Sample Chapter (8) from [The End Zone An Ahmad Jones Novel]
The photos below are not in the book.
Afarland’s Cabinet Assembles
“WITH DEEP EMOTION, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I must tell you that a
coup d’état is heading to Afarland like a falling star. It is scheduled to hit us
four months from now—in late July.” Ahmad Jones, the newest cabinet member,
sits down. His five minutes are up.
“You say in late July… a coup d’état?” Clarise Ajanlekoko, the Minister
of Finance, turns right, then left, then at the man across from her. She uses gestures calculated to disarm him mentally, to suck out his spirit through his eyes.
“Precisely,” Jones says. Clarise interlocks her fingers on her lap then
pounds them on the table like a gavel striking a sounding block. “You’ve
stated everything except the date and time, Councilmember Jones. Surely you
can be more precise than that.”
All the cabinet men agree that Clarise is as beautiful as a dream with her
curves and slender figure and her short elegant bob framing her oval head
and playing against her fierce eyes and exotic cheekbones.
Jones says, “29 July, before sunrise.” He is the calm weather in the eye of
a cyclone surrounded by towering thunderstorms. The finance minister is
that swirling mass sitting across from him.
“And late-July trip destinations for thousands of tourists, Councilmember
Jones? Are these not also headed, like a falling star, to use your words, for
long vacations to our hotels?” She separates her hands to the armrests while
snuggling her body against the comfortable, high-back chair. A few of the
male cabinet men notice the sinuous movements of her body and are taken
off road.
Clarise says, “Why can’t you predict something that doesn’t negatively
impact our nation’s international revenue?”
“You talk as if you’re scolding a child and making him take his toys outside
to play,” Abdu Khamisi, the Minister of Security, interrupts. Jones’ focus
is to maintain poise, to keep the meeting respectable.
The temperature in the oblong meeting room is still climbing. Outside,
the sky is blue. All members except Jones are unnerved because of the dizzying
heat, and the shocking news they just heard. The smell of salt water is
strong in the air. The variously colored hand fans the members are using to
cool off are a kaleidoscope of irritated butterflies.
Clarise fine-tunes her hair—primping up before the kill. She picks up
the revenue projections for Afarland’s tourist season. She smiles to herself
as she leafs through the fourteen-page document, held together by a surgically
placed staple. She pries open her designer reading glasses and moves
the sides of her head into the temple tips. Every move she makes is sheer
drama—captivating, alluring.
Jones, however, is not captivated. His only job is to maintain poise.
She rises, all five-four of her. Jones can see the paper’s reflection on her
tinted lenses. The throwback of that image gives Clarise’s eyes a machinelike
appearance, which lends a sinister aspect to her smile. Jones realizes
that she must be dramatic—it’s part of her makeup. She enjoys keeping her
peers enthralled.
The noisy waves breaking over the stone wall behind the Presidential
Palace where the cabinet meeting was held, were the only sounds heard in
the room before Clarise spoke.
“Gentlemen and ladies, I have compiled the appraisal for this year, based
on statistical facts, projection metrics, and the past year’s tourism revenue,
and on the revised tourism laws of Afarland’s Tourism Act of 2016, which
I helped to design. I and the tourism board used revenue estimates and specialized
assumptions founded on definite formulas. In my experienced judgment,
we shall meet and exceed even last year’s financial numbers, come this
summer.” She puts the document on the table.
“So, what evidence, Councilmember Jones, do you have that our country
will suffer a coup, other than your charts?”
He gracefully rises from his chair as Clarise returns to hers.
“As a precursor to my answer to your question, Councilmember Ajanlekoko,
I used specialized formulas, too, based on thousands of years of
observation, and established rules of interpretation developed by astrologers,
many of which, were astronomers, mathematicians and even
physicians. Such was the role of the astrologer in past ages who reckoned
with celestial motions and configurations that coincided with wars, the rise
and fall of nations, plagues, and today, even bull and bear markets, and coups
d’état. My calculations are founded on specific indicators that have shown
up during most of the coups that have occurred on the African continent.
