Chapter Eleven
Tim came into the darkened bedroom and gently lay down beside Erin. He kissed her cheek and laid his head on her pillow. “I left the gate open until the FBI gets whatever they need. I don’t know what they expect to find, but they will be free to prod and probe.”
“I just don’t want them to think we had anything to do with this ricin thing,” she mumbled.
“They won’t. We have no prior terrorist ties.”
Erin looked over at him in the dim light. “Why are you so positive all the time? Can’t you be human once in awhile?
“I’m just trying to make you feel better. Is it working?”
“Yeah, it’s working,” she answered. “Thank you. I hear a car. Do you suppose that could be the FBI already?”
“Do you hear any helicopters? Tanks? Missiles?”
“No, but it sounds like more than one vehicle.”
They both stood on the porch as the line of SUVs snaked down their driveway. “I thought they only used those cars in the movie,” she said. “Look at your tax dollars at work.”
Six black Chevrolet Suburbans pulled into their parking area and what couldn’t fit stayed parked in the drive. Twelve FBI agents descended on their little ranch. Erin suddenly felt very much like a criminal. One agent approached the porch with his identification badge in hand. “Hello Capt. Anderson. My name is Leo Ballard. I am the agent in charge of the regional office in Portland.”
Behind Leo Ballard, FBI agent in charge, his men were emptying their Suburbans, piling cases, bags, and electrical equipment in the snow. Tim took the agents badge and studied it carefully.
“We would like to cooperate with you in any way we can Agent Ballard, but we really just found out about this situation ourselves. All we knew last night is that our dog got very sick and this morning the Sheriff told us it might be ricin. Until an hour ago, we didn’t even know what ricin really was.”
“I can appreciate that Capt. Anderson,” Agent Ballard said as he retrieved his badge and placed it in his jacket pocket. “We are here because your veterinarian, Dr. Jones, thought your dog may have been injected with the poison. We have this poison on our list of possible bio-terror agents. We have to thoroughly inspect the place of death and surrounding area, including your barn and house. Is that going to be a problem?”
“No, not at all, Agent Ballard. What can we do to help?”
“Well, Captain, can you take us to where you found your dog?”
“Yes. It’s right over here,” Tim said as he led the agent to Rocky’s kennel.
The cold suddenly chilled Erin to her bones. She wrapped her coat tighter around her to ward off the chill. This was surreal. Agents pouring over their yard, their barn, Rocky’s kennel, taking samples, monitoring, swabbing. One agent approached Erin on the porch.
“Ma’am?” he said. “Could you answer a few questions for us?”
“Yes, of course,” Erin returned. “Come inside. Do you want some hot coffee?”
“No, ma’am. I just need to ask you a few questions.” He took out his little black notebook. “Your full name, date, and place of birth.”
“Erin Ruth Anderson, born September 6, 1969, in Seattle, Washington. Lived in Oregon since I was 12. No children.”
“Thank you ma’am. I just needed your name and birth information. But I will add the other information.” He continued to scribble on his pad. “Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to harm your dog?”
“No, absolutely not. Rocky was the sweetest dog. He would never harm you unless he was protecting us.” She stopped talking. The agent looked at her.
“Did something trigger your memory?” He started scribbling in his pad again.
“Yes, I remember several weeks ago that a stranger, a man, was here on the property. He was some nut case wanting something he thought I had. Rocky chased his car all the way to the main road. Rocky was pretty upset. He could smell danger.”
“What did this man want?” the agent queried, his pen poised above his pad. “Did he say something to you?”
Erin suddenly felt her instincts telling her not to go into detail with this agent. Something was nagging at her. Then she remembered, in her research papers, an article about the veteran Mason who was kidnapped and murdered when he pronounced he was going to go public with the truth about the secret society. It read something like “perhaps justice was never served as the wheels of justice were slowed with brother Masons in the courts and law enforcement.”
Erin looked suspiciously at this young man, not more than 30 years old, in his suit and tie with his badge hanging out of his suit pocket. Why don’t I trust this man? What about him makes me suspicious? Am I losing my mind?
“Ma’am,” he said again. “What did this stranger tell you?” He was beginning to loose his patience.
