by Unknown
Even the Vatican was an illusion.
The Catholic religion’s royalty, rich beyond belief, and hypocritical in the extreme, had always believed in evolution and the God Particle. Publicly, they denied evolution, of course, because accepting it would have torn the curtain away from the great and powerful Oz.
The Vatican had been one of CERN’s major benefactors, which most Catholics would have been surprised to hear. Adam and Eve were just a joke, yet they were a joke that was perpetuated over centuries just to keep the coffers full. And to keep control over a population that would prefer to believe that a divine spirit created the universe in seven days, rather than face the fact that their precious surgically-enhanced bodies actually got their origins from exploding matter.
A lie, told often enough, becomes the truth.
How many people who practised the Catholic faith knew that the Vatican owned and operated the most powerful telescope in the world, located in Arizona of all places? A telescope that was ironically named ‘Lucifer.’
For a religion that had convinced entire societies and the history books that it believed in divinity and absolute spiritualism, the Jesuits were, ironically, the most highly trained astronomers on the planet. A religion that pretended to believe in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, was actually obsessed with science and the formation of the universe.
Illusions.
The proposed hotel in Nelson had been an illusion, just to get close to Willy. To make sure that he didn’t get out of control. To keep a lid on him after his accidental x-ray procedure. Radiation that had caused him to flare up into this otherworldly being that he now knew he really was deep down inside the labyrinth of his DNA.
The Diamond Vintage Winery was an illusion. Who could know from the innocent exterior that it was merely camouflaging an underground doomsday shelter? How many other facilities like this existed? How many people around the world would be climbing down metal ladders installed in granite rock over the next few days and weeks, to escape a cataclysm?
And, the poor oblivious souls walking around above ground would be left wondering where their government officials went, why the chieftains of conglomerates were nowhere to be found, and where all the wealthy celebrities had suddenly disappeared to.
All of a sudden, over a very short time frame, they’d all be gone. Hiding. And, people would be left scratching their heads wondering why. Until the day, hour, minute, and second that it happened. At that moment of truth—that shocking moment of awareness—there would be a mass awakening.
But, by the sounds of it, that moment wouldn’t last very long.
There might be just enough time to grab family photographs and scoop up kids and pets.
There might be enough time to run for a stretch, but no one would know which direction to run in.
There might be enough time to scream.
But, no time to analyse.
And, certainly no time to understand that virtually everything they thought they knew had just been one giant illusion.
Helen was sitting on the edge of the bed, resting her chin on her tiny fists.
Willy walked over and sat down beside her. He draped his arm around her shoulders, lowered his head and looked deeply into her eyes.
Into her soul.
They communicated without saying a word.
Her eyes asked the questions and his eyes gave the answers. He knew what she wanted to do, and she knew that he felt the same way.
He nodded his head and smiled knowingly.
She smiled back at him, a smile that was one-part resignation, the other part contentment.
Helen whispered a question. “Maybe we could even rebuild our front porch?”
He whispered back, “Yes, dear, we will. And, we can help the neighbors rebuild theirs, too. After we’ve finished all that work we can host one of our famous parties—assuming of course that the earthquakes leave us alone for a while.”
“Can we invite all the old draft-dodgers?”
“Wouldn’t be much of a party without them.”
“Smoke a few joints, maybe?”
“Why not?”
They both giggled like school kids.
Willy stood up, reached down, and gently held her soft hands. He eased her up off the bed and, arm in arm, they headed through the doorway together.
Back to the living room where Allison, Wyatt, and John were chatting in low tones.
Willy cleared his throat to get their attention.
“Allison, we’re not going with you. When you folks fly out of here, we want you to drop us off in Castlegar and we’ll drive from there. Back to Nelson. Back to our home and our friends.”
Willy looked at his son. Wyatt was about to say something, but the look in Willy’s eyes no doubt told him it was fruitless.
“No, Wyatt. Don’t bother trying to talk us out of it. Our minds are made up. Nelson is where we belong and, if things are going to come to an end, that’s where we want to be. We’ve already lived the sixties, a turbulent time that we don’t want to live through again. And, we’re just too old now to do it. We’ve had a good life.
“And don’t offer to stay behind with us. You need to go with Allison and John. Help them make this work. You three, and the others going with you, are Earth’s last hope. Make it count. Be the heroes. The world needs a few heroes right about now.”
Wyatt got up from the couch and walked over to his parents.
With tears in his eyes, he said, “I understand. I won’t try to talk you out of it. And, I’ll be seeing you back there in the sixties. You won’t know me, but I’ll definitely know you.”
Chapter 55
The executive hangar lounge at London’s Gatwick airport was quiet, which Wyatt thought was unusual for a Friday afternoon. The eerie emptiness added one extra element to the anxiety Wyatt was feeling. Almost as if the hangar had been reserved just for them—the calm before the storm. But, Allison explained to him that most of the private jet traffic took place in the early mornings and evenings.
The Vatican representatives, Cardinal Valenti and his aide, Monsignor Conti, were already at the terminal when they arrived.
