The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist (34 page)

“
I’m
afraid I haven’t.”

“
A cleric
called Valera claimed Christianity existed in South America before
the Spanish conquest. The secrets are supposedly hidden in Inca
writings.”

Thibault
finally understood what the fuss was all about. “We’ll see what can
be done,” he replied using the tactics of diplomacy he had gathered
over the years. “But, I still don’t think you need to be bothered
by him. People are free to think and often times interpret data in
their fashion.”

“
You
don’t understand anything, you buffoon!” the cleric blasted. Sweat
emerged from his blotched face. His hands shook from the affliction
of Parkinson’s disease. With a voice gone weak, he asked, “Have you
read Dr. Bentley’s papers?”

“
He’s the
archaeologist Olsen works with, isn’t he?”

”
Yes, and
he says the Inca were all Christians.”

“
Not in
the way that you think, Monsignor. Bentley suggested that their
religion was similar to Christianity. The Inca religion focused on
spiritual realms. They healed the sick and so on. In a mystical
sense, maybe there was some similarity. Maybe, the Inca could have
taught the Spanish things. There’s no need to be alarmed. There was
a lot of animosity when the Spanish conquered the New World. People
were angry that their culture was destroyed. They expressed their
sentiments in their native language. Olsen simply translated a lot
of their writings and spoke of them.”

“
How dare
he? And…and, Hart, his friend, says God is in matter!” Spit
gathered at the side of Campelli’s mouth. Thibault had never seen
anyone so repulsed.

“
I urge
you to be calm. I assure you will longer be troubled.”

“
I hope
so.”

Campelli got
up. Adjusting his collar, he hobbled his way out of Thibault’s
office to a chauffeur driven Fiat parked on a street off the
Petersplatz. He got into the back seat and headed off.

As the fiat
sped down the road, Thibault moved from his window and sat at his
walnut desk. He picked up the phone.

“
Marsey,
could you try the US Homeland Security line again,
please.”

“
There’s
still no answer from Commander Foster’s office. I’ll try the number
again.”

With an uneasy
feeling Thibault placed the phone down. An astute and forthright
man when dealing with matters, he found Campelli to be outrageous.
As he stared at the flag of his native country, he wondered how far
the whole matter of Olsen and Hart would go.

He leaned
backed, thinking. Monsignor Campelli was eighty-three years old. He
was of the old school of theology, one that didn’t welcome change.
The aging cleric commanded power from his cloister in Rome. But,
Campelli wasn’t the only one bothered by Olsen. The Brotherhood, a
force of soldiers who deemed themselves modern Templars probably
was to.

The French
police was still trying to weed them out since the death of their
leader, Michel LaPlotte. Campelli may believe in their
righteousness although Thibault did not find any evidence of
involvement. His head pained thinking of how defenceless Hart and
Olsen were and how little he could do to protect him.

The
Brotherhood organization was a modern day Sodality. Sodalities
started out as charity organizations in the middle ages. Many
sprouted in the fourteen century when the church began to lose
power and influence. They began acting on their own without links
to any order. They become an order unto themselves. In 1802, Thomas
Paine, the British-born American revolutionary, was ostracised for
speaking of the existence of extra-terrestrial life. A more recent
case was that of the artist, Francis La Croix. Three years ago, he
was shot in Holland. La Croix was obsessed with religious art and
condemned the great masters for their lack of black faces. He hated
Rembrandt for his
Baptism of a Eunuch
. Did Rembrandt see inside his pants? La Croix went further
to condemn the baptism.

The rain
started to fall around the market square of Petersplatz when
Thibault picked up his phone.

“
Good day
to you, Mr. Thibault. What can I do for you?” G.W. Foster inquired
on his line.

