The Rozabal Line (4 page)

The passage that Vincent seemed to be muttering was: 'Also, they impressed into service a passer-by, a certain Simon of Cyrene, coming from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, that he should lift up his torture stake.'

Why was Vincent sputtering these words? 'Relax, Vincent. You have been subjected to trauma, shock and exhaustion. You need rest. You collapsed at the cemetery and we had to bring you here to recuperate,' began Father Thomas.

Vincent couldn't care less. His shoulder was hurting. His arms were aching. He could hear screams and jeers. He was sweating. He was walking on blood! He was carrying a cross!

Aunt Martha was lying down on the sofa in the hospital room when Vincent 23

stirred. The doctor had prescribed Dalmane shots to ensure that he slept calmly. It was around eleven in the morning.

'Good morning, sweetheart,' said Aunt Martha as she sat up on the sofa. Even though she had been up all night, Martha still looked fresh. The years of yoga and meditation had obviously helped her; she certainly did not look to be in her mid-forties.

Her youthful skin, auburn hair, pert nose and her well-toned 34-24-34 figure ensured that she did not look a day over thirty-five.

Vincent responded. 'Hi, Nana. What's happened to me? Am I sick?' Martha was relieved to hear Vincent calling her by the name that Matthew's entire family had for her--Nana. It obviously meant that Vincent was recovering. Martha got up from the sofa and walked to the side of the bed.

'You had a shock during the funeral, Vincent. You passed out. Poor baby, you've been in and out of consciousness for the past two days. We couldn't feed you through your mouth so we had to nourish you intravenously.'

Vincent thought back to the funeral and said, 'Nana, where's Father Thomas? I need to speak to him.'

Martha replied, 'He was here last night, baby. He left rather late. I think he'll come back to see you around lunchtime. What did you need to ask him?'

'Nana, I think I'm going crazy. At the funeral, before I fainted, I thought I saw visions. They were so real it was scary. I was even more scared because I thought I saw myself in some of the pictures that flashed before my eyes,' said Vincent.

Martha held Vincent's hand as she said, 'Vincent, sometimes when we confront shocks in our lives, they tend to electrify portions of our brain that we normally don't use. This can sometimes bring older memories to the forefront, memories that have been long suppressed.'

'This wasn't an older memory, Nana. I have never been to Jerusalem, yet I could see it in vivid detail. This wasn't a memory. It was something else . . . I just can't explain it. The scary bit is that I saw myself carrying the cross of Jesus!'

Martha looked straight into Vincent's eyes and asked, 'It could be your imagination . . . As a priest you have read virtually everything there is to learn about Jesus. Some of those stored facts could trigger visualisations. Possible, isn't it?'

'You're absolutely right, Nana. It's the shock that's causing hallucinations. It's nothing for us to really worry about,' said Vincent, just about convincing himself.

Martha rang the bell at Vincent's side so the nurse could sponge him and arrange for some breakfast. Though she didn't comment any further, she couldn't but help remember Vincent as a small boy standing next to the sweet little Kate, mumbling something in another language that only she had been able to understand.

'Talitha koum. Talitha koum. Talitha koum.'

New York City, USA, 2012

It had now been six years since his parents' death. Martha Sinclair and Vincent Sinclair were sitting together in the trendy York Avenue studio of Martha's yoga academy. Since Vincent had been discharged from hospital six years ago, Martha had succeeded in convincing him that he needed to recharge himself by practising 24

Pranayama, the ancient yogic science of breathing. 21

Since the passing of his parents, Vincent had made it a point to visit Aunt Martha each week. He looked forward to these visits because she was a lot of fun. Moreover, she was the only real family he had left.

Aunt and nephew were sitting with legs crossed facing one another. The classic yogic position called Padmasan was not as easy as Nana had made it out to be. The right foot had to be under the left knee, and the left foot was to be kept under the right knee. Easier said than done!

'Breathing is life. But how much do we notice it? For example, do you observe or notice that you use only one nostril at a time to breathe?' said Martha to her student.

Vincent was sceptical.

Martha quickly continued, 'At any given moment, only the right or left nostril will be breathing for you. Did you know that the active nostril changes approximately every ninety minutes during the twenty-four-hour day? It's only for a short period that both nostrils breathe together. The ancient Indian yogis knew all this and much more. They discovered and explored the intimate relationship between one's breath and one's mind.

They knew that when the mind is agitated, breathing almost certainly gets disturbed.

