The Jesus Christ Cypher

by Sebastian Kentor

  I must be in the depths of Berlaymont. But why are the doors not unlocking?

  In the next moment, a section of the mirror opened, revealing a pulsating card reader.

  Lydia swiped her card, and the doors opened, revealing a dark tunnel with a faint light at the end.

  Suddenly the elevator’s doors closed, and she had the impression it was going back up.

  No, this cannot be a one-way ticket, but there is no button to call it back. How am I going to return?

  Or maybe this is for the best. By now, Helene’s office must be swarming with security forces. Deep inside, she knew there was no turning back.

  She had to face her deepest fear again and go through the darkness to reach the other side.

  Unfortunately, her cell phone had no more charge and could not be used as a flashlight.

  I have to stay strong for my parents and Helene. They are counting on me.

  Deep inside, Lydia felt that there was a powerful link behind her parents’ disappearance and Helene’s murder. But how could she connect the dots?

  The thought that this place could hold the answers she sought for so long gave her an energy boost to continue her journey.

  What was Helene hiding here, and did my parents know about this place? Most importantly, what role did she have to play?

  All these questions floated through her mind as she advanced into the suffocating darkness.

  There was a strange smell in the air, a slightly salty marine breeze that had a soothing effect on her.

  The more she advanced into the darkness, the saltier the air became, so much so that she could almost taste it on the tip of her tongue.

  And suddenly she was out. In front of her, a gigantic cavernous opening revealed itself, and Lydia could not help but gasp in surprise.

  Looking around, she realized that she was inside an incredible cave-like structure, with the ceiling illuminated by strange phosphorous luminescent symbols.

  Who could have built this structure?

  Lydia was left wondering while mesmerized by the sight above. From the ceiling, gigantic stalactites peered down like a monstrous dragon’s teeth.

  ◆◆◆

  §CHAPTER 20§

  Vatican, Sistine Chapel

  I NEED a sign from You!

  Oh, why did You choose me, God?

  Who is this girl haunting my dreams? Why will she destroy everything we build? The Pope’s mind was swirling with so many questions, stalking him throughout the day.

  I saved her once, but how can I find her again?

  Am I losing my mind?

  What if someone is poisoning me? I trust my team of doctors; all tests were perfect for my age.

  I have to go back to where all started.

  The Pope lifted himself from the bed; it was already late, but he felt the same urge he did twenty-five years ago.

  He wanted to reach the Sistine Chapel but suddenly collapsed.

  He gradually opened his eyes and saw Salvatore next to him.

  “Your Holiness, you collapsed but continually repeated that you need to reach the Sistine Chapel. We brought you here.”

  The papal doctor was extremely worried. “However, your Holiness, your vitals are normal.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry. When God communicates with you, it leaves you drained of all your energy. An epiphanic experience is not a walk in the park.”

  “The altar Salvatore, I had a vision… look at the black marble on the wall; it forms a cross on each side, both of them connected.”

  “I am connected to her as well, but what is this symbol?” the Pope asked.

  Salvatore was puzzled because he didn’t understand a word the Pope was saying.

  “A cross with its center made of black marble, a mirror of darkness,” the Pope continued looking at the cross, almost hypnotized by it.

  He could see something in the stone which was beyond any human perception.

  “I need to find her,” the Pope muttered, almost collapsing in Salvatore’s hands.

  “Your Holiness, who is she? To whom are you referring?” Salvatore asked the Pope in an attempt to calm him because he seemed even more worried than before.

  The doctor began making desperate gestures to Salvatore, trying to get him to understand the Pope needed to rest.

  Was the Pope losing his mind? Salvatore and the Doctor were both bewildered.

  “Your Holiness, you need to save your strength. Please, your Holiness,” his Doctor pleaded, taking care not to insult him.

  The pope collapsed again.

  ◆◆◆

  §CHAPTER 21§

  01h30

  THERE MUST be a reason for these symbols: a double set of crosses inserted in two circles, a pentagram, the face of a person with one eye, and several others. But one, in particular, caught her eye.

  “I think I have seen one of them before.”

  Looking above at the millions of tiny glittering green lights, she matched one with the representation of the tree of life, depicted inside of a giant flower of life.

  What if this is a map, and I need to use the symbols to orient myself?

  Looking above, she knew she had to continue and find a way through the darkness to reach this symbol.

  Her parents were fascinated with the mythical legends of the tree of life, which holds the power to make its essence’s drinker immortal.

  She remembered the story her dad told her when she was just a little girl while visiting one of his favorite museums, the British Museum.

  They were passing in front of a stone relief depicting King Ashurnasirpal:

  “Do you see Lydia, in front of the king with the impossible name to read, there is a sacred tree, possibly symbolizing life, the one making a gesture of worship to the sun god Shamas in a winged disc?”

  “Again, in Mesopotamian mythology, Etana looks for the plant of birth to be able to get a son. This was found inscribed on the sacred cylinder seals of ancient Akkad 2390–2249 BC.”

  “The tree of life was also a central mystic element in the ancient Assyrian city of Nimrud.”

