The Genesis Conspiracy

by Richard Hatcher

  THE

  Genesis

  CONSPIRACY

  RICHARD HATCHER

  Mobile, Alabama

  The Genesis Conspiracy

  by Richard Hatcher

  Copyright ©2012 Richard Hatcher

  All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. This book may not be copied or reprinted for commercial gain or profit.

  ISBN 978-1-58169-450-5 (ebook)

  For Worldwide Distribution

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Evergreen Press

  P.O. Box 191540 • Mobile, AL 36619

  800-367-8203

  “My friend, Richard Hatcher, has written a powerful thriller that will keep you turning every page with anticipation! It is a powerful encouragement for any believer struggling with a secular worldview.”

  —Phil Waldrep, Phil Waldrep Ministries

  “Highly recommended! A fast-paced adventure with an important message about creation versus evolution.”

  —Otis Kline, President, Foundation Advancing Creation Truth and Glendive Dinosaur & Fossil Museum

  “Hatcher has provided intrigue and adventure for the high tech reader with an awareness of the providence of God.”

  —Dr. Jimmy E. Jackson, Sr. Pastor, Whitesburg Baptist Church

  To my loving wife, Tracey,

  who has always believed

  in my dreams.

  And God said, “Let the land produce living creatures

  according to their kinds: the livestock,

  the creatures that move along the ground,

  and the wild animals, each according to its kind.”

  And it was so.

  Genesis 1:24

  PROLOGUE

  1964 World’s Fair

  Queens, New York

  The cooler air, which followed the afternoon rain shower, brought some much needed relief to the street vendors and fairgoers who had dealt with record temperatures throughout most of the week. Against the pastel sunset, the few remaining clouds from the storm glowed with a brief intensity before finally giving way to the darkening sky. Throughout the park, streetlights buzzed to life, and the brightly illuminated pavilions surrounding the fair’s largest fountain were instantly transformed from their sedate daytime appearance.

  An athletically built man sporting a fresh crew cut and thin black necktie stood with his back against the metal railing surrounding the fountain. Peter Jensen scrutinized the faces of the two people who exited the General Electric Pavilion across the broad sidewalk in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he studied the pair, but he recognized neither of them. He glanced down at his watch momentarily before turning his attention to the pavilion’s only exit doors. With the exception of the young couple who turned and walked toward the International Plaza, nearly four minutes had passed since anyone had come out of the building. He knew that was about to change since he had discovered during his long wait that the rotating attraction housed within the pavilion filled and unloaded about forty fairgoers every four and a half minutes.

  Like clockwork, the exit doors swung open thirty seconds later, and the next group emerged from the building and integrated back into the bustling crowd surrounding the fountain. As he half expected, his point of contact was not among them. Alexi had stood him up again, but why?

  In frustration, Pete snatched his hat from the park bench beside him and turned toward the parking lot when the exit doors unexpectedly cracked open and a man slipped quietly outside. From his silhouette, Pete could tell that the man was wearing a long trench coat and wide-brimmed fedora pulled low over his brow. To the casual observer, his dated clothing, which gave him a dime store detective appearance, might have seemed comical. But Pete had spent enough time in Russia to recognize the style. The man wasn’t Alexi but he was certain that the two men shared a common nationality.

  Casually, the man crossed the sidewalk and approached Pete.

  “Lovely evening,” Pete offered as the man stopped at the rail beside him and peered into the fountain. He observed that his new companion carried something tucked beneath his left arm which looked like a roll of paper.

  “You are?” the man asked, still not making eye contact.

  “Jensen,” Pete answered flatly as he turned toward the stranger. The Russian’s profile revealed a young man with a keen nose and gaunt face. “And you’re not the one I expected.” The man continued to stare ahead.

  “My name is Oleg. Alexi is my friend, or rather, he was my friend.”

  Pete furrowed his brow at the implication. “Alexi…?”

  “Alexi is dead. He was murdered. That’s why he failed to meet you earlier. He instructed me to give this to you.” Oleg handed Pete the roll of paper that he carried beneath his arm. As Pete accepted it, he realized that it was actually a magazine. “There’s a note written on the cover. I have no idea what it means, but Alexi wanted me to deliver it to you in person. I was with him when he died. He said that you would understand the message.”

  Pete was clearly shaken by the news but managed to contain his emotions. In a concerned voice he asked, “How did it happen?”

  “He had gotten the information that you needed and was preparing to meet you, but someone stabbed him just outside the park. When I reached him, he was nearly dead. He gave me your hotel address and asked me to bring that magazine to you. I tried to keep the original meeting time that you had arranged with Alexi, but I suspected that someone was following me as well. That’s why I sent you the telegram. I decided to come a few hours later than the time I put on the telegram, hoping that it would throw off anyone who might read it. I apologize for being late.”

  “Not a problem,” Pete nodded contemplatively. There was something about the man that he didn’t trust. Although Oleg seemed shaken and even fearful, Pete perceived an underlying arrogance that didn’t mesh with his timid persona.

