The Light of Our Yesterdays

by Ken Hansen

  What if the message was a book cipher? In those, the message contains location references within a piece of writing, such as a book. These location references specify either words or letters within the book. The trick to deciphering was to find the right book. Without more, it would be difficult for anyone to decipher, though the computers with vast libraries of books stored in them might be able to do it with time. But he had more.

  The writer of this cipher had wanted Huxley to figure out the messages himself—that much had been obvious for some time. He had only to find the “book” the writer must have “told” Huxley to use as his key. The Apostle of Democracy. That was it. There were four inscriptions from the Jefferson Memorial on his phone picture gallery: four inscriptions = four book keys.

  He reread the inscriptions, looked at the symbols and smiled. The second symbol was not the letter “t” in hand printing but a simple cross, which matched the inscription containing quotes from Jefferson about the role of religion. Then there were the three links in a chain, which must represent Jefferson’s admonition against slavery. He stared at the triangle symbol. Three parts, three angles, one whole. He looked at the two remaining inscriptions. Nothing clicked. Let’s see, what does a triangle represent? Of course, delta—the Greek symbol for change. It had been used by mathematicians and scientists for eons. So that matched the Jeffersonian quote about the need to continually renew the nation’s institutions “to keep pace with the times.” The happy face must default to the excerpt from the preamble of the Declaration of Independence. Perfect—Jefferson had included among our inalienable rights “the pursuit of happiness.”

  With these keys in hand, the message proved easy to decipher. The symbol for each line of the cipher pointed to the key, or Jeffersonian inscription, to be used for that line. Each three-number unit acted as a three-dimensional letter locator—not three dimensions in space, but three dimensions in a writing: line of the key, word in that line, and finally the letter to be used in the message. So he converted the first line of the cipher from the inscription pulled from the Declaration of Independence as follows:

  The first unit, 1-1-1, designated the first line and its first word (“We”), and, thus, the first letter in that word: “W.” So the first letter in the deciphered message would be “W.” The next unit, 2-1-3, designated the second line, first word (“Evident”), and the third letter in that word: “ i.” So the deciphered message now read, “Wi.”

  Huxley continued through the first line and soon realized that the cipher used punctuation in the inscription key as if it were a word in the key. So 3-2-1 converted to a comma because the second “word” in the third line of the inscription was a comma. Since the next line of the cipher started with a cross, he switched to the Jeffersonian inscription on religion to decipher that line. It produced “my” with no punctuation, so by now he had determined that the message began: “Within, my.” It sounded promising. A few minutes later, Huxley had deciphered two full sentences:

  Within, my principles do comfort me.

  Forget them not or you shall miss my plea.

  He read the two together. They employed the same now familiar rhythm: iambic pentameter. Another poem. Good grief. When he completed the cipher and added the demarcation point half way through, the poem read:

  Within, my principles do comfort me.

  Forget them not or you shall miss my plea.

  Beyond my fortress on my left you see

  What shall befall the many unlike he,

  A priest who never lived before just me.

  On truth lies yet obscured thy fathers’ end.

  To myths our hearts do reach and then depend.

  We seek our consolation with a friend.

  Remember now the Maine and then ascend.

  To know his fate you must to hell descend.

  With this accomplishment, Huxley’s heart did not leap with excitement; to the contrary, his throat closed up, and he wanted to chuck his pad of paper down the aisle, for once again his path to understanding seemed blocked by another thicket of delusions.

  Much of his frustration had arisen from the second stanza. Pardus had found yet another way to personalize the pain. And yet again, it hurt just a little too much. Damn him all to hell. Damn Pardus? Certainly. Damn his own father? Why not? The bastard deserved it as well, didn’t he? Anyway, the poem obviously expected, no exhorted, Huxley to follow his father’s lead to the depths of hell. But he planned to send Pardus there first…

  …As another vision subsided, Tomadus tried to shake off this latest revelation, the four symbols still dancing in his head along with the words “you must to hell descend.” Even he, still clinging to his disbelief, shivered at the thought of descending ad infernum. He closed his eyes hard, pushing the images to the back of his mind so he could cope with the present. What could he do about strange clues from another world anyway? It was like watching a vid-drama and trying to figure out the ending—fun but not much use in his current reality.

  Putting those thoughts aside, his heart soared again and nearly lifted his feet above the stone path. Tomadus had spent the afternoon with Peregrine and many of the Ten, discussing a litany of permutations on various theories trying to explain the bizarre feelings and visions he and Peregrine shared. The open discussion with his brethren had made him feel truly welcome among the community for the first time. However, Simeon’s warnings about potential plots against Isa gnawed through his immediate bliss, and so he set off toward one of the several communication pods in the city, which was less than a mille passus down the path beside the Parisius Gardens on the Sequana River.

  As he approached a portion of the path separated from the gardens by ornamental bushes, he heard Jochi’s gentle voice. He slowed his pace until he noticed a small opening in the bushes where he could see Jochi sitting next to Adin on a garden bench. Adin was shaking his head rapidly from side to side as he held it in his hands, his giant body trembling.

