January 24, 2013. Washington, DC
It was Tom Benjamin’s last season in professional football. He had not been back to the Superbowl since his last Superbowl win with the Giants. He had been traded to the Carolina Panthers at the beginning of the season. But the 2012 season had been fantastic, with Benjamin grabbing the last bit of the old magic, completing an incredible record-breaking 72% of passes in a single season. Steve Shane, Benjamin’s number one passing target, had 1,912 passing yards, breaking Jerry Rice’s single season yardage record. In the NFC Playoff Game against the Seattle Seahawks, with four seconds left on the clock, Benjamin lobbed a beautiful spiral to Shane in the corner of the end zone for the winning touchdown. The final score was 28 to 26. The Carolina Panthers, the home team of President Anna Scall, would be going to New Orleans for the Superbowl against the Miami Dolphins. It was hard to see how the President, a diehard football fan, could miss going to that game. The Secret Service Agents watching the game in the White House groaned when they saw the result. The logistics for security at the Superdome just became more complicated.
When the dead had been counted two days after the blast, political junkies across the country quickly did the math. The Democrats had a four-vote majority, 52 to 48, in the Senate before the explosion. But after the explosion, seven Democratic Senators and three Republican Senators had perished. That brought the tally to 45 Democrats and 45 Republicans, a tie. Normally the sitting Vice President would cast the deciding vote, but now there was no Vice President, resulting in a deadlock. Because the majority party in the Senate gets to control the agenda of the Senate, each party wanted to make sure they had the control. In order to do that, they needed their state Governors to appoint replacements immediately. On the morning of January 24, 2013, at 10 a.m., the Republican Governor from Nebraska, ignoring the President’s plea to pick replacements according to the party of the fallen Senator, appointed a Republican to replace the Democrat from his state who had perished. This gave the Republicans a temporary 46 to 45 lead. An hour later, Republicans in the Senate voted a Senator from Kentucky as their Majority Leader, who immediately called for a vote on Matt Suba’s nomination for Vice President. The Democratic Minority Leader said they would be ready for debate at about 2 p.m. that day. At 1 p.m., the Governors from Arkansas and Oregon appointed Democrats to replace their fallen comrades, giving the Democrats a 47 to 46 lead. The Democrats met at 1:30 p.m. and elected a Senator from Pennsylvania as their new Majority Leader. Having gained control of the agenda, the new Majority Leader canceled the vote on Matt Suba. This game of musical chairs happened three more times that afternoon, with Republican Governors from Missouri, Wyoming, and Montana sending three more Republicans to the Senate, and Democratic Governors from Texas, New Jersey, and Maine sending three more Democrats. When the dust settled at the end of the day, the Democrats were barely in charge, 50 to 49, with a special election scheduled for Arizona, one of the few states that do not allow the Governor to fill the Senator’s seat.
That night, Fox News commentators were in frenzy. Glazing over the fact that the Republican Governors had also ignored President Scall’s plan of replacement, the commentators excoriated the Democrats, accusing them of playing games in a time of national crisis. The government had to be restored, they said, and only a vote on Matt Suba, up or down, immediately would restore order from the chaos. The Tea Party members were outraged, and the next morning, on January 25, 2013, all hell broke loose. Citizens drove to Washington. Republican think tank organizations bused in people from all over the country to demonstrate in front of the Senate.
The new Democratic Majority Leader from Pennsylvania was in a tight spot. She was in a state which used to lean Democratic, but which started to migrate to the Republicans in the last election. Her state was almost evenly split, and so she had to make sure she kept all of the electorate happy. On January 25, 2013, her exhausted staff advised her that the calls were coming in 20 to 1 in favor of giving an immediate vote to Matt Suba. Most of the calls involved people cussing or screaming. Her staff said they had never heard anything quite like that. However, the other members of her Party were insistent. Do not schedule a vote for this man. We do not even know who he is yet. He has not been vetted. He could be Charles Manson for all they knew. They had to have time to investigate Suba. The Democratic Majority Leader held on until Sunday, January 27, 2013, when she was ambushed with a pile-on during Meet the Press. Even David Gregory, always known for his even-handedness, seemed testier than usual with his questions. Her pollster told her that night that her favorability ratings were plummeting. She could not stand the heat anymore. On Monday, January 28, 2013, the Majority Leader announced that debate would begin on the Suba appointment, with a vote scheduled for Friday, February 1, 2013. The House announced a similar schedule, with their vote to occur on Thursday, January 31, 2013. Journalists from around the country went in to hyperdrive over the next four days, interviewing everyone they could from South Carolina who had ever met Matt Suba, the country’s proposed Vice President.
