Chapter 15
THE TEAM
Three years later, Trench had become a Companion, the second-highest grade in the Order of The Beacon, a Neo-Pythagorean sect whose activities he had generously helped to fund.
The Order operated in the most secretive fashion, so that practically nothing was known about it outside the close-knit circle of its fifty or so members. These, who called themselves “fellows,” were generally wealthy and influential professionals and businesspeople, some 20 percent of them women. In Pythagoras’ doctrines, which they interpreted with an emphasis on their esoteric aspects, they had found a kind of spiritual fulfillment that mainstream religions had not provided. Such was their veneration for the famous philosopher that they worshipped him as a deity.
The Beacon had been founded in 1979 by a mysterious personage known to the other members only as Mr. S, who was convinced that Pythagoras would be reincarnated around the middle of the twentieth century. And so, not only did the members of the Order adore the spirit of Pythagoras, they also anxiously awaited his return among the living, the way followers of other religions wait for the coming of a messiah.
New members were admitted following a proposition from two fellows, and only after a thorough scrutiny of the candidate’s background, personality, lifestyle, and motivation had established that certain strict criteria were met. On acceptance, the new fellow had to take an oath of loyalty and vow to financially support the Order and its search for Pythagoras reincarnate.
Fellows led their normal lives in society, but on the tenth day of each month they met at the Temple, the Order’s headquarters located in the outskirts of Chicago, to perform a ceremonial ritual where they bonded together in harmony with the universe. By reaching a trance-like state, they sought to purify their souls and receive wisdom and understanding from the Higher Powers. It was also during these meetings that new members were received into the Order.
Trench still vividly remembered his induction ceremony. They were gathered in the Temple’s Hall of Truth, a large, wood-paneled room with high ceiling and narrow windows and a podium at one end. A polished metal sphere, twice the size of a beach ball, hung suspended above the red-carpeted podium, reflecting the light from recessed lamps in the ceiling. The smoke rising in twin columns from two bronze burners at the front drifted through the room, filling the air with the sweet smell of incense. On the wall behind the podium was a screen with curtains drawn back on each side and showing the image of a five-pointed star. As the ceremony proceeded, a series of other images would appear on the screen at regular intervals.
The five members of the Council of High Companions, the Order’s highest authority, were sitting in a semicircle on high-backed chairs at the center of the podium, facing the audience of fellows attending the ceremony. In front of the Council members was a round pedestal table with granite top and a red velvet runner on which sat a single object: a silver ring with a white stone.
All those present, including Trench, were wearing a hoodless white ceremonial robe with a silver belt tied around the waist. An elaborate geometric figure, embroidered in silver thread at about breast level, identified the bearer of the robe according to his or her grade, from the lowest, Fellow, to the highest, High Companion of the Order.
Trench stood before the Council with his back to the audience while the Elder—the Council’s eldest member, a balding man in his sixties with a square jaw and tufty eyebrows—read to him the duties and obligations of a Fellow of the Order, among these the observance of absolute secrecy in all matters regarding the Order. He then took the oath of allegiance, which began “I, Gregory James Trench, solemnly swear by he who revealed to our soul the sacred Tetraktys. . . .” While he spoke, the screen showed an image of ten points arranged in the shape of an equilateral triangle.
When he finished, he sat on a low stool near the pedestal table, facing the assembly of fellows. Someone brought a shallow silver bowl filled with water and a white linen towel. He washed his hands—the cleansing prior to his receiving the symbol of the Order.
Trench got up and was joined by the Elder, who picked up the ring from the table, took Trench’s left hand, and with a deliberate gesture put the ring on his fourth finger. He then embraced Trench briefly as he said “Welcome among us, brother,” and kissed him lightly on both cheeks as a token of friendship—friendly relationships were highly valued among the early Pythagoreans. One by one, the other members of the Council and the fellows in the assembly did likewise, after lining up in an orderly and slow procession that entered the podium from the left and exited it from the opposite side. The induction ceremony over, Trench sat in his assigned place among the fellows.
A reading of some of Pythagoras’ precepts came next. After hearing each maxim, they all responded in a chorus “Yes, I will” or “So the Master said,” depending on its meaning. At the end of the reading, all heads bowed in meditation and several minutes of total silence followed.
