Excerpt of The Last Degree by Dina Rae

Prologue

"I am sending you a master craftsman named Hiram-abi, who is extremely talented. His mother is from the tribe of Dan in Israel, and his father is from Tyre. He is skillful at making things from gold, silver, bronze, and iron, and he also works with stone and wood.

2 Chronicles 2:13-14

The mystery of Hiram Abif originates from the Biblical passage above. Secret societies have given him credit for constructing Solomon’s temple. According to legend, Hiram used talented craftsman and secrecy, such as passwords for orchestrating its construction.

Solomon didn't like Hiram's growing power, along with the attraction the Queen of Sheba had for him. Some scholars imply he may have had something to do with his death. Hiram remains the primary protagonist and martyr in modern day Masonic circles.

Chapter 1

Chicago, 2000

It was a rainy, dark, and fall day in Wrigleyville, an upscale north-side neighborhood. The rain violently splattered onto the concrete of Waveland Avenue. Although a big city, in this neighborhood crime generally amounted to alcohol related offenses such as DUIs, bar room brawls, and public intoxication which was usually festive Cub fans oblivious to the limits of celebrating. This day was different.

"911? There's a body in my alleyway, behind a dumpster. I'm behind Waveland Avenue, 1269 West. I think he's dead! He looks like my neighbor...don't know his name. I'm checking for his pulse right now, but nothing," reported an elderly resident who was walking her dog.

At 10:02 a.m. an ambulance appeared on the scene, minutes after the initial phone call. The paramedics confirmed no pulse, and then called the coroner for an official ruling of death. The scene was then turned over to Lead Detectives Ann Wilson and Rich Stephanski. By 11:00 a.m., the 1200 block of Waveland was declared a crime scene. The detectives yellow-taped the area while uniformed officers coned off the street.

Due to the relentless rain, both detectives wore raincoats and carried traditional black umbrellas. They hurriedly moved in to investigate, fearing the rain might wash away the evidence. The victim appeared to be a young white male without identification, dressed in a gray wool cable-knit sweater and blue jeans. He was clean shaven with dirty blonde hair.

Ann took several pictures of the surrounding area and body with her Olympus digital camera. Her partner lifted the shoulders of the body to have a better look at the victim's face. Rigamortis was beginning to set in.

"Ann, check this out. His throat has been slit. This sweater is soaked with blood. The wool acts like a sponge. Maybe we’ll find some blood in there that isn't his," Rich said.

"Let's move the body into the meat wagon," insisted Ann as she motioned for assistance from two uniformed cops.

"Looky what I've found," yelled Detective Dan O'Leary from across the alleyway. "Is this a human tongue?"

The detectives surrounded him for a closer look.

"Good work, Dan," praised Ann. "It's definitely a tongue. The tendons are hanging off of the thicker end, like it was ripped out of the vic's mouth. Look at the tip. It was intentionally split."

Detective Wilson crawled into the back of the 'meat wagon' and unzipped the body bag. She took her pen and pried the victim's mouth open.

"What do you know...We have what looks like a tongue and a victim that’s missing a tongue." Ann glanced back. "Coincidence?" She had a hard time seeing through her soaked grayish brown hair that was pressed against her small face. She had to keep putting her umbrella down in order to take more photographs of the scene.

Detective Stephanski took the bag and held it towards what little light the day provided and replied, "Yeah, the tip is definitely cut. Think this guy could have had a big mouth? Maybe his death is a message?"

Thinking along the same lines, she nodded her head at the possibility. Rich and Ann had been partners for three years. With exception to an occasional spat, both worked well together.

"Could this be Mafia? Colombian cartels slit throats. Plain old serial murder?" Ann offered.

Rich shook his handsome blonde head. "It could be, but something about this doesn't add up. This guy looks like someone from this neighborhood, not a godfather. What a strange way to die. Can I have the camera? I want to see if anyone in the crowd might recognize him."

"Good idea," Ann responded as she passed him the camera.

Despite the heavy downpour, concerned neighbors steadily filled the sidewalk. Rich approached the growing crowd on the other side of Waveland.

"Listen up," Rich yelled. "A man was killed over there, in the alley. I'm hoping one of you can identify him. On my camera screen, there are a few pictures of him dead with his throat slit. Do not be alarmed. We need your help. Step up one at a time, and I'll show you the pics."

Rich stood on the sidewalk and asked a uniformed cop to hold his umbrella while he fidgeted with the camera. After showing the same five pictures over and over to at least thirty people, a young and attractive woman approached. She was brought to tears upon viewing the dead man’s photos.

"I think that's my boyfriend...he didn't come home...Rory...Rory Schanck," sobbed the woman.

