. No.”
Jones smiled. “I never counted myself a believer before. But being in my present condition has caused me to ponder what comes next. Some of the things I’ve run across working for the Company have also given me reason to reconsider.”
Everett couldn’t imagine what Jones could have found at the CIA to make him believe in God. “Like what?”
“Are you familiar with the Christian concept of the Rapture, Mr. Carroll?”
“Vaguely. Doesn’t some radical sect of Christianity believe they’re going to disappear?”
Jones finished chewing and wiped his mouth. “Oh, it’s quite mainstream theology for Christians.”
Everett fought back a chuckle. “That sounds crazy to me. I can’t imagine anyone believing such a thing.”
“I would have agreed with you 100 percent a couple of years ago. You have to realize though, for people who believe that God created everything in the known universe from nothing, what would they find impossible for such a God?”
“That sounds ludicrous as well.”
“But, Mr. Carroll, your belief system, as an atheist, says the same thing happened, only without anything to set the chain of events into motion. Is that any less ludicrous?”
“Yes, but we know everything happened very slowly over billions of years.”
Jones looked over at the wooden cuckoo clock on his kitchen wall. “If I tell you that the clock on my wall formed over millions of years, would you believe me?”
Everett glanced at the clock. “Of course not.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s obvious that it was made by a clockmaker.”
“Have you seen the clockmaker? How can you be sure?”
Everett recalled a scientific argument from his recent college days. “The second law of thermodynamics says that an isolated system will evolve to its maximum state of entropy. It is impossible for something to evolve into a more ordered state without outside influence. For a complex system like your clock, an outside influence had to fabricate it. ”
“Impressive answer. Now why does that hold true for something as simple as a cuckoo clock, but not for a system as complex as the human body? The eye alone is a vastly more complex system than your computer tablet, yet you’re willing to accept that it simply happened with no outside influence? How do you reconcile that notion with your second law of thermodynamics?”
Suddenly, Everett didn’t feel so smart. “Well . . .”
“Complexity is evidence of design, Mr. Carroll. But I digress. Back to the main topic, one of the things I stumbled upon while working on Dragon was a propaganda campaign to craft a cover story for a mass disappearance. It was an active campaign that had been going on for decades and was being integrated into Dragon. The narrative is fostering a belief in extraterrestrial life forms through documentaries, news, entertainment, and other information channels. When the disappearance occurs, those remaining will be told by government leaders that the disappearance is a massive abduction by alien life forms. The people left on earth will be led to believe that they were chosen to take part in a new utopian experience led by extraterrestrial advisors.”
Everett was sure that Agent Jones was losing his mind. He thought, I’ll humor him because he’s dying, but the cancer is obviously clouding his reason.
“I’ve made a career out of reading people, Mr. Carroll. I can’t say that I blame your look of disbelief, but consider what I’ve been right about. The BRICS Bank withdrew their announcement of a new currency, and gold prices took a very steep dive this morning. And precious metals prices will continue to fall, just as I said.”
Everett lifted his eyebrows. “You were right about that. I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but it sounds very far-fetched that the CIA would be crafting a cover story for a mass disappearance based on a myth from the Bible. And aliens? That’s really a tough sell.”
Jones said, “Let’s say you awoke to a massive disappearance tomorrow morning, and you switched on the news to find out what happened. One channel said it was an alien abduction, and the other said it was the Rapture. Who would you be most inclined to believe?”
Everett rolled his eyes. “For the sake of argument, I would be more likely to believe the alien story.”
“That’s because you’ve been conditioned through grade school, college, movies, television, and news media to accept evolution and thereby regard God as a fairy tale. On the other hand, regarding aliens, you’ve been conditioned by the same information channels to wonder if we are alone in the universe.”
Everett was a bit put off at being told that he’d been manipulated. “I don’t know that I was conditioned, Agent Jones.”
“Please, call me John. I’m rather certain that my days serving as your supervisor are finished. At any rate, whether it is for the Rapture or some other event resulting in a mass disappearance, the Company is involved in crafting this cover story. It’s a classic tactic for the CIA to get out in front of a story so they can control the narrative.”
“So it’s not necessarily the Rapture that they are planning for?” Everett said.
“No, there was nothing in the files that I read calling the event the Rapture. But the cover story seems to be configured for the dictionary definition of this event predicted by the Evangelical Christian Church.”
“Is there a timeline for the disappearance?”