Both of them were dressed in normal priestly garments, nothing garish or flowing. Wyatt had been expecting Valenti to be adorned in the traditional cardinal garments, complete with gown and cap. He was very tall, around six and a half feet, handsome, and with a dark complexion that reminded Wyatt of the Vatican characters featured in one of the Godfather movies.
Conti was the exact opposite—bookish, short and skinny, with thick-lens glasses. He looked like the stereotypical aide.
Wyatt was aware that Valenti, a Jesuit, was high up in the Vatican hierarchy and a noted astronomer—and, of course, the managing director of the Arizona observatory. Wyatt was curious, though, as to what the man’s exact role would be on this mission, since high-level scientists from CERN would already be along for the ride, as well as Allison, who was an astrophysicist herself.
He pulled her off to the side so that Valenti and Conti couldn’t hear him.
“Why are the cardinal and the monsignor going with us? Unusual choices, considering this is mainly a scientific and political venture. Of course, I don’t really belong here either, but I was just curious.”
Allison brushed the back of her hand against his cheek, then squeezed his shoulder affectionately.
“Don’t say you don’t belong here. You’re with me, so that gives you the right. And, I get to say who comes.”
She smiled mischievously. “After all, it is my plane.”
“Yeah, but…”
Allison shook her head. “No ‘buts’ about it. I want you with me. We’re going to succeed in this mission and, because we will, I want someone like you to hang out with back in the sixties.”
She giggled. “Only because I think you’d make one fine looking hippie!”
Wyatt laughed at the image. “Okay, at least now I know your motivation. And, you’ll be a flower child, I assum
e?”
“Sure. And…here’s something to get excited about. Haven’t you ever wished you could have been at Woodstock?”
“That would be quite something, wouldn’t it? But, at our ages we’ll look a little out of place.”
“We’ll pretend to be organizers—grow your hair out a bit, put some beads in mine, then we’ll go make love in a muddy field, gyrating to Carlos Santana. It’ll be…groovy!”
Wyatt wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “You’ve got a deal. We’ll do it. So, answer my question about our Vatican friends.”
“Cardinal Valenti is our way in the front door.”
“How’s that?”
“You’re forgetting that John F. Kennedy was the very first Irish Roman Catholic ever elected president. Even though he broke at least one of the Ten Commandments over and over again, he was a staunch Catholic in his public persona. Being Catholic meant a lot to the Kennedy family. They held any representative of the Vatican in high reverence.”
“Yeah, but back then there would be no record of Valenti being a cardinal. And, just being a cardinal isn’t going to open the White House doors.”
Allison nodded. “You’re right. But, we’re not going to the White House right away. Our way in the front door will be through Hyannis Port, Massachusetts. The Kennedy family compound. Where JFK’s parents, Joe and Rose, lived.”
“Why?”
“Because, first of all, it will be easier for us to get a reception there. Joseph, the family patriarch, would open any door to someone like the cardinal, a representative of the Pope. And, since he was the ultimate puppet-master in the Kennedy family, having singlehandedly manipulated the election that brought JFK to power, he’s our ‘in’ to the president.
“His son will listen to whatever he has to say; he always did. If Joe says that John has to meet with us, he’ll meet with us. And, we may not even have to visit the White House. I’m guessing that Joe will command John to travel out to see us at Hyannis Port. Which is probably better for our first meeting, anyway. Away from all the Oval Office controllers and hangers-on.
“As well, we will have a bona fide senator with us as well. Hartford speaks their language, and he has an insider knowledge of the corridors of power, which haven’t really changed all that much in the last half century.”
Wyatt cocked his head to the side. “C’mon, Allison, we still have the problem with neither the senator nor the cardinal being on anyone’s records or radar back then. They’d be deemed imposters.”
“True. But, we have an ace in the hole. Two aces, actually.
“John’s briefcase contains some highly classified material that the senior Kennedy is well aware of. It pertains to Majestic 12, which Joe Kennedy was an early member of. It was given to Hartford by one of our members, who was killed a few weeks ago because of it. I told you about him—an oil tycoon named Farmington. That information from the fifties and sixties, as well as subsequent decades, is what led to the hit being put out on Hartford.”
Wyatt folded his arms across his chest. “Okay, so that will get the father’s attention, and give Senator Hartford credibility.”
“Exactly. Again, our aim is to show enough information from documents, or from the hard drives on our computers, to convince them we mean no harm. And, that we are indeed from the future. Once they’re convinced of that, they’ll listen to us about what needs to be done to prevent a calamity fifty-two years into the future.”
“You said you had two aces in the hole. What’s the other one?”
“Joseph Kennedy had a stroke in 1961, paralysed him on the right side of his body. He regained some movement and the ability to walk…sort of…and, luckily, his mind was still alert.
“After this stroke, he became circumspect about his life. And, about his religion. To the world, Joe was thought to be a devout Catholic…but he wasn’t. It was all a scam. He used it to mix within all the proper circles. It was good for his image.
