The Third Hour

by Richard Devin

  The chant of the distant crowd echoed throughout the desert ravines and caught Bill’s attention, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked back to the crowd and saw that many had now made their way to the hill and had begun climbing the steep path to the top. Christ languished behind, prodded on by Roman soldiers, priests, and peasants.

  Bill put aside all thoughts of space, time, the whereabouts of Commander Kupovits, and Lynda. He could not now begin to contemplate what had happened to them, or to the building, or to how he was to return. His only thought now was that he must bear witness to one of the greatest events in recorded history. He would be the only living witness to this event and he would be the only man alive who could tell the world that Christ was a man, just a man, put to death with two others who were also, just men. Not gods, not prophets, not divine...only men. Once he returned to his place in time, he would be able to spread the truth and dispel the stories, myths, and fantasies of the many men who would later write of this event, and of their relationship with Christ. Men who wrote to satisfy their own desire for eternity. Once he returned, the world would know the truth.

  Then the thought struck him.

  If he returned.

  FIFTY FIVE

  “I’M AFRAID THAT WE are on our own for this flight. No attendants, you see,” Senator Scott continued, “so if there is anything you’d like, we’ll have to help ourselves.”

  “I’m parched,” Dominic said, rising. “Want something?” He turned to Tonita.

  “Water would be fine.”

  “You’ll find bottles in the refrigerator in the galley.” Senator Scott pointed to the box structure, walled off from the rest of the aircraft located by the cockpit door, in the front of the plane.

  Dominic hesitated, looked at Tonita. Waited. Then said, “Right. Tonita won’t you help me?”

  “For a few of bottles of water?” Senator Scott shook his head. “Come on, boy. You can do it.”

  Dominic made his way to the galley and retrieved several bottles of water from the refrigerator, noting that it was stocked with several bottles of Veuve Clicquot, Guinness beer, and Genesee Cream Ale—an ale he had never heard of. He reached in picked up two bottles of water and a can of the cream ale. He returned to his seat, handing off two of the bottles of water to Tonita and the Senator, keeping the cream ale for himself.

  “Ah, a wise choice.” Senator Scott nodded in the direction of the cream ale. “A unique beer I discovered somewhere along the way. You’ll let me know what you think?”

  “In just a minute.” Dominic smiled as he popped the tab on the top of the can.

  “You have heard of Bermuda Triangle?” Senator Scott said, turning the cap on the bottle of water, breaking the seal.

  “Of course.” Both Dominic and Tonita spoke.

  “Then you have an idea of what our experiments are capable of?”

  “I don’t follow,” Dominic said, after downing nearly half the contents of the can in his hand.

  “The Bermuda Triangle is another direct result of the time travel experiments that we’ve been conducting these many years.

  “Those experiments made planes and ships disappear?” Dominic took another swallow from the can. “This is great by the way.”

  “I thought you might like it. Not easy to find though.” Senator Scott watched as the water condensation on the side of the bottle in his hand collected and began to run down the side. “The Triangle is a cover. Well, let me say that the legend of the Bermuda Triangle is a cover story propagated by the governments to cover up the truth.”

  “Governments?” Tonita wondered aloud.

  “At first it was the Russians, masters, you know, of manipulation. We learned how to weave plausible stories around our experiments to hide them from the public.” He paused, lost for a moment. “Rasputin was the first. In June of 1908 there was a large explosion over Siberia that destroyed a huge area of land and several villages. No one knows for sure how many people died. But the ground in the impact zone is still contaminated to this day.”

  “I remember reading that a meteor or an asteroid hit in that area,” Dominic interrupted.

  “Well, yes, that is the common story. The cover story, if you will. Rasputin was really much ahead of his time, as was Albert Einstein and Werner Von Braun. Rasputin had the ear, and dare I say, more, of the Tsarina Alexandra, and she would do anything for him. She did do anything for him. He convinced her that time travel was possible and that Russia should be the first to recognize this great new technology. And that he was the one who should oversee the experiments. The Tsar Nicholas was less than enthusiastic. At the time there were many troubles brewing in the country and he did not trust Rasputin. Alexandra convinced Tsar Nicholas that the experiments Rasputin was conducting would turn the sentiment of the country in favor of the Tsar, and the people would then rally around her husband. That, as we all know, did not happen.”

  “They were all assassinated. The entire family, even the children,” Dominic added.

  “Yes, that is true, but that would not happen for some years after the 1908 experiment. Perhaps, Alexandra was right in thinking that the country needed some great invention—the color-slide projector had been making its rounds in Russia and it was all the talk. Just think what an announcement that the Russians had conducted the first successful time travel experiment would have done?” Senator Scott contemplated his own question. “I don’t believe the Russian people of the day would have accepted it, even if the experiment had succeeded. Rasputin built a simple, by today’s standards, generator to turn magnetic energy into electricity. We used the same approach, but Einstein was the master at improving the Rasputin method. Rasputin was right on track. But with the vast amounts of unstable nitroglycerin and coal he used to produce the energy needed...well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, they say. If Rasputin could have controlled the detonation of the nitro, burning the coal and turning the combines, he may very well have succeeded. Unfortunately, the nitro could not be controlled and the resulting explosion killed many and scarred the land. Alexandra was devastated when Rasputin returned from Siberia and told her of the failure. It was she who devised a cover story for the destruction. Obviously, Rasputin had his hand in the cover up, as I doubt sincerely that Alexandra would have come up with the meteorite story on her own. That was brilliant really. Ask anyone in the old Soviet Union about the blast in 1908 and you’ll hear the same response. A meteorite.” Senator Scott sipped from the bottle.

