Truthseekers

by Mike Handcock

  Chant stepped outside and called his car. He did not want to be in the building when John took out the two he had been ordered to. It was best he was seen leaving so for once he had said goodbye to several dignitaries including the mayor and he left. As he got to the bottom he noticed three drunken individuals, two men, one a bull elephant of a man with dark brown eyes, stocky with a full brow. The other a pretty boy, Hollywood type with a muscular frame and white teeth. How he hated those types. The woman, however, he despised the most, She was drunk, head low, blonde hair all over the place. She looked dishevelled in a cocktail dress and Chant guessed she was probably married to the big one. With a grey fleck in her hair he guessed her to be about forty. He could not hold onto his disgust. A taxi had pulled in and the woman was being put in the car by the Hollywood type. Chant’s own car was just beaten into the curb by the taxi and was now double-parked being honked by the traffic passing by.

  “Get out of the way you disgusting people. Go back to the gutter that bore you.”

  Chant was amazed how the words came out of his mouth. He was normally able to turn a blind eye to the average of society.

  Rocko who was now somewhere between searing pain and excessive blood loss had been gripping his side. The last thing he wanted to hear was some aristocrat’s judgment of him. He had enough of that as a child, and it was one of the reasons he’d left New York in the first place. He pulled himself up to his full height and width and turned to Chant, placing his hand on his chest and looking him squarely in the eye.

  “Go home, before your wife has her third boy for the night, Mr Cockhead.”

  Then Rocko smiled and winked at Chant, got in the cab and drove away.

  Chant was seething, yet inside he knew something was wrong. He looked down at his shirt and clearly on the front of his pristine white tuxedo shirt was a bloodied handprint. Rocko’s face was firmly in his mind and then he clicked: “It was them… No!”

  Chant thumped the roof of his car hard and got in.

  Upstairs in the museum John was coming to. Again he had failed. His sternum hurt like he’d been hit by a bus and two of his fingers were broken, but he didn’t care about that. He had lost Stacey, his team was in tatters and now he had to report to Chant. He picked himself up with a resolve he had not felt in his whole life. He would kill all of them now. There was no other way. Just do it.

  30

  Phillip took the team to his sister’s house. He had it while in New York; she travelled often and was rarely home. Stacey was coming along well and simply held onto Phillip with her arms around his neck. Phillip was smiling. Rocko rolled his eyes and looked out the window. “What’s with this guy?” he thought. “I get fricken’ stabbed and she’s all goo goo for him. I can’t even complain because he’s got a friend who will patch me up and has promised a full bar at the house.” Rocko decided it was best simply not to look at Phillip.

  Phillip had indeed, on realising Rocko’s predicament, organised a buddy who was a doctor to visit the house so Rocko could avoid hospital and any questions from the law. Phillip used to cage fight illegally when young and made quite a few doctor friends all over the country.

  The house was in fact on Park Avenue and it did have a stocked bar. The doctor arrived not long after they did. Stacey was checked out while Rocko opened a bottle of scotch. She was pronounced fine once she’d have a good night’s sleep. Rocko had nine stitches for his troubles and was bandaged and left watching the sports channel.

  David and Abbey arrived a couple of hours later, after receiving a text from Rocko and coming direct to the house where they met Phillip. David thanked him fondly and promised he would do what he could to assist his career or make up for the problems they’d caused. Abbey watched Rocko feigning vomiting behind them. Stacey was in bed. She swore she would never wash her clothes again after Phillip had touched her.

  The next morning in his office in New York City, Chant was pacing the floor. He was furious about the incident at the museum the previous night. What had been planned to be a routine capture, gain information from and dispose of event, ended in abject failure. Chant felt all of his seventy-odd years this day. He had stared his foe in the eye and he had been chided and bloodied. In all his years of power nothing like this had ever occurred before.

  “Yet again you have failed me, John. I’m just glad Black will not find out about this. It could have been a total disaster.” Chant opened one eye and squinted at his battle-scarred commander.

