The Inca Prophecy

by Adrian D'hagé

  O’Connor looked sheepish. ‘Project Stargate. It started in one of the electronics and bioengineering laboratories at the Stanford Research Institute, although we didn’t get into extrasensory perception until we discovered the Chinese and the Russians had their own programs.’

  ‘Yet if I remember correctly, once the program was declassified, you had a panel of sceptical scientists examine it, including two Nobel laureates no less, and they all concluded that the research stacked up. Apparently it’s quite possible to communicate with someone else’s mind thousands of miles away. So why so doubtful about the crystal skull?’

  ‘Just keeping an open mind,’ O’Connor responded defensively.

  ‘Well, keep that mind of yours open to the possibility Einstein might have been on to something when he was searching for a theory that would unite gravity, electromagnetism and the nuclear forces,’ Aleta remonstrated gently.

  ‘The elusive theory of everything,’ O’Connor agreed.

  ‘A polymath like you would know there’ve been a lot of experiments that point to there being an energy grid – a unifying force that explains all the major theories in physics. It could be what Brother Gonzáles was on about when he spoke about the source field.’

  ‘I don’t discount it,’ O’Connor agreed. ‘The Russians have been leading the way on source-field studies since the 1950s, and until recently, most of their research was classified. I’ve seen some of the papers, and it’s fascinating stuff. We may finally answer the question of where we come from and where we’re going … But you think the crystal skulls are linked to this source field?’

  ‘From what the Mitchell-Hedges skull had to say, I think that’s entirely possible. The skull also told us that to decipher the Inca prophecy we need all three crystal skulls, and the road to finding them sounded pretty dire. Remember the warning? One skull is already in the possession of one of our enemies, and we’ll find the clues to its whereabouts near an ancient fountain, beneath a large bronze pigna.’

  ‘One skull is already in the hands of our enemies – that could well be the skull that Brother Gonzáles believes is in Rome. The bronze pigna …’ O’Connor’s voice dropped off as he thought. ‘It means the bronze pine cone. Wait – the bronze pine cone! I knew there was something about that,’ he said, his eyes alight. ‘The Belvedere courtyard in Rome connects the Vatican Palace with the Villa Belvedere. In Roman times, there used to be a fountain there, but in the seventeenth century they shut off the water and moved a huge bronze pine cone from the Roman Pantheon to the top of the fountain, and the courtyard has been known since as the Cortile della Pigna … the courtyard of the pine cone.’

  ‘It fits, doesn’t it?’ said Aleta, grabbing O’Connor’s arm in excitement. ‘And no pun intended, but for a lapsed Catholic you’re a font of knowledge, aren’t you?’ Aleta grinned. ‘So this could be where one of the skulls is?’

  ‘I suspect what lies beneath it might be the key. The Vatican’s secret archives lie directly below the pine cone. If we’re meant to find the skulls and the parchments, we will. This evening, I’ve got a meeting at the Israeli embassy, and then we’ll need to find a way to get to Rome without Wiley and his assassins tumbling to our movements.’

  ‘Your old friend from Mossad. Why does he want to see you?’

  ‘I suspect he’s still after von Heißen. He’ll want to grill me on what I know.’

  Aleta’s face clouded. ‘They better get to that bastard before I do.’ She’d seen photographs of the Nazi commandant of Mauthausen, and his face was indelibly seared in to her memory bank.

  Curtis placed his hand on Aleta’s. ‘It might have taken them fifteen years, but the Israelis tracked down Adolf Eichmann in Buenos Aires. If von Heißen’s still alive, they’ll get him too.’

  Aleta nodded, wiping away a sudden tear and folding her napkin on the table. O’Connor called for the bill and he and Aleta stood to leave.

  ‘I can’t believe we had all of that for less than twenty dollars,’ Curtis said, leaving fifty nuevo sol in a saucer on the table. Once they reached the foyer of their hotel, O’Connor gently touched Aleta’s hand. ‘Stay in the hotel room, and don’t answer the door. I may be a couple of hours,’ he said, and he turned and walked outside, where he hailed a cab.

  ‘Embajada de Israel, por favor. Natalia Sánchez Numero 125, gracias.’

