Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  Chop breathed deeply and considered De Bono's words. After a lengthy pause he tersely answered, “I will walk the path of truth with you Secretary General."

  “Now we're finally getting somewhere,” De Bono observed wryly. “The problem you're having, President Chop, is that you personally ordered the execution of the bio weapons researchers after they tried to go public about the 3G flu, because they realized that they had created a virus that could literally wipe mankind from the face of the earth."

  “I was not aware that their research had achieved such results,” Chop protested.

  De Bono jabbed his finger at him. “You were aware, and I have proof. That's three. Game over."

  “Please, Secretary General,” Chop pleaded. “Yes I knew. After creating such a monster, I thought I had killed it and all those connected with its development. That is why we did not declare the virus when we ratified the UNE treaty. We thought it no longer existed."

  “But it didn't work out that way, President Chop. Did it?"

  By now, the man was humbled and trembling. “Please understand, Secretary General, I had no idea that a janitor at the bio weapons center which is located near the Three Gorges Dam had become infected and would carry the virus to the outside world. Unfortunately, the virus couldn't have had a better breeding ground than the crowded settlements near the dam reservoir."

  De Bono allowed his face to soften with a more compassionate demeanor. “Now that we're talking like honest men, President Chop, we can likewise help each other as honest men. Now as I see it, a major problem for the PLA is the food shortages. After all, a starving army is a difficult army to control, and when you boil all the issues away, this is the crux of the problem."

  “You understand the situation very well,” Chop replied gratefully. “In anticipation of the coming problems to be caused by Nibiru, the Americans have stopped exporting grain, which has put a great hardship on our country due to the devastating floods and droughts that have decimated our crops this year. If there is anything you could do to help us in this regard, we would be most grateful."

  “As a matter of fact, there is something we can do to help you. We've already conferred with the leadership of the PLA and the American government. The Americans would rather give your PLA four ships full of grain than have to face the prospect of coming to Taiwan's defense. While the PLA wants more grain than that, the American offer was final, and they accepted it without reservation. I was most pleased to see a practical accommodation from both sides."

  Chop was stunned by the arrogance of De Bono's revelation that the UNE had already gone around him to negotiate a deal. Like a mouse unaware that he had been cornered by a crafty feline, Chop realized that he had only been deluding himself. The Secretary General could take him any time he pleased, and Chop knew it.

  “Then I presume that everything has been arranged. Therefore, this brings us towards the end of our conversation."

  “Not so quickly, President Chop,” De Bono shot back. “We also happen to know that you destroyed the original virus, which was an incredibly stupid thing to do given that it has now mutated. Further, you are still in possession of fifty thousand doses of the vaccine, which, according to the PLA, is only about seventy percent effective now that the virus has mutated. In exchange for allowing you to remain in office, you will deliver to me half of all the vaccines you now possess."

  Chop's jaw simply dropped. “Excuse me, Secretary General, but if we dilute the vaccine as we plan that would mean a shortage for our own government workers as the PLA is already in possession of their share of the vaccine."

  “That is your problem President Chop. You work it out with your people. After all, you're the blundering fool who let this genie out of the bottle. I'll be sending former United States Senator Johnston in my private scramjet to Beijing tomorrow to pickup the vaccines. You, in turn, will give sailing orders for four of your Panamax-size grain ships to make way immediately for the Penney Newman Grain Elevator at the Port of Stockton, California. The crews are not to leave the ships, and after the Americans load them to capacity, they must sail with the next high tide. Keep in mind; the American people have not forgotten that a Chinese owned company was responsible for wrecking the Panama Canal."

  “In all fairness, Secretary General, the vaccines are my only guarantee now that you have taken it upon yourself to exclude me from the negotiations. Therefore, it would be more appropriate to us to deliver your share of the vaccines after the PLA has received its grain shipments. After all, the PLA is not going to be as easy to do business with in the absence of a more peace-minded political leadership, should events take a turn for the worse."

  “So you're offering to keep the PLA from become a problem in exchange for this one condition and ending this treaty abrogation nonsense once and for all?"

  Sensing that he finally had regained some semblance of power, albeit a minor one at that in the relationship, Chop tried to display his most sincere smile. “You are absolutely correct, Secretary General. I admit your advantage over me, but likewise is it not wise to ensure the success of future relations with a simple gesture of trust?"

  De Bono studied the worried man's face pensively. On one hand, the request was not entirely unreasonable. On the other, Yvette's words were still burning in his ears, “give Chop a millimeter and he'll take the whole planet."

  He smiled and calmly said, “I'm sorry, President Chop, but I cannot afford to trust you this far. Not now. The deal stands as offered. You give me half the vaccines tomorrow, and we will insure that your grain ships are filled to capacity when they arrive in Stockton. That is the bargain on the table."

  “But perhaps it is an unwise bargain, Secretary General,” Chop replied seeking an opportunity to bargain.

  De Bono's face stiffened with resolve. “I'm going to count down from ten. After that, you and I have nothing to bargain for, or to say to one another.” He began the count down, “Ten, nine, eight..."

  “Secretary General, this is rude and most unwise,” Chop interrupted.

