The 12th Disciple

By C E Trantham

Where fiction meets fact...

 

A powerful secret handed down from bishop to bishop, a hidden chamber, secret councils, lightning storms, mysterious deaths, secretive organizations within our government, and the greatest con of mankind. All for greed, power, and control. Over a century of bloodshed, before our very eyes.

 

No one can see it...

except those who know the secret of

 

The 12th Disciple

• Language: English
• Publisher: C E Trantham
• Release date: Mar 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781393750611

Book preview

Prologue

Orlando, Florida. July 10, 1949. 3:00 a.m.

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Jack Walker chased the terrified woman down Church Street through the old part of downtown. She ducked into a dead-end alley. He grinned. She doesn’t know these streets like I do. He looked up to the full moon; its soft white glow was like a lantern in the night. It made it difficult for her to hide. Pounding and cries for help could be heard as he turned the corner and saw her frantically banging her fists on a door at the end of the alley. It was the only door with a light above it.

He slowed his pace to a walk. Beads of sweat rolled down his muggy forehead as he moved closer. Someone startled him from his left. He quickly turned to face the stranger and held up his knife. After a brief pause, Jack relaxed his posture and lowered his blade. Squinting his eyes, he tilted his head slightly; his breath was still heavy. He barely recognized the man, but he knew who it was.

It had been a long while since Jack had seen himself. He stood up straight trying to fix the sliced reflection the broken glass was showing. The view was dim, but the moonlight was enough as he looked at himself in the large display window. His face was almost hidden with bushy eyebrows and full beard. Long ropy dark hair fell from his head to just below his shoulders. He knew the clothes covering his skinny and grubby body slowed his pace. And now he could see what he looked like with the baggy old pants and oversized shirt. They had holes and stains. He got them from another drifter; it was the best he could do for now.

The calls for help and dull thumping from the woman banging on the door sounded through the alley. Jack turned back to her. As he approached, his mind was working overtime, churning, thinking and figuring, trying to solve the puzzle.

It’s not right. There’s something going on, he said as he calmed his breath and wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve. Standing in front of him, the woman was breathing heavy but said nothing and didn’t move. Down the dead-end alley, with her back against the wall, she had no place left to run. The door behind her was locked; no one had answered her cries for help.

He looked the woman up and down. She was young and attractive. She has no business being on the streets this time of night. The faint light above the door helped reveal her soft olive green eyes and flowing honey-brown hair. Her dress showed off her figure with full hips and tiny waist. The top buttons had come undone flaunting the cleavage of her chest, heaving for oxygen. She was pleasing to the eye and it was worth the pause he took admiring her beauty. He was also glad to just stand still for a moment—glad the pain from his hardened feet let up. The worn out shoes didn’t help.

We’re being hunted and killed. Jack tugged at his graying beard with his left hand while using his other to place the point of the knife on her neck.

Please don’t hurt me, she begged.

He gently moved the knife down her neck and chest to the cleavage of her bosom, and used it to lift the pendant hanging from her necklace. It was a crucifix. Tilting his head slightly to the left, he peered at the golden cross.

That’s the shape! Thunder echoed through the sky. His eyes grew wide as he snapped back to attention. He’s coming! We must run.

She was frozen with fear. A gust of wind blew her hair across her face. The moonlight disappeared. Jack gave a quick glance up and saw what was left of the faded glow; it vanished as more clouds rolled in. More thunder cracked through the heavens.

The dragon is upon us, he’ll kill you with his white breath of fire. With a quick jerk of his knife, Jack broke the necklace and snatched the pendant. He held the cross up to the woman’s face. Don’t let him aim this at you, or you’re dead.

A bright light flashed through the night above them, followed by a deafening blast. Jack felt the thunder in his chest. The woman screamed. They both faltered with their balance and the light above the door went dark.

Run! Run for your life! he yelled. The monster will strike you down with his sword of white light.

Jack stumbled in the dark around a corner and through another alley. The monster above him roared and thundered with anger. He felt the pendant in his hand. The sky lit up with multiple bursts and bolts of light, and he caught a glimpse of Jesus on the cross he was holding. You’ll save me. He sensed something in the darkness, drawing near from behind. With a quick turn, he dropped to one knee ducking what was to come. A hooded figure stood before him in the night. Flashes of lightning made the view sporadic. Thunder rumbled.

Beware the dragon. Jack had encountered this foe twice before and was able to narrowly escape its wrath. But it had never been so close. He wasn’t sure he could outrun it this time. Why did you come back to this, Jack? You should have stayed beachside.

Jack wished he was back where he was two weeks ago, standing on the shore of Cocoa Beach, gazing upon boundless ocean waters. He did his best to make the journey every summer, bumming rides from Orlando to the east coast to honor his best friend, Billy, who died in his arms during World War One. He knew Billy’s favorite place in the whole world was a rustic piece of land called the Oceanus. The two teens would go there for some primitive camping by the ocean. The area later became the town of Cocoa Beach. And even though Jack was homeless, he always came back to Orlando. It was where he grew up, and the only place that came close to feeling like home.

