Goodies General Notes and Table of Contents (read this first!)
Deleted Scene: Isabella Spilling the Beans

(Formerly in Chapter Two)

She picked a direction and began walking. Rebekah and I followed. Her gait was much too quick for Rebekah, and I wanted to say something, but didn’t. We crossed the Pont Marie bridge headed north and soon found ourselves winding down the narrow streets of The Marais. After ten minutes, without any warning, Isabella stopped and entered a café. She spoke to the host in seemingly perfect French, and we were led out the back of the restaurant into an empty courtyard. The waiter seated us at a small round table, but before he could offer menus Isabella had given him a few quick orders and waved him away.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers – computer printouts of the photos I’d emailed.

“Do you know who any of these people are?” she asked, spreading the photos across the table. Without even having to look, both Rebekah and I shook our heads. None of the people we’d seen the night before looked remotely familiar.

Isabella pointed at the first, the older man in the tan coat. “Robert Belmont Hamlin. He’s old money, now living just outside of Exeter. This next man is Friedrich Simons of Frankfurt. He all but owns the public works of western Germany.” She gestured to the next page. “James David Mills, recently listed as the fourth wealthiest man in Europe. Paul Stoddard of New York City. His corporations control almost half of Manhattan. Emil Gobert. For all intents and purposes he’s making all the political decisions in north Africa.”

“And the woman?” Rebekah asked.

Isabella nodded grimly. “Harriet Webster Kincaid. More money than all of them.”

“But who are they?” I said, picking up one of the pictures and staring at it. “Where did the money come from?”

“People with this kind of money don’t do something to get this kind of money. They’re not the founders of Walmart or General Motors. They have money because they’ve always had money, and now there’s so much of it that it can’t help but grow exponentially.”

“So?” Rebekah said, obviously annoyed. “Where’s the danger? They’re rich – so what?”

She took a deep breath, staring at her silverware instead of us. “Who started the Spanish-American War?”

“Not this again,” Rebekah said, leaning back in her chair. Isabella had a tendency to explain things by talking about something else.

Isabella looked annoyed, but not nearly as much as usual. “William Randolf Hearst,” she said. “He was one of America’s first media tycoons. He started the war simply so that he could have something juicy to report. The famous message he sent his reporter was ‘You supply the pictures, I’ll supply the war.’”

Rebekah looked disgusted. “He started a war just to make money?”

“Isabella,” I said. “Are you saying that these people we saw last night are going to start a war?”

“I don’t know what they’re going to do,” she said simply. “But they have started wars in the past, and they’ll probably start more in the future. But that’s not all they do. They make money, and they make lots of it, and they shape the world so that they’ll have more money and more control.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “This is started to sound more and more like some wacko conspiracy theory.”

She frowned and poured water from the carafe into her glass and took a sip. “Explain to me why a conspiracy has to be ‘wacko’. History is full of conspiracies. Royal families conspired to kill their own family members to gain the throne. Terrorists hide and plot for decades as sleeper cells waiting for the chance to make their move. Businesses are taken down by corrupt leaders – large groups of rich men who manipulate every motion of the company, milking it for all its worth and lining their pockets. Look at your own religion – I’m no saint, but doesn’t the Book of Mormon teach that secret organizations not only destroyed ancient societies, but also will bring about the downfall of modern ones? Secret combinations?”

“Terrorists I can believe,” I said. “Or gangs. But a handful of men who control the world? That’s nuts.”

“Look at Felix,” Rebekah added, “and the whole NOS. That’s a secret organization, but it’s several hundred people, and they’re having trouble just taking down the economy, let alone ruling the world. Plus they’ve been working at it for twenty five years.”

“Not even in the same league.”

The waiter reappeared, and Isabella quickly snatched up the papers spread across the table. He set down the tray and unloaded plates of croissants, buns, cheeses and fruit. Isabella spoke in French and Rebekah tried to add something, but stumbled on the words. He smiled and left.