Meanwhile, FBI agents had spent the last week combing over every inch of the homes of Hector Santiago and John Morse. The lab technicians analyzed the small gray clay material found in Santiago’s sink. It was C-4 explosive all right, and it matched the RDX stolen from the Alexandria, Virginia chemical plant, as well as remnants of the explosive found at the church. The apartment also had paint and brushes. The FBI Agents noticed that the color brown was in short supply. Photos taken of the church before the blast showed the statue of St. Anthony wearing a brown monk’s robe. Under the mattress, they found a Qur’an, which was obviously inconsistent with someone claiming to be a devout Catholic. Analysis of Santiago’s background uncovered that he had entered the country illegally. Agents traveled to Mexico and spoke with friends who had known him years ago. Unfortunately, however, Santiago had not cracked in any of the interviews, and just kept saying he was not saying anything. FBI investigators, however, were encouraged by the fact that he had yet to ask for an attorney, despite being given his Miranda rights. The Assistant U.S. Attorney in charge of the case said he thought the case against Santiago was pretty thin. Santiago could say he picked up the remnants of the explosive cleaning the church. It was questionable whether the lies about his religion would come into evidence. He asked the investigators to dig for more.
They had still not let Morse or his children go. They had given Morse two polygraphs, and a polygraph to each of his children, and they had passed. Zach had shown some nervousness on the questions about killing the assassins, which was certainly understandable; as the teenager was probably worried he could be charged with a crime. On January 27, 2013, they decided to get serious with Morse. They put him in a chamber for over 36 hours with no light and then woke him up violently and started peppering him with questions. But the severe techniques only served to disorient him and get him angry, nothing more. In the meantime, Detective Tom Jensen decided for the sake of being thorough to check on the items in Morse’s bag. He had his lab technicians carbon date both the scrolls and the ink. The results were conclusive: both came from the early sixteenth century, as Morse had claimed. Investigators in Verona, Italy had picked up Parducci for questioning and had seized the final scrolls. The Verona Police confirmed that the scrolls found there also dated from the sixteenth century. And Jensen found an expert on Nostradamus from a French museum who was kind enough to e-mail a sample of the handwriting of both Nostradamus and Julius Caesar Scaliger. Again, the results were conclusive. The first scroll found in the vault matched known handwriting exemplars of Nostradamus; the other scrolls’ handwriting matched known handwriting exemplars of the sixteenth century scholar Julius Caesar Scaliger.
Jensen had also tracked down “Doug and Ray” in Carcassonne. As Morse claimed, Ray Lardiggio, an American tourist, had received a gunshot wound to the arm during a recent visit to Carcassonne. When interviewed, he confirmed Morse’s account of the events at Carcassonne. His friend Doug Bushnell had been initially hesitant to talk, but when he heard that Morse had explained everything about what had occurred in the church, he felt there was no point in being quiet about it. He was sure he would be exonerated. He had saved three people’s lives, after all. Police detectives in Carcassonne confirmed that the ancient confessional in the Basilica was missing its screen. And the dead priest in Agen was consistent with Morse’s story as well. Large clumps of hair had been found in the priest’s dressing room. The French detectives had overnighted the hair samples to the FBI. Sure enough, it matched underarm hair samples taken from Morse and his son. In short, their story, as strange as it was, completely checked out.
Jensen was ultimately able to obtain identification from the French authorities as to the assassins found in Salon and Carcassonne. Each was a Muslim radical whose name was on the Homeland Security Watch List. Two of the three were suspected in a number of killings and bombings in southern Europe.