  John looked immaculate in a grey suit, pristine shirt and jet black tie. His sternum hurt like hell from where Phillip had kicked him and two fingers on his right hand were tightly bandaged. A dull throb emitted from both of them.

  John simply nodded and hung his head.

  A beep on Chant’s phone broke the mode and his secretary piped through.

  “Mr Gills to see you as asked, Mr Chant.”

  “Fine… send him in and then take my dry cleaning to the man,” Chant abruptly replied.

  She showed Gills into the office and then scurried off. This scene had played out too many times before for her and she sensed this was not a congratulatory meet up. She never liked John anyway. She knew he was bad to the core, yet as part of the families she had a secure position and excellent remuneration of in excess of $1 million a year, making her probably the best-paid secretary on Earth, and most surely the most discreet.

  Leon Gills looked extremely nervous to John when he saw that he was in Chant’s office as well. Although Gills had never met the man personally, he had always thought of him as Chant’s personal bodyguard. There was a darkness around him Gills did not like.

  “I … I feel last night went well, Mr Chant,” Gills spoke with a stutter. Chant said nothing.

  “Mr Chant did not summon you here to talk about trivia. How does that actor know Rizotto?” John stared straight into Leon’s soul as he spoke. The look froze Leon like a deer in headlights.

  “I’m sorry, what actor?” Leon replied.

  He didn’t get a second chance. John backhanded him straight across his face knocking him clean off his feet and into a wall where he slid unceremoniously to the floor.

  Chant’s lip curled up in a half smile.

  “I’ll ask you again. How does Phillip Glenville know your friend Rocko Rizotto?” John’s intent was like that of a front-line soldier.

  “I… I really don’t know… please don’t hit me… They must have met last night. Rocko has a way of meeting the people at the top of things.”

  John pulled his hand back for another swipe. Leon bunched in and tried to cover himself, yet it was Chant who stepped in.

  “Enough, John.” He waved his arm calming John’s tirade. “Leon you called Rizotto a few days ago and warned him. That sort of conduct must never happen again. You work for us. We made you what you are. We invested twenty years in you. You think you earned this or any job in the bank. You didn’t. You are stupid and incompetent, that’s why you were easy to groom. Yet I won’t have you putting everything we have at risk to these fools. Do you understand?”

  Chant’s tone was as cold as a gravedigger’s, his ashen skin curling and rolling as he spoke. It seemed almost unreal to Leon Gills, who still hovered on the floor.

  “Get him up, John,” Chant finished and nodded at John.

  John held out his left hand to help Leon Gills up from the floor. Gills looked at it for some time and thought better of it, yet he felt he should comply unless John struck out again. So Leon reached his hand out to John who took his hand by the fingers, bending them all the way back until they snapped in one solid punch. Leon Gills screamed out in agony, but it was to no avail. Not only could he not be heard by anyone outside this office, John then flipped his wrist with the strength of an ox and again there was a loud snap. Gills screamed in agony and the sheer adrenalin of the pain that shot through his whole body. John grabbed his receding hair and wrenched it back, opening Gills’ mouth and with his own broken hand grabbed Gills’ tie and stuffed it
hard into the opening to muffle the screams.

  Chant spoke: “Leon, you must be careful. You had a nasty fall. Now get yourself off to hospital, get fixed up and get back to work. If you contact Rizotto in any way again we will perform the same action on your wife and children. Do you understand?”

  Leon looked up, a beaten man, tears rolling down his cheeks, his arm and fingers distorted and crippled. He simply nodded, his spirit broken. John hauled him up by the coat and pushed him out the door.

  Leon Gills’ body started shaking uncontrollably and he only just made it to the lift. It was at that point he knew he would never talk to Rocko Rizotto again.

