Reverend William Power soaked passively in his hot tub. He fretted and a frown wallowed on his smooth wide face. There were pressures weighing him down: reporters hounding him, cash flow problems, his daughter Candy threatening to leave home. Some people think I got it easy. And not to forget P2. How I ever got so caught up with that group I don’t know. They approached him one day about ten years ago looking to help some American evangelical preacher spread the word of God, or so they said. He was William Cassock then and just started doing guest spots on local Christian radio station. His sermons were well-received and the station was prepared to set him up with his own program. Times were hard though and he was working two jobs to just keep his head above water.
 Then the man from P2 came along. He said his group was based in Europe but was looking to expand its influence to the United States. He thought William to be a rising star in the evangelical circuit and proposed to help him out by providing funding for William to start his own organization. This proposition engaged William: this would free him from the restraints of the network and allow him to pursue his own agenda. William felt strongly that gays and lesbians were eroding away the great American family, what with AIDS and their lifestyle being promoted by the press with undue sympathy, and William wanted to put a halt to it. Toss them back in the closet where they belong or, better yet, help them see the error of their ways and bring them back to Christ.
 So P2 came up with a huge sum and handed it over to William to begin his GOD BELIEVES IN YOU! ministry. P2 provided a creative consultant named Aaron who picked out new clothes, developed promotional material and insisted that William change his name. Soon they started airing his show on radio and television nationally. All P2 wanted, at least at first, was a few of their concerns about abortion inserted into his program. No problem, William declared. Now, he thought, watching his great belly rise out of the water like a pale leviathan, they got him railing about this heretical book. It didn’t make much sense to him at first. Sure, it was blasphemy and he could see their point: it distorted the image of the savior in such a sly and enticing manner that it could lead many astray but, then again, there were thousands of occult books and new age dupes running around, why this particular book?
 But P2 reminded him of their generosity and so William took their scripts and began his campaign against the Earth Christian.. And, at first, it was quite successful. Donations shot up and the over-priced literature sold well thus increased their profit margin considerably. Also, he himself became a household word, major newspapers and magazines interviewed him, he’s been on several talkshows and next week he was to have a debate with the scoundrel himself, George Applegate. Yet his daughter had read the copy he got from the P2 and was quite taken by it. “Seemed to make more sense,” she had said. So he took that copy away from her and brought it to the television studio and, in an inspired moment of frustration and anger, burnt it on the air. The defining moment that put Reverend Power in the global media limelight.
 Now, this debate was taking over his life and P2 kept pushing him not to back down. “This is more important than you realize,” they said to him.
 William agreed with them but it was wearing him out. And tomorrow he was to meet with some P2 big shot. So, William Cassock got into the hot tub attempting to soak all his troubles away but they nipped at his heels like a pack of dogs. Perhaps I’ll turn the bubbles on. And, with a flick of a switch, he was engulfed by a seething foam wake. Ah, that’s better.
 

 Peter and Bonny drove down to Albuquerque from Thomas’ home. Peter wore his dark glasses and some clothes that Thomas had given him. His old clothes were so ratty after two months on the road that even Peter couldn’t bear to put them back on.
 Peter pulled out a joint and lit it up. At least something good was saved from his truck. Bonny glanced at him casually. “It’s my medicine, would you like some?” Bonny took a hit and they blistered along the highway. Bonny, who had been quite reticent, loosened up and told Peter about the surrounding mountains and native tribes. Bonny was half-Navajo, half-Spanish descent. Her finely crafted features were framed by thick curly black hair. In her jeans and denim workshirt, Peter imagined her being able to lasso a steer and bring it in even though she couldn’t have been more than five feet tall.
 “You’re not in any hurry to get going, are you?” Bonny inquired.
 “No, not really. We finally caught up to the band on the internet, sent an email which was picked up by Dingo. Inka called last night and they’re going to be in San Francisco at the end of the week. Boy, she was glad to hear from me, I guess she was worried. But I was going to hang out in Frisco for about a week until they got there, so I’m in no rush. What do you have in mind?”
 Bonny smiled. “Well, I got some friends in Albuquerque and I thought you’d like to meet them. We could take you to some really far-out places.” Bonny’s smile reflected in the sunshine. Peter said he’d be delighted.
 They talked for hours as they neared Sandia, the mother mountain of Albuquerque. The giant hill glowed a crimson red in the afternoon sun. Bonny’s arrival was met with hugs and laughter. Her friends cheerfully welcomed Peter and told them that there was to be a full-moon ritual out at the volcanoes tonight. Peter thought he was in the right place at the right time.
 After dinner, they caravaned out to these volcanoes which lay about an hour west of Albuquerque. Bonny and him walked up the gravelly slopes speaking quietly. She had just graduated from the University with an English degree and picked up the job with Thomas to make some money while she decides what’s she’s going to do next. She had such great friends here but if she wanted to get a real job she probably had to leave Albuquerque and go to some major city.