“You’d better eat,” Isabella said. “You’ll need your strength.”

Rebekah put a few pieces of melon on her plate and unfolded her napkin. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know, but we need to get out of here.”

Rebekah shook her head and spoke softly. “Why? He’s still my father.”

“If this is true, then he’s one of the worst criminals in the world. You don’t understand – these people will kill millions if it will get them one step closer to their goals.”

Rebekah didn’t answer. I didn’t blame her.

I took a bite of one of the buns and was pleased to discover it was filled with chocolate. I chewed slowly and thoughtfully, trying to decide whether there was something to all of this, or if Isabella had finally snapped. After all, Edward hadn’t been treating her very well – and it appeared he meant to leave her in prison. Isabella had always steered me right before, but her judgement might have been clouded here.

I swallowed the end of the bun. “If we’re running I just want to be clear – who are we running from?”

Isabella took a sip of water, and answered. “Our odds are good. Something like this is very elite – and they only deal with the big picture. Felix will chase you across the globe just out of revenge, but I think if we can just lie low Edward will ignore us.”

Rebekah set down her fork. “Lie low for how long?”

Isabella’s face was grim. “You can never go back, but not because of what’s happened today. The minute Edward told you about his business he condemned you to be a part of it. Do you think that he ever planned for you to go back?”

“We have to go back,” I said, almost yelling. Rebekah stood up from her chair.

“And do what? The FBI is going to ask where you were? You think you can keep this all a secret?”

“He can’t do this,” Rebekah said, red-faced.

“Sit down.”

Rebekah snapped. “No. I don’t care what he’s doing, but he can’t ruin our lives.”

Isabella set her napkin down, and calmly stood. Her voice was quiet but fierce. “You ruined your own life the minute you decided to go with him.” She paused, her look softening slightly. “I ruined my life the minute I decided to go with him. But we can still live. Look.” She pulled her bag up onto the table and unzipped it. It was full of cash – pounds, euros, and dollars. It had to be millions.

Isabella sat back down, and gestured for Rebekah to do the same. Speechless, she nodded and took her chair.

“You can’t go back to Utah. You can’t have any contact with your family. But you can start over. We’ll split this three ways.”

I stared at the money and thought of what it could mean. Rebekah and I could get married and live happily ever after, hiding in some obscure corner of the world. True, it wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t as bad as the alternative.

Rebekah glanced at me, her eyes terrified. “No.”

“No what?” Isabella asked.

“It’s not right.”

I interrupted. “Rebekah, this is the only way we’ll survive.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “But it’s not right.”

“Listen to Eric,” Isabella snapped.

Rebekah shook her head. “He’s wrong. You’re wrong.”

“What’s not right about it?”

“That money is stolen.”

Isabella rolled her eyes. “I took it from your father. You never seemed to have a problem living off his money before.”

“That money was made from selling weapons,” Rebekah said. “It’s dirty, and it’s stolen.”

“Do you know how much money he has? He’ll never miss it.”

“I don’t care. Besides, we know that he’s doing horrible things – we can’t just let him. What’s wrong with going to the police?”

Isabella grunted in frustration and jumped to her feet. “You don’t get it. The police can’t do anything to stop him. You get the kind of money these people have and your more powerful than governments and countries and law enforcement.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to agree with Isabella, but I couldn’t agree with Rebekah. “They’ll buy off the police, just like Felix did. Plus, Felix would know where we are again. We’d never be safe, Rebekah.”

Isabella laid several of the croissants and buns on her cloth napkin, and began wrapping it up. “And besides,” she said, “no one would believe you. What are you going to tell the police? That you’ve discovered the Illuminati? First, you have no evidence of anything. Second, they’ll laugh you out of the station. They’ll act just like you did: no one believes in a conspiracy.”

“The Illuminati?” I said.

“We have evidence about my father,” Rebekah said. “We have his house, and we have you, and he told Eric and me everything.”