Those indicators, along with specific measurements, such as progressions
and transits over the next year, have yielded critically important information,
leading to a startling conclusion, through a process of astrological deduction
that cannot be ignored or taken lightly without grave errors in judgment.”
Ahmad Jones’ attention was not in his head; there was no mental chatter
there. The part of his body he was most aware of was the area around his
heart. Three months earlier, in Cádiz, Spain, his teacher had shown him how
to enter an even deeper field of presence and poise through becoming more
aware of his heart and speaking from its center. Combined with the effects
of Marakie’s companionship and the love they shared, Jones emanated a huge
field of poise throughout the room. He remembered what his teacher said
about balance.
Clarise, unaffected, shot up, “I asked you what evidence you had.”
Clarise removed her glasses as if she had landed a right cross on the tip
of Jones’ chin. She pulled her seat against her calves and sat down, then
touched the sides of her hair again.
Still in the eye of the cyclone, Jones said, “The evidence, Councilmember
Ajanlekoko, is all in the math, like your actuarial report.”
The other cabinet members were at once pleased and energized by his
repartee. Members on both sides of Jones and Ajanlekoko were facing the
middle of the long table where an exciting exchange was about to get more
exciting.
“You have asked me what evidence I have, other than my charts. It is
this—that the two are the same—that is, the evidence is in the charts, from
which the facts have been culled. The charts represent several streams of
data—facts, mostly mathematical; some based on past performances of planetary
periods expressed in astronomical and nautical terms—that coincided
with political upset, and the rest is culled from my experience and expertise
in this vein. I have used the same formulas of analysis in my consultations
with over 17 other nations, mostly African, some European, and a few
Caribbean. I speak to this august body from the vantage point of practical
knowledge; I see all the indicators of a coup, just as you see the trends of this
summer’s tourism estimates.”
Jones paused. The waves from the Indian Ocean, boisterous before,
became calmer. The sound of men and women breathing could be heard for
a moment. He gave the cabinet time to digest his words.
“The financial estimates, mathematically derived, must also be considered,
within the context of the time frame that I presented to you a few
minutes ago, obtained by the application of my definite rules,” said Clarise,
furiously as she leaned forward. Jones’ demeanor was cool and refreshing,
in the intense heat.
Ali Filbert, the Minister of the Interior, was restless. He sat to Clarise’s
right. He said, “Point of information! Your statement involves Afarland’s security,
which is my domain. I haven’t noticed any signs of a coup and neither
have any members of my policing and national-security staff. What you have
predicted will be devastating, by and large. But how can you be so sure?
I mean, in your councils with other states, have your charts, or you, ever been
wrong, Councilmember Jones?”
All eyes went from Filbert back to Jones. His answer came after a few
seconds of pregnant silence.
“No.”
The returning sound of violent breaking waves against the stone wall
was comparable to the dire projection outlined in Jones’ charts in opposition
to the misguided optimism for Afarland’s tourism numbers. The cabinet’s
reaction—to the factual way that Jones said no—took the form of a noteworthy
silence. Anticipation grew, rapidly, throughout the room. What more
would the newbie show for this pronouncement of national proportions?
Cabinet members sent surprised looks at one another’s faces from side
to side and across the table to try to get a read on what the other was thinking.
After less than a minute of these jerky movements, low murmurings, and
the activity of mentally digesting Jones’ prosaic no, the cabinet’s attention
returned to the astrologist. There was resistance; Jones expected some at
first and not because of what he said, but the cabinet’s concern as to how he
arrived at his conclusion. His next duty was to show why and how a coup
could happen, whose immediate references were astronomic charts, keyed
to past cycles in the politics of nations.
