Seth's Epic Journey

By Jim Mosquera

Time is a thief that steals from everyone. Weeks occur in days. Years occur in months. We think we know how our life will unfold, where we're heading, and that we control our years, but perception has its own power and time has its own plan. Eventually, we're humbled by a common thread uniting us all.

 

Seth, a high-ranking official from the Department of Homeland Security, will be ensnared in that thread. Desperate to purge his troubled conscience, his pending confession encounters an unforeseen detour, forcing him to confront life's greatest enigma.

 

Join the debate when you decide, "What happened to Seth?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Sentinel
• Release date: May 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223325789

Jim Mosquera

Jim Mosquera is a published author of fiction and non-fiction and a business professional.  He wants people to understand the world around them and think for themselves. Early Life Born in Panama City, Panama, he spent his formative years in Panama City and St. Louis, Missouri.  He graduated near the top of his class from the University of Missouri-Columbia with Master’s and Bachelor’s degrees in Industrial Engineering.   Professional Career After graduation, he worked in telecommunications serving in a variety of roles including engineering, sales, sales support, product development, and training.  In 2004, he received a patent for a software application. He continued his education by completing a Series 3 license.  Mr. Mosquera also developed proprietary software programs used in options and futures trading.   He founded Sentinel Consulting, a business restructuring and capital acquisition firm.  Later he served as Vice President for a consultancy and then assumed the role of leading entrepreneurship for a private university. Non-fiction The financial crisis of 2008 inspired the first book in a series called Escaping Oz: Protecting your wealth during the financial crisis, published in 2011.  He published the successor to that book, Escaping Oz: Navigating the crisis, in 2015.  In 2017, he published the third book in the series, Escaping Oz: An Observer's Reflections. For Jim, the financial crisis never really ended. Fiction As a result of his non-fiction writing,  Jim wrote a realistic fictional novel titled, 2020 that he published in 2016.   The story is a political thriller with financial crisis, cyber terror, and alternative parties challenging the two-party status quo, culminating in the presidential election of 2020.  The second book in that series, Rebellium, continues where 2020 left off.  The third novel in the series, Division is a wild tale.  In early 2020, he published Hope, at a time when the nation desperately needs it. His latest book is an exploration of humankind's greatest mystery entitled, Seth's Epic Journey.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Confession

It was an overcast day as he navigated the winding streets of the small town near the nation’s capital. Overhead, winter clouds hung low and heavy, pressing rain into a fine mist. He drove fitfully with a sense of unease. The town showed insignificant life, with few cars parked along the roadside and no pedestrians navigating cracked sidewalks. Why would he expect foot traffic? The economy shuttered many businesses from his childhood. A few others hung on, hopeful that government’s latest economic rescue offered salvation. Few businesses remained open past sunset, fearful of roaming gangs.

Despite misgivings about this meeting, he pressed on, squeezing the life out of the steering wheel. He was trying to be punctual, but was still aware of his speed. There was no worry about being detained, because presenting the identification badge showed rank.

Driving closer into the heart of town, streets narrowed and buildings huddled closer, seeking shelter from Mother Nature’s offering. His furtive glances towards the clouds instilled hope for one ray of sunshine, anything to lighten the mood. The vehicle’s navigation system announced a return to a place he knew well. It was the site of all his childhood sacraments.

St. Ignatius Catholic Church, named after the founder of the Jesuit order, nurtured curiosity. This order fostered intellectual and spiritual formation, with many members serving as scholars and theologians. He had no interest in becoming a priest.

What he enjoyed most about the church leadership was their adaptability and innovation, especially for an inquiring mind. He took to Catholicism’s scholarly tenets despite not being the most spiritual person. It was a place where young intellect blossomed, yet the acumen and critical thinking developed in his youth waned in recent years.

Though St. Ignatius had seen better days, it remained an inspiring place filled with history and tradition. Its tall spires reached towards the heavens. Unforgiving weather faded the exterior brick walls. Stained glass windows depicted the life of St. Ignatius of Loyola, a great missionary and teacher.

It was time to seek mentoring after reaching a nadir in every aspect of his life.

Taking familiar steps into the grand old building, a sweet, heady aroma of incense greeted him. A few of the faithful knelt in polished wood pews. Others sat in quiet contemplation. He’d cleaned these pews in his youth, removing gum from their underside. The migration of young families out of the city made eradicating sticky substances unnecessary now.

The walk led to the sacristy, a place of early morning toil, where he prepared for altar boy duties.

An office opposite the sacristy offered temporary sanctuary, hosting someone capable of caring conversation and the mentoring he desperately craved. Piles of books lay on worn shelves and a metallic desk, reminiscent of standard government issue during the Eisenhower administration. The environment suited a man of intellectual stature — it was a learning den.

He breached the office entrance when the old man peered above his spectacles.

Seth! It’s so good to see you. He removed his glasses and placed them on the desk.

Thank you, Father. It’s been too long.

The priest walked around his desk to embrace Seth’s hands and offer a gentle pat on the shoulder. He used the same salutation on all occasions.

Father Sallustino served as parish priest for the last thirty years. Seth first met him near the end of college after the priest of his many sacraments retired. It was an exciting time after finishing a degree in Criminal Justice and heading to law school. The priest encouraged the recent graduate to stay faithful to Jesuit teachings while promoting truth and justice after completing his law degree. Seth had no other intention, yet he’d drifted from those principles — he needed to reset his compass.

