The Power of Twelve (2 page)

Magical realism pushed the boundaries between magical fantasy and historical realism in a way that had never been contemplated by previous writers. For those who believe that fantasy is the primary element in
One Hundred Years of Solitude
, I strongly encourage you to study, as I did at Yale University, the actual “facts” of South American history. You will discover that almost every incident in
One Hundred Years of Solitude
is based on documented historical events.

When such “leaky margins” are somehow communicated to others, there is the opportunity for true transformation. My goal in writing this novel,
The Power of Twelve,
as in writing
The Twelve,
is primarily to entertain. However, perhaps I can also aid you in transforming your own life and helping to make our planet a more joyful place for all living creatures.

For me, one of the key elements in transformation is the amorphous quality of time. More than any writer, living or dead, Gabriel García Márquez succeeded in
One Hundred Years of Solitude
in creating a magical time warp at the end of the novel, in which you as the reader become the principal character in the novel itself. You become the witness to the comic/tragic history of all the characters of the fictional/real Macondo in the jungles of Colombia, and you become the keeper of the wisdom and the tears of the human experience, which exists outside of time, which is eternal, and from which we as humans learn what it is to be both gods and humans.

May
The Power of Twelve
offer you in its own way some of this transformational magic. We live both in and outside of time. Do not think even for an instant that fiction has any less capacity to change
the destiny of our species than our technological breakthroughs or hard scientific data. As an author, I have purposefully blurred the distinction between fact and fiction in the pages that you are about to read. Some of these incidents really occurred and some of these people really exist. What and who is real I leave to you as the reader to determine as I invite you to co-create the reality that is unfolding in front of you. The year 2012 was a tipping point for all of humanity. That you are present now, reading
The Power of Twelve
, is all the indication you will ever need to know you are part of the great transformation that is occurring in this very moment.

CHAPTER ONE

EARTH 769

K
OIDU
T
OWN
, S
IERRA
L
EONE

D
ECEMBER
21, 2012

K
EN KONDEMBA HEARD a thunderous roar and then his office started shaking. He grabbed for the telephone that was bouncing toward the edge of his desk. At first he thought it was an earthquake. After all, he had read on the Internet that the Mayan calendar was ending at sunset and that many had predicted that today would be the end of the world. Perhaps they were right, after all.

When a huge dust cloud passed his windows, he realized that the shaking had stopped. There must have been an explosion in the diamond mine. He was the on-site manager, and he was responsible for making sure things ran smoothly. “Oh my,” he thought. “Of all days for something like this to happen, it had to be today. Arnold Wheeler is due here within twenty minutes to review our production schedule for 2013. This is a disaster.”

Arnold Wheeler was the owner of the mine, and he would be extremely unhappy to learn about any disasters. Just as Ken was heading out to investigate what had happened, Milton Kobashi knocked on his door and entered with an ashen look on his face. “Ken, north shaft 47 has collapsed. We have more than forty miners
trapped there, and unless we bring some heavy equipment here immediately, I think they will suffocate. There is little air in that shaft, and with so many men trapped, their oxygen will run out within the next eight hours.”

“I thought additional oxygen supplies were supposed to have been provided in every mine shaft just for such emergencies!” Ken exclaimed.

“That was the directive, but we are still waiting for those oxygen kits. They are on back order and have not yet arrived,” Milton explained.

“Oh, my God. Those men may die. We must do something.” Ken's mind was whirling with frantic thoughts. Finally, he seized upon one thing he could do. “Look, Arnold Wheeler is going to arrive in just a few minutes. Help me clean up the conference room so we will be ready to greet him when he arrives. Hopefully, Mr. Wheeler will know what to do.”

Ken hurried into action, shaken by his growing awareness that without the oxygen tanks time was already running out.