The flow of Jones’ presence, one of respect and honor, helped to maintain
his equipoise while the emotional gravity in the meeting room intensified
and the temperature still rose unchecked. Because of last night’s lightning
storm, which knocked out the thermal power station, the capital’s supplier
of electricity, no air-conditioning units or ceiling fans operated inside the
Presidential Palace. This was a magnificently built, asymmetrical structure
that partly jutted over what Afarlanders called the Bay of Teal and Aqua,
where waters from the Indian Ocean ebb and flow.
Everyone in the meeting room was uncomfortable in the 96-degree heat
wave, and consequently, the cabinet’s thoughts naturally assembled around
the dire realty of coups and the historical evidence that they never end well.
Economies and infrastructures are destroyed and people get killed during
coups—and not just the citizens who get caught up in the disarray and may-
hem, but, more specifically, the members of an ousted leader’s inner circle,
which the men and women squirming around this long table were. Hence,
their suspension of belief in the inevitable coup was understandable—it
acted as a mental and emotional sedative.
Jones lifts the crystal pitcher that sits between him and Clarise and pours
out another glass of water. The sound of iced water against glass is cooling,
in a way, to the group. Each one in succession now pours and drinks. The
four pitchers are passed around until their last remnants are consumed.
Jones places his glass down carefully.
“Addressing your point of information, cabinet member Filbert, a severe
challenge is approaching Afarland that is no different from what any other
nation has faced that has experienced one or several coups d’état on this
Earth. And yet, like several Privy Councils and cabinets that I have advised,
you have advance knowledge of it—not from rumors, a disgruntled army,
or mercenaries within our borders, or other telltale signs. No, we possess
an itemized timeline, with a specific focal point, which in this case is called:
Afarland’s points of crisis.”
Jones stood on the east side of the oval, onyx conference table in full view
of his peers. He was ramrod straight, not stiff or slouching, just natural. He
was poised in his body, all six feet of the man, wearing number 24 on his
extra-large Nike-gray Seahawks’ home jersey. In front of him and behind the
members on the other side of the table was a wall mural of a map of Africa’s
political world. Above it was a surreal depiction of a golden-yellow sun sending
its light rays into every one of Africa’s States.
As for Jones, still standing, something went out of him like a virtue,
inexplicable, which each cabinet member experienced according to his own
mental and emotional composition. Nevertheless, a spirit of brotherhood
engulfed the meeting room. The wind changed course.
The scent of pine trees mixed with the salty sea air and flowed into the
large room. It refreshed the atmosphere inside and delayed, somewhat, the
kneejerk reactions of the group. The average height of the cabinet members
was five-eight. Jones was the tallest of them all.
“Our military is well paid and there are no complaints from our officers,”
said Abdu Khamisi, the Minister of Security, sitting across the table near the
Interior Minister. He didn’t look at Jones but looked to his right at the president.
His spectacles conveyed a look rather than a need. He possessed several
degrees—one in international law; the others in sociology and philosophy.
His voice was an octave higher than most.
“I see no signs of a putsch, Mr. President—
no security issues, no communications from our neighbors: Comoros,
Madagascar, Mauritius, or any other African state—warning us of such a
violent event.” He sucked air in through his teeth and tilted his head back,
sniffed, then turned to face Jones, “Nothing in this salty air, our Afarland air,
smells like the makings of a coup.”
Jones acknowledged Afarland’s president at the far end to his left and
was about to convey a more moving tone through his next remark to obliterate
an atmosphere of indifference and light-mindedness. Then he remembered
that compulsion is no way to convince anyone.
Taking a breath, Jones said, “The perpetrators are not outwardly aware
of their future treason. The coup d’état is not timed to expose itself until
several weeks before.”
“Then, if the alleged perpetrators don’t know that they are going to stage
a coup, how can they stage one? Sounds like the last supper,” the security
minister said.
“We never know what we are capable of until we are motivated to a given
extent. The perpetrators will be motivated with sufficient force to launch
a coup. They will know in time, Security Minister Khamisi.”
The president, whose bloodline reaches back to Afarland’s ancient
spiritual rulers, had both palms face down on the table. The ring of state,
one of two ever crafted, sparkled. He listened to all the speakers and their
arguments, weighing the words he had heard thus far.
