Babylon Prophecy Read online

  Book Publishers Network

  P.O. Box 2256

  Bothell, WA 98041

  425-483-3040

  Copyright © 2013 by Sean Salazar

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Printed in the United States of America

  LCCN 2013937119

  ISBN 978-1-937454-81-4

  eBook ISBN 978-1-937454-79-1

  Cover Designers: Christopher Sharp

  Editor: Barbara Kindness

  Interior design: Stephanie Martindale

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Cast of Characters

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Creating a work to meld fact and fiction, as I have done with The Babylon Prophecy, has been not only a fun adventure but an extraordinarily challenging one as well. I have appreciated the assistance of many librarians and bookstore owners, as fascinated as I am with ancient history. I am also constantly encouraged by friends, colleagues, and readers of Book One, knowing that my imagination knows no limits! They eagerly await the next installment and let me know I’m not writing fast enough. So here, I want to acknowledge fellow-author George R.R. Martin, whom I heard told his impatient legion of fans: “I can’t write as fast as you read!” Thank you, Mr. Martin!

  I also want to thank Beverlee Bowman Price for her insight into my character Betty, helping me to develop her into a person the reader could perhaps relate to. Beverlee is Betty in her fondest dreams. As she breathed life into Betty, she discovered more of herself.

  Publishing a series of this magnitude requires guidance, patience, understanding, and objectivity, and all of these are in great abundance in the person of Sheryn Hara and her Book Publishers Network. Although she has published many best sellers over the past thirty-plus years, Sheryn is always willing to help a fledgling author achieve a lifelong dream.

  My editor, copy editor, and publicist Barbara Kindness is always an enormous source of inspiration to me as she makes my story her own.

  I see The Babylon Prophecy as a nine-part saga as there is still much story to tell, so my thanks in advance to all you readers who are hangin’ in!

  —Sean Salazar

  Chapter One

  One hour before an explosion over Washington, D.C. Casablanca, West Africa—a secret location

  “Nice and quiet,” Betty said to herself, twirling her pen as she stared at her computer screen. It was hot, she was sweating, and flies were buzzing around her. An overhead fan did nothing but push the hot air around the rented room.

  A male voice came over the small speakers, whispering, “We are in position.”

  Betty eyed the screen confirming everything was in place, then responded, “Commence.”

  After a momentary silence, the voice came back, “Ready to transmit?”

  “Send,” she said, hitting the Enter key. Her breathing slowed as line after line of garbled text rapidly filled her screen. As each new line appeared, she carefully watched, looking for one that stood out. The text was in code. Not just any code. It was the Vatican’s secret communication system, and she had just broken in.

  Betty watched intently with her finger poised over the Enter key like a gunslinger on the trigger. Ever since CIA agent Jess Contreras’ true colors had emerged as a double agent, Betty had been obsessively digging and searching for a way into the ultra-secret Vatican mainframe to find out exactly who she was.

  The highly trained MI-6 team had spent the last few days carefully and methodically breaking into the Vatican network, and at this moment— albeit illegally—they were in. They were part of a team that Betty knew personally and trusted. The American and British governments had been infiltrated. As to how high and extensive the infiltration, she did not know yet. Until she had that answer, it wasn’t safe for her to come out of hiding—at least not yet.

  Her finger began to tremble, for there was no way to determine how fast the Vatican electronic security team would discover the break. For now, she and her team were victorious, but ready to break the connection instantly if the intrusion was detected.

  After several more tense seconds without blinking, Betty’s aching, tired eyes reached the limits of dryness in the hot and humid room. Her eyelids began to drop to remoisten her eyes when suddenly she saw the code. Her pupils constricted, and like a reflex, her finger hit the Enter key. Without looking down, she lifted her cramped finger, confirming the line she was looking for was captured.

  It was!

  Now the specifically designed decryption software went to work. From this point on, her system would absorb the secrets of the Vatican.

  Line after line of code was being copied to her software. After several more seconds, she decided she wasn’t going to push her luck by hitting the decipher icon, permanently capturing and storing the information. Doing it too quickly could reveal their presence. If everything went as planned, the Vatican would only assume that the system was being accessed from inside by their own people.

  Several more seconds went by when a line of text caught Betty’s eye. She had pre-programmed the software to filter out and alert her if two important names came up: Alex Pike and Jess Contreras. She couldn’t believe how quickly the filtering worked and immediately highlighted the name and the section it was in. She then copied and pasted into a message icon and hit the Send key. Not sure of exactly what it was, but she sent it anyway; the message would be forwarded to the CIA director and then to Ed. He’ll figure it out, she thought to herself, smiling.