  Jochi lightly stroked Adin’s massive arms and shoulders and said soothingly, “It’s ok Adin. Everything will be all right. You must not worry yourself so.”

  “Someone is going to kidnap Isa!” blurted Adin between his tears. “They might kill him! I will be alone again. Why? Why would they kill someone who is so good? Simeon said it!”

  Jochi caressed Adin’s hands in her lap. “You do not know this will happen. It is all rumors and speculation and fear. Simeon fears what might happen because they know Isa is good and speaks the truth to everyone. Some people cannot accept this. They see only a man who wants to change their world.”

  “But he does want to change it!” shouted Adin. “He wants us all to be better. He wants us all to love God and love everyone else—even our enemies. What is wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, Adin, nothing. But it is a new way of thinking for many. People fear what they do not understand.”

  “Do they?”

  Jochi tilted her head and pursed her lips for a moment. “Well look, do you remember when we were in New Jutland and you saw the dragon’s head on the ship there? You were frightened, were you not?”

  “It was a monster! I ran away.”

  “Then I showed you it was only made of wood and iron and was very old and you understood.”

  “Yes, it was just part of the ship—it wasn’t real.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Well, it is like that for some people, but in reverse. They do not understand Isa as you do. They do not want to believe what is real. Because he says things that do not match their own views of the world, they fear him, and they fear the power of his words.”

  “Why would they fear his words?”

  “Not the words themselves but what those words could mean. You see how many people are excited when they hear Isa speak?”

  “Of course. He says nice things that make us feel good.”

  “To some, yes. To others in power, those words sound like a threat. If all of Isa’s followers begin acting as Isa asks, they might seem like a
new army to them.”

  Adin shook his head several times. “But Isa hates violence. He don’t want no army.”

  “No, not that kind of army, Adin. Sometimes governments fall not from swords but from ideas, though it seems even then that swords and bloodshed soon follow.”

  “Then Isa should stop saying these things that make those people afraid.”

  “Should he? What is worse: to challenge injustice and tyranny and die in the attempt or to shrink from the shadows cast by these two demons and leave the world in darkness? No, Adin, Isa must continue to speak, for to stand mute would allow mere shadows to hide the light of truth.”

  Adin’s brow furrowed. “Shadows? Demons? I don’t understand.”

  “Sorry, Adin. Isa must keep fighting for what is right, for truth, even if the bad guys threaten him.” When Adin nodded, Jochi turned her head toward the path.

  Tomadus froze. She must have seen him. Yet when he looked into her eyes, he saw something he never quite understood. It was empathy for Adin, no doubt, but it felt like something more.

  She sat there looking at Tomadus for a few seconds and then looked back down at Adin. “My advice to you, Adin, is to let loose your worries and trust again in Isa, for he so loves you that he will never abandon you. Look into your beautiful heart, for it knows this better than your brain will ever admit.”

  A sharp tingle shot down Tomadus’s spine as he heard these words, and his eyes darted between Jochi and Adin. He had heard something like them before, and the look on her face had been identical to the one in his dreams. He walked toward the clearing and around to the garden where she and Adin sat.

  Adin looked up, and a smile filled his face. “Tomadus! I was just talking to Jochi about the bad men who want to hurt Isa. Don’t worry—Isa will take care of everything!”

  Tomadus drew his lips together. If only it were that simple, as simple as Adin’s faith and love. “Adin, you are right to put much faith in Isa. I shall not worry, nor should you. And know you have friends around you who will never abandon you—never.” He gave Adin a big hug, his hands barely reaching around the giant’s shoulders.

  As they parted, Adin continued smiling innocently, cocked his head and said, “Thank you, Tomadus. I love you, too. I think I will go try to find Isa now.” He patted Tomadus on the shoulder as he walked past him on the path back toward the quay.

  “You have a way with him, Tomadus,” Jochi said.

  “I was about to say the same thing of you.”

  “You overheard our conversation?”

  “Much of it,” Tomadus said. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help myself. Adin was quite upset but seems better now. Simeon and I spoke recklessly in front of Adin. I had not considered the effect upon him.”

  Her smile turning down, Jochi began to nod. “Sometimes we all forget the effects our actions have on others.” She looked down at the ground for a few seconds and then up at Tomadus again. Sadness seemed to have settled upon her. “I am sorry I did not contact you when I was in Tetepe, Tomadus. Things were just, I don’t know, so magical, so spontaneous. It was as if I were in a trance—I never thought of anything but Isa and our mission.”

  Tomadus cocked his head. “Did you see the Light?”

  “The light?”

  “Tell me, has Isa touched you in any way?” Tomadus asked.

  Jochi scowled at him. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m sorry, but our visions—Peregrine’s and mine—began after Isa touched us. Have you begun to see visions?”