“Ah,” she stammered. “He wanted a book.” Erin didn’t go into detail. She wanted to trust this government agent, but she found herself not willing to do that. Now Erin was beginning to wonder about the sheriff. Did he really have to call the FBI before the cause of Rocky’s death was confirmed?
“A book?” he asked, writing in his notepad. “What kind of book?”
“Ah,” she stammered again. “I am not sure.”
“What do you mean, ‘you are not sure’?” he asked very impatiently. “Why would he ask you for a book that you don’t know anything about?”
Erin’s mind was racing. She needed to tell him something, but she didn’t want to tell him about the secret society book. For some reason, she didn’t trust him.
“Was it a book you bought?” he asked. “Was it a book you bought and he wanted?”
There it is. The reason she didn’t trust this agent. How did he know Erin bought a book? Was it just a lucky guess? Erin stood up. She should have gone to the floor safe and offered this agent a chance to see exactly what the stranger wanted, but instead she went to her collection of old books and picked out one. Erin returned to the table where the agent sat scribbling again in his notebook.
“I think this is what he wanted,” she said as she handed him one of her oldest books in the collection.
“What’s this?” he asked as he looked at the tattered spine of the book. “Female Poets of America? What in the world would he want with this old thing?”
“Well,” she started, her mind racing ahead trying to avoid suspicion. “As you can see from the inside, this was published in 1857. And you can see from the cover it was once a very exquisite book. It may have great value. I don’t know. I just purchased it the day before he showed up here. I assume this is the book he was talking about wanting.”
He laid the book aside and asked me again, “Are you sure this is the book he wanted? You have no other book he may have wanted?”
Erin felt with the insistent questioning, her instincts were right. This agent was not working in their best interest. He was here to find the Mason’s secret manual. Nothing else made sense. Erin tried to act as innocent as she could. “No, I really don’t have anything else he might have been interested in. I am not sure why he would even be interested in this old thing.” Erin returned the book to the bookshelf.
Erin turned around and ran into the agent who had followed her to the bookshelf. “Oh, excuse me. Do you need something??
“No,” he said as he looked closely at all the books on the shelf. “Are these all of your collection? You don’t have anything stashed away anywhere else?”
Why in the world would he ask me that question? Stashed away? “No,” she said softly. “This is it. The sum total of my collection.” Her hand swept over the shelves of books.
The agent may not have known it but this interview was definitely over. Erin started to walk to the front door to show him out when he said, “Ma’am, I need to look around your house. Would that be OK?”
“Just a minute. I need to ask my husband.”
Erin stepped out on the porch. Tim was showing the other agents the kennel and barn. “Honey,” she said loudly. “Can you come here a moment?”
Tim waved at her and said, “Sure, just one minute.”
Erin went back into the house to wait for Tim and she noticed the agent was not in the room. She quickly went room to room looking for him. She found him in the office, looking in the desk drawers. “Excuse me,” she snapped. “I thought I told you I would have to ask my husband.”
“Oh,” he said ignoring her obvious anger. “I really don’t need your permission, I have a search warrant.”
He continued rummaging through the desk drawers and Erin ran to the front porch. “Tim,” she yelled with more urgency. “I need to see you right now.”
Tim finally came to the porch. He could see from her face that she was upset.
“What is it, honey?”
“These people may be the FBI, but they are not here because of the ricin, Rocky, or anything else they may find. These people are here for the booklet.”
“Booklet? What booklet?”
“The Mason’s Missal. You know the little one I found at the garage sale? The one that guy wanted when he came here a few weeks ago.”
Tim looked around him, leaned in toward Erin; put his hand on her elbow as he turned her toward the house. “Have you lost your mind?” he whispered. “Have you utterly lost your friggin’ mind? These people are the FBI. They are investigating the poisoning of our dog.”
“That is what they want you to think. But there is an agent in our house right now who is not looking for poison. He is looking for that little book.”
“Good, God, Erin,” he whispered, loudly. “Get a grip. Go back in the house and help that agent see whatever he needs to see. No more talk about this secret society crap. We are trying to find out who poisoned our dog.”
“But, Tim,” Erin pleaded. “I think these people poisoned our dog.”
