by Yasmin Esack
“Yeah, I do. You know me.”
Hart glanced at a clock on the wall. “I better get going. Cathy Simpson might pay me a visit later this afternoon. I want to talk to her.”
Chapter 52
At home again, he sat with a book trying to shut his mind off from all that surrounded him. Hart was reading about ancient peoples and cultures, wondering why gods were relegated to mythology. He didn’t think they were mythological at all.
The Mayans had a God of Thunder and thirteen creator gods. Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec god, was flaunted as a feathered serpent but he had many forms, including human ones. The Chinese deities, Nuwa and Fuxi, were creator gods who fashioned Man from clay. The African god, Adroa, was a sky god, a god on earth and a creator god. These gods were considered links to a supreme God whose presence no one saw. Were all the ancient peoples of the world filled with imagination? He didn’t think so.
His dinner of duckling in orange sauce was in his oven and an avocado salad lay in the fridge but, he didn’t feel hungry. He turned to the sound of his doorbell. Opening it, he saw Cathy Simpson, Washington Post’s Science Editor. He looked at her and smiled, noticing little else, not even the man who was at the back of his hedge.
“The sketches of the shooter are done and out to every newspaper, Dr. Hart.”
“That’s great news, Cathy. I hope we get an ID on him soon.”
“We should, and, I’m telling you, you’re going to get the missing pages of the gospel.”
“You seem sure.”
“Pretty much.”
“I’m encouraged to say the least. Soon, we’ll know if other worlds exist.”
Behind Hart’s hedge, KD tore his disguise off and wiped sweat from his face. From a duffel bag, he pulled an AK-47 rifle and looked through the gun’s telescopic lens. In his view, he could see the image of Cathy who was still at Hart’s front door. He wiped his hands dry on his denim jeans and focused again.
His phone beeped. It was Foster.
“You fool, you fool.” G. W. Foster shouted on the line. “You let Hart see you, then you kill a woman and her dog.”
KD had his eyes glued to his lens and his phone close to his ear. Time was running out on him and he didn’t know what Foster wanted.
“What is your order? Tell me. Tell me quickly,” he managed to say.
“Hart gave a description of you to every newspaper. You’re all over the media and you’ve blown the cover of the Brotherhood, something we’ve protected.”
Disappointment came to KD as he watched Hart shut his front door.
“We just missed him. I had him in my sight. He’s at his house with a woman. Look, nobody’s gonna trace anything to you.”
“No? I’ve got ten reporters outside my office asking me about Tom Hart.”
“He will never get the missing pages of the gospel. I’m sure of it. He’ll never prove we can see God, never!” KD cried out.
“Be quiet! You must finish this task, now. There’s no time to waste. I’ve trained you to do our work. I’ve protected you. The one person who could identify you is Hart. Kill him!”
The line died. KD waited patiently for another chance at Hart.
Chapter 53
Hart didn’t take much notice of women or anyone for that matter but Cathy piqued his interest and it had little to do with finding the secrets of the ancient world. He liked the peach suit she wore and the tan shoes that matched it. She was stylish in a natural way. It was in her gait and easy manner. She sat facing Hart.
“Foster’s already getting nervous, Dr. Hart. I managed to get a copy of his telephone records. He made several calls to LaPlotte.”
“Got his email records?”
“I’m trying to. I still think I should question Foster, don’t you?”
“No, stay clear of him.”
“It’s not going to be that easy to get LaPlotte, you know that, don’t you?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Guys like him have connections, don’t forget that. But, don’t let it put you off. My contacts in Paris are good.” Cathy seemed suddenly nervous.
“Is everything ok?” Hart enquired.
“Look, I…I could have said all of this on the phone but I want to know you. I want to know who Tom Hart really is.” Her eyes dropped a bit and a bead of sweat found its way to the tip of her nose. With a Kleenex tissue, she dabbed it.
“I’m an illusion, Cathy.”
“But, I can see you.”
“We are mortals. Now you see me, now you don’t.”
“So, what’s the purpose of this life?”
“To improve our consciousness.”
She smiled. Hart seemed to have all answers.
“We’ve been levelled with much uncertainty. That’s a common characteristic of life. We don’t have control, do we?”
“I suppose not.”
“What if we had? What if we never had to worry about anything? Did you ever wonder about that?”
“I can’t begin to imagine such a life.”
“Your deceased loved one could well be in a place that’s better than ours. Scripture tells us that Mankind will find rest.”
“You read scripture?”
“I read everything. I believe we’re earth bound in a type of hell.”
“Hell?”
“We’re here to strengthen our minds.”
“Through a realm, your brand of salvation.”
“I feel like I’m left alone to prove it to the world. Why’re you so interested in me, Cathy?”
The question wasn’t one she could easily answer but she did.
“I read your posting of The Perfect Mind. That’s where it all began. You made reference to a poem, The Thunder, discovered at Nag Hammadi in 1945.”
“The words of the poem reflect wisdom. I quote its most important lines:
I am the silence that is incomprehensible. I was sent forth from a power and I’ve come to those who reflect upon me, who seek me. It’s silence that defines us, nothing else. Be still and know.”
