Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I

by Athanasios

  “Sister, the barring of the Apostolic Testis arriving on the heels of Father Quentin’s disappearance, and after losing some of our most important texts from the Secret Archives, has got to be connected. Please, I must find Father Quentin. Can you tell me where he might be?” Martin’s face was contorted with worry and confusion and he stumbled over his statement. “I know he’s in the Vatican. I must find someone to warn of our loss.”

  “I wish there was something I could do Father but my hands are tied. Perhaps it would help to speak to Secretary Ciriaci?”

  Father Martin nodded, thanked Sister LaParee for her time and was off as quickly as his robes would allow him. He stopped short of running, but drew many looks as he hurried past clergy and church officials, lost either in prayer or politics. He had no intention of going to Cardinal Ciriaci or Cardinal Raimondi; he went straight for the only man he still trusted — his own Cardinal Bae.

  He rushed into his office, past the shocked clerk who didn’t have the time to inquire about the nature of his business. Once he entered the office Father Martin saw that the cardinal was with the other two men whom he wanted to avoid — Ciriaci and Raimondi. The soft-spoken Jesuit nodded a greeting to both men and asked if he could speak to the Cardinal in private. Father Martin’s exclusionary tactics seemed to insult the Secretary of State and the Major Prefect of the Apostolic Penitentiary, the Pope’s personal second and confessor. They curtly nodded their heads and left with grim faces.

  “I hope what you have to say is important Lancaster. You’ve just insulted the two most powerful men next to the Pontiff, himself. What is so urgent?”

  “My deepest apologies, Your Worship, but in this matter, I could only trust you. I’ve been told some texts we’ve been consulting in the Secret Archives have been sold. Specifically they dealt with the enemy’s child and his past incarnations. They were in use, as recently as yesterday. In fact I only rested a short time but when I returned, they were gone!” At his pronouncement, Martin was surprised to see that his master was unaffected.

  “Le Menace D’Ours D’Enfer, The Sangrael Gospel, The Tome de Les Parfaits, and the Idammah-Gan Codex, is that correct? The two cardinals, whom you so rashly dismissed, had already brought this to my attention. You must come up with something better than this to justify and excuse your behavior Father Martin.”

  “You know how important these texts are Cardinal. They were the target of an earlier removal attempt, and now, were sold outright. Who is this officer of the church who acquired them?” Martin asked warily. He was beginning to suspect his own Master-general of complicity with those whom they had uncovered. Maybe the records they found in South Carolina weren’t as complete as they had believed.

  “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me Lancaster. The identity of the person who bought them is irrelevant. The cardinals did not tell me who he was. However, they assured me that he is a high-ranking cleric. That is all that you and I need to know.”

  “If he’s already an official in the church why didn’t he simply go and see them himself?” Though Martin did not accept Bae’s explanation he wasn’t sure if he was being cagey or indifferent.

  The telephone on the cardinal’s desk rang and he answered with exasperation, which escalated to belligerence as he told his secretary to bid the seneschal enter. Cardinal Bae steeled himself for the worst as Father Quentin joined his friend and related his own version of what Martin, Ciriaci and Raimondi had already told him.

  “Gentlemen, these texts are quite a topic of conversation. What more do you have to say about them, seneschal? Your partner has already implied that I was involved with their sale as well as insulting both the Secretary of State and the Major Prefect in a span of the last five minutes.” Bae began to tap out an impatient rhythm with his foot as he waited for Quentin’s response.

  “With all due respect, Cardinal both to yourself and to Cardinals Ciriaci and Raimondi, we have our own mandate and goals in regard to this subject. Each of you is aware of this, since you were present when we were given this responsibility. These texts, which you dismiss so easily are crucial for the continuation of our work. Not only is their unavailability problematic, but also the possibility they are now in the hands of our enemies…”

  Quentin was cut short as the Jesuit Master-general stood, and with an exasperated bellow, verbally launched himself at the glaring Templar.

