The Europa Conspiracy

by Tim LaHaye

  “Very good,” John Bartholomew said enthusiastically.

  Werner continued, “We will infuse money into the Americans’ next presidential election. Our plan is to support those candidates who are more liberal and socialistic in their thinking. Once they are in office and world political pressure mounts, they will cave in to the demands of other countries. They will want to be accepted in the global community, not hated. They will seek peace at any cost. Their independence will decrease as they conform to the flow of the coming worldwide society of man.”

  Everyone turned and looked at General Li, who nodded. “Phase six is unique. It is called the fire plan. With the threats of war, nuclear proliferation, terrorist bombings, boycotting of U.S. trade, the increase in oil prices, the weakening of Wall Street, and medical emergencies-all of America’s resources will be stretched to a breaking point. Certain sleeper cells will then start actual fires, beginning near large metropolitan areas. The first priority in firefighting is to protect people, then structures, then forests. As the fires rage in the cities, other sleeper cells will start forest fires near power plants, in the hope of shutting down large power grids. Then they will start fires in the forests surrounding dams. The plan is to cause erosion problems, which will lead to increased runoff, mudslides, and flooding. Hopefully this will damage crops, structures, and transportation.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement. The plan sounded wonderful to them.

  “The U.S. has already been drained financially with the war in Iraq, tornadoes, hurricanes, and flood relief in its own country. They have been helping in relief efforts in Afghanistan and Turkey, and for the tidal wave victims. The weakening of the U.S. economy will affect the entire world. It will strengthen the European economy, and that is exactly what is needed. The only way to conquer a great country like the United States is by dividing it. If we can get it to fight on many fronts, the Americans will finally give up dealing with the rest of the world and will draw in to protect their own. They will become so weak as to no longer be a threat. Especially in the one place we have not yet mentioned: Israel. If we can get the U.S. to cut off aid to Israel, we can destroy and finally eliminate that canker from the face of the earth. The world will be in turmoil and will be crying for a world leader to step in and take control.”

  Sir William Merton was nodding vigorously. He looked a little warm in his clerical collar. “The seventh phase is to begin the religious movement,” he explained. “When the world is in a desperate financial condition, the people will turn to religion for support. Remember, ‘religion is the opiate of the masses.’ We will begin funding various religious leaders and also begin to call for all faiths to unite. We will push for the universal brotherhood of man. We will support and encourage the homosexual community. Those who oppose them will be ridiculed, threatened, and punished. We can do this by instituting legislation that will take away critical tax advantages for churches and religious organizations. Any who oppose our plan can be accused of hate speech and jailed for nonconformity. That will squelch any opposition. We’ll establish a new world religion that will have vast influence over the people.” His eyes glowed as he spoke.

  John Bartholomew cleared his throat and spoke. “Some parts of these plans are already in place and operating effectively. The rest will come into being soon. So far our plan is coming together. If Talon can carry out his assignments, I believe we will be right on schedule. I think this calls for a toast.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  MURPHY LOOKED UP at Isis as she read, studying her for a moment. There was no question that she was beautiful. Her sparkling green eyes and red hair were striking, but there was more. She was smart, well-read, and could hold her own in almost any conversation. She was fun to be with and was not afraid to try things that were new and different. She was independent and yet at the same time seemed to need his strength. He felt a strong desire to protect her. He knew that he was beginning to recover from Laura’s death. He could sense a new love growing, and it felt comfortable … and good.

  Isis looked up and their eyes met. She smiled, and he fought the urge to reach out and embrace her. After a moment she lowered her eyes and began to read again. Murphy took a deep breath and opened a new folder.

  As he picked the folder up, he noticed something about the journal he had just placed on the table. A piece of paper seemed to be sticking out in back. Murphy picked up the journal again and pulled what turned out to be two pages together. On one was a genealogy of the child Dr. Anderson and his partner had helped to create.

  “Look at these!” Murphy exclaimed.

  “It seems that Dr. Anderson has done some of the work for us already. Let’s see what we can find about these people.”

  Murphy continued, “Anderson writes that Carmine Anguis, the father of the birth mother, was a Gypsy chieftain from the Rom tribe. They are well-known for fortune-telling. I’ve heard that some of their members built homes that looked like churches. They would then beg on the street—by showing them pictures of the outside of what looked like a cathedral. They would ask them to help build their church. It was really their home. That scam is still happening today. I’ve seen many of those types of homes in Romania.”

  “It sounds like a play on people’s emotions. Does it say anything about the mother, Kala Matrinka?”

  “Dr. Anderson suggests that she may have been a prostitute before becoming Carmine’s wife.”

  “What about Alfred Meinrad?”

  “He was a scientist and had a Ph.D. in astrophysics and a second Ph.D. in microbiology. He was a very outspoken atheist and evolutionist. I don’t believe he ever married. According to newspaper reports, he was killed in a mysterious automobile accident. He was driving in the mountains when all of a sudden he veered off the road and down into a canyon. Does that scenario sound familiar?”