  In the house of Phillip Glenville’s sister everyone rose around 8.00am. Rizotto showered and Abbey rebandaged his wound. He was feeling ok, given the ordeal. Stacey was in the kitchen helping Phillip cook some waffles and David was wondering what he would do next. Obviously, these people were connected to Leon Gills in some way, yet they appeared at the ancient civilizations event, so they must have something to do with that as well. After breakfast he decided he should go take a look at the museum display whilst the others rested up. Phillip helped David change his appearance slightly with some glasses and a wig and a professor suit tweed jacket he wore in a film once. David thought it unnecessary, as no one would be expecting him there, yet the others assured him he should roll with it. Abbey would not accompany him; she would wait outside and if there was any trouble she would be right there for him.

  The museum visit went well. David had most of the place to himself, save the few school groups that wandered through looking disinterested and teasing various of their group about how much they looked like old Indians, or bears. David was able to spend a good two hours inside and by the time he and Abbey came back to Phillip’s sister’s home in Park Avenue, he had come to some reasonable conclusions. With piping hot coffee and a few bagels they had picked up on the way back, David started the meeting by seeking some information from Rocko.

  “Did you get a hold of Leon, Rocko?” David enquired.

  “Not at all,” the half-man half-tank responded, eloquently chewing a second bagel as he responded. “I tried several times and they just kept fobbing me off. I rang his mobile as well and it kept going to voicemail. Maybe he just has a busy day.”

  “I doubt that,” chimed in Abbey. “If you left messages he would have surely texted you. Stacey, see what you can dig up.” Stacey immediately began tapping her fingers onto the keyboard of the secure computer given to her by the Eagle.

  Phillip was allowed to sit in on the meeting and he was alert on the end of the couch. He hadn’t even noticed that Rocko was ignoring him. Rocko on the other hand was fidgeting, believing he was at least subconsciously annoying Phillip. Stacey just seemed to have eyes for Phillip. “How can she type and keep staring at that guy?” thought Rocko. The room was well lit from the midday sun and New York could be heard bustling its way through the day outside.

  “I managed to find some things at the museum,” David continued. “And thanks to my professor disguise a few kids even asked me questions. I think a few of them will fail exams now because of my answers.” He continued: “Anyway, the symbol on that picture with the God King and the two men with their hands held out is the Triskelion and it’s blue… a blue tripartite, as Ghost Wolf said. It symbolises many things, but we know it as the holy trinity, which over time became the father, the son and the holy ghost. In fact it represents many things, but that derivative is not true, it is in fact the father, mother and child. That is also the symbol of divine alchemy. Surrounding it was the sun, with thirteen stars, yet one of those stars was inside the sun.”

  David look out the window and ran his hand back through his hair before continuing.

  “It took me ages to work it out, I couldn’t get it, but on the way back here passing a maternity hospital I remembered seeing that depiction before.” David passed around photos on his phone of the piece that Black had donated to the museum. Few would ever realise its significance. The piece showed a man with a long beard sitting in a chair. Below him and much smaller than him were two kneeling men with their hands held out. Above them in the sky was a strange symbol: the Triskelion. The sky also depicted a sun with the thirteen stars, including one directly in the sun. The inscription spoke of divine alchemy, yet at one point said:

  That which is chosen will come to pass.

  David continued: “You see the two people are asking God for alchemy, a change in the world. The stars represent the actual birthing process. It’s not one lucky sperm that breaks through an egg. During a woman’s fertility thirteen sperm surround an egg. Twelve of them shake the egg, and roll around it, the one sits back and awaits the right moment and then enters the egg. This is what this picture represents. Although it’s 4500 years old it speaks of a divine birth. I believe it is that of Jesus Christ, the one who was chosen to create a path. The Triskelion talks of the fact that there would be a child, always a child. I don’t see that child as Jesus only. I feel that there is always a child. The information of the Knights Templar passed down through the ages from mouth to ear. They protected that child and the Church had hidden that child’s identity ever since its formation by Constantine in 326 AD. The popes knew about it. It links with the runes we found.”

