Galileo’s hands shook. His face was drawn. None of the fire and fight that had driven the scientist throughout his life was evident.
“You and your few supporters are defeated. What’s worse, you’ve been discredited. You’re guilty of vanity. You ran to Rome to win support, which for a time worked in your favor. Yet you had to ridicule opponents and make enemies of the most powerful people.”
“People who became the most powerful.”
“Your mistake,” the inquisitor demanded. “Your grave mistake. Your life, as you knew it, is over.”
Galileo stood. The full weight of the church was on him as he walked to a narrow window at the priest’s third floor chamber. He peered into the night sky. A crescent moon was rising. A moon he knew to circle the earth, and the earth to revolve around the sun. He feared he’d never put his eye on his telescope again or his mind to the other great discoveries that lay in waiting in the universe.
“Your writing, Galileo. Your own writing spells guilt. ‘Philosophy is written in that great book which ever lies before our eyes — I mean the universe.’ In that single sentence you demonstrated irreverence to God Almighty. You defamed the Book of the Lord in favor of your own publication. Never has the Church seen such impiety.”
“You are excellent at quoting only portions,” Galileo said, still looking outside. “There is more.”
“That further damns you!” the priest charged.
“I sought to propose the Pythagorean standpoint that truth can be found in mathematics and science, in numbers and the order of things,” Galileo weakly countered.
“There is only one order. God’s.”
“But the Jesuits themselves are modern-minded humanists, friends of science and discovery.”
“And where are they now that you are imprisoned?”
Galileo turned away from the moon, which also seemed to abandon him as it began to disappear behind the magnificent Basilica Dome.
“Will you permit me a modest argument, if only as an academic exercise?”
“You may babble to your heart’s content or to the point I become bored.”
“Your Eminence, can we accept that the fundamental scientific methodology I employed, if put forth by others, could have led to similar conclusions about the nature of the earth and the planets in relation to the sun?” This was Galileo’s test of Maculano’s intellect.
The priest considered the point. “Quite likely,” he admitted. “Another scientist performing corresponding research might reach a comparable,” he returned to his role, “and equally heretical position.”
“If you were a scientist, might the same be true of you?” Galileo asked.
“Ah, you would make a fine judge yourself.”
“I believe that while you have the best interests of the Church, you harbor the curiosity of a man of science — with the mind of an inquirer more than an inquisitor.”
“Galileo Galilei!” Maculano shouted, “there is nothing in my activities that would suggest such things.”
“Yes there is,” Galileo said summoning all his strength. “You visited the Le Marche cave yourself! Tell me what you think you saw?”
Thirty-three
“Oh, of course, I have my wild theories,” Greene continued. “That’s what they love to hear in interviews — my go-to talking points. Crowd pleasers. Beyond that, I have things I keep to myself. If and when I feel confident to go public, I do. I’m just another guy searching for some truths. But believe me, there are some things better left where you found them.”
“You make it seem like you have to wade through conspiracies to get to anything factual,” McCauley observed.
“Welcome to my world.”
“Thanks a lot,” McCauley added. “But I interrupted.”
“Yes, you did. So back to my stories, which overlap with earth science or fiction. Your choice. Science says that Earth’s oldest rocks are about 3.8 to 3.9 billion years old. Since Earth itself has to be older than its oldest rocks, we can likely place terra firma’s age at 4.6 billion. Yet there are those who claim, validated by their interpretation of the Bible, the earth is just ten thousand years old or less.”
“We know all about them,” McCauley replied. “The Young Earthers.”
“I avoid the label and I’m particularly bad in head-to-head debates with them, especially when I deep dive into ancient civilizations.”
“Like the Mayans?”
“Much, much, much more ancient than Mayan culture, Dr. Alpert. Ever hear of the Mu or Lemuria?”
The guests nodded no.
“The Rama Empire?”
Another no.
“The Osirian civilization?”
Once more, no.
“Ah, you have to listen to me more on the air or my podcasts.”
They laughed.
“Atlantis, for sure.”
“For sure,” McCauley said.
“Well, there are those who quite convincingly maintain that the first civilizations arose, not thousands of years ago, but tens of thousands. The first, seventy-eight thousand years ago on a giant continent called Mu or Lemuria. Believers in its existence argue that education was its hallmark, but it, like other civilizations to follow, was destroyed by massive earthquakes. Believable?”
“Questionable,” was McCauley’s reply.
“I’ll state it all as fact, if only to piss you off. When Mu sank, water rushed into the Pacific basin leaving small islands in the Atlantic high and dry to form the continent of Atlantis. I’m sure you’ve heard the characterizations about their technology.”
“A few,” Katrina acknowledged.
“Fantastic. Phenomenal. Does evidence exist to prove or disprove? Not really, or for the fun of it, let’s agree, not yet. The same for the other great empires that are said to have existed. The Uiger civilization in the Gobi Desert, the Aroi Sun Kingdom of the Pacific, Tiahuanaco in South America, and of course, the Mayans. But these are simply the appetizers in the smorgasbord of unexplained facts, some of which actually have me scratching my head.”
“Like what?” McCauley felt he hadn’t gotten the information he sought.
“Like ancient artifacts. Really, really old ones.”
“How old?”
Greene carefully studied McCauley and Alpert.
“Really old. Based on the work of some Australian geologists — you might know about them…”
“Afraid not,” McCauley stated.
“Well, no matter. They analyzed zircons found deep in the outback and postulated that the Earth may have had all the conditions to support life, oh say, maybe two hundred to three hundred million years ago.”
“There are challenges, but not insurmountable ones,” explained Marvin, the man who passed the code word test. He sat in the bench that backed Kavanaugh’s.
“How will it be done?”
“Mr. Gruber never needed to know.”
“Well, Gruber is gone.” He ran his right hand over his scalp and checked his pocket watch.
“Let me put it another way, Mr. Kavanaugh.” The man leaned back, close enough that Kavanaugh wouldn’t misunderstand the meaning of his next remark. “Mr. Gruber never needed to know because that was the rule well before him and it will remain the rule well after you.”