‘Increased sunspot activity is nothing new,’ Jennings responded irritably.
‘There’ve been persistent rumours over the years of a missing Maya Codex, Monsignor.’ The young journalist from Women’s World seized her opportunity to turn the conference in a direction her readers might find more interesting. ‘A codex that might give us advance warning of a catastrophe … one that might enable some of us to survive. Do you place any credence in these reports?’
‘This so-called Maya Codex is nothing more than a figment of the media’s imagination,’ Jennings snorted and waddled over to a large whiteboard. ‘Unfortunately most of the records of the ancient Maya were burned during the Spanish invasion. The few codices that survived, the Dresden Codex, the Madrid Codex and the Paris Codex – named after the cities in which they now reside – as well as the Grolier fragment, were produced on huun, the Mayan paper produced from the bark of the Ficus continifolia or Ficus padifolia, the largest of the strangler figs.’ The journalist from Women’s World turned to her photographer and crossed her eyes.
Jennings continued, ‘Huun being far more durable than the papyrus from ancient Egypt, I have had the rare distinction, the very rare distinction, of being able to study all the originals at first hand. Of the four, the Dresden Codex is the one that sheds most light on these bloodthirsty savages who would think nothing of sacrificing their own children, throwing them into the cenotes, the sink holes on the Yucatán Peninsula that connect with underground rivers. And while these codices have undoubtedly helped in deciphering the savagery of the Maya, there are no references to any forthcoming catastrophe – none whatsoever,’ Jennings concluded decisively.
Aleta shook her head. Modern science had confirmed the rare planetary alignment the Maya had warned of, and Aleta knew Jennings had to be aware of the evidence for the missing codex, yet he dismissed it as a figment of the media’s imagination. Who or what was he protecting? The Vatican? Could there be something in the codex that threatened the Vatican itself?
After the lecture, Aleta spotted Dr José Arana standing quietly at the end of the front row of chairs, and she made her way towards him.
‘Aleta Weizman, Dr Arana,’ she said, proffering her hand. ‘We met once or twice when I was a child in San Marcos. I’ve been wanting to speak with you.’
‘So … at last you have come,’ he replied softly, taking Aleta by the arm. ‘You are in grave danger.’
28
THE VATICAN, ROME
Earlier in the day Santissimo Padre, Pope Benedict XVI, had emerged from his high-ceilinged corner bedroom on the fourth floor of the Apostolic Palace on the northern side of the Piazza San Pietro. His two private secretaries were waiting for him in the corridor, and, together, the three men walked briskly towards the bronze door of the Pope’s private chapel. Unlike his predecessor, Pope John Paul II, who frequently invited guests to the early morning mass, Benedict XVI preferred a private ceremony with his aides. Discarding the newer form of the mass that came into use following Vatican II, Benedict started his day with the 1962 Roman Missal in Latin.
‘In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti … In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit …’
The chapel was cold. The marble floor and walls offered little in the way of warmth, but the Holy Father didn’t seem to notice as he concentrated on his communion. A soft light diffused through the Luigi Filocamo leadlight ceiling depicting Christ resurrected, mingling with the light from three candles flickering beneath the large bronze crucifix.
‘Gloria in excelsis Deo. Et in terra pax hominibus bonae volunta-tis … Glory in the highest to God. And on earth, peace to men of good will …’
Not far away, Sister Ingrid and the other nuns of the papal household were ensuring that everything was in readiness for the Pontiff’s breakfast of coffee and fruit, laid out on the serving table in the dining room next to the Pope’s bedroom. The carved walnut dining table could seat ten, but this morning just three places were set for Benedict and his two private secretaries, and Sister Ingrid had already checked to see that the major national papers were laid out on one of the two sideboards.
Salvatore Felici ignored the salute of the Swiss Guard as he passed through the bronze doors to the Apostolic Palace, his mind focused on the meeting ahead. He powered towards the lift that would take him to the Pope’s private library on the fourth floor.
