Pawns of the Game

By Joe Black

Pawns of the Game is a novel written loosely off the old conspiracy theory of the Illuminati utilizing the mystery system of Free Masonry and that of ancient Egypt’s religiosity to control contemporary societies massive. The historical, archaeological, and biblical material is real, as are the (gospel) quotations and fragments. Contemporary characters are my own creation, but many of the ancillary characters actually exist merely to lend support for realism sake. However, the portraits I paint of them are fictional—in respect to names, things, places and time. The lead characters in the novel are a secret clique of streetwise men who gained possession of the true knowledge that creates the TRINITY of the Illuminati, Freemasons, and ancient Egypt’s star cult religious mystery system—in order to mastermind their own plot to gain economic and political power within society of the city of New York.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503546530

Joe Black

Joe Black is a congregational rabbi, singer, songwriter, and guitarist whose music for children is celebrated and sung in Jewish communities throughout the United States, Canada, and Israel. Black’s recordings have received accolades from sources as diverse as The New York Times, Hadassah Magazine, Moment Magazine, and The American Library Journal. He has shared his music with hundreds of communities. Black, his wife, and two children live in Denver. 

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Joe Black.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5035-4652-3

                eBook           978-1-5035-4653-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 07/02/2015

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOUNDATION

Story Line

OPENING

Prologue

SECTION-1

Chapter One Dead Night

Chapter Two City Of Bureaucracy

Chapter Three Heavenly Sin

Chapter Four Haters Of America

SECTION-2

Chapter Five Old Schooling

Chapter Six Jack Of All Trades

Chapter Seven Homespun

Chapter Eight Passion

Chapter Nine Men Of Hidden Power

Chapter Ten Scared Night

Chapter Eleven Motherly Love

Chapter Twelve Clan Of Brotherhood

Chapter Thirteen Tales Of Murder

SECTION-3

Chapter Fourteen Timeserver

Chapter Fifteen On The Job

Chapter Sixteen Wiseguys’ Enterprise

Chapter Seventeen Working It

Chapter Eighteen New York State Of Mind

SECTION-4

Chapter Nineteen The Hood

Chapter Twenty The Reverend, The Politician, & The Prudent

Chapter Twenty-One A Move Made

Chapter Twenty-Two A Hood Welcoming

Chapter Twenty-Three Show Time

SECTION-5

Chapter Twenty-Four Teenhood Wisdom

Chapter Twenty-Five The Living And The Dead

Chapter Twenty-Six Agent Of Death

Chapter Twenty-Seven The Broadcast

SECTION-6

Chapter Twenty-Eight Old School Ballers

Chapter Twenty-Nine Killer’s Pleasure

Chapter Thirty Party Of Business

Chapter Thirty-One Violent Storm

SECTION-7

Chapter Thirty-Two The Conscious Mind

Chapter Thirty-Three Making Of Brotherhood

Chapter Thirty-Four Striking Lighting

Chapter Thirty-Five Play Ball

SECTION-8

Chapter Thirty-Six Fort Apache

Chapter Thirty-Seven The Pickup

Chapter Thirty-Eight Nonbelievers

Chapter Thirty-Nine Meeting Of Brotherhood

Chapter Forty Chinese Connection

Chapter Forty-One Ritual Ceremony

Chapter Forty-Two Ritual Of A Murder

SECTION-9

Chapter Forty-Three Breaking Morning News

Chapter Forty-Four Smooth Operator

Chapter Forty-Five A Seed To Plot

Chapter Forty-Six Made Men

Chapter Forty-Seven Acquired Info

Chapter Forty-Eight Rap Of A New World Order

Chapter Forty-Nine Separate Clams

SECTION-10

Chapter Fifty Sunday Shopping

Chapter Fifty-One Sunday At Fort Apache

Chapter Fifty-Two Smoking The Peace Pipe

Chapter Fifty-Three Bring Him In

SECTION-11

Chapter Fifty-Four Business As Usual

Chapter Fifty-Five Pay The Piper

Chapter Fifty-Six Evil Faith

Chapter Fifty-Seven Murder By Night

Chapter Fifty-Eight Murder By The Hour

Chapter Fifty-Nine Going All Out

Chapter Sixty Jackpot

SECTION-12

Chapter Sixty-One Bona Fide

Chapter Sixty-Two As Planned

Chapter Sixty-Three Players And Non-Players

Chapter Sixty-Four An Old Acquaintance

Chapter Sixty-Five What Lies Ahead

SECTION-13

Chapter Sixty-Six Gentlemen Of Fortune

Chapter Sixty-Seven Lost Honor

Chapter Sixty-Eight The Take Over

Chapter Sixty-Nine The Pleasure Of Business

Chapter Seventy A Knight Errant

This book is

dedicated to:

The loving memories of my Mother Norma DiPepsico,

&

True friend Derrick Johnson

May your souls rest in peace!