 As the sun set, they gathered on the top of one of the ancient eroded volcanoes. Peter noted that the remains of these cones lay in a straight line with the peaks of mountains at either horizon. The transparent sky hummed with green and yellow. Peter felt easy and warm. Bonny stood next to him as they all held hands. They began with a song.

 Listen, Listen, Listen to my Heartsong,
 Listen, Listen, Listen to my Heartsong,
 Listen, Listen, Listen to my Heartsong,
 Listen, Listen, Listen to my Heartsong…

 I will never forsake you, I will never forget you,
 I will never forsake you, I will never forget you…
 

 They danced in a circle as they repeated the chant. The sky unfurled a blood red banner retreating from the profound night. Stars wheeled with an intensity that astounded Peter. He felt his body fill slowly with light, a relaxed warmth tunneled up his spine like a snake. He became aware of his body and his spirit weaving together in bliss. The absolute darkness turned bright as the full moon peeked over Sandia mountain. The dance slowed, the chant quieted then they came to a silent rest. They stood in silence. A coyote howled plaintively.
 They called the four elements to join them and invoked the God and Goddess. Bonny impressed Peter with the power and poetry as she manifested the Goddess for them. “All acts of love and pleasure are my rituals.” She glowed in the moonlight as she dramatically raised her hands. Sparks of violet enveloped her. “The world is my cauldron, a vast brew self-aware. A mixture of our thoughts and dreams, our works and cares. Stirred lovingly by the Fates and served to us by Pan who smiles because he knows as we drink the world, the world drinks us. For I am the Goddess, I am three in one: the maiden, the mother and the crone. I give birth, nourish life and allow death to be a friend. I am the bottomless bowl of Being. I am Alpha and Omega. I am the light in the Deep. As you open to me, I open to you. I am here amongst you. Blessed be.”
 “Blessed be,” they echoed her.
 A lone drum began to pulse and someone in the dark said, “Lie down.” In the spirit of openness, Peter lay down his body and looked into the night sky. The drummer led them with a guided meditation. Down into the underworld they were led, deep into their psyche. They were met by power animals which gave him gifts of power: a eagle gave him a flower, a fox gave him a burning brand and, lastly, a mouse gave him a small black book. The drum beat changed and broke the trance, they arose and danced and danced and danced. Paganism is an aerobic religion.
 After the ritual, they drove into the Jemez mountains and brought him to these hot springs not far off the road. To Peter this was amazing, hot water bubbling out of the ground. Everyone was laughing and playing. Bonny massaged Peter’s shoulders and, if he had any tension now, it was soothed by these mineral waters and her touch. “Where does this water come from?”  Peter asked.
 “The stream brings a flow of cooler water but the hot water comes from in there.” Bonny indicated a nook with a small pool above where they soaked. “You can go inside there, it’s not too too hot, I think you’ll like it.”  Peter climbed up and crawled inside the small grotto and slithered into the pool, shaded from the ubiquitous moonlight, it was ink and echoes, twisting shapes of geckos. Like the clattering of silver spoons inside of a silk bag, the water poured into the pool, gurgling out of the dark nook. Peter lay on his back and tucked his head into the cleft from where the water poured out. The rock enclosed him and only a few stars peered at him through the mouth of this small cave. He closed his eyes and relaxed. The gushing heat, the insistent trickling, echoes resonating. It was all too much, Peter liked that, then there is nothing else to do but relax.
 So Peter relaxed.
 Suddenly in his mind’s eye, he saw a trembling light emerge. A lotus flower unfolded and a beautiful woman stepped out of it. Inka, ah… Inka. Peter smiled to himself. He watched the vision bloom, the image of Inka became clearer and clearer. Peter ached for her. He loved Inka with such a passion, a passion repressed and by her rejected. She was dressed in leaf green with a  golden shawl. Her eyes, sad and blue, searched the sky. Peter, knowing it to be a simple mental image, still wanted to reach out to touch her. He felt his strong desire burst from his heart to her alluring arms. Then suddenly fire consumed her and she screamed. Peter felt his stomach wrench. Whose in control here? In moments, her skin bubbled and blackened, then oozed off her skull. Only her eyes, obscene orbs lodged in the caves of the skull, stared blankly at Peter. Peter felt the pinpricks of pain in his own eyes. I can’t look, I can’t look. Peter aroused himself and crawled out of the cave, moaning.
 Bonny arrived quickly. “What’s wrong, Peter?”
 “My eyes, my eyes. It’s my migraine again. It starts in the eyes.”