Khamisi said, “Your timetable is too precise. Maybe you’re involved?”
“Involved? What is wrong with precision, brother security minister? I’d
like to hear more,” said Alexander Whallun, the Minister of Defense who sat
to Clarise’s left. An older man in his mid-sixties, he was robust and shrewd,
with a keen expression of interest.
“Show me the math and any factual data,” Clarise said, after taking a deep
breath. Jones briefly directed his attention to the far ends of the table as he
panned his gaze first right, then left, like Clarise had, yet not with the same
intent. He repeated this panning as he spoke, “We are fortunate to know
beforehand the likelihood of this putsch, which gives us one hundred and
twenty-one days to tack the ship of state onto a truer direction.”
“The attack on the Twin Towers. What about that?” asked Khamisi. “Did
you see that before it happened?”
The entire cabinet felt Jones’ emotional response to the question. “Only
in hindsight, a day or so after it occurred.” Jones took a second to remember
that moment when he checked the inception-chart of the United States.
“I updated the horoscope for the Declaration of Independence. Eleven days
before the attack, Saturn had returned to the place it occupied on 4 July
1776.”
“Saturn’s revolution around the Sun is approximately twenty-nine-anda-
half years. It is an essential timer of coups. If there’s time, I will elaborate.”
The people in the room all looked glassy-eyed at Jones.
“Also, someone had predicted 911 more than a couple of years in
advance.”
“Who?” Sophi, the Prime Minister, asked. He sat to Jones’ right at the
other end of the table.
Jones turned, “An astrologer, Latinist, and medieval scholar named
Robert Zoller did, Mr. Prime Minister, a native New Yorker. It all began with
the total solar eclipse of 11 August 1999, to which Zoller issued three warnings,
in his magazine Nuntius. He was very specific about from where the
attacks would come. He said the critical point in time, for the United States
would be the month of September of 2001.”
“That seems somewhat precise,” Khamisi the security minister said. He
leaned forward, as did the lovely Minister of Agriculture, Faika Desta, to his
right.
“That last prediction came one year before the attack,” Jones said, then
continued, “Honorable members of Afarland’s cabinet, it is well documented
and dated. My detailed reports, based on my experience of watching the correlations
of history and planetary cycles and the fact that I have studied your
national horoscope, may assist you in giving me some consideration as
I illustrate further the veracity of my submission. It is my national horoscope,
too, for I am a son of Afarland.”
“You are also a Chicagoan, an American by birth.”
“Yes, he is both. Do they say anything—your charts, to be exact—about
any destruction of our capability to continue exporting of our crops?” Desta
asked.
“Yes. What about our industries?” interjected Aziza Jengo, the Minister
of Industry, Trade and Investment. There was a knock on the main door
behind Clarise. Khamisi got up and answered it, then sat down.
The cabinet was more excited to hear, out of curiosity, Jones’ illustrations.
Desta and Jengo were fanning themselves wildly as the heat continued
to take its toll; empty pitchers were being filled with ice water by two helpers
from the palace kitchen. When they left, Khamisi locked the doors and the
meeting restarted. The ministers of industry and agriculture listened to what
Jones had to report. Both had sweet, open-minded dispositions.
Their questions were motivated by a desire to understand what was
predicted to happen in their land.
“Our land and infrastructure will remain intact,” Jones said.
“Doesn’t sound like a coup then; sounds like an attempted coup,”
Khamisi said.
Jones continued to stand, bringing his fingertips together. “Well, my
experience with several heads of state—analyzing their horoscopes and, to
my chagrin, being correct in my assertions 99% percent of the time—has
informed me that this is more than an attempted coup that will just fizzle
out like a flash in a pan. Lives could be lost. The heart-set of Afarlanders can
be skewed. Of these incontrovertible facts—based on several hours examining
the mathematics of planetary geometry in Afarland’s national horoscope
and comparing it with thirty other coup charts—Afarland is indeed headed
towards a dark cycle, as all things that have a beginning and an end, eventually
do. But you, we, have the light of foreknowledge to get through it.”