  With her eyes still riveted to the screen, she took a de
ep breath, and with her slightly shaking hand reached for her cup of now-cold tea. She lifted the cup, took a sip, and sat back in her chair. The spring-loaded chair had extended to its limits when suddenly the word ‘DAGGER’ flashed in blinking red letters from the center of the screen. She dropped her tea, bouncing the chair forward and almost flipping it over. The cup smashed onto the floor as Betty frantically lunged toward the keyboard, hammering with her fingers in hopes of hitting the Escape key. The cold tea now soaked her ankles as she held her breath. The Vatican now knew she was there and automatically sent a treacherous virus to destroy her files, her software, and eventually herself. It was like a retaliatory blitz on London after Berlin was bombed. The Vatican security team intended to completely destroy the intruder.

  Betty didn’t blink as the decryption software did its job. After a few seconds, it was clear that she successfully disconnected before the DAGGER hit her system. Or, did she? She leaned into her speaker and instructed, “Get out now; they know you’re there.”

  The male voice responded, “Yes ma’am,” and the line went dead.

  Betty glanced at the time. The Vatican security response team would know her location and her goal to protect herself and the team from their intrusion was now the top priority. She survived one horrible attack and was absolutely not going to give the Brotherhood, or the Vatican, another shot at her. She reached down, pulled the plugs, and slowly closed her small but powerful briefcase computer. If what she just stole from the Vatican gave her the answers to what she was searching for, then she would contact Ed and re-join the fight. She grabbed her coat, slipped on her sunglasses and opened the door. As she did, she glanced in the dirty wall mirror by the door. A stranger looked back. Gone was the well-dressed woman in classic black. Another looked back through dark glasses framed in pink, glittering with rhinestones, a silly pink coral scarf wrapped around her head and tied in back à la Betty Grable and the Forties. A deep pink straw hat topped all. She wore a wildly colorful blouse cut rather low, showing aging skin that had never seen the sun. This clearly was a woman who wanted to be noticed, not a woman running for her life. It was less than a five-minute walk to the port where her ferry now awaited. She took one last look around, and began her escape.

  Chapter Two

  Washington, D.C.

  Ed came over, tapped Al on the shoulder, and pointed at the ropes being lowered into the giant hole. “Because of you, a massive bomb is being lifted out from below the White House lawn. It has been there for probably hundreds of years. But how? You saw it for yourself. The bomb, the faded paintings, the writing on the wall, the tomb...”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Vance said, angrily cutting him off.

  “He’s right,” Al responded to Vance as he pulled out the worn Bible the Masons had given him. He flipped through it, eyeing the endless handwritten footnotes. He realized that through all the secret bunkers, hidden tunnels, and mass murders, the secret was right in his hands. He handed it to Ed and asked, “Does this book really say how to prevent the Apocalypse? Is this ‘the beginning of the end’ as the Holy Script indicated?”

  “Well,” Ed said. “So far, so good. You have successfully found two of the seven hidden bombs. The locations of three more may be encoded on the wall down there. Al,” Ed continued, “defeating the Sons of Darkness must be done if you are to prevent the end of days from arriving early.”

  Vance whacked Al’s back, “Nothing like a little pressure, eh, buddy?”

  “Shut up,” Al replied. He glanced up as the helicopter increased power and slowly began rising. The crew guided the bomb to the surface, and the shiny metal flashed in the sunlight for the first time in who knew how long. A technician with black glasses was standing on top, riding it up. The helicopter lifted him and the bomb several hundred feet, then flew East.

  “To the ocean it goes,” Vance said.

  Al watched it travel off in the distance with several helicopters trailing it.

  As the copter slowly turned into a tiny, silver dot, Al suddenly noticed Natalie next to him. She looked him up and down, with obvious concern.

  He realized how bad he must look after rolling around in decomposed bodies, cobwebs and his own blood.

  “Are you ok?” Natalie asked.

  Al was about to respond when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bright flash of light. It blanked out all his senses as the entire horizon turned silver. Al shut his eyes and turned his head, knowing something had gone terribly wrong. He waited for a nuclear heat wave to incinerate his body.

  It didn’t come.

  He opened his eyes. A bright, glowing, plasmic orange bubble sat motionless in the sky. The squadrons of helicopters escorting the airborne bomb were now long, vertical smoke and fire trails crashing to the ground.

