The Cauldron by Charles Goodwin Chapter 10

The Founding of Chiron




Chapter 10

Close Encounters

‘London Heathrow! Rebecca, I can’t believe it. We’re in England already! It seems like we’ve only just left Amsterdam.’

But Rebecca wasn’t listening. An involuntary spasm creaked up her spine. She half expected the airport security officers or even worse, the English Peace Keepers, to be there watching - waiting at the disembarking gate to devour their spirits like blood thirsty vampires.

Faces.

An inhuman wall of expectant wax museum faces - gawking, staring, cruelly smirking.

Delirious cold sweat beads trickled down her forehead.

And crackled eyes glared at her insanely.

She said in an urgent, gasping voice bordering on panic, ‘Follow me, we must find the transit desk.’

Rebecca weaved swiftly through the compressed crowds and Monica shuffled along after her. And like most international airports, some in-transit passengers were in a frenzied hurry, while others rambled aimlessly with hours to kill. Africans, Asians and Arabs intermingling with ‘westerners’ in a high density cross pollination of the human family.

God, the airport has the appearance and smell of a multi racial transit camp for displaced persons, thought Rebecca glumly. Her throat felt parched from the dry air-conditioning and she wondered how deadly the latest global influenza epidemic would be that year.

‘So how does it feel to be back on home territory?’ asked Monica with an attempted cheery smile.

‘Monica, I just need to escape from here. I’m feeling awfully claustrophobic. Too many bad memories I’m afraid. To me England still represents my childhood guilt-cage,’ rasped Rebecca still keeping a watchful eye open for the transit desk.

‘Perhaps when you’re older you will change your mind.’

‘I doubt that,’ she replied and then thought to herself, well maybe but I have heaps of personal ‘stuff’ to work through first.

Rebecca peeked up at the departure monitor. ‘Excluding hold-ups, we should be boarding in fifty-five minutes. Oh I hope there isn’t a delay. I loath waiting hours for connecting flights - even at the best of times.’

And Rebecca feverously understood that these weren’t the best of times.

She spotted the transit desk. ‘Wait here by these seats Monica and I’ll get the seat allocations,’ she said and scuttled over to the desk.

‘Good evening Madam. May I see your tickets please?’

Rebecca gingerly handed across her tickets to the happy young West Indian behind the counter.
‘You are flying Qantas to Sydney Australia. Aren’t you lucky?’ His musical fingers reggaed upon the keyboard with Jamaican mastery. ‘Ah yes, here we are. Rebecca Childs and Monica Laatum. Vegetarian meals ordered for Rebecca Childs.’

‘Yes that’s correct,’ said Rebecca with a faint uplifted sense of remission.

‘Your plane leaves from gate 25. First call for boarding will be in fifty-two minutes. And here are your seat allocations.’

Rebecca grabbed the boarding passes and her tickets with earnest.

‘But wait!’ she stuttered in panic, ‘There must be some mistake. These tickets are for business class. I didn’t order business class!’

The clerk’s fingers danced once more on the keyboard. ‘No - there is no mistake,’ he said, without taking his eyes from the screen. ‘These tickets have been updated and paid for by - yes here it is,’ he grinned up at Rebecca, ‘By the United States Embassy no less.’

‘But I don’t understand!’ exclaimed Rebecca mollified.

‘Nor I madam,’ responded the accented clerk beaming, his perfect white teeth highlighting his beautiful smile. ‘But as we humbly say in Montego Bay - unless you desire an even blacker eye, it is most unwise to look a US gift horse in the rear!’

‘Thank you,’ she said incredulously. ‘Thank you,’ she repeated smiling.

He gazed at her with a strange haunting compassion. A complete stranger - familiar yet unfamiliar - and a subtle radiant presence, whispering silently, caringly into her soul. His words of farewell were mellow with sensitivity, ‘Have a safe journey Miss Childs and God be with you both.’

Rebecca’s glassy eyes communicated deep gratitude.

