Pierced by a Sword (34 page)

Chip had picked the veteran's brains on communications technology and had pushed for some of Karl's recommendations with the brass. New field radios were manufactured by Motorola for the Marines as a result of their work together.
At the time, in 1967, Karl had been surprised when Chip invited him to attend Mass in the field during the ten-day test of the new radios. The new radios were a success and saved hundreds of lives during the protracted Vietnam Conflict.

The two Marines had exchanged Christmas cards over the years but had little contact otherwise. Chip had teasingly taken to calling Slinger "Sarge" (Slinger was
a sergeant during his World War II days). Karl followed the young officer's rise through the ranks to the top of the elite fighting service.

"Look Karl," Chip added after a pause, "I haven't got much time. I just wanted to call to say thank you. I've been a pew sitter my whole life, and I don't necessarily buy Wheat's thesis that the world is going to undergo a supernatural chastisement from God,
but I've got an open mind. In the meantime, I've started to say the Rosary again with Christy, and to tell you the truth, I feel good about that. I used to pray the family Rosary every night with my folks when I was a kid.

"And I'm going to enroll in the Knights of Immaculata, too. I had heard about Saint Maximilian Kolbe before as a martyr, but I never knew he was so ahead of his time in using
technology. That makes two Poles I know who are that way."

"I'm glad to hear it," Karl replied, a note of relief in his voice, "and I appreciate your being up front with me. I've sent out over two hundred packs like the one I sent you, Chip, and the only reply I've gotten so far is either silence, or that I'm off my rocker. Maybe I am."

"No you're not, Sarge. I'm still a practicing Catholic–sometimes
I feel like the only one in Washington. But you'd be surprised how many good Catholics there are in the military. Half the officers in all the services are nominally Catholic, did you know that?"

"Really? I didn't know that." Karl was genuinely surprised.

"That's right. The service has always been a way for non-WASPs to gain professional status based on merit.

"Back to Wheat's talk. What struck
me as I listened to it was the incredibly fast breakdown of the faith in one generation. If somebody told me thirty years ago that over one-third of the children born in this country would be illegitimate, I would have laughed. There's got to be a reason for all this that goes beyond mere human explanations," Chip observed. "The weird way Pope Patrick died bothers me, too. Something's fishy about
his death. And I can't say everything I want to on this line..."

Chip's last remark was a cue that he was about to refer elliptically to information that a Commandant of the Marine Corps could not legally discuss in detail with a civilian.

"...but I have been privy to other disturbing information, if you know what I mean, Sarge. Look, I've gotta go. Thanks again. I'll be praying for you. Come
visit me in Washington and we'll discuss this over a good bourbon. Bring Dottie. Christy would love to see her again."

"I'll visit within a month. My secretary will call yours, Chip. I'm serious."

"I know you are, Sarge. Fine. See you soon, then. Good luck."

"Thanks." Karl hung up the phone.

Well, I'll be tied,
Karl thought, surprised and relieved that at least one person he contacted didn't think
he was going senile.
Even if Chip doesn't buy the whole program now, as events predicted by Mary come true with more frequency, he'll catch on. Chip's a sharp cookie. And, he's the Commandant of the Marine Corps.

7

Saturday Afternoon
14 October
Salt Lake City, Utah

Lee had prayed all of Friday in the cathedral. He had found a motel nearby, then returned to pray this morning.

He took a walk to
stretch his legs. Now he stood in front of the new SLG Communications Institute, which happened to be next door to the Cathedral of the Madeleine. Limos were arriving and dropping off tuxedo-clad men and their wives–members of Salt Lake City's upper crust. On the corner nearby, he saw an oriental man selling roses for two dollars a piece. He was obviously a member of the Unification Church–commonly
known as the Moonies. Lee remembered Moonies from both Cleveland and Los Angeles.

Lee checked his wallet for money. He had over fifty dollars left. It struck him as funny that fifty bucks seemed like such a fortune after losing almost a million dollars in Los Angeles. Both Randall Knott and Father Rivera had insisted on giving him money for his trip to Salt Lake City. They couldn't talk him out
of hitchhiking. He had used most of the money the two Samaritans had given him to stay in economy hotels while hitching to this beautiful city set on a sloping plain at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains.

