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Michael usually found comfort in the group’s Friday night ritual, and he hoped tonight would quiet his thoughts. He lit a candle, breathed a prayer, and walked the corners to his seat. He closed his eyes to meditate, but his mind still toyed with his predicament. How could he win Anne’s trust? Since their chance encounter on Monday, he’d heard nothing from her. The look on her face when she’d discovered he taught at the bookstore made him fear that he would never hear from her again. Yet he knew their destinies were linked. During the week, he’d sought guidance during meditation (and from those very methods that had alienated Anne). He’d seen a flurry of images when he’d asked about past lives. He was certain they’d known each other in the past, worked together, in fact.
He’d also searched for information along more conventional lines. In news archives, he discovered many photos of her. As he scrolled through the pictures, he watched her grow from a bundle in her mother’s arms at her uncle’s state funeral to a golden-haired child atop her first pony to a graduate of Harvard. Along the way, those blue eyes had lost some of their initial sparkle. When he came to the announcements of her marriage, Michael felt a twinge of disappointment, but five years later, he discovered a rude article speculating on the reason for her divorce. But these public documents did not contain the kind of information he needed.
Michael chided himself for his impatience and doubt. Doubt was the worse, because it could influence the outcome. This quiet feeling would be broadcast to the subtle energies almost as a set of instructions: “Give me what I fear the most.” Michael had done spiritual work long enough to know he must return to a quiet trust in the universe to bring them together at the right time. With this thought, he focused again on his meditation and felt some measure of peace enter his heart.
After the silence came the chanting. Michael felt the power in the sound around him. He was grateful for the quiet strength of his companions who had honed their minds and hearts with years of discipline. He would not fall when he was held in this net of safety.
After the chanting ended and the group grounded themselves in the present, Guy asked for the floor. He looked at each member to gather their attention. “We have discovered the time.”
A current of excitement ran through the room, but no one spoke. Twelve sets of eyes were on him.
“On Imbolc, an alignment takes place more powerful than the configuration in May at the turn of the millennium. It has escaped the attention of uninitiated astrologers because it is less obvious.” Guy looked around at the curious expressions on the faces of his friends, savoring this moment. “It is the Star set in the thirteenth degree.”
Shocked silence greeted this statement, and then the silence burst. Robert raised his hands for order. Gradually, the room returned to silence. He addressed himself to Guy. “The Star, on February first? How could we have missed this most important sign until it’s almost upon us?”
“Recently, a member in Germany circulated an article discussing reconciling certain changes in the calendars, especially the ones made by Pope Gregory.” He looked around. “Everyone will recall he added ten days to correct the Julian calendar, which was off already. This article points out the necessity of including certain star configurations and other celestial phenomena such as black holes—”
Robert raised his eyebrows and Guy cut himself off midstream. A pained expression crossed Guy’s face and he refocused his comments. “At any rate, some of these phenomena have only been recently charted, but our colleague recognized their description in some ancient texts. To sum up, the information has just now become available.”
Robert covered his smile by scratching his beard. “Thank you, Guy.” He glanced around the circle. “This is certainly momentous news. I can hardly believe I’ve lived to see this day so close upon us.”
A chill ran through Michael. Two chance meetings with Anne in a week. Discovering the new Keeper only four weeks after the death of the old one. It made sense now.
Robert took a breath to continue, but it caught in his throat and his eyes teared up. He closed them and whispered, “God give us strength to complete our task.”
From around the room others joined his prayer. “God grant us wisdom.”
“And guidance.”
“May we be found worthy.”
After a moment, the group members opened their eyes and Robert, master of himself again, continued. “Michael, my son, are you prepared?”
Michael smiled at the man who’d taught him so much, who was indeed his spiritual father. “I can only do my appointed duty. The miracle will come from above.”
“Well spoken. And the girl?”
A shadow darkened Michael’s eyes. “I’ve had a setback with that contact.” He recounted his meeting with Anne at the bookstore.
“How can a holder of the crystal disrespect the mystical?” Miriam asked.
“I gathered from our talk that her training has been incomplete. Some resistance from her mother.”
Various members frowned or shook their heads. Miriam continued. “The crystal rite cannot be done by the uninitiated. The result could be disastrous.”
Robert agreed. “This doesn’t bode well for the project. Even a well-trained practitioner would have difficulty completing this job.”
“She has training from many lives. And she is gifted,” Michael said.
Robert shook his head. “That’s no substitute for work in this life. How could the Le Clairs have allowed this to happen?”
“Perhaps we should try to take the crystal. At least we know how to use it,” another member suggested.
Everyone was silent for a minute.
Michael broke the silence. “We certainly know how to use the crystal, but I’m not sure we have all the information we need.”