Her thoughts flashed to the profound and beautiful saying - When you meet the Buddha upon the road, kill him! And she forced her mind to kill the attachment and wonderment of the experience. She turned away - acknowledging that, wherever the soul travels, the same sun sparkles its image in each and every dewdrop.

Rebecca tiptoed back to Monica.

‘Was there a problem, Rebecca? I saw the confusion. Did you get the seat allocations?’ Monica’s eyes pleaded for a positive answer.

‘Yes, I mean, no,’ stammered Rebecca.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The tickets have been changed to business class by the United State’s Embassy.’

Monica slapped her hands together and giggled with excitement. ‘Why would the Americans do that for us?’

But Rebecca didn’t have time to answer.

‘Would Miss Monica Laatum and Miss Rebecca Childs go to the meeting point immediately.’

They both stared up - patently terrified - in the direction of the hidden speaker in the ceiling.

Rebecca’s heart crashed.

The melodic words were repeated.

‘Where is the meeting point?’ asked Monica.

‘Out of transit and down the escalators.’

‘Do you think we should go?’

Rebecca momentarily shut her eyes in despair and lowered her weary head. ‘Monica we have no choice.’

‘Come on Rebecca, chin up,’ said Monica. ‘We’re not beaten yet. Surely, if the Peace Keepers were looking for us, we would have been picked up the minute we stepped of the plane. There are cameras everywhere. We certainly wouldn’t have been given business class seats, now would we?’

‘I guess you are right,’ Rebecca replied, putting her best foot forward, ‘Come, let’s be brave and go and see what the problem is.’

Rebecca and Monica approached the meeting point with observant apprehension. The constant mind splitting noise of the myriad multi lingual discussions taking place about them crashed in on their sanity. The repressed fears and fatigue extracting a costly toll on their spirits.

‘Miss Childs, Miss Laatum?’ Rebecca felt the tap on her shoulder. They turned around, their faces drained of colour.

‘Please do not be alarmed.’

He was tall, lean, bearded. He wore black-framed spectacles - he was smiling - and seemingly friendly. He spoke with a warm Judaic-American accent that offered kindness.

Rebecca sighed with gratitude and for a moment the worried look receded from her face.

‘Allow us to introduce ourselves. We are from the United States Embassy. My name is Isaac and this is my colleague, Lynette.’

‘Hi, I’m pleased to meet you both. You are Rebecca I take it?’ She was well dressed and in her mid thirties. She held out her hand to shake Rebecca’s.

Rebecca nodded and accepted the handshake. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. And this is my friend Monica.’ Rebecca hesitated before continuing. ‘Look, I don’t want to sound rude, but could you tell me what this is all about? I presume you arranged for our business class tickets.’

Isaac replied first. ‘Don Ormsby phoned us after he saw you to the plane. He asked us to look out for you. He explained you had quite an ordeal with that creep, the late Mr. Van der Hyde.’

Rebecca couldn’t find any words to respond. Once more in her mind she vividly pictured the nightmarish bloodied execution of the two monsters.

‘We also would like to talk to you privately,’ added Lynette directing her statement to Rebecca alone.

‘What do you want to talk about?’ asked Rebecca and sensing they wished to discuss Paul.

‘Let’s not talk here, the noise is deafening,’ suggested Isaac, straining to hear Rebecca’s subdued voice. ‘We have access to the VIP lounge and facilities.’

Lynette added, ‘Don also mentioned, that before the long flight to Australia you may like to wash or to take a shower. There’s ample time. We can talk afterwards.’

Monica’s face lit up like a bright morning sunrise. ‘Oh can we Rebecca?’ she pleaded. ‘I feel so dirty. Even if we could just spend five minutes under the shower.’

Rebecca agreed wholeheartedly and replied to Lynette. ‘Thank you. It’s been one hell of a long day. We would love a quick shower.’

‘Yes of course. Follow us, we’ll show the way.’

And they once more battled their way through the airport crowd.

Although Rebecca was nervously mindful of the time at the showers, she was now desperate to rid herself of the day’s ugliness She stripped in seconds and all but drowned herself under the piping hot water. She lathered and scrubbed herself with ferocious intensity until her naked body was red raw. Her brain burst apart under the scalding - purging - cathartic heat. Her ritualistic purification and self-punishment had one solitary aim. To remove from her entire psyche the rank smell and disgusting memory of Hans Van der Hyde.