They also knew that if one's breath were held too long, the mind would have a tendency to get disturbed. Since the yogis were fundamentally attempting to control the mind, they figured that controlling the breath could possibly regulate the mind,' she concluded.

She had succeeded in holding his interest. Slowly but surely, Vincent Sinclair began to learn how to breathe and relax.

Not for long.

Central Park covers 843 acres or around 6 per cent of Manhattan. The park stretches from 59th Street in the south, to 110th Street at the northern end, and from 5th Avenue on the east side, to 8th Avenue on the west.

As a child, Vincent had loved visiting the Central Park Zoo. In later adult years, he had enjoyed attending performances at the park's Delacorte Theatre and indulging in the occasional culinary treat at the park's most famous restaurant, Tavern on the Green.

Martha's regimen of yoga and meditation was working wonders for him and he was feeling energetic as he headed for a quiet spot in the park's Reservoir. The Reservoir, located in the heart of Central Park, was quite a distance away from any of the bordering streets and was one of the most tranquil areas within the park. It was here that Vincent found a bench to try out the Vipassana techniques that Martha had been teaching him for the past few months.22

In Pali, the original language of Buddhism, Vipassana meant 'insight'. It was also more commonly used to describe one of India's most ancient meditation techniques, which had been rediscovered by the Buddha.

Vincent sat down on the bench and then drew up his legs so that he could assume the Padmasan position that Nana had taught him. He then closed his eyes and began to focus on his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. As he settled into a relaxed state of 25

mind there was a familiar flash! The same damn flash from the funeral six years ago!

Damn! Vincent thought. I thought that the craziness was over and done with!

Blood. Flash! Wounded soldiers . . . bandages. Flash! A blood-red cross with equal arms. Flash! A Bassano portrait . . . an elegant lady. Flash! A stately house . . .

reception rooms on the ground and first floors. Flash! Number 18. Flash! London streets. Flash! Iron fencing . . . an 'S' logo. Flash! Indian antiques. Flash! Parties, food, musicians, soldiers. Flash! An old LaSalle ambulance. Flash! Buckingham Palace. Flash!

Bell . . . Grave . . . so soon?

What was that? Vincent opened his eyes in mortal fear. Why was this happening to him? Bell . . . Grave . . . so soon? What in heaven's name did that mean? Was he to die? Was this a premonition? And why was he seeing images of London streets and stately homes? Vincent Sinclair was convinced more than ever that he was going mad.

He got up and started running wildly. Luckily he was on the periphery of the reservoir of Central Park, which was mainly used by joggers.

No one found it odd to see him running. They thought he was running to exercise himself. How could they possibly know that he was running from himself?

'Help me, Nana. I'm going stark, raving mad. Either that, or I'm possessed. Do you think I should call Father Thomas Manning for an exorcism? What is wrong with me? Why am I seeing strange things and hearing strange words?' Vincent was on the verge of hysteria.

Nana realised she needed to calm him down. 'Relax, sweetheart. It isn't uncommon to have recollections of events, things, people or places that are hidden in our brains. In fact, it isn't strange to remember past lives either. Unfortunately, you're a Catholic priest . . . how on earth can I possibly discuss past life issues with you when you have closed your mind to such possibilities?'

Vincent's eyes widened. 'You think I could be having past-life recollections? But surely that's nonsense, Nana. The Bible says it is appointed unto men to die once, and after death comes judgement.'

'Listen, Vincent, I know I will always be the eccentric, esoteric, Eastern philosophy-espousing crazy aunt to you, but isn't it possible that what you have learnt so far is not the whole truth? Isn't it possible that there are things that you are yet to learn?' asked Martha rather innocently.

'Sure, Nana, but I can't question my faith. My faith is all that I have.'

Martha said, 'Okay. Let me try to help you see things my way. We all know the bit from the Bible about the blind man . . . you know, the bit when Jesus's disciples asked him: "Rabbi, who has sinned, this man or his parents, that he should be born blind?" Tell me, Vincent, why would the disciples have asked this question if there was no belief in a past life? Huh?'

Vincent remained silent in thought.

Martha continued, 'You probably remember the passage where Jesus says: "I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again." Tell me, sweetheart, how is it possible to be born again unless you have more than one life?'

Vincent was ready with arguments of his own.

26

'Nana, the fact that the disciples asked Jesus about the reasons for the blind man's condition only means that reincar-nation as a concept was alive in his era. It does not mean that Jesus believed in it. Also, when Jesus talked about being born again he was referring to spiritual awakening, not birth in the literal sense.' 23

Martha was just as determined to have her way. She countered defiantly, 'So what else do you think can explain your strange visions and flashes?'

