He spent another quiet moment in the early morning breeze that was blowing over the grassy hills around him, trying to imagine Christopher Carter living here on the island back in the early 1600s — first as one of many shipwrecked sailors, then as a conspirator, then as one of the three men remaining on the island, and then as the owner of Cooper’s Island and governor of Bermuda itself.
Trying to downplay the nagging suspicion that the old home was actually a piece of his own heritage, he finally turned away from the house and decided to follow Jackson to his next stop.
It turned out to be St. Catherine’s Beach.
John walked out onto the pink sand and took notice of Fort St. Catherine sitting above him on the left, marking Bermuda’s northernmost point. Jackson was standing just inside the turquoise tide and letting the waters swallow his bare ankles, his gaze cast away from John’s approach and into the ocean ahead. But as John came up beside him, Jackson turned his head, peeking knowingly over his massive shoulder.
“You following me?” he asked.
John kicked his shoes off and walked into the surf, standing next to Jackson’s towering frame. “Maybe.”
Jackson set his stare back out to sea. “This is where Somers and his crew first came to shore.”
Despite how badly John wanted to know what Jackson was doing at the Carter House (among hundreds of other things), he decided to wait until he heard from Frank before confronting his brother’s friends with what he knew — or didn’t know. “Was the Sea Venture the first ship to the islands?”
He shook his head, no. “A Spaniard named Juan de Bermudez is credited with discovering the island while sailing for Hispaniola in 1505. In 1515, Gonzales Ferdinando d’Oviedo spotted the island and tried to get some pigs on it.”
“Yeah, pigs…” John nodded, feigning understanding. After all, that’s just what he’d do if he found an island, drop off some bacon.
Jackson explained, “So that anyone who found themselves shipwrecked would have something to eat.”
“That was nice of him.”
“The winds wouldn’t let him close enough, though. The Spanish never tried to settle, but the Portuguese almost did in 1527, though they didn’t actually make it to the island until they were shipwrecked themselves in 1543. They didn’t stay long, built another boat and sailed to Santo Domingo. They left a rock at Spittal Pond engraved with the monogram of Rex Portugaliae, the Portuguese Order of Christ.” He was still staring out at the blue horizon, but it was evident that his thoughts were on something more than his monologue and the seascape that must have spawned it. “The French came and went, but it was 1609 that was to be the deciding year for Bermuda, colonization beginning three years later.” He turned to face John. “First person to be born on the island was the daughter of John Rolfe, the guy who later married Pocahontas.”
“Really?” John didn’t have to fake interest this time.
“They named her Bermuda. She was also the first person to die on the island.”
“They were on the Sea Venture with Somers and Carter?”
Jackson’s own eyes betrayed him if only for an instant, confirming to John that indeed Christopher Carter was part of this bizarre puzzle — which, again, would only make his own relationship to the sailor all the more likely.
Recovering from the shock of hearing Carter’s name, Jackson continued the conversation in stride. “Yeah, along with Captain Newport.”
John shrugged, unfamiliar with the name.
“The pirate hired by British businessmen to raid Spanish ships and towns in the Caribbean, brought the first fleet of settlers to Jamestown?”
John shook his head.
“He eventually became a member of Virginia’s governing council. Newport News is named after him. Anyway, Stephen Hopkins was on the ship, too.”
“He related to Anthony Hopkins?” If he was, and John was really the offspring of Christopher Carter, then perhaps that would be incentive enough to arrange a meeting, maybe get a role in one of his films… He imagined a blooming friendship with the knighted actor, until a scene from The Rite transformed all such dreams into a twisted nightmare entitled, Hannibal: Exorcist Cannibal.
“I don’t think so. He’s mostly known for his arrival to America on the Mayflower in 1620, and not for almost getting himself shot by Gates for wanting to stay on Bermuda — a mutinous offense.”
“Who was Somers?”