  “This is the twentieth century, Father Quentin! You and your order are but a quaint relic of our violent past! No matter what the pope tells you the cardinals are the ones who set the precedent. The pope is a nice centerpiece at our table. The Secretary of State, the Major Prefect and the heads of every order of the church are dealing with the modern world my misguided fellows! Don’t lecture me on Paul’s pet project of Halloween missions and gods and devils. We are in a world with which we must bend, lest we get left behind. Both of you grow up and get out of my office!”

  Martin fell into a chair, shocked at how he had misjudged his master. More than eight years before, he had approached Bae with his fears and was proud when they were taken straight to the pope. Today he couldn’t understand how he had completely changed his position. His mouth hung open, his voice and breath knocked out of him. Quentin, on the other hand was far from silent.

  “You are not my Grand-master, and as per the Holy Father’s orders, you are not Father Martin’s Master-general. We will leave your office but we will get to the bottom of this sudden acquisition of codexes with information that is critical for our Halloween mission. You and the College of Cardinals have not heard the last of this. Come, Lancaster, let’s go.”

  Quentin bent down and helped Martin to his feet. They quietly left the fuming cardinal behind his desk, reaching for his phone. They continued past the secretary and the hallowed halls and out into St. Peter’s Square. Martin hardly noticed they were outside and still leaned on Quentin, who had taken his arm and slung it across his hard shoulder. The rogue Jesuit finally found his voice and asked, “Why are we outside, Father Quentin? Are we going somewhere?”

  Quentin spoke slowly and in a whisper as he scanned around them for prying eyes and ears. “We’re leaving Rome Lancaster. It’s no longer safe here. The names we uncovered in the South Carolina records go much deeper than we imagined. We’ve seen how subtle and daring they are, as well as how easily they can get others to cover their tracks.” Quentin still held Martin in a surprisingly gentle hold. “Don’t worry; our work is not done. We still have all the resources we’ve always had, simply not the overt aid of the cardinals. We do, however, have papal sanction and autonomy. Our work has just begun.”

  - Allotted Existence -

  TIME: FEBRUARY 24TH, 1971. DIGBY ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA.

  A new decade began, not so much with promise, but providing a much needed rest and distance from the chaotic past ten years. The first few months were a continuation of points from the 60s.

  In March, the New English Bible was published with the changes made at the Second Vatican Council. In Kosta’s opinion, it read like a desperate attempt to garner new converts, but he knew what the changes meant. They were a dim reflection of the alterations happening in the Vatican, itself.

  Kosta half listened to another publicity stunt by Lennon’s banshee — something about them having dual sex change operations. Kosta wondered why they would even bother, considering she already had the poor bastard’s balls. With them in her mouth all the time, it was actually amazing she could say as much as she did. He put aside his animosity for the hideous geisha when he saw Adam was inconsolable about Paul McCartney’s decision to leave the Beatles. Given Yoko’s constant grandstanding and public statements Kosta couldn’t blame him. It must’ve caused a scene in the Lennon household when Paul’s news upstaged Yoko’s dual sex change story.

  In May, the Blues were beaten again in four games, this time by Boston as Bobby Orr’s Bruins swept the cup. A whole lot of music was released in 1970, but Adam and many others were transfixed
by the breakup of the Beatles. Bridge Over Troubled Water, War, Whole Lotta Love, Lola, and The Tears of a Clown, didn’t distract him from Let It Be, and Long & Winding Road. These were forever etched on his psyche. Kosta couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the adolescent melodrama.

  Television wasn’t much of a distraction either but movies proved to be welcome diversions from the ache in Adam’s heart. George C. Scott’s Patton and Dustin Hoffman’s Little Big Man were both historically based fiction that gave Adam a new appreciation for history. He began devouring biographies about any number of prominent historical figures. Their monthly forays into Vancouver turned into biweekly outings so that Adam could visit the public library, check out more books and return his previous selections. They could have bought the books but with Adam averaging 10 books a week, they didn’t have the space to store them all.

  Five Easy Pieces and Catch 22 brought out his subversive side, and Kelly’s Heroes gave the dissenter a spine. Outwardly, Adam didn’t have a problem with anyone, but he was opposed to most public opinion, almost as a matter of pride. Whenever he spoke about the weather, a show or a movie, it turned into a debate and, at times, open argument. Adam liked to test beliefs, simply to see how deeply they were ingrained.