  ‘Curtis! How good to see you again.’ The welcome from Mossad’s chief of station in Lima, Eli Shaked, was warm and genuine. ‘Have a seat,’ he said, offering a comfortable chair in his small but functional office. Shaked had the same muscular build as O’Connor, although his thinning hair was now grey.

  ‘Great to see you too.’ O’Connor shook hands with his old colleague. The pair had worked together in Berlin at the end of the Cold War and, as sometimes happened in situations of adversity, they had forged a strong friendship. That was not to say they shared all their intelligence, but there was enough collaboration to make the professional relationship more than worthwhile to both.

  ‘You’ve sure stirred up a storm with the Weasel,’ Shaked observed. ‘How are you travelling?’

  ‘One step ahead of him – and we’ll be fine, provided it stays that way until the hearing in Washington’s finished.’

  ‘Yes.’ Shaked’s smile held a touch of envy. ‘You haven’t lost any of your charm with the ladies. Weizman’s quite a stunner. How are things going there?’

  ‘None of your business. And give my best to Zivah.’ O’Connor grinned as he dropped the name of Shaked’s wife and accepted a cup of black coffee. ‘So who did you upset to earn a posting to Lima?’

  ‘Oh, the usual. The President, the Prime Minister, the head rabbi … None of them are talking to me, although there’s another reason I accepted this post,’ Shaked said, more serious now. ‘How much do you know about the whereabouts of von Heißen?’

  ‘Not a lot. Although you’d better get to him before Dr Weizman does.’

  Shaked nodded. ‘I read up on her grandparents. You can assure her we’re doing everything we can to bring von Heißen to justice.’

  ‘I already have.’ O’Connor took Shaked through his discovery of von Heißen’s diaries. He’d found the former Nazi commandant’s diaries in an old trunk a few years before, in the home of Monsignor Jennings – the priest of a church on the shores of Lake Atitlán in Guatemala. Mossad had been briefed at the time but O’Connor had not spoken to Shaked about it. ‘I’ll make the diaries available to you when you bring him to book, but we don’t have the smoking gun, the one that charts his course out of Mauthausen, along with a substantial amount of gold.’

  ‘Any chance of getting hold of what you’ve got?’ Shaked smiled as O’Connor shook his head regretfully. ‘It was worth a shot. In the meantime, if you turn up anything else on von Heißen, this is my private number,’ he said, handing O’Connor a card.

  ‘I’m trying to get out of the country for a while, but when I get back I’ll keep my ear to the ground,’ O’Connor replied.

  ‘We have a Lear jet going to Tel Aviv tomorrow, if that would help?’ his old friend offered. ‘It will have to make a couple of stops for refuelling, but the price is right.’

  ‘Two seats?’

  ‘I shall look forward to meeting Dr Weizman in person.’

  O’Connor’s taxi turned into Calle Manuel Bonilla just in time for him to see two men bundling Aleta into a black BMW four-wheel drive outside the hotel.

  Chapter 30

  The minority leader of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, Senator Austin Crosier, strode up the floodlit steps of the Capitol, determined to confront the crush of journalists and television cameras. The Senate hearing into the CIA’s possible involvement in the disappearance of Agent O’Connor and Dr Aleta Weizman was huge news.

  ‘Senator, do you have any comment on the allegations that the CIA tried to assassinate Curtis O’Connor and the Guatemalan archaeologist, Dr Weizman?’ CNN’s Susan Murkowski asked, leading the pack of journalists s
urging forward and surrounding the bull-faced senator from Massachusetts.

  Crosier assumed a thoughtful look for the cameras. ‘I have no comment to make on those allegations before the committee has had time to thoroughly investigate them, but I will say this,’ he challenged, his eyes narrowing, ‘it’s not the first time America has been threatened by a rogue agent in the CIA, and if O’Connor or Weizman has disclosed information that is harmful to the security of this great nation, then we will hunt them down, just as we hunted down Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden.’ Crosier’s square chin protruded and he glared at the pack, daring them to ask another question.

  ‘So you’re supporting Howard Wiley’s version of events?’

  ‘The Deputy Director of Operations has yet to give evidence, but Howard Wiley has served this country with distinction. The CIA is committed to keeping ordinary Americans safe, and Howard Wiley serves in the tradition of the honourable men who have gone before him.’