  It was now that Rocko had finished his bagel, taken a sip of coffee and wiped his mouth that he decided he had no idea what David was talking about.

  “Dude, just give it to me straight. What the hell is going on and why is everyone taking pot shots at us? These are some very heavy dudes and if I’m going to be stabbed I would like to know why.”

  David drew a breath and flicked some of his straggly hair off his forehead.

  “Team, what better way to control the Earth than to make up the greatest story of all time and instil fear into everyone if they didn’t comply. Almost two thousand years ago, Constantine changed all the gospels, which simply meant ‘good story’. He ditched 48 books of the Bible, which have now turned up in the Qumran scrolls found about sixty years ago but only recently released to the public. Constantine’s changes made Jesus the son of God, a deity and someone to be worshipped and if you didn’t pay the Church, turn up and give you were going to hell, down in flames and eternal damnation. It simply wasn’t like that before Constantine changed it. He created the Dark Ages, which went on for over 500 years.” David took a sip of his coffee. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Abbey’s admiration and pursing rosy lips. He could have stopped right then and kissed her, but he thought better of it.

  “Then in the 1200s the Templars were formed. Originally they were on side with the Church, and they were sent on crusades to Jerusalem and the Middle East to find other things. At that stage there were two popes: Innocent II and Anacletus. My belief and Stacey’s research clearly shows the head of the Templars as friendly with Innocent II. I believe he asked De Payan to hide a great secret that the Church had known all along, the birth and bloodline of Jesus’ child, a girl as depicted on the hooked X, used even by Columbus in his signature. Remember Columbus sailed under the Templar Cross. In 1314 after De Molay, head of the Templars, was burned at the stake, the rest had fled. The Church was in tatters and trying to regain control because the Templars had simply become so powerful. At the time they had loans out to the Church, kings and queens and governments.”

  David smiled back at Abbey and went on.

  “It was at that point the Templars dispersed, some becoming pirates, flying under the skull and crossbones, one of their most sacred symbols, coming right from the inscriptions of the way the Pharaohs of Egypt were buried. We know they went to America on the 33rd parallel (like 33rd degree masonry) following what was written in the king-making secrets of Egypt. We know they had the knowledge of the Minoans about sailing great distances, yet we don’t know if the bloodline still exists. But yet that piece of art, previously unknown and held by a private collector until now, gave me a clue. It said: That which is chosen will come to pas
s. I believe that time is now and we have stumbled on it. We know that their power will wane. We are at least one step ahead of them, or else we would all be dead. We are in this game and we have to finish it. There is no out.” David took up his coffee and again smiled across at Abbey, who walked over and kissed him on his forehead.

  “Guys, I am in this way late, so I have no idea who you are talking about. Who are these controllers you think run stuff, and what does it matter anyway?” Phillip Glenville had been silent up to then. Apart from brushing his constantly falling hair from his eyes with Stacey fluttering from her laptop and Rocko thinking “Why doesn’t he just cut it?”, Glenville had said nothing. David took Abbey’s hand and she now knelt beside him.

  “Phillip, in the late 1700s in Europe a very smart individual got alongside many rich and influential people including the Church, which was quite surprising, as he was Jewish. This individual then had seven sons whom he sent to the corners of the Earth, as it was known at that stage, and over time they learnt that to have control was to control information. They did so and during one night, through what is now known as insider trading, they created the biggest misinformation about the London Stock Exchange. People panicked and in one day the market hit a bottom that made the 1929 crash look like a blip. In that moment they and their friends bought everything and became the super wealthy. They literally became trillionaires overnight.”

  Glenville scratched the stubble on his chin as David went on.

  “Ever since then they have controlled everything, from wars to genocides to the flow of money around the planet. They use the Church as their front, yet without Jesus in his current image everything would fall apart. People would cease to believe what they had been told overnight and the people of the world would take back their power. That’s who they are and that is why they have to control and stop us. We are talking about the people who have perpetrated the greatest lie in history.”