 Bonny sat him down with some soft words. “Let me get something that might help.” She came back with a jug of water. “Here, drink this, yes, that’s good. Take your time. That’s good. Now sit still and keep your your eyes closed , I’m going to put some of this mud on your eyelids. It’s suppose to be very healing. Yes, don’t worry, it’s going to be o.k.. There — now rest and when you’re ready I’ll help you back to the lower pool and you can wash the mud off.”
 Her ministrations eased his distress. Why did he get so upset, Peter wondered. Damn headaches. The pain eased somewhat. Oddly the cool mud and the concern of everybody as they helped him down the pools felt good. Bonny assisted all the way. The touch of her hand softened his heart. After washing the mud off, Peter looked at the stars. They appeared sharper and clearer than ever before. The pain was gone. “How do you feel?” Bonny asked.
 Peter looked at her, touched her cheek. “Wonderful, thank you, I feel wonderful.”
 

 P2. For a thousand years this group has been a force in the turn of events emanating out of Europe. Men of relentless and vicious determination to ensure their vision of reality comes to pass.
 It all started with some mystics painting pictures and carving statues in early Christian grottoes. Their coffee breaks evolved into an influential labor guild that had a well-developed belief system and intricate secret rituals. These artisans acquired a large sum of cash by the building of countless churches and cathedrals throughout Italy and the rest of Europe. Unlike most of the population, their skills were so highly valued that they were allowed to roam freely to whatever town needed them. This freedom of movement allowed them to create a system of communication that outstripped any of the day. They drove the popes to support larger and more ornate building projects and funneled the surplus wealth into their early banking institutions. With this newly-found power and riches, P2  never quite lost the original spiritual foundation of their organization. That is until the turning of the First Millennium and the apparent no-show on the part of the Christ.
 For the spiritual identity of the Catholic Church was intimately associated with the Last Days and the awaited Return of the Lord. This eschatological obsession began soon after the disappearance of Jesus, amongst a few fanatics at first, much like the search for Elvis, they expected His Return in their lifetime. For didn’t he say: “Verily I say unto you, this generation shall not pass, till all these things be fulfilled”. It had galvanized the early Christians and there arose a complex in which it was considered more holy to die a martyr’s death. The majority of the ‘martyrs’ at that time were actually criminals: arsonists setting fires to temples induce the Final Fire that was prophetized, disrupting sacred Pagan ceremonies violently, murdering those who disagreed with them, especially amongst their own kind. Romans complained about ‘those Christians’ clamoring for the death penalty in order to become martyrs. Antoninus of Antioch irritably inquired whether Christians had no ropes or precipices to kill themselves, without constantly making trouble for the authorities.
 So, as the generations passed and the Catholic Church gained more power and money, the expectation for the Return was pushed further and further back until it hit the supposed wall of the First Millennium. When that Millennium came and went, the depression in Europe was deep and pervasive. Many had sold off what they owned and gave it to the church to assure their place in heaven. There began search parties, after the custom of the Tibetan search for the reincarnation of the Dali Lama, and miraculous births abounded producing a flurry of Messiahs. That was the search for the holy Grail, not some cup or stone, but rather the new Christ child. Ah, but to no avail. P2 funded the early Crusades believing the clues of the Return must hide in the holy land. The Knights Templar were an extension of P2 who, while not finding the Savior, found many treasures, ancient documents and even discovered the whereabouts of the Ark of the Covenant in Ethiopia which they promptly stole and is now hidden somewhere. The cathedral building boom began and P2 gathered more wealth and influence while keeping a hold onto that threadbare hope of the Final Resurrection.
 Soon the wraith of God struck Europe in the form of the bubonic plague. This surely must be the final days many folks thought. But after countless villages were wiped out and vast tracks of land left vacant there was no Jesus proclaiming the Kingdom of God. The Church acquired thousands of acres of prime real estate and cared not for the return of their Savior. P2 followed in their wake building fortress-like monasteries to administer these new holdings.
 P2. Odd name. Some say it’s a phonetic rendering of Petra, the Latin word for Rock, the name that Jesus gave to Peter (who was previously Simon son of Jonah). Peter was the mythic foundation of the Roman See. Or perhaps it came from the pre-christian mithraic pater patrum, Father of Fathers, the city-god of Rome. Or maybe it’s just another way of saying pee-pee and you know what that means.
 Since its inception, P2 has had close, very close, ties with the Papacy. One making proclamations to the public and the other working behind the scenes, like the hand in the glove.
 Lorenzo Valla was the heir to this ancient order and his jet was landing in Atlanta, Georgia. He was sent to meet with the Rev. William Power and fathom the depths of the situation that had wheeled out of control. The powers that be had hoped that their campaign against The Earth Christian  would have more successful at this point. Yet, this book, whose danger lay in its remarkable approximation to the truth, was gaining ground in the minds and hearts of many people.  This was a problem for P2 and, as Project Coordinator, it was also Lorenzo’s problem.
