Pike

By Chris Deggs

Private detective Oswald Doyle is back, and this time he is investigating the theft of a missing letter written by Albert Pike. Much mystery surrounds the document which, written in 1871, outlines three world wars, two of which have already played out as Pike predicted. Doyle discovers a connection between the theft and the mysterious Olivia Quinn who is involved in ''member-only'' unregistered private auctions. She also has a family journal written by Silas Pearce, her great-great-grandfather and close friend of Pike. To discover the truth of the diary, which makes many references to Pike, Doyle and Declan Merrick use the Quantime, a quantum travel device, to meet up with the author of the diary in Little Rock, Arkansas, in 1830. Doyle's plan is successful, and he gets an introduction to Albert Pike when he was a young man. Returning from the mission, Doyle discovers that Olivia Quinn had been kidnapped by SCoW, who carries out the dirty work for the Palladium Rite, the overarching group that controls all Freemasonry. Hubert, a SCoW enforcer, demand the genuine Pike Letter in exchange for Olivia's safe return. But there is a problem as the police have the authentic letter locked up in the evidence room at Willesden Police Station. And this is just the beginning as Doyle gets embroiled in a plot for world domination in which, he finds himself way out of his depth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Deggs
• Release date: Dec 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463805589

Chris Deggs

Hi, my nom de plume is Chris Deggs. I live in the stunning Tweed Valley in New South Wales Australia. I am retired and single. I classify myself as a Science-Art visual artist/author. I love researching, writing and publishing my stories and articles. My stories usually have a ethical message, such as 'Nanofuture - the small things in life'. I enjoy writing 'mostly' novels, although I do write Science-Art articles and books. My Books are available in print from Feedaread, and are sold through smashwords in a wide variety of e Book platforms. I look forward to your comments. I hope you enjoy my stories.

Book preview

Foreword

August 1871

In conscience and sincerely, I believe that the Masonic Order is, if not the greatest, one of the greatest moral and political evils that weigh on the whole Union.

John Quincy Adams, Vice President of the United States Letters on Freemasonry Letters on Freemasonry, 1833

A secret meeting that would change and shape the world took place at the Solomon Masonic Lodge in Charleston, South Carolina in 1871. Phileas Walder, Albert Pike's right-hand man, organised the invitation only gathering which comprised some of the most influential people in Europe. Walder, a former Lutheran Minister in Switzerland, an educated, well-informed man, became a Masonic leader, occultist, and spiritualist. He worked closely with Giuseppe Mazzini, the Italian Prime Minister, who also attended the meeting. Mazzini, a 33rd degree Freemason, was responsible for founding the notorious Mafia in 1860. Also present was Lord Henry Palmerston, one of Queen Victoria's most successful Prime Ministers. Another special guest was Otto Von Bismarck, the first chancellor of a united Germany. The French occultist Eliphas Levi, born Alphonse Louis Constant, also had a place at the table.

Last but not least, Albert Pike, an American author, poet, orator, jurist and prominent member of the Freemasons. He also served as a senior Confederate officer and commanded an Indian Territory district in the Trans-Mississippi Theatre of the American Civil War. Pike got Walder to organise this historic meeting of the most powerful and influential people in Europe.

Pike presided over the discussion and swore them all to secrecy, after which he outlined his grand plan. He announced his intention to use the Palladium Rite to create a Luciferian umbrella group that would tie all Masonic groups together. That was his first step. After some discussion, each member knew the role they were to play to ensure stage one of the 'Grand Plan' would be played out literally to the letter. Pike emphasised that nothing must be left to chance.

The letter Pike referred to had been read and endorsed by Giuseppe Mazzini that afternoon before the meeting and was the reason for the clandestine gathering at Magnolia Plantation. Pike claimed to have written the letter after he received a message from his "spirit guide''. But it also could have been a demonic vision that graphically outlined plans for three world wars. He considered these conflicts necessary to bring about the One World Order. He described this plan in a letter he shared with Mazzini, on that fateful day, August 15, 1871.

