The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist (33 page)

“
Ladies
and gentlemen, I must tell you that there was never any evidence in
any Mayan account that the world would have ended in 2012. What was
found was the ending of a cycle of five thousand one hundred and
twenty-five years. The Mayans, however, spoke of an emergence of
new consciousness, a fifth era. But, where’s the evidence for it? I
say that the answer lies in our planetary alignments. Rest assured,
the Age of Aquarius is about stability and people’s consciousness
of universal energy, a time when the gods will return.”

Pearce recalled
Bentley had been quite concerned about people’s perception of
shamanism, dismissing it as an occult. But, the practice was forty
thousand years old. It originated with the Tungusic people of
Northern Asia, hunters and gatherers in China and Russia. Shamanism
existed in Shinto, a Japanese religious practice, and, as ancestral
worship in Buddhism. To Bentley, the Inca shamans were skilled in
the practice of journeying to other worlds. They often received
clear visions.

Pearce’s life
had suddenly changed. At the time, he was married to an Italian,
Vienna Francola. Her dark hair and red lips had attracted him. Next
thing, Pearce was walking up the aisle of St. Giovanni covered in
confetti. Vienna wanted a permanent honeymoon, something he
couldn’t provide. He had become tired of the jealousy that consumed
her. Soon, his restlessness got the better of him. Leaving his wife
behind, Pearce had packed up and moved to his native New York. A
year later, he was on La Joya Island tracking Bentley, hoping to
get the date for the new age.

Now, sweating
from the midday heat of an island day, he dialled a number.

“
Hello,”
Olsen’s ex-wife answered.

“
I
suppose you’re cleaning up?” His voice didn’t hide his love for
her, even with all the petulance he had to endure. The seven-year
age gap didn’t matter either. Steffi Larsen was magnetic and
dripping with sensuality. The brunette turned heads. Pearce was no
womaniser like dozens of men on the island. He was looking for the
challenge and she was it.

“
I’m
almost through. What did the doctor say?” She was referring to his
damaged hand, something he didn’t talk about much. Knowing of his
belligerence and quick temper, Steffi believed it came from a brawl
somewhere.

“
It’s
just fine. Look, I called to let you know.”

“
Know
what?”

“
Julius
Olsen is coming to La Joya. We’ll talk later. Got to
run.”

“
Tim,
wait a minute!”

Her voice
dissipated in the air. Pearce had already shut the call.

Chapter 75

“
He did
it again!” she screamed.

Ending a
call abruptly was one of many things Pearce did that annoyed her.
She disliked his shaved hair and how he wore caps back to front,
not to mention his obsession with strange phenomena.
How does he know
about Olsen’s visit?
Hacking again, she supposed. Pearce was a White Hat hacker
who worked for IT companies all over the world testing security
systems.

Standing
on her patio, she felt the Atlantic wind blow across her face. She
had come to the island to put aside the memories of her senseless
marriage to Olsen. The quietness had helped her shed her burdens.
She was thirty, divorced and disillusioned but had kept herself
busy working for
The Newscaster
and spending her time writing a novel,
The Face of a Real
Artist
, a book inspired
by the late artist, Francis La Croix. She hadn’t finished it. La
Joya Island was constantly marred by corruption and crime and too
much to think about all the time.

She sighed. The
last thing she wanted was to have memories of Olsen back. She
guessed it was his ginger hair and air of mystery that did it. Her
divorce had cost her more than money. It had shattered her. The man
she married was eccentric. She could never forget the day he seemed
to have no cognizance of her. There were too many instances of
silence, with no warnings.

The
neighbourhood on Hillcrest Lane was quiet when she picked up her
cup of coffee still thinking of Olsen. La Joya’s beaches and hot
sun weren’t the sort of things that interested him, she knew. Olsen
was a man of Science, of Astronomy and, a man of conviction. As she
placed her cup down, a yellow page caught her eyes. It was stuck
between the cushions of her Burlington sofa. A stickler when it
came to décor, Steffi grabbed it and started towards the bin.

Three
steps later, she stopped. The scribbling’s on the page looked like
something from the ancient pen of Pythagoras. The furrows of her
brow deepened as she read:
Quipus are woven threads with knots. It was the
system used to record numerical data by the Inca. It would take a
genius to understand how.

“
It’s
his,” she said, meaning Pearce. On the bottom of the page was a
string of numbers. Steffi peered closer at it.

847-937-577-667-847-
mn
-847-937-577-667-84 7-
mn

“
Geez,
I’m staring at numbers from an Inca artefact, numbers for a
date.
mn
must mean
missing number,” she reasoned.

Pearce was
quite a secretive bastard, she thought. The clock on her shelf
struck twelve when she placed the page away. She looked to the
shoreline, catching sight of yachts moored along the pier and then,
to the bags of groceries on her kitchen counter waiting to be put
away. But, a premonition came as if to warn her. Her mundane life
of cooking, writing and potting plants was about to end. Something
was happening. Pearce hardly ate dinner and was often edgy in bed.
Steffi didn’t want any stress in her life again.

She looked at
the island’s captivating façade, the visage that had drawn her
there years ago. It would do nothing for her now. Neither the
delightful clatter of mockingbirds nor the swashes of lizards among
fallen leaves could lift her from the agitated mood that told her
that Pearce was about to get tangled in a conspiracy that was
ruthless and ugly.

She dialled his
number.

“
Hi.
Please, leave a name and number and I’ll get back to
you.”

“
It’s
busy,” she said feeling frustration rising.

Steffi quickly
recalled how she had met Pearce. The American had landed in her
life with a phone call talking about things she knew nothing
about.