Bright light flickered on and off as lightning flashed from above. Jack looked to the pendant in his hand; he stood and held it up to show the shadowy figure in front of him. I’ve got one, too! he shouted. It may be smaller, but mine has God on it. With the golden cross in his hand, he extended his arm toward his adversary, showing the side with Christ. He yelled out, Thou shalt not...

A tremendous brightness overcame him with loud popping and an explosion. He found himself lying on the ground hearing an intense ringing. He rolled to his side getting up on his hands and knees. Another bolt of exploding light and he was back down. His arms and legs quivered with pain and then fell to the ground. Unable to move, he felt all his energy draining, fading away. The emptiness made its way through his body leaving only his brain with the last bit of life. Then, it too began to sink into darkness. Numbness took over his mind as it drifted through time.

Past images shuffled by like pictures on a deck of cards. He saw his childhood, his mother smiling, learning how to ride his bike, being hit by his father, school kids teasing him, his uncle abusing him, dead soldiers from the wars, his best friend dying, losing his job, his wife leaving him... The images raced by faster and faster becoming a blur, fading into nothingness.

Rain fell from the heavens. More lightning lit up and Jack saw the crucifix lying on the ground beside him. He summoned all he had left and with his last thought, Why didn’t you save me?

†

He said something was going on, people being hunted and killed, and talked about a fire breathing dragon, Lori Baker told Officer Bowman sitting at his desk. She felt safe inside the police station.

Ma’am, this is 1949, there’s no such thing as dragons, specially the fire breathing kind. Bowman was middle-aged, clean cut, his face dark with stubble, and his actions indicated he was experienced as a cop. It calmed Lori.

He seemed strange...different, she said.

Bowman focused on a form, filling out his report, as he spoke, Jack Walker was known to be very strange. He was a street bum, and some said he was also a genius, extremely intelligent. But at the same time, he was sick and suffered with mental illness. He was a war vet, and it was rumored he saw more blood and guts than the average Joe.

The things he said...

Officer Bowman stopped writing and looked Lori in the eyes. Ma’am, the things he said were nothing but babble from the mind of a crazy man.

She paused. And he seemed to be deathly afraid of thunderstorms.

Well, I can understand that. It’s what killed him. He went back to his report.

But isn’t that strange, being killed by lightning?

That’s what I used to think before I became a cop. You’d be surprised how many die from lightning. And from what I’ve seen and heard, it’s quite common here in Orlando and the Central Florida area.

Hmm. She squinted.

And you said there was someone else? he asked.

Yes. As I made my way out of the alley, someone wearing a hooded robe walked by. He was in a hurry and carrying a big cross.

A big cross?

Yeah, it was about a foot and a half long, and a foot wide. It was silver and shiny.

Bowman furrowed his brow and paused. Did he assault you or hurt you?

No, he didn’t see me. I was still in the alley. I was afraid, so I waited for him to pass. When I left the alley I ran the other way.

Probably just a priest heading to one of the local churches.

You don’t think it’s suspicious?

Ma’am, this all happened early Sunday morning, and some of the local priests are known to travel by foot. All Saints Cathedral isn’t far from the alley you were in, and he was probably in a hurry because of the storm.

She nodded.

What had you out on the streets that time of night, anyway? he asked.

I was walking home from work.

At three in the morning? His chin drew forward and he raised his brows.

I had the closing shift at Rosie O’ Grady’s on Church Street.

The cabaret club? He glanced at her busty chest.

I’m not a harlot. I also have a day job at The Hat Box on Orange Avenue. She held her chin high.

Here’s all they found. Another policeman walked by dropping a bag on the desk.

Lori watched Officer Bowman go through the small bag and pull something from it.

Is this your pendant? He held out the small golden cross.

She quickly took it, glad she hadn’t lost it. Wait...it was a crucifix. Lori turned it over and over looking at both sides. What happened to Jesus?

Bowman leaned forward, squinting. I guess He melted into the cross.

From the lightning?

He nodded.

Even the edges of the pendant had smoothed. But it still held the overall shape of a cross. Lori continued to search both sides of the pendant, but she couldn’t find any evidence of Christ.

It’s as if Jesus was never there.

Chapter 1

Present day...

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It doesn’t seem real." Penny Clark looked out the back seat window. As a newspaper reporter she always wanted to make the front page, but never dreamed she would find herself in the middle of the biggest story she had ever known. Like Alice, she was falling down the rabbit hole, and Penny was surprised how deep it went. And it wasn’t over yet. She wondered if she would ever find the bottom. If I could only take a pill, she thought. Maybe it would make her small enough that she could hide from the world around her. She anxiously curled a lock of her long brunette hair over her finger as she pondered all that had happened and wondered what was yet to come.

In the distance, it looked like a bomb had exploded. A large trail of smoke rose into the early evening sky. Billowing upward with shades of black and gray, it curled and rolled over, blowing to the west. She wished it was from the smokestack of an old-fashioned locomotive heading east and wondered what it would be like for the engineer and his fireman, frantically shoveling coal to keep the steam engine running. But she knew better.

