Jewel of Hiram (The Chronicles of Crash Carter Book 1)

by Frank Felton

  Alcaman was one of the most educated men in Mexico in the 1830’s. His insight into Latin American history led him to determine the existence of a paranormal anomaly surrounding Cortez. There were simply too many bizarre occurrences for his success to be natural. It was this power Cortez used to conquer great peoples of the New World. The telltale signs of the Jewel are there for those looking closely.

  After years of research, Alcaman consulted a rising star in the new nation of Mexico with this information. This man was none other than General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. He became convinced of Alcaman’s theory, and he hungered for power. Together, they tracked down and located the bones of Cortez. Upon discovering the final resting place, Santa Anna would also discover the Jewel. Cortez valued the Jewel highly; it wrapped around his neck even in death. Despite the flesh giving way to rot, the Jewel remained bound about his upper cavity even 300 years after his death.

  General Santa Anna would take possession of this artifact and soon become known as the “Napoleon of the West.” He was elected President of Mexico on April 1, 1833. A known opportunist, he switched loyalties to those he felt could best support his chances. He would use the power of the Jewel to rule, but his ill-conceived victory would be short-lived.

  Santa Anna’s hubris consumed him. During his pinnacle of power, he marched his Army boldly into Texas to quell an uprising. With superior numbers, and an opposition lacking rudimentary organization, he sought to overwhelm the Texans with a brute display of force. In San Antonio, he slaughtered the Texans at the Alamo in March 1836, killing every last defender including the legendary Davey Crockett and Jim Bowie. The rallying cry “Remember the Alamo” would remain ingrained in the Texan rebels’ minds for the rest of the war, and is still regaled in folklore today.

  Great misfortunes visited the Mexican Army after the initial onslaught, beginning with the sea of mud as the Mexicans pursued the rebels east from San Antonio. A vast numerical advantage and battlefield supremacy dissipated, yet Santa Anna still held the initiative. The tide of the war was changing.

  General Sam Houston led the remainder of the Texan insurrection. He retreated to Harrisburg, rounding up fighters in hopes of one last desperate stand. Santa Anna and his army gave pursuit with the fervor of Varro at Cannae. It would prove to be his downfall, as a modern-day Hannibal awaited. After being chased into a corner, General Houston ordered his men to burn the bridges, preventing Mexican re-enforcements. It also prevented any opportunity for escape for either army.

  The die was cast, and while the Mexicans guard was down during an afternoon siesta, preparing their battle plans; the Texans attacked. Santa Anna was caught completely by surprise. The Texans fought with relentless fury. They held fire until the Mexicans shot their first volley in a panic, which amazingly went over the head of the entire column of approaching fighters.

  While the Mexicans reloaded muskets, the Texans were within bayonet range and began a hand-to-hand, bloody fight. They used rifles as clubs to deliver blunt force trauma. Remembering the Alamo, they continued the fight at close range, smashing skulls, firing pistols, and carving up the enemy with Bowie knives.

  When the dust settled, after a mere 29 minutes, more than 600 Mexicans lay dead or wounded. Another 700 soldiers were taken prisoner. Only three Texans died. Santa Anna’s army was soundly defeated. It was an overwhelming victory; a display of tactical genius by Sam Houston.

  Despite his army’s route, Santa Anna himself had not yet surrendered. He was found hiding in tall grass near the battlefield. He was first sighted by Jim Sylvester who was riding by on horseback. The General had donned a corporal’s uniform in hopes of escape. He would have been summarily executed, had it not been for one important thing. Sylvester was a Mason, as was Santa Anna, who presented himself with the Masonic sign of distress. Knowing this sign, Sylvester spared the General’s life for the moment and took him prisoner.

  He was marched back to General Houston himself, still clad in the uniform of a soldier. No one knew for certain his true identity, except the Mexican soldiers. Santa Anna’s disguise was betrayed by his own men. Upon his approach to the encampment, the other Mexican prisoners began to salute and say:

  “El Presidente! Es nuestro General!”

