by Alex Marcoux
“I would prefer that she stay here,” Rachel said as Jessie was manhandled through the doorway. Rachel, now alone with Whitman, said, “What the hell is going on?”
“Ms. Addison, let’s take a tour.”
* * *
Whitman and Rachel were back in the tunnel. She spotted taillights from a car driving away from them and wondered if Jessie was in the vehicle. Rachel sat in the backseat of another limo with Whitman beside her. The car sped through the tunnel back to the circular pad where they had entered. The five passageways, now lit with a single row of red lights, were visible. The car parked.
“This is a good a time to start,” Whitman began. “Rachel, you have an innate curiosity about power. Over the years, you’ve worked on a number of projects on this subject. Some you’ve finished, others not; some have even been sabotaged.”
“By you?”
“Let me address some of your suspicions. There is a one-world government, and you are sitting at the heart of it. Within these tunnels are connections to the most powerful people and organizations in the world. This is where it all comes together, the Trilateral Commission, the Council on Foreign Relations, the Bilderbergers, the Vatican, the Federal Reserve—”
“And the Freemasons?”
“And the Supreme Council of the thirty-third degree, along with many other groups I cannot begin to mention.” Flickering from one of the tunnels drew Rachel’s attention to red and green flashing lights. As before, red lights dimmed leaving a green-lit tunnel. The limo entered it.
“Why am I here? What do you want from me?”
“You will learn that soon,” Whitman said as the car came to another dead end.
To Rachel, there was little distinction between the area they had just left and this one. Whitman led her from the limo to another door. Beside the door was polished marble with hieroglyphics etched in the slab. One of the images caught her eye. It was an Egyptian woman who stood beside a snake. The snake was raised with four loops in its tail. At its mouth was an ankh. Rachel knew she had seen the image before, she glanced at her wrist, and remembered that it was during West’s lecture.
After a security scan they entered a huge, bright, sterile room. The walls, ceiling, and floor were white. The only furniture in the lobbylike area was a desk, where a man stood out in his customary black suit. Since they were below ground, there were no outside windows. Instead, on the side walls there were multiple doors, some of which were open. A clipboard hung beside each door.
As Rachel passed one of the open doors, she glimpsed inside. A medical examination table centered the room with an assortment of ultramodern equipment. When she passed the next door, she spotted a woman in a chair. Rachel slowed for a closer inspection. It was Jessie!
She was strapped to the chair and electrodes crowned her head. “Jessie?” Rachel blurted out as she rushed toward the door.
Whitman seized Rachel’s upper arm roughly and tried to drag her away from the doorway. She surprised not only him, but herself when she kicked him in the shin. He released his grip, and she sprang toward the door, but the man who had been at the desk stood in her path. She eyed the man. Attacking Whitman was one thing; this was a young, large man, with a gun in a holster.
Whitman hobbled toward her. He was plain mad. “You cannot disturb the specimens in these chambers.” Roughly, he grabbed her arm and dragged her a few doors down. “Let’s wait in here,” he opened the door. The room was different from the other rooms she had seen. The walls were decorated with colorful murals illustrating ancient Egyptian customs. Under different circumstances, Rachel may have been quite fascinated by their beauty.
Whitman pointed at a couch and two soft chairs. “Sit,” he ordered.
* * *
Adhesive from electrodes pulled at Jessie’s hair near her forehead. Her wrists were strapped to the arms of the chair, and her ankles fastened to its front legs. Restrained, she faced a white empty wall. Although it was a tiny room, the ceiling must have been twenty-feet tall.
From behind, Jessie heard Rachel call to her. She strained to see her but couldn’t. She never saw the man stop her or Whitman lead her away. Then, minutes passed with silence, until the door was pulled shut. Then the lights abruptly went out, leaving her in complete darkness. Her pulse quickened.