I further dedicate this book to:

My dear loving-caring wife Janice, thank you for initiating the idea, encouraging me, as well as assisting me with final editing to create such a novel.

&

To my dear lady Jacqueline Jackson,

thank you for encouraging and

assisting me to have my novel published.

Last but not least. Thank both of my loving nieces Trenace and Shanay for believing in me.

Foundation

Story Line

Friday the 13th, October 1775.

The fog lingers in the air throughout the silent night in the dark forest, where a secret British army lodge is placed deep in the woods. Its men, soldiers attached to a regiment station near Boston.

It’s half past mid-night while fifteen free black men carrying lanterns approaches the lodge quietly. As soon as they reach the lodge, they’re asked the password which they give and is summoned to enter. Upon their entrance, they’re led towards the back into a room that leads down into a cellar with dim candlelight. Inside a conclave of fifty British soldiers—officers and all—wearing shrouds await them, who all stand lined up against the cave-like dungeon walls in a 360-degree circle. As the party of fifteen enters, they’re directed to stand directly in the middle of the circle around fifteen shrouds, which lay in the center of the cellar floor. One by one, each man is instructed to stand beside a shroud that lay before him; hence, they’re order to remove their coats and boots. Thereupon, they’re blindfolded and a rope with a noose is placed over each of their heads, around their necks, which hangs loosely. Then the ceremony begins with their initiation into the Freemasonic Order. They’re the first black men of America to become Freemasons.

However, it’ll be a total of nine years from this dark-foggy-night when this same party of fifteen free black men in colonial times of Boston Massachusetts, apply to this Grand Lodge of the British Freemasonic Order. To which they make a request for a warrant to establish the first African-American Masonic Order, issued to the African Lodge under No.459—with Prince Hall as Master, on September 29, 1784. Yet, due to various complications involving the brewing of the Revolutionary War being stirred up in the kettle during this time and afterwards, the warrant is delayed; wherefore, it’s not until April 29, 1787 that the warrant is received. And so, the lodge is duly organized on May 6. Thenceforth, the Freemasonic Order of the African-American Lodge is founded; which ten years later on the date of June 24th, 1797 at West Cambridge, Massachusetts the Worshipful Master Prince Hall delivered to the lodge their final call of duty.

My beloved brethren of this Masonic African Lodge: It has been five years since I honorably delivered a charge to you on some principalities of Freemasonry. As a branch of the superstructure of the foundation, I endeavored to demonstrate to all of you the rightful duty of a Freemason to a Freemason, and the charity and love to all mankind, as the art and craft of the work of the great God the Father of the human race, who made us all in his image. I shall now attempt to demonstrate to you that it is our duty to empathize with our fellowmen under their difficulties, and with the families of our brethren who no longer stand among us, we hope, to the Grand Lodge of the Heaven above.

Continuing he says, Empathy we are to have, said our great God the Father. Nevertheless, this; however, is not to be simply confined to parties or colors, nor towns or states, nor to a government, nor a kingdom. But to the kingdoms of the whole earth, over whom Christ the King is head and Grand Master for all distress.

Pausing for a brief second, he adds, For all the innumerous sons and daughters of the distressed, may we be granted the right to see our brothers and sisters. But first, let us see them and their families freed from the iron hand of tyranny and oppression of slavery, which bear the yoke of cruelty—until death, as a friend, shall relieve them. Thus, let not the unhappy conditions of these, our fellowmen, prohibit our sincere prayers and wishes for their deliverance from those merchants and traders, whose characteristics are described in the Book of Revelation, which holds—He causes all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hand or on their foreheads. And that no one may buy or sell except one who has the mark or the name of the beast, or the number of his name. Here is wisdom. Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man: His number is 666.

Opening

Prologue

The present—Upstate New York

SLAM-BAM! SLAM-BAM! SLAM-BAM!