“It’s no longer incomprehensible since you claim what’s in front of you is in you, as light.”
“That’s what I believe. I can’t know everything. No one can.”
Cathy was attracted to Hart’s contentious nature. She had been drawn to him since he had started talking about a conscience in matter, a universal mind.
Hart had been vocal in his interviews on National Geographic, to the point of obsession. Nothing would separate him from his beliefs, she knew. He was adamant about religion being man-made and misguided. Nature had the answers since it was created perfectly and couldn’t be imitated. Man and nature were one.
“What you’re suggesting presents us with a whole new way of thinking, Dr. Hart,” she said, looking over his head to the bookshelf that was packed with volumes of literature on ancient antiquity.
“Please call me Tom and it scares you. I can tell from your reticence.”
“I’m in a way.”
“Because you’re conditioned to thinking of yourself in a particular way.”
“That’s not going to change.”
“We think we’re great for all the wrong reasons.”
“We do?”
“You’re the universe. I’m through saying how great the human is. I’m not going to say it again. The missing pages will.”
“You’re being stubborn, now.”
“I’m not.”
“You said an old man is a child and a black person is white or a tiger, a mountain, the defiled, the glorified, the proud and humble.”
“The sun, the moon, the stars as well, that’s how great a human is.”
“You’re so sure.”
“The true human being lies in a realm and is perfect. We’re here to experience material life and it’s hard. We’re in a dubious transition. We always say the moon shines. The ignorant judge and the wise are spat on. The good suffer. Life has tests. It helps us develop consciousness to move on to another realm where life is easier.
Don’t you see?”
“Consciousness of what, Tom?”
“A higher force in our lives. The battleground is the mind, staying firm.”
Hart was more emotional than she imagined he would be. He believed in all that he said. It showed clearly in his penetrating eyes and forthright demeanour. She listened as he spoke further.
“The thinkers of the past, Einstein, Bohr, Newton, and Galileo had much difficulty in finding answers to questions that arose in their time, questions relating to life, death, the solar system, the earth’s relationship to the universe, questions regarding motion, gravity, space and time but, most important of all, were questions…”
“Like what?” she interrupted.
“Questions as to whether we’re alone. But we’re not. We’re connected to each other and to other worlds because the universe is in us. Like you, people choose to ignore it.”
“Like me?”
“Yes.” Hart was truly saddened to see reluctance in Cathy’s eyes, the same he had seen in so many. “I’ve been described as arrogant, hubristic in thinking and a man of no wisdom. I’ve been slapped with just about everything.”
“We simply can’t change our thinking overnight, Tom, and you shouldn’t expect the world to embrace you.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because all you claim can’t be proven.”
He shook his head. “I truly wish people could see that they’re steps away, steps away.”
“From what, Tom?”
“Suffering,” he shot up.
Beginning to tremble from Hart’s intense nature, Cathy was surprised when he calmed down and said, “Would you care to join me for dinner?”
Chapter 54
Life in Paris was hectic when Frenchman and Louvre Director, Michelle LaPlotte, walked along Avenue de Suffren in Paris with much on his mind. Scooter horns blared in traffic and people rushed through flood and rain. Inside bistros, Parisians buried their heads in Le Monde’s headline news: Le Côte d'Azur est caché sous les eaux! La maison de Picasso est dans la mer. Le musée du Louvre est en danger.
“We’re losing our beloved Cote d’Azur. We’ve lost Picasso’s home. What’s to become of us?” he overheard as he waited to cross the avenue. The pleading words came from a dame standing on the pavement clutching her poodle.
“Ah! You worry too much,” the man next to her said. “I spent an hour talking to you for nothing.” He took a drag of his cigar and, glancing sideways, motioned to her. “Come, Madame, move away from here.”
“Pressons! Pressons!” Gendarmes yelled out trying to clear cars and pedestrians off the street. The French President was making his way to Versailles.
“Marcelle, you want me to believe in a prophetic date?” the dame complained as the noise quieted.
“It will be revealed soon.” The man’s eyes sparkled as he turned around and bumped into LaPlotte. “My friend, how are you?” he exclaimed. He knew Laplotte well.
“Not as good as you, Marcelle. I see you’re in the company of a lovely lady.”
“This is Madame Vichy.”
“How are you, Madame?”
The woman gazed at the tall LaPlotte. With his deep, haunting voice, he was enigmatic, she thought. She tried to connect to him but LaPlotte raised his arm and looked at his watch.
“I’m late, Marcelle. We’ll talk later. Same place.”
As he crossed Avenue de Suffren, Madame Vichy’s turned to Marcelle. “I see you know the Louvre curator. He’s a nice man and he’s single. Did you know that?”
“I’m sure he’s not looking for a wife, Madame. He comes here after work to sip Brandy. We haven’t spoken for some time. LaPlotte seems disturbed. I don’t know why. He’s a very quiet man. He sips his brandy and says little.”
“Look, Marcelle, look,” Madam Vichy pointed.
Marcelle turned. “What is it, Madame?”
“Someone is following LaPlotte. Look beyond the kiosk, you will see him.”