  November ended with another assassination attempt, this time in the Philippines, when a Benjamin Mendoza, a Bolivian painter dressed as a priest, tried to stab Pope Paul VI. Ordinarily, this would not have meant much to Kosta, except that when he read the name of the bumbling murderer, Kosta recognized it as someone who had shown interest in long forgotten texts and lore. A few days later, things got even more bizarre when he received a letter from the same man, postmarked days before the attempted murder. In the letter, the man detailed why he was after the pope and asked Kosta to bear witness to his martyrdom. Benjamin wrote that he was determined to kill the impostor who now sat on Peter’s seat. He went on to claim he had proof that some of the top cardinals had replaced the pope with a look-a-like, programmed to do their bidding. Mendoza was not clear about the nature of this bidding, nor the motives behind the believed switch, whether diabolical or political.

  Newspaper reports went on to say that Ferdinand Marcos foiled the attempt with his karate skills, striking the kris knife from Mendoza’s hand with a chop, leveling him with a flying kick. The report must’ve been true, because Imelda saw it all. Kosta was grateful that Mendoza didn’t contact him any more and that the letter was not discovered in the ensuing investigation. Dealing with secret organizations was hard enough, but when devout police and pious cops were added to the equation; Kosta just didn’t want to deal with it. He built a nice, uneventful life in the woods of Digby and the defenses he had constructed would take years to reproduce anywhere else.

  TIME: JULY 29TH, 1971. BILDERBURG GROUP, COUNCIL ON FOREIGN RELATIONS, NEW YORK, U.S.A

  Albert Pike had just left the room he kept at the Dark Nobility’s chapter house in northeast, North America. He was supremely relaxed and languid as he made his way to the west wing, where he looked forward to sipping coffee and allowing his mind to awaken. He spent the previous night, most enjoyably, with his current sizeable Filipino woman, Imelda. She was not as plump as he generally liked his women but she made up for it with her enthusiasm and sheer venom. She had a wicked streak, matched only by her fascination with footwear. Their preferred foreplay included insulting the servants, then making them watch as he humiliated her with footwear and other toys for which they both lusted.

  He strode down the immaculately polished oak-paneled corridor, adorned with images of past Nobility. Astors, DuPonts, as well as Rockefellers, Rothchilds, and Merovingians, all outfitted in full regalia, which was never seen by anyone outside the top strata of the Master’s pyramid.

  Pike sat at his table and reached for the New York Times, unfolded it and scanned the headlines as he sipped a cup of coffee. He began his morning reading with this preliminary perusal, by which time his toast would be ready. When his breakfast and second cup of coffee arrived, he began the meatier part of his reading, finishing the Times with his sixth cup of coffee and third water. When he completed his morning ritual, he lit his first cigarette and motioned for a waiting man, who, for a year had been watching him do the exact same thing.

  He rushed forward, but stopped short of sitting when he saw the forbidding look on Pike’s face. Since August of the previous year, Emil Grungeburg had been dissecting and scrutinizing four codices. Every week since then, he met with Albert Pike to update him on what he read. Nothing was added to the information that Kosta Paleologos gave close to seven years previous. However, this day was different. The kinetic little man craved his attention and gasped as he attempted to recount what he discovered. Pike nodded slightly encouraging Emil to launch into an orgy of sentences and paragraphs.

  “It’s writing itself, sir. The fourth codex you gave me is writing itself…” Emil stopped short so that his master could fully absorb this information. Instead of registering surprise, Pike’s expression did not change, though he did ask Emil if he had been getting enough sleep or if he was smoking too much reefer.

  “No, sir, I assure you that pot has no negative effects on the mind… it even expands it. I’m telling you that the Idammah-Gan Codex has no end. Every time I look at it, an additional chapter seems to have appeared after the last one I read. Several times over the last week, I thought I finished the codex, but each following day I checked, I found another chapter.” Spittle flew out of Emil’s mouth and some collected on the edges of his lips, forming a film that clung to them and kept Pike’s eyes transfixed. As he continued to speak, Pike could hear the spittle collect deeper in his throat and add a gurgle to his continued explanation. “The codex tells of a Messiah and his past incarnations, including, as far as I can figure, Jesus Christ. The latest incarnation is a boy named Adam Savourez or Paleologos.”

