The Twelve

by William Gladstone

  Reading it in black and white, even Max found it difficult to believe, but he signed the document and—exhausted—returned to the waiting room where Rolf was waiting anxiously, holding his Minolta mini camera. He looked distraught and explained that it was because all of his film of the locals and animals in the jungle had been ruined.

  Max wasn’t overly sympathetic. He was exhausted from the seven hours of questioning he had endured. Now it was Rolf’s turn, and astonishingly he was gone less than five minutes, returning with a broad smile on his face.

  “What happened?” asked Max incredulously.

  “Well, you know my Spanish is not very good, so they just asked me if everything you said was true. I said ‘Max never lies,’ and signed the same confession as you.”

  ***

  Despite the signing of their “confession,” Max and Rolf were kept under military surveillance for seven days. They were allowed to spend their nights in the hotel, with the military guard waking them every morning at 6:00 and transporting them back to Section 5 for further questioning.

  The only one who was really being questioned was Max, but Rolf was now brought into the interrogation room with him.

  Every detail of their story was checked and double-checked. The hotel in La Paz was called and had no record that they had ever been there. Investigators were sent to Arequipa, to Copacabana, and to Caranavi to verify every detail, every name, every “coincidence.”

  At night they could go where they chose—since both had been vouched for by the Dutch and U.S. consulates—but always under guard. They went to the soccer match one evening, much to the delight of their guards, all nine of whom showed up at the same time—despite their rotations—just to make sure Max and Rolf would not attempt to escape.

  And, coincidentally, they were able to enjoy the big match against neighboring Peru.

  At the end of the week, unable to find any holes in the amazing-though-improbable declaration of the foreign detainees, Max and Rolf were told that they would be free to go the following morning. They would be taken to the bus station and driven to Tiahuanaco, the ancient mystic site, and from there to a boat that would take them back to Puno in Peru.

  Their passports would be returned to them in Puno when they debarked. Two Bolivian army officers were provided to accompany them on the final leg of their Bolivian adventure.

  Both guards were pleased to have such an easy assignment, and took extra time while Max and Rolf visited the ancient Incan ruins in Tiahuanaco. Now that the worst of their “adventure” was over, Max felt a sense of comfort at the ruins, as well as a sense of wonder. He had read about the ancient sun god, Viracocha, who was believed to have come out of the waters of the nearby Lake Titicaca and created the civilization of the first indigenous people.

  The ruins in Tiahuanaco were monuments to this great teacher and leader, and the legends spoke of his arrival and departure. There was a magical quality to the ruins, as if the rocks themselves were still breathing and communicating the ancient lessons of the mythical Viracocha.

  The guards confirmed their own beliefs in the ancient legends, and the local belief that Lake Titicaca with its rejuvenating waters was the birthplace of humanity. There were those who believed that in the times to come the lake would once again become the center of spiritual power for the entire planet, ushering in a new era of humanity.

  ***

  Upon reaching the immigration control offices in Peru, Max and Rolf were greeted by two smiling officials who already had their passports.

  “We have been waiting for you. Welcome back to Peru.” They handed over the passports and in large, red letters on the page where the Bolivian stamp had been placed were the words PERSONA NON GRATA. Beneath lay other words in Spanish that made it clear that these were suspicious individuals who were not acceptable visitors to Bolivia, under any circumstances.

  Chapter Six

  Persona Non Grata

  April 1973

  WHEN MAX WAS TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD, HE GRADUATED FROM Yale and began working for his father’s book publishing company, his Bolivian adventures just an exciting memory.

  The job allowed him to support himself and learn the ropes of the publishing world. And his father had recently suffered a minor heart attack, so his new position allowed Max to stay in close touch with him as well.

  He had worked for his dad for nine months when he took on a special assignment rewriting and updating the test preparation title, How to Score High on the Medical College Admission Test, carrying on his father’s successful tradition of helping students on their road to success. Max knew nothing about medicine and hadn’t even taken a science course since high school, but he knew how to research, and he knew a lot about creating tests.

  He was now living in Westport, Connecticut, and every morning would make his way over to the public library to start his work for the day.

  By noon he would be ready for a break.

  Since the YMCA was next door, and the paddle ball league was looking for new players, Max signed on. That’s when he met George Hardy, an independent film producer and writer. Although more than twenty years his senior, George was a fit and competitive player and he and Max became regular opponents and partners in doubles matches.

  Max always looked forward to his time at the Y with George. After a game they often spent time talking, and Max shared his passion for Latin America, the culture, the people, and the language. He glowed with excitement as he recounted his experiences and George, who wasn’t easily impressed, was caught up in Max’s youthful enthusiasm.

  George had agreed to produce a film for Ralph Cohen Productions entitled In Search of Ancient Mysteries, and was looking for someone to scout locations in South America. He liked Max, thought the young man had a good work ethic, and was impressed that he could speak Spanish and knew the Latin American culture.

  “What the hell,” he said one day, “It’s not brain surgery.” So there in the locker room, after a particularly challenging game, George offered Max the job.