Chapter Twelve
There were only a few times in their married life that Tim and Erin argued and had gone for a period of time without speaking. But today, they were about to have a discussion that would change their lives forever. The FBI was gone. They found nothing, which didn’t surprise Tim or Erin. They left with the Freemasons booklet safely tucked away in the floor safe. And Erin was left to face a very angry husband.
“When you first found the Mason booklet,” he said obviously holding back his anger. “When you first started your research into the Masons, and when you first started talking a bit crazy about rituals and codes, I thought it was an innocent diversion for you.”
He walked away from Erin without speaking. He then turned and looked her square in the eyes. “But you now tell me that you honestly believe that the FBI, a highly respected agency of the Federal government, poisoned Rocky.”
He was pacing now, obviously picking his words very carefully. Erin couldn’t speak. His harsh tone was piercing her heart. When he summed up her suspicions, it did sound crazy, but she had been doing more research than what she had told Tim about. She knew things that he didn’t know about the Masons, but he was in no mood for Erin to play catch up.
Erin couldn’t explain her fears rationally at that moment. She couldn’t open her mouth because she was on the verge of tears. She just looked down at the carpet that now showed signs of footprints from agents trampling all over it. How could she explain her suspicions rationally? How could she explain that she was now questioning the motives of the sheriff? For the first time in their married life, Erin could not talk freely to her own husband.
She managed to whisper, “I’m sorry.” She just wanted this conversation to be over. Erin wanted for them to get back to their normal lives and be the happy couple they once were. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re darned right about that,” he shouted. “You will forget this Mason nonsense and get back to reality. You will not do any more research on this subject. You will drop it. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said meekly. Erin knew she was lying to him. She knew she could not stop with the Mason until she had proven that they were responsible for Rocky’s death. Erin was so convinced they were involved in Rocky’s death she had deliberately lied to her husband.
The tears now turned to anger. Tim had no right to talk to her that way. Yes, her ideas were a little bizarre, but she was trying to piece the puzzle together the best way she knew how. There really wasn’t anyone else to talk to about what she was discovering about the Mason. Tim was the only person she trusted. Now he had turned against her. Erin was alone in her quest to discover the truth.
They slept in the same bed that night, but they might as well have been in separate rooms. The empty space between them was so deep, so impenetrable; there was no conquering it. He was angry. Erin was angry. Tim thought she was going to drop the subject. Erin knew she couldn’t.
The next morning, Tim rose before Erin woke and brewed coffee. Erin dressed and went out to have breakfast with him. There was a note at her place setting that he had gone into the woods early that morning and wouldn’t be home until dinner. He was still very angry with her. So angry that he didn’t even sign the note. That was fine. If he stays angry with her, she thought, then she would be freer to pursue the Masons—something she was now going to do vigorously.
Erin poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table with her papers on the Masons. She needed to understand this whole cult, this whole way of life, to be able to make sense of her suspicions. The Mason booklet she had in her possession was titled King Solomon and his followers. She decided to start there. What did King Solomon and his followers have to do with the Mason.
In the year 965 BC, Solomon succeeded David as King of the United Israelite Kingdom of Twelve Tribes. Solomon then ordered the construction of his first temple. He enlisted the aide of carpenters and masons and together they built the great temple.
The temple is described as a rectangular shaped building. There are two giant pillars on the porch. The pillars are about 26 ¼ feet tall and weigh about 40 tons. They are made of brass and are on either side of the porch leading to the front door. There is only one door in the front. The only other openings are along the top of the outside walls. No windows adorn the exterior. As you cross the two pillars and enter the porch, there are three sets of stairs. The first set has three steps; the second has five steps; and the last seven steps. There are a total of fifteen steps. The reason for this odd number of steps is so if you start the climb with your left foot, when you reach the temple, you step out with your left foot. This ritualistic step configuration is currently used at all Masonic Temples today.
The steps have significant purpose. The first set of three steps may be the great lights of Freemasons: the square, the compass, and the volume of sacred laws. It can also be the three lesser rights of Freemasons: the sun, the moon, and the master of the lodge. The next five steps are the five senses of men. It may also point toward the five architectural orders: Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite. They also may be the five points of fellowship.
