by Bob Mayer
“The Bible changes. God also changes if you read it objectively and carefully. Look how much he intervened early on. He unleashed plagues on Egypt to free his people. He helped Moses part the Red Sea. Not much of that in the last two thousand years or so unless I’ve missed something. Could have used a hand during the Holocaust, eh?”
“That will change soon,” DiSalvo interrupted, pointing up at the incoming orb.
“We shall see,” Judas said. “Do you know how many authors contributed to the Bible? And I mean writers, not translators, because if we look at the latter the number is overwhelming. The Bible is rather unique in its authorship. Unlike other books of worship.”
Judas held up a single finger. “The Book of Mormon, which by the way is the fastest growing religion at this moment, came from one man, Joseph Smith. The Koran came from one man, Mohammed. But the Bible is different. First off, it’s got two major parts. The Old and the New Testament, and some religions ignore the second part.
“The best guess among reliable Biblical scholars is that approximately forty different authors across three continents over a sixteen hundred year period contributed to authoring the Bible. Pretty amazing. The most amazing literary feat in the history of man. There’s a positive aspect to this. Since God is so big, how could one man in one time span get down the entire story and message? The negative aspect is how did so many people over so much time receive the story and message? And get it right?”
“The message is the same,” DiSalvo said. “God.”
“So sayeth you,” Judas said, “but so sayeth a Muslim and a Mormon.”
Anger flushed across DiSalvo’s face but Judas continued. “Given first hand knowledge, I must admit that all these authors were remarkably accurate in many ways. There are over three hundred prophecies in the Old Testament about a Messiah that were supposedly fulfilled by Jesus. Busy fellow. And archeological evidence supports many of the stories, at least historically. And I can tell you Jesus was most real from personal experience. Knew the man. Flesh and blood. He was most real.
“But don’t believe just me. There’s also some support from historians. Tacitus, a Roman historian who lived in the first century, Anno Domino—” Judas chuckled—“it is pretty amazing that our entire calendar pivots around Jesus. He’d have liked that. He wasn’t very punctual, actually. Our Father was always on him about that. Anyway, Tacitus mentions a group called Christians that were persecuted by Pontius Pilate during the reign of Tiberius.
“As far as Jesus himself, there are a few historical references, most, however, not particularly flattering.” Judas ticked them off on his fingers. “Flavius Josephus, a Jewish historian from the time just after the crucifixion wrote that Jesus was a wise man who did amazing things, had many followers among the Jews and Greeks, and was crucified. The Jewish Talmud says that Jesus was conceived out of wedlock, had disciples, made blasphemous claims about himself, and appeared to work miracles that he attributed to God but which were most likely some sort of magic or sorcery. Then we’ve got mentions of early Christian worship from Pliny the Younger, Thallus, and Suetonius among other ancient historians.”
Judas paused as several native women brought out wooden dishes of food, most of which the two male guests did not recognize. Judas grabbed something that looked like a roasted cockroach and popped it into his mouth. His jaws shut with a crunch. “Quite good, I assure you.” He waited until Angelique tried one, and then continued.
“Where was I?” He tapped a finger against the side of his head. “Ah, yes. Then there are the translations. Proponents of the Bible as the word of God point out the amazing degree of agreement and accuracy among the various translations. Opponents say it has been translated so many times that the original language has to have been corrupted. Which is the truth?” Judas shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve learned a lot of languages over the years, and can tell you translating is a dangerous act. One man’s curse word in one language is another man’s term of endearment in a different tongue. It is a case where one could get caught among the trees trying to compare them and ignore the entire forest.”
“The New Testament,” DiSalvo threw out. “If you are who you say you are, then—”
“You would not be here if you did not believe I am who I say I am,” Judas interrupted. “Either the three of you accept that I am Judas, or you can get up, turn around, and walk back into the jungle.”
The three exchanged a quick glance, and then Angelique nodded. “We accept you are Judas.” She didn’t pause. “And since you are, then you have first hand knowledge of the New Testament, so you can tell us of the accuracy of those accounts.”
Judas laughed as he picked up another roasted tidbit. “I not only have first hand knowledge, I wrote my own Gospel. The Fifth Gospel of the New Testament. But that also, isn’t what most people think it is.”
Terminal Impact In 48 To 24 Hours
Two Days Earlier
The International Community
Tracking stations in the United Kingdom, Russia, Japan and China had all picked up the Intruder. Like the United States, their governments had immediately ordered a veil of silence. Their projections concurred with those of the Americans. The Intruder would intercept Earth in two days. ”Intercept” being a nicer way of saying “collide.”
The estimates varied, but only in how fast everyone would die. There was no argument about the end result: annihilation of the human race. And pretty much every other species on the surface of the planet, but humans tend to only focus on themselves in extremes.
The President of the United States contacted the leaders of the four countries, and unparalleled discussions at the highest level were instituted. And in all those countries, agents of the Illuminati stepped out of the shadows to help with financial, technical and other support.