“Sir George Somers, the Father of Bermuda, was just a wealthy pirate who happened to earn his fame by capturing a Spanish city in Venezuela. He was knighted in 1603 for saving a ship in Sir Walter Raleigh’s fleet, was the mayor of Lyme Regis, and became a major player in the English company that colonized Virginia.”
“And Gates?”
“Fought in the Dutch wars and sailed with Francis Drake to the Caribbean in 1585.”
After a moment of silence, and the settling impression that he was about to lose Jackson’s attention, John asked the next thing that came to mind. “Why so many forts on the island?” He indicated Fort St. Catherine with his eyes.
“Richard Moore, Bermuda’s first governor, thought the Spanish might try taking the island.”
“Did they?”
“They had a plan to, but the closest they ever came was to sail a ship close by on its way back from South America in 1614. Moore fired two shots at it from the fort on Castle Island and drove it back out to sea.”
“So were the forts ever used?”
“There was a mini-civil war in 1646 between Puritans and non-Puritans, the Puritans eventually expelled from the island. Bermuda almost went to war with the Bahamas in 1692. The French and Spanish captured the Turks Islands and New Providence during Queen Anne’s War, forcing Bermuda to guard herself against a like invasion that never came; though when the war did end in 1713, a lot of the guys who’d made a living on the warships turned pirate and began raiding Bermuda’s ships. Some of the captains who returned said that Blackbeard and Major Stede Bonnet were planning an attack on the island, on turning it into their base of operations. Needless to say, the forts were all garrisoned in anticipation of an attack that, again, never materialized. And then, of course, the US tried capturing her in 1779, nothing coming of that either. In 1812, Bermuda played a major role in blockading the American coast, and every time it looked like we might go at it with Britain again, the forts were improved. In 1826, a major defensive military strategy was hatched that transformed a lot of the island. Prospect was turned into a military instillation, South Shore Road was built to defend the beaches, more islands were fortified, and the Royal Navy built a huge fortification at the tip of Ireland Island.
“In 1861, a week after the Civil War started, Lincoln established a blockade on all the southern ports, and blockade runners were going back and forth between the southern states and Bermuda, maintaining the Confederates’ reliance on European suppliers and Europe’s dependence on southern cotton. And then during World War II, we finally came as allies, set up all kinds of military bases, paved roads, built the airfield — which took connecting a few smaller islands to St. David’s and adding about a hundred and fifty acres to it.”
Finally, John turned and looked up into Jackson’s face. “How do you know all this?”
Jackson tilted his face downward at him. “I told you, I’ve been here before.”
“Lots of people have been here before, Jack.”
But before Jackson could reply, John’s cell phone rang in his pocket.
“Hello?” he answered, not recognizing the incoming number. “Yeah. Is that a fact? No. I will, thanks.” He hung up and returned the phone to his pocket while a new appreciation for the man standing next to him began taking hold of his unease. Through a narrowed and icy stare, John told Jackson that the call was from a police officer he’d met the night before and that he had some information regarding Henry’s stay on the island.
Jackson just waited for John to elaborate.
But instead, John shrugged toward the
sunrise. “I’d better be getting back. Don’t want to be late for our meeting.” And then he turned and headed back to his waiting scooter, pausing only to slip on his shoes before driving away from the behemoth’s stare.
Minutes later, just about to cross the Causeway, Jackson drove up beside him.
Over the whine of the scooters’ engines, Jackson yelled, “It’s supposed to be getting pretty nasty.” He nodded his head forward to the western sky where there were indeed darkening clouds congregating. “Dress appropriately.” And then he throttled back, falling in behind him.
Coming off the Causeway, John headed straight for the hotel, expecting Jackson to do the same. But Jackson missed the turn, continuing west. John didn’t care, he was done following him. He’d already learned more than enough for right now.
****
As John loaded his backpack with an extra pair of clothes, his Bible, the map, and Journey with the Gods, his phone began vibrating. It was a text message from Pastor Brian, responding to the message he’d sent the night before. It read:
SOME BELIEVE HELL BENEATH OCEAN IN CENTER OF EARTH. REV 9 AND REV 20:13 TOGETHER MAY LEND CREDENCE TO VIEW.