  “Then in ancient Iran Amordad was a goddess and the guardian of trees and immortality and most importantly of the Haoma a sacred plant at the center of the Zoroastrian ritual.”

  “Daddy, will we ever find the tree of life?” Lydia asked naively.

  Her dad smiled. “I don’t think I will Lydia, but you certainly have a good chance of finding it if you do all your research and homework properly.”

  As she grew up, she also remembered reading an article written by her dad on how various ancient cultures worshipped this symbol.

  The Urartian tree of life is depicted in the quest of Gilgamesh to find immortality.

  But her favorite part was the ancient Taoist story speaking of a tree that makes the peach of immortality every three thousand years, and anyone who eats it becomes immortal.

  Lydia knew that there must be a kernel of truth in all these mythical stories. There were too many occurrences across so many civilizations to simply be a lost ancient symbol.

  Her parents’ interest in this symbol convinced her to teach a class on the “The Flower of Life’s Origins.” Lydia’s students at the University of Washington were captivated not only with her fascinating presentation but also with her sex appeal.

  She always started her lecture with the tree of life and its reference from the Book of Genesis as the source of eternal life.

  “It is distinct from the tree of knowledge of good and evil in the Garden of Eden. This was where human access to God was revoked and Adam and Eve were driven out from the garden.”

  “The Book of Enoch prophesied that during the great judgment God will give to all the names enshrined in the Book of Life the power to taste the tree of life’s fruit.”

  “It resurfaces within the Bible’s last book, the Book of Revelation, and mainly in the last chapter as a part of the new paradise’s garden. Entry is then no longer banned for those worthy of tasting fr
om the tree of life.”

  “The tree of life is also evoked in the Norse religion as Yggdrasil, the world tree.”

  “Then the Quran speaks of the Tree of Immortality, the only one tree in Eden.”

  “Etz Chaim is the Hebrew version for the tree of life, a common term used in Judaism.”

  “Depictions of world trees are also found in the art and mythological traditions of cultures such as the Aztec and Olmec. For the Mayans, the central world tree of life was by a ceiba tree, the wacah chan, and yax imix che.”

  Lydia dedicated her life to the research of senescence, to finally understand what makes human cells die so fast.

  She was trying to grasp the secrets of nature’s evolutionary mechanism, which makes the cells wither instead of letting them evolve more, giving our species more time.

  In a way, I was searching for the genetic tree of life for myself. And here I found it, to guide me through the darkness. Is it a coincidence of just my fate?

  Heading towards its marking on the ceiling, she spotted several entrances in the shape of very narrow crevasses in the rocky northern part of the wall.

  Which one should I take?

  Damn it!

  I hate labyrinths, and I do not want to be a living version of Ariadne looking for her Minotaur.

  Turning around, she noticed that from a specific angle, some of the entrances had a different symbol engraved on their edges.

  After several minutes of searching, she stumbled on a flower of life engraving.

  This must be it; the flower of life has always guided me until now, I have a feeling I should follow it again.

  The words of her dad were still echoing in her mind.

  Lydia recalled her students really enjoyed the lecture part on the flower of life’s global occurrence.

  She was highlighting its global importance as it could be traced in almost all cultures, which had a crucial role in shaping present modern society. Moreover, these cultures were spread around the entire world, with some of them being remotely isolated and having no contact with each other.

  From the temples within the Forbidden City of China, and ancient synagogues in Israel, the Buddhist temples of India and Japan to the City of Ephesus in Turkey and Cordoba, in la Mezquita Spain.

  Lydia had a strange feeling, and while entering the tunnel, she could feel tremors shaking the ground.

  What could be causing these vibrations?

  I do not recall having any earthquakes in Belgium.

  I have to find the exit quickly. Otherwise, I will be squashed like a trapped mouse.

  The walls started to move faster and faster; she had to be quick in order to not get caught.

  The tree of life kept shining light over her path. Suddenly the last wall closed so fast that it managed to catch the end of her blouse ripping off a part of the tissue.

  This structure seemed ancient. I cannot believe that underneath the modern architecture of Berlaymont, such a complex labyrinth could have been built.

  What kind of mechanism could be putting the walls in motion like this?

  I am sure there was a hydraulic system cleverly designed millennia ago.

  But who did it, and with what purpose?

  Helen’s death left so many unanswered questions and left Lydia wondering above all: Why me, Helene? Why me…?

  ◆◆◆

  §CHAPTER 22§

  New York, 111 West 57th Street

  SIMON LIGHTGOOD was gazing towards Central Park from his ultramodern penthouse located on the 73rd floor of 111 West 57th Street—a brand-new skyscraper with fourteen-foot ceilings, a private elevator, and luxurious touches of Crystallo quartzite, gray onyx, and white Macauba stone.

  He felt at home along the walls ornated with artifacts, each with its own story.

  But his most treasured item was a simple piece of wood with two thorny spikes encased in glass. He could almost feel the power of the artifact and went to great lengths to procure it.

  Getting closer to it, he remembered all the efforts he made to detect a DNA trace of the holy blood, all of his attempts being unsuccessful.