Lee, acting on impulse, walked up to the Moonie and boldly put his two hands on the Moonie's head. The Moonie was not old–probably under forty. Something about Lee's smile kept the Moonie from
rebuffing the black man in the chinos and the red checkered shirt. Lee closed his eyes and said a prayer over the Moonie–a silent Hail Mary.

The Moonie's name was Kim Woo. He had emigrated from Korea ten years earlier–already a member of the controversial cult–and spent most of that time selling roses in San Francisco before being sent to Salt Lake City. Kim Woo was used to having bottles and
other debris thrown at him from the windows of passing cars in San Francisco, and enjoyed working in peaceful Salt Lake City. Here, and only on rare occasions, pedestrians would hurl verbal abuse at him, using foul language while calling him a freak and a cult member. No bottle-throwing. Lee's kindness was touching by comparison.

Kim Woo, whose English was very poor, tried to give Lee three red
roses. A broad smile came to Lee's face. He offered to pay for the roses, but Kim wouldn't accept the payment. It was a first for Kim. The cult member would have to account for the missing roses at the end of the day when he returned to the communal house in which he lived.

Lee finally accepted the roses and turned to find John Lanning, dressed in a tuxedo, facing him.

"Do I know you?" Lee asked.

"I don't know," Lanning replied. "Do you? I've seen you before, young man." Words from Lanning's prayer before the tabernacle walked through a door in his memory and sat down comfortably in Lanning's mind.
A black man with roses. This is the one I saw after the heart attack!

Lee shook his head, confused. He was sure he had never met the short man with the gray hair and bushy black eyebrows standing
before him. Then he remembered the words of the Blessed Mother:
"You must now immediately go to Salt Lake City to meet a man who will recognize you."

"We need to talk, sir. My name is Lee Washington. I was sent to meet you. But I don't know you."

"Who sent you?" Lanning, trying to ignore his excitement, eyed Lee suspiciously.

"Mary, the Mother of God. It's a long story." Lee felt embarrassed.
It's the truth, man, don't be embarrassed,
he thought.

Lanning closed his eyes for a moment and bent his head in thought. When he looked up, his mind was made up.

"Then come with me. You can tell me over lunch. I'm sure Karl Slinger won't mind if you sit at our table. There's sure to be an extra seat–my wife wasn't able to come to the opening of the Institute." Lanning paused when he saw the confused
look in Lee's eyes. "Forgive me, Lee, of course you have no idea what I'm talking about. I'll explain on the way. We're going inside the new SLG Institute here, which is opening today. Let's go."

It was a strange meeting–but not the strangest of Lee's recent experiences. So when John Lanning put his arm up, gesturing toward the large open doors of the four-story SLG Communications Institute, Lee
didn't hesitate to put his arm around the shorter man's shoulders. There was something about John Lanning that made saying "no" to him difficult, Lee noted.

8

Sunday Evening
22 October
County Galway, Ireland

"Tell me again, Sister Elizabeth–are you sure?" Sister Mary Bernard said with fear in her voice.

"I don't know for sure. I'm not a doctor! Even if I was a doctor, without x-rays and proper
diagnostic equipment, it's impossible to tell. I'm guessing, Mother!" The pressure was getting to the former nurse, who was over sixty years old. Pope Patrick's life was in her hands. Sister Elizabeth had read all she could find about treating comas and had done what she could for the ailing patient.

Sister Elizabeth had even taught the other nuns in the Carmel how to perform passive physical
therapy on Pope Patrick's limbs and fingers. Without such modern techniques, Angus's muscles would quickly atrophy. His ligaments and tendons would shrink. Getting the sophisticated drugs needed to keep the pope stable was a more difficult matter. Sister Mary Bernard had risked contacting the local doctor, Barnard Soames. Doc Soames, who was almost as old as the prioress, was definitely not a devout
Catholic. He only reluctantly agreed to obtain the prescriptions from Galway as a personal favor. He had known Sister Mary Bernard for a long time and had asked questions that the abbess refused to answer.

"I could lose my license over this," Soames had informed her.

"Believe me, Doctor, if that occasion should arise, it would be worth it. I can't tell you more," she had replied evenly. Doc Soames
had been looking after the sisters for over thirty years. He trusted Sister Mary Bernard, but grudgingly.