  Pete unrolled the magazine and read the name and date: LIFE, May 1, 1964. The cover photograph showed a night scene featuring the Unisphere, the 140 foot stainless steel globe of the earth that was designed as the iconic symbol of the fair. In the lower right hand corner, written atop the pale green lights of a fountain, was a note presumably from Alexi. Pete read it, then stopped to consider its cryptic message.

  “Do you have any idea what this means?” he asked.

  Oleg shook his head. “I’ve told you everything that Alexi instructed.”

  Pete looked down at the note and mumbled some of the words under his breath. He studied the photo of the Unisphere, tracing his finger along the rings that encircled the globe. The continent of Africa was centered on the page. He had read in a brochure that the three rings represented the orbital paths of the first satellite and the first two men in space: the Russian, Yuri Gagarin, and Alan Shepard, the first American astronaut.

  “Where the orbits meet, Livingston went home,” he read from the note. The answer suddenly came to him. Without tipping his hand to Oleg, he allowed his finger to pass over the intersection of the two rings that met over the southern tip of Africa. At the point of the intersection was a small pinhole, something he expected. It was a method of communication he’d learned from his Russian counterparts.

  “There’s nothing obvious here, Oleg,” Pete spoke with false sincerity. “Are you certain there was no more information?” The young man shook his head in reply.

  “I’ll have to study this a bit,” he said, reaching out to shake the Russian’s hand. “Thanks for bringing it to me, and I’m deeply sorry about Alexi. He was a good man and a good friend. He will be missed.”

  Oleg narrowed his gaze for a brief moment. It was a distrustful, almost angry look. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” th
e young man said as he turned to go.

  Pete nodded. “Thanks again, Oleg.”

  When Pete was certain that Oleg was nowhere in sight, he darted into a small café and settled into a booth in the far corner. After ordering a cup of coffee and a club sandwich, he placed the Life magazine on the table. The pinhole that he’d felt in the cover was now clearly visible under the café lights. From his inspection of the first few pages, he discovered that the direction of the creasing around the hole showed that the pin had been pushed through from the inside out. The first page to carry the perforation was page 48, which featured an appliance ad for General Electric, the sponsor of the pavilion where he was to meet Alexi. On the opposite page was a photo of two shaggy dogs. He studied the photo for a moment and suddenly caught sight of pencil marks that reflected the overhead light. Pulling it closer, he could read the words of a faint handwritten note across one of the dog’s white fur. “Your best Christmas present. Alexi.”

  Pete sat back for a moment to consider the words but found no obvious explanation. “Christmas present?” he muttered.

  He looked again at the magazine’s cover. The purpose of the cryptic note about Livingston was clear. It served only to show him the location of the pinhole. Livingston referred to David Livingston, the African explorer and missionary who had died there. The orbits intersected above that spot. That left the GE ad and the dogs as the next set of clues to the whereabouts of his missing information. A cursory look through the magazine revealed nothing else. The answer had to be on pages 48 and 49. With no other leads to follow, he knew he would have to investigate the GE pavilion.

  After quickly finishing his sandwich and coffee, Pete hurried back to the pavilion. As he had noted earlier from the illuminated sign outside, the theme of the exhibit was Progressland. He had read that the attraction inside, called the Carousel of Progress, was designed by Walt Disney.

  With the park closing in less than an hour, Pete got into the line for the exhibit and followed the crowd into the auditorium. After an introductory musical number and welcoming announcement, the auditorium rotated, bringing the audience to an early 20th century kitchen scene with a robotic host that resembled a real person. Pete had overheard from others in line that the robotic man was a creation of Disney called an Audio-Animatronic. After the robot went through its narration and gave a plug for General Electric products, the seats rotated once more and placed the audience in front of a similar kitchen scene, twenty years later. Like the first scene, there was a dog lying on the kitchen floor.

  When the ride moved to the final scene, there was a Christmas tree standing in the living room of a futuristic home decorated for the holidays. In the scene, the husband and wife sat together on the couch with their dog beside them.

  “Christmas present,” the words formed silently on Pete’s lips as he thought about Alexi’s note. Oblivious to the narration coming from the stage, his thoughts were drawn back to an earlier conversation with Alexi. The sight of the Christmas tree had brought the memory back. They had once discussed their childhoods and how similar they were. Pete had relayed a story to Alexi about the best Christmas gift he had ever received—a puppy.

  Pete’s attention was suddenly drawn to the dog. That had to be it. It must be why Alexi had chosen this pavilion. If he could examine that robotic dog, Pete guessed he would find his missing information.

  When he exited the ride, Pete realized that the park was closing for the night. As fairgoers made their way toward the exits, he began looking for a place to hide until everyone was gone. The location had to be close enough to the GE pavilion for him to reenter the building without being spotted by the security guards who would certainly be patrolling the area. Two buildings down from GE, he discovered the perfect spot—a pen store, which had a low hanging, two-level roofline that was climbable from the ground. The second floor also had a small external nook darkened by the overhanging roof.