  Dominic took the opportunity to ask, “What does the Bermuda Triangle and the ships and planes that have been lost have to do with Rasputin’s experiment?”

  “Good question,” Senator Scott continued, “The ships and planes lost to the Bermuda Triangle were the results of much later experiments.”

  “By the Russians?” Tonita asked.

  “No, no. The Russians have their own missing aircraft and ships in an area they call Kapustin Yar. The Bermuda Triangle legend, however, is a direct result of the experiments carried out by the U.S. government.”

  “So, the Russians and the U.S. were working together?” Dominic leaned forward in his seat.

  “The Russians were the first to experiment with time travel. Rasputin’s experiment in the forests of Siberia was the very first large-scale experiment. Of course, as far as we know, both the U.S. and the Soviet Union, including early Tsarist Russia, may have been conducting laboratory experiments. I know for certain that we were.”

  “So, the Russians weren’t involved with the U.S.?”

  “In the Bermuda Triangle? No.” Senator Scott paused for moment. “You must remember that the U.S. and the Russians both, under the Tsar, and later under the Soviets, were in competition with one another. The Russians were the first in space. That was a huge blow to all of us in both the space program here in the U.S and in...” he paused once again, “Let’s just say other travel exploration programs.”

  “Time Travel exploration.” Tonita said bluntly.

  “Yes, time trave
l. I have kept too many secrets and it’s not easy for me to tell you all the things I must tell and all that you must know.”

  “The U.S. wasn’t really much of a power in the early nineteen hundreds. How was it possible for the U.S. to compete with the Russians?” Dominic sat back.

  “It wasn’t. And in the early stages, the U.S. could not keep up. Rasputin’s experiment was funded by the Tsarina, which meant that it had unlimited funds. The U.S. was shocked that Rasputin and the Tsarina had attempted such an expensive and technologically advanced experiment, but could do little at the time to invest the huge amount of funds needed to conduct our own experiments. If the Soviets and the U.S. had worked together in the early years, we could have saved many lives and billions of dollars. As it was, the U.S. couldn’t commit the resources to the experiments until after World War One when we began to toy with the idea of time travel. By World War Two, however, we were totally committed. Then, we had a new rival and enemy. Germany was moving closer to a successful experiment. Although, as we understand it, on small scale. The Nazis concentrated on a plan they called, Schrittrückseite—Step Back. It was not the huge undertaking that we and the Soviets had become immersed in. Instead, Germany put all of its many scientists on the Schrittrückseite program, concentrating on stepping back only moments in time, not the decades and centuries we had been concentrating on. It seemed minute. But just think of what havoc the Nazis could have imposed on all mankind if they were able to go back in time. Not a year or a day, but for only a moment. That is when the U.S. government turned to a new ally and vast source of money.”

  “The Brits?” Dominic asked.

  “The British were far too small and had far too little power. No, the U.S. turned to another government, a much more powerful government, one with unlimited wealth and one with the ability to control information and propaganda like no other government on Earth.” He paused, breathing in deeply. “The Holy Roman Catholic Church.” Senator Scott looked up to the heavens. “The Vatican became our co-conspirator and our benefactor.”

  FIFTY SIX

  BILL CELENT CREPT THROUGH the ravines and hid behind the rocks and boulders within the thorny scrub bushes that dotted the desert landscape. He had made his way down the embankment and was moving toward the hill where most of the procession had now settled.

  He was standing at the bottom of the rock called Golgotha. The face of the skull, carved by millennia of wind, and rain, deep into the stone, was less evident from his vantage point. The pockets and holes in the rock looked simply, like a rock. The skull face had vanished.

  Torn, scattered, pieces of cloth that had fallen, or were thrown over the cliff by the Romans and the peasants, had caught on the thorny scrub bushes, decorating them like, what Bill could only think of as, Christmas Trees. He gathered as many pieces of cloth as he could find, and quickly fashioned a covering by tying and weaving the pieces together. When he had finished, the cloth covered his head, shoulders, and torso. He took off his shoes and wedged them between two pieces of stone jutting out from the face of Golgotha. He rolled up the legs of his pants as high as his thighs, so only the bare skin from his knees down was visible. Unsnapping the rivets from the suspenders, he let the top of the gray shiny coveralls fall down at the front and back. And rolling the top down, he tucked it into the waist of the pants. He covered his body and head in the tied rags and stepped out from his hiding place. He circled around the skull-faced rock and began to climb the hill following the path that Christ and the others had taken.

