The Mayan Trilogy

by Alten-Steve

  Now, I have told this story many times, and I sometimes get funny looks from people. I have with me the voice tapes of the controllers that were involved, the FAA original tapes. You see, after we handed this stuff off to the president’s staff, the FAA didn’t know what to do with it—we don’t separate UFOs from real traffic, so it’s not our problem. [Laughter]

  I have a copy of the original video that we took, which is rather interesting. And, once the thing was all over, the reports started coming into my office, but because it wasn’t an FAA air traffic problem, the FAA’s report ended up on a table in my office. It stayed there until I retired, when the staffers packed up all my gear and helped me move to my house. Also, in a box I found just a few days ago, with my 1992 tax returns, I have the target printouts from the computer data, and so if you want to look at every target that was up there at the time, you could now reproduce this from this piece of paper here. And it’s called the UFO Incident, Japan 1648, I believe the number was. It happened on November 18th, 1986.

  I am prepared to go before Congress—to swear before Congress—that everything I have told you people and that everything that is here is the truth. Thank you.

  —John Callahan,

  FAA Head of Accidents and Investigations

  Used by permission of the Disclosure Project

  23

  AUGUST 18, 2001: KABBALAH CENTRE, MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

  The sanctuary is called the “War Room,” a place where the forces of light engage in battle against darkness.

  Kabbalist Philip S. Berg, better known as the Rav, stands before his congregation at the lectern. “This morning’s Torah portion of Korach is found in Numbers 16 through 18. Back in Egypt, Korach had been a very powerful man; but in the desert he was forced to follow Moses and his brother, Aaron. This did not sit well with Korach’s wife, who was constantly nagging him about how Moses had everything that Korach deserved. But blaming Korach’s wife does not explain everything about Korach’s fall from grace.

  “Because he was rich, Korach believed he was better than everyone else, including Moses. Convinced he was the best man to lead the Israelites, he organized a rebellion, convening 250 members of the tribe of Reuben—elected men of the assembly, men of renown. Standing before these righteous men, Korach accused Moses of leading the Israelites out of Egypt, a land of milk and honey, into the hardship of wandering the desert. And Korach’s followers bought into this evil tongue and threatened to overthrow Moses and his brother. In response, Moses prayed to God to reveal to him his own negativity, seeking to transform his own behavior so he could grow.

  “Because of his knowledge, Korach had it in him to be a great leader. Where did he fail? A clue can be found in the first word of this portion—vayikach, which means, ‘and he took.’ For all his wealth, for all his wisdom and leadership ability, Korach was a taker, and that was his undoing, for when a person wishes only to receive, the outcome can only be negative.”

  Julius Gabriel glances at the dark-haired man seated next to him. Samuel Agler’s black eyes are intense as he absorbs the Rav’s words. Looking back over his shoulder, the archaeologist scans the back of the War Room for his son.

  “Korach possessed an evil eye. The first mention of the evil eye is in Genesis and is attributed to the serpent, who was envious of Adam because he had Eve. Remember, this was no ordinary snake, it could stand up and speak. It was cunning. The evil eye covets. What did Korach covet? He coveted Moses’s power, he sought recognition. Not so bad, except Korach was a taker. The lesson here is that, no matter what we have, we must transform ourselves from receivers to givers. Korach never achieved that vital inner transformation; in the end he paid for his lack of humility, as did his followers.”

  They are seated in the lobby—Sam, Laura, and Sophia. Julius is pacing, working his temper into a lather, when Mick finally walks in, a dark-haired Mexican beauty on his arm.

  “Hey, Pop.”

  “You’re late.”

  “Okay, no big deal. Adelina and I had an important errand to run. Go ahead, show them.”

  Adelina holds out her left hand, her fourth finger sporting a two-karat diamond ring. “Miguel asked me to marry him … we’re engaged!”

  Laura gives Adelina Botello a big hug. Sam slaps Michael across the shoulders.

  Julius looks horrified. “What are you doing? What did I tell you?”

  “Easy, Pop.”