“You’re an American by birth, you are indoctrinated to be optimistic,”
Clarise said.
“I thank God that I was born and raised in America, and now I share with
you all the same optimism. No, even better, I share with you all a cosmic
optimism.” He turned to the security minister, “Mr. Khamisi, to me, when you
can anticipate the trend of a future event, that is a good reason to cultivate
optimism, backed by hard work and intelligence. It is as plain as the goldrimmed
spectacles perched on your nose.”
“Lives will be lost?” the Prime Minister asked.
“Yes, Prime Minister Sophi, lives will be lost.”
Silence filled the room again.
President Dewabuna said, “If you please, Mr. Jones, share with us more
particulars in your charts.” Clarise glanced at the president with a half-smile,
her fierce eyes softened when she looked at him.
“Yes, Mr. President, I will, and plainly, while occasionally using certain
terms of which you may not have an immediate grasp, yet which I will use to
clarify certain points. Then, I will share with you all a solution, outlining three
priorities that will indeed minimize the loss of life both within this cabinet
and among our five-and-a-half million Afarlanders, before, during, and after
this critical point in time.”
The cabinet fidgeted a little. The president gestured with his hand to
proceed. “Thank you, sir. To elaborate on what Saturn’s transit means, in West
Africa, you have Benin’s chart with transiting Saturn moving to conjunct its
own natal position, forming a Saturn Return on 12 December. In that same
month, of the year 1989, the Marist-Leninist regime of President Mathieu
Kerekou ended.”
“But ours is not a regime like his was,” Clarise interrupted.
“Yes, yet, I never stated that it was, Madame finance minister.”
Silence.
“I merely state this fact of history, to show the astronomic correlations
with major shifts in political entities. Now, pertaining to political entities,
Saturn symbolizes the structure of a government, its constitution, and its
executive branch. Whenever it cycles to form certain angles, expressed by
degrees of celestial longitude, in relation to the place it occupied at the nation’s
birth, along with other supporting planetary positions, political shifts
tend to occur.”
“But, was that repeatable? Did it happen more than once?” Khamisi
asked.
“Yes, I will illustrate this. The long dynasty of Muhammad Ali-Pasha, an
Albanian soldier under the Sultan of Ottoman, in Turkey, which lasted from
1805 to 1952, ended when Anwar al-Sadat announced over the radio the
takeover of the Faruq I government. On Wednesday, 23 July 1952, at 7:00 am,
in Cairo, Egypt, Saturn returned or moved to its natal place at just two degrees
from exact in the nominal independence chart of Egypt for 28 February
1922. Here, we see the government of King Faruq I, represented by Saturn,
come to an end when Saturn returned to the place it occupied approximately
thirty years before. President Anwar Sadat’s assassination and Hosni
Mubarak’s ouster—both occurred during a Saturn return.”
Clarise cleared her throat as she put her pen down on the table and sat
back. She turned to see the president gazing at her. He had wooly, gray hair
and beard. He is president only in name, to emulate most countries. He is
really the last surviving member of the Royal House of Afarland, who took
office after the Council of Twelve left the country. In its first modern election,
Afarlanders elected him because of his tie to their ancient past.
Jones continued, “Now, consider that Zimbabwe had its first Saturn
Return on Monday, 26 January 2009. Sixteen days later, the Movement for
Democratic Change leader, Morgan Tsvangari, was sworn in and he and
Robert Mugabe, shared power for four years—at least in appearance. BBC
writer Joseph Winter said of President Mugabe, ‘He will only step down when
his revolution is complete.’ That statement was an uncanny reference to the
revolution of Saturn. Winter’s comment was amazingly on point.”
“When will Zimbabwe’s next Saturn Return occur?” Khamisi asked.
“Twenty-eight September 2038, but Mugabe’s personal Saturn Return,
based on his presidency from 1987, occurs in October-November, of 2017.”
Khamisi removed his glasses and propped his underarm over the toprail
of his seat. Each chair was the color of teal; its cushions were made of
soft, kidskin leather. He said, “It appears that Saturn has a qualitative and
quantitative value in your calculations of predictions.”
“Yes, Saturn, from the standpoint of astrology, represents an expression
of energy. And yes, it is a recurring quality in the horoscopes of coups. Yet, it
does not mean that a coup will occur just because it shows up. There are usually
other factors that, taken together, point to the same thing. Here’s another
example of a repeatable occurrence with Saturn as a key factor.”
The cabinet didn’t give the rising temperature as much attention now,
for they were both intrigued and frightened at Jones’ account. The more
accurate statistics he gave, the more apprehensive they became. For them,
specificity always trumped ambiguity.
“For Mozambique, your closest neighbor on the mainland, I observed an
instance of transiting Saturn opposite to where it stood on its natal day. Usually
Saturn takes 14 years to travel halfway around the Sun. The halfway
point is called the Opposition as it is opposite to where it was at birth. It is an
opportunity for any government to look at itself. Oppositions allow governments
to be more objective.
“Marxist collectivism had dominated life in Mozambique from its day of
independence, which began on Wednesday, 25 June 1975. In mid-October to
early November of 1990, Saturn opposed its natal position. The government
changed its constitution, which is related to Saturn, on Sunday, 30 November,
allowing for more privatization and new freedoms. I will get to Afarland and
how these cycles pertain to her, and—”
“Does this Saturn phenomena only affect African countries?” Khamisi
asked.
“That’s right, what about, uh, Spain,” asked Sefu Tendaji, the Minister
of Education, “when Francisco Franco died in office?”
Jones looked out the window at the great baobab trees that lined the
main road from the Presidential Palace. He remembered what he studied
about the end of Franco and the beginning of Juan Carlos. Did Saturn play a
role in the transition? he asked himself. He recalled that it did.
“Yes, it did, though it was not by returning to its birth position. The day
that Francisco Franco died and Juan Carlos assumed leadership, Spain’s
planet Saturn was squared by Jupiter in the same degree. It represented a
critical point in Spain’s political trajectory.
“Also, there’s enough evidence to show that when another planet such
as Uranus is a certain number of degrees from Saturn, government reforms
are usually swift and sudden. Uranus suggests revolutionary change, a break
in the status quo, and reforms. For example, in Mozambique, by the time
Uranus had completed a transit of the Sun in January of 1989, President
Joaquim Chissano, who was Samora Machal’s successor, no longer supported
state socialism as the principal form of government. The Sun governs the
leaders of nations, be they presidents, emperors or kings.”
“What about the chaos in Libya in 2011?”
It was the second time the president spoke. Jones bowed his head again,
and said, “Sir, Saturn returned to its position on 21 August 2011, the same
position it occupied when Libyan independence from Italy was declared
under King Idris 1, on 24 December 1951. Regarding the NATO strikes in
Libya, militia groups, and civil unrest in 2011, Saturn returned two months
before Muammar Qaddafi was killed. Also, the planet Uranus (eliminator of
the status quo) squared the Sun, representing the Libyan leader precisely on
20 October, the day he was killed.”
The cabinet’s attitude had entirely changed to one of thoughtful consideration
at the credibility of Jones’ assertions based on his examples.
“Please remember, distinguished council, that God is the master of all
time, space and cycles. And this is just such a period and cycle—an opportunity
for something different and beautiful to emerge on Afarland’s horizon.
I ask that each one of you repeat nothing that you have heard today, to anyone
but yourselves, and, even then, with the utmost care. Also, the minutes of this
meeting should be kept under lock and key or destroyed. Jones turned to the
president at his far left.
President Dewabuna stood up and walked over to Jones. Clarise followed
him with her eyes. “We will take an hour to cool off and for our afternoon
repast. Please return at ten minutes after two, to hear what our Minister of
Astrology has in mind, to meet this challenge ahead of time.”