The Light of Our Yesterdays Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Kenneth J. Hansen

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover and Book Design by Damonza

  Maps by Christine Vande Voort

  Published by Odium Odi Press, LLC

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to

  real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  To Jenny, my own Sonatina,

  who started me down this winding path

  and held my hand all the way.

  And to my mom,

  who passed away within weeks of

  the final editing of this novel.

  She always gave me hope.

  Contents

  Guides & Maps

  Guide to Characters by Group

  Maps Relating to the World in 1890 AH

  Prologues

  Prologue, the First (Early 21st Century, AD)

  Incipit Prologus, Secundus (1890 AH)

  Parts of the Story

  First Part (Prima Pars)

  First Part, the First: Confusion

  Secunda Primae: Inspiratio

  Second Part (Secunda Pars)

  Second Part, The First: Contemplation

  Secunda Secundae: Quaesitum

  Third Part: Revelation (Tertia Pars: Apocalypsis)

  Appendices

  Appendix A—Detailed Excerpts from “Plinius’s Condensed Study Guide for the Advanced Technologist Exam: History Since the Founding of the First Romanus Empire”

  Appendix B—English-Language Contacts in Baqir Najwa’s Cell Phone

  Acknowledgements

  Guide to Characters by Group

  Characters from Early Twenty-First Century AD:

  Homeland Security and CIA Personnel:

  Christian Huxley, Senior Terrorism Investigator, Department of Homeland Security

  Kira Sampson (Huxley’s assistant)

  Deputy Undersecretary Blount (Huxley’s boss)

  Ken Mayer, Central Intelligence Agency

  Huxley’s Friends & Family:

  Adona Huxley, Christian’s mother

  Hanna Elverman, Christian’s one-time fiancé

  Kadir al-Razin al-Asr, Christian’s Harvard roommate

  Israelis:

  Captain Yadin, Aman Security Agency

  Major Margolin, Aman Security Agency

  Col. Brickner, Commander, Ramat David Airbase

  Jacob Rosenthal, Israeli chemist

  Rosenthal’s two daughters

  Mr. Riese, bodyguard to the Rosenthals

  Afghans and U.S. Personnel Appearing in Afghanistan:

  Abdul Saboor Anwari

  Karim, Anwari’s brother

  Captain Granger, Captain, U.S. Army (friend of Anwari)

  Half-Moon Mole (unnamed OGA or “Other Governmental Agency” employee)

  Imam Rahini

  Vatican Personnel:

  Sonatina D’Amare, Deputy Director, Vatican Museums

  Col. Zaugg, Commander of the Swiss Guard

  Antony Cepini, Director of the Corp of Gendarmerie

  Cardinal Armondo Fine, a former Catholic Cardinal

  Members of Ungues Pardi:

  Pardus, also known as the Ghost Leopard

  Dracoratio, thought to be Pardus’s lieutenant, possibly an alias of Esnanimen Kharun Udani, a former security agent with the United Arab Emirates

  Baqir Najwa (possibly a member)

  Others:

  Jonathan Stirling, Professor of Archaeology and Acting Associate Director, Tel Megiddo Archaeological Excavation Site

  Lieutenant Patismio, Chief Investigator, Italian Carabinieri

  Dante Tocelli, Sapienza student and Tel Megiddo intern

  Ahmed Jinnah, Analyst and Investigator, Pakistan Nuclear Security Agency (acquaintance of Huxley from Pakistani interrogation days)

  Characters from 1890s AH:

  Technologists of Roma:

  Tomadus, prominent technologist and merchant

  Stephanus, Tomadus’s top assistant

  Batu, Tomadus’s friend and brain technologist

  Ratan, psyche-technologist

  Peregrine, former astro-technologist (later, a friend to Tomadus)

  Officials of Roma, the Three Empires & their Permitted Religions:

  First Consul Khansensius, leader of Romanus Protectorate

  General Faisil, General in Sunni Muslim Empire

  General Khameni, General in Shiite Muslim Empire

  The Governor of the Palestinian Province

  Abh Beyth Diyn of Jerusalem (Jewish leader)

  Grand Imam of Palestinian Province (Islamic leader)

  Demoseps in Tonquizalixco Tetepe:

  Yohanan, one of the main leaders of the Demoseps (the “Boy on the Cover”)

  Decima, a Romanus supporting the Demoseps (Quintillus’s daughter)

  Raanan, principal Demosep leader

  Achak, Demosep operative and good friend to Yohanan

  Dekanawida, Demosep operative

  Eliezer, Demosep operative

  Romani in Tonquizalixco Tetepe:

  Quintillus, prominent Romanus merchant living in New Åarhus, New Jutland (Decima’s father)

  Jochi, a Tetepian adopted by a Romanus family (Yohanan’s sister)

  Juteslams:

  King Skjöldr

  Vice Regent Hugleikr (right hand to the king)

  Ædlehelten (young boy on train)

  Members of the Way:

  Isa, the man in the white robes, preacher and leader of the Way

  Maryam, Isa’s mother

  Adin, one of the Ten (very large, simple man loyal to Isa)