  “No…I…I don’t think so. I have had some strange dreams, but I…I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  He shook his head. “I guess it might explain a few things.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Like why I see you in my own visions.”

  “Me?”

  “No, not you, not really, but…I don’t know.”

  “If it is not me, then how can you say you see me?”

  “You both just have a way about you and you…I don’t know…I guess you both make me and Huxley feel the same. We both love…”

  “Oh.” She looked down and away, awkwardly. “Look, I…I don’t know what to say.”

  Tomadus stiffened. “Forget it. They are just dreams.”

  Jochi closed her eyes. “Yes, just dreams.”

  Chapter 72

  Huxley’s mind had been pre-occupied by the latest poem for too long. Without greater insight, it would get him nowhere. But he still had a tangible clue to explore, so he had sought an answer to that riddle at its source.

  “I’m sure you understand that these matters are highly confidential and quite sensitive,” Colonel Zaugg said. “I cannot help you further.”

  “I understand the delicacy here,” said Huxley, “but do you understand the risk? Let me be plain: We think you may be the target of a very dangerous group of terrorists who might be able to destroy much of this city—and I am referring to not only Vatican City but all of Rome. I cannot say more about the specific nature of the risk, but you might hazard a guess. We believe that former Cardinal Armondo Fine may be mixed up with these terrorists in some way. He may even be helping them. Unfortunately, he may represent our only real chance of finding the terrorists at this point. If necessary, the President will contact His Holiness, and we both know you will be briefing me after that call. The question is, do you really want to require that we go above both of our heads, or should we just cut to the chase now and avoid wasting critical time?”

  Colonel Zaugg sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together beneath his chin. For a good twenty seconds, he just stared Huxley in the eye.

  Huxley stared back. He had made an impression, but now he had to soften the blow. “I have brought with me a document from my government assuring the Vatican of the confidentiality of the information you share with me here today.” He pulled the agreement out of his pocket and handed it to Zaugg. “I assure you personally that what you say will not hit the presses. Even if we arrest the man, we will never bring up information about this particular past in public. Access to the information will be limited even within Homeland and the CIA. Please, do the right thing here.”

  Zaugg studied the document carefully and consulted with a Vatican legal expert in an adjoining room. Returning to Huxley, he said, “All right, I will dispense with any additional formalities, but let me make myself clear: if you do not satisfy your commitments, there will be serious repercussions. While we may not have many soldiers, Mr. Huxley, the Vatican does have a somewhat unique ability to persuade its followers of the folly of their secular leaders and institutions. Though the pope only rarely chooses to exercise this power, do not forget that it exists.”

  “Understood. Now tell me, why was Fine drummed out of the Vatican?”

  “The better question might be why was he ever made a cardinal, or a bishop, or even a priest, for that matter.”

  “I take it you are not terribly fond of him.”

  “Have you found anybody who is?”

  Huxley smiled wryly. “I know members of his former diocese still call him a snake.”

  “How deserving a moniker.”

  “So why did the snake rise so quickly through the church bureaucracy?”

  “I wish I knew,” Zaugg said. “He became a cardinal before the new pope was elected. Nobody ever asked the former pope why, so I guess we’ll never know. Some believe they just found themselves on the conservative wing of the church and shared a common cause. Senza senso! There are many conservative bishops in the clergy and this man could just as easily have been overlooked. No, knowing the Snake, as you call him, I personally believe he found some way to apply some sort of leverage that the former pope found irresistible. But I have no real hard evidence of that. His Holiness never raised any issue of improper influence with me.”

  “So what happened once he was at the Vatican?”

  “He caused no trouble until the new pope was elected. Fine had worked to oppos
e his election and had even put feelers out for his own nomination. However, the other cardinals had no serious stomach for him as a leader. His actions before the election were not unusual. We try to keep the politics out of the press, but these are powerful men with strong beliefs.”

  “What happened after the election?”

  “He went off the deep end politically. Never accepted the election of the new pope.”

  “Never accepted the election?” asked Huxley.

  “Well, it turned out that he continued working behind the scenes to find a way to force the new pope to resign.”

  “How?”

  “There are a substantial number of cardinals in the Curia at the Vatican who remain staunchly conservative. Many were appointed by the former pope, so what would you expect? They were stunned by the election of the new pope. Not only was he much more liberal than the former pope, but also he was the first pope to be elected from the Western Hemisphere. Well, apparently Cardinal Fine used this collective shock to form a secret cabal among several of the sitting cardinals. The cabal had little real power because the pope calls the shots here, but they used their connections within the administrative arms of the church to undermine the wishes of the pope for a time. They had become quite adept at that.”

  “So the pope struck back?”

  Colonel Zaugg shook his head. “Such actions alone would not have caused His Holiness to take such drastic measures against Fine. The pope is a very patient man, and no doubt he would have found ways to slowly change the makeup of the Curia and diminish the strength of the conservative cabal. This is not the first time in history that has happened.”