Jensen could find no record that Morse ever possessed a firearm of any kind. He had no criminal record. He had no history of violence, no history of psychological illness or disturbance. The teenagers’ school records also looked pretty good. Zach was an A student, Zoey was a C student. Both were active in school activities and had no history of drugs, no history of school suspensions. On Thursday, January 31, 2013, Jensen brought the scrolls to one of their linguists, and had him translate everything on the parchment, to make sure that Morse’s translations were correct. The linguist confirmed that the translations were correct. He finally realized Morse and his kids were probably legit, and not involved in any terror plot. Jensen talked to Ruddy Montana from the FBI, who agreed. Morse just did not seem like the type. Jensen had nothing to hold Morse on except for violating French laws against stealing antiquities, so on Saturday morning, the day before the Superbowl, he had Morse and his children released, upon Morse’s agreement to return all scrolls found in France to the French government within thirty days. He returned to Morse his notebook, bag and other personal items.
“Stay in Washington for the next few days, Mr. Morse, we may want to talk to you again.”
Morse was angered by his treatment, but delighted to be released. He asked if they could have police protection for a few days, in case someone was still following them. Jensen said he could not spare the manpower. When Morse was released, he drove the children to a café in Georgetown to get something to eat. While he was eating a turkey sandwich, Morse was momentarily distracted by the television over the café’s bar. He had not seen the news in ten days and wondered what had happened in the bombing investigation. The television journalist on the TV over the bar was in front of the Capitol explaining a historic vote:
“This is Andrea Mitchell with CNN News. History was made just a few moments ago, when the Majority Leader crossed her own party and voted in favor of the nomination of Matt Suba, casting the deciding vote in Suba’s favor, after a heated debate this week in the Senate. Many in her party whispered that she was a traitor to the party, but the Majority Leader from Pennsylvania explained at a press conference in the Rotunda that she agreed with the President that the President’s judgment had to be trusted in this time of crisis so that the American government could be restored. Republicans cheered the Majority Leader’s non-partisan vote, but other critics complained that it was a vote cast for expediency, as the Majority Leader is in a state which is almost evenly split between conservative Republicans and liberal Democrats.”
Morse’s blood ran cold. He quickly pulled out his notebook with the final quatrains taken from Verona:
55.
Les remplacements sont choisis trop rapidement
Le Projeteur, MABUS , est progéniture du Diable
Il complote sa prise de pouvoir méchamment
Une fois au pouvoir, il est redoutable.
The replacements are chosen too swiftly.
The Planner, MABUS, is the spawn of the Devil.
He plots his takeover wickedly.
Once in power, he is formidable.
MABUS. Morse wrote the words “M. SUBA” on his notebook. He reversed the name “Suba” and got “M. ABUS”—MABUS! He recalled his debate with Erika Flynn in December, when he mocked her for switching the letters of a prophecy around. But this was simply too great a coincidence!
If the prophet Henriette de Nostradame was correct, the Americans had just voted into power the Devil Himself, the one who had planned the Cincinnatti Massacre, the Inauguration Day Shooting, and the St. Anthony’s Bombing, and who still had more attacks to come! He scanned down to the final quatrains:
56.
Ils attaquent le stade quand on va jouer, pendant le jour.
L’Aigle s’approche de l’air.
Les gens fuient chercher le secours.
Les Béliers attaquent de la terre.
They attack the stadium when they are about to play, during the day,
The Eagle approaches from the air.
The people flee to seek help.
The Rams attack from the ground.
The stadium—that had to mean the Louisiana Superdome in New Orleans, where the Superbowl was scheduled for the following day. The “Eagle approaches from the air” has to mean an airplane flying into the Louisiana Superdome. “The Rams attacking from the ground” has to mean attacking the panicked fans when they attempt to leave the stadium. Morse then thought of something else. He went up to the bartender.
“Who is playing in the Superbowl this weekend?”
“Carolina Panthers and the Miami Dolphins.”
The Carolina Panthers. Anna Scall was from South Carolina. She would certainly be at the game. If the terrorists were successful, Matt Suba would become President of the United States. Morse looked at the next chilling quatrain:
57.
MABUS gouverne par la mort ou le chantage.
Il se venge avec des nuages de la mort.
Le meurtre de millions cause de grand ombrage.
Une Guerre de Haine pendant deux siècles, alors...
MABUS governs by death or blackmail
He retaliates with clouds of death
His murder of millions causes great offense
A War of Hate for two centuries, then…
A mass murder at the Superbowl followed by a nuclear and religious war for two hundred years. Morse had to stop this!