John pulled the Bible back out of the bag and turned to the indicated passages, first reading Revelation 9.
The fifth angel sounded his trumpet, and I saw a star that had fallen from the sky to the earth. The star was given the key to the shaft of the Abyss. When he opened the Abyss, smoke rose from it like the smoke from a gigantic furnace. The sun and sky were darkened by the smoke from the Abyss. And out of the smoke locusts came down upon the earth and were given power like that of scorpions of the earth…
They had as king over them the angel of the Abyss, whose name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek, Apollyon…
He flipped the pages a few times and found chapter twenty.
And I saw an angel coming down out of heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain. He seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil, or Satan, and bound him for a thousand years. He threw him into the Abyss, and locked and sealed it over him, to keep him from deceiving the nations anymore until the thousand years were ended…
When the thousand years are over, Satan will be released from his prison and will go out to deceive the nations in the four corners of the earth — Gog and Magog — to gather them for battle… But fire came down from heaven and devoured them. And the devil, who deceived them, was thrown into the lake of burning sulfur…
Then I saw a great white throne and him who was seated upon it. Earth and sky fled from his presence, and there was no place for them. And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books. The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead that were in them, and each person was judged according to what he had done. Then death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire…
John texted back: DONT GET IT.
A few minutes later, the phone vibrated with a message offering a further, and rather lengthy, clarification.
ABYSS IS DESCRIBED AS BEING “FIERY HOLLOW IN CENTER OF EARTH” BUT CAN ALSO BE USED FOR “DEPTHS OF THE SEA.” SEPTUAGINT HAS ABYSS AS BEING THE DEEP THAT DARKNESS WAS HOVERING OVER IN GEN 1 AND THE GREAT DEEP OF WHOSE FOUNTAINS WERE BROKEN UP DURING FLOOD. SOME THINK THE ABYSS IN CENTER OF EARTH IS COVERED AND SECURED BY DEPTHS OF SEA — THIS BEING THE REASON THAT (AFTER PRISONERS OF ABYSS ARE THROWN INTO LAKE OF FIRE) THERE IS NO MORE SEA IN RENOVATED EARTH. ALSO TRANSLATION OF “HADES” INTO “HELL” IN REV 20 IS SUSPECT AND MAY BE MORE APPROPRTLY RENDERED AS “THE UNSEEN WORLD.” IT IS
The rest was continued on another incoming text.
COMMONLY BELIEVED THAT “SEA GIVING UP ITS DEAD” IS ONLY REFERRING TO THOSE WHO DIED IN SEA. BUT IT IS ODD THAT THERE IS NO MENTION OF EARTH GIVING UP ITS DEAD TOO. INSTEAD OF SEA BEING CONNECTED WITH LAND IN THE TEXT IT IS CONNECTED WITH DEATH AND THE UNSEEN WORLD… THUS SOME BELIEVE THEY ARE THE DISEMBODIED SPIRITS FIRST SENT TO ABYSS — WHICH WOULD BE WHY THEY ARE FIRST TO BE JUDGED.
By the time he finished reading, there was another message from Brian waiting for him, asking why the sudden interest in such things. But John didn’t respond. Instead, he sent a text message to Kristen that simply told her that he loved her. And then he finished getting ready for a day that would no doubt be throwing everything it possibly could at his stained-glass construction of reality. He dressed in dark blue jeans, brown boots, and a gray t-shirt with a black windbreaker overtop before being ready to meet the SEALs in the lobby half an hour earlier than scheduled.