Vincent was quiet. He really didn't have a logical answer.

'May I suggest something? Sometimes, a past-life memory can be triggered by a place or an object. Is there something that you can recall from your recent flashes?'

'The only thing I can recall seeing in today's visions is Buckingham Palace. I've never been there . . . but I've seen it on postcards. Let me think . . . what else? At Mom and Dad's funeral, I remember seeing flashes of Jerusalem--at least I think it was Jerusalem. The rest of the stuff that I saw can't really be pinned down to a definite place.'

Martha quickly cut in. 'I think it's time you and your aunt had a vacation in London. What do you say, Vincent?' She winked at him, a widegrin on her face.

'I thought I was the crazy one! Are you out of your mind, Nana? I don't believe in this past life nonsense. In any case, I can't afford it; I'm a priest, remember? We don't really earn all that much!'

'Oh shut up, Vincent! Your Nana has made some serious money from her Eastern mumbo-jumbo. I'm paying. So you damn well get your holy ass on that blessed flight, Father Vincent Sinclair!'

Chapter Six

Harare, Zimbabwe, 1965

Terry Acton was born on 11 November, the very day that Ian Smith, Prime Minister of Rhodesia, made a unilateral declaration of independence for the country.

Terry's father had moved to Rhodesia from England upon being offered a position at the De Beers Mining Company. He had married the daughter of his British supervisor a year after moving and had decided to make Rhodesia his home. Terry had been born two years later.

Unfortunately, Rhodesia was in turmoil. The government of Prime Minister Ian Smith was a white minority running an apartheid regime. The country was in civil war with the rebels being led by Robert Mugabe, who eventually seized power in 1980.

Mugabe's regime was one of corruption, sleaze, torture, and dictatorship.24 The Actons were forced to leave the country and return to England in 1991.

London, UK, 1991

Terry's parents ended up losing their lifesavings when they fled Zimbabwe.

Circumstances made them poor East-Enders, living in the working-class borough of Hackney.

The economy was in recession and Terry's father was lucky to get a blue-collar factory job at Lesney's. Lesney's factory was located in Hackney Wick, and produced 27

Matchbox toys such as miniature cars and trucks. Lesney's was the main employer in the area; in fact, it was pretty much the only employer in the area.25

Senior Acton had not taken the knocks well. He became an obnoxious, red-nosed drunk who excelled at beating his wife often and his kids occasionally, depending upon the level of alcohol in his bloodstream. Little Terry was a frail and frightened little boy who suffered from asthma, a chronic respiratory condition that weakened him further.

Terry's mother was an angel from heaven who somehow managed to lock away her emotional and physical scars to produce the finest Yorkshire pudding, rhubarb crumble and shepherd's pie in England for her son. Terry loved returning home from school to his mother, but he hated his father coming home.

He was relieved when his father shot himself when the Lesney's factory, one of the last few remaining businesses in Hackney, shut shop and made him redundant.

Knocks in his early years would make Terry even more determined to succeed at school and eventually in life. The Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford two years later was his ticket to the future.

He silently thanked Cecil John Rhodes.

Cecil John Rhodes, the founder of the state of Rhodesia, which eventually became Zimbabwe, had made his millions by shrewdly investing in the diamond mines of southern Africa. In 1880, he had created the De Beers Mining Company, which would eventually bring him great power, fortune and recognition.26

In 1877, Rhodes would contend: 'We British are the finest race in the world; and that the more of the world we inhabit, the better it is for the human race.'

Rhodes would die young at the age of just forty-nine. In his last will and testament, he would leave his fabulous wealth to create a secret society: one that would allow Britannia to rulethe world. It was projected by Rhodes that by 1920 there would be around 2,000 to 3,000 men in their prime scattered all over the globe, each having been mathematically selected to achieve the goals set out by Rhodes.

Rhodes had confided to a close friend that it was necessary to create 'a society copied . . . from the Jesuits . . . a secret society organised, like Loyola's, supported by the accumulated wealth of those whose aspiration is to do something . . . a scheme to take the government of the whole world!'

The Rhodes Scholarships, which would become very famous, would merely be a tool to recruit the most promising and bright future leaders--in whichever arena they chose to work--in politics, business, government, banking, finance, arts, science, medicine, technology or social work.