Agen, France. 1539.
The Grand Inquisitor snarled behind his hooded, black robe. Henri had lasted two days through the inquisitor’s tortures, but he was exhausted. He could not last much longer. Henri was chained to a stone wall in a prison cell beneath a Franciscan Abbey in Southern Spain. The Grand Inquisitor, in a sham of a trial, had found him guilty last week of witchcraft and heresy. He had been transported to the abbey’s prison quarters several days ago. The Inquisitor stirred the iron poker into the hot embers again, heating up the sharp end until it was molten red. He removed the poker from the fire and surgically jammed it into Henri’s shoulder. The poker smoked and sizzled as it burned through the flesh. Henri screamed in agony.
“Stop, please!”
“Talk!” screamed the Grand Inquisitor menacingly. “Where is your sister Andiette?”
“I don’t know! I swear to you! I have not seen her in years.”
The Inquisitor put the poker back into the pot of embers again.
“Where is she?!” He stabbed the poker into Henri’s leg, putting a burning black hole into his thigh.
“Aaaaaagh!” Henri screamed. His face was covered with sweat. He had burn marks, whip lashes and scars all over his body.
The Inquisitor put the poker in the embers a third time.
“This one,” he growled, “is going in your eye if you do not talk.” He put the red hot end of the poker an inch from Henri’s face. As the Inquisitor started to put the poker to the skin, Henri screamed.
“She is in Agen! Her name is Andiette Scaliger now.”
“Does she have the prophecy?”
“I don’t know about a prophecy.”
The Inquisitor heated the poker again.
“I do not know about a prophecy. I swear! But I have heard her daughter has the gift of sight like her mother. That’s all I know. I PROMISE!” Henri began weeping, ashamed of his confession.
The Grand Inquisitor patted Henri on the back as he cried.
“There, there. It is all right, my son. Confession is good for the soul. I absolve you of your sins.” With that, the Grand Inquisitor slammed the red hot poker with all his might through Henri’s neck, impaling him against the wall.
In Agen, France, at 3 in the morning, Andiette Scaliger was sleeping peacefully with her husband Julius until she was interrupted by a horrible nightmare. She bolted out of bed and threw on a dress and shoes. Her husband was awakened by the noise and groggily stared at his wife.
“Andiette, what are you doing, it is the middle of the night!”
“Julius, we are all in terrible danger! I can feel it! I have seen the face of the Devil! He is coming for us!”
“The face of the Devil? What on earth are you talking about? You just had a nightmare! Go back to bed this instant.”
“Julius, you know about the vision I had as a youth of the boy being attacked by his father? You remember that? This dream was just like that! I must trust my visions.”
“Andiette, please, get back in bed. You are being silly and narcissistic.”
“I do not know what that means, Julius, but I must go. I am going to get Henriette and the children. If you want to get us later, we will be at the Cathedral. It is the only place which is safe.” Henriette, their daughter, had been living with them while her husband Michel was out of town curing victims of the plague. Andiette banged on her daughter’s door. She was surprised to see when she opened her door that she was already dressed. The two babies were crying, having been awakened from a sound sleep. The mother and grandmother quickly dressed the children.
“Henriette, it is your Bible he is after. You must fetch it quickly.”
Henriette went to her dresser and retrieved the small Bible and gave it to her mother. Then she and the children and her mother went into the cold night air of Agen. Andiette opened her mouth in surprise when she looked down the street. In front of the temporarily vacated home of Michel and Henriette de Nostradame, a coach was stopped. They could see the breath from the black horse’s nostrils in the distance. A tall, hooded figure was knocking at Henriette’s door.
“Quickly,” whispered Andiette, “We can make it to the Cathedral if we don’t make any noise.”
Swaddling the children tightly, Henriette followed Andiette around the back of the Scaliger house and across an alley, on their way to the Cathedral. They crossed over three streets. They could see the lights of the Agen Cathedral about 100 yards away, but the sprint would be out in the open, where anyone could see them. Just then, one of the infants began screaming.