 With fluid ease, Lorenzo Valla was whisked to an austere mansion far from Atlanta. Perched up on a local prominence, he was able to see the lights of that city. This annoyed him to no end. He had brought his telescopes in order to observe Saturn and Jupiter in close alignment to each other that night. A fairly rare celestial event. But that was spoiled by this damn American city. They think they can light up their cities to prevent crime, he speculated, ha! the most outrageous crime occurs best in the broad light of day. And look at their level of violence, the statistics are frightening. I have less security in my visits to Sicily after all. The Americans spoil the skies with their fears. Lorenzo shook his head. Now this comic meeting with this absurd character named William Power.
 He had been chosen as the liaison between the P2 and the Televisionary project. For all practical purposes, he was an independent project coordinator though he had to pass any major decision through his superior; a man whom he’s never met face to face. This was a real experiment for P2. Its ancient alliance with the Vatican was at stake. Its top officials had determined that the position of the Catholic Church as a recognizable and influential entity was not long for this world. They needed to diversify. To extend themselves and create new alliances. Its long history wasn’t due to rigidity and tradition. They survived by being open to the opportunities as they presented themselves. Like now.
 Project Televisionary. P2 has been a force in Washington DC since that city’s inception. For after all, P2 arranged for the huge, cheap shipments of the finest Italian marble that laid the foundations of that city. But rarely has it dealt directly with any religious arm swinging around in the good ol’ USA. Until now, that is.
 Lorenzo actually questioned the validity of this project once with his immediate superior, that man-on-the-phone, Monsignor Blanco. Questioning orders wasn’t discouraged, P2 in general allowed member input and he has had many extended conversations with the Monsignor regarding this particular project.  Lorenzo felt that the use of a fundamentalist preacher in the USA was a waste of time and money. Those preachers, he moaned, are always getting photographed with prostitutes and neglecting their tax returns. Besides, in the polyglot of protestantism in that nation, how would supporting a few relative unknowns serve their purposes. Monsignor Blanco gently reassured Lorenzo that the P2 had a deeper plan and this was just one small piece on a larger game board. His assistance in this matter would bring rewards for P2 and himself, the Monsignor assured him. Secretly, Lorenzo felt it was beneath him and felt the assignment was punishment for so-called failure down in South Africa. It wasn’t his fault, it’s a culture in flux, who knew what turns it was going to take. But he took it on the shoulder then and taking it now.
 Now he’s got to talk to this clown.
 “Yes, show him in,” Lorenzo sighed when he was told that Reverend William Power had arrived.
 The Reverend contritely entered the room. His powder-blue suit clashed with the elegant decor of cherry paneling and Louis XIV furniture. How do these Americans get so fat so soon, Lorenzo wondered. Lorenzo sat behind a formidable oak desk and motioned for Rev. Power to sit down. William squeaked into the chair. Lorenzo grimaced.
 “Greetings, Reverend Power. How are you today?” Lorenzo said blandly.
 William was having trouble getting comfortable in his chair. “Oh, just great, Mister Jones.” William often speculated where this guy was really from, definitely a foreigner, but it was difficult placing which country he was from. His english was impeccable but he guessed ‘Mister Jones’ was an Italian given his raven-black hair, sharp features and arid urbane demeanor.
 “Let us not waste time with formalities,” Lorenzo said. “My organization is impressed with your progress and your willingness to cooperate with our suggestions. I believe both of our agendas are meeting a fair reception in the public forum. I see that donations are on the rise and sales are steadily increasing. That is well. I will be bringing to my superiors a favorable report of your achievements. I’m sure they will respond with additional funding.
 “Your letter to me mentioned your concern in regards to the George Applegate affair. I sense your growing discomfort in this matter.” Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.
 William shifted in the chair. “Yes, I feel that this issue is growing out of proportion to its real threat to our ultimate goals. In some ways we’re calling attention to something that would have better swept under the rug and forgotten. I’m afraid that the proposed debate will just arouse curiosity amongst the people and lead them to read that evil book. I feel the less the people know the better. Too much information can charm them away from their contemplation of heavenly matters.”
 “Well stated, Reverend Power. I will bring up your misgivings with my superiors. But I would like you to proceed with the planned debate. If we show weakness now, especially at such a crucial moment, all our best efforts could be lost. This miscreant must be crushed and swept aside by the only means available to us: the keen persuasive force of the mass media. There is risk, I grant you that, but if we can convince the public of the rightness and legitimacy of our cause then the rewards will be great. I will call you after the debate and we will discuss this issue in greater detail then. Thank very much for your time.” Lorenzo pressed an intercom, asked for his secretary who came in and led Rev. Power out.
 His secretary returned and asked if he could be of any further assistance. “Oh yes, I’m done with official business for the night. Could you have the butler come up, I need some assistance with my telescopes, perhaps this night will not be a total waste.”