  Simeon, one of the Ten (Jewish)

  Atuf, one of the Ten (Muslim)

  Diego, one of the Ten (Jewish)

  Anders, one of the Ten (Muslim)

  Aztecs:

  Emperor Acamapichtli X, Emperor of the Aztec Empire

  Maps Relating to the World in 1890 AH

  Color versions of these maps are available at www.kennethjhansen.com/maps

  Prologue, the First

  (Early 21st Century AD)

  He crouched utterly still in the sweet blackness of the tunnel, a strange peace gripping him. The silence died prematurely when the other two began bolstering their courage with familiar chants that smothered his ears with tired clichés. “Quiet,” he breathed. If he could see their eyes, they would be squinting suspiciously at his latest blasphemy. The men complied, nonetheless, and that was all that mattered. He needed to hear the sound of the engines. Timing. It meant success or failure, escape or capture, life or death.

  A siren whirred to life a few hundred feet away. The fools must have finally noticed the incoming bombers on their radar. Nearly time. He felt the cold metal of the loaded weapon in his hands. Old friend. Once again, give me truth, give me justice, give me life.

  Life? What life I have is forfeit. If captured, not even the Ghost Leopard could save him now. No, he would die fighting for this cause just as his father before him. The tunnel could provide a perfectly timed exit, but what was the chance the charges would seal off their retreat at just the right time? Everything seemed possible yet so improbable in this extravagant charade. No, this was little more than a disguised suicide mission. For what? His silent God? His dead father? His mysterious leader? And what had he done to earn this holy right, this sacred honor, this bloody curse? The Ghost must have known. He always knew. Well, at least I have prepared. Father never had t
hat chance. She will miss me, but yes, it is for her that I do this. Please forgive me for leaving you.

  Jet turbines roared to life, momentarily tensing his every muscle. Time. He slid aside the pallet covering their tunnel. The three men climbed out behind the shed, remaining low in the early morning shadows nearly thirty feet apart. A hundred yards away, a fighter jet tested its engines. It awaited another jet being towed out of a nearby hangar. The two would take off together, scrambling as a second wave to meet a phantom enemy from the east.

  The control tower stood several hundred yards away, just within range. He raised his arm and the other two each aimed their RPGs at the distant jets. A second after he flung his arm down, he heard the whoosh of the two rockets, their flaming tails trailing the explosives hurtling not ten feet above the ground. One rocket penetrated the shell of the first F-16, and the jet exploded. The other sped a foot above the fuselage of the other jet and crashed into the hangar. A shame, but not mission critical.

  As he leveled his launcher toward the tower, he heard an explosion he hadn’t expected. When it rumbled from below, the part of him that still longed to live pretended it was an earthquake or explosion deep in the bowels of the airbase. His brain knew better. The tunnel charges had triggered early, ending any hope for escape. Why? Of course. Yet another clean ending for the Ghost Leopard. Focusing on the tower, he pulled the trigger on his launcher, but he never saw the tower explode.

  He never even saw the rocket leave the launcher. Instead, his eyes were blinded in a millisecond, though his brain never registered the appearance of the bright white light flashing from the weapon in front of his face. A rapture of bullets soon followed, but they simply compounded the corruption of his already dead flesh.

  Incipit Prologus, Secundus

  (1890 AH)

  The man in the white robes stared at the images on the visi-scan, horrid images of the terror-stricken lands of Tetepe and New Jutland: first narrowly focusing on a mangled government building in the Juteslam capital; now pulling back to show dozens of bodies in the street, rescuers running between them as they desperately tried to assist survivors; now panning to the side to reveal the close-up of a blood-soaked woman being turned over by a rescuer, the woman’s face nearly torn away, her arms still clinging to the few remaining fragments of her infant child; and finally cutting to a Tetepian village, thick black smoke rising slowly from the tangled remnants of the shelling, the whole scene evidencing the Juteslam’s quick retribution for the shaitaanist Demosep bombing in the capital, with the camera now carefully avoiding the dead yet finding no living Tetepians either.

  When the man in the white robes closed his eyes, a tear curled down his cheek. He kneeled on the ground and put his palms together. “Father, I shall follow your will in all things. Please, help me understand.” After a few seconds, he sighed. “I can see that this man has suffered and now despairs. Though he has committed such terrible acts, good still dwells within him. I will guide him to the light, though I know he shall cry out before me.”

  A minute later, the man, still kneeling, swallowed hard. “Father, must we follow this perilous path? Will these other two human souls justify your trust by placing their faith in You? You must know they will suffer from Your great gifts rather than embracing them. Will they ever understand the truth? In any of our worlds? I could save them both. I could help them see… Yes, I know, they must choose for themselves… If You open their minds to the truth of their souls, will it be enough?” A few seconds later, the man nodded slowly, respectfully. “Of course, Your will as always.”