Know Your Adversary - Greg Laurie Daily Devotion .... https://www.oneplace.com/devotionals/greg-laurie-daily-devotions/know-your-adversary-greg-laurie-daily-devotion-february-23-2018-11787981.html

Freemasonry and Satanism: The History of Albert Pike .... https://www.veteranstoday.com/2019/03/30/freemasonry-and-satanism-the-history-of-albert-pike/

Chapter 1

Let me introduce myself. I'm Oswald Doyle, and I'm a private investigator. I live in my small office in East Acton, from where, apart from bread and butter work, I specialise in cases with actual exciting content. I am referring here to my jaunts into the past - more about this aspect later on. I am intrigued about how misunderstood aspects of history impinge on the lives we lead today. I don't talk to anybody about my real-time historical adventures, apart from Jennifer, Nathan and, of late, Declan, an American guy who seems to have earned Jen's affection. But we won't go into that. Not yet, anyway. I suppose my historical investigations could loosely be called time travel experiences. And I admit having become a time-travelling junkie if such an addiction exists.

Jennie would be mad at me for calling these experiences time travel. I know it's really quantum travel, which has nothing to do with the concept of time, but people have a hard enough job getting their minds around HG Wells' time machine concept, let alone get a grasp of quantum behaviour. Jennie or Professor Jennifer Smethurst is the genius behind the Quantime the device in which I have been transported back in time on many occasions. It's a while since I've seen the delectable Jen and her Quantime which we affectionately refer to as the Q. I must admit I'm hanging out for both, but sadly, for me, I don't have access to either.

Ever since the British Home Office took over the running of the machine, I'm out of the loop. Apart from being Jennifer's Quantanaut (my term for Quantime passenger), we are also good friends and confidants. We occasionally hook up for a drink or two, and the rare dinner date. Try as I might probe her to find out what's happening with the Q, Jen never talks shop. The last thing Jen told me about the Quantime was when she explained she'd had to sign the Official Secrets Act, so she could not inform me about anything that went on in her lab.

Being stuck in the present day and all the shit that goes with it churned me up inside. As much as it scared me, I had to come to terms with the horrible truth, I would probably never quantum travel again. And I didn't know how to handle that.

Then I got an idea. The proverbial light bulb illuminated above the Doyle brainbox. Why not specialise in cases concerning the past? After all, I helped clear up that stuff about Vincent's death. I also tracked down Marlowe after his alleged murder.

Meanwhile, I dobbed in people for fraudulent insurance claims and followed errant husbands around. I waited for the case that would make history. Some juicy evidential historical mystery that would get me back inside the pumpkin the nickname for the Quantime. But that was all fantasy. My real world was stacking up in my in-tray.

I was just skimming through an insurance fraud report when my phone rang. I retrieved it from my jacket pocket and found myself speaking with Professor Adrian Bennet, who worked at the British Museum. I said, 'OK, professor, how can I help you?'

'I want you to find some stolen property that belongs to me.'

'What stolen property?'

'A precious letter. Come to the Reading Room at the British Museum around 4 pm, and I will explain. But I can't speak about it over the phone.'

It sounded interesting. Certainly, more so than wading through insurance red tape. I caught the Tube to Russell Square. A pleasant five-minute walk took me to the gold and black railings of the British Museum. After the crowded, stifling tube journey, it felt good to be above ground in the fresh air. Or what passed for clean air in the centre of London. It began to rain just as I passed beneath the massive pillars of the Parthenon style building that housed extensive collections of artefacts from the four corners of the globe. Except planets don't have edges. But let's not get too pedantic.

Professor Bennet curated the vast Reading Room. I followed his directions and arriving at his office, I rapped on his door and was invited in. Professor Bennet looked to be around fifty with a greying beard and hair to match. As I removed a pile of books from the spare seat, I said, 'What's this about, Professor?'