“But, after the stroke, he started having regrets, knowing that his life was coming to an end. He entertained prominent Catholics regularly after the stroke, almost as if he was looking for forgiveness for a life that was rich and full…but, sordid in the extreme.
“So, religion was his Achilles Heel. His vulnerable spot. He’ll listen to anything pertaining to the Catholic religion. And, we have something shocking to show him.”
Wyatt was getting more intrigued with every word Allison was uttering. He could feel the warmth of the blood rushing to his cheeks.
“You have my attention. What is it?”
Allison lowered her voice a notch.
“You’ve heard about the Three Secrets of Fatima, I’m sure. In 1917, three shepherd girls, Lucia, Jacinto, and Francisco, were visited six times over a period of several months, purportedly by the Virgin Mary. Three secrets were revealed to the girls, and the first two were announced to the public.
“And, let’s face it, who knows if this event even really happened? It could be just another Vatican con job. But, the important thing is that Catholics believe that it happened, so we’re counting on that.
“The first secret gave a graphic and horrific description of hell.
“The second secret predicted that World War One would end, followed a couple of decades later by World War Two.
“But, the third secret wasn’t revealed until the year 2000, long after Joseph Kennedy died. So, Kennedy never knew what that secret was.”
“Wasn’t it something to do with an assassination attempt on the Pope?”
Allison nodded. “Yes, when it was announced by the Vatican, it told about that attempt back in 1981 against the life of Pope John Paul the Second. But, let’s face it, it’s pretty easy to predict something twenty years after it already happened. So, there was immense scepticism about that third secret and the Vatican has been under heavy criticism ever since that year 2000 announcement. No one believed what they announced—it was felt that the real secret was too frightening to release to the public.”
“Okay, so what?”
Allison took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
“It was indeed a farce. That wasn’t the third secret. Our Pope has given Cardinal Valenti all three written secrets, complete with the official Vatican seal, in their original envelopes back when they were written out.
“It’s true that the real third secret was never intended to be announced, because it was just too horrific.
“It pertains to Gargantuan.
“Valenti will share all three of the ‘Our Lady of Fatima’ secrets with Joseph Kennedy.”
Wyatt whistled and exclaimed, “Wow!” Then he scratched his chin. “But, Joe Kennedy might think this is all being made up, forged.”
“He might—except the old documents are pretty authentic-looking. The cardinal does, however, have other stuff in his briefcase; things that Joe will recognize, him being a student of the Catholic religion. I don’t know what they are, but the cardinal says they’re convincing. Artifacts from the Vatican, the Sistine Chapel, and St. Peter’s Basilica. Famous items that any Catholic would recognize. All of these things will get his attention and, most importantly, will get us an audience with the president.”
Wyatt glanced over at the cardinal and his aide. Senator Hartford was chatting with them, and four other men had just arrived, each carrying computer cases.
He pointed. “I think your CERN scientists are here, Allison.”
She glanced over in their direction. “Yep. Looks like we’re good to go. I’ll let the pilots know, and we can be on our way.”
“Okay. I’ll join you guys shortly. I just want to think by myself for a minute or two.”
Allison rubbed his shoulder. “I know, it’s a lot to handle, isn’t it? Don’t worry—we’re going to pull this off. I have a good feeling.”
She turned and walked away in that confident stride Wyatt had become lovingly accustomed to.
He strolled over to the large floor to ce
iling windows and gazed out over the tarmac. He rested his eyes on Allison’s gleaming Gulfstream, being fueled for the very last leg of their trip. Several mechanics were also busy doing last minute checks and he could see the heads of the two pilots through the cockpit windows.
He gulped.
This was it.
That beautiful jet had made quite the long journey already. After leaving Penticton, they’d flown right to Castlegar and dropped off Wyatt’s parents.
It had been a sad goodbye.
Wyatt’s eyes welled up as he thought about the last hugs and kisses he enjoyed with Willy and Helen before watching them walk off towards the car lot. He would never see them again that way. If he and the others were successful in going back to 1963, his parents would be young adults. Wyatt would be older than his very own mom and dad. And, they wouldn’t even know who he was. Wouldn’t know their own son.
He sighed, and wiped a tear from his eye. Life had sure taken a bizarre turn.
After Castlegar, they flew to Halifax on the east coast, refueled again, and jetted from there to Reykjavik in Iceland. Another refueling, then the second last leg of their trip—London.
And, now, as he looked out the window at Gatwick International, his stomach warned him that the last leg of their trip was imminent.
London had been their meeting point with the cardinal, the monsignor, and the four scientists. They were all here now. Nothing left to do. Nothing except Allison’s instructions to her pilots as to what the last leg would be.
Geneva, Switzerland. A ninety-minute flight from London.
And, they wouldn’t be landing. At least, not in this year.
Instead, they would circle around until the exact moment. The pre-arranged moment.
A dinner-hour date with some invisible fucking thing called a wormhole.
At precisely 9,000 feet above sea level.
At exactly 46.23417 degrees latitude North, and 6.05278 degrees longitude East.