And only after her searing body cried out for mercy did she halt the scourging.

She stood perfectly still under the water - centred her mind at the third eye chakra - then practised three resonate ‘aums.’ She allowed the sound to arise naturally from deep within - vibrate to the back of her throat - then to the roof of her mouth - and exhaled naturally. The ‘aums’ conjoining with the ‘prana’ (spiritual life force) in the air and the water, spiritually cleansed and purified her astral and etheric bodies.

She repeated the exercise three times and each time the aums became clearer and more distinct.

And Rebecca at last felt revitalised and unstained.

She dressed, smoothed on a moisturiser, put on her lipstick and Opium, and then brushed her towel-dried hair with vigour under the hand drier. She called out to Monica in the adjoining shower cubicle.

‘Monica, I’ll be in the lounge talking to the Americans. You have about ten minutes!’

‘I won’t be much longer. The shower is wonderful.’

Rebecca rejoined Isaac and Lynette in the VIP lounge.

‘You don’t know how cleansing that felt,’ said Rebecca reclining into the armchair.

‘You certainly look refreshed,’ said Lynette. ‘And I took the liberty of ordering each of you a double Glenfidoch on the rocks. I do hope you enjoy a good scotch?’

‘A scotch would be perfect thank you.’ Rebecca paused and then added, ‘You said you wanted to talk. I presume it is about Paul Ravenscroft.’

Isaac glanced around cautiously and assured himself that no one was eavesdropping. He leaned forward, his dark brown eyes crinkled with intrigue. ‘Rebecca, from what Don told us, Paul will need all the help he can get. Don asked us to run a check on the facts in your vision. It seems you were 100% accurate. Paul is adopted. And his real parents were murdered!’

Rebecca reeled with abject relief. ‘I knew it.... I knew I wasn’t just dreaming. Oh thank God! It’s such a relief to hear you confirm the vision. A large part of me thought I was going crazy!’

But then her eyes suddenly stoked horror. And now she wished that she could dismiss the vision as unreal - simply a ghoulish nightmare. Isaac’s confirmation was physical proof relating to Paul’s birth. The ramifications of the remainder of the vision were too monstrously diabolical to comprehend.

She fired pointedly, ‘Is Paul in danger?’

‘I’m afraid right now, we have no way of knowing if Paul is safe or otherwise,’ replied Isaac expressing understanding. ‘But Don is an able man. I’m sure he’ll be watching Paul’s back.’

Rebecca’s overtaxed mind raced. She took a stab with her intuition. ‘You’re with the CIA aren’t you? She studied Isaac’s face for the reaction. ‘And if I am right, then Don is still on the CIA’s payroll.’

Isaac eyed his colleague and shrugged. Lynette replied first. ‘We can not officially disclose that sort of information.’ She looked at Isaac guardedly before continuing. ‘But allow me to phrase it this way. If I were you and I had those theories, I would consider that I was on the right track!’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Rebecca stiffly. ‘The United States Government is obviously backing this global government principle. Without your country’s participation it wouldn’t have been possible.’

‘Officially the US is involved. But as you can imagine, there is mistrust at every level,’ responded Isaac. ‘You see, it’s proposed that there will be three spheres of influence and control. The United States could no longer afford to play policeman to the world. Neither could the US continue to financially prop up the United Nations. So in the deal the US settled for absolute control over all of the North and South American Continents. A coalition of European countries will control Europe, the middle east and Africa, and Japan will control all of Asia.’

‘What about China?’ interrupted Rebecca, ‘There is no way the Chinese will accept Japan’s dominance.’

‘You are astutely right,’ answered Lynette. ‘China's growth rate has indeed been phenomenal. But part of the plan is that Japan will ‘encourage’ the cash starved Indians and Russians to keep the Chinese... Mmm how shall I say it, well occupied on their borders.’

‘God, that could lead to World War Three,’ protested Rebecca. ‘That would be total lunacy!’

