Babylon Prophecy

by Sean Salazar

  After a while, she decided that she had had enough ocean air and walked back into the passenger section. She entered the main seating area and looked for an empty seat. A row of seats lined the windows on both sides and about thirty half-filled benches were in the center. The passengers appeared to be routine travelers napping or reading the paper. Not a single head lifted to watch her, which was how she liked it. She spotted three empty seats by the window to her left. She sat down on the middle seat and looked out the window, hoping that no one would sit next to her. After a few minutes, she placed the briefcase on her lap, flipped up the lock, and opened it. She did the best she could to control her nerves as she placed her hands to the side. Her intention was for anyone around her who noticed, they would think she was just getting some work done between trips. In reality, she could be carrying a large stash of gold worth a billion pounds, or the secrets to the Vatican files that every spy would kill to get their hands on. Rubbish, she thought.

  She turned on the computer and waited for it to boot up. She casually glanced around to be sure no one was watching before she pulled up the Vatican file. She scrolled through the file and before she began decoding it, she double-checked that her system was fully insulated from outside signals. Her program, once turned on, would be automatically detected, but her software was designed to prevent that. She waited a few minutes to be sure there were no random signals strong enough to penetrate her software security. You can’t be safe enough, she thought. Once she confirmed that her security system worked as it should, she tapped the key to begin the arduous task of deciphering what she stole. The MI-6 agents were friends of hers and risked their lives getting this information, so it had better be worth it. They had located the highest level of the internal communication system high Vatican officials used. That was where she believed the secrets were, and now she was going to find out.

  Once the file transferred in, Betty had to recheck that there were no imbedded ‘self-destruct’ messages. They were difficult, if not impossible, to find, so instead of transferring the entire file into the translation program all at once, she decided to input small amounts at a time to be safe. The question was, how to do it? She scrolled back to the top of the file and began sifting through line by line. Each code began with a series of numbers she quickly deciphered as the dates the messages were sent or created.

  That was the easy part, so she decided to... suddenly her concentration was broken as she sensed someone standing next to her. She froze, felt her heart stop, and slowly looked up. A large man holding a small metal box was standing there, looking at her.

  The man spoke a few words with sternness in his voice. She began to shake and felt her eyes water up; her breath caught. I’ve been discovered.

  The man then pulled a piece of paper out of the small box and handed it to her. It was an official piece of paper, and after looking at it, she breathed, relaxed, and said thank you. The man repeated the words and appeared irritated as if she was holding him up. She glanced at the small piece of paper and figured it was some type of immigration document. She quickly signed and dated the bottom and handed it back. The man walked off.

  Betty immediately glanced out the window to calm her nerves. She did not even notice that a storm had built up while she was working on the file. Waves with whitecaps were splashing fine mist onto the window. She swallowed hard and refocused back to her computer.

  A strategy occurred to her: Search for the dated files that were close to the actual date the bomb was dropped in Iraq exposing the ancient city. That only made sense...except, what if Jess Contreras was involved earlier than that? If so, how much earlier? She decided to scroll to the closest date to the bombing, back up about two weeks, and input the files into the program software. That would be a good starting point. She hit the decode icon, and sat back. Decoding a complicated Vatican text could take some time for the software to work its way through all the cyber booby traps. How long exactly, she did not know.

  Glancing out the window, Betty observed the waves go by as the ship continued its northward course to her next escape route. The subtle waves going about reminded her of the days when she was an anthropology professor. She smiled as she reflected how her life had changed since the accident.

  Teaching at Oxford was her only dream in life and she had achieved it at a time when women simply were not allowed to be professors. Well, maybe if she had remained a fixture of the low-level faculty she would have never met and fallen in love with Ari. She felt her heart fill up and release a heavy beat in her chest at the thought of him. She felt sad but just as quickly happy at the memory of his face when they first met. Her reflection in the misty window and the single tear rolling slowly down her cheek gave it away. She missed him.

  Betty found herself smiling again as the memories came flooding back— which is all she had of him. He was only a twenty-five-year-old exchange student from Israel when he walked into her class for the first time. Of course, she was much older and naturally assumed he would not notice her as she did him. Somehow, he did, and their fifteen-year difference in age did not get in the way. She always thought it would— especially when she gave up her life in academia so they could make another life together in Israel—but it never did.

  They did not marry but when their baby girl was born with his deep brown eyes, it no longer mattered to her. The baby was not even eight months old when a terrorist bomb exploded in Tel Aviv, killing Ari and their daughter.

  Betty gazed into her own reflection as the distant memories continued to wash over her. She could almost see the faded scars on her face in the window. Sometimes she noticed and sometimes she did not, although the hearing loss in her left ear often forced the memories onto her. Since then and up to now, Betty had played it quiet and watchful. She never revealed anything of her past to anyone. She remained very vague about her life before—before British Intelligence. Although she did her job well, she always carried the pain of her loss like an unending river flowing deep within her. That was the passion that was now driving her to help save the world from evil. Pouring herself deep into her work was a release and a distraction, as well as a force behind her own private mission.