The forty-second President of the United States, Bill Clinton, would be a Rhodes Scholar. His administration alone would have more than twenty other Rhodes Scholars.

In 1993, one of the new recruits into Rhodes' secret society was Terry Acton. He was one of the youngest and brightest members of this elite group, accepted into Oxford to pursue an undergraduate degree in psychology. Another recruit was an incredibly intelligent American woman. Her name was Alissa Kaetzel.

Two years into his Oxford degree, Terry was offered the opportunity of a lifetime--a chance to obtain an advanced degree in clinical psychology at Yale. Terry 28

grabbed it with both hands.

Alissa stayed on at Oxford to complete her M.Phil in political theory, comparative government and international relations.

New Haven, Connecticut, USA, 1993

Terry's Rhodes Scholarship had opened a new door, not only to Oxford and Yale, but also to Yale's secret society--The Order of Skull & Bones. 27

The previous year, he had climbed to the tower of Weir Hall overlooking the Bones courtyard and had heard blood-curdling cries from within the structure as fifteen newcomers were put through their initiation.

Terry's moment had arrived on 'tap night' when fifteen seniors led by Stephen Elliot arrived outside his room and pounded on the door. When he opened his door, Stephen slammed Terry's shoulder and shouted, 'Skull and Bones: Do you accept?'

Bewildered, Terry mumbled, 'Accept.'

He had been handed a message wrapped with a black ribbon and sealed with black wax with the skull-and-crossbones emblem and the number 322. The message mentioned a time and a place for Terry to appear on initiation night.

On initiation night, he had been taken by Stephen Elliot to a special room which had a question written in German on its walls: 'Wer war der thor, wer weiser, bettler oder kaiser? Ob arm, ob reich, im tode gleich.'

Translated, the German sentence meant: 'Who was the fool, who the wise man, beggar or king? Whether poor or rich, all's the same in death.'

The origins of that particular riddle were very old indeed. They could be traced back to 1776.

In 1776, the Bavarian Illuminati had come into being at the University of Ingolstadt in Germany. The Latin word Illuminati meant 'the enlightened ones'. 28

These were people for whom the illuminating light came, not from an authoritative source such as the Church, but from elevated spiritual consciousness. The secret society would have elaborate initiation rituals. The initiate would be shown a skeleton, at the feet of which would be a crown and sword. The initiate would then be asked whether the skeleton was that of a king, nobleman or beggar. Unable to answer, the initiate would be told that it was unimportant . . . the only thing of importance was the character of being a man.

At the end of the day, all humans were merely skull and bones.

Terry Acton had realised he had a 'spiritual gift' after the death of his wife, Susan.

Terry and Susan had been university sweethearts at Yale. She had been working as a waitress in Romano's, the pizza hangout for Yallies and he had tried the most ridiculous pick-up lines on her each day till she agreed to go out with him. They got married during his final year at Yale. Stephen Elliot, who had initiated Terry into Skull & Bones, had been his best man.

While Stephen had introduced Terry to Skull & Bones, Terry returned the favour by introducing Stephen to Alissa Kaetzel. Alissa returned home after completing her M.Phil from Oxford and had dropped in to meet Terry in New Haven. She had ended up 29

staying on for two weeks after meeting Stephen Elliot.

The two couples were on a vacation in the Pocono Mountains when Terry's car swerved off a wet road. Stephen and Alissa survived along with Terry, but Susan did not.

Stephen and Alissa had been arguing about whether a woman or African-American could ever become President of the United States. Terry had been totally absorbed in the rather heated discussion and had not noticed the sharp bend in the road a few yards ahead.

Terry's life came to a standstill. He mourned the loss of Susan. He mourned the loss of the children they had planned together but did not have.

America was no longer attractive. It reminded him too much of Susan. Terry took the first available flight back to London. He did not bother to inform anyone of his decision, except for his close friend and confidant Stephen Elliot.

London, UK, 1996

Lonely and miserable in London, Terry was left with no alternative but to fill the vacuum. He began to fill it with a bottle of Bell's whisky each day.

He realised he needed discipline in life. So, he disciplined himself into walking into the Star Tavern pub at 11:30 sharp each morning.

Terry was sitting at his usual table in the Star Tavern when a young lady walked into the pub and started going up to each table and hurriedly asking the men, 'Excuse me. Is your name Terry?' After several failed attempts she finally reached Terry's table.

'Excuse me. Is your name Terry?' she enquired. Terry continued to stare at the glass in his hand and nodded his assent without looking up.