When the music began, they all stood up. The enveloping sound of a string instrument and of drums beating in the background filled the room; softly, barely audible at first but slowly growing louder. Trench looked around at the assembly. Everybody was standing, hands joined as if in prayer and eyes fixed on the screen at the front, which was now showing the image of a glowing and slowly rotating pyramid. As the minutes passed and the volume of the music increased, many began to speak in a strange language or perhaps only make sounds—Trench couldn’t tell—as they kept staring at the hypnotic screen. Someone near him bellowed like a bull in dire pain—a terrifying sound. Instinctively, Trench closed his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears, but he could not shut out the frantic beat of drums, now resounding like a subterranean thunder threatening to burst through. Those assembled in the Hall of Truth were about to reach the climax: a trance state, a state of bliss that would put them in direct communion with the Master and other divinities. But only the purified, the initiated in the secrets of Number, could expect to communicate with the gods. Trench was not one of them, not this time, not yet.
In the three years that had passed since Trench joined the Order, the search for the manuscript that would reveal the clues to finding Pythagoras reincarnate had gone on without success. The possibility that the only extant copy of the precious document could be gathering dust on the shelf of some private collector’s library, ignored and inaccessible, did not dampen the sect’s determination or undermine their faith in the final outcome. They were driven by the profound conviction that, not only was Pythagoras’ reincarnation alive somewhere in the world, but he would eventually be found and become their spiritual leader, and accomplish many marvelous things that would benefit all of humankind.
Several promising leads turned out to be dead ends, including a forged parchment filled with mathematical formulas—its owner pretended it was an autograph in Pythagoras’ own hand, ignoring the fact that parchment was only invented in the second century BC, more than three hundred years after the philosopher’s death. Despite all the uncertainties and disappointments, the search went on.
In early December 1997, a fax from London set in motion a series of events that would culminate in a breakthrough. Trench, now in charge of coordinating the search operation, had built a network of “agents” who were on the lookout for anything resembling the kind of document he was seeking. His network was made up mostly of collectors and antique book dealers in various countries, including some unscrupulous individuals who operated in the black market of smuggled or stolen items. One of these shady traders, code-named “Emerald,” had just bought a fragment of a medieval book on parchment containing what appeared to be artistic decorations of a Greek text, but which on closer inspection also revealed some intriguing mathematical and geometrical symbols. Just in case, Emerald decided to fax pictures of the pages to Trench. “Thought you’d like to have a look at this,” read Emerald’s laconic message on the cover page. Eight other pages followed. The images were of poor quality but good enough for Trench to see something that aroused his interest. He immediately e-mailed back, instructing Emerald to hold on to the book until further notice.
The pentagram
What caught Trench’s eye was a small geometrical symbol that appeared on two of the pages: a five-pointed star drawn inside two concentric circles.
The pentagram, also known as the triple interwoven triangle or the star-pentagon, was long believed to possess magical powers. In Babylonia and ancient Greece it was worn by people practicing pagan faiths. Pythagoras’ disciples saw in the five-pointed star a portrayal of mathematical perfection related to the so-called divine proportion or golden mean. They wore it as a sign of recognition among the members of the school and as a symbol of inner health.
Trench was particularly excited by the fact that the pentagrams were drawn with two points up and the letters in its vertices formed the Greek word for “health,” precisely the way the early Pythagoreans drew the symbol. Could this be what he was looking for?
The eight pages were clearly part of a larger set, probably a book. Was the rest of the book, if it still existed, also up for sale? Emerald had not been very forthcoming about the circumstances surrounding the purchase of the parchment leaves, but with some reading between the lines Trench was able to get the picture: Emerald’s “client” was a small-time thief “doing the rooms” of some London hotel who had come across the book fragment by chance during one of his rounds. Nothing was known about its owner except that he or she was probably a foreigner. Whatever the case, the ancient parchment leaves certainly deserved a closer look.
One week later, the order’s Council of High Companions held a meeting to discuss the course of action following the acquisition, on Trench’s recommendation, of the medieval book for the sum of 20,000 pounds.
A thorough examination of the pages had convinced them that their elaborate mixture of artistic work, geometric diagrams, and mathematical symbols—not to mention an enigmatic short poem at the end—concealed a message, possibly a piece of the puzzle leading to the reincarnated Pythagoras. As to the nature of the message, they could only speculate: it could be a reference to a place or to another text, perhaps even some mathematical discovery to be revealed only to the initiated but irrelevant for the purpose of identifying the living Pythagoras.
The Council then decided that they needed help to decode the hidden message and charged Trench with the task of hiring someone with the necessary skills. The chosen person would be the fourth member of a team whose mission would be finding Pythagoras’ reincarnation and bringing him before the Council.