  Betty had only two trusted friends since her university days: Ed Collins and Alex Pike, and she deeply loved both of them. They were the ones who knew her story and had helped her in the lonely months afterward. In a way, they had restored meaning to her life and... she noticed herself smiling in the window, they also taught her to master the game of poker!

  Betty gave her computer about two hours of decoding before she took a look at the text filtering through the system. She carefully read it over and determined that what was before her was good enough to conclude that deciphering the Vatican code had been successful. Pleased with that and doing her best not to show it, she looked for passages that seemed to fit with the current crisis. There were many messages that were back-and-forth communications of the clergy discussing Christians attacking Muslims and Muslims attacking Christians and what to do about it. As she read, it appeared that the communications were primarily the official stance of the Roman Catholic Church on the matter and it was redundant.

  Line by line, she continued digging into the secret Vatican communications when suddenly one completely stood out. She read it over and at the second sentence she felt a chill run down her spine. She was now looking at the fragmented message she sent to Ed before she escaped Casablanca. It was a reference to Alex Pike! Could he be alive? As she read further, she concluded that he had to be! Was he being held captive and being interrogated? If so, something was not adding up. Most of the messages were general communications from Vatican officials and parts of them were...suddenly she realized what it was. She had not only broken into the secret Vatican communications system but also had cracked into another system that was even more secret. It did not appear to be a Vatican system.

  She pulled her hands back and cracked her knuckles. This was exactly the type of challenge that she loved.
Where were these other messages from? She glanced at the time, determining that she now had to answer that question before the boat docked.

  Chapter Six

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “Tom,” Nancy said, sticking her head around the corner of his cubicle. “You have got to see this.”

  Tom scooted his chair back and rolled over to her desk, “You rang?”

  She turned her flat-screen monitor toward him. “You know the messages that Ms. Churchill put top priority to track?”

  “Yeah, which one?”

  “The one agent Jess Contreras received in Lebanon.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think I found it.”

  “You sure?” Tom said, scooting closer.

  “Yeah, I’ve been working nonstop on it,” she said, touching the screen with her French-manicured fingernail.

  “If you did, you’re a genius.”

  Her finger slid down slightly on the screen, “Look, here is the estimated date and time the message came in.”

  Tom watched the screen. “Right before she shot everyone.”

  “Yes, according to agent Al Robek, she received a message and first shot the pilot, then Alex Pike, Ed Collins, a Vatican representative, and then him.” She moved her finger down again.

  Tom leaned into the screen, “How did you do it so fast?”

  “Using every cell phone tower near the airport in Lebanon, I was able to hypothetically triangulate dozens of messages being received and sent in the closest proximity to the reported position of the shooting. But, this particular one stood out.” She removed her finger from the screen.

  Tom’s eyes followed the coded messages down the screen. “London?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “It looks like the message originated in London and was sent out to several locations at once.”

  “Like a massive drunk text,” Tom joked.

  “You would know, but look here,” she continued. “If this is the actual message we are looking for, it was sent to Jerusalem, Lebanon, Ethiopia, Darjeeling India, Iraq, the Gobi Desert, and several cities here in the States.”

  “Wow,” Tom said. “You are a genius. Can you confirm the source of the message?”

  “That is the trick, isn’t it?” Nancy said. “What approximate time did the London underground base get attacked?”

  Tom scooted back to his desk and tapped his keyboard. “About

  7:35 p.m.”

  “That’s a close match.”

  “Just a minute off,” Tom added. “What about Jerusalem?”

  “Ah, I see where you’re heading.” Tom hammered away on his key board. “Wow, the Israeli prime minister was assassinated in Jerusalem at the same freaking time.” He scooted his chair back. “Did I fail to mention that you are a genius?”

  “Yeah, but keep saying it,” Nancy said, glaring at her screen. “What about India?”

  After a brief pause, Tom answered, “Nothing newsworthy reported from there, but that doesn’t mean nothing happened. Could be a simple low- key event or something.”

  “Or something,” Nancy responded suspiciously. “Before I report to Ms. Churchill I want a little more evidence that this message may be the one.”

  “We could scour all the news from each U.S. city the message went to,” Tom said.

  “You’re nuts. That would take weeks.”

  “Well,” Tom said, leaning back in his chair, “we don’t even know what to look for. We could just...”

  “Don’t even go there,” said Nancy, dropping her chin into her hand. “We can’t issue this to Ms. Churchill until we are more certain that this is the message she wants.”

  “No,” Tom said, “I found something too.”

  She looked up, “What?”

  “Get over here.”

  She scooted her chair over.

  “Look at this,” he said, tapping his screen.

  “Director Churchill also instructed us to scour the Earth for unusual Knights Templar events since the church massacres started, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, as strange as it may sound, there was one in Wyoming.”