'I have a message for you from Susan,' she said.

Terry's hand dropped the glass and the whisky and ice spilled on the table. 'Who the fuck are you?' he demanded in a sudden fit of rage.

'Please listen to me. I'm not a crank. I know that Susan's dead. I work next door at the Spiritualist Association. I'm a psychic medium,' she pleaded.

'Fuck you! You sick, perverted bitch! Bugger off.'

Terry was furious. The mere mention of Susan had reopened raw, unhealed wounds.

The woman was equally determined and stood her ground. 'Listen, you pathetic drunk, I have no inclination to carry on a conversation with you. I do, however, suggest that you let Sabrina and Jonathan go to summer camp.'

With those words, the woman did an about-turn and stormed out of the pub.

Terry's jaw dropped and his throat went dry. Since the day that Susan and Terry had started planning for children they had zeroed in on two names, Sabrina and Jonathan, for their yet-to-be-born children. Susan used to joke that she would pack the children off to camp each summer so as to get some respite from motherhood, much to the consternation of Terry, who could not bear the thought of his kids ever being away from him.

No one else had ever shared this private conversation between husband and wife.

30

The Spiritualist Association of Great Britain, or the SAGB, sat inside a charming Victorian building in southwest London. The ninety-two-year lease had been purchased by the association in 1955 for the unbelievably low price of PS24,500. 29

The building housed several independent rooms that were bare except for two chairs facing one another in each room. One of these chairs would be used by the visitor, and the other would be occupied by any of the several psychic mediums who worked there. Each room had a glass skylight to allow energy to flow in and out of the room. The SAGB offered one-on-one sittings with psychics for spiritual healing, psychic workshops as well as regression sessions.

Terry Acton had come to the SAGB looking for the woman who had approached him in the pub. He was unable to recall her name. Actually, he was quite sure he had not even given her a chance to introduce herself.

Luckily, the SAGB lobby had a bulletin board with the names and photos of all the psychic mediums working there and he recognised her picture on it. The photo was obviously one of her at a younger age, but it was unmistakably her. Martha Sinclair.

He had gone up to the reception and hesitated. The elderly receptionist looked up and said, 'Yes? May I help you, sir?'

'Yeah. I uh . . . was wondering whether Martha Sinclair would be available for a psychic session today?' he asked.

'You're in luck. She is presently in a session that should be over in around fifteen minutes. Shall I book you for a sitting? The cost of a thirty-minute private appointment is PS30,' the receptionist had added helpfully. Terry had thought about it only for a moment and then quickly shelled out the thirty pounds for the sitting with Martha.

'Could you please wait in room number six? She'll be with you shortly.'

Terry had never imagined he would be at the SAGB waiting for a psychic sitting.

This was so unlike him. In a short while, Martha walked in. He had not known that this one sitting would change his life forever.

He had expected her to be mad at him for the way he had behaved at the pub.

Instead, she was gentle, warm, friendly and genuinely concerned for him. By being so nice, she ended up making him feel even guiltier about his obnoxious attitude at the pub.

'Please don't be sorry,' she said to him. 'It's important to let go of your guilt. Life puts us in situations so that we can learn from them. Once we have learned, it's time to throw away the guilt and move on,' she said.

She continued. 'Everyone is endowed with psychic gifts. These gifts could be empathy, prophecy, cognition or vision. Each of us has some of these in lesser or greater quantities. They are the various ways in which psychic perception is possible. As you open yourself to these offerings, spiritual energy becomes your teacher and you become more acutely aware of your sixth sense.'

She then lowered her voice and said, 'During the past few weeks, I have been feeling the presence of a spirit which is not completely at peace. A few days ago, when I was meditating, I heard a female voice telling me that her name was Susan and that I shouldgive a message to her husband, Terry, who was at the pub just next door,' she 31

said. Martha paused to look into Terry's eyes for disbelief--she found none.

'She wanted me to tell you she is happy. She is in a place where she is in the midst of happiness and love. She wants you to understand that our lives on earth are merely illusions. Each life is nothing but a change of clothes. Bodies die and decay, what remains unchanged is the soul; that is eternal,' she concluded.

Terry's eyes had turned moist. He started feeling the healing touch of a soothing balm on his tired and aching spirit. Her gentle voice was comforting him, like a mother's lullaby.

Martha continued, 'She knew you would not believe me and that's why she gave me the children's names. She said you have a clean and pure heart and that you can easily help others by looking inside yourself and discovering your spiritual self.'