One-by-one the cell-bars slam shut as the correctional officer pulls down on the crankshaft-handle, locking the inmates in for the night. He slams the cell control box’s steel-door close, locks it up, place the keys on his key-ring then proceeds down the gallery taking the last count for the night. Yet for the inmates, their night was just beginning with the nightmare of their reality as they dwell in the man-made cells to be their living hell. Caught in the belly-of-the-beast serving time for their crimes, they’re filled with grief and misery. For many of them it’s a life without hopes and dreams, a life with nothing to look forward to, a life with nothing but sorrows—as time holds no significance for a lot of them—where time is endless. As a consequence, their place of incarceration is a place to pray for their incarnation.

Nonetheless, on this particular night at the dreadful Attica State Correctional Facility in Upstate New York, one inmate checked off the days on his wall-calendar in red ink. He was now on the countdown to be release back into society. After years living in the shadow of death, he calculated his days left. That what-the-hell attitude of his towards doing time, served him well—so he thought. The way he figured he still had some youth left in him, had his health, and had achieved a great deal of knowledge—he had survived. But for the moment while he stood in his cell in silence, he neither smiled nor frowned. His expression can only be describe as a dead man lying in his coffin—in which dead men tell no tales. This never-to-be-forgotten part of his life was the experience of a death sentence for him.

So as he stood in his six-by-six-feet cell, he prepared for bed to end his night. He peeled off his shirt, walked over to the sink, began to brush his teeth and afterwards bird bathed. Upon completion he stood straight-up, looked into the small wall-mirror above the sink where his image reflected the experience of hurt, pain, anger, weakness and strength all in one-lump-sum. Thinking about the cause of it all, he began to reminisce on his years spent in prison. Starting with his adolescent’s days to becoming a young man and ending with him now being a young-middle-age man, he recalled in mind the long time of a life filled with madness. Suddenly he snapped out of his state of a replay from the past, and gave an enthusiastic smile while standing before the mirror. He then stepped over to the bed, where he peeled off the rest of his clothing and laid down.

While lying in bed his thoughts took off on his wife, about how she loved and cared dearly for him. Beautiful images of her filled his mind with the pleasant times shared between them, which it wasn’t before long that his eyes began flickering in the manner of REM—where he was now off in the world of dreams. BRRRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGGG!!! The early morning prison bell rings off awakening majority of those from a deep sleep, while others are already up and ready for the day. The sudden flow of running water pressed in sinks and toilets flushed—along with loud shouts of inmates yelling out to one another begin. Within minutes gallery porters are lock out giving hot water to those who want it, while passing meaningless kites of all sorts of message for inmates who wishes to get through to each other. In the next fifteen or twenty minutes, cell-bars bust open and the inmates burst out like wild beast ready to feast.

What’s up bro? One Puerto Rican inmate said to another, as the inmates flocked onto the company gallery.

Dude, how’s it goin’ this morning? One white inmate said to his buddy.

Ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me. I feel like I wanna puke, every time I wakeup in this shit-hole, his buddy answered bitterly.

Top of the morning Bishop, the Black Muslim inmate greeted his comrade, who was one of his homeboys from out of the Bronx in New York City.

Yeah, same to you Rasheen, Bishop replied.

Mornin’ to the old-timers, the young black-Dominican gang member named Pito told the two older inmates with a smile, as he stepped up into their midst.

What’s going on big fella? Bishop said.

What’s up little brother? Rasheen said.

Two of Rasheen’s Muslim brothers walking by say to Rasheen, As ‘Salaam ‘Alaikum, Wa Lakum ‘Salaam, Rasheen tells them back; then the two greet Bishop and Pito with top of the morning, and they do likewise.

Next, three young black members from the gang Pito is in, quickly approach Pito, wanting to know if he’s rolling with them to the mess hall. Pito let them know he’s rolling with the two old-timers, and the three gang members proceed up the gallery towards the front.

Checking out the three as they ascend the gallery, Rasheen comments, I notice lately, you haven’t been hanging out with your little clique there.

Definitely I noticed that myself, Bishop interjected then asked, What’s up, everything good with you and them?

Yeah everything good, I just don’t have time for dumb-shit no more. Y’all know I just got married to my baby-daughter’s mama. Shit, I gotta start thinking ‘bout them now and get home. I can’t be runnin’ ‘round on some dumb-shit, poppin’ it off, always in trouble. You heard? Pito told the two old-timers.

I hear that big fella, Bishop responded.

Sure you’re right, Rasheen assured him.