And in all those countries rumors began to circulate that something strange was going on. The veil of secrecy was maintained, but it was only a matter of time before word of the Intruder reached the people.
Kourou, French Guiana, South America
The French Space Agency was the first to use Kourou as a launch pad for travel into space when it launched a Diamant rocket there in 1970. In 1975, the European Space Agency (ESA) decided to make Kourou its primary launch facility. There were multiple reasons for this. First, there were no large unpopulated areas of Europe where such a facility could be placed, thus locating it anywhere on the continent would pose a danger to many civilians. Second, Guiana was close to the equator at latitude 5.23 degrees north. A large speed bonus can be gained from the Earth’s rotation with a launch angled to the east. This meant the same rocket thrust launch from Kourou could actually carry a larger payload than one from NASA’s facility at Cape Canaveral, which was further away from the equator. The coastline also allowed launches over the ocean in a northeasterly direction, which was advantageous for Earth observation satellites.
The rocket currently on the launching pad this evening was an Ariane Four booster with a unique payload. It was to go on the northernmost launch path. The entire mission had been paid for by private funds and shrouded in mystery. The nose cone was placed on top of the booster just scant hours prior to launch, testing the safety restrictions of the facility to the limit, and agreed to only because of the outrageous fee the facility had received from the firm that owned the payload.
The only people who knew what the payload was were the Central Council of the Brotherhood, their two representatives at the launch facility, and of course, the man who was part of the payload. Ensconced in the nose cone was an experimental orbital vehicle developed by one of Peter Galbraith’s companies to compete in the next generation of re-usable craft to replace the space shuttle.
The X-37 was much smaller than the shuttle. Indeed, it was designed to be able to fit into the cargo bay of the shuttle, being only twenty-seven and a half feet long with a wingspan of fifteen feet. It weighed in at a relatively light six tons. It had its own small cargo bay, measuring seven
feet by four feet. The model being designed for NASA was for un-manned missions, but this one had been specially modified with what was optimistically called a ‘life-pod’ that was fit into the cargo bay. The life-pod contained enough oxygen, food and water to sustain one man for eight days, more than enough time for the mission ahead.
The X-37 had only been tested on two un-manned drops so far by NASA, and had never been in space. With the Columbia disaster, the entire project had been put on delay, but Galbraith had had his people forge ahead with the project using his own funds because he knew it was necessary to complete the Great Commission project.
However, there was a problem with the X-37. By re-fitting it to accept the life-pod and extra maneuvering of fuel and oxygen tanks for multiple space-walks, the trade off was that shielding and avionics had to be scaled back. Thus, even though it was designed as a re-usable orbiter, the model on top of the Ariane rocket did not have the capability to survive re-entry. Also, once the cargo pod was opened so that the occupant could do the first of the space walks that were the entire purpose of this launch, the oxygen would be released into space. Using extra canisters, the pilot would have enough oxygen to make an additional seven space-walks. When the last canister was depleted, the mission was, in the parlance of space, no longer life sustainable. Therefore, this was a one-way mission.
Once the engineers came to this realization, they’d brought the problem to Galbraith. He’d relayed the information to the Brotherhood, which had promptly set about recruiting someone for a mission of the highest urgency in the service to God that would require the ultimate sacrifice in faith.
Since they needed an astronaut, they focused on those who had already gone through NASA’s training, ultimately settling on retired Lieutenant Colonel Peter Forster, who now lay in the special acceleration sling inside the life-pod, inside the X-37, on top of the fifty-two meter high Ariane 5G booster.
As the countdown proceeded to the final seconds, Forster could feel the vibration of the massive rocket engines igniting. He quickly crossed himself. He was dead weight—an insensitive but accurate term—until they were in orbit. The launch was in the control of the ground engineers.
As the last second went by, the rockets roared to maximum thrust and the Ariane lifted. It rose up on a dual tail of fire from the twin side boosters, gaining altitude.
Inside the life-pod, Forster, former Air Force pilot and astronaut in training, was praying, not for himself, but for the success of his mission. He had long ago cast his life to God’s will.
The Xingu River, the Amazon Basin
Angelique stood on edge of the short dirt runway that had been carved out of the jungle near the town of Maria Preta. She’d met many research teams here, but the team she was waiting for now was something altogether different. Before, people always came in search of the hidden treasures of the Amazon—mostly medicinal cures in the form of plants and animals not found anywhere else on the face of the planet. Also, they were coming at two in the morning, so she’d had torches placed around the landing zone.
This team was coming in search of something also hidden in the jungle, but not a treasure. They were coming for the figure that had raised her. For what the Kaiyapo spoke of only in whispers while making the sign to ward off evil.
The Dark One.
The one the Spanish priests had called El Diablo. The Devil.