  “Ever heard of Erich Von Daniken and his book In Search of Ancient Astronauts?” he said as they sat over a cup of coffee.

  “No,” was Max’s honest reply.

  “He’s the guy who thinks that astronauts from outer space colonized the Earth thousands of years ago, and created some of the unexplainable mysteries from ancient civilizations. Rod Serling narrated an NBC television special based on his books. It was a huge success, and now they want to create a sequel. A lot of the locations he’s mentioned are in South America, and I thought you might be a good choice to help select the location list for the film.

  “Do you think you would be interested?” George asked.

  Without hesitation, Max jumped on the opportunity.

  “Sure, sounds like fun,” he replied.

  ***

  The next day George handed Max a fourteen-page outline of the film, together with a preliminary list of locations that included Tiahuanaco in Bolivia, Cuzco in Peru, and other exotic places that boasted unexplainable mysteries that might be indications of the presence of ancient astronauts.

  George was quite blunt about the shakiness of the film’s concept.

  “It could just be all smoke and mirrors,” he admitted. “There’s no telling if Von Daniken is right, or if he even believes it himself.”

  “Well, after you told me about his theory, I checked out his book from the library and I have to say that much of it seems far-fetched, to say the least—if not outright fabrications,” Max confided.

  “Well then, I guess this project doesn’t interest you,” George said with a tone of disappointment.

  “No, exactly the opposite—I find this a fascinating project and would be delighted to help you out. I love exploring ancient myths and ancient civilizations. Working with you would be a blast.”

  “Great!” George responded. “Your initial salary will be $125 a week, and I think you’ll do a great job. In addition to fleshing out and adding to the locatio
n list, I need you to figure out how we get our crew and equipment into each of the countries where we plan to film. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “Absolutely,” Max replied confidently.

  So he took a leave of absence from his father’s book publishing company and threw himself into the project with intensity and enthusiasm. He began with basic research and within four weeks had read every issue of National Geographic ever published and had a location list that encompassed mysteries and ancient sites from Bolivia to England, Syria, Israel, Greece, India, and Japan.

  When next they met, George was impressed with the job Max had done thus far, and offered him the position of production coordinator on the project, which meant he would be involved in the everyday aspects of filming in all of the countries. George also bumped Max’s weekly salary up to $150.

  Suddenly word came down that the shoot dates for In Search of Ancient Mysteries had been moved up. They would be forced to scramble in order to meet the new dates and be prepared when the crew arrived.

  “Can you get down to Peru in the next two weeks?” George asked Max.

  In fact, Max was ready to go—but there was a problem. The necessary permissions hadn’t been received from embassies around the world, allowing the filming to take place in the various countries.

  To Max’s surprise, George didn’t seem too concerned, and he expressed confidence that everything would fall into place. Max wasn’t so sure, but within days he was on his way to Lima, Peru, where he checked into the Sheraton Hotel, the tallest and most luxurious hotel in Lima.

  It turned out that George always traveled in style—five-star hotels and the best restaurants wherever he went—and he expected his crew to be treated the same way. Years in the entertainment business had taught him that a content film crew made for a happy film set, he told Max.

  Since Max was now a member of the crew—the advance guy—he also reaped the benefits of deluxe accommodations. Yet he still had a Herculean task ahead of him: The rest of the crew would be arriving in five days, and he had to make sure that all their needs were met.

  The first step was a meeting with the Undersecretary for Peruvian Cultural Affairs, Señor Altamontana, and it did not go well. Altamontana, a short, bespectacled man moved with intense energy, and as he greeted Max he revealed that he knew nothing about the film production.

  Max was stunned, but he recovered quickly.

  “But didn’t you get my letter?” he asked. “I sent it more than two weeks ago.”

  The undersecretary replied that he had certainly not received the letter, and even if he had received it, along with the application to clear equipment through customs and film in the country, the turnaround for such approvals was at least twelve weeks.

  As Max became increasingly concerned, Altamontana explained calmly that a new law had been created just that year to protect the Peruvian film industry. In accomplishing its mandate, it was making it impossible to secure permission any sooner.

  “There will be no exceptions,” the undersecretary told Max in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Max was stumped.

  Now what? he thought, his mind racing.

  At that moment the undersecretary’s assistant entered the room with a small stack of envelopes perched on a silver tray—the day’s mail.

  There, on the top of the stack, Max spotted a familiar object. The letter he had sent with extra postage for speedy delivery

  “There’s my letter,” Max cried jubilantly. “Please, just open it. You’ll find everything you need right there.”

  Though wearing an expression of doubt, the undersecretary opened the envelope and read the letter typed under the Future Films banner.

  Although impressed at the timing of the letter and having confirmed the validity of the project, the undersecretary was adamant that it was impossible to grant permission on such short notice. He explained to Max that the special committee for cultural affairs would need to review the shooting script and petition. He reiterated that the soonest they could process the requests would be September.

  It was now June.

  “But my crew arrives in five days,” Max protested.