Several other inmates passing by heading up front on the gallery, greets the two old-timers and young gang member; which the three of them greets those back. Yet, being the observant individuals that they are, both Bishop and Rasheen instinctively observe the three young gang members from Pito’s gang, hanging up top at the gallery’s gate. They see the three holding a little powwow among themselves, right before the officer bust the company’s gate for chow.

What’s poppin’ with y’all? Biff, another young black inmate asked Rasheen, Pito and Bishop as he entered their circumference.

Nothing much yet, said Rasheen.

What’s poppin’ with you, son? Pito asked in return.

Same-o-same-o, Biff answered.

I’m checking out Pito’s little homeboys up top. They look like they’re up to no good, about to get into something stupid, Bishop told Biff while speaking through his teeth without moving his lips, as he spoke incognito.

Sure you’re right. I’ve been checking them out myself, Rasheen said under his breath speaking incognito also.

Looking up front to see what’s taking place, Biff says, Oh, those three. They’re always in some dumb shit, The Three Stooges.

On the chow!, the company officer yells out loud then busts the gate to let the inmates off the gallery. Indeed, the many feet proceeding down the narrow staircase sounds like a stampede. Subsequently as the inmates succeed each other from exiting the staircase, they enter into the lobby where they line-up in pairs of twos behind one another. Once the last inmate joins in, the company officer orders them to step-off. They do so in formation of the lockstep prison shuffle—developed at the Auburn Prison in Upstate New York built in 1816—for which each inmate is forced to walk in order, looking over the shoulder of the preceding inmate with faces inclined to the right, while feet moving in unison. As the old saying goes—The Prison Walls Have Ears—the men are forced to move in silence through the dreary corridors within the gloomy walls, in order to prohibit the formulation of any plots for stabbing or rioting. Yet upon nearing the mess hall, the men hear the horrifying savage-roar coming from out of the mess hall. A horrifying savage-roar that terrorizes the common law-abiding citizen, as the average officer and inmate adapt as part of their habitat. Ironically, what’s considered to be abnormal behavior in the free world, in the confinement of the prison world, it’s considered to be normal—simply a matter of snafu, as the inmates enter the mess hall for food. With inside, officers stand up and down the aisles with sticks in hand. High above and across the front entrance, two officers sit with teargas guns inside the teargas booth ready to fire immediately and effectively as need be. Definitely, nothing more than methods used as crime prevention for discipline, in order to create fear of punishment within such confinement. Here, prison officials’ concept of harsh discipline for control over the inmates’ hearts and souls.

Inside the mess hall, the companies of inmates form into single-lines to join in on the chow lines with other companies before them. At the feeding counters they pick up their thick metal trays and silverware, step-off then take seats as others follow in behind. Finally Biff, Pito, Rasheen and Bishop are seated at the long rolls of steel tables eating breakfast. While eating, Pito cracks a joke on Bishop regarding him going home soon—looking like the character Huggie Bear in the old movie I’m Gonna Get You Sucker—wearing the goldfish-bowl, high-heels-platform shoes. Those seated at the table bust out in laughter. Abruptly they’re interrupted by the commotion taking place in the center of the mess hall. Immediately the mess hall’s steel-gate-doors shut close like in the old HBO TV hit show OZS. They’re instantly made aware of the sudden danger existing within the atmosphere.

Chaotically inmates and officers alike are trap inside the mess hall, with no way of escape if teargas is fired. Before the officers can make a move to repress the disturbance, they must first assess the immediate danger in order to determine the situation. The fear in the air descends upon them like a thundercloud with violent precipitation. The commotion in the center of the mess hall picks up in velocity of a high rate that causes the officers to hesitate. Smack-dab in the center of the mess hall, one of the three-gang members from Pito’s gang sliced the face of a rival gang member with a stainless-steel-razor-blade. His act sets off an uproar, calling for the rival gangs to wage an out-and-out war. The battling of the two gangs go at it in full-fledge, cutting and stabbing one another without a second thought of any sort.

Yeah motherfucka, you thought it was over! I told you, I’ll get that ass! The first guy from Pito’s gang yelled to his enemy, while slicing his face wide open as if he was a cantaloupe.

Ahhhh! His enemy cries out, holding his bloody face with the white meat hanging out.

One of his gang members rushes to defend him, but before he can do so, the second member from the three of Pito’s gang quickly catches him from behind, sticking an ice-pick in his back three times. He stumbles forward into the long rolls of steel tables, falling to the hard-marbling floor.