  “She’s not the one, Michael, I told you that! What’s wrong with you? Are you willing to throw your entire future away—mankind’s future—on this … this whore?”

  Heads turn.

  Sophia smirks.

  Laura’s jaw drops. “Julius—”

  “Stay out of this, Laura. Michael knows I’m speaking for your family as much as anyone.”

  Adelina turns to Mick, tears of anger in her eyes. “Are you going to let him insult me like this?”

  “No, babe. Come on, we’re history.” Casting a look of hatred at his father, Michael Gabriel takes his fiancée by the hand and leads her out of the Centre.

  Pentagon

  Washington, D.C.

  “The deputy secretary will see you now.” The petite blond office manager leads Senator Ennis Chaney down a short hall to the double-door chamber of the deputy under secretary of defense.

  Pierre Borgia never looks up from a stack of files spread across his oak desk. “Senator Chaney, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “This meeting is six months overdue, and the only reason we’re speaking now is because Senator Maller owed me a favor. As chairman of the Appropriations Committee—”

  “Vice chairman.”

  “You want to keep playing games? I can play, too. How ’bout I start with a press conference announcing the Pentagon misplaced $2.3 trillion of taxpayer dollars?”

  “Secretary Rumsfeld is already investigating the matter.”

  “That’s reassuring. Sorta like asking the fox to investigate a bunch of missing chickens at the henhouse.”

  “I’m sure whatever funds you’re alluding to were earmarked for projects outside the jurisdiction of Congressional oversight. That’s the nature of the military.”

  “My ass. For two trillion, you could send the entire Marine Corps to the moon. What the hell are you people up to?”

  “We’re safeguarding democracy, Senator. It’s an expensive process.”

  “And how exactly is that little power plant you got zapping the atmosphere up in Alaska safeguarding democracy?”

  “HAARP is nothing more than an aurora research program.”

  “Mind control? Earthquakes in Peru?”

  Borgia grins. “You surf too many conspiracy theory Web sites.”

  “Save it for the Congressional hearing.”

  “Crawl out on that limb, Senator, and you crawl out alone. The GOP will leave you tossing in the wind.”

  “Been there, done that. How do you think I managed to stay in office? On my good looks?”

  “There’s a war going on, Senator. You may not see it or understand it, but it’s a war, nonetheless.”

  “A war?”

  “A war that will determine which nation will govern the planet in the decades to come.”

  “Nation or class?”

  Borgia returns to his work. “This conversation is over.”

  “Fine by me. Guess I’ll have to subpoena your Uncle Joe, seeing as he was playing the role of Grand Wizard at the Star Trek convention your black ops geeks were holding up in Alaska. Funny thing about your uncle—even though he’s listed as a military contractor, over a trillion dollars in Pentagon funds are quietly being funneled through his offshore companies into Skunk Works programs in the Nevada desert.”

  The smile on the deputy secretary’s face disappears. “What is it you want?”

  “Accountability, for starters. I want to hear your boss explain to the American people how $2.3 trillion somehow got ‘misplaced.’ Then I want the money accounted for.”

  “Why? You tr
ying to be a hero? Maybe take a run for the Oval Office in 2008?”

  “No, Mr. Borgia. I’m just trying to keep assholes like you from destroying the world.”

  THE FINAL PAPERS OF JULIUS GABRIEL, PHD

  Cambridge University archives

  Few men are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of their society. Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality for those who seek to change a world which yields most painfully to change.

  —ROBERT F. KENNEDY,

  DAY OF AFFIRMATION ADDRESS,

  UNIVERSITY OF CAPE TOWN,

  JUNE 6, 1966

  August 23, 2001

  Phobos: a Greek term meaning “morbid fear.”

  Fear: a state of mind, inducing anxiety.

  On this, the eve of my symposium, my mind is consumed with anxiety, for the final piece of the Mayan Doomsday puzzle has now been laid into place, perhaps for the first time since the cursed priests of the Spanish Inquisition burned the Mayan codices left behind by Chilam Balam. Five centuries after the Jaguar Prophet attempted to warn us of things to come I am fearful whether my own words will make a difference.