The black sedan raced through the streets of Orlando, slowed a bit, then turned sharp causing Penny to lean a little from the window. The car now headed toward the smoke. Penny rechecked her safety belt. The radio scanner crackled, Suspect has now turned east on Palmer Street just north of Lake Cherokee. Hearing it brought Penny back to reality. Fear and anxiety came over her. She tried to piece the puzzle of the last twelve days back together, but her mind was numb from rethinking it again and again. It was becoming a blur.

As they arrived at the source of smoke, tears swelled in her big brown eyes. The large fire was still blazing. The car came to an abrupt stop. Penny didn’t move. She gazed into the fire, with tears rolling down her face. It doesn’t seem real.

I’ve really got to get going, the driver said.

She just sat in the back, staring at the flames through the front windshield.

The man sitting beside her got out and walked around to Penny’s door.

Miss Clark, from the driver.

Penny snapped out of her daze. She saw the driver’s eyes glaring at her through the rear view. Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right. Her door opened. Thanks for the lift. She grabbed her brief bag and got out of the car.

The sedan sped off. Penny once again turned to the fire. The mesmerizing blaze called upon her. She reached into her brief bag, now strapped over her shoulder. Without looking, she pulled out her car keys and handed them over. Her PT Cruiser was right where she had left it. The man escorted her to the passenger seat, then got in the driver’s side.

Where to? he asked.

Anywhere but here.

Penny sighed...letting go of the blaze she turned her head down and closed her eyes. Do you think they’ll get him?

Hmm...apparently he’s very powerful. He shrugged.

†

A great horned owl was perched in its usual tree waiting for dark. High up in the old oak, the large bird was like a guardian of dead souls as it peered down at tombstones and grave markers. Nearly a hundred acres of gentle hills, Orlando’s Greenwood Cemetery displayed a beautiful landscape of plants, bushes, Spanish-moss covered trees, ponds and wetlands. Established in the 1880s, it was one of the city’s oldest preserved burial grounds. It even hosted moonlight walking tours, once a month, visiting graves of prominent individuals from Orlando’s history. The old owl hooted softly but stopped and turned its large head sharply to the right. With its big round eyes opened wide on its flat face, the owl glared at the approaching two-legged animal.

Bishop Edward McKenzie made his way through the cemetery as fast as a limping old man could manage. His feet made a ruckus tramping through some leaves on the ground, but he didn’t care. Suddenly, as if entering a candy shop, he passed through a sugar sweet fragrance hanging in the evening air. He tilted his head up slightly, closed his eyes and mustered a deep breath in through his nose. The scent was strong, and familiar. Not letting up with his step, he looked to his right. It was a night jasmine. You’ve grown. While there was still a bit of daylight left, the sweet tiny white flowers were already blooming on the large bush letting the graveyard know nightfall was on its way.

I must hurry. A touch of adrenaline helped ease the pain from his aching body. No one was directly behind him, but he knew they were coming. Ordering his legs to continue the brisk pace, he looked to the west. His mind welcomed another distraction and for an instant he escaped from the pain and the worry of knowing his world was collapsing around him. It was a beautiful Florida sunset. The distant trees were turning solid black against the warm mix of yellow, orange and red. What a nice painting it would make. His exhausted legs, asking for relief, tugged his mind back to the task at hand. Rather than pausing to enjoy the scene, he ignored the call from his legs and pushed forward.

Finally, there it was. The grave of Bishop John Gwen. McKenzie rejoiced as he slowed his pace and came to a halt. He looked upon the grave, still gasping for breath to feed his tired body, and couldn’t help but feel emotions pour through his mind from his childhood. Tears filled his eyes. Refocusing his thoughts, he turned to look behind. Then back to the grave, satisfied he was alone, he begged his knees to bend and lowered himself to the ground. All was quiet except for a flock of birds, rustling and chirping, in a nearby tree.

I miss you, my old friend. I haven’t much time, and nowhere left to run. You were like a father to me. And all these years, I’ve tried to make you proud. McKenzie paused, turning his head. He thought something moved, off in the distance to his flank. He could hear only his breath, with the sound of the birds in the background.

Looking back to John Gwen’s grave, As you made me promise, over the years I kept the number of victims low. But lately I could not. With a new angel and the power of the secret, I felt compelled to do as you once did. The birds scattered in flight. They must be close.

But now we are betrayed. He loosened the purple cincture wrapped around his waist and reached inside his black cassock robe, and further into a pocket near his chest, grabbing the handle of a nine millimeter pistol. But he didn’t pull the gun out of his pocket.

Bishop Edward McKenzie! This is Agent Johnson with the Orlando Police Department. We have you surrounded. Put your hands in the air.

McKenzie didn’t flinch. Hidden under his robe and inside his pocket, his hand looked like it was holding his heart. But instead, he carefully readied his gun by turning the safety off and placing his finger on the trigger. Matthew 10:34. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Think not I am come to send peace on earth: