THE EZEKIEL CODE
9
Densmore's home was easy enough to find.
The Old Barklay Road was nearly a straight line running for several miles
through the farm country, pretty much as Banyon had imagined.
They passed three farms along the way, checking the addresses on the
mailboxes along the side of the road. The fourth mailbox was a rusty red
color with THE DENSMORE'S stenciled in white letters above the address.
A long dirt driveway led to the old, white, two-story house about five
hundred feet back from the road. Between the road and the house was a field
of tall, dry grass. A dilapidated antique tractor sat rusting in the middle
of the field entangled in a mass of overgrown blackberry bushes.
Banyon and Angela were still parked in the middle of the road, taking
in the scene, when Banyon glanced in his rearview mirror and noticed a
dark green pickup truck approaching. He put the car in gear and moved over
to the side of the road so the pickup could pass. He was surprised when,
instead of passing, it slowed down and turned onto the Densmore property
and headed down the long driveway toward the house.
"Must be Mrs. Densmore," Banyon said. "It looked like
a woman behind the wheel."
The pickup came to a stop beside the house. The door on the driver's
side opened and the woman stepped out. With two bags of groceries under
her arms, she walked up to the house but paused a moment and turned, glancing
across the field toward Banyon and Angela.
"Is she looking at us?" Angela asked, feeling a little uncomfortable.
"Yeah, I think so. She probably wonders who the heck is sitting
up here at the edge of her property."
The woman turned back and walked up the stairs to the large front porch.
Juggling the two bags and her purse, she fumbled for her keys and unlocked
the door. Just before entering, she turned once more and glanced toward
the road. Then she went inside and closed the door. In a moment, they saw
the curtain in one of the windows draw back just slightly and the woman
peered out in their direction.
"Let's go talk to her," Angela suggested. "She's probably
worried about who we are, sitting up here."
Banyon thought about it for a minute. "Okay, maybe you're right.
I wouldn't want her to think someone's stalking her or casing the house
or something."
Banyon drove slowly down the driveway and parked behind the pickup.
They got out and walked up the front steps, knocked on the door and waited.
In a few moments the door opened just a crack, secured by a chain-lock
from the inside.
Banyon addressed the woman. "Mrs. Densmore?"
"Yes," she answered cautiously. She looked to be in her 50s,
plain but attractive, no makeup, and her graying blond hair hung loose
to her shoulders.
"My name's Zeke Banyon and this is my assistant, Angela Martin."
The woman spoke slowly with a hint of a southern accent. "Yes?
Can I help you?"
"Well, ma'am," Banyon searched for words. "I'm the director
of the Seattle Gospel Mission."
"Oh... my," she said softly. "Won't you come in?"
The living room was tidy and quaintly old fashioned. Upon entering,
one had the feeling of stepping through a time portal into the 1940s. Angela
immediately noticed the intricate white doilies perfectly placed on each
arm of the large brown sofa. The ornate tile-work framing the fireplace
was patterned with strange geometric designs. The center tile at the top
of the fireplace was slightly larger than the others and contained a complex
design of interwoven triangles. Sitting next to the fireplace was an old
rocking chair. One entire wall, opposite the fireplace, consisted of dark
wood shelving filled with books.
"Please," Mrs. Densmore said, "won't you have a seat?"
Banyon and Angela sat next to each other on the sofa as Mrs. Densmore
gracefully seated herself in the old rocking chair.
"What can I do for you, Mr... "
"Banyon. Zeke Banyon. We... well, that is, I was wondering if you
would mind if I ask you about your husband. You see, I took over the Seattle
Gospel... "
"What is it you want to know?" she inquired before he could
finish.
"Well, this may seem like a strange request and I don't want to
upset you, but..."
"You found something, didn't you?" Mrs. Densmore asked as
if she sensed what might be coming.
"Well, as a matter of fact, yes. But..."
"Let me guess," she said with a slight, knowing smile. "Does
it have anything to do with numbers?"
"Yes," Banyon answered, somewhat surprised. "Then you
know..."
"I know Patrick was searching for something."
"What do you mean?"
Mrs. Densmore thought for a second. Glancing over at the books on the
shelf, she wondered just how to begin.
Banyon could feel her hesitation. "I don't mean to pry, Mrs. Densmore.
I just thought..."
"No, no." she smiled. "It's alright. In fact I suspect
perhaps it's not simply by coincidence that you've come here."
"How so? I'm not sure I..."
"It's just that I don't know where to begin," she interrupted.
"May I get you both something to drink? A cup of tea, perhaps?"
"That sounds good," Banyon said, getting the impression this
was going to be a rather interesting visit.
Mrs. Densmore got up and disappeared into the kitchen.
Banyon wandered over to the bookshelves to browse the titles. Clearly,
Patrick Densmore had been interested in metaphysics and other unusual subjects.
Many of the books appeared to be quite old and ranged in subject matter
from UFOs and the I Ching to prophetic visions and scholarly works
on the Dead Sea Scrolls. An embossed design on the spine of one of the
books caught Banyon's eye. It was basically two inverted triangles overlapping
each other - similar to the familiar Star of David, common to the Jewish
religious tradition. The triangles were enclosed in a circle. He ran his
finger over the intricately embossed image as if it were a message in braille.
He recognized it as the same design that was on the central tile above
the opening to the fireplace. He pulled the old book from the shelf. It
was titled The Lost Scroll of Ezekiel and other Myths & Mysteries.
"Ah," Mrs. Densmore said, returning with the tea on a silver
tray. "I see you've discovered my husband's collection of esoteric
books."
"So this was a hobby of his?" Banyon asked, putting the book
back on the shelf.
"You could say that." Mrs. Densmore answered. She set the
serving tray on the coffee table in front of them and returned to her rocking
chair.
"An odd hobby for a man of the Cloth." Banyon said, smiling.
"Well," Mrs. Densmore began, "actually it was a bit more
than a hobby. To tell you the truth he was obsessed with all of that sort
of thing. It really began to absorb all of his attention about four years
ago when he found a note tucked between the pages of an old book he found
at a used book store. The book you were just looking at, actually."
Banyon's eyes narrowed. "Really? The one about what was it? Something
about Ezekiel?" He stood up and went over to the bookshelf and read
the title again. News to me," he chuckled. "I didn't know there
was a lost scroll of Ezekiel, mythical or otherwise." He paused for
a moment and thumbed quickly through the pages. Then he said, "I noticed
the symbol on the book is the same as that design there on the fireplace."
"Patrick seemed to think it was important somehow. That design,
I mean. Something to do with what he called sacred geometry, I think. He
had those tiles made by a local artist. You're welcome to borrow the book
if you like."
"Thank you, yes. Are you sure you wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all."
"And the note your husband found inside the book?" Angela
reminded her. "What was it?"
Mrs. Densmore got up and walked over to a big oak roll-top desk and
opened one of the small drawers inside. She pulled out a piece of old,
yellowed paper. It was folded in half, and slightly torn at one corner.
She handed it to Banyon.
The aged paper crinkled slightly as he carefully unfolded it.
"What's it say?" Angela asked. "Read it aloud."
Banyon began to read:
Entry, December 14, 1999.
I'm now more certain than ever that it was a machine.
I believe it still exists somewhere.
I'm going to find it. The numbers are coming together.
THE WHEEL OF EZEKIEL = 180 (half of a complete circle)
SPIN THE WHEEL = 144 (light?) THE ALPHANUMBER =144
180 + 144 = 324
REVERSE DIRECTION = 198, 198+324 = 522
THE WHEEL SPINS IN TWO DIRECTIONS = 360
Circle of Stone = 144
Reverse??? REVERSE THE NUMBER = 198
180+081=261=THE SPEED OF LIGHT IS THE KEY!
TWO SIX ONE = 144
The hub of the wheel = 171 = The Zero Point
(Counter Spiral = 171 = Reversed Spiral)
EAST OF THE HEAD=117=COMMUNICATE=NEGATIVE DARK= NINE LIGHTS
THE WHEEL OF SOUND = 180 = THE WHEEL OF EZEKIEL
Sound? Light? Reverse? Stone???
TIME CHARIOT = 121 = WHEEL OF TIME
SOUTH OF FRANCE = 151
Banyon finished reading and no one spoke for several moments. He couldn't
help but notice the number 144 appeared several times. It was not only
the number value of his own name, it was the number he'd come across the
night his brain felt like it had been barraged with a download of information.
"Do you have any idea what any of this means, Mrs. Densmore?"
"I'm afraid I don't," she sighed. "Patrick and I were
very close and talked with each other about nearly everything, really.
But he didn't seem to want to talk much about this. I'm not sure he even
knew what it meant. At least not entirely. I just don't know."
Banyon took a deep breath. "Mrs. Densmore, may I..."
"Keep the note?" she smiled. "Yes, of course. I have
no use for it but apparently you do."
They thanked Mrs. Densmore for the hospitality and the information and
headed back to town discussing their visit along the way.
"Well," Angela commented, "that was interesting!"
"Yeah, and some of those numbers in that note looked very familiar.
Did you notice?"
"I noticed that. Let me see it again."
He took the note from his shirt pocket and handed to her. She studied
it for a minute.
"Did you notice this?" she said, pointing to something on
the paper.
He glanced over. "What is it?" he asked, trying keep his eyes
on the road.
"This number 522 is the only number that's underlined. And I'll
bet Densmore is the one who underlined it."
"Why do say that?"
"Well, because look. The original writing is really faded. But
this underline looks relatively new and it's a different color of ink.
It looks like a completely different kind of pen. It obviously wasn't underlined
originally."
"522?" Banyon asked.
"Yes. It's the only number that's underlined."
"Hmm..." he said, shaking his head. "I don't have a clue."
"Maybe it is the clue."
Banyon shot her a glance and smiled.
"What are you smiling at?" she asked with a grin.
"I don't know," he answered, evasively. But he did know. He
was smiling because he couldn't believe how fond he'd become of her. His
feelings for her were something more than he liked to admit. Maybe he even
loved her. He thought about that for a moment. Love? No. Well, maybe.
Who couldn't love a woman who would go along with all of this and not
think I'm crazy? "Do you think I'm crazy?" he asked.
She smiled. "You think I'd be here if I did?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you're crazy too."
She hit him in the arm.
Ah, he thought. She likes me."
Inside a warm and extravagantly appointed mansion on a small, remote
island in the Bering Sea, nine men were gathered in the library. The room
was heavy with the sweet smell of cigar smoke, brandy and expensive burgundy.
They sat quietly. Waiting. The slow, rhythmic tick-tock of the pendulum
on the large antique clock was amplified by the silence. Suddenly the double
doors to the library opened and a tall thin man in a long dark coat entered
the room. All eyes turned toward him.
"Gentleman," he began. "Mr. Banyon has read the notes."
The announcement was met with more silence. In a moment one of the members
of the group - a tall, stately gentleman with thick white hair - slowly
pushed his big, maroon leather chair back from the large round conference
table and stood up. With a brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other,
he walked solemnly over to the large bay window and stared out upon the
endless gray sea. His outward expression was stoic. Inside he was smiling.
"Very well, Mr. Walker," he said. "Thank you. You may go."
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