The library was dominated by Perugino’s oil, The Resurrection of Christ, hanging in the centre of the wall opposite the door. The electronic projector for the CIA presentation seemed out of place alongside the two walls of heavy sixteenth-century bookcases containing an impressive set of all the Papal Encyclicals, as well as the complete collections of the Church Fathers. An old bible was open on a small sixteenth-century table, and Romano’s Madonna panel highlighted the wall behind the Pope’s desk. Three windows looked over the Piazza San Pietro. The Cardinal Secretary of State, and the Cardinal Prefects for the Congregations for Bishops, the Clergy and Catholic Education were already present, soutanes edged in red, gold pectoral crosses on solid gold chains over red watered-silk sashes, and each wearing a red zucchetto. Felici nodded politely to the assembled group before turning to Howard Wiley.
‘Howard, how good to see you again,’ he said. ‘I trust the flight was not too arduous?’
‘Even with a CIA jet, we all have to put up with airports, Salvatore,’ Wiley replied. His smile was mechanical, and his grey eyes restless. ‘You know my chief of station, Richard Snider?’
‘Of course. Richard.’ Felici offered a fine, bony hand as one of the Pope’s private secretaries slipped into the library, quietly announcing that His Holiness was approaching. Moments later, he arrived, with a second secretary in tow.
‘Santissimo Padre, may I present Signor Howard Wiley, Deputy Director of Operations for the CIA. And of course you know his chief of station, Signor Richard Snider.’
‘Welcome to the Vatican,’ the Pope replied with a charming smile, extending his ring for Howard Wiley to kiss. He spoke English with a thick Bavarian accent. ‘I’m grateful for this briefing, Signor Wiley. Central America is perhaps not as stable as we would wish?’ His Holiness observed, taking a chair.
‘Indeed it is not, which is a cause for some concern,’ Wiley replied, taking charge of the briefing and flashing up a map of Central and South America on the screen. ‘Recent elections in Nicaragua, Brazil, Ecuador and Venezuela have seen Central and South America moving well to the left, Holiness, and the United States is keeping a careful watch on these developments. As you’re aware, a former Catholic bishop, Bishop Fernando Lugo has been elected President of Paraguay. The first bishop ever to be elected to the presidency of a country, Lugo has been much impressed by liberation theology. He’s the first president of Paraguay since 1946 who has not come from the conservative Colorado Party, which up until this election had been the longest continuously serving party government in the world.’
Felici scrutinised the Pope for his reaction. Since Lugo’s election, speculation had been rife that, having refused his resignation, the Pope would now defrock the man who was known throughout Paraguay as ‘the priest of the poor’. The pontiff remained inscrutable.
‘Lugo does not intend to move to the Presidential Palace,’ Wiley continued, ‘and he recently stated that Paraguay will no longer accept intervention from any country, no matter how big. That sort of rhetoric causes us some concern as it puts in doubt the viability of our Paraguayan military base, which we established in 2005 at Mariscal Estigarribia, 200 kilometres from the Bolivian border.’
‘Do you have a presence there?’ the Pontiff asked.
Wiley nodded. ‘After Paraguay granted us immunity from prosecution by any Paraguayan court or the International Criminal Court, we deployed equipment and some 500 troops. That base is capable of housing up to 16 000 troops. It will be important, Holiness, with the enormous gas reserves in countries like Bolivia, for the US to maintain influence in the Andes
. We do have a forward base in Manta on the coast of Ecuador, but since the election of the left’s Rafael Correa in that country, the viability of that base is also in doubt.’
‘Perhaps, Holiness, it’s time to take a harder line with Bishop Lugo, and consider excommunication?’ Felici suggested.
‘Excommunication would be a very grave step, Holiness,’ the Cardinal Secretary of State interjected. ‘A bishop’s sacrament is for life, and it is many centuries since the Church has taken such drastic action. Even if he has been influenced by liberation theology, if we take on Bishop Lugo, with his reputation as a priest for the peasants and the poor, it may weaken our position.’