  ‘And the women?’ a female reporter asked, but the senator ignored the question.

  ‘Given Dr Weizman was married to your son, Senator, shouldn’t you disqualify yourself from this hearing?’ Murkowski asked.

  ‘I find that question offensive.’ Austin Crosier’s bull neck reddened and his chin protruded further.

  ‘Be that as it may, Senator,’ Murkowski persisted, ‘Dr Weizman’s relationship with your son could be construed as a conflict of interest?’ Murkowski smiled demurely at the senator and it had the desired effect, enraging him even more.

  ‘My son’s marriage to Weizman, which, I might add, lasted less than eighteen months,’ the senator snarled, ‘has absolutely nothing to do with this inquiry.’ To the accompaniment of a barrage of camera flashes, Senator Crosier turned on his heel and stormed into the Capitol building, leaving the print journalists scribbling furiously.

  The large room set aside for the hearing into what had become known as Mayagate was packed to capacity with journalists, lawyers and staffers. Howard Wiley, a look of thunder on his face, sat with his counsel at the polished wooden witness table. All fifteen members of the committee were seated at the two-tiered mahogany benches at one end of the room. Twenty or more photographers sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, some of the lenses on their cameras nearly half a metre long.

  The majority leader and chair of the committee, Democrat Mary Wheeler, her blonde hair elegantly coiffured, leaned towards her voice-activated microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she began, ‘the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence will come to order.’ She paused, waiting for the hubbub to die down.

  ‘Affixed to the wall behind me is the Seal of the United States Senate.’ All eyes were drawn to the red, white and blue shield of stars and stripes inscribed with E pluribus unum – out of many, one.

  ‘You will notice there is an olive branch on the left, symbolising peace, while the oak branch on the right symbolises strength. At the top is a liberty cap, and the crossed fasces at the bottom represent freedom and authority. Our founding fathers intended that out of many states we would become one nation – a nation of peace, strength, and freedom. The authority that is vested in the House and the Senate is part of the system of checks and balances that are enshrined in our constitution. No one branch or agency of government can operate independently from the rest. No agency can operate outside the law.’ She paused to look directly at Wiley. ‘The charges that the Central Intelligence Agency has been involved in an assassination attempt against one of its former agents and a Guatemalan national are serious, and it will be the task of this select committee to determine the veracity of those allegations. The first witness called to give evidence is Mr Howard Wiley, the Deputy Director of Operations for the Central Intelligence Agency. Mr Wiley, would you please rise in order to take the oath.’

  Wiley stood and raised his right hand, his thin lips compressed more than usual as the clerk read the oath.

  ‘Do you solemnly swear or affirm that the testimony you are about to give this committee is the truth, and the whole truth?’

  ‘I do,’ Wiley responded.

  ‘You may be seated,’ the clerk said.

  ‘Mr Wiley, you’ve been a loyal officer of the CIA for how many years?’ Senator Crosier began.

  ‘Coming up to forty this fall, Senator.’ Wiley smiled for the photographers.

  ‘And in that time, have you ever personally been involved in an assassination?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Have any of your colleagues?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, Senator. No, sir.’

  Senator Wheeler looked on with barely disguised contempt as her Republican opposite number kept serving up home runs on a platter, but when it came to her turn, she went for the jugular.

  ‘Mr Wiley, has the CIA ever had a manual of assassination amongst its training manuals?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘So the instructional guide on assassination that the CIA employed during Operation PBSuccess, the operation President Eisenhower endorsed to overthrow the democratically elected president of Guatemala – that’s just a figment of the media’s imagination, is it?’ A volley of camera shutters accompanied her question. ‘You haven’t seen the secret files on Guatemala the CIA was forced to declassify under Freedom of Information?’

  ‘Well, that wasn’t a manual as such. Just a few typewritten pages.’ Wiley smiled. ‘Ma’am,’ he added condescendingly.

  ‘Just a few typewritten pages. Do you remember what was in those pages?’