One afternoon at the beginning of January 1998, a car arrived at the Order of the Beacon’s headquarters, an imposing nineteenth-century mansion situated in a densely wooded area north of the city. The property was surrounded by a high wall, with access through a security gate. The driver of the car was Leonard Richter, and his only passenger was Jule Davidson, the latest—and final—member of the search team.
After being cleared by the security agent at the gate, Richter parked the car at the back of the house and they entered the building through a side door. Inside, the air was warm and dry, a welcome contrast to the cold wind that had blown over them on their short walk from the parking lot. They crossed a large vestibule with tiled floor and left their coats in the adjacent cloak room. “You may leave your bag here,” Richter said to Jule, who was to stay overnight at the Temple, “someone will take it to your room.”
They went up a wide, carpeted staircase to the first floor and walked along a dimly lit hallway toward a glass-paneled door. Richter knocked before opening the door and leading Jule into what appeared to be a library. Bookshelves covered every wall except the one in front of them, where two large valence windows with heavy draperies drawn back let in the fading afternoon light. The air in the room was warm and had the pleasant scent of wood smoke. Gregory Trench was sitting at a big cherry wood desk by the fireplace. He looked at them over the rim of his reading glasses. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Please come in,” he said, getting up and coming forward to meet them.
Richter introduced Jule to Trench: “This is Doctor Jule Davidson, the new member of our team.” Trench fixed Jule straight in the eyes—the mathematician was shorter than him by about a foot—before extending his hand and saying with an even voice, “I’m Gregory Trench. Welcome on board, Doctor Davidson.” Jule smiled politely and extended his hand in return. “Glad to be part of the team,” he said while they shook hands, and he added: “I look forward to learning a bit more about the nature of my work.”
“Of course,” said Trench without emphasis, still looking Jule deep in the eye, studying him, as if he were searching for something confirming that the man was up to the task. He finally invited his guest to sit down. “Please make yourself comfortable, Dr. Davidson.” Jule sat down on a leather armchair facing Trench, who settled on a red and gold damask sofa, its colors matching those of the draperies behind it. Richter excused himself and left the room as Trench began briefing Jule about the operation and his role in it.
“As you know from Mr. Richter, we’re a group of believers in the principles of Neo-Pythagoreanism, an ancient syncretistic religion based on the teachings of the sixth-century BC philosopher and mathematician Pythagoras of Samos, the wisest man who ever lived. He traveled extensively in Greece, Egypt, and the East, and the knowledge he acquired drew from the wisdom of all those peoples, which was considerable. To prevent this knowledge and the science and philosophy he had taken such great pains to elaborate from being lost, he created a brotherhood of disciples for their preservation and transmission, and thus became one of the chief benefactors of mankind. As heirs of that millenary tradition, our duty is to carry on this noble and sacred mission.”
He paused and moved forward in his seat a little. When he spoke again, there was a dramatic, almost threatening intensity in his words. “We have reason to believe, and you’re not to question our conviction or demand any proof or justification whatsoever, that in this very moment the reincarnation of our Master is living somewhere in the world. Your job is to help us find him.”
Jule would be working with Professor Hirsch, an expert on ancient Greece, whom he would meet the following day. Their task would be to identify Pythagoras reincarnate. They would report to Richter and, in his absence, to Trench. Everything related to the operation, the Temple, and its occupants should remain strictly confidential, he warned him.
Trench also mentioned there were two other members on the search team, without further explanations. In the weeks ahead, Jule would learn more about them and their role in the operation. Rocky was a mountain of a man, strong as a bull; a one-time professional wrestler who for a while lived on the wrong side of the law. He had been “adopted” by Trench, after saving Trench’s life one night during a mugging attempt that was about to turn ugly. Thanks to Trench he had “seen the light” and his life had changed; he would do anything for him, even kill. As for Houdini, a tall, wiry man in his thirties who spoke little, he was a mechanical and computer wizard. He could pick a lock, open a safe, or break into a computer as easily as he breathed. Of a solitary and introspective nature, he lived alone and designed video games for a living. Once Jule and the Professor had discovered the identity of the living Pythagoras, Rocky and Houdini would set out to find him and convince him—or, if necessary, compel him—to come to the Temple.
Later that evening, when he was alone in his sleeping quarters, a sparsely furnished room with no windows, Jule began having second thoughts about his hasty acceptance of Richter’s offer. He had a problem with reincarnation—he simply did not believe in it—and with the thinly veiled fanaticism he sensed in the members of the sect. It’s too late to turn back, he told himself. He was no quitter; he decided he would do his best and play the game to the end.