‘Appeasement didn’t work with Hitler, Holiness, and it won’t work with Lugo and Central America,’ Felici retaliated, glaring at the Secretary of State.
The Cardinal Secretary of State raised a quizzical eyebrow. Given the Vatican’s sordid involvement with the Nazis during World War Two, the irony of Felici’s argument was heavy, but the veteran diplomat remained silent.
‘They are arguments we will have to take into account,’ the Pontiff replied, the use of the authoritative ‘we’ an indication that he wasn’t going to be rushed. ‘Do you have the same concerns over other Latin American countries, Mr Wiley?’
‘Unfortunately yes, and if I may, Holiness, there are dangers for the Church there as well,’ Wiley added, coming to Felici’s aid. ‘Hugo Chávez of Venezuela, for example, is not only a vehement opponent of the United States and our efforts to bring democracy to this region, but he’s also fiercely critical of the Catholic Church.’
‘Whilst proclaiming himself to be a Christian and calling Christ the greatest socialist in history!’ Felici added.
Wiley nodded. ‘In recent years Chávez’s supporters, known collectively as the Chavistas, invaded the chancery of the Archdiocese of Caracas, expelling Bishop Jesús González de Zárate into the street. It was perhaps fortunate that Cardinal Velasco was not there at the time.’
The pontiff nodded. ‘Yes. They were claiming, quite erroneously, that we supported the 2002 coup attempt against President Chávez.’ Felici and Wiley exchanged glances.
‘Added to that, Holiness,’ Wiley continued, ‘almost every government in the region is leaning towards the left. Evo Morales in Bolivia, Michelle Bachelet in Chile, Tabaré Vázquez in Uruguay, Lula da Silva in Brazil, and the Sandinista, Daniel Ortega, in Nicaragua. Legislators in many of these countries are now preparing to liberalise abortion, as well as the morning-after pill, and they may well follow the lead of the Spanish president and legalise gay marriage. In the first year of that legislation 4500 gay and lesbian couples married in Spain and are now free to bring up children in the same way as their heterosexual counterparts. This may well spread, as we’ve seen in California,’ Wiley added.
‘A sad day for the Church in Spain and in the United States,’ the Pontiff observed.
Felici looked on with approval as Howard Wiley’s laser pointer roamed over the map, and Wiley expanded on the threat each country posed to oil supplies and to the influence of the United States and the Catholic Church. But with the Cardinal Secretary of State in the room, Felici reserved any further comment for his private dinner with Wiley.
29
MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY, VIENNA
Nervous and on edge, Aleta sipped her long black coffee in the museum’s Café Nautilus.
‘I knew you would come eventually,’ Dr José Arana said. Arana’s voice was soft, but authoritative. Like many Guatemalans, he was short and stocky. His fine black hair was flecked with grey and tied back in a ponytail. Around his neck he wore a beautiful jade tablet, inscribed with his Mayan birth sign of the jaguar. His craggy brown face was etched with the wisdom of a shaman, and his dark eyes held a look of quiet peace and understanding.
‘How … how could you know that, Dr Arana?’ Aleta asked, still in a state of shock.
Arana smiled enigmatically. ‘Call me José, please. My father, Roberto, who was the village shaman in San Marcos before me, passed on the wisdom of the elders. He gave me your name and told me that one day you would seek my help.’
‘I don’t understand —’
‘Patience, my dear. Eventually all will be revealed. For now it is enough for you to know that you have a very important purpose in life. As you know, the ancient Maya left the present generation a warning.’
Aleta nodded. ‘I’ve found some references to it in my grandfather’s papers, and there’s been talk of a codex in the media, but I wasn’t sure if that was just speculation … if the codex really exists.’
‘It exists,’ Arana replied quietly, ‘but we are running out of time. The winter solstice will soon be upon us.’
Aleta’s pulse started to race. A quiet but unquestionable integrity emanated from the softly spoken Guatemalan elder. ‘Do you know where it is?’
Arana nodded. ‘Your grandfather came close to finding it before his tragic death.’