Now there was a problem with Pope Patrick far worse than finding ways to obtain prescription drugs.

"I don't think the bullet was poisoned, Mother," said Sister Mary Elizabeth. "And thank God there's been little internal bleeding or the Holy Father would have died a week ago. I think it's
infected. The redness around the wound is a telltale sign. In his weakened state, an infection could do great damage, and could do it quickly. We need a doctor. The bullet must be removed."

"Dr. Soames?" Sister Mary Bernard suggested.

"Whether we can trust him to keep quiet is your concern, Mother. Whether he can get the bullet out is another problem. He's only a country doctor, and not a true
surgeon. Back in the States, we used to take bullets out of Emergency Room patients like prescribing aspirin. It's not that complicated unless it's lodged directly in an organ. Again, I'm way out of my league."

"I suppose we have no choice, then," the prioress conceded. "I'll call Dr. Soames. He already guessed that we were caring for a comatose patient. The look on his face when he finds out
our patient is the
real
pope will be rich." She said the word
real
with great irony and a raised eyebrow.

Beneath her gentle facade, Sister Mary Bernard was a tough customer. She had to be. She had more pressure on her than Sister Elizabeth. Assuming they could keep Angus alive, how long should she hide from the world the fact that whoever the new pope turned out to be, he had not been validly
elected? Could prudence dictate that she disobey Pope Patrick's direct pre-coma order?

9

From
Dark Years History
(New Rome Press, 31 R.E.)
by Rebecca Macadam Jackson

...so were the Conspiracy Theorists correct in holding that a worldwide conspiracy existed to establish a one world government through control of currency and the destruction of national sovereignty? It is not within the scope of
this work to answer that question in great detail or definitively. Written records from the Dark Years are scarce. Many of the most important documents are lost under the ashes of Europe. The very nature of conspiracy means that traditional historical records were not kept if a conspiracy was indeed in place. Certainly the Catholic Church had publicly and officially identified Freemasonry as a secret
enemy of the Church many times during the centuries leading up to the Dark Years. As Professor Wheat frequently stated during the Dark Years: If you believe that Jesus is God and established a church on earth–the Catholic Church–then it is absurd to hold that Satan would not have his own version of a "church."

From accounts of former Society members it is clear now that the antipope Casino was
a member of a secretive group calling themselves the Society of Builders, or simply, the Society. The Society's ties to Freemasonry are not well established, but probable.

Let us suppose that Thomas Wheat was correct in assuming that Satan had his own earthly church with dedicated members doing his evil bidding (
She Shall Crush Your Head,
New Rome Press, 17 R.E., page 274). The mark of the demonic
is the mockery and ersatz imitation of the Catholic Church. For example, satanic masses mocked and copied the real Mass. In the same way, the so-called church of Satan had a hierarchy, but unlike the Catholic hierarchy, it was secretive. Unlike the Catholic Church, where a common layman can know whatever the pope knows in a theological sense, the church of Satan was a deceptive web of confusion.
Certain satanic agencies were obviously completely unaware of other satanic organizations. Only the brilliant angelic mind of Lucifer could coordinate a worldwide group of agents working unaware of each other. Pope Leo XIII's 1884 vision of Satan bragging to Jesus that he (Satan) could destroy the Church in one century sheds much light on this thesis. According to Leo XIII, Jesus granted Satan
one century and more control over those who were willing to serve the evil one.

In this theoretical construct, the New Age Movement and the Society, with few outward "human" ties–and unbeknownst to each other–were working for the same master. Toward the end of the Dark Years, there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of disparate organizations serving the evil one.

Whereas the Catholic Church is
one, holy, and apostolic, the church of Satan was many, unholy, and tyrannical. In a real sense, members of Satan's forces were in the dark. It is no wonder that many reasonable men rejected the Conspiracy Theory before the Dark Years. Both the Conspiracy Theorists and their detractors were searching for purely human historical causes. While it might seem obvious to those born after the Dark Years,
only a supernatural construct could explain the events the world experienced. Perhaps the members of the evil one's organizations overestimated the power of their cruel master. At first it seemed that the forces of evil would gain control of the world without much struggle. Yet in the darkest hours good men and women were raised up to form the heel which crushed the serpent's head, as foretold by
Saint Louis DeMontfort at the end of Chapter One of
True Devotion to Mary...