The last seven steps are the seven liberal arts and sciences: grammar, logic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astrology. As you reach the front door, a Junior Warden, who demands a password, will meet you. You must pass through a second door where a Senior Warden also demands your password. You are then allowed to enter the middle chamber where you see a bright light emanating from the letter G, which hangs on the eastern side.
King Solomon also stands on the east side with the King of Tyre. They are holding registers in their hands. They calculate the wages due to you according to the register. After you retrieve your wages, you honor King Solomon and leave the lodge. You promise to return when next summoned.
So that is King Solomon’s Temple. So if Erin were to connect the dots here, the Freemason temples of today, must be constructed in a similar manner. And, as her little booklet would acclaim, the Freemasons of today are the followers of King Solomon.
The temple of King Solomon was destroyed about 586 B.C. then rebuilt by King Zerubbabbel. That temple was also destroyed in 70 A.D. Remnants of the Jewish temples are enclosed today within the Dome of the Rock mosque, an Islamic holy shrine. It is reported that enormous vaults under these buildings housed great artifacts, scrolls of hidden knowledge, and perhaps maps of treasures. The documents are thought to be the purest Christian documents ever found.
The sect discovering these valuable documents rose in power and wealth. They recruited members and the structure of the order is thought to be the forerunner of the Freemasons. The similarities are startling. The local branches were called Temples and all pledged allegiance to and reported to the grand master. There were great secrets from both the public and each other. The majority of these members were, like today’s Freemasons, simple people oblivious to the workings of the higher echelon. They became great landowners in many countries. They were granted lordships, castles, and other notable gifts. They were so powerful they paid no taxes, no tolls on roads or bridges, and they were given, by the pope, the very unusual right to build their own churches.
Following a visit around Europe with several hundred of knights and a large band of pilgrims, the sect became allies with an Islamic secret society that also claimed to have ancient knowledge—the Assassins.
Erin laid her papers down on the table. She lifted her coffee cup to her lips. The coffee was only lukewarm and she spit it back into the cup. She rubbed her eyes vigorously all the while trying to reconcile this information in her head. She was getting into things she really didn’t want to know about. Maybe Tim was right. Maybe she should just let this go. The more she found out about these secret societies, the more frightened she got.
But Erin had come too far, learned too much, become too curious to just ignore the very possibility that there was a great danger to them out there. They had already murdered their beloved pet, Rocky. She was convinced of that even though Tim was not. Erin was also convinced that the Masons goes deep within the government. For what purpose she had not yet found. What secrets does this Mason sect hold that makes it so intriguing to its members? Like ancient temples, do modern-day temples also hold “hidden knowledge?”
She cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed the FBI’s footprints, and dusted the whole house vigorously. It was like she was trying to erase any remnant of the agents' visit, which she had come to appreciate as a violation of her privacy. After a thorough cleaning, Erin took the note that Tim had left her and turned it over. She wrote him a note and placed it on his placemat. “I am going to town. Be back later.”
So this is what they had resorted to—passing notes back and forth. They were so angry at each other that they didn’t even sign their names. But, Erin was going to save them. She was going to save them from the evil forces. At least Erin thought she was until she realized the enormity of what she was up against.
There are people, throughout your life, that you are taught to trust. Policemen, firemen, teachers, doctors, your government, and clergy, to name a few, that you are taught from birth are people safe to talk to, safe to trust, safe to confide in. Erin’s core foundation of safety and trust was about to be shaken as she drove into town that bright sunny afternoon.
As Erin’s research had indicated, there was a so-called secret society among their people—a society so secret it would murder to keep from unveiling those secrets. But just who were these people? How could Erin find out who the people are in today’s society? There are a few names listed of our forefathers from hundreds of years ago, but she needed to know who belonged to this powerful society today. Who in their community was a member of the Freemasons? Who was regularly attending the lodges or temples in their communities?
Erin wheeled into town and stopped alongside a curb. She reached into the back seat to retrieve the local phonebook. She thumbed through the white pages until she found the Masonic Temple listing. She noted the address and returned the phonebook to the back seat.
Before Erin left the house, she had placed all her research materials in a briefcase. The briefcase and a cell phone were beside her in the passenger seat. Erin decided to confront the local secret society head-on and she drove straight to the Temple.