Sitting on the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, he was staring out through the glass door that some phantom had slammed shut earlier that morning. Maybe Bill Cosby. Or James Stewart’s invisible bunny, Harvey. Or, if it had been a rabbit, perhaps it was the one shown in the Donnie Darko movie, though he hoped not. If he ever met that thing in a nightmare, he’d never risk falling asleep again. It could have been Marty McFly searching for a Flux Capacitor to correct the time-space continuum, though why he would be looking for it here wasn’t exactly clear. Maybe it was Kevin Bacon reprising his role in Hollow Man 4, or even James T. Kirk coming to visit the Dolphin Quest but miss-teleporting into his room, slamming the door in frustration and cursing Scotty before beaming back to the Enterprise. Though scores of movies supplied him with faces for the formless invaders, it was Hollywood’s take on exorcism that sent spiders crawling down his back. He looked past the door and to the island-riddled horizon beyond it. As his mind reeled to and fro, he caught a glimpse of the two books still sitting beside the bed.
Minutes later, he was on his scooter and looking for a post office, the books in his possession.
SEVEN
11:58 AM. 22nd day of May. Grotto Bay Beach Resort, Hamilton Parish, Bermuda
Entering the lobby empty-handed, John found Chris, Nick, Hunter, and Paul already waiting for him. But no Jackson. John ignored them and walked toward the elevator, prompting Hunter to stand.
“Hey, where you going?”
John hit the round button and, as soon as the elevator doors opened, stepped in. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered. As the doors closed on the scene in the lobby, he saw Hunter look down at his wristwatch.
It was 12:04 when John walked back into the lobby with his backpack slung over his shoulder. “Where’s Jackson?” he asked, taking note of his still-lingering absence.
“He’s gonna meet us there. Let’s go,” Paul commanded, leading them out the doors and to a waiting taxi.
Once the minivan was headed southwest toward Hamilton, John decided to break the uncomfortable silence by inquiring about the afternoon.
Chris, who had been staring out the window beside him, answered, “We’re taking a ferry across the Great Sound to Somerset. Find this author guy and see what he has to say.”
It was impossible to miss the atmosphere surrounding the ex-SEALs. They were all staring quietly out the windows, their faces set like stone. If John didn’t know any better (which he didn’t), he’d assume they were mentally preparing themselves for a bank robbery or some other type of tactical mission, ski masks about to be pulled down over their faces and weapons cocked.
“Anyone gonna tell me what’s really going on?” John asked, looking them over with a challenging eye.
Hunter and Paul moved their gaze from off Hamilton Parish and set it, full of suspicion, on John. But they maintained their eerie silence.
“Wonderful. Thanks. No, really, I mean it. Thank you for bringing me all the way over here to play games. I love games.”
They drove through the capital, taking Victoria Street west over to Parliament Street and then south toward the water. As they crossed over Church Street, they passed a white Methodist church that was fitted with a giant steeple. John’s attention was captured by the crucifix atop it, a sense of com
fort that he wouldn’t usually associate with the instrument of torture suddenly filling him with reassurance, as if the nail-pierced hands that had once been hammered to it were now resting on his shoulders, encouraging him. If God be for us then who can be against us? But then, just as quickly, another verse came crashing into his mind, this one from Paul’s message to the church in Ephesus. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. And though he was assured that neither death, life, angels, principalities, powers, things present or things to come, height, depth, or any other creature could separate him from the love of God, those words — “principalities and powers” and “spiritual wickedness in high places” — continued to slither through the standing hair on his arms and neck.
As they passed the Parliament Building and crossed Reid Street, the Cabinet Building came up on their left. It seemed to be a smaller version of the White House, the Union Jack flying high from the flagpole erected in front of it. A small obelisk and cenotaph also decorated the surrounding property, but John seemed to be the only one who appreciated that little detail — perhaps because the monolith had become familiar to him through a past experience he was forever trying to forget.
They turned onto Front Street, leaving the government buildings behind, and found themselves between the water and large pale-colored buildings that stood lining the street. Tiny cars, motorcycles, and scooters stood in rows that ran up and down both sides of the road while another cruise ship loomed over the city, resting comfortably in the harbor.
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