  He came around the side of the rock, climbed a few feet up, and despite using a trail that was fairly well-worn, began to limp, as the sharp desert stone and scrub cut into the flesh of feet that were not accustomed to walking without coverings. Bill stopped, considered covering his feet with more the scattered rags, then realized that the limp in his stride would only add to the believability of his disguise. He stepped forward, limping heavily on his right leg, looking about, concerned that many eyes would be upon him. They were not. Jerusalem was crowded with hundreds of pilgrims that had come to town with sacrificial animals in tow for the Passover holiday, and Bill fit in perfectly between the beggars and the priests.

  A man walked by him, holding out a hand and speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. Instinctively, Bill raised a hand to his lips in gesture of one who could not speak and the man mumbled again as he walked off. Bill quickly decided that he needed to enhance his disguise by hiding his face beneath the cloth. By keeping his head and faced covered the entire time, allowing only his eyes to show. Hoping that this disguise would allow him to blend in and go unnoticed and undiscovered.

  A keen observer, he thought, might notice that the skin on his legs and his feet was not rough and worn, like those of someone who had actually lived the life of a peasant. But he hoped the Romans and priests would be too preoccupied with the crucifixions to take notice of him. If he were discovered, there would be more written about this day in history than simply the crucifixion of Christ and two others. Bill wanted to know the truth, but he did not intend to change the course of history by revealing himself to Christ and the Romans gathered here.

  He reached the dirt roadway that led from the gate in the city wall to the top of the hill, following the same path that the soldiers, priests, peasants, and Christ had taken just moments ago. He paused at a place in the road were Christ had stumbled. Bill noted a spot in the dirt where the end of the wooden beam that Christ was carrying had dug into the road when it had fallen. It had pushed up dirt and moved several small stones. He stared at the spot, feeling a cold chill sweep through him as he let the enormity of what he was doing seep in. He almost turned around, convinced that he should stop now, retrace his footsteps, find the capsule and return. But instead, fought the urge to run and began to take another step forward. As he did, he noticed a handprint in the sandy soil in the exact spot where Christ had fallen for the second time. Small specks of blood colored the sand and the pebbles on the road. Broken palm fronds were scattered about. Some had been used to cushion the way as Christ walked and others used to slap him upon his already scourged back and sides. Bill reached down and picked up one of the palm fronds. It too was smeared with blood. He let it fall back to the ground not wanting to garner the attention of a Roman soldier heading in his direction. The centurion walked by without the slightest hesitation. As soon as he had passed, Bill looked down to the roadway peering through the narrow opening in the hooded covering.

  And that’s when he saw it. What had once been covered by the palm frond, lay now uncovered and clearly visible. Directly below the imprint of the hand of Christ were several small lines scratched into the earth. At first, Bill could not clearly make the lines out. He repositioned himself, blocking out part of the sun and the symbol became instantly clear.

  Where Christ had fallen, amongst the blood-spattered stone and sand, and broken palm fronds, and at the exact place were Christ’s hand had pushed into the sand, two curving lines intersected one up and the other down, forming a symbol scratched into the dirt. A symbol that would not be used as in recognition of Christianity for years to come. And yet it was there, clearly drawn by Christ at the place where he had fallen. And at the same spot where the Roman guard had assisted him. The curving lines merged, forming the symbol of the Ichthys...the fish.

  FIFTY SEVEN

  “THE VATICAN?” DOMINIC asked, shaking his head.

  Senator Scott looked directly into Dominic’s eyes. “They had no choice. If the Nazis had succeeded, there would have been total chaos not only in Europe, but everywhere. The thousand year reign of the Third Reich would have been not a possibility, but a fact. Once the church was convinced of this, we had their complete support.”

  Dominic stood up and walked a few feet toward the rear of the plane. “What about the Russians? Was the church backing them?”

  “Good question.” Senator Scott smiled. “It shows me that you’re thinking, my boy. But no. To answer your question. No. We do no
t have any proof that the Vatican supported the Russians and later the Soviets. Of course, we don’t have any proof that they didn’t either.” Senator Scott continued, “My personal belief is that they must have, in some way, supported the Russians. The reality was that the Vatican became involved in the project to protect their own, and if the Soviets could lead them to that end faster than the United States could...” he paused. “Well, it just makes sense that they would have covered all their bases.”

  “And in truth, the Soviets were much further along in their space program than the U.S. was.” Tonita swiveled in the chair from the window to where Dominic was standing.

  “If that’s the case then, that the church supported us and the Russians, why don’t we hear of ships and planes missing from Russia, like we have here at the Bermuda Triangle?” Dominic asked. And the Russians had their own, Triangle of sorts to contend with.

  “First, the Soviets were very secretive, even more so than we were. The U.S. let more information out, or allowed it to be in the public knowledge. The Soviets simply denied any reports and locked up anyone who tried to disseminate the information. In the U.S. the information was spun.”