  “Be that as it may, neither they nor their equipment will be permitted to enter,” Altamontana responded firmly. “So you’d better tell them not to come.”

  The meeting was at an end, and Max left dejected. His meteoric career in show business seemed to be ending before even getting started.

  George was scheduled to join him in Lima, but he couldn’t wait for him to arrive. He immediately called one of the producers and his point person, Dan Brandon in Los Angeles, and told him “there is a problem.”

  “Don’t worry,” came Dan’s cheerful response, and Max’s brow wrinkled with confusion. “We anticipated that when the schedule had to be accelerated, we might have a problem with the Peruvian officials. Fortunately, one of Ralph Cohen’s close friends from USC is Julian Jasper.”

  When Max didn’t recognize the name, Dan continued.

  “Julian was on the swimming team and competed in the Olympics. He’s a good guy and runs the film industry in Peru. He even owns the main bus company in Lima and several other businesses. He’s agreed to meet with you.

  “He lives in Miraflores and is expecting you for lunch.”

  As cheerful as Dan was about all this, Max still had strong doubts when he hung up the phone. Julian may have been a “good guy” and a powerful film producer, but the undersecretary had been quite clear—approvals were required, sample scripts had to be submitted, twelve weeks minimum.

  Still, Miraflores was the Beverly Hills of Lima, so at least Max would have a nice lunch.

  When he arrived at the Jasper estate, he was greeted by an immaculately dressed house servant who escorted him to the garden, where Julian, his wife, and daughter were sitting down to an elegant lunch. The table was set with flowers and fine china, and the garden itself was full of fruit trees and myriad flower beds planted in exotic shapes.

  Julian was a large and cheerful man. He rose and gave Max a hug and introduced him to his family.

  The food was excellent and the conversation was light and full of suggestions for sights they thought Max should take in while in Lima. Despite his concerns over the imminent arrival of the film crew, Max actually began to relax.

  It wasn’t until after lunch, when they retreated to a gazebo in another part of the garden, that Julian finally brought up the main topic.

  “You don’t need to worry,” he said cheerfully. “I have taken care of everything. Your crew and equipment will not have any problems getting permission to shoot.”

  Max was stunned.

  “But how can that be? I left the undersecretary’s office only a few hours ago and was told that the new law will not allow for any exceptions.”

  Julian revealed that he had written the film code and laws himself, and they were basically written to protect him and his friends. Since Richard Cohen was a friend, they had agreed that In Search of Ancient Mysteries would be a coproduction with Jasper Productions.

  It was therefore now a Peruvian production, and would not be subject to the new laws. He added that there might be a minor problem with the customs issues because it was a national law that all such equipment must remain at least one week in quarantine, as protection against unscrupulous smugglers.

  However, Julian had recently been awarded a medal as Honorary Mayor of Lima for providing bus service as part of the public works. The medal entitled him to exemption from all laws governing city employees, and since some of the custom officials were city officials, he felt certain that his honorary position would get the equipment through.

  Julian was correct on all points, and the day was saved.

  ***

  With the Peruvian situation well in hand, the next stop on Max’s location schedule was Bolivia, and it was time for Max to tell George of his Persona Non Grata status that would prevent him from heading south to La Paz, where he was supposed to
set up the filming for Tiahuanaco and Lake Titicaca.

  George arrived in Lima, and they met in the lobby of the Sheraton. Before long George was imbibing from a pitcher of Pisco Sours, the indigenous Peruvian hard alcohol, so the meeting went better than Max had expected.

  “Well, as long as you have people there to meet us, and the schedule set up, I guess it will work out,” George said between sips. “This does give you an extra day or two here in Peru. Why don’t you go up to Trujillo to survey the pyramids and see if there’s anything we might film, or anyone we might interview.”

  Chapter Seven

  It Starts with Love

  June 1973

  MAX GOT OFF THE PLANE IN TRUJILLO AND TOOK A TAXI TO THE local hotel. Although the largest city in northern Peru, Trujillo was still recovering from the earthquake and had only one major luxury hotel.

  Upon check-in Max revealed his mission to the hotel clerk, whose name was Jose, and asked how far it was to the ancient pyramid and ruins. Jose was only too happy to help, and soon a taxi was waiting to take Max to scout the Huaca de la Luna—or Temple of the Moon—pyramid.

  While touring this massive and mysterious structure, just two and a half miles outside of the city, Max was approached by several “amateur archeologists” who offered to sell him ancient relics and sculptures. And the pyramid itself, while impressive for its elaborate murals, did not contain secrets significant for the chosen Von Daniken storyline.

  Upon his return to the hotel, he found a dark-haired and energetic young man waiting for him. The fellow introduced himself as Eduardo and explained that he worked for the local television station.

  “We have never had a U.S. film crew come to Trujillo, except for the earthquake coverage, and we would like to interview you,” he announced.

  Max was honest with Eduardo and told him that it wasn’t certain that filming would take place in Trujillo. However, the eager young TV reporter didn’t seem to care too much about that, and he departed to fetch his film crew.