  Sam Houston was severely wounded; however he treated the captive President with utmost respect. Santa Anna remained defiant and proud. He was searched, and his property seized. In his pocket, he carried numerous items. He had discarded the lavish uniform of the commander in chief, save for one thing; around his neck he wore the Jewel of Hiram.

  He would never hold it again.

  Santa Anna was forced to sign the Treaty of Velasco, recognizing the complete independence of Texas. In exchange, his life was spared and he was granted travel back to Mexico. He would try in vain to get the Jewel back throughout the rest of his life. His legacy was in tatters. He lost half the landmass of Mexico during his foray into Texas, and was looked upon by his countrymen as a failure.

  I cannot explain how or why the Jewel turned into a weakness for Santa Anna. Perhaps his arrogance and selfishness were too much for him to overcome, even with the power of the Jewel at his disposal. It by no means grants omnipotence. It can, and will, be lost. I’ve said it before, strengths or weaknesses are both merely assets. The difference lies in how they are deployed.

  At San Jacinto, the Texans would win the day against long odds. Sam Houston would hold onto the Jewel until the day before he died, going on to become President of the Republic of Texas, and senator of the United States. As a fervent Mason, he eagerly scouted the Craft over his later years to find a suitable heir to the Jewel.

  He found his heir in the person of Aiden Benson, and I’d soon learn more about him as I packed my belongings and headed to Milam County.

  ~~~

  An interesting side note: Though the last male heir of Cortez died in 1629, he left many children and many descendants who did not bear the Cortez name. One of those descendants heard rumors of what Lucas Alcaman found, and in 1851, threatened Alcaman’s life if he did not tell him the location of Cortez’ body. Alcaman refused, knowing that Santa Anna long since reburied the body and took the Jewel for himself. The man would not relent, and stole volumes of work from Alacaman’s shelves pertaining to Cortez.

  Four hundred fifty years later, that man’s descendants would continue to search for that Jewel.

  PART 2

  Then the angel of the Lord went out, and killed in the camp of the Assyrians one hundred and eighty-five thousand; and when people arose early in the morning, there were the corpses—all dead. – Isaiah 37:36

  11. The Masons

  After I quit the University, I took to working for a local construction outfit. America was prospering coming out of World War II, giving way to the baby boom generation. Texas began to grow as a hub for energy and manufacturing, and few towns were more vivacious than Austin. My ability to learn quickly and handle confrontation not only ensured my gainful employment, but allowed me to work my way up the ranks of a highway crew. Despite my past as a soldier, I was, at heart, a peacemaker.

  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God. – Matthew 5:9

  Being a peacemaker comes in handy when working construction. We worked long days in the brutal Texas sun. Nerves become frayed, and tempers can flare at the slightest semblance of offense. My abilities to defuse bad situations and my ability to think on my feet soon reverberated up the chain of command of my roadway crew. My foreman took note of my ambitious nature and promoted me to supervisor. Before long, I was running my own crew, beating deadlines and helping the company’s bottom line.

  A few more months in, I learned the art of the bottom line. My crews were consistently coming in under budget, and before long I was called in by management to begin outlining ways to reduce costs. I got the sense that I was being groomed for upward movement, which, while reassuring, left me feeling that I was getting too far attached to what was supposed to be temporary emp
loyment.

  It was the winter of 1948 when I accompanied the boss to a meeting to bid on a new highway job. We only had a few hours to assess the project, and cut our cost projections to the bare minimum while still accounting for a profit. If the bid was too high, we’d be beaten by a competitor. Too low, and we’d win the bid but lose money as we wouldn’t be able to cover our costs.

  We lost the bid. In retrospect, maybe I was a bit too naïve and padded our numbers. Regardless, it was at that meeting my fate would take a turn in the right direction. It was here I met Hank Benson. He was technically bidding for the job, but in reality, he was scouting for new hires as he expanded his own construction empire. Sniping talent from his competitors was a shrewd business maneuver he liked to employ.