Unexpectedly, an image appeared in front of her. It must have been fifteen-feet high and ten-feet wide. Jessie leaned backward to take it all in. It appeared to be a bird, similar to an eagle, except it had a longer neck, and was very colorful. For a second, she could have sworn that it moved. She closed her eyes, then opened them. It indeed moved. It was three-dimensional and seemed so real. She wondered if she reached out and touched it, if she could feel its feathers. Then she could have sworn that she felt the force of the bird’s wings as they fluttered. It must have been her imagination. The bird rested upon twigs, singing a melodious five-note song.
She heard a crackling sound. What was that? From beneath the bird the twigs flared to life, rapidly engulfing it. Jessie felt intense heat from the flame. Her skin felt scorched. The bird shrieked, suffering, its burning flesh reeking. Live cinders jumped out at Jessie, burning her skin and clothing.
Desperately, but to no avail, she yanked at the straps to free herself. Her heart now pounded fiercely as her sweatpants ignited. Just when she believed that she would light up like a torch, the flames weakened. The fire had consumed the bird, and now, without fuel to feed it, its blaze dwindled to a glow at her feet. The fire burned out and all that remained was a pile of gray ashes and red embers.
Just when her heart rate recovered, something caught her eye in the pile. A tiny gray worm emerged from the cinders, and right before her eyes the worm slowly transformed into the same bird that had appeared before her eyes, singing its song.
As Jessie watched the large bird ascend over her again, she realized that she had experienced the reenactment of the legend of the phoenix. The phoenix was first introduced by the Brotherhood of the Snake. According to legend, the great sun god Ra enjoyed the sweet music of the phoenix every morning. The bird would incinerate itself every 500 to 600 years, and its reincarnated self would gather the ashes and deliver them to Ra’s altar.
Jessie wasn’t sure how, but she knew that the legend of the phoenix represented resurrection, spiritual survival, and how we reach eternal life. Baffled by how she concluded this, she suddenly realized the true meaning of the ankh. It didn’t just represent life or reincarnation, as she previously believed. The ankh signified eternal life, the greatest of the ancient mysteries. The insight of a high priest was coming back to her.
“Jessica Mercer!” An ominous voice took her from stupor.
The image of the bird vanished, and darkness changed to brilliant light, hurting her eyes. Squinting, she looked at her hands and legs. There was no indication that her pants had ever caught fire. Jessie was confused. She had felt the pain from the fire. How could that be?
“Resides outside of LA, author of numerous novels and screenplays!”
Jessie listened to the man’s deep voice. There was something hazily familiar about it, but she couldn’t place it. “Brother of Steve Mercer, former employee of Over the Edge who suddenly took his own life last—”
“You and I both know that is not true! Why did you kill him?”
From behind, the man whispered in her ear. “I appear to have hit a nerve. I’m asking the questions. How did you infiltrate the Masons?” The man strutted in front of Jessie, his back to her. “How did you do it, Ms. Mercer?”
From behind, Jessie didn’t recognize him. He was slim, tall, had short, dark hair, and was dressed in khakis and a sweater. She didn’t speak.
Her silence infuriated him. Abruptly, he turned and roared, “How?”
It took Jessie a moment to place where she had seen those eyes. Eyes of the Nile! Last time his head was shaven. She closed her eyes and shook her head, knowing she must have been hallucinating. But when he remained, his name escaped from her lips,
“Kek!”
Jessie’s recognition took him equally by surprise. And he was rarely surprised. The man circled her, assessing her. “Who are you?”
Jessie remained quiet, staring at the ground. Her head throbbed. She was totally confused. Kek would have lived over 3,000 years earlier.
“Who the hell are you?” his deep voice echoed. “Tell me! Now!”
Fearing that Kek may recognize her through the windows of her soul, Jessie shut her eyes. But with darkness, her reality slipped, as images of freshly carved hieroglyphics flashed in her third eye.
The man whispered into her ear. “You don’t want to know what I do to people who have disappointed me.”
The word “disappointed” echoed in her mind; she was unable to sustain this reality as the word “disappointed” jerked her consciousness back to Egypt.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lukeman admired the image of creation carved on the wall of the temple’s inner court. He reflected on the symbolism of the scarab, Isis, Nephthys, the boat, the solar disk, and the raised serpent. As he contemplated their meaning, a feeling of darkness and despair overtook him. Something was dreadfully wrong.