  “Seven, six, five..."

  “You owe it to me to discuss this further; after all it was I who brought China into the UNE. You at least owe me that much."

  “Four, three, two..."

  Chop finally collapsed. “I accept Secretary General. We will have your vaccines ready for pickup anytime tomorrow at the Beijing airport. Please let us know when to expect Senator Johnston."

  “You can expect a call later this afternoon from Phillip Boretti, my Chief of Staff with the details. As always, Mr. President, it is has been a pleasure meeting with you."

  Chop could only nod in agreement. “Good day, Secretary General,” he said limply as he broke the connection.

  De Bono opened the door allowing a cavalcade of room light to flood through and laughed to himself as he peeled off his VR gloves. “Yvette was right!"

  Boretti overheard his gleeful remark, and it drove through him like a nail. The “little slut” as he referred to her in private had trumped him again. Well, there was always another day, so he straightened his back. “Sir, former Senator Johnston is waiting for you in your office."

  De Bono tossed him the gloves. “Thanks Phillip. You'll need to make travel arrangements for the Senator. I'll fill you both in on the details in my office.

  Boretti followed De Bono dutifully to his office where they found Johnston waiting patiently for them. “I have good news, Merl,” he announced. “You're going to China tomorrow.” The sudden announcement was welcome news to Johnston, who had become book weary by now.

  De Bono discussed the details of his meeting with President Chop with them along with his preferences for the actual execution of the agreement. Following that, he dismissed Boretti for a final word with Johnston.

  After Boretti left the room, he said with a beaming smile. “I have some interesting information for you about Roxanne LeBlanc and her son. It seems that LeBlanc had been a highly successful intelligence operative for the America
n National Reconnaissance Office and resigned without advising her superiors that she was pregnant by Jarman. Had she informed them, they would have no doubt forced her to have an abortion."

  Johnston slapped the arm of his chair. “Damn, who could have seen that one coming? NRO you say?"

  “Yes, and there is one even more interesting fact. We have the boy Russell in custody and after running an exhaustive DNA profile on a blood sample taken from him, we learned something more remarkable."

  “And you found?"

  “He has the mystery gene. Have you read learned all about that yet?"

  Johnston shrugged, “Not entirely."

  “Well I know you've already been instructed on the Kabala so let's begin there. Aside from all the metaphysical mumbo jumbo, the Kabala is based on the universal knowledge, which was taught by the ancient Egyptian Mystery Schools and used to construct the great pyramids. This knowledge is so mind-expanding that the realization of a significant portion it will drive you mad, or leave your sanity intact by changing your very own genetic code. It is one of the lesser-known reasons why the Pharaohs practiced incest. They wanted to prevent the proliferation of the gene. Then, along comes this fellow by the name of Moses and everything changed. Moses was taught in the Mystery Schools and managed to keep his sanity by changing himself genetically. The important thing to remember, Merl, is that Moses passed the mystery gene along to the Jews through his own children. He also imbued others with the mystery gene near the end of his journey when he taught what he'd learned in the mystery schools to the children born out of slavery during their wandering years in the desert. Moses selected his students very carefully, and under his careful tutelage, most of them survived the awareness and lived to pass their own mystery genes onto their heirs as well."

  “So this is why the Jewish people have always had more than their fair share of radical thinkers like Einstein, Marx and Freud,” Johnston noted.

  “And let's not forget Jesus either, while we're at it” De Bono added. “You see, the mystery gene has a habit of skipping several generations at a time, so when it does manifest itself, someone either writes something brilliant or wastes away in an obscure asylum somewhere, which is what happens in nine out of ten cases. For this reason, Jarman's son is doubly valuable to us now."

  “But I thought you wanted to use the boy as political leverage to keep Jarman from causing us any further problems with his efforts to withdraw America from the treaty?"

  “Yes, there is that, but perhaps the boy can be of even greater value to us, as only a handful of people alive today possess the mystery gene. As for Anthony Jarman, I've arranged for him to step down from politics in such a way that he'll never be able to return. I doubt that his sanity will survive the harsh duties awaiting him in New York. I understand the suffering from the 2010 Al Qaeda-Hamas attack on the United Nations headquarters in New York is far worse than we had anticipated. The assisted suicide requests are flooding in now."

  “I have no sympathy for Jarman, but what do you plan to do with his boy?” Johnston asked.

  De Bono waved his finger in the air. “With things like this, it is always best to keep your distance for as long as you can. When and if I feel you need to know something more, I'll tell you. In the meantime, I'm very certain that you will enjoy your trip to China tomorrow."

  “It is just a milk run. What's to enjoy?"

  * * *

  Always an Officer

  THOSE WHO DIED immediately in the 2010 Al Qaeda-Hamas attack on the United Nations headquarters in New York were the fortunate victims. For the rest, the extremely crude and hence “dirty” nuclear weapon left tens of thousands of victims in its wake, destined to die from radiation and burns in the short term, or a host of cancers and other terminal health problems in the long term. One such victim was Henry Wheelwright, a military studies professor from the Monterey Institute of International Studies in Monterey, California. He happened to be in the basement auditorium of a New York government office building attending a seminar at the time of the blast, which occurred some three miles away.