He had
barged into her office at
The Newscaste
r later that same day, striking a high note with his looks
and charm and, a dogged determination to get a date. And, he did.
Soon, love flourished and she was sharing her life with him, hiking
to the top of El Cerro del Aripo to see the secretive Pawi, surfing
the glassy waves of Matelot and dancing to rhythmic music all night
long. Now, all Pearce did was hack data, Hart’s, Olsen’s, and
Bentley’s.

She dialled
again. This time he answered.

Chapter 76

“
Hello,
Sweetie.”

“
I need
an answer.”

“
Boy, are
you wound up.”

“
I’m
not!”

“
Ok. I
hope it’s about dinner later.”

“
No.”

“
Shucks.”

“
You left
a piece of paper behind, on my sofa. I’m sure it’s
yours.”

“
Hey,
Olsen found the date for Earth’s new age.”

Had he found
the missing number?

“
Why
d’you say that?”

“
It’s the
reason he’s coming here. I’ve been waiting a
looooong
time for this.”

“
Did he
discover anything else?”

“
Like
what?”

Pearce knew
nothing of the controversy brewing over Olsen’s head, it seemed. A
lot of people didn’t like what he was doing.

“
Anything
contentious I mean.”

“
For
years, Bentley has claimed that an Incan Christian state existed
before the invasion of the Americas. It’s actually chronicled in a
document.”

“
The
Naples Document.”

“
Now,
there’s proof.”

“
Really?”

“
Yeah.
Olsen confirmed it.”

“
You
don’t know, do you?”

“
Know
what, Steffi?”

“
That
there’s a mission.”

“
A
mission? What mission?”

“
The one
to destroy Olsen.”

“
Olsen?”
Pearce saw the streets of La Joya City move up and down in his
giddiness. He halted his steps, mindless of horns and cars around
his feet. “What did you say? Olsen? You’re sure? But…but
why?”

“
His Inca
work.”

“
Who told
you this?”

“
I saw it
in a file in Basle, at the headquarters of
Crime International
where I had worked years ago.
The complaint came from a priest called Campelli.”

“
Anyone
connected to him?”

“
Listen
to me, stay away from this!”

As the line
went dead, Pearce crossed the street and hopped a cab. It wasn’t
long before he was at Steffi’s home pounding a keyboard trying to
hack net security.

“
Who
wants Olsen dead, God who?” he cried. He turned to Steffi. “What do
you know about Campelli?”

“
Not a
whole lot. He comes from the Dominican Order, a stern man. He has
power which he wields from his cloister in Rome, the Piazza Pietro.
I remember he had spoken bitterly about John Steel and SARDS. He’s
been trying for years to get it shut but it was Olsen he had no
tolerance of. He despised him and his work on Inca
Quipus.”

“
Olsen’s
reference to Andean Christianity must be abhorrent to him. The Inca
inherited secrets and beliefs from old civilizations.”

“
The
Toltec you mean?”

“
The
Norte Chico of Peru were another.”

“
I always
thought the Toltec were a myth, as was their leader,
Quetzalcoatl.”

“
The
Aztecs spoke of them. Said they were civilized and their leader,
Quetzalcoatl, was a god-like figure.”

“
What’re
you trying to do?” Steffi asked staring at the strain on Pearce’s
face.

“
Find the
Brotherhood. Campelli may not like what Olsen’s doing but he’s not
involved in any plan to get rid of him.”

“
The
Brotherhood?” Steffi raised a brow.

“
A watch
group with an aversion to many things, particularly Science.
They’re well connected and keep an eye on research and development.
They’ve been trying to stop stem cell research and in-vitro
fertilization for years. A lot of them oppose abortion.”

“
I know
who they are, Tim, and I want you to stay out of this. They’re
dangerous.”

“
They
tried to kill Hart. Now they’re targeting Olsen and Bentley.”
Pearce was searching for cookies to hack the internet. “Foster’s
behind Olsen’s demise. I know he is. He’s big in the Brotherhood
and the man behind the destruction of SARDS. I’ve got to get into
Foster’s e-mail to find out what his plan is. I’m going to stop
this Steffi. I’m telling you, I’m going to stop this.”

Needing a
break, Pearce got up and poured himself some coffee. His enthusiasm
was steaming more than the cup he held in his hand. The task was
going to be tedious he knew as he thought of the intrusion
techniques needed to break the Internet’s firewall. Taking a sip
and placing the cup down, he began his hacking again.

In the
office of
Crime International
in Basle, situated off the Spalenvorstadt, known for its
medical companies and European Union secretariats, an aged cleric
pointed his walking stick in the air as he spoke.

“
If I had
my way, I’d make Hart and Olsen disappear.”

Monsignor
Campelli’s anger grew by seconds when he placed the stick aside and
picked up a cup of tea from a table in front of him.

“
What’s
the problem? What have they done to you?” Hercule Thibault stared
at the contempt on the man’s face. It was the same expression he’d
seen years ago when the cleric had first paid a visit.

“
I told
you before and I’ll say it again. Olsen’s agenda is not acceptable.
He must be stopped!” He said aloud.

Thibault wasn’t
a man to mince words. “I have to say that’s a difficult, Monsignor
Campelli, but, believe me, we are willing to look into the
matter.”

“
That’s
not enough!” Campelli replied harshly.

Thibault stared
wide-eyed. “So, what do you want us to do exactly?”

“
Am I to
sit back and let him destroy us? This is his aim!”

“
Destroy
you? That’s impossible. I believe his work is about a date woven in
an Inca artefact, Monsignor. I don’t imagine for a moment you could
be right.”

“
No? He
plans to expose more than that. There are crazy people in this
world. I imagine you’ve never heard of the Naples Document, have
you?” Campelli’s hand trembled as he took his cup back
up.