  He could only imagine the suffering they inflicted as a part of the fabled Crown of Thornes, which Jesus carried on his head during the crucifixion.

  The view at the top of the tall building adorned with curved, wavy shapes of earthly terracotta framed by bronze, directly facing Central Park, was simply breathtaking. A green oasis at the feet of the second most powerful man on the planet, the Vice President of the United States.

  So many thoughts crossed his mind while sipping a cocktail of his daily supplements, as his doctors prescribed.

  I am the Vice President of this nation. I have to be resilient and endure like a modern Prometheus chained in Paradise, he said, putting one of his hands on the window frame.

  He cackled at the idea that no vultures could reach the height of his penthouse to devour his liver.

  Suddenly, his personal A.I. assistant disturbed him from his thoughts.

  “Sir, you have a call on the emergency line, code alpha from The Order’s Grand Master. Should I put it through?

  With a calm voice, he said, “Yes, activate general signal jamming protocol two.”

  The Vice President was also a high-tech fan, spending unlimited funds for his security and privacy; this was the highest level of protection he could access.

  What could be the reason for this unexpected call? the Vice President wondered.

  “Mr. Vice President, we need to act urgently! Helene de Moncler was murdered, and our location in Brussels is now compromised,” the Grand Master exclaimed with panic in his voice, trying to speak as quickly as possible as if he had only a few seconds left.

  “We cannot access any of the video footage. However, de Moncler made an encrypted phone call to a young researcher Lydia del Biondo. She is famous for writing several scientific articles on senescence.”

  “Hm, I never heard the name. Who is she? What is her real role in this entire disaster? Why senescence…?” the Vice President seemed to be more intrigued than puzzled.

  “Mr. Vice President, it is a rather new area of anti-aging. Senescence is a process of cellular aging that appears naturally in a living organism. Instead of dying off over time, senescent cells hang around, phantom-like. The scientists’ nicknamed them zombie cells. These cells become toxic around the healthy ones, triggering inflammation in the body, an impaired immune system, and set the stage for most of the diseases linked to aging,” the Grand Master stated passionately.

  “Thank you, that will be enough!” the Vice-President announced. “You sound fascinated by her. You could have just said she is trying to find a cure for death!” the Vice President roared with impatience.

  “I don’t know why de Moncler would contact her just before she died.”

  “This is such a mess; it is now everywhere in the news. A perfect combination with the global coronavirus outbreak.”

  Most of his plasma screens were now projecting the red-flagged “breaking news” with various titles: “Murder in Berlaymont, the European Commission’s President dead.”

  “Helene de Moncler murdered, a tragedy for EU in Brussels.”

  “The EU leadership shattered and plunged into the COVID-19 crisis.”

  “Vice President, what are your instructions?” the Grand Master asked. “I think we should…” Simon did not wait for the Grand Master to end his sentence, and he whispered: “end call.”

  I’ll have to fly back to Washington. I need to take charge of this situation, which is now out of control. “Ask the agents to prepare my flight and wait for my instructions. We are going to central quarters,” and then he closed his eyes and reopened them peering down and focusing on his favorite spot in Central Park: The Obelisk.

  §CHAPTER 23§

  01h46

  BERLAYMONT’S

  UNDEGROUND CAVE

  THE WALLS continued moving, and their pace began to increase. Their basaltic structure seemed to suc
k in all the light emanated by the ceiling.

  I have to stay alert and keep going. I am almost there.

  Looking above, she was guided by the tree of life symbol.

  The air seemed to change; Lydia could smell a sweet honeysuckle fragrance.

  I must be dreaming. How am I smelling honeysuckle here?

  There is no light here for a tree to photosynthesize.

  She remembered that in some cultures, this was a sacred plant; some even calling it God’s Mother hand.

  Her biology teacher told her a story once when they were visiting the Brussels’ botanical garden.

  Of all her teachers, Madame Carmen was her favorite.

  “Isn’t it wonderful my child? Nature has made such a miracle, an amazing perfume. My grandma told me once that the smell is as close as you can get to the divine, hence its name God’s Mother hand.”

  “I am sure it’s more than a local legend of Mary, the mother of Jesus who found refuge under this plant while she was pursued by King Herod’s soldiers.”

  “Afterwards, she blessed the plant giving it curative properties; in fact, it does not only have a special perfume, but it also acts as anti-bacterial and anti-coagulant.”

  The words were reverberating so clearly in Lydia’s mind; she could almost hear the soft voice of her beloved teacher.

  The cave must be acting as a sort of emotion amplifier. Lydia had a gut feeling that she was very close to her goal.

  It is almost inconceivable that a group of nuns built all the parts of this ingenious mechanism.

  Lydia was left baffled. Who could have actually built this?

  The Sisters of Berlaymont covenant could not have done it alone.

  Lydia recalled from her European School history lessons that the sisters’ covenant was created in 1625 by the Countess Lalaing, who was married to the Count de Berlaymont.

  Their order must have protected this secret cavern for almost four hundred years.