  “One what?”

  “Just that,” Tom answered pridefully. “Armored knights were spotted in the woods near the Teton Mountain Range.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope, I checked; it’s legit. The knights were spotted by a small group of hunters in the woods and they called it in to the local police department. Then, according to the message traffic, the police brushed it off as a joke and ignored it. Then read this.” Tom pointed to a sentence on his screen.

  Nancy moved closer. “‘They shot at the hunters.’ No way!”

  Tom laughed, “That I would normally think is pretty stupid because the hunters shot back—a lot.”

  Nancy continued reading, “Oh, I see. They called the police again screaming that their bullets were bouncing off the knights.”

  “Yep,” Tom answered with a prolonged drawl. “I started monitoring this story about thirty minutes ago, and this shooting report happened within the last five minutes.”

  Nancy scooted her chair back. “So we are talking actual knights in armor; in the woods?”

  Tom nodded, “Yes, and they reported red crosses on their chests.”

  “Okay, as strange as that sounds it’s hot, you sold me.”

  “Yes,” Tom admitted, “go ahead and call me a genius.”

  “Not a chance,” she said, “but it could also lead our people on a wild goose chase wasting valuable time if it’s a joke.”

  “Send it to Director Churchill,” Tom said forcefully.

  Nancy crossed her arms, “I’ll send my discovery if you send yours.”

  Tom scooted his chair back, “Since your story is stranger, send it first.”

  “Okay, here goes,” she said, reaching over and hitting the intercom button on her phone. A male voice answered and she said, “Connect me to Director Churchill. Tell her it’s urgent.”

  Chapter Seven

  After seeing Al off to Spain, Ed and Vance boarded a helicopter and were rapidly transported to a location south of the airbase. The chopper landed hard and the door slid open. The rain had increased in intensity. A Marine Corps officer waved the two men out of the chopper. Ed gripped his leather bag and climbed out into the rain after Vance.

  The Marine greeted them, shaking their hands, “Ed Collins, agent Vance Mahoney?

  “Reporting as ordered,” Vance said, shielding his face from the rain and wind.

  “I am Captain McCoumb,” said the officer, as the rain poured off his hat.

  “You get around,” Vance said.

  “Please follow me,” McCoumb said, leading the way to a two-story beige structure a short distance away. Once inside, he led them to a large elevator where two armed Marines waved them inside. The elevator went down several floors before it stopped and the door opened onto a short, grey, cinderblock-lined hallway. Two more armed Marines stood outside a large glass door.

  “Ah,” Ed said, “this, my friend, is a bunker.”

  “Smells like it,” Vance added, flashing a fake smile at the guards.

  Captain McCoumb motioned, “This way, gentlemen.” He then led them past the Marines into the next room. They all passed through a security-scanning device that Ed recognized as some type of sophisticated X-ray system. The Captain then stepped to the next door, opened it, and moved aside.

  Ed entered first and saw a large table with a dozen empty seats positioned in the center of the room. The CIA director was standing at the far end conversing with a man wearing an old tweed coat. He was pointing at a piece of paper on the table and yelling, “Please explain to me this news being released as the official story...that an old fuel storage container was being removed from under the White House lawn and accidentally exploded in mid-air.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s the only story that would fit,” Ms. Churchill responded.

  “Do you think anyone
is going to buy that crap?” he continued loudly. “Hell, most of the whole damn city saw the silver bullet-shaped bomb being hauled out. I doubt anyone will believe the story.” At that moment, he noticed the visitors, stopped yelling, and waved Ed and Vance over. As he did, Vance said, “Uh-oh, that’s General Burke.”

  Ed recognized the name as agent Al Robek’s former commanding officer. He turned and thanked the Marine captain and closed the door. He then walked to the end of the table and set his leather bag down.

  “You are the man of the hour,” Ms. Churchill said. Her tone was a mixture of frustration and desperation. Ed could tell by her appearance that she was not handling the situation well. Her hair appeared untidy and her eyes were red and puffy.

  “That’s an understatement,” General Burke said loudly. He shook hands with Ed and Vance and pointed to the electronic map on the wall, “I hear you boys have all the answers.”

  “It’s a pleasure, General,” Ed said. “I read all about you while I hastily reviewed Agent Robek’s clearance into British intelligence.”

  “It is customary,” General Burke added, “when dealing with military trained individuals that one must always know who their commanders were. As I recall,” he continued with a smile, “reviewing your file, you have an extensive career going back to World War Two cracking German military codes.”

  Ed nodded approvingly and added, “And you, General, had an extensive military career yourself going back to the Korean War. You are the type of Army officer who seemed to be involved with top-secret covert operations that took place behind the scene. That information, of course,” Ed opened his leather bag, “came from the British Intelligence file on you. I likened you, sir, to the famous General Patton—without the glitz. However, one thing for sure is that you are all business.”