Isabella bundled up the food and put it in a side pocket of the bag. “First, if you can get the police to go into his house, what do you think they’ll find? Probably nothing. He’s never operated anything out of England. Second, you don’t have me. I’m leaving. Third, what he told you means almost nothing in court. It’s hearsay.”

Rebekah sat and thought. I wanted to take her hand, but I didn’t think that would help anything. Of course, I had no great solutions to her problems, but I was content to get far away from Edward before I decided what to do about it. I’ve been shot at before, and I’ve been on the wrong end of police corruption, and neither appealed to me.

Rebekah wiped her eyes and looked up at Isabella. “Where are you going?”

“I have friends in Greece. I was going to head there for now, and then figure some things out.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Rebekah asked quietly. “What if this was just a meeting with friends, or something innocent. If we leave then we’ve burned our bridges with my father – he’ll know that you don’t trust him anymore.”

“Either way,” Isabella said, pulling the bag over her shoulder, “I’d rather be far away from here.”

Rebekah nodded glumly, and then looked at me. Her eyes were pleading. “Eric, what should we do?”

She knew what I was going to say. I’d proposed almost the same thing the night before – and that was before we had enough money to make a fresh start. I knew that she didn’t like the idea, but I didn’t know what else to do.

“I say we go.” I tried to smile.

She didn’t try to smile back. Instead, she just stood, defeated.

***

We left the café and headed toward the Metro station. I had the bag of money slung over my shoulder. It was heavy, not only because I was weighed down by millions of dollars, but Isabella had thought to bring as much of Rebekah’s medicines as she could get her hands on, including a second portable oxygen tank.

I took Rebekah’s hand in mine, but her grip was disinterested and cold. She remained quiet for most of the walk.

“How do you know all this?” I asked Isabella as we wound our way down the narrow Paris streets.

She shrugged. “I’m a researcher and I work for a secret organization. I’ve made it a point to keep tabs on others.”

“I doubt it’s not that simple.”

“It’s not, but we don’t have time for me to explain it.” She looked completely casual, but her eyes darted from face to face as we walked. She was nervous.

“How long has Edward been part of it?”

“That I don’t know. All I know is that whatever he’s doing for them is happening three days from now, in the evening.”

Rebekah spoke up hopefully. “So he could just be working for them, not actually part of the group?”

Isabella smiled at Rebekah’s desperation. “No.”

“What is this group, anyway?” I asked, getting angry. “How do you even know anything about them if they’re so all-powerful?”

We turned a corner, and hurried down the stairs to the Metro. The place was busy, and we kept our voices down as we talked.

“These are very clever people, Eric,” she answered. “They knew that nothing could be kept entirely secret, so they have gone out of their way to leave clues of their existence. Of course, the clues they leave are outlandish and elaborate – the kind of things that are so blatant that they become unbelievable. Why are conspiracy theories so hard to believe? Because they’re usually based on something so crazy that only a fool would believe it.”

I thought for a minute. “So they purposely make themselves look like a conspiracy just so people won’t believe they exist?”

“Precisely.”

“Do you know how stupid that sounds?”

“Here,” she said. “Sit down.” She pointed to a bench against the wall. Rebekah looked relieved. Discreetly, Isabella unzipped the bag of money and withdrew a one dollar bill. She handed it to me.

“You’ve shown me the back of this before,” I said. “I already know about Novus Ordo Seclorum.”

“Look at the seal again,” she said. Rebekah leaned in to see.

“As you said, you already know about Novus Ordo Seclorum – that’s the phrase that Felix Hazard took for the name of his organization. ‘A new order of the ages’. Right? Well, there’s much more to the seal than that. Do you know what the pyramid represents?”

I shook my head, but Rebekah spoke up. “I remember learning about it in elementary school. It represents the nation, and how it’s unfinished. The eye is the eye of God, watching over the country.”