The third member from Pito’s gang, wanting his share of action jumps up pulling out a shank tucked inside his waistband. He shouts, Ya motherfuckas wanna fuck wit! Before he can finish his words, another rival gang member runs up behind him and stabs him in the side of his neck with a long-metal-pin. He drops like a wet mop as he shuts up. At this time, it’s war between them all.

In the meantime, while numerous inmates watch the action shouting and carrying-on dramatically, Biff, Bishop and Rasheen remain seated—being calm, cool and collect. The three look at Pito, who looks like he’s about to get involved. They give him a look that tells him don’t—think about your wife and baby daughter—think about getting out.

After that Bishop thought to himself, Soon this nightmare will be over, for which he would be checking off another day on his wall-calendar in red ink by tonight, as he counted his days left all in one breath.

Section-1

Chapter One

Dead Night

Upstate New York—Friday night, time 11:35p.m.

The strong winds flung the leave of the wilderness in all directions, while rain tore down from the dark clouds above, as thundering and lightning roared with pure anger.

It’s almost midnight as the young criminal lawyer reaches Upstate New York, traveling on the wet roads from his fantabulous Park Avenue suite in downtown Manhattan. Steadily driving deep into the valley of Mid-Hudson, New York the young criminal lawyer drives up to his private cabin. Stepping out his Navigator, he lands his left-foot into a pool of muddy water. SHIT! He curses the dark as he steps his right-foot after into the muddy water, while heavy raindrops pour down drenching him.

High stepping through the pool several feet, he steps up to the cabin and unlocks its door. Entering into the cabin’s black darkness, he makes his way over to the small table in the kitchen area. Feeling around in the black darkness for the box of wooden matches lying on the kitchen table, he finds it and strikes a stick to light the kerosene lamp on the table. Taking off his jacket, he heads over to the kitchen’s cabinet snatching out a dusty drinking glass and bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He grabs the towel on the sink, drying his face and hair then tosses it back. Looking like he is, weather-beaten, he takes a seat over at the kitchen table and starts to recuperate as he takes a break.

Taking a deep breath, he strongly blows into the glass then wipes the inside around with his fingers. Pouring the Jack Daniel’s into the glass, he stares at the liquid substance like it’s a magic potion he’s about to drink. Reaching into his shirt upper-left-pocket, he pulls out a medium-size cellophane package containing white glittery powdered rocks as he open it. Reaching his hand beneath the table, he pulls open a small stash draw, taking out a mirror along with a short-cut-straw. Now as the criminal lawyer pours the white glittery powdered rocks onto the mirror, a bead of sweat forms upon his forehead as he starts crushing the rocks into powder.

Quickly taking a strong sip on the Jack Daniel’s, he begins drawing long strips of lines with the crushed white powdery substance better known as coke—ten in a row. One, two, three, four he snorts up his nose—two in each nostril then grabs his face with both hands, like he’s about to go insane inside his brain. The immediate feeling of euophoria (the rush) causes him to drop back into the chair. This feeling of his is only short-lived for a few moments, and then he repeats with one more snort up each nostril. Grabbing the glass of Jack Daniel’s again, he tosses his head back and down another swallow of it.

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! He curses aloud to himself as he sits in the chair. THINK! THINK! THINK! He yells to himself as well. As a calculation of the situation inside his mind, he forces a mental picture taking snapshots catching it all as a total recall. Shaking like a leaf, mad thoughts start running through his mind. WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU GOTTEN YOURSELF INTO? The question screams inside his head. HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID? Another question screams inside his head. The beat of his heart pumps faster, while his thoughts races faster. Attempting to force himself to stop shaking, he holds his breath for several seconds trying to get control of him. Instantly, he picks up the straw and snorts up another line of the coke.

Cocaine, the choice of drug for those with money who can afford its high addictive use—often referred to as the recreational drug for the rich and famous—had this high priced young attorney strung way out of his league. Despite coming from a rich and powerful family background, being an educated student of Harvard University, and being a member of the Secret Society Freemasonic Order, didn’t help him with the mess he was in. His cocaine habit squeezed him by the balls, which he was about to fall. The world he once knew and loved so much—his world—the elites, was now ending for him.

His addiction had him hooked to drug dealers and pimps, allowing him to enjoy a lifestyle of cocaine and promiscuous