  ‘That was well before my time, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I see. Let me refresh your memory, Mr Wiley,’ Senator Wheeler remarked acidly, turning the flagged pages in a heavy folder, ‘I quote: “The simplest tools are often the most efficient … a hammer, an axe, wrench, kitchen knife, lamp stand, or anything hard and heavy will suffice, but puncture wounds of the body may not be reliable unless the heart is reached … Absolute reliability is obtained by severing the spinal cord in the cervical region.” That instruction booklet goes on to advise that to provide plausible denial, no assassination instructions should ever be written down or recorded. Do you recall how many names were on the CIA’s assassination list for Operation PBSuccess, Mr Wiley?’

  ‘Again, well before my time, I’m afraid.’ Wiley’s face was beginning to match his hair.

  ‘For someone who was chief of station in Guatemala, Mr Wiley, you have a remarkably short memory of our involvement in that country. There were fifty-eight names – and that was just the CIA’s “A List”.’ Senator Wheeler gave Wiley a withering glare. ‘I have in front of me another memo, Mr Wiley, from the head of the CIA division that organised the coup in Guatemala, asking personnel to initial any names within the Arbenz government they thought ought to be included on the CIA’s final list. You weren’t aware the CIA counted assassination as an instrument of foreign policy?’

  Senator Crosier sighed deeply and audibly. ‘Madam Chair, are we going to spend much more time on ancient history?’

  ‘It may have escaped both your and Mr Wiley’s attention, Senator, but after Operation PBSuccess forced President Arbenz from power, the CIA helped install Colonel Castillo Armas, a small-town thug who would do as he was told. With our help and training, he formed the first of the death squads that were ultimately responsible for the torture and massacre of 200 000 Guatemalan people.’ Senator Wheeler gave her opposite number another glare and turned her attention back to Wiley.

  ‘For political assassinations, what guidelines does the CIA follow, Mr Wiley?’

  Wiley shrugged condescendingly. ‘If you’re not carrying out assassinations, Senator, then you don’t need guidelines.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Senator Crosier snorted.

  ‘So you’re not aware of any that have taken place?’

  ‘No,’ Wiley replied.

  ‘You’re either incompetent or possessed of a very poor memory or both, and I’m warning you that if you continue to provide evasive answers to my questions,
I’ll cite you for contempt of this committee.’

  ‘That’s an outlandish slur on a good man’s character,’ Senator Crosier growled.

  ‘Let me remind you of the precise nature of those guidelines, Mr Wiley,’ Senator Wheeler continued, ignoring the outburst on her left. ‘In 1976 President Ford issued an executive order banning political assassinations. President Carter strengthened this, banning any indirect involvement and in 1981, President Reagan issued Executive Order 12333.’

  ‘Which has severely limited the CIA’s ability to protect this country!’ Senator Crosier interjected, his bull neck red with anger.

  ‘And just in case you or anyone else in the CIA are in any doubt, Mr Wiley, I’ll quote this order for you: “No person employed by or acting on behalf of the United States Government shall engage in, or conspire to engage in, assassination.” Did you, or any of your staff, put out an order for Agent Curtis O’Connor to assassinate Dr Aleta Weizman? I’ll remind you that you’re under oath.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Wiley replied.

  ‘And what was Agent O’Connor’s view on assassination?’

  ‘O’Connor was a gutless traitor,’ Wiley growled, ‘and is a clear and present danger to the United States.’

  ‘So when he refused to follow your order to assassinate Weizman, that’s when you put out another order – to assassinate O’Connor?’

  ‘That’s an outrageous suggestion!’ Senator Crosier thundered.

  ‘Please answer the question, Mr Wiley. I would remind you again that you’re under oath. The penalties for lying to Congress are custodial, and there will be other witnesses called, including Agent Ellen Rodriguez.’

  ‘I absolutely deny the accusation,’ Wiley snarled.

  Chapter 31

  The assassin remained motionless in his car as a distinguished-looking man took his leave on Rodriguez’s front porch and drove off in a Jaguar. Was his target having a liaison with an older man? He smiled to himself. If she was, they’d just had their last rendezvous. He waited, but the lights in the house remained on. He considered his options. It would be safer to kill Rodriguez in bed, but it was more pleasurable to get his victims when they were awake. To see the fear in their eyes as they had to face their final moment. He checked the street behind and in front of him and quietly locked the car. Using the trees for cover, he crept up the driveway of the house.