Not one to bandy his professorial title around, Bennet said, 'Please call me Adrian.'

'Very well, Adrian, why am I here?'

The professor gently clasped his hands together in a way suggesting he was protecting a small, vulnerable creature. He said, 'Have you heard of Albert Pike?'

'In a word, no. Who is Pike?'

Adrian smiled, 'Ah, where to start. Albert Pike was many things, and he excelled at them all. He was an educator, a statesman, a military tactician, a visionary, an author, a philanthropist, an adventurer and much more.'

'He sounds too good to be true.'

'Some said he was an angel and others a demon. I suspect the truth lies somewhere between the two. But he is most famous for the letter he wrote to Mazzini. That letter has been stolen from my home.'

I said, 'Tell me more about this letter.'

Adrian launched into, 'Pike's Letter as it is known, predicted three world wars. Two have already been played out since his death.'

My raised eyebrows showed my surprise.

Adrian continued. 'Pike's plan was simple and effective. A small elite group of Master Freemasons manipulated the political forces of Communism, Nazism, Political Zionism, and other International movements to bring about three global wars and three major revolutions. The first two world wars were literally carried out to the letter.'

I'd never heard of this conspiracy theory before. I looked at Adrian. 'Are you suggesting the thing was planned?

Bennet said, 'I know it's awful to think all that death and destruction resulted from a meticulous, cold-blooded, sinister plot, but the letter Pike wrote in 1871 was either a prophecy or a cold calculated plan.'

'And what of this third world war?'

Adrian gave a cross between a smile and a grimace. 'I would say it's shaping up nicely, wouldn't you?'

'What's the aim of this third world war?' I asked uneasily.

'Complete world domination and all it entails.'

'That doesn't bear thinking about.'

'Precisely,' Adrian agreed. Then he said, 'That aside we can still marvel at how accurately he predicted events that have already taken place.'

'I can see that. How did Pike receive such information?'

'He claimed it was a spirit guide. But I don't believe it was because even the devil has powers of prophecy, and his agents undertook to manipulate political events to closely follow his designs.'

'You're saying by adhering to this plan, his minions and their descendants manipulated political and martial strategies and decisions.'

'Mr Doyle, I'm just trying to give you a sense of how important this letter is.'

'Right tell me what happened.'

Adrian sighed, 'I bought the letter at a private auction for three hundred thousand pounds.'

My jaw dropped, and my eyebrows shot up, leaving me open-mouthed like one of those ball-catching clowns at the fairground.

Adrian Bennet, startled by my surprise, asked, 'Are you OK, Mr Doyle?'

'Yes,' I answered, intrigued, 'Do carry on.'

'I kept the letter in a safe, but somebody broke in and stole it. The safe is state of the art with an electronic lock. The burglar knew what he was doing.' Adrian added, 'The thief knew what he was looking for because nothing else was touched.'

I nodded intelligently. 'Do you have any idea who would want to rob you?'

'I have an excellent idea. One of the three people also bidding for the letter.'

'Do you know who they are?'

'I only know them by their first names.'

'Which are?'

'Egan, Cameron and Olivia.'

I made a note on my phone. 'I'll need to speak with the auctioneer.'

'Yes, I suppose you will,' Adrian said, 'But I doubt he will want to talk to you.'

I sat staring at him.' And why is that?'

'The auctions are very private. Only invited punters and the auctioneer knows about them.'

'Then I will need a letter of introduction from you.'

'I don't think it would be of much help. I only attended once, and that was to get the letter.'

I said, 'I guess I'll have to take my chances. What's this auctioneer's name?'

Adrian said, 'Afton Westbury,' writing it on the back of a business card.