Jones paused to take a deep breath from his oxygen tank. “No, like I said, the cover story has been ready, as if it was awaiting an imminent event, for several decades.”
Everett looked back at the cuckoo clock on the wall. “But this cover story, it’s made you reconsider your belief in God?”
Jones nodded. “Among other factors. One of the reasons I always dismissed the exi
stence of God was because of bad examples I’ve seen from so-called believers. Yet I work for an organization that infiltrates the ranks of our enemies, uses disinformation, and conducts character assassinations on a regular basis. If there is some type of otherworldly battle between good and evil, it would make sense that similar tactics would be employed.”
Everett understood why Jones would be contemplating the afterlife in his current predicament, but Everett wanted to focus on tangible facts. “You were right about the metals prices. I stopped by the coin shop today on the way home. I bought two ounces of silver, just to look at it and familiarize myself with the process. I do believe what you said about the managed collapse. I respect your thoughts about God as well. I just need things I can see and touch.”
“Very well, Mr. Carroll. About your silver and gold purchases, it was smart to dip your toe in the water, but wait a few days before you go all in. There will be a bigger drop in the prices. If you scout out some online dealers, you might find better prices.”
Everett took the two coins out of his pocket. “Won’t it be more anonymous if I pay with cash at a coin shop?”
Jones nodded. “Yes, but if you go over ten thousand dollars, the coin shop will have to fill out a form 8300 to send to the IRS. It was part of the Patriot Act. Same thing with the online dealers. They don’t want to do any more paperwork than they have to. You’ll likely have to mail in a paper check to the online dealers. It’s traceable, but it sets off less alarms than a credit card transaction. How much do you have in cash?”
“Do you mean in the bank?”
“Liquid,” Jones said.
“Maybe thirty thousand.”
Jones shook his head. “On your salary? You should have more than that.”
Everett thought saving up thirty thousand dollars was quite an accomplishment. “I have a car lease, rent, food, clothes. All that stuff adds up.”
“You should put all your savings into silver and gold. Do you own a good firearm?”
Everett put his hand up. “Wait, all of it? And no, I don’t own a gun. I’m an analyst.”
Jones had finished eating and got up to put his plate in the sink. “Well, put in whatever amount of wealth you want to survive the crash.” Jones washed the plate, dried it, and stuck it back in the cupboard. “Everyone should own a gun, Mr. Carroll. The world is a dangerous place. Did you think any more about a place to lay low when it hits the fan?”
Everett was still digesting being told to put all of his cash into gold and silver. “No, I don’t really have anywhere else to go. My parents are divorced and both live in DC with their new families. I didn’t take too well to the blended family thing. Both of my stepparents are nice enough, but they both have kids of their own. It’s just not me. My apartment building in Ashburn is really nice. We have a security gate with a guard, and I’m on the third floor.”
Jones laughed. “That rent-a-cop and aluminum gate won’t last ten minutes if society melts down, son. If things get tough, you come on up here. Even if I’m gone. The deed to this place is under an alias.”
Jones opened the other side of the cupboard and jiggled the shelf for a few seconds. The shelf acted as the handle for a false wall, which he pulled out. He stuck his hand inside and extracted an old metal coffee can. He opened it and retrieved a checkbook and a folded piece of paper. “Here is the deed and bank account I use to pay the taxes on this place. I have enough in here to cover taxes for about two years, but I doubt it will be worth anything after the crash. Here’s a spare key. I probably have enough provisions in the loft for a year. You should bring some food up here for yourself while you can. I don’t think I’ll be around for another year, but I’d rather have too much than not enough.”
Everett didn’t know what to think. This man, whom he hardly knew, was showing him more concern and attention than his own father. “That’s very generous of you.”
Jones returned the coffee can to its hiding place. “Get yourself a couple hundred pounds of white rice, some peanut butter, canned vegetables, soups, and canned meats. And learn how to cook. It is a lot less detrimental if you burn a few meals now, than after it all comes crashing down.”
Everett placed the key on his key chain. “Thank you, John.”
“I’m going back down to my house in Fairfax. I’ll be back and forth between there and here until it hits. Don’t be shy; come on up whenever you want. And find yourself a wife. Don’t be like me, married to the Company. She won’t love you back.”
Everett looked at the old wood floor. He knew Jones wouldn’t want him to, but he couldn’t help feel bad for the dying man. If John Jones was offering to share his cabin with Everett, he was determined to be his friend for the little bit of life he had left, no matter how unpleasant the cancer would become.