As she drove into the driveway of the parking lot beside the Masonic Temple, she observed the rectangular shape of the building and the noticeably absent use of windows. She whirled her car around the parking lot and observed the front door of the Temple, the only door visible from that side. There were five steps to a porch, just like records have described of King Solomon’s Temple. That would be consistent in the importance of arriving to the temple on the “left” foot. The double doors opened to the outside. Above the double doors was a large “G” inside a compass and square. She had read about the great importance of geometry for the Freemasons.
A loud crack on her driver’s window brought her back to reality. Erin jumped three inches off her car seat. She would have jumped more, she was certain, had she not had on her seatbelt. A scruffy, older man was scowling at her from the other side.
“Can I help you, lady?” he shouted.
Erin turned her key to the accessory position and put her window down a few inches. She had no idea who this man was. He looked like a homeless person just off the streets. He had a growth of about three days on his beard, he was missing more teeth than remained in his mouth, and his hair was in need of a cut that never would happen.
“Hi,” Erin cheerfully sang out the window. “I was just looking around. What is this place?”
“Why do you want to know?” he asked suspiciously. “Are you a reporter or something?
“No, I’m not a reporter. I am just a girl looking around town. I just never have noticed this building before and wondered what it was.”
“Well, I don’t think you need to know what this building is,” he said as he turned around to walk to the back of the building.
“Wait, wait,” she summoned out her window. Erin opened the car door and ran after him. “Wait, please wait.”
Erin caught up with him and lightly touched his arm to stop him. He turned to her and stared into her eyes. Erin hadn’t noticed before, but he had the most beautiful steel-blue eyes. “I was just curious. I just wondered what went on in this building.”
“Why do you want to know so passionately? What is your problem?”
She unhanded him and looked around the lot then back at his beautiful eyes. “I don’t know what my problem is.” Erin suddenly felt that maybe she had found someone, with whom she might connect, someone whom she could trust. He looked so compassionate. He looked like everyone’s grandfather. “I don’t have anyone to talk to. I don’t know who to trust.” She looked down at the pavement.
He looked perplexed. “Why have you lost trust, my dear? What is hurting you so?”
“I don’t know. I need to find out more about this place.”
He took Erin by the hand. “Come in the kitchen, dear. It looks like you need a cup of tea. Then I will tell you what I can about this building.”
Erin followed. Tea would be very nice. “My name is Erin Anderson.”
“Hi, Erin Anderson, my name is Charlie. Charlie Hendricks. Nice to meet you.”
Chapter Thirteen
The kindly old gentleman led Erin to a door near the rear of the building. They went up four steps to the screen door. He opened it and then opened the door to the kitchen. Inside there was an old wooden table and three wooden chairs. There was a wood-burning stove in one corner with a teapot simmering on top. A small bedroom was off the kitchen. Erin could see part of a small cot through the open door. It was surprisingly warm in the room, obviously from the wood-burning stove.
“Have a seat at the table and I will get us some cups,” he said as he headed for the kitchen cabinets. He picked out two mugs and two teabags. He placed the teabags in the mugs and walked to the wood-burning stove to pour steaming hot water over the bags. He placed the steaming cups on the table and returned to the cupboard for some crackers. Nothing special, just soda crackers in a white waxed paper tube. He had butter on the table along with salt and peppershakers and white paper napkins.
“I like butter on my crackers,” he said as he retrieved a knife from a drawer. “But, you can just have them plain, if you wish.”
Erin wrapped her hands around the warm cup then dipped the teabag up and down in the hot water. She placed the used teabag on a white napkin and sipped the hot beverage slowly. “This does make me feel better,” she admitted as the tea scorched her throat.
“So you want to know about this place,” he said as he prepared his crackers and butter.
“Yes, are you a member?”
“A member?” he questioned. “A member of this lodge? No. Nothing like that.”
“In case you didn’t see the sign out front, this is a Masonic Lodge. A Temple. You need to be someone special to be a member here. And I am not special. I never have been special.”
She looked into his blue eyes. He looked very special to her. A bit scruffy, but he should have family, someone who loved him and thought him special.
“No family?” she asked.