In his peripheral vision, he saw something stir. About ten feet away, behind a column, a figure lurked in the shadows. He wore a black-hooded robe. Lukeman stepped toward him. “Who is there?”
Kek emerged. “I warned you—never betray me and never disappoint me.”
There was a chilling tone in Kek’s voice that Lukeman had never heard before. “And I have disappointed you?”
“Do you deny teaching the profane?”
Lukeman shook his head. “No, I have taught the uninitiated.”
“This is contemptible. You know what the punishment is for your disgrace.”
“I do.” He not only knew it, he had seen clairvoyant images of his demise.
“Why did you do this? I’ve given you everything.”
“You are a great teacher, Worshipful Master. But it is wrong to deny the mysteries to all. As Hem Neter, I am responsible for the spiritual salvation of all Memphis, not just the elite.”
“I have given the chosen ones an opportunity to find salvation. If it were up to the other gods no one would find eternal life.”
“You know the others are wrong. What gives anyone the right to determine who is worthy of salvation? What has been done for centuries is wrong. You started with good intentions, but the mystery school has become a tool of spiritual repression. All people should have the opportunity to seek eternal life.”
To Lukeman it was clear. He knew his soul’s purpose was to make known the truth. Lukeman pointed to the beautiful mural. “All people should be given the opportunity to understand our creation, to know who we truly are.”
“I wash my hands of you, Lukeman. Your disgrace will live forever, and you will pay for your failure with your life.” Kek stomped into the darkness.
Lukeman remained at the temple to prepare for his death. He meditated in the holy place, elevating his consciousness before he moved into the Holy of Holies, the innermost room of the temple. He knew that his presence here would be defiant, as access was restricted to once a year. Only on Yom Kippur was the Hem Neter permitted in the Holy of Holies, where the Ark of the Covenant had been stored. Then, he would take blood of a goat and perform a ritual on behalf of the sins of his people.
Tonight, in the Holy of Holies, Lukeman sat in front of the Ark. His legs were crossed and folded neatly together, spine straight, and arms elevated with palms up. His Kundalini energy rose from the reservoir at the base of his spine and exited through his crown chakra on top of his head. The energy fused with the Divine, turning from red-orange to silver, and showered over him. In these moments, Lukeman met God, he encountered the self-divine, he knew Oneness, and understood true Light.
The sound of footsteps hurled him from his trance, back to his situation. He maintained his position with his eyes closed, feeling his spirit return to his body. Anticipating his punishment, he opened his eyes. His father stood on holy ground.
“I am surprised you have been sent.” Lukeman remained seated.
“I have not been sent. I heard of your failure and I wanted to give you an opportunity to seek closure.”
Lukeman knew if he could face death and love his father there would be finality. Without resolution, he wouldn’t evolve to the next level, and their breach would follow him into other lifetimes. Of course, other opportunities for closure would be provided in future lifetimes, but the choices would be more difficult.
Just coming from an elevated place of consciousness, Lukeman was stunned at how quickly hatred filled his heart. He knew there would be no closure this lifetime. “Still now, Father, I cannot forgive you for what you did to Mother.”
“This unresolved hatred will follow you into the afterlife,” Oba said.
“Yes. I know.”
Oba started to leave.
“Would you tell me one thing before you go?” His father turned toward him. “What is your interest in the servant girl named Jamila?”
Oba considered the question thoroughly. “Years ago when your mother was imprisoned, she was with child.”
“Yes. You told me that the baby was stillborn.” As Lukeman said it, even he noted the ring of untruth. Slowly, Lukeman stood, facing his father’s cold dark eyes. “That is not the truth. Jamila was the baby?”
“The newborn was given to a trusted servant, who placed her with Asim and Femi.” Oba turned, leaving Lukeman alone in the tabernacle.
With sudden purpose, Lukeman set out before it was too late.