“
The
matter concerns Mr. Olsen and Mr. Hart. I’ve had a disturbing visit
from Monsignor Franco Campelli. I am not in any way suggesting that
he is involved but I do fear for the lives of these men. You must
be familiar with the Brotherhood organization, I’m sure. I was very
pleased to see that you were cleared of all wrongdoings in the
matter of Monsieur LaPlotte and the attempted assassination of Mr.
Hart. You must do your best to stop this organization from hurting
these innocent men.”

“
Campelli’s complaints aren’t without validity.”

“
Forgive
me. What’re you saying?” Thibault wondered if the man had gone
senile. Foster was nearing seventy-five. “Olsen and Hart do not
fall under the category,
terroriste
. I insist that you do everything you can to protect
them.”

“
Maybe
you’re not familiar with the case as much as I am.”

“
Familiar?” Thibault grew worried. “What I know is that
Olsen wants to find a date for the earth’s dawning and Hart is a
mathematician.”

Foster laughed.
“There’s more to it, I’m afraid.”

“
Like
what? I thought that Campelli was ridiculously
concerned.”

“
Hmm,”
Foster muttered holding back on the line.

“
What is
it?” Thibault demanded.

“
We don’t
know a lot right now. We are looking at the situation. I assure
you, we’ll keep you posted.”

“
We have
managed to keep terrorism at bay but, environmental problems
continue. The Inca date may be our last hope.”

“
No!”

Thibault was
shocked. “No?”

“
We must
stop to Olsen and Hart at once. Their findings must never be
revealed. It is in the interest of state security. It is in the
interest of the entire world.”

“
Impossible! What are you saying?”

There was a
heavy sigh from Foster this time. “Please, leave Olsen and Hart up
to me. Goodbye, Mr. Thibault.” Foster hung up.

Thibault
placed the phone down quietly.

Chapter 78

“
Julius!”
Myrtle screamed into her phone. “Where the hell are
you?”

“
I’m on
my way to meet you.”

“
Where
did you go? You could’ve at least left me a note.” She was angry
and it showed.

“
I really
didn’t mean to leave you in bed like that.”

“
Then,
why did you?” she demanded.

“
Someone
is stalking me.”

“
Stalking
you? Why?”

“
I’ll
explain everything to you when we meet at the medical
centre.”

“
I’ll be
waiting on you.”

The foggy morn
of a Californian day did little to ease her anxiety. Shifting gears
as the lights changed, she drove to Strathclyde Court. It was
Tuesday, her check-up day. At twenty-two she felt like eighty-one,
her flawless life turning into a bizarre dream. She was
particularly anxious. The results of her medical tests had finally
come back.

She parked her
Cadillac in the car park and took a quick look at her face in the
rear-view mirror. She patted it with powder before heading up the
steps of the All Saints Medical Centre. The door at the end of the
hall on read Dr. Louis Barnaby M.D. She knocked on it and
waited.

“
Come
in,” she heard.

Dr. Louis
Barnaby looked up and smiled as she entered. “Myrtle, how are
you?”

She didn’t
reply. She really didn’t know how to. She gazed at what her father
owned and thought of what she would do if it were hers. After all,
she was the only child of Art and Mara Foster who, twenty-three
years ago, had everything a wealthy Californian couple could dream
of, but a child. She was everything they wanted and needed.

“
I spoke
to your parents, Myrtle,” Barnaby began, his tone
sombre.

“
And?”

“
They’re
expected shortly.”

“
I want
them to come now. Call them!”

“
They’ll
be here soon.” Barnaby picked up his phone. “Kristy, get me the
files for Myrtle Foster, please.”

Barnaby was a
doctor of Internal Medicine but twenty-five years of commitment to
his practice did little to solve the problem before him. He looked
up as the slender woman approached.

“
Here are
you go, Dr. Barnaby.”

“
Thanks,
Kristy.”

The secretary
shut the door leaving Dr. Barnaby with the problem Art and Mara
Foster thought he could fix. He looked puzzled as ever rereading
the last lines of the report.