“No.” He fell silent. “As you can probably tell from my looks, I have been a bum all my life; a homeless person, an alcoholic, a drug addict, a robber, a thief. I have been in jail and lived under a bridge. My parents were killed when I was small and I lived with my aunt and uncle until I was 16. I escaped from there—a horrible place to grow up—and have been living on the streets since then. That is until three years ago, when I wandered onto this group of people out there in the parking lot.” His eyes watered as he recalled that night.
“I must have been quite a site,” he reminisced. “I hadn’t had a bath in probably six months. My clothes were torn and tattered. I was looking for a dumpster to get something to eat. I saw a group of men talking in the parking lot. It was late—about 11:00 p.m. They saw me cross the lot walking toward the dumpster and stopped me. At first I thought they were going to call the police, but then I realized they wanted to help me.
“They literally saved my life. They took me into their building. Right into this kitchen much like I just brought you in. They sat me down at this very kitchen table and prepared me a meal. I think I was a little drunk. My mind was foggy from having drunk cheap wine all day. But I will never forget the wonderful taste of the first hot meal I had eaten in years. They served me scrambled eggs cooked in real butter, crisp bacon, and a large cup of coffee. I was so grateful, I cried all during my meal.
“After I ate, they did the dishes and showed me the bathroom—right in there, off the bedroom. They insisted that I shower and change my clothes. They had some kind of donation barrel that they gathered clothes for the needy. They found some clothes that fit me, which was probably not too hard as I was so skinny children’s clothing would have fit. And after I showered, shaved, and cleaned up, they insisted that I rest on the bed for the night. Do you have any idea how much I appreciated what they did for me?
“Well,” he continued. “To make a long story short, they offered me a job here at the lodge in exchange for room and board. I became the official caretaker of the lodge. I have my little area back here where I am very comfortable. I take care of the grounds and exterior of the building. But I am not worthy to be a member. I never will be worthy and I will never be able to go into the main chambers of the lodge—accessible only through the front doors—accessible only to members”
“Your story is very heartening, but I am curious as to why you think you will never be worthy to be a member,” Erin questioned. “What is so special about the membership? What does it take to be a member?”
“I am not educated in the Mason practices, but I do know that in order to be entered into the membership, you need to be a professional. You are expected to start as an apprentice—one of their many degrees—then you are expected to go out and do great things in politics, education, religion and then advance to higher degrees. The higher you go, the more you have done in your community.”
She questioned him further, “You mean you have been here for three years—lived here for three years and you have no idea what goes on past those front doors?” She innocently went on. “What is the secret? Why all the secrecy?”
He smiled at Erin. “Many men have asked that question. Many books have been written in speculation. Many have tried to ‘expose’ the Mason, but the lodges are still strong, maybe stronger than ever—because of that secrecy. It is not for you or I to know what may happen in the chambers of the temple. I owe them my life and I am not curious enough to ever breach the bond of secrecy they hold so dear. And you are a woman, and women are not allowed in the brotherhood of the Masons.”
“Can you explain to me, sir, what the Masons are? What does it exist for?”
“They are an innocent philanthropic society. Like I said, they are leaders, respected politicians, and professional men who only wish to do good deeds in the community without the scrutiny of prying eyes. It is that simple. They wish to be left alone—left to themselves.”
Erin thought that a little naïve, but didn’t wish to debate the idea. She toyed with a cracker and finished her tea. She didn’t think she was going to get much new information from this dedicated employee of the lodge, but she asked one final question, “Do they have a roster of members?”
“Why would you want that? Just who are you?” He straightened up in his chair. Erin could see he was beginning to feel sorry he invited her into his life.
“I am nobody. Just nobody.” Erin knew she had extended her welcome and stood up to leave. She put out her hand and thanked him for the tea and crackers. “I am happy for you that you have found a warm, safe place to call home. I hope I will see you again some time. I would really like that.”
Even though she could tell his demeanor had changed toward her, he shook Erin’s hand and agreed that it would be nice if they could meet again. She thought he really enjoyed talking to someone even though he was trying to be loyal to his lodge.
“Would you mind if I came back once in awhile. I would like to just check on you to make sure you are getting along OK. And just maybe I will bring you a box of soda crackers,” she smiled.
“I would like that very much. I never had family or children and it would be nice to look forward to having someone come visit once in awhile. You know where I live.”
“That I do,” she laughed. “I will be back again soon. Take care.”