  “That’s just what happened to Dr. Talpish!” Isis exclaimed thoughtfully. “Michael, you asked me how Madame Blavatsky, Annie Besant, and Alice Ann Bailey tied together with Dr. Anderson. I think I’ve found it. Look at the genealogy of the Boy. Zigana Averna was the great-grandmother of Keres Mazikeen. Zigana worked as an assistant for all three of the women. First for Blavatsky, then Besant, and finally Bailey. She died sometime in the early 1940s. She was the mother of an illegitimate child named Mariana Yakov. The father’s name was Ivan Yakov from Stalingrad. Ivan Yakov was later imprisoned for murder. Mariana Yakov became a prostitute until her mid-thirties, when she married Aaron Mazikeen. Dr. Anderson indicated that he was a drug smuggler and was shot to death in Istanbul. Mariana Yakov gave birth to a girl named Keres Mazikeen. Later Yakov, an alcoholic, died. Mazikeen provided the egg for the Boy. Alfred Meinrad provided the sperm. Calinda Anguis was merely the host body that gave birth to the fertilized egg.”

  “Wow!” said Murphy. “Dr. Anderson really had to do some investigating to discover all that.”

  “Yes,” Isis agreed. “He goes on to say that Zigana was an expert in table rapping, séances, fortune-telling, and channeling of spirits. She even exceeded Blavatsky in her ability to do signs and wonders. She became a devil worshipper and excelled in corruption of every sort.”

  “I don’t think I would want her babysitting the grandchildren.”

  “Michael, Michael! Listen!” Isis exclaimed, reviewing the genealogy. “You know that I can read and speak many languages.”

  “Sure. I know that.”

  “Look at these names. Zigana Averna: Zigana is Hungarian for ‘gypsy,’ and Averna is Latin for ‘queen of the underworld.’

  “Mariana Yakov:Mariana is Russian for ‘rebellious,’ and Yakov is Russian for ‘supplanted’—one who takes the place of another.

  “Keres Mazikeen: Keres is Greek for ‘evil spirits,’ and Mazikeen is Jewish for ‘elflike beings that can change shapes.’

  “Alfred Meinrad: Alfred is Italian for ‘counselor to the elves,’ and Meinrad is German for ‘strong advisor.’

  “Carmine Anguis: Carmine is Latin for ‘crimson,’
and Anguis is Latin for ‘dragon.’

  “Kola Matrinka: Kala is Egyptian for ‘black,’ and Matrinka is Egyptian for ‘divine mother.’

  “And finally Calinda Anguis: Calinda is Latin for ‘fiery,’ and Anguis is Latin for ‘dragon.’

  “There’s something really spooky about all of this,” Isis said softly. “Michael, what do you think the other piece of paper means?”

  Murphy looked at the page headed “New Age Movement.” “My guess is that Dr. Anderson did some further investigation,” he said thoughtfully. “In the Bible, Nimrod was considered the father of all cults against God. He is given credit for instigating the Tower of Babel as a rebellion against God. The various ancient mystery religions came from him. Those gave rise to Kabbalism—something you are hearing about in the news today-Gnosticism, and then the secret societies like Knights Templar, Rosicrucians, Free Masons, and the Illuminati. Anderson must have started with Madame Blavatsky and the Theosophical Society and traced its origins back to Nimrod. No wonder he was feeling guilty and wanted to rectify his errors.”

  “It sort of sounds like the story of Judas and how he felt remorse for being a traitor to Christ. See, I do know a little about the Bible,” Isis said with a smile.

  “You’re right, Isis. It reminds me of a short poem:

  “Still as of old

  Men by themselves are priced.

  For thirty pieces Judas

  sold Himself not Christ.”

  “Michael, this is becoming very scary.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  RASHAD ENTERED the great hall and paused for a moment as he stroked his beard. A thorough search of so large a building would take some time. He walked over to the card catalog and pretended to be looking up something.

  A few minutes later Asim strolled through the doors. He went to the magazine rack, selected one, and then sat down at an empty table. He opened the magazine and held it as if reading. However, his eyes were not focused on the pages; he was looking beyond.

  The next to enter was Fadil. No casual observer would have paid any attention to the first two Arabs. They acted quite normal. Fadil, on the other hand, stood out—not his tall thin body, but his nervous mannerisms. He seemed anxious and his body made quick jerking movements. His eyes darted back and forth, and perspiration sheened on his forehead and stained his shirt. He made his way to a bookcase and quickly pulled down a book. He didn’t even look at it. He just held it as his eyes searched the room.

  Alvena Smidt was deeply engrossed in looking up the difference between “quiddity” and “quidnunc” in the dictionary when she heard a voice.

  “Excuse me, madame. But could you assist me?”

  At the sound of the voice her eyes brightened. She looked into the face of a light-skinned man with a neatly trimmed mustache, wearing a topcoat and gloves. He was tall and wiry-looking. His emotionless eyes were the type that would make most people shiver. But not Alvena Smidt.

  “Don’t say another word,” she exclaimed. “Let me guess. You’re from Cape Town, and you speak Afrikaans.”

  “You are correct,” Talon said, surprised. “How did you know that?”