Albert Pike's 3 World Wars Letter Hoax | WideShut.co.uk. https://wideshut.co.uk/albert-pikes-3-world-wars-letter-hoax-wideshut-webcast/

Chapter 2

I got up early after around 5 hours of sleep. It was 3:55, and I was raring to find out about this Albert Pike character. I brewed some coffee and woke up Boogle. No, it's not a typo. Boogle is a super hi-tech company with a mega search engine, like Google, but owned by Declan Merrick a dot com American billionaire. He also holds a part share in the Quantime and has a close relationship with the gorgeous Jennifer Smethurst. Mostly it's a long-distance relationship, but when he does come over this side of the pond, he showers her with expensive gifts and takes her to top-notch restaurants and super trendy nightclubs.

I can't compete with all that shit! I hate the bastard! Oh, I forgot to mention Declan and I went on a jaunt in the Quantime back to Elizabethan London. He wanted to try the Quantime experience before he bought into the project. I wasn't happy with him tagging along, but I sucked it up, put on a brave face, and went along with it. Well, I didn't really have much choice, did I? Sometimes I wished I'd left the bastard there, back in stinking, diseased, and crime-ridden London.

Anyway, that's enough reminiscing about the bad old days. It was time I found out about our Mr Pike.

It turned out our Albert was a larger than life character with many strings to his bow. He was a leading Freemason; an Army general who fought for the Confederacy during the American Civil War; a prolific author; a visionary; a Luciferian; and, allegedly the founder of the Ku Klux Klan. Well, that gave me enough to be going on with. Now, anyone who knows me sees me as a cynical sceptic. But I was convinced Albert did indeed exist and he was very knowledgeable about affairs of state.

At around 8:30, on what promised to be a warm sunny day, I keyed in Afton Westbury's location to get GPS directions, fired up the old Ford Escort, and headed off to find the fabled letter. As Carmina's sexy voice helped me navigate through Islington, where the Cally as Caledonian Road is locally known, stretched for about a mile from Camden Road to Pentonville Road. Westbury's shop of collectables - more of a huge tin shed - was near the Texaco service station, opposite Twyford street.

Afton Westbury, the auctioneer had a slouch and the rounded shoulders of somebody who had worked behind a desk for many years. He wore a trilby and one of those old Harris tweed jackets with the elbow patches, worn by aristocratic shooters on their country estates. Westbury also had a cravat, further displaying his eccentricity. Whether his affectations were mere showmanship or genuinely him was questionable. But, either way, it was hard to imagine him as the clandestine auctioneer selling very expensive artefacts and relics.

Westbury looked at me and my shabbiness up and down, trying to work out if communicating with me was worth his time.

Afton had learned over many years in the antique business not to judge a book by its cover. He put on his salesman's face, smiled and said, 'Can I help you, sir?'

I smiled back at him. 'Mr Westbury, I presume?'

'Yes, sir. Now, are you looking for something in particular?'

I handed him one of my cards. 'Yes. Information.'

Westbury looked at the card, which read Doyle Detective Agency. The only other info was my name, phone number and email address. 'Information about what?' Westbury asked, puzzled.

'About the Pike Letter, Mr Westbury. Let me explain.'

'Yes. I wish you would.'

'A Mr Bennet recently purchased the letter from you at one of your auctions.'

'I don't recall. But do carry on.'

'Somebody burgled his home and stole the document.' I watched as Westbury's demeanour instantly changed from calm control to one exhibiting signs of anxiety. No longer the affable antique dealer anticipating a sale, Afton had quickly donned a mask of non-comprehension. But in the few moments between the changes, I noticed Westbury avoid his gaze. There were more subtle signs the antique dealer was not straight with me, such as his defensive stance.

Afton said, 'I'm sorry to hear it, but it has nothing to do with me.'

'Oh, I'm not suggesting you had anything to do with it. But I need to find the other three people bidding for the Pike Letter.' I paused, waiting for a response, but he said nothing. Prompting him, looking him in the eye, I said, 'Don't give me that old bollocks about you not remembering my client because you would have made a fair old commission out of the sale. And you wouldn't have forgotten that.'

He stared at me, trembling slightly. 'I don't know what you are talking about. Now, please leave my shop.' His eyes were already on the couple who had just walked in.

