The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist (22 page)

“
There
is…, there is,” the man stuttered. “Look, all I can say is that
many regarded it as heresy.”

“
Who has
the pages?”

The cleric
sweated under his robe. His eyes rested on Hart. “I really should
not discuss this.”

“
Tell
me!”

“
Francesco Ignacio of Rome’s Piazza Pietro D’Illiria may
know something. He’s very ill and sees no one. He and a Frenchman I
believe, were committed to keeping the only copy of the pages
hidden forever.”

“
A
Frenchman?”

“
I don’t
know the identity of this man. I only know he’s from the
Brotherhood, a legion of men who are fanatical
Christians.”

“
The
Brotherhood?”

“
I don’t
know much about them either.”

Hart sighed.
Finally, he knew who was after him. Still, he put the matter aside
for the moment, bent on his pursuit of the ancient secrets.

“
Do you
know anything of the Gnostic, Basilides?”

“
He was a
teacher taught by a disciple of St. Peter. He wrote many books.
They’ve all been lost, just like the sermon on matter.”

There was more
to Basilides than that, Hart knew. According to ancient accounts,
he knew of the secrets that were revealed to Magdalene, the same
secrets that were revealed to Matthew.

“
Matthew
wrote a gospel, the Gospel According to the Hebrews. Is it the
first gospel ever written?”

“
It’s
possible. Only fragments have survived. There’s nothing in it
connected to the secrets he was told.”

Hart’s
exasperation was overflowing now. “What can you tell me about the
Secret Book of James? The apostle was one of three apostles to have
witnessed the Transfiguration.”

“
That’s
not a book but a letter that says suffering is inevitable and
little else. In that letter, James refers to a secret gospel but
that too was lost.”

“
Lost?”

“
No one
has ever found it. All the ancient secrets have been
lost.”

“
No. No.”
Hart’s words echoed in the ancient hall.

“
We
admire your determination and work but, we must tell again that,
what you seek is impossible to find. You won’t even find it in the
Vatican. Now, we must go back and pray for this world. We are
awaiting the date of the new age. I hope Dr. Olsen finds
it.”

“
He
will.” Hart was surprised at his own assurance as he scrambled to
his feet.

“
We
sincerely hope so.”

“
Look,
Fathe…” He stopped. The hard stare from the patriarch told him it
was time to go.

Politely, Hart turned and walked into the light of the Old
City. He took a cab to Ben Gurion Airport thinking of the French
connection and what he could do about it. He had to find proof of
other worlds where matter was better and brighter, places where
those who passed lived on, places that were free of crime, hunger
and need. All he had was a dim hope of knowing.

Chapter 46

In Paris,
the sun was sinking in the sky. Nightlife was starting to stir.
Sitting in the Museum of the Louvre, Michel LaPlotte typed an email
to Commander G.W. Foster of the US Security services.
The heretic must be
killed. The mission must be finished.

Pressing send,
he pulled his glasses off and rubbed his nose. Unlike his
predecessors, LaPlotte used a small room in the Cour Caree, wanting
to sit among the Egyptian antiquities he favoured, those of Ramses
and The Seated Scribe.

It was
approaching six o’clock and even as his day was closing, the
director cut a suave image in his grey Armani suit and blue tie.
The papyrus expert and philologist was a tall, pale man. His
thinning grey hair was plastered down to reveal the pinkness of his
skull. Bristly hairs grew from his ears. His ability to translate
old languages impressed many as did his knowledge of history and
culture. He had good reason to be holed up in a room no larger than
ten square feet with nothing more than a desk, a Tiffany lamp and a
hand lens. In his hands, LaPlotte held the ten lost pages of a
fifteen hundred year old manuscript he wanted no one to see.

“
How dare
they write this absurdity? How could this be?” LaPlotte questioned.
“These are strange teachings, yet the Saviour says time and time
again to be encouraged in the presence of all forms of matter. I
wish I had the courage to destroy them, but I don’t, Dear
Father.”

He laid the
pages out. Page eleven tormented him. His eyes burned from the
words he saw.

“
Non,
never!” he exclaimed. “This is heresy!”

He read the
words quietly.

-he does not
see through the soul or spirit but the mind that is between the
two; that is what sees the vision. It is…It is…

“
You were
right Brother Andrew, so right. These are strange words from a
deranged woman.” Laplotte stared at the line on page fourteen.
“This is impossible!” he screamed now. “Magdalene’s vision is also
absurd.”

A knock came to
the door and before he could answer, a security guard barged
in.

“
Monsieur
LaPlotte, are you okay?”

“
Yes,
yes!” he replied, obviously annoyed.

“
I’m
sorry to disturb you but I was concerned.”

“
I assure
you, I’m well.” LaPlotte plastered a smile.

“
When
you’re free, Monsieur, your attention is needed at the
donjon
. There is
much more damage from the floods than we thought.”

“
I’ll be
there in a second.”

The
Louvre
gardien
stared
at the papyrus pages which took up the length and breadth of
LaPlotte’s desk.

“
I said
I’ll be there,” LaPlotte asserted.

“
Eh! Yes,
of course.”

The
gardien
quietly
closed the door.

“
Ass,”
LaPlotte said. “How dare he enter my private space?”

He started
placing the pages away but stopped at page fourteen.