  This was about the time I’d entertained myself with the thought that the Legend of Snively might be my next big break in the search for the Jewel. Hank left me with his contact information and asked to sit down and discuss a potential new opportunity. I figured him to be a hiring manager for a competing company, and I was not interested. I knew all of the major players in construction around Austin, and I was not keen on taking a gamble with some mom-and-pop operation. I politely turned him down.

  He operated out of the town of Thorndale, which I’d also never heard of. I took a quick glance at the map, out of curiosity. I couldn’t find it anywhere near Austin. I looked a bit further out. It wasn’t even in a neighboring county. Finally, I located it. There it was; a tiny little town, barely a dot on the map. Hard to believe a legitimate company would operate so far from the city. Then something else caught my eye, and I had to look more closely to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. Oddly enough, it was just over the border into Milam County. Needless to say, I was now very much interested. I nearly stumbled over myself to catch him before he left the site.

  He invited me to come out to the local watering hole in Thorndale, called Steve’s Place. Back in the early 1930’s, Thorndale had been quite the destination. The sulfuric salt baths on the east side of this remote town were a place for upper class social types to come and relax. It was not altogether unlike the salt baths of Pamukkale in Turkey, where the Romans created a vast pleasure palace near Hierapolis for their elite citizens and aristocracy.

  The Great Depression ended the prosperous run, and Thorndale simply became another dusty rural farming and ranching community. It had little else to offer, and the area stagnated. It was too far from Austin to see any economic activity.

  That was all about to change.

  I arrived on a Friday afternoon at Steve’s Place in Thorndale. I walked in the front door, where Hank sat alone in the dusty, smoke-filled bar that smelled of cigarettes and burnt grease. The proprietor, Elmo Burke, cooked hamburgers as a group of locals played dominoes in the corner. The voice of Hank Williams and a lone guitar echoed from the jukebox.

  The occupants at the domino table were more like inhabitants, and all gave a united, condescending glare in my direction as I walked in. The front door let so much light into the dark cavern they had to squint to see whom I was. It was as though I was a stranger in foreign lands.

  Their curiosity waned as I took a seat with Hank, who extended his hand. From that point on, I was accepted by the patrons, and more importantly Mr. Burke. I’d later learn that it also meant I would be accepted in the community. In this town, it’s all about who you know. Or, perhaps who you’re with. In Thorndale, Hank was a man you needed to know.

  Hank was seated at the table where he reviewed writings in a notebook. I recognized other papers on the table as equipment invoices. Apparently Steve’s place doubled as an office for him. After a minute, he pushed the papers aside and got down to the first order of business.

  “You hungry?” Hank asked.

  “Starving. We had a maintainer get stuck off 35 this morning. Didn’t get lunch.” I replied.

  “Perfect. Elmo makes burgers here that are damn near edible.”

  He turned his head toward Elmo, and raised his voice:

  “Elmo! Couple cheeseburgers. All the way.”

  Elmo heard the command and glanced up through his thick glasses. He couldn’t see very well. He had to nod his head downward to peer through the top of his bifocals to find who was talking. Then he’d lean his head back to look through the lower portion of his glasses, which were refractive enough to identify the person. It took him a few seconds to gain his bearing. To newcomers, he came off as rude, but to the locals, that was just Elmo. Blind or not, he was the only one allowed near the hamburger grill.

  “Comin’ up brother Hiram,” he exclaimed, tilting his head forward and back, just slightly, as if to acknowledge a superior.

  There was a heavy southern accent in his speech. Elmo hailed from South Carolina but came to Texas at an early age with his parents. He was a retired lawman, having been a sheriff’s deputy for many years. Brother was pronounced as two separate and distinct words, with the last two letters dropped in favor of an “ah”; a southeastern twang which readily identified him as a non-native Texan. Hiram was condensed to sound more like harm.

  “Cheese?” Elmo asked.