“GO!” yelled Andiette. The two women burst from their hiding place and ran as quickly as they could across the dark cobblestone street to the entrance of the Agen Cathedral. Andiette, holding the Bible, got to the door of the Cathedral first. Henriette was carrying the infants and was about twenty feet behind her mother. Just as Henriette got to the steps of the Cathedral, a big, dark hand grabbed her arm like a vice. Henriette let out a scream.
Henriette whirled and saw a huge big-chested figure, over six feet tall, wearing a dark monk’s robe.
“Henriette de Nostradame, you must come with me. You are charged with witchcraft and heresy.”
“Let her go!” Andiette yelled from the Cathedral.
“I would be happy to let her go,” the Inquisitor smiled darkly. “On one condition. There is a prophecy hidden somewhere in Agen. Give it to me now, and your lives and the lives of your children will be spared.”
Henriette looked at Andiette, silently shaking her head giving her the “NO” sign. Andiette hid the Bible in a pocket of her dress.
Henriette said, “There is no prophecy.”
The Inquisitor grabbed both of her children from her arms
“DO NOT TOY WITH ME, GIRL!” Then he smiled.
“You have a simple choice. You give me the prophecy or your children will die.”
Henriette thought for a moment.
“All right. There is a prophecy.”
“No,” yelled Andiette.
“QUIET, WOMAN!” yelled the Inquisitor.
“But it is not written down. It is in my head. Spare my children and I will give it to you.”
“I have a better idea,” said the Inquisitor. “You and your children will come with me.” The Inquisitor grabbed the children from their mother’s arms and placed them into the seat of his coach. Then he returned to Henriette. “And when I am satisfied that you have given me the prophecy, then I will decide whether you are a witch or a heretic or simply a stupid little girl. And you will tell me the truth, or you and your children will die.”
The Inquisitor grabbed her arm and threw her into the coach as well.
“No! Henriette!” Andiette screamed. But she knew she could not try to rescue her. The prophecy was too important. Andiette knew the prophecy would be safe in the church.
The Grand Inquisitor instructed his driver to proceed. The driver snapped the reins, and the horses took off with a gallop. On the coach ride, Henriette recounted to the Grand Inquisitor as much as she could remember about the prophecy. Twenty minutes later, the coach stopped. They were in the woods, somewhere south of Agen. The Grand Inquisitor led Henriette and her children through the wet leaves of the forest to an old graveyard. The stench was overwhelming. There were flies buzzing everywhere. Something did not look right about this place. As Henriette adjusted her eyes in the darkness, she saw a horrible sight: piles of dead human bodies. She was petrified, and began to move to retreat back to the coach, but the Inquisitor grabbed her arm and pushed her forward. The Inquisitor took her past the bodies to a huge stone vault set into the ground. The door to the vault was open. As she peered inside, there appeared to be rotting dead bodies inside.
“Henriette, have you told me everything you know about this prophecy?”
“Yes, I have, I swear!”
“You said if I told you, you would spare me.”
“NO, I said then I would determine if you are a witch or a heretic or a stupid girl. Henriette, only a witch marked by the Devil could know these things you know. You speak ill of our Popes. You talk about murder and horrible crimes of nature. I can only conclude you are a witch. I am sorry.”
The Grand Inquisitor threw Henriette and her children violently into the vault and closed the vault door.
Henriette could see nothing but blackness around her, but the stench of the bodies infected with plague was overwhelming.
“NO!” she screamed, banging on the stone. “Let us out! Please!”
“Henriette,” said the Inquisitor through the door. “What else is there concerning this prophecy you have not told me? Tell me now and your soul may be saved.”
“There is nothing! I swear!”
Satisfied, the Inquisitor said, “Good, then this dies with you here.” The Inquisitor stomped away, his black boots pressing into the soft mud and leaves of the forest.
Inside the vault, Henriette could hear the sound of rats. She screamed the loudest scream she had ever screamed. But no one could hear her.
As the Inquisitor returned back to his Coach, he pulled back the hood of his robe. His face bore a striking resemblance to someone born over 400 years later--the forty-ninth Vice President of the United States.