Robert said, “That is an extreme solution. The Le Clairs are a respected family. We should try speaking with them before carrying out so drastic a plan.”
“If we speak with them, they’ll be alerted we know of their crystal and who holds it,” Michael pointed out.
“Yes,” Robert conceded.
“These are drastic times,” the other member pushed his point. “Many groups holding the sacred trust have been infiltrated or become corrupt.”
Others nodded.
“Still, breaking spiritual law will weaken us,” Robert pointed out. “Let Michael try again in the time he has left.” He turned to Michael. “You must leave the country very soon. Can you make arrangements at work?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been invited to speak in Egypt at an international conference shortly before this date.”
“A synchronicity. Excellent sign,” Robert said. “Have you booked your flight?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. You’ll have to leave a few days earlier. I’ll explain what you must do.” Robert looked around at the group. “Everyone has a part in this. Each of you knows your duty. We’ve trained for many years for this day. Don’t neglect your meditation and prayer in this crucial time.”
The group spontaneously stood and joined hands. Robert spoke a long benediction to end the meeting. Michael made an appointment with Robert and left for his apartment, even more concerned about Anne.
☥☥☥
Paul Marchant chose a table in the hotel bar toward the back and ordered bottled mineral water. It was essential he remain sharp during this meeting. He surveyed the room and was satisfied to see the place was almost empty. He preferred having no witnesses, but had hesitated to let the man come to his apartment. He might see something Marchant hadn’t meant to reveal.
His contact entered the front of the bar and Marchant raised his hand to catch his attention. The man bought a draft from the bar, then walked to the table. “Good to see you. It’s been a while since you were in D.C.”
Marchant returned the handshake. “Good to see you, too, Donald.”
Donald looked around. “I don’t like meeting in public. If someone saw me, that would be my clearance.”
Marchant attempted a smile. “Then let’s come to the point. Were you able to decode those files I sent you?”
Donald spoke with contained excitement. “I was. We knew they were tunneling in Egypt, but now we have proof.”
Marchant sat forward, his eyes fixed brightly on Donald. “Do you have the pictures?”
He slid a manila envelope across the table. Marchant put it in his briefcase immediately. “And the contact?”
“This one must be deep cover because official military files list him as dead.”
“Dead?”
Donald nodded, satisfied to have surprised Marchant. “Karl Mueller was born Adam Ardsen in Detroit. His father was a Vietnam veteran who never recovered from combat. He started to drink heavily and do crack and heroin. The father was killed by a gang in the inner city, and the mother moved the family to an uncle’s ranch in Montana.
“As a teenager, Adam got involved with a fringe group up there with a vague neo-Nazi agenda. Joined the marines on his eighteenth birthday and was promoted quickly. He was involved in several insertion operations in the Middle East, Eastern Europe, and Central America. Then official reports say he was killed in a training op.” Donald smiled dryly. “That’s what they say when one of their boys bites it on a cover mission.”
Marchant listened, swiveling his head from side to side.
“His file indicates he spent a good bit of time at secret Nazi settlements in the Andes. Hell, some say Hitler is still alive there.”
“I’ve heard stories,” Marchant commented.
“I’d say our boy just got a promotion.”
“To?”
“That’s where the trail ends.” Donald sat back in his chair and took a long sip of his beer. “This guy is involved in some deep-cover black ops, for sure. He works for the real government now, the multinationals.”
“So he’s legitimate?”
“Legitimate?” Donald leaned forward. “His information is good, but he’ll show you only what he wants you to know. These guys are dangerous, Paul, and they’re powerful. They answer to no one. They operate outside the law.”
“They’re uncovering the Hall of Records.”
“Paul, are you listening to me?”
Marchant waved a hand dismissively. “But who else would open it? Who else has the money, the technology, the access?”
“After they’re done with you, they’ll leave you in the garbage dump just on the other side of the Giza Plateau.” Donald thumped the table with his forefinger.
Marchant looked through Donald at some shining future. “They need me.”
“Look, man, if you go in, just leave some insurance with me. A taped conversation, photos, something. That way, you might have a chance of making it out.”
The smile did not fade from Marchant’s face. “They don’t understand what they’re uncovering. Once I get in, they won’t be able to touch me.”
Donald frowned. “What does that mean?”
Marchant only smiled in answer.
“Just leave something with me.”
Marchant glanced at Donald, but his eyes strayed back to his briefcase. “Whatever you say.” He pushed a smaller envelope across the table. “Thank you.”
Donald put the envelope in his inner jacket pocket and stood up. “Okay, man. Knock yourself out with those pictures.”
Marchant waited ten minutes before leaving, and then made sure he wasn’t followed.