by Douglas Falk
“Well, maybe they just sat down at some point when they were at the dawn of space exploration in the fifties and just picked that symbol and decided it should represent aeronautics? To play devil’s advocate here, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they selected it for sinister reasons.”
“Maybe. It could just be happenstance—but after everything you’ve learned until now, do you really doubt for one second that there is not a deeper meaning to be found here rather than it just being a coincidence that the space agencies of the world all use a Satanic symbol in their respective logotypes? It’s like…they are all paying homage to something.”
John was confused. “So now the conspirators who deceived the world with surgical precision for all these years are Satanists. Didn’t you and Celeste try to convince me that they are hiding the truth for the greater good of mankind as a way of keeping the peace? That it was a white lie, so to speak?”
William nodded. “I know I said that. What I’m trying to tell you is that…I don’t know. I don’t know the exact reasons as to why they decided to conceal the truth, or whom they serve. I’m just saying that it is eerie how the space agencies since day one flirted so openly with Satanism, Freemasonry, and other secret societies. I am absolutely convinced that the Freemasons are in the know of this deception—on what scale, though? I do not know.”
“Why are you so sure? Buzz Aldrin being a thirty-third-degree Mason means that he could very well be in the know of something, sure, along with a lot of the other Apollo astronauts. But at the end of the day, it’s only circumstantial evidence. Joining the Freemasonic order was rather common back then for men in their age. I doubt you have any proof that the Freemasons know that the Earth is flat.”
“Whether or not they are in on the conspiracy, the Masons clearly know of it. They’ve known for centuries that the Earth is a plane. A couple of months ago when I was hot on the trail, I went to the old Masonic Temple in central Uppsala to have a look around. I strode around their hall and searched for something that would confirm my suspicions. The frescos in the hall clearly showcased geocentric symbolism, like a Sun and Moon of same size attached to the vault of heaven, a firmament. But I wanted something concrete, and eventually I found a couple of books stored away in an alcove. I rummaged through them and grabbed the one that piqued my interest the most, which I borrowed…”
“Stole, you mean?”
“Oh, please. Semantics. I read through the tome during the weeks that followed and nearly gave up—I did not find anything of interest, and it was quite a dull read to be honest. Until…”
“Until?”
“Until page eighty-three. I’ll show it to you,” he said and placed the book on the table. A leathery, fringed tome with a purple background now lay before his eyes to see. On the cover of the book, John spied a most familiar symbol adorning it.
The square and compass…and the letter G. The emblem of the oldest secret society in world history.
William turned the pages until eighty-three and cleared his throat.
“The Square is a right angle, formed by two right lines. It is adapted only to a plane surface and belongs only to geometry, earth-measurement, that trigonometry which deals only with planes, and with the Earth, that the ancients supposed to be a plane. The Compass describes circles and deals with spherical trigonometry—the science of the spheres and heavens. The former, therefore, is an emblem of what concerns the Earth and the body; the latter of what concerns the heavens and the souls.”
“Hm. Interesting,” said John.
“Goes beyond interesting for me, my friend. The book makes sure to mention the use of these two tools—and how they’re used and represented as far as Earth and with the heavens. They know, John! They know. Most certainly, this truth is passed along at the upper echelons of their order. A thirty-third-degree Mason like Aldrin would certainly have known even long before they faked the Moon landings…and there’s no wonder why these astronauts kept their mouths shut. They were sworn to secrecy to their fraternal brothers.”
“I guess it is possible. I think it is entirely plausible that men can keep secrets for a lifetime if the motive for it is strong enough. Protecting their sworn brothers would qualify for that.”
“Freemasonry is deceptive and fraudulent. Its promise is light—its performance is darkness.”
“Tesla?”
“No. John Quincy Adams, sixth president of the United States of America.”
“Fancy that,” said John.
William closed the book and looked John in the eyes. “Speaking of their ties to secret societies, the occult, and the weird symbology they are programming us with, there is one more thing I’ll have to show you. NASA put out a new picture of the Earth recently, which at first glance does not look like anything out of the ordinary other than the image appears to be more cartoon than real, but that’s old news. We know their pictures are fake. What is interesting with this one, well…it goes a bit deeper than it just being fake. Let me show it to you on my phone. Here it is.”
John squinted and leaned as close as his eyes would permit, in hopes of spotting something noteworthy.
India is cloudier than usual? No, that can’t be it.
“Beats me. I don’t know, it looks like another photoshopped picture.”
William grinned. “Exactly. On surface level, like every picture the powers that be put out, they appear to be harmless and plain at first sight. But they work in mysterious ways, my friend…they do. Once you are deep down this rabbit hole, you begin to see hidden messages everywhere. Everywhere. Nothing is left to chance, and everything has a purpose with these people. Everything is planned. They have plans that could stretch as far as hundreds of years in advance for their agenda.”
“Just tell me where to look, damn it!”
“I will show you. But I’ll have to pull up another version of this picture…oh, here. Here we go.”
John gasped.
“What the hell! What is that? Where…how…?”