‘Well the US doesn’t expect it will go that far.’ The reply from Isaac was as unconvincing as it was chilling. "Many of the Chinese leaders have secretly negotiated their personal positions in the new order. They know that without markets China's economy will collapse."

‘And Australia. Who has claimed Australia?’ asked Rebecca forcibly.

Lynette spoke. ‘Australia has been purposefully left out of the power sharing. Indeed Australia is likely to be the best place on Earth to live over the next fifty years. The US was uncompromising on that one condition. That Australia, New Zealand and Antarctica are to be left completely neutral - as an insurance policy for the future of the human race. If all else fails the underpopulated Australian and Southern continents will be the new beginning.’

‘And the others agreed to that?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Absolutely. A neutral state is a must. Like Switzerland in the Second World War, Australia is perfectly placed for the role. The Australians are a multi racial society with European, Asian and American influences. As a nation they are optimistically friendly, direct and honest. And remember, Australia is the only significant country in the world that is underpopulated!’

No wonder Wakonda has begun his mission in Australia, thought Rebecca. The prophecies of the seers Blavatsky and Cayce, among others, are being fulfilled. Australia and New Zealand will be the lands of the new age of enlightenment - the new beginning.

Rebecca scanned the overhead departure screens as she sipped her scotch. ‘So, given that we don’t want to risk missing the plane, what exactly do you want from me?’

Isaac glanced at his watch. ‘Ok, I’ll be quick. Don intends to update Paul as soon as he considers it safe. He’ll now be able to prove to Paul details of the adoption and the murders of his parents. He will also, with your permission tell Paul where you are, and about your vision.’

‘He has my permission,’ confirmed Rebecca. ‘Go on.’

‘Paul’s fallen in love with you. No doubt he’ll want to get in touch with you in Australia. We want to work closely with Paul. We need his trust!’

‘Then tell me who is ‘we’? countered Rebecca. ‘If you expect me to encourage Paul to trust you, I need to know what your motives are. Who do you both represent?’

Lynette’s expression changed in earnest. Her face became totally solemn. ‘Rebecca, there are many of us in the CIA, the United States Government and our armed services who disagree with the official line.’

‘At least not in parts,’ interjected Isaac.

Lynette continued. ‘We Americans have always staunchly protected our democracy. We still believe in the principles of freedom and the rights of the individual. This emerging powerful Prussian Germanic culture, honours social order and efficiency and group effort. The Russians, in the main, respect the Germans. And the Asians really only embraced democracy because it was expedient for them to do so.’ Lynette paused to find the right words to convey her feelings. ‘I am scared the world, as we know it, will be ruined by a pack of international Nazis that have only order, power and profit on their agenda.’

‘Lynette is right,’ agreed Isaac, ‘our old leftist enemy, the communists, have been replaced by right wing extremist elements. It’s a globalistic phenomenon that’s gone beyond nationalism. We have friends in the Mossad and other intelligence organizations who feel the same way as we do.’

‘And you hope to stop these inevitable changes?’ queried Rebecca feeling only partially in sympathy with Lynette’s views.

‘Perhaps not stop. It may be too late. But we might be able to influence the outcome,’ said Lynette.

‘Civil wars are likely to spread like a forest fire around the world. We fully expect the outcome to be a bloody archaic catastrophe!’ added Isaac.

Rebecca found herself making a snap decision. ‘I can’t speak for Paul, but I’ll help you in anyway that my conscience will allow!’ she said with conviction.

‘That’s wonderful Rebecca. Don told us that you would understand,’ said Lynette and her expression was one of humble gratitude.

‘And I’m with Rebecca,’ announced Monica in solidarity as she sat at the table. ‘Have I missed anything? Ah yes of course, my scotch.’

Rebecca looked penetratingly at Isaac. ‘There is one point I need to make.’

‘Well tell me about it - I’m listening,’ said Isaac shrugging.

‘I feel your thinking is polarised and dangerously limited. You don’t realise the multi-dimensional drama that is unfolding. The politics and the hunger for power are only the symptoms. The real cause is much more sinister.’