* * *
She was usually there by now, and Kek paced his bedroom chamber, waiting for her. He wondered what delayed her. He was angered by Lukeman’s betrayal. He had called a meeting with Zuka, and he wouldn’t have much time with her. Over the year, he had become dependent on her. Only she had been able to satisfy his needs.
She slipped into his chamber from a terrace. But she knew something was wrong. He was preoccupied. He didn’t notice her standing there. “Kek?”
He rushed to her, his mouth hungrily finding hers. “We don’t have much time!” He lowered the straps from her shoulders, finding the valley between her breasts with his mouth.
She desired him, as much as he needed her.
With one hand he urgently swept up her long dress and caressed her. His eyes returned to hers. “Zuka will be here any minute.”
Fervently, she lifted Kek’s kalasiris, exposing him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, he hoisted her off the ground, sliding her smoothly to his hardness. A moan of pleasure escaped her lips, increasing his excitement. With her legs wrapped around his lean waist, he propped her against the clay wall. Their carnal rhythm, although familiar, was still exciting and passionate. Moans of desire escalated to cries of pleasure as they brought each other to climax.
Spent, knees weak, he backed away, repositioning his kalasiris.
She tidied her clothing. Still sensing something was wrong, she approached, her hands stroking his developed chest. “Why did you call a meeting with Zuka?”
Kek’s eyes met Dalila’s. “Zuka brought to my attention that I’ve been betrayed. I need to take care of it.” He kissed her lips. “Go. Plan on coming tomorrow, we will have more time then. I’m sure Zuka has arrived.”
Dalila departed through the access she had used over the past year. But something wasn’t right. She could feel it. She stopped in her tracks, and then turned back. As she moved through his bedroom, she caught the scent of their lovemaking only minutes earlier, and shuddered. She had never been satisfied with Zuka, and just the thought of Kek’s hands on her skin excited her. She shook her head, and focused on finding him.
The next room was empty, but voices drew her to the curtain that separated the chambers. She peeked through a gap and eavesdropped.
“You will take care of his demise,” Kek ordered.
“You want me to kill my own brother?” Zuka panicked.
/> “It was you who turned him in. You knew what his fate would be,” Kek said.
Dalila gasped. She covered her mouth so the sound wouldn’t carry beyond her own ears. Without delay, she fled. She had to warn Lukeman.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It was just after sunset, and the moon had not risen yet. Lukeman sensed the eerie feeling the night had brought. He knew his fate. He couldn’t change it. But he was compelled to do one more thing before his death. In the darkness, he hurried along the narrow alleyway. When he reached the door, he knocked loudly.
Femi opened it, and Lukeman brushed by her, moving into the reception room where Asim sat. “Lukeman? What is wrong?” Femi asked from behind him.
When Asim saw his face he knew something was terribly wrong, and stood.
“Is Jamila here?” Lukeman asked.
“No! She is walking with Mosi,” Asim said.
“I’ve come across information,” Lukeman said. “Jamila. She is not your natural born.”
“How do you know that?” Asim was surprised.
“My father told me. My mother was with child when she was imprisoned. All these years I thought the baby died in childbirth. I learned tonight that it was Jamila.”
“Jamila is your sister!” Asim was shocked. “We didn’t know.”
“She believes we are her parents,” Femi said.
“And you are. Just for a moment, though, think of Ja. He’s alone. He lost his only love! But something good came from their love—Jamila. Perhaps he has a right to know.” Lukeman had said what he needed to.
Asim took Femi’s hand. “We need to talk about this.”
“I understand.” Lukeman hugged Asim, “You have always been my family.” He embraced Femi. “I love you both. I am late for a service. I must leave.” Tears ran from his eyes as he rushed out of their home.
If Asim hadn’t had Jamila on his mind, he may have been alerted by the odd departure.
* * *
Dalila paced her bedroom, waiting for Zuka to return from his meeting with Kek. Her emotions were torn. Her husband had been ordered by her lover to murder her brother. She had to stop Zuka, no matter what the cost. She opened the chest and retrieved a dagger. Her heart beat wildly as she considered the possibilities, then she concealed the knife in her robe.