“The image is reflected. Flipped. Turned inside out, so to speak. If that isn’t some subtle Satanic programming they are showering us with, then I don’t know what is. Look at this, John. Look at this devilry. These people are cut from a different cloth than us…and I can’t wait for the rapture to come for these creatures perpetuating this.”
“Jesus Christ. And this is really an official NASA picture reflected?”
“Yes.”
“Dear God,” whispered John to himself. “I’m legitimately scared now, I think. Where are we? Where the hell…where…where are we. Where are we?”
William put his right hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know, my friend. I don’t know, and I wish more than anything that I had the answer to that question. I wish I knew what was going on. But I don’t. I don’t know why these people are doing this. But there’s got to be a reason. There always is a reason.”
John closed his eyes and tried to focus.
Dear Lord. I can’t take this…what the hell is happening?
They fell into silence for a sombre minute or two when they just stared at one another with nothing to say, until William continued his conspiracy barrage. “By the way, do you know what gematria is?”
“Gematria?”
“Gematria. Gematria is the method of assigning numerical values to words, letters and phrases. Each letter has a specific value—there’s a whole slew of people who study this field. Gematria is mainly used by Hebrew scholars who attempt to interpret Jewish texts—”
“Well, pardon me for interrupting, but what’s the point? I’m sure this is very interesting and all, but do get to it,” asked John.
“Fair enough. What do you think the numerical sum of the letters are if you count the letters in these four words: National Aeronautics and Space Administration?
Well, only one number springs to mind that would fit the bill with his theory.
“The number of the beast, 666.”
William nodded. “You guessed it.
Like I said—this could all just be coincidental, but there’s just too much stacking up in favour of that we truly are up against a Luciferian brotherhood, eager to usher in the New World Order. The New World Order is—”
“I know what the NWO is.”
William was truly surprised, and it seemed for a moment that it put a dent in the plate armour of his conspiracy tale. “Ah. Well, maybe you aren’t as green as I thought.”
“Everyone knows the theories of the New World Order and their one world government plan, the Georgia Guidestones, and the Illuminati. Even my grandmother does, and she is well over eighty years old.”
William waved it all away. “Well, well, let’s not get sidetracked. Now let’s segue into what really matters: where to go next.”
“Nice deflection.”
“One of my many talents. But let us get to the matter at hand. You suggested a few locations, and they are all sound. Although, for superstitious reasons, I think I would like to avoid New Zealand.”
John was puzzled. “Why?”
“Because their coast guard captured Jarle Andhöy, the rogue Norwegian sailor I told you about. When he set off from New Zealand and sailed to Antarctica, they followed him and caught him. I don’t want to fall into the same trap. It might be that the other countries on the list are just as militant as New Zealand is when patrolling their oceans…might be…but I want the odds to be in our favour. How about Australia?”
“Practically the same thing, isn’t it?” said John.
“Not at all. Australia is about as large as the United States in area. New Zealand might be their next-door neighbour, but from what I know, they are much more tight-knit and far more isolationist than their big brother to the west.”
John tried his best to shut out the inane shouts and babble from the crowd in the café. He shut his eyes and tried his best to focus on the logistical hindrances ahead. “Okay. So, we are departing Sweden in early March, to an agreed-upon strategic position from where we will sail or fly to Antarctica. And somehow along the way we will manage to recruit strong men at arms to accompany us on this voyage…I do hope you have it all planned out, because I sure don’t.”
William smiled. “Well, neither textbook nor holy scripture will guide us through our lofty quest, John. We are about to embark on a journey beyond all sanity and reason. We will travel, to use a tired old television show tagline…where no man has gone before. Well, not strictly true since someone or some folks in plural have clearly mapped this place out right down to the last grain of sand, and those ominous few kicked this deception in motion. And when grievous things are in motion, they can rarely be undone. My guess is, naturally, that Admiral Byrd found the cold hard proof that shows that we don’t live on the exterior of a sphere. It is crystal clear to me, John, that they are hiding land from us. If the Earth isn’t a sphere, the possibilities are truly endless. We will travel beyond uncharted territories…literally. I’m not going to pretend like I know everything or what exactly we will find down there. But two things are certain: they are absolutely lying to us about space, and they are lying to us about Antarctica. They are hiding land, and they are hiding God. What I am trying to say is that there is no guidebook on Amazon that will help our endeavour.”
John leaned his head backwards in the coach and cozied up, staring to the ceiling. “I’m not going to argue with you on that one. I realised from the moment I agreed to this that we would be taking shots in the dark.”
John spied a troubled look in William’s pudgy face as he spoke those words.
“I think most of the decisions we take from here on out should be made by following our gut feeling. We should find the hidden lands on our own.”