‘What ‘on earth’ can be more sinister than global takeover?’ asserted Isaac, intrigued at what Rebecca had to say.

Rebecca thought hard before replying. ‘That is the point. What I am alluding to does not originate on earth. The drama is not of this physical world!’

‘Not of this world! I don't understand,’ responded Lynette.

Isaac padlocked the shutters on his open mind. He suddenly became blindly disinterested and twitched his head nonchalantly.

‘Perhaps I’d better leave it at that for now,’ replied Rebecca meditatively and knowing there was no point in attempting to explain herself. ‘There is much I don’t understand either.’ And in her mind she thought, they honestly haven’t a clue what is really happening. They are spiritually fast asleep. The Masters incarnate into the world from the higher dimensions, with the message and soul call ‘Wake up!’ ‘Repent!’ ‘Heaven is at hand’ yet the multitudes continue to listen with death ears.

And alas tragically, soon it will all be too late.

Lynette spoke with sensitivity. ‘Don also said you have accepted a teaching position in your guru’s ashram in the Blue Mountains. We’ll contact you at the commune, via our agents in New South Wales, to keep you informed of any news.’

‘Will we be seeing either of you again?’ asked Rebecca finishing her drink and standing to take her leave.’

‘We hope so,’ replied Lynette. ‘And good luck in Australia. It’s a wonderful free country!’

‘Thank you for everything,’ said Rebecca.

‘You take care of yourselves,’ said Monica.

Isaac pressed a few coded digits on his mobile. A scrambler was activated and across the world in CIA HQ in Langley Virginia a special phone rang.

‘Rebecca Childs has agreed. They are boarding the Qantas flight now - business class of course.’

‘Good. We have a man already on the plane. The planes been double-checked for explosives. Our Australian agents will keep a tail on her as soon as she’s landed at Mascot.’

Isaac replaced the phone into his jacket pocket and turned on his heels to Lynette. ‘Whew! I don’t think she realises the danger she’s in. I hope we can keep her alive.’

Lynette’s face turned sullen. ‘I don’t fancy her chances!’

Isaac’s response sliced like a mortuary knife. ‘The world is hurtling into the most destructive and deadliest war in its history and nothing can stop it - for God’s sake - I don’t fancy any of our chances!’

2

Four powerful 62,500 lb thrust CF6-80E1 engines roared defiantly.

With 584 passengers on board, the sleek 440 tonne Qantas double-decked super-jumbo lumbered along the runway. The 65 metre long craft abruptly lifted its nose off the ground and levitated - up through the suffocating clouds - up to the freedom of the star filled heavens, and to emancipation.

Within minutes the ‘unfasten seat belt’ sign illuminated with a pleasant ‘dong’. Rebecca reclined her seat, stretched out her legs and utterly exhausted, crashed into nowhere land, far beyond the limitations of time.

Monica held Rebecca’s white veined hand and kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘Sleep tight,’ she whispered.

The distant drone of the jet engines, the background chatter and laughter, and the sound of the drink trolleys; Monica’s feelings of exhilaration and escape succumbed to her protective childhood sandman.

And she closed her eyes in surrender.

Hours drifted by and disappeared into the unreal past.

‘Wake up! Rebecca, you must wake up!

Rebecca’s heavy eyelids steadily exchanged one apparitional state for the equally illusionary state of physical existence.

It must be about 2 am, she thought, stirring from her forgotten dreams and now reclaiming full consciousness. ‘There was a voice - I’m certain I heard a voice warning me to awaken,’ she whispered silently.

She peered around the plane.

The cabin lights were dimmed. The throb of the engines. Monica slept soundly. A baby cried further back in the plane. In the seat across from the isle, a gum-chewing insomniac was engrossed in a spy novel. He looked up, acknowledged Rebecca with a furtive smile, and then went back to his pages. The other business class passengers appeared to be asleep.

I must have been dreaming, she thought.

She rose to her feet, stretched to alleviate the stiffness, and made her way to the toilets near the service area.