‘I don’t understand, José. If you know where it is, why don’t you just retrieve it and announce its contents to the world?’
‘If only it were that simple. Unfortunately most people dismiss the spiritual wisdom of the ancient Maya as mumbo-jumbo. In a time when happiness is sought from the material world, we ignore at our peril the wisdom of a civilisation that could accurately chart and predict planetary movements down to the last second, without the aid of a telescope. The signs of our own destruction are already with us.’
Aleta saw a great sadness in his eyes.
‘In the last year,’ Arana continued, ‘chunks of ice twice the size of London have disappeared from the Arctic and Antarctic. The planet is providing continual warnings – an increasing number of powerful earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, fires, tsunamis and cyclones, hurricanes and floods. Yet many leaders dismiss global warming as rubbish. Some countries are also conducting experiments that are being kept secret from the public, but will ultimately put the entire planet at risk.’
‘And you still don’t think people would believe you?’
‘People are driven by the herd instinct, Aleta. If the politicians and the media are sceptical, the public, too, becomes sceptical. If I were to make an announcement, the media would treat the codex as a curiosity and many would dismiss it as a fraud.’
‘I still don’t understand where I fit in to all of this.’
‘Like me, you were born under the ancient sun sign of Balam-Ix, the jaguar, a spirit that is infused with a deep love of Mother Earth. The jaguar’s energy, the ruling spirit of the jungles, is feminine, Aleta. The ancients were well aware of that spirit, and they have hidden the codex in such a way that it can only be discovered by someone who will understand how far the world is out of balance, and the real consequence of the alignment of the planets in December 2012. It is no accident that you have followed in your grandfather’s footsteps. An archaeologist will have far more credibility than any Mayan elder and the warning that the codex contains will be considered more carefully by the media and the wider public,’ Arana emphasised. ‘But as my father warned your grandfather, the Maya Codex is fiercely protected. More than one fortune seeker has paid the ultimate price, as the ancients intended it to be found only by someone who possesses the inner spiritual balance to understand it correctly.’ Arana gave Aleta a long, searching look.
‘You can’t mean me?’ she gasped.
‘You have been prompted to meet with me for a reason, Aleta, but the challenge is yours to accept or decline.’
‘If I accept such a challenge,’ Aleta asked slowly, as his words sank in, ‘will you help me, José?’
‘I can be your mentor, Aleta, but again, that is up to you. If I am to be your guide, you will have to undergo a cleansing and rebuilding of your inner spirit.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘You’re not sleeping well, Aleta.’ It was a statement rather than a question. Again Aleta sensed the power around this gentle man.
‘No,’ she
admitted. ‘Not for some time now.’
‘I can see the unhappiness in your eyes.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Not to the casual observer. Outwardly you are functioning at a very high level, but your eyes tell a different story, Aleta. You have intense brown rings around your irises, which is an indication of stress and acute depression.’
From his position near a display case in one of the museum’s exhibition corridors leading to Café Nautilus, Curtis O’Connor observed the quiet conversation between Aleta Weizman and the man with the greying ponytail. O’Connor was not surprised to find that the swarthy young thug who had taken a back seat in Monsignor Jennings’ lecture was also having coffee in the museum’s restaurant, pretending to read a copy of the Österreich Journal. O’Connor reached again for his high-resolution camera.
‘The brown rings … do they have something to do with the iris’s connection to the brain?’
‘Exactly,’ Dr Arana answered. ‘When you are first conceived, your eyes start as part of the brain, but after separation the nerves of the iris remain connected to a part of the brain known as the hypothalamus. The eyes actually reflect the condition of all organs, and we can detect a problem, such as cancer, long before the symptoms appear in the body itself. We can also detect depression, and if you are to be successful in finding and decoding the Maya Codex, that part of your spirit will need healing.’
‘You said I’m in grave danger?’
‘Because you have embarked on a quest to find out who murdered your family, especially your father and grandfather. Your grandfather was very close to recovering the missing Maya Codex when he was murdered by the Nazis.’
THE MAYA CODEX Page 17