But I wasn't about to let him off the hook. 'Perhaps a visit from the Fair Trading people might jog your memory?'

Westbury, now quite agitated said, 'Just who the hell do you think you are?'

'I'm just a private investigator trying to find my client's stolen property. But I also know your secret auctions contravene elements of the Property, Stock and Business Agents Act 2002. So just tell me who the other three bidders are, and I'll get out of your hair.' I could see Westbury struggling with that one. I said, 'My client has already given me their first names, so nobody will know this came from you.'

Westbury went to his computer and brought up a client file. He highlighted three names, addresses and phone numbers, pasted them in a new folder and printed them out.

Grabbing the printout, I grinned, 'See, it wasn't that difficult, was it?'

'This did not come from me,' he said nervously.

Pocketing the printout, I winked, 'Don't worry Mr Westbury, your secret is safe with me.'

Once the detective had left, Afton, forgetting about hard selling to the couple in his shop, picked up the private detective's card and dialled a phone number. He waited for a response, then he said, 'Adrian has put a private dick on the trail of the letter. I just thought you needed to know before he knocks on your door.' There was a pause, then Afton said, 'I'm telling you this because he will be calling on you and you need to be ready.'

Chapter 3

I was excited about the Pike case but, as soon as I returned to my snug home, come office, reality set in. I still had bills to pay, and that meant I had to follow Mr Trumpshaw, to his love nest, room 202 at the Avalon Motel. There were also a couple of jobs for the Royal Assurance Company I needed to clear up. I found a few calls in the message bank. One was from the delicious Jennifer, my unrequited love interest. But I had to love her from a distance. I phoned her back, and my heart leapt when I heard her voice. 'Hi Jen, what's up?'

'Hi, Ozzie. Look, have you seen Nathan lately?'

So, this call was about Nathan Goodfellow, not me. 'No, I haven't heard from him for over three months. Why?'

'I'm getting concerned about him.'

'He's a big boy. I'm sure he can look after himself.'

'Ordinarily, I'd agree. But I haven't heard from Nate since he went looking for Douglas.'

'Why was he looking for Dimmock?'

'There was a glitch with the Q-cam and Dimmock was going to look at it. But that was over 3 months ago.'

I rubbed my stubbly chin. It wasn't that I was slovenly about shaving, but I'd set my electric razor to number 3. Designed stubble was considered trendy these days. Now I'm not saying I'm a guru of fashion or anything like that. But it gives me a bit of a rugged look, a rough and ready style adopted by the new wave of TVs private detectives. I said, 'Have you tried contacting him?'

'You know what he's like when the black dog comes calling.'

'Yeah, Dimmock goes off the radar. Can't your government friends track him down?'

'They don't know about the Q-cam.'

I was surprised about that. 'How did you manage to keep it from Murphy's people?'

'They are only interested in the Q.'

'But that's only because they don't know about the other thing.'

'Ozzie, I want you to track down Dimmock.'

'I would, but I'm pretty busy at the moment. It's quite exciting, really ...'

'Please Ozzie. I wouldn't be asking you, but I'm getting desperate.'

'Well, I want to tell you about this case I'm...'

'Oz, I'll even buy you a meal. Are you free for Wednesday, around lunchtime?'

I know it sounds pathetic, but for Jen, I'd be free any time. 'Sure, Jen. When and where?'

'How about lunch at the Bushey Golf Club, say, 1 o'clock?'

'Sounds good to me.'

'In the meantime, see if you can contact Nate.'

'Sure, Jen. See you Wednesday.'

I had enough stuff to deal with in my life. What with insurance fraudsters, errant spouses, not to mention the Pike Letter case. Now Jen wanted me to go chasing after a missing mathematician. To find him, I had to search for the unpredictable, unsociable, quantum technology genius, Douglas Dimmock. It was all becoming a bit too overwhelming, and I needed to consult my spirit guide. No, I'm not getting all touchy-feely. I'm talking about JW. Johnny Walker to the uninitiated.