  They must. Our existence depends upon it.

  The Mayan calendar is composed of five great cycles, subdivided into repeating twenty-year epochs, known as katums. According to Chilam Balam, the final katum of cycle five began in 1992 and ends on December 21, 2012. During that time, Balam predicts a decade of peace and prosperity will end when a charismatic leader shall be felled by his own growing ego, his fall from grace beckoning the forces of darkness.

  A great deception shall follow, designed to unite the masses behind new false prophets. War will ensue, propelled by an agenda ripe with corruption, resulting in an imbalance that uproots morality and radicalizes the king-makers.

  Divided into the powerful and the oppressed, the fabric of society shall unravel. And in the melee that ensues, Nature shall cause the planet to tremble.

  Five great cycles. According to the surviving codices, each of the previous four had been terminated by earthquake, wind, fire, then water—the four sacred elements. According to Balam, it is during the last cycle that a fifth element shall come into play—an element responsible for the creation of the physical universe and ultimately its destruction:

  The atom.

  Desiring to know the Creator, man had studied the atom.

  Desiring to kill his brother, man had split the atom.

  Desiring to be the Creator, man was now colliding the atom, recreating the Big Bang, ignoring the inherent dangers. The strangelet was man’s unbridled ego run amok, a fourth-dimensional cancer cell of gravity hellbent on consuming anything in its path.

  It was simple cause and effect. Chilam Balam had understood it, and had painstakingly left us many clues—including one I had long ignored.

  Archaeologists had unearthed more than a dozen crystal skulls over the last century, though only a few had traced back to Chilam Balam. Both Michael and I had dismissed these quartz artifacts after learning that the mineral was not unique to Mesoamerica, its shallow deposits spread beneath twelve percent of the Earth’s crust.

  And yet it is quartz that finally connected the dots.

  Ironically, it was my own great-grandchild, Sophia, disguised by a hiccup of time as my niece, who recently forced me to reexamine the skulls. After I gave the child a quartz skull for her last birthday, she presented me with a mind-boggling theory.

  “Did you know, Uncle Julius, that quartz can resonate with brain waves, that it can even affect the creative process? The skull you gave me has given me vivid dreams—nightmares of the Doomsday still to come. It is as if I have been channeling Chilam Balam himself.”

  “Tell me about the dreams.”

  “Each begins with a volcanic eruption. This is followed by an earthquake, which releases a tsunami. Fire, wind, earth, and water—the four elements tied together by the presence of quartz. I think that is the meaning of the crystal skulls, that they trigger the relationship.”

  “I see the relationship between fire and wind, earth and water, but nothing more. Nor do I see how quartz can trigger these violent acts of nature.”

  Sophia then presented me with a geological map detailing the world’s known quartz deposits. “Do you recognize a pattern, Uncle Julius?”

  “Nothing stands out.”

  “Look closely. The quartz deposits match the planet’s seismic fault lines.”

  The child was right, they did match. The question was—what did it mean?

  I consulted a geologist, who found the idea intriguing, concurring that fault lines in California, Utah, Nevada, and Idaho could be identified by the states’ quartz deposits. He informed me that the mineral contained water, which when heated under pressure could indeed serve as a geological lubricant for rocks to slide and grinding tectonic plates to flow. He promised to research the theory further when he returned from a three-year field trip to Indonesia, though I wondered how Sophia’s revelation would help resolve the Doomsday prophecy.

  And then I thought about the strangelet.

  According to physicists, these theoretical miniature black holes, created when atoms were deliberately collided at near-light speed, could escape their manmade boundaries and pass through the planet’s core, seeking protons upon which to feed.

  Assuming a strangelet were to be created by one of these massive colliders, would the feasting singularity somehow forge a molecular attraction to the unique properties and resonance found in quartz? If so, then these mineral deposits—shadowing geological fault lines—would serve as a beacon to this gradually enlarging black hole. With each pass through the planet’s crust the strangelet would grow larger; as 2012 approached these seismic events, triggered in effect by the singularity, would grow far more destructive.

  Earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis … harbingers of a far more destructive force—a force created by man—a black hole large enough to atomize and consume our entire planet.

  May the Creator shed mercy on our foolhardiness.

  J.G.

  24

  AUGUST 24, 2001: STARR AUDITORIUM, BELFER CENTER, HARVARD UNIVERSITY, CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

  The sold-out crowd files into the second-floor auditorium—professors and scholars, archaeology majors and graduate students, and members of the local media—along with a bizarre cross-segment of UFOologists. Today will mark Julius Gabriel’s first public appearance in more than a decade, and word has spread among the fringe elements that the aging professor intends to unveil “shocking new evidence” that supports forty years of “forbidden archaeology.”

  The guest speaker sits alone in his dressing room before a lighted mirror, the bright bare bulbs revealing every wrinkle and stress line that defines his weathered face. A miniature Nazca plateau, his internal voice comments, the thought dispersed into the ether by the knock on his door.

  “Michael?”

  The door opens, revealing Sam, Laura, and his “niece,” Sophia.

  “Laura, where’s my son?”

  The turquoise-eyed beauty glances at her husband for support. “Julius, we talked about this three days ago. Michael and Adelina eloped. They’re scheduled to fly to Paris this morning for their honeymoon.”

  The words puncture his chest cavity like a dagger, the sudden stress causing the blood vessels leading to his heart to constrict.

  Sam catches him as he doubles over. Laura searches his jacket pocket and retrieves the pill bottle. She quickly pops open the lid and fishes out a small white tablet, placing it under Julius’s tongue.

  The melting nitroglycerin pill quickly relaxes the damaged cardiac vessels, returning color to Julius Gabriel’s face. He sits back in the canvas chair, exhaling phlegm-laced breaths.

  Laura holds a cup of water to his lips. “Sam, I can handle this. Take Sophia out of here, I’ll meet you at our seats.”

  “Co
me on, Sophie.” Sam leads his daughter out of the dressing room, closing the door behind them.

  “Julius, it’s not too late to cancel.”

  “Cancel? Have you any idea what’s at stake? I’m not canceling anything. Death robbed me of my soul mate, lust stole my son … who else is there to see this through? Go on, join your family, I’ll be fine.”

  She shakes her head and opens the door to leave—nearly colliding with Pierre Borgia. The deputy under secretary of defense is standing in the outer hall staring at Laura, transfixed by her eyes. “Do I know you?”

  “No, and let’s keep it that way.” She pushes past him, walking quickly down the corridor.

  “Julius, who was that?”

  “Laura Agler. Maria’s younger sister.”

  “I didn’t know Maria had a younger sister. Is it possible …”

  “What is it you want, Pierre?”

  “Just to wish you luck. And to remind you those military nondisclosure agreements remain in force.” He picks up the prescription bottle with his right hand, reading the label. “Amazing how a man-made ingredient designed to blow things up can also be used to save one’s life.”

  He returns it to Julius using his left hand, watching as the archaeologist slips the bottle into his jacket pocket. “We’re onstage in ten. You’ll enjoy my intro, it should really wet the crowd’s panties.”

  The stage is divided by the two matching daises, the backdrop a thirty-by-forty-foot projection screen.

  A female voice over the speaker system quiets the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, faculty and guests—Harvard University and the Kennedy School of Government welcomes you to another seminar of the sciences. Please welcome our host for this morning’s event, the deputy under secretary of defense and a former Harvard undergrad, Dr. Pierre Robert Borgia.”

  Pierre strides to his dais, waving to an audience no longer visible beyond the bright stage lights. “Good morning. It is an honor to have been selected to introduce today’s guest speaker. Professor Julius Gabriel and I studied together at Cambridge University nearly four decades ago, then spent the next three years together in the field with another colleague, the late Maria Rosen. Professor Gabriel’s theories regarding the influence of extraterrestrial intelligence on ancient cultures are as legendary in the field of archaeology as they are controversial. I’ve more to add, but before I do, let’s bring him out onstage, shall we? Ladies and gentlemen, Professor Julius Gabriel.”