Chapter 55
“You’re okay?” Hart inquired once again. Cathy was doodling her food with her fork this time.
“Well, for starters, Tom, you seem quite obsessed with a science called Noetic Science.”
“It’s the science of nous or mind, of consciousness. It’s our future, a path to a full realization of human potential.”
“And, Olsen is predicting the unpredictable. For a scientist, how come you’re so comfortable with all this?”
“Humans receive radio waves from another dimension for one.”
“Really?”
“And, presentiment is a term applied when someone knows something’s about to happen and it does. It’s real. We can foretell the future, even if it’s in a small way.”
“I just can’t get a grasp of all this, I suppose.”
“Because you’ve never thought about it, have you? We have conditioned ourselves to act, be and succeed in a certain way. We’ve been trained to rely on ourselves instead of the supernatural. Isn’t that so? As for matter, no one understands how important it is.”
“Particles, you mean. All that funny stuff scientists study.”
Hart chuckled. “We’re not separated from creation. We depend on it. Don’t tag me as peculiar or idiosyncratic. I’ve really had enough of all that.”
The candles Hart lit flickered. The glow reflected in his eyes and made him surreal. He blinked. Cathy was starting to seem simple. He wondered if she would ever understand it was his life to fathom human existence. She would never be able to perceive just how trying the four years he’d spent alone were, wondering if he would ever see results, if he would ever be able to find a rightful place to rest his belief that matter was a path to supremacy. When he had heard the gospel words from Professor Leidman, he could’ve hardly breathed, hardly planted his feet on the ground. Matter gave birth to a passion that has no equal. For where the mind is, there lies the treasure. The ‘mind’ was the universal mind lying in a realm accessed through a mindless state. The design was set and all he needed were ten missing pages of the gospel to further explain it all. He decided to ignore her posturing.
“I’m not tagging you, Tom, but you believe God is mind and you’re so sure, that’s the problem. You’re so sure about all that you say!”
“Ok.”
“You really believe there’s life after death?”
“You’re afraid of your own destiny, Cathy.”
“Nobody knows what’s in store for us.”
“I do.”
“Come on Tom, you could never know.”
“Somewhere there’s life that’s better and forever. Life in this realm is tough. You know I think about the missing gospel pages everyday wondering what was said in them. Why would someone destroy them? Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes, why?”
“Probably because they were incredibly complex.”
“I suppose but I don’t think that’s the real reason.”
“Then, what?”
“Ar’you aware that all the ancient secrets have been destroyed. Every single one. Not one has survived.”
“That is strange, I suppose.”
“It’s because it’s unthinkable that God’s essence can be seen or that it’s possible for our mind to be replaced by the mind of God.”
“Well, you could be right. By the way, Tom, you’re not just a fanatic, but one hell of a cook. This food is great.”
“Glad you like it. I don’t often get a chance to offer my cooking.”
“Got no family?”
“I have a sister. My parents live in Maine.”
Cathy felt more than a tinge of ardour. Hart was everything she’d ever wanted in a man. She straightened up. Romantic notions of him were dumb, she reminded herself.
“Finished?” he asked.
“Yes, thanks.” She got up as Hart grabbed her plate. Checking the time on her watch, she realized two hours had gone by really fast. “Well, I guess you have lots to do, Tom.”
&n
bsp; “Actually, I don’t. I’ll go get some tea.”
She followed him to the kitchen that was modelled from a home-style magazine. Hart even had an enviable display of cookbooks lining his shelf and the most ornate set of cutlery she had ever seen.
“Let me do the washing up, Tom.”
“No, next time.”
Next time, she thought. Is he going to invite me back? Cathy grabbed a stool and did a quick scan of Hart’s body. It didn’t take long to figure out why he was so physically toned. Ten feet away, she could see the mini gym with all the latest paraphernalia of fitness gear. She quickly turned her thoughts back to the reason she was there and that was to capture the very essence of Tom Hart.
Chapter 56
An agent of the CDI, the Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence of France waited at the kiosk where Laplotte stood reading a newspaper.
The agency had many functions, chief among them was a surveillance of groups. The agency had waited long to grab LaPlotte’s fanatical Brotherhood. The group had been the suspect in the death of the French artist, Francis La Croix, five years ago but they couldn’t have gotten anywhere with the matter. There were no witnesses.
Since that time, the group had resurfaced and the CDI had gathered the names of its new members. G.W Foster was a name the agent was familiar with, as was, Marcelle Vireaux. Vireaux was a retired colonel of the army.
LaPlotte had gotten careless, the agent thought. He replied to an email that was incriminating. The agent’s eyes skipped across it as he read it in his hand. The e-mail had come from Foster.
Why kill Hart? He’ll never find the missing pages to which LaPlotte replied: The secrets are in other documents. I fear he will find them one day.
The agent placed the slip of paper away and looked at his watch. 12.20PM. LaPlotte was three kilometers from his workplace. It was too far for a man as busy as he was to come and have lunch or read a newspaper, he thought. What was LaPlotte doing in the city centre, he wondered again. Thinking further, the agent figured LaPlotte had come to talk with Marcelle Vireaux but the woman had put him off.