Jones rolled his oxygen tank back into the living room, put some tobacco in his mouth, and sat down.
Everett followed him. “Should you have your oxygen tank near the open fire?”
Jones joked. “It’s okay as long as I don’t stick it in the fireplace.”
Everett found a place to sit on the couch. “Where is your Freemason ring?”
Jones shook his head. “I’m done with the lot of them. No one from my lodge has even called since I was diagnosed. Not that I was ever a great friend to most of them. Just as well. I’ve wasted enough time on the occult.”
“Occult? You make it sound like a cabal of Satan worshipers.”
Jones sat back in his chair. “Well, that might not be too far from the truth. Occult is derived from the Latin occultare, which simply means secret. By definition, that places all secret societies in the category of occult. All of them have practices or traditions that I would consider darkly ritualistic, probably what you think of when you say satanic.”
Everett looked at Jones’s face, half lit by the light of the fire. It made the subject all the spookier. “Like what?”
“During initiation, members of Skull and Bones are buried in coffins and resurrected into the order. It is almost an anti-baptism. The Bohemian Grove in California has a ritual they call the Cremation of Care. It mimics a human sacrifice being burned alive at the foot of a towering owl statue.”
“Why an owl?”
Jones took a deep breath from the oxygen mask. “The owl has been a symbol of the dark arts for centuries. It’s a carnivore, a stealth hunter.”
Everett interrupted. “So is an eagle.”
Jones nodded. “But the owl hunts at night, in secrecy. Its ability to see in the dark gives it an advantage over the creatures of the light. Darkness is symbolic for the hidden knowledge of the secret societies, which allows them to prey on those who are not privy to their confidential understanding. The owl is also a symbol of wisdom. That’s where we get the saying ‘wise as an owl.’”
“The G in the center of the Masonic compass and square stands for gnosis, the Greek word for ‘knowledge.’”
Everett got up to put a log in the fire, which was burning low. “What’s wrong with knowledge and wisdom?”
“Nothing, inherently, but the biblical account of the fall of man is based on Adam and Eve eating the forbidden fruit, which gave them the knowledge of good and evil. The Lucifereans see knowledge as something that they can shake in the face of God, especially when it can be used as a sort of forbidden fruit to lure people away from God. Genesis chapter three, verse twenty-two speaks of God’s disappointment when Adam had become like a god because he had the knowledge of good and evil. While the Christians see this event as the fall of man, the Lucifereans see it as the ascent of man.”
“Wow, you know the Bible pretty well for a recent convert.”
Jones laughed. “Genesis chapter three, verse twenty-two is the source of the 322 on the bottom of the Skull and Bones seal. More than a few people in secret societies are familiar with that verse. Other than that one, I couldn’t tell you too many Bible verses. I remember a few Bible stories that my grandmother tried to teach me when I was young. It�
��s funny how many of those seemed to come back to me as I moved higher up in the Masons.”
Everett looked at the time on his new burner phone. It was getting late, but he was intrigued by the stories. “And what about the Freemasons. Do they have any dark rituals?”
Jones paused for a moment. “We . . . I mean they have a reenactment of the murder of Hiram Abiff. According to the legend, Hiram was the lead architect in charge of building Solomon’s temple. He was the only person who knew the Tetragrammaton, the name of God.”
“Tetra what?”
“Tetragrammaton. When God gave his name to Moses, it was regarded as too holy to be written. The Jews dropped the vowels when writing the name of God and simply wrote the consonants, YHVW. That’s why you’ll often hear Christians or Jews refer to God as Jehovah or Yahweh. They’re trying to fill in the blanks left by the vowels that were dropped when writing the name of God.
“Long story short, Hiram was attacked by those who wanted to know the name of God, which would have made them master masons. Being a master mason would have allowed them to earn more money. Hiram refused to tell them, and they murdered him. The true name of God was lost forever. And substitute words were incorporated for master masons.”
“That doesn’t sound so satanic.”
Jones leaned forward. The light from the fire lit his aging face in a way that made Everett’s arm hair stand up. Then Jones spoke. “Until a mason achieves the thirty-third degree. Then he learns that Hiram was resurrected by King Solomon, and the true name of God is . . . Lucifer.”
Everett stared at Jones. “That sounds satanic. Even as an atheist, I find that frightening.”
Jones said, “I always thought of it as a sort of folklore or allegorical, but most of the thirty-third-degree Masons believe in this as much as the most devout Christian or Jew believes in their God.”