  “Paleologos did you say?” Pike snapped out of his trance. “Where is this Adam now?”

  “He’s in Canada, sir. Digby, British Columbia. That’s a small island off of the coast of Prince Rupert, British Columbia. He’s been there since October 1963.”

  “Does he live there alone? He can’t be more than nine years old. Who’s keeping him?” Pike always preferred a direct interrogative approach; he detested conversations with underlings.

  “According to the codex, someone named Kostadino Paleologos, hence the confusion with the last name. Adam refers to himself, interchangeably, as Savourez and Paleologos,” Emil answered, waiting for further queries from his master.

  “Son of a bitch!” Pike burst out with indignation. Emil nervously glanced around the room expecting he might have to escape from his volatile master. “He knew all along and was either hiding him for himself, or another faction who has kept him for their own purposes! What a glorious bastard you are, you fucking Greek cocksucker!” Despite his fury Pike burst out laughing, making Emil even more uncertain, wishing he were somewhere else. “Emil, keep reading and tell me everything that led up to this union. How did Paleologos get the child and what, if anything, can you discover about his motives and intentions in regard to him?”

  Grateful for Pike’s emotional shift, Emil nodded and nearly sprinted out of the room. Pike continued to think about this recent revelation and decided to put his own plan into motion. He motioned to one of the servants for a telephone and dialed one of the top members of the Great Work.

  “Hello, Bob, I’ve got news about our search. Your acquisition of the texts from the Vatican last year bore fruit. You must thank our Grand Master for championing the cause. There is a grave matter we must bring before the Architects for a vote; another execution, I’m afraid.”

  Pike listened as Bob Dupont sputtered and fumed over Pike’s “bloody operations.” He disliked the fact that Pike’s solution to most problems was to eliminate them, though his arguments were forcibly limited, considering that so far, every death he suggested had, in the end, been justified. He then asked for the identity of the unfortunate, d
oomed to the same fate as the Kennedy brothers.

  “Kostadino Paleologos, Bob. A long time ago, his family was one of the Nobility. We have extensive files, so I won’t have to send anything for the judgment. Please get back to me as soon as you have the verdict; we await your final word.” Pike replaced the receiver and lit another cigarette, exhaled and watched as the smoke enveloped him.

  TIME: FEBRUARY 25TH, 1972. DIGBY ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA.

  Adam’s Beatles were still in the news, even though they were no longer a group. During the Manson trial in Los Angeles, a lesser-known song, Helter Skelter, had been used in the proceedings. The claim was that Manson believed he followed orders he heard in the songs. Charlie was a wily guy, Adam thought. He told Kosta that all he had to do was look at Manson’s eyes and listen to him to know he had been born an elite liar. He was very good, Adam continued. Though he got caught, and that was when even the best liars lose their credibility. Kosta listened to Adam’s new philosophy of lying and the intricacies involved — the reliance on formidable memory, as well as a concentrated effort to care enough about the fabrication to pull it off.

  This new fascination with a negligible skill confused Kosta and he asked Adam why he brought this up. Adam replied that he wanted to know more about his father, the reputed father or lord of lies. He thought it would be interesting to find out if proficiency was inherited, as well as the ability to recognize it in others. Time and time again, he proved it to himself and finally decided to share his discovery with Kosta. In order to do this, he chose examples of people he knew were lying, but whom everyone else believed were upstanding citizens.

  He pointed to Richard Nixon, whom everyone respected because he was the president. Kosta stifled a snicker and told him that he would have to go outside the political arena to demonstrate his ability to nose out liars. He noted the old joke about how you could tell if a politician was lying — his lips were moving. Adam did end up proving his point when he singled out many of their neighbors, describing their lies and how to identify them. It was uncanny how good he was at this.