  Aside from falling ceiling tiles in the auditorium, those in the basement of the building had fared much better than those in the offices above and those on the street did. Those unfortunate enough to be on the street suffered massive wounds from flying debris and glass along with the other serious injuries such as severe burns, burst eardrums from blast overpressure, as well permanent retinal burns and temporary flashblindness.

  While some fled the area as quickly as possible in mortal fear, Henry chose to remain with the brave and dedicated New York City emergency personnel, who disregarded their own personal safety to help evacuate the wounded to hospitals in safe areas.

  During his six-year enlistment in the Navy as a Nuclear Propulsion Officer on an Ohio Class Submarine, Henry had come to learn the lasting dangers of radiation exposure, and it was his own unequivocal decision to remain that drew a firm line across his future. Because of his heroic efforts, he, along with the other rescuers, was exposed to sub-lethal doses of radiation.

  Henry had not received enough rads to kill him outright. Rather, it would kill him slowly through testicular cancer, which first evidenced itself late the following year.

  Before being exposed to radiation in the 2010 attack, Henry was a robust man who enjoyed exploring the coastline of Northern California on his lightweight, custom-made mountain bike. At five feet, ten inches, Henry had a barrel chest and thick, muscular thighs and calves in the Greco-Roman wrestler style. Unusually bushy eyebrows and a prematurely receding hairline (which he liked to conceal with a colorful variety of seasonal hats), trimmed his dark eyes.

  With his cancer well advanced, Henry's muscular build had withered away in a devastating weight loss along with what remained of his hair and eyebrows. A shadow of his former physical self, he still retained the natural stature of a proud naval officer even as he sat propped up in his usual bed at the outpatient chemotherapy clinic at the Dominican Santa Cruz Hospital, where his wife Tanya Wheelwright worked as a senior hospital administrator.

  Ramona Baker, a Physician Assistant in the Cancer Resource Center stopped by to check on his progress and to make sure he was receiving his IV medication for nausea as well. A large-breasted and pleasingly plump bleach blond, Ramona had a warm and infectious smile of a down home girl who knew her way around, “How you doing today Henry,” she said as she glanced at the webpad on his lap. “Still working on your weird planet theories?"

  “Yeah, weird, my ass, Ramona. I've been tracking planetary weather patterns going back twenty years and I think this Nibiru flyby is going to be a lot worse than NASA is willing to let on."

  “Well, you know what they keep saying. Things won't get much worse since Nibiru will pass through our system no closer than a hundred thousand miles past the orbit of Mars. Sounds like a miss to me."

  “You know, I hear the same thing from my wife. She's buying the NASA spin hook line and sinker, but check this out.” Henry's fingers flew across the webpad. A flash file showed all of the planets of the system in a line, with the date, January 2000 displayed below the planets in bold white letters. “Now watch this,” he said as he pressed the play icon.

  Ramona and the chemotherapy patient in the next bed watched the surface features of some of the planets change as the years progressed towards 2012. Some planets were strongly affected, such as Mars and Jupiter, but all seemed to show increasing levels of changes in their weather patterns. However, what was most striking was the Sun, itself. The coronal mass ejections that scientists now faulted for the mysterious daytime wind shear problem that was bankrupting the airlines seemed to burst with striking rapidity. The violence really stood out because of the animation.

  After the animation stopped playing, Henry looked up at Ramona. “I think NASA and the government are feeding us a crock of shit. Last week, Nibiru became visible to the naked eye. I know, I got up at four in the morning and found it in Taurus sure as shooting. At nearly
five times the size of Earth, this thing is a real monster. Heck, the largest of its three moons is almost the size of Mars, and I could see it too! With that much mass floating through the solar system, I'm worried that something could happen when Nibiru is finally in opposition."

  “Opposition is when it gets real close to us, right?” Ramona asked, concerned by what she'd seen in the animation. It had gotten her to thinking about whether it might not be a good idea to find a nice medical contract someplace a bit more removed from sea level.

  “Well, opposition is when Nibiru will be nearest the Earth to be more exact. But you've got the general idea.” His animation had drawn the interest of waiting patients and family members in the room and they crowded his bed, asking him to replay his animation and to explain his theories in more detail.

  Delighted by the attention, Henry did not notice Ramona as she glided away towards the nursing station, where she would call his wife to tell her that he would be ready to go home in a few more minutes.

  * * * *

  BY THE AGE of thirty-three, Tanya Wheelwright's career as a hospital administrator had quickly skyrocketed due to her instinctive abilities to manage people and numbers with interchangeable ease. She had met Henry in 2001 while finishing her Masters degree in social systems at the Moscow State University. Henry had just finished six years as a submariner, which he often said felt more like eighteen years, and become a junior professor at the Monterey Institute of International Studies in Monterey, California. He was visiting Moscow as part of a cultural exchange program group and Tanya was one of the tour guides assigned to his group because of her superb English language skills.

  They first become involved after he became separated from the group during a city excursion. Tanya had combed the Moscow subway system searching for him and, once she found him, the rest, as he liked to say, “was history."