Current
status:
Unidentifiable and untraceable

“
Myrtle,”
he began but didn’t get very far.

“
I want
them to be tested! Who gave me this? Was it my mom or dad?” she
screamed.

“
They
don’t want to be tested.”

“
How long
will I suffer knowing I can die anytime? If they gave it to me, I
can give it to my child.”

“
Your
symptoms are like Huntingtons Disease but, I don’t think that’s
what you have.”

“
Then…then what?” she cried.

“
We’ve
checked everything. There’s no history of this disease anywhere and
nothing for either of your parents.” He glanced at the files again.
“This is only your fourth visit. We need more time.”

“
What am
I to do?”

Barnaby stared
hopelessly. He simply didn’t have answers. He turned, startled by
his ringing phone.

“
Yes,
Kristy?”

“
Julius
Olsen is here to see Miss Foster. He also needs a check-up, says
it’s for his new job.”

“
Send him
in.” Louis Barnaby hung up. Soon he stared at the tall frame of
Olsen. “Dr. Olsen?”

“
Hello,
Dr. Barnaby.” Olsen sat and placed his arm around Myrtle. “We can
work this out, Sweetie, okay?” From her forlorn expression, he knew
the news about her health wasn’t good.

“
You two
know each other?” Barnaby looked at them a bit lost.

“
He’s my
fiancé, Dr. Barnaby.”

“
Oh, I
see. Can you excuse us for a minute, Myrtle? I will examine Dr.
Olsen while you wait for your parents.”

“
Sure,”
Myrtle replied.

“
Come
this way,” Barnaby said leading Olsen to his examination room.
“Take your shirt off and lie down, please. Now, tell me, have you
ever been seriously ill?”

“
No.”

“
Have you
ever had depression, Dr. Olsen?”

“
No.”

“
Headaches?”

“
I’ve
never had a health problem, Dr. Barnaby.”

Barnaby’s
examination of Olsen’s was swift. “Do you have problems with your
vision?”

“
No.”

“
Hearing?”

“
No.”

“
Okay,
everything looks good. It’ll take a few minutes for the sensors to
bring up all your vital data. The nurse will be in shortly to take
your blood and urine samples. You can get dressed after that and
meet me back in my office.”

Fifteen minutes
later, Olsen smiled at a woman who stood at Barnaby’s door. She was
short and thin but her face bore the remnants of a once stunning
lady. The dark circles under her eyes exposed her addictions.

“
Mom,
this is Julius,” he heard Myrtle say, “and, we’re getting married
soon.”

Mara Foster
stared at the smiling face of the tall Olsen. She felt her head
spin. He was awesome, she thought, with an aura that could conquer
the world. She stared harder as he held his hand out.

“
Hello,
Mrs. Foster.”

“
Well,
it’s a pleasure to meet you, finally. Myrtle speaks a lot about
you.”

“
Have a
seat, Mara,” Barnaby said as he walked in.

Mara Foster
took a seat next to Myrtle. She was a polished lady when it came to
attire, dressed in a tailored white suit that matched her shoes and
handbag. She addressed Barnaby in a rich, velvet voice.

“
Louis, I
take it everything is working out fine.”

“
No, it
isn’t, nothing’s fine,” Myrtle blurted, not giving Barnaby a chance
to answer.

The silence
that ensued embarrassed Mara as she thought of something more to
say. In the distance she could hear her husband’s footsteps nearing
the doorway.

“
You
dad’s here, Myrtle.”

Myrtle got up
and hurried toward him. “Dad, come and meet Julius,” she said
grabbing his hand.

Art Foster was
built at six feet four. His thinning hair made him seem larger than
he really was and his toned muscles bulged through the tightness if
his sweatshirt. He glanced at Olsen, saying nothing.

“
Myrtle
is pregnant, Art,” Mara said dryly. “Louis just told
me.”

“
What?”

“
We’re
getting married, Dad,” Myrtle pleaded.