  First Part, the First: Confusion

  “Brief and troubled is our lifetime; there is no remedy for our dying, nor is anyone known to have come back from Hades. For by mere chance were we born, and hereafter we shall be as though we had not been; because the breath in our nostrils is smoke, and reason a spark from the beating of our hearts, and when this is quenched, our body will be ashes and our spirit will be poured abroad like empty air. Even our name will be forgotten in time, and no one will recall our deeds. So our life will pass away like the traces of a cloud, and will be dispersed like a mist pursued by the sun’s rays and overpowered by its heat. For our lifetime is the passing of a shadow; and our dying cannot be deferred because it is fixed with a seal; and no one returns.”

  – The Old Testament—Wis 2:1-5

  “The life of this world is like this: rain that We send down from the sky is absorbed by the plants of the earth, from which humans and animals eat. But when the earth has taken on its finest appearance, and adorns itself, and its people think they have power over it, then the fate We commanded comes to it, by night or by day, and We reduce it to stubble, as if it had not flourished just the day before.”

  – The Qur’an—Jonah 10:24

  “Even now the ax lies at the root of the trees. Therefore every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

  – The New Testament—Lk 3:9

  Chapter 1

  The hot, crusty air barely slid through the window of the black Toyota Innova as they sat in traffic on Ha Teufa Blvd., just a few miles from Ben Gurion International Airport. “I apologize for the air conditioning, sir,” said the Israeli lieutenant. “Thought we had it fixed.”

  Sitting in the back, Christian Huxley’s belly gave him that little tug as his eyes narrowed. Add this last piece of garbage to the pile of crap he’d heard for the last day and a half. This whole charade stunk even more than that sweaty smell that emanated from the driver. Or was that his own stench from this heat? “How long to the base, Lieutenant?”

  “An hour, perhaps a little more.”

  Huxley rested his chin on the crook of his left thumb and forefinger. The kid was not an Israeli, not really. Except in the sense that American Jews can quickly become Israeli citizens. He spoke perfect English with a recognizable accent. Probably refined at an Ivy League school or some liberal arts college in the East. Became an Israeli citizen and then began doing his part for the Jewish “homeland” for a few years before he would ultimately return to his cozy home in the States for a real job and life. Huxley grimaced. “Dumb Daring Dual.” He could almost hear Hanna laughing as she joyfully invented another nickname for someone she refused to even try to understand.

  But Huxley understood—he just felt sorry for the kid. By now that soldier must understand what he had gotten himself into over here: on constant watch for an enemy in and about his own land with guns and rockets and a deep hatred for his very fabric because why? Because even though the two Semitic groups prayed to arguably the same God, their competing articles of faith varied? Religion had that way of dividing people. But that certainly wasn’t what this was really about anymore, was it? No, now it was all about hate.

  “Lieutenant, how long you been here?”

  “Here?”

  “In Israel? You’re from New York City, right?”

  The lieutenant chuckled and looked back over his shoulder. “I guess not that long then.”

  “Ready to go home?”

  “I don’t know. Duty, you know?”

  “Yeah.” Duty. Huxley’s own duty had taken him to many places where hatred had boiled over to war and terror and death. This place was no different. The Palestinians had nurtured a hatred forged in the fires of their reaction to the arrogance of a decaying colonialism then in its death throes. This sad, still paternalistic colonialism had clung so naively to the belief that it could solve one world problem without creating another, but it had once again failed.

  Who could blame the Jews for wanting to establish their own state when they had been so mistreated and brutalized in Europe and Russia? And why would they want to go anywhere but return to their ancestral home? That was even before Hitler began systematically destroying the Jewish population in Europe.

  Yet, who could blame the Arabs who occupied Palestine for wanting to control the destiny of the land they had lived in for so long? Powerless in the face of the Britis
h Empire and its American supporters after the Great War, they were forced to accept a growing stream of Jewish immigrants in their land. Following WWII, the Arabs could no longer view the immigration and parceling of their lands as anything more than an invasion sanctioned by world opinion. When they went to war—in their minds to defend their own homeland—the killing on both sides began in earnest and the hatred became their constant reality.

  Huxley knew the Palestinians’ hatred now ran broad and deep. It was the kind of hate people wallowed in after being beaten down again and again by someone they could only see as a foreign invader. It was the kind of hate that had seen fathers, brothers and sons suffer and die while rising up in a Quixotic effort to turn the clock back to a time over half a century past. It was the kind of hate that could never sink below a bubbling simmer and would too often boil over into new blood that fueled the eternal fire of their contempt.

  Huxley despised the hatred of a whole people. Who could reasonably, impartially condone the hatred or violence on either side? Still, much of this story was an old one. He had heard this kind of lament and its many variants repeated in his interrogations across many troubled parts of the world, and the cause seemed always to be the same: ethnic groups historically wronged by each other but supported by powerful outside nations “protecting” their strategic geopolitical concerns, and neither side ever able to come to a lasting peace over their differences. You had to separate the politics and propaganda from reason and reality, but there was always some truth there—propaganda never grew so hot without at least a little truth to keep it burning. He understood the politics and power of hatred all too well, and he figured it likely was just this kind of hatred that had brought him to this land of milk and honey and on his way to the Ramat David Airbase.