  Al was already in motion with Natalie and Vance in tow. Someone grabbed Al’s arm, halting his pace. A soldier yelled, “The president wants to see you right now!”

  Al pushed Natalie towards Vance and said, “Take her someplace safe.” He turned to Ed, handing him the three skeleton keys he had used to open the doors under the White House lawn, “You might need these.”

  “You got it,” Vance answered.

  Ed grabbed the keys and said, “Go ahead.”

  Chapter Three

  Al turned and followed the soldier in a fast jog to the back lawn of the White House. The entire area was in the process of becoming a security lockdown. Soldiers and civilians were running in every direction.

  A military helicopter with its engines running and rotor turning was several yards away. The soldier motioned for him to go to it. As Al got closer, he saw through the open side door the waiting CIA Director, Valerie Churchill.

  He climbed inside and Churchill began by yelling over the engine noise, “The president and everyone else want to know how in hell you found a bomb under the White House.”

  Al was about to respond when she said, “Hold that thought.”

  He shut his mouth, sat back and waited as the helicopter lifted off and began cruising at full throttle. Al and Churchill both looked out the window at the smoke trails of the blown-up helicopters. They were now burning hulks on the ground and dozens of fire engines were converging onto the scene from every direction.

  “Apparently I didn’t find it soon enough,” Al said, leaning back.

  “Everyone knows you did what you could.”

  Moments later, the helicopter gently landed at Dulles about fifty yards from Air Force One. They landed so close that armed soldiers guarding the perimeter of the plane had to scatter out of the way. A marine officer hurriedly opened the helicopter door and Al recognized him immediately as Captain McCoumb.

  “Mr. Robek and Ms. Churchill, please come with me,” he shouted.

  “Lead the way,” Al replied, jumping out of the helicopter. He turned to help the CIA director but she had followed right after him.

  McCoumb led them at a quick pace but instead of going towards Air Force One, they headed past it in the direction of a smaller grey Air Force 737. They ran up the metal steps and he directed them aft into the cabin area. Al recognized this plane as the same command-and-control aircraft he had been in before. They walked past the same manned Orbital control stations and into a small meeting room with a large screen attached to the wall. This time all the seats were occupied and President Burkholder was at the head of the table.

  McCoumb stepped aside and let them enter. Al walked past and behind the president and stood at the corner of the table and Ms. Churchill stood next to him. There were eight men and women in various levels of dress, obviously rushed into this meeting in a hurry. He didn’t look at anyone directly and focused his attention on the screen which showed an older woman looking down at something.

  Ms. Churchill stood to the side and said to Al, “Please continue.”

  Realizing that he was being ambushed from the top down, Al rubbed his forehead as he glanced at a few of the faces around the table. He really despised the
se types of meetings where he was expected to explain the latest crisis to politicians. He didn’t mind briefing the president and his advisors, but the rest of the gang he could do without.

  All eyes turned towards him and as they did, he noticed a few shocked faces. Al glanced down at his hands and saw that he was filthy, with strands of blond hair stuck in the dried blood on his forearm. Hair from one of the corpses I rolled in. I have got to look and smell like pure death,” he thought.

  President Burkholder let his reading glasses slide down his nose and announced, “Everyone, this is Agent Al Robek, former Army, and retired CIA.” He released a prideful grin, “Reactivated at the beginning of this crisis.”

  Al recognized some of the people at the table as a current senator, military brass, and his former commanding officer, General Bill Burke, wearing his old beige professor-type jacket. General Burke gave him a slight nod when their eyes met. That was the secret nod indicating Al was to proceed and the general would connect with him later.

  One of the other seated generals who now spoke up Al recognized as General Holland. “Why don’t you start explaining to us how you found the bomb under the White House.”

  “Just following leads, sir,” Al immediately responded. “I am assuming that all those in this room are up-to-date on this current crisis.” He paused with that contentious comment as some of the heads nodded. “Good, because you probably know more than I do.”

  A middle-aged woman that he knew as Senator Carlyle from California then spoke, “We were just being briefed, but what I want to know is, is this bomb related in any way to the nuclear explosion in Lebanon?”

  “Yes,” Al answered.

  She leaned back and crossed her arms, glaring at General Holland across the table.

  “Next question,” Al said.

  Several people erupted with questions and the president interrupted, “One at a time, please!”

  The chatter died down and Senator Carlyle continued with her questions, “Are there more bombs and was this a terrorist attack?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m hearing rumors that the church massacres and these bombs are related,” added General Holland.