A few minutes later, a black Yukon pulled up, throwing dust as it braked to a halt in front of the mine's administrative offices. A fit, energetic man waited for his door to be opened and then walked briskly toward his next meeting. He was wearing an Armani suit with diamond cuff links that were five carats each. His jet-black calfleather shoes were brightly polished, and he avoided the ruts and puddles as he made his way up the walkway. Arnold Wheeler had arrived.

He instantly noticed, in the distance, a crowd of men rushing toward a mine entrance, crying out incomprehensible words of panic. Turning toward a fortysomething, incredibly fit blond man following him, Arnold directed, “Eugene, I don't know what is going on here, but keep your eyes open. I don't trust anyone at this mine, not even our managers. If this turns into a riot, we must be ready to flee in an instant.”

“I understand,” replied Eugene. “I will watch your back.”

Ken and Milton had had time to dust off the conference table and arrange the chairs. Bottled water had been set out on the table,
and a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne rose from an ice bucket next to a tray of toast points and caviar. Ken Kondemba knew from past encounters that Arnold Wheeler would not be pleased without his standard refreshments.

Eugene remained standing in the hallway, guarding against any of the madmen racing around outside, as Arnold entered the conference room.

Even before sitting down, he exclaimed, “So what the hell is going on here? As we were driving up, I heard an explosion that felt like the end of the world.”

Just at that moment Jobo Tmala, an assistant manager, knocked on the open conference room door, gesturing to see if he might be permitted to enter. “Come in, Jobo,” Ken encouraged. “What is the report on the explosion?”

“Very bad. I am afraid that the chances of saving the miners are very slim. It will take at least two hours to haul the proper equipment here, and even then the chances of breaking through the rubble in time are not optimistic. How should I proceed?”

Before Ken could respond, Arnold asked, “Are you sure the odds are so bad? Two hours is nothing. We have had mine accidents in other locations that took us days to extricate miners, and often the majority of them survived.”

“Unfortunately, in this case there is limited oxygen. These miners have hours, not days.” By this time Ken had had a chance to think through some options. “We might have to consider creating some controlled explosions to give these miners a chance.”

Arnold recoiled at that idea. “No, that would be much too dangerous.” Ken assumed at first that he was referring to the danger the trapped men might face, but Arnold quickly disabused him of this notion. “Such destruction could compromise our entire operation. There must be another way. Our investment in this mine is well over a hundred million dollars.” He pasted on a face that seemed to indicate sorrow, though it was belied by what he said next. “Regrettably, we must weigh that large investment against the lives of these miners. Tell me, what about the mine itself? How much of the mine is damaged, and what impact will it have on our production schedule?”

Jobo answered, “Fortunately, less than five percent of the mine itself is impacted by the explosion. I doubt that the production schedule will be affected at all.”

Arnold smiled. “That is excellent news. Go back to your station and wait for further orders.” He was already thinking ahead. “If any reporters call, tell them that it is too dangerous to allow them to enter the mine. And if anyone asks the reason for the explosion, let them know it was an error by the miners.”

Ken Kondemba grimaced. He knew that the real cause was defective equipment. It was supposed to be replaced but had been kept in service in order to meet the ambitious production schedule set by Mr. Wheeler and the other owners of the mine.

By now Arnold had poured himself a glass of champagne and was munching on a caviar toast point. “Well, thank goodness there was no major damage to the mine. Ken, I need you to increase production in the other shafts. We cannot let this unfortunate accident impact our production and delivery schedules. The price of diamonds has never been higher, and we have customers waiting throughout the world.”

Arnold grabbed a second caviar toast point and continued. “Of course, it's too bad about this mess with the miners. Given the odds, though, it makes no sense to waste further time and money trying to save them.” He quickly clarified that point, lest he seem callous. “I mean, I feel bad for them, but they are easily replaced. Send each miner's family a few hundred dollars and a condolence note.” He nodded to himself and continued planning out loud. “We can assess when and if it is appropriate to reopen that shaft at a later date.”

Ken thought of protesting the decision to abandon any efforts to save the miners, but knowing Arnold Wheeler as he did, he knew that the decision was final. Any attempt to influence the decision would only draw Arnold's wrath. He said meekly, “Yes, sir.”