Angelique had heard many of the stories, but had not known whether or not to believe them. She had seen many strange things in the deep jungle, so she always kept an open mind. The words of the priest this morning bothered her greatly. That she was somehow connected to an El Diablo legend. She knew the priest had not mentioned it lightly.
To not know who her parents were, or how or why she had been abandoned in the jungle at the tender ago of two, had hovered over her all her life. She had no memories before the Kaiyapo. The priest speculated that perhaps her parents had been explorers who’d gotten lost and sent their daughter down the river in a desperate attempt to save her. When she’d traveled to the outside world for the few years necessary to complete her education, she’d told no one of her strange past, because there was nothing to tell. A story with no framework.
Angelique had never been tempted to travel further back up the river, past the Devil’s Fork, a place where two tributaries ran together forming the Xingu. No one with any sense went past the Devil’s Fork. At least no one went past it and came back to talk about what they had encountered. Although there were legends of some who had done so long ago.
She heard helicopters in the distance.
As she waited, she thought of the land and its strange legacy. The first European to travel up the Xingu was a Spaniard in 1543. He named the small village here Maria Preta, superseding whatever name the locals had had for their home for centuries, if not millennia.
The Spaniard was also the one who had named the split in the river, located one hundred and ten kilometers to the west, the Devil’s Fork. The Spaniards had unexpectedly beaten a hasty retreat back down-river, and Maria Preta was the furthest west they established a mission, an unusual reversal for the conquering Spanish. The locals had always avoided going far up-river. They had their own legends, apparently one of which was about her, and about what lay in the dark jungle up-river, near the base of the Andes. However, the Spaniard hadn’t been the last European to try to go that way.
Angelique shielded her eyes as two Brazilian Army helicopters swooped in low over the trees, searchlights blazing. They touched down, spewing out two-dozen armed soldiers. The soldiers raced to form a perimeter, while their officer jogged over to Angelique. The fact that the officer was running told her that he was under severe pressure and was willing to lose face in order to do his job, a rare occurrence in the caste-conscious officer corps.
He stared at her, looked around, and then back at Angelique. “You are the guide?”
Angelique didn’t answer. She could hear more helicopters in-bound. The officer and his men weren’t important. The officer seemed to have a different opinion. He moved closer to her, inside that palpable range that put him in her personal space.
“Are you the guide?”
With one smooth movement, Angelique reached over her left shoulder and drew the machete. The razor sharp blade lightly rested on the officer’s neck as his brain was still processing that she had drawn it. “I am the guide. And you are in my way. Have the perimeter around the landing zone secured along with the path to the river.”
“You cannot—” the officer spewed, but quickly stopped as the blade pressed against the artery pulsing in his neck.
“Do it now.”
Without a word, the officer spun about and spat orders at his men. He kicked a private who was a little slow to move, while throwing a dagger glance over his shoulder at Angelique. She was not concerned in the slightest. They would be up-river soon and an angry officer would be the least of her worries.
The first cargo helicopter appeared, blades flaring at the last second, the pilot showing off his skills. It was a private charter, the best company in Brazil, and she recognized the logo. To be expected from the Brotherhood.
The helicopter touched down. The back ramp lowered and five people walked off. Angelique took a deep breath. The Wrath. None of whom she’d ever met. In the lead was a tall black man in the brown robes of the Jesuits. He walked up to her and extended his hand.
“Sister Angelique, I am Father DiSalvo.” He squeezed her hand hard, trying to elicit a sign of pain, but she didn’t give him the pleasure, giving back as hard as she got. He held on for a few seconds too long, then let go. He indicated the other four people. “The rest of our team. Captain Gates will be in charge of our security.”
The American soldier looked haggard, his face rough with strange blisters here and there. He simply nodded at her. He was dressed in faded jungle fatigues, a sub-machinegun held at the ready in one hand, a rucksack on his back. She had seen his like before—a man used to dealing in death. There
was something else about him that puzzled her, but she didn’t have time to study him as DiSalvo turned to the tall woman.
“Professor Hyland is an archeologist and historian,” DiSalvo continued.
“Pleased to meet you,” Hyland said.
Angelique returned the woman’s greeting, wondering why they needed either of the skills the woman possessed.
“Doctor Lee will be responsible for the group’s health.”
Lee barely twitched his head to indicate he knew he was being introduced. Angelique nodded in turn. The doctor’s eyes bothered her. Most who had that look never came back out of the jungle. They were consumed with some passion that was greater than their common sense.
“And Reverend Kopec will maintain our communications link,” DiSalvo said, as he introduced the last member of the team.
Kopec smiled at her, the only one who didn’t seem lost in some internal world. He was dressed like Lee and Hyland in fresh khakis, probably outfitted from some catalogue in what the naïve thought was proper jungle attire. He also had a metal briefcase attached to his wrist by a steel cuff and chain. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought.
DiSalvo glanced at his watch. “The Brazilians have agreed to prepare our base camp here. We will be briefed on our mission shortly.” He pointed at Angelique. “Come with me and brief me on the route.”