  For a man who was legally blind and moved slowly, Elmo had a piercing voice that could raise Elijah from the dead. Yet, he rarely spoke, which added to his mystery. He didn’t need to move quickly or talk much. He sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Cheese okay with you?” Hank asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Yep!” Hank hollered across the room at Elmo. Elmo nodded his head. Hank then turned back to me.

  “See there, you gotta tell him you want cheese on your cheeseburger. Ain’t that some shit?”

  “Yes, I was going to ask why….”

  “That’s just Elmo. He don’t listen too good.”

  “I see.”

  “But even now, you got about a 75-percent chance that he’ll remember the cheese. It’s a crapshoot around here what kind of burger you get. Know what I mean?”

  “Well, sir, I’m easy to please in the food department.”

  “You ain’t lactose intolerant, are you? Cause he also might forget and put both slices on yours.”

  “No sir.”

  “Good. You drink beer?”

  “You bet.”

  “What kind?”

  That was an odd question. This interview was starting off a bit different than I expected. I’d soon learn that Hank was not your ordinary business owner. In this bar, you might take a lot of grief over what type of beer you drank or hamburger you ordered.

  Yet something else struck me as even more odd during this conversation. Why did Elmo refer to Hank as brother Hiram? When I heard it, I glanced around to see if someone else had walked in. There was no one.

  I looked the other direction, only to see the sunlight-deprived domino players’ heads buried deep in contemplation of their next bid. He hadn’t address him as Hank. Yet Hank knew who Elmo was talking too. It didn’t add up for me at that moment. Apparently I was the only one in this bar who found it strange. Elmo was definitely talking to Hank, but now as I observed more of Elmo, the more it seemed maybe he was just a little, you know, crazy.

  “Who’s your friend?” Elmo yelled from across the room.

  “This is brother McCormack. From over in Austin. He’s going to work for me.”

  “City boy,” replied Elmo, under his breath, now disinterested to learn any more about me. He turned back to his vocation, and tossed two red meat patties onto the grill. It filled the room with the hiss of scalding meat. It would soon be followed by the aroma of caramelized onions and the crisp scent of cracked pepper and garlic. The smoke wafted lazily to our table.

  Elmo studied the grill intently, his thick bifocals covered in fog as he flipped and poked the patties with his spatula, to perfection. Once judged righteous, a slice of cheddar was place perfectly on top for a few seconds of melting which signaled the patty was ready to move off to the side. He slid it up onto the spatula with a quick flip, and placed
the burger onto a waiting bun.

  I am the type of person that notices everything, every little mundane detail. From the color of a shoe someone is wearing or a receding hairline that reveals one’s age. I ascertain subtleties in demeanor, the type of clothes, and the general manner in which someone speaks. I could size a man up in 30 seconds, and tell you if he was friend or foe, rich or poor, arrogant, unbecoming, or downright haughty. Normally, on such a civil occasion, my antennae would not be up, and I’d be much more relaxed.

  I glanced down at the ring on Hank’s finger. It was the ring of a Mason. Now that was interesting. A man addressed as Hiram, with the ring of a Mason.

  Hank now had my full and undivided attention.

  12. Lone Star Beer

  I will strike you down; and I will give the dead bodies to the birds of the air and to the wild beasts of the earth. – David, as he approached Goliath

  Hank and I discussed our backgrounds over a few bottles of Lone Star beer. When I informed him that I had no true preference for any certain brand of beer, he was aghast. To him, that was fairly close to sacrilege. Hank was a true believer that Lone Star is the National Beer of Texas. The motto is thus explained, that drinking any other beer is treason. While it may seem conceited, it is anything but. Here in the land of Texas, it defines the attitude and way of life to a fault. Texas was a republic, after all, well before it became a state.

  Don’t Mess with Texas is another pithy saying I enjoy. I never cared for the overtly braggadocios Everything’s Bigger in Texas. To me, bigger has always meant clumsy, and slow. Most of us tend to favor the underdog, the guy who is smaller yet faces an adversary without a hint of fear. Light and stealthy is a much better way of conducting business. If your opponent cannot see you, then you already have the advantage. I’ll say this, in retrospect, Hank had the advantage right now, not just over me, but over just about everything in his life.