Minutes later, Arnold was marching back to his SUV with Eugene watching the chaotic swarm of miners. A young miner suddenly rushed toward them as Arnold stepped up into the Yukon.

“Please, sir, my brother is trapped in the mine, along with several of my cousins. What can we do to help save them?”

Eugene looked at the young miner with compassion as he was forced to deliver the bad news. “You need to speak to the mine manager. I am sure all that can be done to save your brother and cousins will be done.”

“Eugene,” Arnold called from within the opened car door, “we are falling behind schedule. We have an appointment in Prague, and we need to get back to our G5 or we will be late.”

Eugene was left to explain. “I am sorry, but we have to leave. Talk to the mine manager. Hopefully your brother will be saved.”

With that lie he eased into the backseat, and the driver forged a way through dozens of other miners wanting answers that would not be forthcoming.

Arnold was already on his cell phone making arrangements for his arrival in Prague that evening. As the Yukon passed through the mine gates, Arnold turned to Eugene and admonished him. “Don't lose your focus. Remember who you work for. I am the Grand Light and Keeper of the Code. We are protecting not just my interests but the interests of the 319 families who form the Illuminati. We have a sacred duty to protect this planet.” Arnold waved toward what they had left behind. “It is regrettable that some miners are going to die, but they are not important to the long-term goals of the Illuminati. We are here to ensure that the world does not devolve into chaos. We must never be distracted from our important mission to gain absolute economic and political control over this planet.”

“I apologize, sir,” Eugene responded, “but I could not help but feel bad for that young man.”

“I feel sorry for all of them myself, Eugene,” Arnold agreed, “but the good of the many outweighs the needs of the few.”

Eugene knew from years of service as Arnold's personal bodyguard that it would be unwise to continue the conversation, but he could not help but question to himself, “But aren't the Illuminati actually the few?”

Do you believe in the Illuminati? Are they active today? These are actually 2 different questions. But in either case,

CHAPTER TWO

FULL FEMININE POWER NOW

C
HATEAU
M
CELY
, C
ZECH
R
EPUBLIC

D
ECEMBER
22

A
T CHATEAU MCELY, just outside of Prague, Jim and Inéz Cusumano were double-checking that all was in order for the celebration planned for that evening. December 21 had come and gone. The world had not been destroyed. The Mayan calendar had ended, but the world itself was still intact. What did it all mean?

As Inéz checked the flowers for the second time, she turned to Jim, pleased with the elegant arrangement of flowers, tables, and chairs. “This really is going to be a wonderful event. I have been talking with Gayle, and she explained to me that yesterday was the beginning of a new 26,000-year cycle on our planet. I am not sure what this means, but I can already feel a new energy in the air. Somehow, in some subtle way, everything seems different to me than it did just twenty-four hours ago.”

Jim smiled back, replying, “I don't sense any real difference, but I am pleased if you do. I never thought the Mayan calendar had any scientific validity, but as a former chemist I do think that there is
truth to the concept that our world is based on cycles of 26,000 years. That is the amount of time it takes to complete a full wobble of the axis of the planet as we revolve around the Sun. I have no idea how the Mayans could have discovered or intuited that such a cycle exists, but it is an intriguing notion.”

As Jim was finishing his sentence, Gayle Newhouse and Randall Jenkins descended the stairs and greeted them with hugs.

Gayle was first to speak. “This is such a lovely home. We are so grateful to be your guests.”

Randall added, “Yes, and I can think of no better place on earth to celebrate the beginning of the new cycle of feminine energy than right here in Chateau Mcely. Thank you so much for arranging this lecture.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Inéz insisted. “Really, it is an honor to have you here this evening. We have invited some of our closest friends, including Prince Charles and his wife, Camilla. All of those in attendance are interested in learning more about your concept of feminine energy replacing masculine energy as the dominant spiritual energy on our planet for the next 26,000 years.