Isabella nodded approvingly. “Technically it’s the eye of Providence, but it amounts to the same kind of thing. There are roman numerals at the bottom – they equal 1776. Obviously an allusion to the year of independence. And there are thirteen levels of stone in the pyramid–”

“The thirteen colonies,” I said.

“Yes. That is the official explanation of the seal, and it seems to make sense. But try this on for size: also in the year 1776, a man named Adam Weishaupt founded a secret organization. Their goal was world domination, and their mantra was Novus Ordo Seclorum. Members of this group climbed through thirteen ranks, until the reached the final position: the Illuminati. Look at the dollar bill again: the pyramid – a symbol for the organization – has it’s foundation in 1776, but not July 4th 1776 in Philadelphia. May 1st 1776 in Bavaria. There are thirteen levels of the pyramid, the final being the all-seeing eye, one who is illuminated by all knowledge.”

Rebekah and I both sat quietly for a moment. The noise in metro station was deafening, and I couldn’t concentrate. “How did it get on the dollar bill?”

“It wasn’t on the bill until the 1930s,” Isabella said, taking the dollar from me. “Then, with the birth of the Federal Reserve, it suddenly appeared. Some people say that the Illuminati controls the Federal Reserve.”

“None of this is very conclusive evidence,” Rebekah said, annoyed. “It could be thirteen states or it could be thirteen ranks – who knows?”

“That’s the whole point,” Isabella said. “Conspiracy buffs see these kind of symbols everywhere, but even they don’t know what they mean. Most of them conclude that it’s all part of some elaborate inside joke – the Illuminati thumbing their noses at the rest of the world. Ultimately, what we’re left with is a lot of hype, but no reason.”

Rebekah laughed uncomfortably. “I don’t believe it.”

“You’re not supposed to.”

“No,” Rebekah insisted. “The Illuminati has a bunch of symbols that don’t make any sense. But the fact that they don’t prove anything proves everything?”

Isabella folded the dollar bill and put it in her hip pocket. “No, it doesn’t prove anything. It’s just one explanation of many. I say that the blatant symbols are intentional, meant to fool everyone into believing nothing exists. Conspiracy theorists believe that the symbols are an elitist joke. You obviously don’t believe the symbols even exist. You can pick whatever explanation you like.”

Rebekah stood and folded her arms. “I’m not going to throw my life away, and move to Greece just because you think these symbols mean something.”

Isabella was getting more and more irritated, and I was getting more and more confused. I wanted to have the convictions that Rebekah had, but nothing seemed certain.

“We have ways to get proof,” Isabella said, “but not if we’re dead. Now let’s get on the train.”

The subway rumbled noisily toward the station, and the waiting passengers surged toward the platform. Isabella and I stood, but Rebekah didn’t move.

“How can you get proof?” she asked.

“Just get on the train,” Isabella said condescendingly.

Rebekah only glared at her. “What proof?”

She and Isabella locked eyes for a moment, and finally Isabella sighed and pulled her bag off her shoulder. Quickly she unzipped it and pulled out several papers, folded together in quarters. She handed it to Rebekah.

It was a map, either photocopied or printed off a computer. All the text was in French, and I don’t think there was a straight line on the entire thing.

“It’s a section of the catacombs beneath Paris,” Isabella said urgently. “I found the map in the royal archives in London, attached to some information about Adam Weishaupt. I’ve been meaning to follow the lead for some time, but have never had a pressing need.”

“Where does this map lead?” Rebekah asked. The train pulled into the station.

“I don’t know,” Isabella said. “If I had to guess, it leads to an old Illuminati meeting place.”

“Why in Paris?” Rebekah asked, obviously in no hurry to make the train. “You said it was founded in Bavaria.”

Isabella glanced at the people unloading from the subway. “The Illuminati used to be very strong in France.”

The explanation wasn’t good enough – Rebekah wasn’t moving. Isabella sighed and finally said, “They caused the French Revolution.”

“What?”

We got on the train.

Back to Table of Contents