“Hold on. I thought we were to hire a crew? You said that—”
“Yes, we will. But I think we should only tell them a half-truth upon hiring them. Nobody in their right mind would ever accompany us on this if they knew what we were truly searching for. Let’s just tell them that we are two bored, spoiled kids who want to reach the ceremonial South Pole, and then head right back. Naturally, I will empty my coffers for this. I’ll pay them handsomely. They are just going to have to journey onwards with us for a little longer than they first thought…”
“Your plan is morally questionable…”
There’s a risk in alienating fellow crewmembers with methods like that. If we tell them to push even further, unlike what they would agree to in the first place, it’s not a good place to make enemies. What if they turn on us, if they feel like we have tried to scam them? Then we would be all alone, in a sea of white nothingness and rugged crewmembers at our throat…maybe. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.
“…But it’s the best one we’ve got. I can think of no other scenario for us if we do want professionals on board—like you said, they would never in a million years agree to come with us on this, not even if the paycheck was ten times thicker than whatever you plan on coughing up. They would not take it seriously.”
William nodded in agreement. “Fortune favours the bold. And we are going to Australia.”
“That was quick. So, it’s settled then?”
“Yes. I’m making a call. It just feels right…and my father is down there. I don’t know if it would be a good idea to contact him when we are trying to keep a low profile, but in case of an emergency, he might help us. And he can keep a secret. Even so, we wouldn’t tell him the full nature of our little clandestine…quest.”
“Australia it is, then. I’m trusting your judgement.”
“I guess there’s just one thing left to say,” William announced and raised his cup. “Cheerio!”
9
“Do you know what’s engraved on the headstone of Wernher von Braun?!”
William’s shout was barely audible, as the wind gusts blowing through the Perth airport drowned out the sound. They had just landed after flying from Stockholm with a quick layover at Dubai, and from then on straight to Perth.
“Jesus, William! Can’t we continue this when inside? I can barely hear a thing! We have plenty of time for conspiracy chin-wag. Let’s not talk about these things in this ridiculous noise. Not to mention the smouldering heat. Jesus! Let’s make it off the airfield first.”
As they hopped aboard a transit bus that took them from the airfield to the airport, John almost fell asleep from jetlag exhaustion.
Twenty-two hours in total…I hope this is worth it, William. I need a drink. And why didn’t I bring a cap? The sun is more intense here than I have ever felt before. Those winds that just blew through were heavenly, though. Let’s hope the weather gods keep their good work up.
As they stood waiting for their luggage to arrive in the baggage claim room, William leaned over and spoke softly.
“Psalm 19:1, by the way. The answer to the question I asked before.”
“I didn’t hear a word. What’s on the headstone of whom?”
“Wernher von Braun.”
“Von Braun…the name does ring a bell. Was he involved in NASA?”
“Correct. Not just involved, however. He was the head of NASA.”
“Oh.”
“And on his headstone, there are no last words nor poetry. Just that psalm. 19:1. How well do you know your scripture, John?”
“I don’t. I’m not Christian, nor do I subscribe to any other religion.”
“Well if you were, you would have known that this psalm he chose is mighty curious indeed, with our eyes.”
“Tell me.”
“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.”
John was intrigued. One word stood out like a sore thumb. “Firmament,” whispered John to himself.
William smiled. “Exactly. The firmament. Now why exactly would the director of NASA, the man who oversaw the early phase of space exploration, leave us a breadcrumb like that? If one’s conspiratorially minded…”
“Which you are…” said John with a smile.
“Whom we a
re, John. The both of us now. I may have turned you to the dark side, if you will…and you didn’t even see me coming.”
John conceded with a nod.
“There is no way in hell that psalm is there by happenstance. He chose it very deliberately, because he wanted to tell the world from the grave,” said William.
“Tell the world that the Earth is flat and that we are a product of divine creation?”
William nodded.
“Maybe he was fond of the psalm because it sounds poetic and metaphorical. He might have read the King James every day and settled on it for reasons less cryptical. Not everything is planned or staged, remember that. Sometimes people just do things with no apparent reason. Or maybe someone else chose that psalm for him, posthumously,” John suggested.
“No, he selected it himself. I have read up on von Braun…one hell of a tale, the rise and fall of his career. He was crucial to the Nazi Germany war machine and was directly involved in later stages of World War II. He was a part of the science team that invented the dreaded V1 rocket, which you may know was used to devastating effect in the bombardments of civilian targets across the sea.”
“Britain sure got hammered by them for six long years.”
“They sure did, and von Braun most certainly had blood on his hands from those days. After the war, he was pardoned for his war crimes and brought to America. He was deemed a scientific asset, and they wanted his expertise…and to serve his new country. Not that he was the sole Nazi convert—more than a thousand Nazi scientists were divided equally between the United States and Soviet Russia once the dust had settled and the Third Reich was obliterated. And that is no conspiracy theory, John. It’s a historical fact, and it was called Operation Paperclip. Not exactly their finest hour—I guess you can get away with genocide if one’s brainy enough. Anyway, let me continue. Towards the end of his life, von Braun acted peculiarly. People in his close sphere of influence began noticing that he went from being a staunch atheist in the early sixties to becoming a fully fledged born-again Christian, which the psalm on his headstone would confirm. Is it a huge leap to make…or hypothesise…that he knew. The man knew, John. He knew that this place was special and that there truly is a God. If we do live under a firmament, he is certainly in a position to know.”