This conversation would be unlike their post-baccalaureate meeting. The optimism of Seth’s youth faded with adulthood, fatherhood, and professional career. He returned to his hometown recently after a rift with the immediate family. The youngest of three, his siblings preceded him in death. He felt alone, though, for reasons other than their passing. The siblings were once close, but politics created a permanent rift.

His academic background and early career success led to a position at the Department of Homeland Security (DHS). For his brother and sister, DHS was the embodiment of Mephistopheles. Both died within a month. Their obituaries described their death as unforeseen. That description became commonplace as the nation experienced a wave of unforeseen deaths. The authorities never explained those deaths, though many suspected the cause, including Seth. The word unforeseen was government-speak for something the public was not to understand.

He never got to fully grieve their deaths, since his siblings’ families did not invite him to the funeral.

His sojourn to St. Ignatius was about disclosure, though the confession’s nature was unclear. He’d broken none of the Ten Commandments, yet felt dirty, an emotional grime soiling his body. It would be wholly inadequate to confess and have Father Sallustino order a prescription of Our Father and Hail Mary. He needed absolution. It wasn’t forgiveness received when he pilfered candy from the local store. It wasn’t amnesty for lying to his parents about where he’d been all night during his junior year in high school — an evening of debauchery with his girlfriend. Personal and professional lapses required a different catharsis.

His parents were a patriotic lot and frequent Sunday visitors to the Lord’s House. Going on Saturday was a treat, since it meant sleeping past eight o’clock. That mattered little when serving as an altar boy in middle school. He held the lowest rank on the totem pole and got drafted to serve in Sunday’s sunrise Mass.

His father was a dedicated city police officer, yet Seth harbored loftier expectations, defending the entire nation against criminals. Seth began his career at the FBI, gaining notoriety by busting organized crime rings and drug cartels. Captured suspects paraded like caged circus animals before fawning media. These high-profile cases raised his stature, placing him in the crosshairs of DHS — they needed him to fight new threats.

DHS wanted everyone to believe the gospel of existential threats. The threats were no longer mid and high-level mafia thugs or illegal drugs flowing through the southern border. Crimes against individual citizens mattered little compared to threats against the federal government from hacking organizations and domestic terrorists. External threats took a back seat to enemies within the gates.

There were other national dangers. Secessionist movements took hold with parts of the country on the verge of separating. It was something he and other patriots within the federal government apparatus could not accept, regardless of what the President of the United States recommended.

DHS’ cure for holding the nation together was much worse than the disease. Seth and other leaders at DHS had helped develop the antidote for secessionist cancer. This cure came at substantial personal cost and decimated national morale. Confession needed to focus on work at DHS, given everything done to hold the nation together. After all, he swore a duty to protect against enemies, both foreign and domestic, but efforts against those internal enemies only made things worse.

Seth, please sit down. Can I get you something to drink? Father Sallustino motioned towards a lounge chair in his expansive office. Noticing a tattered book occupying the seat, he scurried to remove it, throwing a sheepish grin, tucking the frayed text under his arm.

No thanks, he twisted his lips in nervous reaction and shuffled to the chair.

Father Sallustino settled on an adjacent sofa, placing the book on an end table. How are you, Seth? I know you said this was important. What can I do for you, my son? He always addressed him this way. His own father seldom made similar acknowledgement.

Man, Father. He shook his head. I mean, I don’t even know where to start. He locked fingers behind his head and leaned back. The lounge chair acknowledged, squeaking in sympathy.

Take your time, my son. My attention is yours.

There was no diving into the topic. If he did, he’d be a wreck. He was a broken man. Maybe taking a measured approach would sound more coherent. It had been too long since conversing with this father, making it essential to offer context.

OK, I appreciate that, Father. I think I’ve reached a point in my life where, no, let me say it this way. I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about life and its meaning. On, you know, how time progresses and gosh, I mean, it just seems as if it speeds up as we age. Time is slipping away from me and I don’t know where it’s going. I know that makes little sense, but it sure seems as if we’re all speeding or should I say accelerating towards our death. He gesticulated throughout the opening philosophical monologue.

Father Sallustino grinned, rubbing his white hair. Believe me, I know. This hair was jet black once. And yes, I look at the calendar and I’m shocked by what it says.

I remember when my parents died. When I was young, oh before I finished law school even, I always knew I could go to that next oldest generation, the generation of my parents, my aunts and uncles and they had the answers, the wisdom. I could bring life’s pressing questions and they always had an answer. Maybe I didn’t agree with their answers, but they had something. As I got older, I had to come up with answers. Once my parents and aunts and uncles died, I felt alone and isolated. The pool of life’s wisdom gone, just like that! He paused, looking between his legs before craning his neck towards the priest. Not with you, of course, Father!

Father Sallustino had been a consistent voice of comfort after deaths in his family.

You don't need to qualify this. It’s understandable. That’s what parental duties are. They offer comfort and guidance and then when they can’t or aren’t around any longer, we feel a void. It’s natural.

Yeah, it really would’ve been nice to have my parents around when my kids started rebelling against everything I did. It’s like they learned nothing about being patriotic and the value of public service.

The priest replied, It is a different generation now. I know it doesn’t make it any easier.

"But hey, you know what? Maybe they had a point. Look at what my public service got