After a couple of shots to help me think clearly, I was able to put things in perspective. I had to contact the suspects in the Pike case.

Cameron Weldon wasn't home, so I left him a message. I didn't want to give too much away over the phone, but enough to gain his attention. I mentioned that I wanted to speak to him about an item purchased at a private auction recently. The article was now for sale if he was still interested.

Having gotten as far as I could with him for now, I turned to the second person on my suspect list - Olivia Quinn. She was home and answered the phone. 'I opened with, 'Hi, I'm working on behalf of Adrian Bennet. He bought the Pike Letter at the auction you attended.'

Olivia, completely taken aback, said, 'Who are you and what are you talking about?'

I thought I detected an Australian twang to her voice. 'I'm Oswald Doyle. And like I said ..."

Olivia had learnt, while working for the New South Wales Police Service, to take control of any uncomfortable conversation. 'What do you want, Mr Doyle?'

'It's more to do with what my client wants.'

'Will you get to the bloody point?' Olivia snapped, agitated.

'Mr Bennet wants to sell the letter. He thought you might be interested.'

The line went silent. I didn't want to interrupt, so I kept schtum, waiting for Olivia's response, with bated breath.

Finally, Olivia said, 'I might be interested. Perhaps we should meet.'

It looked as though this was going to be easier than I thought. 'Yes.'

'How about the Macchiato Bar, Brent Cross shopping centre, 2 pm?'

I checked the time. Two hours should be more than enough time to get there, providing there are no major traffic holdups. But this is London we're talking about. 'Sure, I'll see you there. MMS me a selfie to recognise you, and I'll do the same.'

'Why?'

'It beats wearing a funny hat or carrying a copy of The Times.'

Chapter 4

Owen Bradley was not the brightest of souls, but he was sure of two things. He was not in charge and, if anything went wrong, he would be blamed. This put undue pressure on his psyche and caused him to stutter. Mostly he was fine, but added anxiety triggered his speech impediment, making it difficult to for Owen to express certain words. Although he was quite competent in his job, nobody took him seriously. This made things particularly challenging, as Owen was a stand-over merchant, who worked for Cameron Weldon. Which was why he always had Abel Thompson with him. They had worked together for years and had become a double act like Eric and Ernie, Laurel and Hardy, Little and Large etc. Except Owen and Abel were not funny, and they were criminals.

Both Owen and Abel worked for Cameron Weldon, and their job was to make sure people who stood in their boss' way saw the error of their ways. This dangerous duo knew very little about Alfred Pike and his famous letter. In fact, they knew very little about most things. But they were aware that some bloke called Oswald Doyle was going around asking questions about the 'Letter' and their job was to stop him. The other thing they knew about Mr Doyle was he worked out of a rented, one room and compact kitchenette cum office, in East Acton. And Owen did like rearranging people’s personal belongings.

Brent Cross, known mainly for its mega shopping centre, is situated near the Brent Cross flyover, over the North Circular road. Let me say from the off, I do not like shopping malls. The sensory overload is too much for my poor brain. A promo sign near the main entrance boasts Brent Cross is North West London's premier shopping destination and home to over 2,000 leading and designer brands and 120 stylish stores including Fenwick and John Lewis. That message alone was enough to put me right off. I would put a sign up saying Beware all ye who pass these portals. Enter at your own peril.

If it weren't for the fact that I was there to meet the intriguing Ms Olivia Quinn, I would have heeded my warning and escaped the bright lights and noise before I got swallowed up in the commercial chaos. Instead, fool that I am, I fought my way tooth and nail to the full range of restaurants and coffee shops until I came to the Macchiato Bar. I checked my messages and saw a woman in the crowd who resembled the picture on my phone. I raised my hand to get her attention as I shunted my way through the sea of lunchtime patrons, making slow progress towards her table. I looked at the long queue waiting to be served and decided I