  Smidt took off her glasses and stood up. She adjusted her blue polka-dot dress and approached the counter, smiling broadly.

  “I knew it. I just knew it! I was born and raised in Cape Town myself. My parents came from a line of Dutch traders that go back to the 1700s. I can always tell someone who is from South Africa. I guess it’s the combination of English and Dutch tones in their voice. At home my parents only spoke Afrikaans, and your voice is much like my father’s. It is so good to hear someone from home. I moved to the States after college and have been here ever since.”

  “That is all very nice, but I was wondering if you could help me.”

  “Oh, yes. I’d be glad to. Are you needing to look up some book or article? You look like the type of man who loves to read. I bet that you love the classics, don’t you? I like classical music. It’s so stimulating. Do you—”

  He interrupted. “I’m looking for some friends of mine. A man and a woman. They are—”

  “Are they from South Africa too? I’d love to meet them. I wonder if they might know any of my family”

  “No, they’re not from South Africa!” he said firmly. “The man is about my height, six foot three, rugged-looking. The woman is a redhead. Have they been in here?”

  “Oh, yes. Who could miss that beautiful woman with the red hair? She looked like a model. Is she a model? And the man with her was so handsome. They made such a striking couple. I thought to myself, now, there’s a happy couple. I wonder how many children they have. I just love children. Don’t you?”

  “Are they still here?” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I don’t know. But if they are, bring them back to the counter. I’d love to meet them.”

  “I appreciate your assistance. You’re quite solicitous.”

  Smidt smiled and blushed at the same time. It was not often that she met someone who was polite and knew how to use the English language. Most people would have only said “Thanks for your help.” That was okay, but it was so common. She watched him walk away. It’s such a joy to have a conversation with someone who is educated… and from South Africa too.

  She continued to watch him as he went over to the short man with the dark mustache at the card catalog. Two other Arab-looking men joined them.

  He must be a diplomat or something. I wonder if he speaks Arabic also.

  Smidt was about to put her glasses back on when she saw the man look back at her, smiling and nodding. She flushed. He was not only educated, he was good-looking too … and she had been lonely for quite some time.

  “Michael, I’ll be back in a moment,” Isis said, rising. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  As he watched Isis walk away, Murphy realized that Dr. Anderson’s notes might help them discover more clues as to who the Anti-Christ might be. He knew that if what they were reading was true, they probably were in real danger.

  Whoever the Friends of the New World Order are, it’s certain that they are powerful and have an evil plan. They succeeded in killing Dr. Anderson. Will we be next? Murphy wondered.

  Smiling to herself, Isis turned and looked back at Murphy as she walked off in search of the restroom. When he’s focused on something, it would take an earthquake to get his attention.

  After passing row after row of bookshelves, she found a sign saying that the restroom was on the second floor. She did not look down into the great hall as she descended one flight. She didn’t see the Arabs talking… nor did she notice Talon.

  “Rashad, you and Fadil search the right side of the main floor. Asim and I will search the left side. If you find them, do not approach. Pretend that you are just ordinary people in the library. One of you stay in the area and the other come and get me. We will move up one floor at a time. Asim and I will use the elevator as we go up; you two use the stairs. That way they will not get by us.”

  Talon was about to continue when Asim interrupted.

  “Can we not kill them? I want to avenge the death of Ibrahim.”

  “They will die, but we must be careful. This is a public place, and we don’t want people to identify us. I know you want them dead, but there is more at stake here than just the lives of two people. We don’t want their deaths to jeopardize our opportunity to kill thousands.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  SHARI WAS SIPPING a cup of coffee at a table near the student center when Paul Wallach walked up. He wasn’t quite sure how to begin. He and Shari hadn’t seen each other for about a week, and their last conversation did not end well.

  “Hi, Paul. Thank you for coming. Do you want to get something to drink?”

  “No, I think I’ll pass. I just had lunch a little while ago. How’ve you been?”

  Shari paused for a moment. “Not very good,” she said truthfully. “I’ve been crying a lot, Paul, and I finally realized I can’t go on feeling this way.
”

  Wallach didn’t say a thing. This conversation was going somewhere he really didn’t want to go.

  “Paul,” Shari continued, “do you remember when we used to have discussions about religion?”

  “Before the bombing?”

  “Yes. At that time you seemed quite interested in looking into the Christian faith. And even after the bombing when I visited you in the hospital and took care of you after you got out, you were interested. But now something’s changed. You don’t seem to want that to be part of your life.”

  “I guess it’s just not what I thought it would be. I’m finding that my interests are changing,” Wallach said quickly.

  “Changing?”

  “Yeah. I’m focusing my energies on the future,” he explained. “It seems to charge my batteries more than church. Don’t get me wrong; church is fine for some people—like yourself—but it’s just not my thing.”

  “What is your thing, Paul?”

  Wallach began to feel a little uncomfortable. He hadn’t really had to put his thoughts into words before. “I mean, I want to get out of school and get started in the business world.”

  “With Barrington Network News?”

  “Yes. Media is an exciting field.”