  An hour and a half later, Pete observed from his hiding place that the only people who remained within the fairgrounds were guards who mostly patrolled the easily scaled sections of the perimeter fence. Occasionally two of them would congregate beside the rail surrounding fountains in front of the GE pavilion, smoke a cigarette, and talk for a few minutes. They would then head off in opposite directions around the manmade lake. It would be about twenty minutes before they returned, that is if the pattern held.

  After Pete watched this interchange for the third time, he knew it was time to act. Climbing down from his perch, he ran back to the pavilion and quietly hurried up the disabled escalator to the second floor, hopeful that the entrance had not been locked. He wasn’t disappointed. Inside, he found that he was in the same room where he and about 40 other guests had first taken a seat for the show. Tall blue curtains in front of him obscured the stage, but after lifting a section of the fabric, he realized that if he turned in the opposite direction of the ride, he would be in the final scene.

  Once he had moved around the partition, Pete could make out the shadowy outlines of what he’d seen earlier. He reached into his pocket and removed a cheap flashlight that he’d purchased from a street vendor. As he clicked on the light, he caught sight of the animatronic figures of the husband and wife who sat on their couch, staring out at an empty auditorium. Their lifelike faces looked eerie in the flashlight’s beam.

  On the floor in front of them, he noticed their robotic dog resting with his front legs extended. He knelt beside the animal and began examining it with the flashlight. The information he needed from Alexi could easily have been written on a small scrap of paper. He first checked the dog’s mouth but found nothing. There was also nothing beneath the paws and body. After locating a seam in the faux fur, he slowly began removing the covering. Beneath it was a clear plastic shroud protecting the electronics and giving the animal its shape. There was a pneumatic piston in the dog’s neck that he guessed controlled its movements. Below the piston was an aluminum cage constructed of flat bar stock that served as the animal’s ribcage. The one thing he didn’t find was a piece of paper.

  Convinced that he’d missed some clue, he began replacing the covering when he suddenly noticed a screw that was not resting flush along the lower section of the ribcage. He trained his light on the section and peered through the plastic shroud. After backing the screw the rest of the way out with his fingers, he discovered that the covering moved away easily, revealing the shiny aluminum surface of the bar stock beneath. There appeared to be numbers and letters written in pencil on the metal. As he looked closer he saw two sets of them:

  44 08 19 N 103 43 40 E GT1

  29 05 00 N 83 55 00 E DP

  “You did it, Alexi,” he muttered, pulling out a pencil and notepad from his jacket pocket. They were the navigational coordinates he was looking for!

  Outside the pavilion once more, Pete’s exhaustion began to take over. He had slept very little over the last few days. Even then, rest had come only through occasional catnaps while he was keeping watch by the phone. He shook the cobwebs from his head and walked cautiously toward the Meadow Lake entrance where he’d parked his car, staying in the shadows. Although the government would clear up any issues with the local police if he were caught, he really didn’t want to deal with the headaches. No one would initially believe his story about being a federal agent. He certainly wasn’t carrying any I.D. that would exonerate him. Half of his reason for acquiring the information from Alexi was related to his assignment; the other half decidedly was not. There were two sets of coordinates—one he would report when he got back to D.C. the next day, but the second set? He really wasn’t sure how he’d get to that location without his superiors knowing.

  As he approached the Meadow Lake Bridge, his attention was suddenly drawn toward a small grove of trees on the left. He couldn’t be certain, but he felt that someone had darted into the trees. Guessing it to be a security guard, Pete quickly changed course and headed east toward the transportation exhibits in the western part of the f
airgrounds. From the corner of his eye, he saw that the person had retaken the sidewalk and was walking briskly on an intercept course.

  Pete picked up his pace, glancing back occasionally to view the man. He turned the corner past a long row of exhibits and was almost to the crosswalk when a shot rang out.

  “What the devil!” he blurted as he opened into a full sprint. Security guards didn’t just shoot you for noncriminal trespassing, unless… Pete had failed to consider that the ones who’d killed Alexi might still be out there.

  A second shot cracked behind him as he rushed across the bridge and entered the transportation section of the fairgrounds. He was getting winded but didn’t slow his pace. After cutting across a series of parallel walkways, he took a sharp right, moving quickly toward a row of space rockets from a NASA exhibit. His plan was simple—instead of avoiding the security guards, he hoped to draw as many of them out as possible. He’d learned through his reconnaissance the night before that a small building north of the Ford pavilion was a heavily occupied guard station. He could find help there if only he could reach it in time.

  Zing! A bullet ricocheted off the sidewalk beside Pete’s left shoe and threw small shards of concrete against his pants leg. It was clear that the bullet had come from a different direction than his first pursuer, so there were at least two gunmen.

  Cutting hard right again into the back parking lot of the Ford automobile exhibit, Pete suddenly realized that he’d hit a dead end. It was too late to change course so his mind raced to find a solution. The only cover in sight was a car hauling rig parked near the main building. He darted up the trailer’s loading ramp and quickly opened the door of a red sports car on the bottom level. Thankfully, the keys were still in it. He peered through the side window and saw that one of the men had entered the parking lot. He was tall, wearing a dark suit and narrow brimmed hat. A moment later, a smaller man joined him. Pete could see neither of their faces, but the second man walked with a gait that seemed familiar.