“
I want
to have a look at you again,” he muttered. “I’m leaving you out on
my desk. This vision cannot be!”

He locked his
room and headed down a flight of steps.

LaPlotte
completed his inspection of the dungeon in the Medieval Base and
then, he exited the Louvre. He walked along the Seine through the
heart of old Paris to do what he did most days, and that was to
hurry to the Cathedrale de Notre Dame to capture the last minutes
of opening time.

He entered the
choir chapel. He lit a candle and sat. The cathedral was a museum
itself with its great pipe organ, exquisite paintings and
sculptures. LaPlotte was at home, he was at peace.

The
cloister of stained windows caught the last rays of sun and
reflected its beauty on him. He felt cleansed. But, for LaPlotte,
nothing could compare to the serenity of the
Virgin with Child
that stared at him. She gave
him strength and resolve. Tears came to his eyes. He wiped them
away as he felt the presence of a human form. He glanced at the
dark suited man who sat next to him.

“
Monsieur, I would like you to please rethink your position
on Hart.” The man was obviously distressed.

“
No! I
will die for my cause. Do you hear me? I am willing to die.”
LaPlotte’s voice echoed in the eleventh century church.

“
I urge
you to be calm.”

“
How can
I? This man is corruptible. How could he say our path is to be a
god? What does it have to do with matter? He is insane!”

“
These
aren’t ancient times, Monsieur. People are free to decide their own
path. They are free to think.”

“
No. I
will not permit it.”

“
Does he
know you have the missing pages?”

“
No one
knows.”

“
Listen
to me. Whatever Hart says will come and go like the wind. You have
nothing to fear.”

“
Not if I
am to believe Father Ignacio of Rome. He told me Hart had
determination. No one would quiet him. But, I tell you, I will.”
The sunlight was now gone and pale light filled the room from the
burning candles. “When will heresy go away, my friend? How many
more wars do we fight? Why are savages forever challenging my
faith?”

“
The
world is not such a good place, you must admit. Maybe, Hart
believes a realm will change things.”

“
He won’t
change anything by telling people their soul is an image of
themselves. Our forefathers worked long and hard. Are you saying
it’s for nothing?”

“
I see I
cannot change your mind, but, what of the other secrets Monsieur
LaPlotte? Tell me, is it true that the Gnosis, the knowledge of
supermundane things, is buried under the Basilica of Saint Maximim?
As you know, Magdalene did travel to Rome to see Tiberius. He was
very impressed with her. Are they in the Lateran
Basilica?”

“
I will
not say.”

“
As you
wish, Monsieur, but, we must go now.”

They got up
and moved to the exit, quietly closing the cathedral door behind
them.

Chapter 47

July 03,
2018

Hart’s flight
back home cruised over the deep abyss of the Atlantic Sea. The
cabin was quiet at 2AM and full of dozing passengers. A light shone
from someone reading.

It wasn’t long
before eyes shot open as a stewardess dashed to seat number 6C.

“
You
okay, Sir?” The woman hovered over Hart.

“
Yes,
yes, I’m fine. I was just having a bad dream.”

She looked at
him with concern that lingered. “You were shouting. Sure you’re
okay?”

“
I am,”
he assured. “Sorry for causing an alarm.”

He shifted to a
comfortable position and closed his eyes trying to relax but he
couldn’t. The dream he had disturbed him. It was unusual for him to
recall dreams but this last one was upsetting. His friend, Olsen,
was lying in a coffin. Days had passed since they had spoken. He
had called twice but had gotten no answer. Maybe it was nothing, he
thought. Olsen was probably working hard on that Inca date for a
new age. The date would be his stamp of approval, a legendary mark
on the world. Yet, something nagged him. He was not a panic lover
but he didn’t feel right about his close friend.

He glanced at
his watch. In six hours he would be in JFK. His thoughts turned to
the supernatural as it did every moment of his life. He was more
than convinced that humans harboured an inner realm of light and he
could think of thousands of tired, torn minds that could be
comforted by it.

Hart
should have felt encouraged by all he’d learnt from his long trip
but, he wasn’t. He felt restless. He didn’t have a clue as to how
he would find the French connection or the Brotherhood of
Christians and the unfinished line of the gospel:
Ye doth not see
visions with the spirit or the soul but the mind that is between
the two. It is, it is, it is
…spun in his head till it hurt. He simply could not believe
that, right at that point, pages got torn. What a cruel joke life
played on him.

“
It’s God
and the truth won’t be hidden any longer. It won’t be!” he
declared, feeling his emotions rising and ignoring the passengers
who looked his way again.

He tried to
shake off torment he felt. It didn’t matter to him what others
thought and he wasn’t trying to convince anyone. Still, he felt
alone in his world trying to crack the mysteries of life.

As the
weariness of his trip surfaced, he shut his eyes hoping for
sleep.
Those
who have ears to hear let them hear
, a voice cried out, he swore. He snapped his eyes
open. He closed them again thinking of the six missing
pages.
Oh,
how I wish I could find them
, he anguished. His eyes watered with longing, wondering
why everything was lost. He wasn’t giving up hope. He would never
give up. He turned to the beep of a text from Olsen.

Hey, where are
you? We need to talk. I’m coming to New York for a day.