The next day, Andiette and Julius Scaliger led a search party, which tracked the wheel tracks and hoof prints of the Inquisitor’s coach to the site in the woods where the Inquisitor had left them. Scaliger himself, unconcerned for his own safety or worry that he might contract the plague, followed the Inquisitor’s boot prints to the vault and removed the stone. He cried out in anguish and horror when he saw his daughter and grandchildren. Incredibly, his daughter and one of the grandchildren were still alive, barely so. Scaliger wrapped them in blankets and put them in a coach, where they were brought back to his house. He put salves on the wounds she suffered from rat bites and sores which had begun to break out across her body. He fed her and the baby warm soup. Each day, he consulted his text books and tried every conceivable remedy he could find. Unfortunately, even Galen’s texts were no use. They were simply too far gone. As the next three weeks dragged on, Scaliger became concerned that there was no hope left. The only one Scaliger knew who had ever been reputed to be able to cure the plague was his daughter’s husband. But where was he? He had been gone now for months with no letter, no indication of a date of return. Scaliger, despite being a man of science, began praying every day in the Church that Michel de Nostradame would return. But he did not return in time, and Henriette and the second child died of plague and infection.
After their funerals, Scaliger became a different man, quick to anger and accusation, brooding in his house, failing to bathe. He was filled with his own guilt for not going out with his wife and trusting her instincts on the night Henriette disappeared. But he turned that guilt into anger, a seething, and festering anger for his son-in-law, who he felt had abandoned his wife and caused her death, as well as the death of his grandchildren. On the day Michel de Nostradame finally returned, Scaliger and Nostradamus had a tremendous fight, with Scaliger turning red in the face, demanding a return of his dowry and insisting that he leave town at once. Scaliger also went to his friend, the village clerk, and had him purge all records of Nostradamus’ marriage to his daughter, explaining that Nostradamus was not worthy to be related to him. Henriette’s name was changed in the village records to d’Encausse, Andiette’s maiden name. When Nostradamus had the gall to ask Scaliger for a return of his wife’s prophetic Bible, Scaliger went through the roof. He filed a lawsuit against Nostradamus, seeking the return of his dowry, and had the town constable arrest him for family abandonment. Nostradamus, worried that the lawsuit and arrest could ruin his reputation, sent word to Scaliger that if he dropped the lawsuit and criminal charges, he would gladly leave Agen, no questions asked. Scaliger relented, and Nostradamus was released. On the day Nostradamus left town, Scaliger stood in the street and clapped. Scaliger would hate Nostradamus until the day he died.
Andiette Scaliger could see that the anger was consuming her husband’s heart. Only the joy of more children could possibly soothe his soul. So Andiette convinced her husband to have more children, and they went on to have over a dozen children as the years went on. The children filled Scaliger with joy and helped him return to a normal life. His son Joseph was a particular source of pride for him, more brilliant even than Henriette. Scaliger poured his energies into educating his son, who would grow up to be quite a scholar in his own right. Only in the last few years of his life, with the help of his wife Andiette, his children, and the Catholic faith, did Scaliger finally come to peace with the events which involved his daughter.
In the last year of his life, he decided on how best to warn the world of his daughter’s prophecies without endangering them or bringing shame onto his own family. His wife told him that the pages of the Bible must be kept in a church. That was the only place where they were safe from the Devil. Scaliger decided on three churches. He would hide the Bible pages in three churches for future generations to find. As his final act of charity, he would give Nostradamus a chance to publish the prophecies, as long as he could unscramble Scaliger’s riddles and at the same time confess his horrible sins. A battle of wits and a church confession. He loved his idea.
Washington, D.C. Saturday, February 2, 2013.
“I have spotted them,” the first Al Hamal brother said into his cell phone.
“I am right around the corner from you, on P Street. The truck is ready.”
The non-descript black van with stolen Maryland license plates rolled up to the edge of the curb. Altair, the older brother, jumped out of the van, wearing an Army surplus jacket and sunglasses, and carrying a .38 Smith and Wesson. He went up to Morse’s table at the cafe, grabbed him roughly by the arm, and before Morse knew what was going on, threw him into the sliding door of the black van. Zach and Zoey looked on in horror as the black van with their father peeled off around the corner in a squeal of tires. Neither Zach nor Zoey got the license plate.
“NO!” Zoey yelled. “Daddy! Come back!”
Zach’s self-preservation and protective instincts kicked in. There was nothing they could do about their father now. But kil