The Cardinal Secretary of State raised a quizzical eyebrow. Given the Vatican’s sordid involvement with the Nazis during World War Two, the irony of Felici’s argument was heavy, but the veteran diplomat remained silent.
‘They are arguments we will have to take into account,’ the Pontiff replied, the use of the authoritative ‘we’ an indication that he wasn’t going to be rushed. ‘Do you have the same concerns over other Latin American countries, Mr Wiley?’
‘Unfortunately yes, and if I may, Holiness, there are dangers for the Church there as well,’ Wiley added, coming to Felici’s aid. ‘Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, for example, is not only a vehement opponent of the United States and our efforts to bring democracy to this region, but he’s also fiercely critical of the Catholic Church.’
‘Whilst proclaiming himself to be a Christian and calling Christ the greatest socialist in history!’ Felici added.
Wiley nodded. ‘In recent years Chavez’s supporters, known collectively as the Chavistas, invaded the chancery of the Archdiocese of Caracas, expelling Bishop Jesus Gonzalez de Zarate into the street. It was perhaps fortunate that Cardinal Velasco was not there at the time.’
The pontiff nodded. ‘Yes. They were claiming, quite erroneously, that we supported the 2002 coup attempt against President Chavez.’ Felici and Wiley exchanged glances.
‘Added to that, Holiness,’ Wiley continued, ‘almost every government in the region is leaning towards the left. Evo Morales in Bolivia, Michelle Bachelet in Chile, Tabare Vazquez in Uruguay, Lula da Silva in Brazil, and the Sandinista, Daniel Ortega, in Nicaragua. Legislators in many of these countries are now preparing to liberalise abortion, as well as the morning-after pill, and they may well follow the lead of the Spanish president and legalise gay marriage. In the first year of that legislation 4500 gay and lesbian couples married in Spain and are now free to bring up children in the same way as their heterosexual counterparts. This may well spread, as we’ve seen in California,’ Wiley added.
‘A sad day for the Church in Spain and in the United States,’ the Pontiff observed.
Felici looked on with approval as Howard Wiley’s laser pointer roamed over the map, and Wiley expanded on the threat each country posed to oil supplies and to the influence of the United States and the Catholic Church. But with the Cardinal Secretary of State in the room, Felici reserved any further comment for his private dinner with Wiley.
29
N ervous and on edge, Aleta sipped her long black coffee in the museum’s Cafe Nautilus.
‘I knew you would come eventually,’ Dr Jose Arana said. Arana’s voice was soft, but authoritative. Like many Guatemalans, he was short and stocky. His fine black hair was flecked with grey and tied back in a ponytail. Around his neck he wore a beautiful jade tablet, inscribed with his Mayan birth sign of the jaguar. His craggy brown face was etched with the wisdom of a shaman, and his dark eyes held a look of quiet peace and understanding.
‘How… how could you know that, Dr Arana?’ Aleta asked, still in a state of shock.
Arana smiled enigmatically. ‘Call me Jose, please. My father, Roberto, who was the village shaman in San Marcos before me, passed on the wisdom of the elders. He gave me your name and told me that one day you would seek my help.’
‘I don’t understand -’
‘Patience, my dear. Eventually all will be revealed. For now it is enough for you to know that you have a very important purpose in life. As you know, the ancient Maya left the present generation a warning.’
Aleta nodded. ‘I’ve found some references to it in my grandfather’s papers, and there’s been talk of a codex in the media, but I wasn’t sure if that was just speculation… if the codex really exists.’
‘It exists,’ Arana replied quietly, ‘but we are running out of time. The winter solstice will soon be upon us.’
Aleta’s pulse started to race. A quiet but unquestionable integrity emanated from the softly spoken Guatemalan elder. ‘Do you know where it is?’
Arana nodded. ‘Your grandfather came close to finding it before his tragic death.’
‘I don’t understand, Jose. If you know where it is, why don’t you just retrieve it and announce its contents to the world?’
‘If only it were that simple. Unfortunately most people dismiss the spiritual wisdom of the ancient Maya as mumbo-jumbo. In a time when happiness is sought from the material world, we ignore at our peril the wisdom of a civilisation that could accurately chart and predict planetary movements down to the last second, without the aid of a telescope. The signs of our own destruction are already with us.’
Aleta saw a great sadness in his eyes.
‘In the last year,’ Arana continued, ‘chunks of ice twice the size of London have disappeared from the Arctic and Antarctic. The planet is providing continual warnings – an increasing number of powerful earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, fires, tsunamis and cyclones, hurricanes and floods. Yet many leaders dismiss global warming as rubbish. Some countries are also conducting experiments that are being kept secret from the public, but will ultimately put the entire planet at risk.’
‘And you still don’t think people would believe you?’
‘People are driven by the herd instinct, Aleta. If the politicians and the media are sceptical, the public, too, becomes sceptical. If I were to make an announcement, the media would treat the codex as a curiosity and many would dismiss it as a fraud.’
‘I still don’t understand where I fit in to all of this.’
‘Like me, you were born under the ancient sun sign of Balam-Ix, the jaguar, a spirit that is infused with a deep love of Mother Earth. The jaguar’s energy, the ruling spirit of the jungles, is feminine, Aleta. The ancients were well aware of that spirit, and they have hidden the codex in such a way that it can only be discovered by someone who will understand how far the world is out of balance, and the real consequence of the alignment of the planets in December 2012. It is no accident that you have followed in your grandfather’s footsteps. An archaeologist will have far more credibility than any Mayan elder and the warning that the codex contains will be considered more carefully by the media and the wider public,’ Arana emphasised. ‘But as my father warned your grandfather, the Maya Codex is fiercely protected. More than one fortune seeker has paid the ultimate price, as the ancients intended it to be found only by someone who possesses the inner spiritual balance to understand it correctly.’ Arana gave Aleta a long, searching look.
‘You can’t mean me?’ she gasped.
‘You have been prompted to meet with me for a reason, Aleta, but the challenge is yours to accept or decline.’
‘If I accept such a challenge,’ Aleta asked slowly, as his words sank in, ‘will you help me, Jose?’
‘I can be your mentor, Aleta, but again, that is up to you. If I am to be your guide, you will have to undergo a cleansing and rebuilding of your inner spirit.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘You’re not sleeping well, Aleta.’ It was a statement rather than a question. Again Aleta sensed the power around this gentle man.
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Not for some time now.’
‘I can see the unhappiness in your eyes.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Not to the casual observer. Outwardly you are functioning at a very high level, but your eyes tell a different story, Aleta. You have intense brown rings around your irises, which is an indication of stress and acute depression.’
From his position near a display case in one of the museum’s exhibition corridors leading to Cafe Nautilus, Curtis O’Connor observed the quiet conversation between Aleta Weizman and the man with the greying ponytail. O’Connor was not surprised to find that the swarthy young thug who had taken a back seat in Monsignor Jennings’