At forty-eight years old, Ann had much more experience at playing the sympathetic cop than her brusque partner. Upon hearing the woman’s outcry, she stopped what she was doing and ran across the street before Rich could make matters worse.

"Rich, do you mind? Miss, could you step across the street with me for a moment. I know this has to be difficult," Ann asked, putting an arm around her shoulder and an umbrella over both of their heads. Ann could see the relief in Rich's eyes once she poached his witness. They both knew each other's strengths, and comfort was not one of his. She, however, had mastered the ability to console. Although it was all an act, her 'bedside manner' was envied throughout the police department.

Ann took the woman across the street and into the back of an empty ambulance to escape the rain. She found a towel on a shelf and handed it to the woman. "I'm Detective Ann Wilson. And over there, that's my partner, Detective Rich Stephanski. So you know the victim? Rory? Right? And I’m sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances. Your name is...?"

"Rita. Rita Spencer. My boyfriend...Rory…and I, we live...we lived...right there...1265 West Waveland, on the third level...next to the townhome with the Cubs’ banner in the window."

While they sat in the dry ambulance, Ann motioned for one of the detectives to come by. She handed him a piece of paper with Rory's name and address on it then told him to run it through the computer.

"Rita, may I call you Rita? Who on earth would do this to your boyfriend? This is not your typical mugging gone bad. What did he do for a living? Who were his friends? Family? I know this is difficult, but we need something to go on," Ann pleaded.

Rita sat shivering and crying. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to catch her breath as her sobbing escalated into hysteria. Ann quickly deduced that she was a college student by the DePaul sweatshirt she was wearing.

"Rory works or...worked at the stock exchange. He liked to occasionally go out with friends. His family lives in Wisconsin. He has a mom, dad, and a sister. Oh God! You got to call them! Not sure of their number....it was programmed in his cell phone. Schanck from Madison, Wisconsin," she whimpered, unable to hold back the tears.

"Where did Rory go yesterday? When was the last time you saw him?" Ann asked, still faced with virtually nothing to go on.

"Yesterday. Let me think. He went to work yesterday morning, Thursday, and then called me somewhere around lunchtime. He said he was going out with some co-workers after work for dinner and drinks. I awoke by 5:00 a.m. and he still wasn't home. I left an hour later for De Paul. I'm a Grad Assistant. I was worried, so I called him early this morning and left a voice message. The last time I saw him was yesterday morning before he went to work."

"Has he done this before?" Ann asked.

"Uh...Here's his work number and cell number. And no, it is not his normal routine. We've lived together for seven months. This is the first time he never came home." More tears well up in Rita's dark brown eyes.

"Were you fighting? Did he seem to have a lot on his mind? Anything unusual?" Ann inquired.

"No. Nothing. We were happy," Rita replied.

"Thank you. Would you mind if we went up to your apartment to look around? Maybe we could find something that might help us figure out who did this to him," Ann suggested.

"Absolutely," answered Rita as she fished through her purse for the keys.

"We're going to have to seal up your apartment for a while. Do you have anywhere you can stay?" Rita nodded. "Good. Also, we will need you to come into the station and make a formal statement about everything you just told me."

Chapter 2

Alexandria, 1964

On a summer afternoon, Dwight Glascott sat on his limestone balcony rereading the Book of Life, an ancient Masonic book of prophecy, alchemy, philosophy, and astrology. As a thirty-third degree mason, he was one of the few men in the world given a handwritten copy translated in his native language. Although the author of the book remained unknown, many high-ranking Masons believed it to be partially written by a French knight from the Templars after discovering treasures from the ruins of King Solomon's Temple. Dwight read the upcoming prophecy at least a dozen times before he looked up to the sky and contemplated his next move.

According to prophecy, the twentieth century was destined to bring a 'Shining One' upon the eve of the alignment of Mars, Venus, and Earth. The last sign stated that one would be able to see with the naked eye the constellation of Orion with Sirius' most intense luminescence. Each time Dwight checked his calendar and astronomy charts, May 1st of 1965 kept repeating as the date of his savior's birth.

May 1st, also known as the Beltane Mayday, a Celtic and Wiccan holiday, was always part of a witch's calendar. The festival boasted rituals of Maypole dancing, grand bonfires, and spell casting to celebrate fertility. Dwight and his other thirty-third degree cohorts had always speculated it would be their divine king's birthday, but none of them could accurately predict the year. Dwight was confident he cracked the code.

The Shining One will show the world the ultimate truth of the universe. He will destroy those who doubt him while elevating the ones who have proven their loyalty, he thought.

The birth date of his savior was only part of the mystery. Dwight stared out into the sun pondering where the Shining One would be born. Ancient and sacred writings, including the Bible, mentioned Europe, with scholars further pinpointing Greece, Italy, or Spain. He and his brethren included America in their list of potential birth places, reasoning that the U.S. was an extension of Europe. He prayed for the Shining One to be born in his hometown of Alexandria, Virginia, and coveted the opportunity of being part of his life.