‘Well I see you are awake at last. I’m afraid you slept through supper.’ The young effeminate steward spoke with a quiet sensitivity and a distinctive Sydney accent. ‘Your friend advised not to wake you. Are you hungry? I can get you some food if you like.’

‘I am indeed ravenous,’ she replied.

‘You are a part vegetarian aren’t you?’

‘I eat eggs, seafood and dairy products, but no meat.’

The steward stood with hands on hips and contemplated. ‘Well, how would you like... slices of smoked salmon on crunchy bread, relished with capers and cream cheese, black olives and a side salad, a small bottle of Semillon style white wine from the Clare Valley in South Australia, followed by coffee and cheesecake.’

‘That would be wonderful! Thank you Simon.’ Rebecca’s gratitude was communicated with a repressed chuckle. She had noticed the steward’s nametag on his lapel, and at 2 am in the morning, 60,000 feet above the earth, ‘Simon the gay steward from Sydney’ seemed irrationally humorous.

‘Now it won’t take a jiffy,’ he fussed, ‘I’ll have it ready for you in no time. I’m going to take good care of you and your friend til we reach Sydney. So if there is anything you need, just ask!’

‘You are a beautiful person,’ whispered Rebecca.

‘Oh, I wished my friend would compliment me like that,’ he replied and then added, ‘but I suppose we must be thankful for the enjoyable experiences we do get, between all the crap in life.’

Rebecca smiled and nodded and wondered as to the true meaning of his statement.

She wasn’t long back in her seat after the visit to the toilet, when Simon delivered the precious meal.

‘There you are lovey, now don’t eat it too quick or you’ll end up with high altitude indigestion.’

‘I’ll try not to. But I can’t promise,’ she answered laughing.

‘And I specially brought you two bottles of wine. The amount you get in one of these small bottles is only a tease really.’

‘Thank you Simon.’

‘Not at all. I love to please!’

Rebecca devoured the offering with a voracious relish. Her appetite demanded instant satisfaction - resulting in a bad case of hiccups. The glowing effect from the wine soon made her feel disconsolate and her thoughts became centred on Paul. I wonder where he is right now? I wonder if Don has had an opportunity to talk to him yet? Please Wakonda take care of him for me. ‘Paul I love you darling,’ she murmured between the hiccups, and then sipped some more Semillon.

‘Don’t tell me you’re finished already. Well how’s your indigestion? At least you could have taken the time to taste the food.’ Simon posed indignantly behind his caring grin.

‘That was .. "hiccup".. delicious Simon,’ hiccupped Rebecca.

‘Tut tut. Didn’t I just tell you so? Now hand me your tray and I’ll leave you with the wine so you can relax. Ring for me if you need anything - and do keep warm!’

‘Thankyou hiccup...’

Rebecca was now alone with her scrambled thoughts and her wine. Yet in that spiritual rain forest of life, the astral dimension, she knew that a soul is never alone! The spirits of close relatives and friends long past are always there beyond the veil, subtly guiding, urging, and often wailing.

But she also knew that the astrals include the regions of the emaciated demonic spirits who pass their time, hunting, empowering, and often devouring.

Have a safe journey and God be with you.

The kind words of the caring transit clerk from Montego Bay flashed into her mind. It’s uncanny, she thought, initially the West Indian, then Isaac and Lynette, and now Simon the steward - they were there when Monica and I needed them. I feel as if a higher spiritual force is now watching over us - protecting us from unseen evil forces.

And as if to empower her feelings, waves of ecstatic vibrations of loving energy now descended upon her. Gratuitous tears appeared in her eyes as she confirmed in her heart that she was not alone.

She peeped down at Monica cuddled up cutely under a blanket and looking like the perfect angel.

‘Please take care of Monica too, Wakonda. Send her someone extra special.’

*

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Copyright 2004 – 2006 © Charles Goodwin. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, storage in a retrieval system or otherwise, without the prior express written permission of Charles Goodwin.

All characters - other than obvious historical figures - in this book 666 The Cauldron are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Prospective publishers with expressions of interest are invited to contact Charles Goodwin at cgoodwin@wealth-creators-club.com *