Dwight's thoughts shifted to his own family tree. He and his wife would be fifty years old by the end of the year. Too old to have any more children, they had relied on their only child, Grace, to give them a grandchild. She and her husband had been trying to get pregnant for years. He was a desperate man who didn't want his lineage, along with his empire, to die.

The Scottish Rite of the Freemasonry consisted of thirty-two degrees, or progressive levels of knowledge one earns throughout the brotherhood. The thirty-third degree, the last degree, was honorary and unanimously bestowed upon the most worthy mason. Dwight Glascott was one of few men in the world who held this ranking. He was the most powerful Freemason in America. In spite of his lofty title, he still preferred to stay located at his original lodge in Alexandria, Virginia.

Tonight Dwight was scheduled to perform a rite for three of his brethren moving into the Chief of the Tabernacle, also known as the twenty-third degree. The ritual's theme was sacrifice in helping one's fellow man. He and other high ranking Masons were prepared to act out a scene from the Old Testament depicting wisdom and forfeiture. The three men being initiated were Dwight's brother-in-law, son- in-law, and Nathan Claywater, the son of the Grand Lodge's Treasurer. They were all in their thirties. Together they had moved up multiple degrees within the Masonry. Dwight was determined to make tonight's ritual extra memorable.

#

"I can't see you guys, but I can feel the velvet robe against my skin. Are we in some kind of prison cell?" asked Nathan Claywater as he sat on a bench, blindfolded and awaiting his next ritual.

"I've got the same robe, too. And yes, we are in a prison cell. I've been in this room before back when I was initiated into the seventeenth degree," said Jonathan Mancini, Dwight's son-in-law.

"Wonder what old Dwight has in store for us tonight. He lives for these rituals. Remember when he dressed up as a knight and put on a fencing show?" recalled Nathan.

"How could I ever forget! He almost slashed us up as he clanked swords with your dad," Paul Kominsky smiled. "Ow! Damn these ceilings are low. I'm starting to feel claustrophobic."

"Silence!" Dwight screamed, listening to the men as he stood outside of the basement cell. He stealthily opened the barred door. Although they couldn't see him, he was dressed as an ancient king. "I will lead you into the North Hall of this Grand Lodge. Take hold of this rope and let the evening begin."

Dwight led them down the narrow corridor, up the stairs, and into the North Hall where ceremonies were commonly held. He positioned each man in the middle of the inlaid pentagram of the marbled black and white floor.

The first part of the rite would be performed by Masons of higher degrees. Those of lesser status were not welcome due to the secrecy of the ceremony, but would be part of the celebration held afterward in the Great Hall.

Dwight began with the standard pomp of the scripted incantation. He ended the preamble with a series of chants honoring the star of Sirius. "Oh Sirius, oh Shining One, we bow to your radiance. May you eternally glow in the direction of wisdom and goodness." Dwight continued with his praise, and then had everyone repeated. "Tonight we have Jonathan, Paul, and Nathan before us swearing their allegiance to our order. They will be ascending to the twenty-third degree as Chiefs of the Tabernacle. Do you men swear infinite secrecy to all Mason truths and knowledge?"

The three men nodded and Dwight took off their blindfolds.

Dwight could see the excitement in their eyes as they admired all of the elaborate costumes and scenery of the ceremony. Although his royal king costume was the most ornate, Arthur Claywater and Gus Mancini were intricately dressed in drag wearing wigs, makeup, and peasant dresses. The intentional cleavage each dress exaggerated suggested they were role playing two ancient prostitutes. Around the pentagram the three men were standing in, were nine other Masons wearing dark velvet hooded robes with tasseled belts. They each pointed their swords at the initiates.

"Tonight you will learn about the importance of sacrifice and wisdom among your brethren. Kneel and bow down to me this instant!" Dwight bellowed. "I am the wisest and most prudent king of all time, King Solomon!"

A robed brother came forward with a swaddled, crying baby and handed it to Arthur. As he rocked the baby, Gus, playing the other prostitute, lunged forward trying to rip it out of his arms. The baby's cry turned into a shrill, making the pledges uncomfortable.

In Arthur's best female impersonation, he cried while quoting from the Bible. "Oh, my lord, this woman and I live in the same house, and I gave birth to a child while she was in the house. Then on the third day after I gave birth, this woman also gave birth. And we were alone. There was no one else with us in the house. And this woman's son died in the night, because she lay on him. And she arose at midnight and took my son from beside me, while your servant slept, and laid him at her breast, and laid her dead son at my breast. When I rose in the morning to nurse my child, behold, he was dead. But when I looked at him closely in the morning, behold, he was not the child that I had born."

"No, the living child is mine, and the dead child is yours," Gus cried.

Both men continued to improvise their argument told in 1 Kings 3:16-28.

Dwight stood up and declared, "The one says, ‘This is my son that is alive, and your son is dead’; and the other says, ‘No; but your son is dead, and my son is the living one.’ Bring me a sword."

A robed Mason quickly came up to Dwight and handed him a sword. He continued to quote from 1 Kings by decreeing, "Divide the living child in two, and give half to the one and half to the other."

The baby's bawling became so loud that the actors had to scream their lines in order for the pledging men to hear. On perfect cue Arthur lamented, "Oh, my lord, give her the living child, and by no means put him to death."

"He shall be neither mine nor yours; divide him," Gus announced.

Dwight ended the story by stating, "Give the living child to the first woman, and by no means put him to death; she is his mother."

The same robed Mason who gave Dwight the sword, handed Arthur the baby and it immediately stopped crying.

Dwight took off his crown, signifying he was no longer playing King Solomon. "Sacrifice is expected for ones that you love. Do you love me?" Dwight shouted. "Then bow down before me and offer praise!"

Everyone in the basement knelt and laid their head down to the floor and chanted 'Most Worshipful, Most Worshipful' several times before Dwight commanded them to get up.

In a manic energetic state, Dwight vociferated, "Et vitam impendere vero!" All repeated, with the three new pledges joining in. Minutes later, he began to calm down. "To sacrifice life for truth - that is what we must always do! You must trust me as your Most Worshipful and sacrifice at my command! Are you prepared to do this?" All three pledges nodded.

Dwight pulled the content baby out of Arthur's arms and threw it high into the air. As the baby began to descend, Dwight took his sword and hacked through its neck, decapitating it before it hit the floor. Only the three pledges shrieked in horror. He sinisterly smiled as he picked up the head and body, revealing it was only a doll.

"Don't believe with your eyes, but believe with your knowledge. We are his chosen and will soon be exalted."

The three men looked down at their hands and tried not to scream. They were covered in blood.

"Sacrifice, my brothers, sacrifice. I will teach you well. You are all Chiefs of the Tabernacle! Let us go and celebrate!" Dwight gleamed.

Chapter 3

Before Globalization (B.G.)

The time has come. Thank you, God. We are ready. Your will, not mine, James prayed.

James Martin took a break from his back-breaking work, lit a Newport, and then admired his empire. His sense of pride was elevated to a level only reached when the impossible becomes the possible. His compound of forty- five acres buried deep within the woods of northern Idaho's Clearwater Mountains was almost complete.

James had been working on his masterpiece for over five years. Time was running out. He alone started this project, hiring only trusted followers of his vision.

He named his compound Wonderland. It consisted of twenty-eight residences built two hundred feet under the ground. Each residence had a bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, and running water. Propane generators were placed around the complex to ensure a constant supply of energy. There were three 6000-gallon fresh water tanks plumbed throughout the complex. Another three tanks would soon be added. Six inches of concrete braced each of the underground walls. Soon his kingdom would be fully capable of operating off the grid.

There were two identical underground warehouses on each side of the complex. Each stored a large supply of several types of medicine and food. Aisles were filled with batteries, lighters, flashlights, and other sundries.

Leaving no stone unturned, James was prepared for the worst. He had Geiger counters, night-vision goggles, heat detectors, and chemical suits within his inventory. A separate wall of each warehouse stocked an army's supply of ammunition.

A twenty-five foot fence with razor wire surrounded the perimeter of the property. Over forty cameras constantly monitored the area. There was a security center room buried beneath the main entrance that linked to the main house.

When James began Wonderland, he first purchased the perfect piece of property in a desolate part of Idaho. He broke ground by building a vast seventy-eight hundred square-foot dream vacation log cabin as a front for his complex. Immediately realizing he needed help, others with craftsmen skills that shared his vision were hired on to finish construction.

James and his growing staff lived in the eight-bedroom house while working on the compound. They had every extravagance imaginable, but intentionally had few windows put in the house. The walls were made out of six inch concrete and decorated with split logs, giving it a rustic atmosphere.

The only populated area within thirty miles of Wonderland gravitated in the tiny town of Oxford, consisting of a gas station, small grocery store, three pubs, and a hundred and ten people. James earned the reputation of being an eccentric millionaire hermit. He was spotted every couple of months gassing up his Yukon Denali and buying groceries from the general store. Always polite, he kept conversation brief. His elusiveness was often a topic for gossip, but no one was ever curious enough to visit his property.

James' head felt like a piano just fell on top of it as he smoked and admired his kingdom. The voice from within kept hammering the words Train to fight. He now knew his next move.