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  PRAISE FOR

  The Power of Twelve

  “The Power of Twelve is a hilarious send-up of politics and those who believe in conspiracy theories. Yet within the humor there is much wisdom. This is a fun read that will change the way you think about the future.”

  —Thom Hartmann, Host of “The Thom Hartmann Program” and author of the New York Times bestseller Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight

  “The Power of Twelve is a real page turner. As entertaining and dramatic as you will find the story is the powerful message of the subtext. If you want to laugh while getting in touch with deep truth, read The Power of Twelve. A quick read with the right heroine at the right time.”

  —Victor Villasenor, New York Times bestselling author of Rain of Gold

  “A wonderful love story. A great page turner and whodunit. A Roddenberry science fiction romp. An Alice in Wonderland fantasy ingeniously imagined, a buoyant outlook on the future of life for those who want to seize it.

  I like that the planet Earth is a free will place, the wisdom that ultimately violence remains a part of the reality and can be transformed to good ends when compelled, that complexity along with clarity lead to the higher realms, that George Bush at base has a good heart, and that while nothing can be pre-ordained, in the long run everything that has happened will have had to happen in the infinite realms of time.

  Well done!”

  —Gene Schwartz, Editor at Large, ForeWord Reviews

  “William Gladstone does not bore God. Brilliant and entertaining from start to finish, The Power of Twelve will keep you laughing and thinking.”

  —Jean Houston, Philosopher, speaker, and author of The Possible Human and The Wizard of Us

  “This novel is amazing.”

  —Barbara Marx Hubbard, Founder of the Foundation for Conscious Evolution and author of Birth 2012 and Beyond

  “Sometimes fiction captures the essence of reality. The Power of Twelve is such a book. You will be entertained, inspired, and motivated to action.”

  —Tamar Geller, New York Times bestselling author of The Loved Dog

  Copyright © 2013 by William Gladstone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This novel is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are included for the reasons fully described in the Introduction. All other names, characters, places, dialogue, and incidents portrayed in this book are the products of the author’s imagination.

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  Printed in the United States of America

  First e-book edition: October 2013

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available for this title.

  Gladstone, William, 1949-

  The power of twelve / by William Gladstone.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-937856-91-5 (trade cloth) – ISBN 978-1-937856-92-2 (ebook)

  1. Prophecies–Fiction. 2. End of the world–Fiction. I. Title.

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  To Gabriel García Marquez

  My favorite novelist

  for teaching us

  what it means

  to be fully human

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  CHAPTER ONE Earth 769

  CHAPTER TWO Full Feminine Power Now

  CHAPTER THREE Anyone for Champagne?

  CHAPTER FOUR Naranjada

  CHAPTER FIVE The Council of Twelve

  CHAPTER SIX Abigail Takes Form

  CHAPTER SEVEN All About Eve

  CHAPTER EIGHT Not Even God

  CHAPTER NINE Chocolate, Caffeine, and Consciousness

  CHAPTER TEN A Most Elegant Meal

  CHAPTER ELEVEN The Power of Conscious Dreaming

  CHAPTER TWELVE The Illuminati

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN A Tight Fit

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN In the Den of William the Pen

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Known Universes

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN Impossible

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Back in the Den of William the Pen

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Skull and Bones

  CHAPTER NINETEEN The Belching Bush

  CHAPTER TWENTY Karl’s Concerns

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Things That Go Bump in the Light

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Thank You

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE For the Benefit of All Mankind

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Arriving in Style

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE A Pleasant Conversation

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX The Parallel Conversation

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN To Sleep or Not to Sleep

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT A Troubled Sleep

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE In the Garden with Mary

  CHAPTER THIRTY The Devil Is in the Details

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Plan C

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO The Nature of the Seeds

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE The Pebble

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR The Dance of Life

  Epilogue

  INTRODUCTION

  WHEN WRITING MY NOVEL The Twelve, I was tempted to provide as a subtitle, “Memoir or Prophecy?” My American publisher thought that would be a mistake, since clearly The Twelve, written primarily in 2008 and 2009, could only be a fictional story and not a true memoir. Nor could it be an authentic prophecy, since the overall outcome for what would occur in 2012 was at best only true in a general and not specific sense. The individuals who assembled for the final dinner with Max in Izapa could not possibly be the actual Twelve, so clearly The Twelve could only be considered fiction and neither memoir nor prophecy.

  And yet I still wonder if this logical thinking was correct. As a literary agent, I have had the pleasure of representing some extraordinary authors and thinkers. Among them is Dr. Ervin Laszlo, whose new Akasha Paradigm suggests that the boundaries between fact and fiction are rapidly, as my other good friend and client Jean Houston states, “leaking.” When Jean speaks of “leaky margins,” she is telling us that we must let go of our own sense of boundaries and explore the amazing connections that exist within and throughout all of creation. What is the boundary between ourselves as human beings and ourselves as spiritual beings? What is the boundary between our knowledge that time is finite and linear and that we all must die, and the new vision that time itself is but an illusion?

  Growing up, my favorite writers were Jorge Luis Borges and Gabriel García Márquez. They had an innate understanding of “leaky margins.” Borges created worlds in which nothing seemed impossible. His story The Aleph, in many ways, was the first theorization of the existence of what Dr. Ervin Laszlo and other scientists are calling the �
�zero point.” The only real difference is that for Borges, the aleph or zero point was situated in an upstairs bedroom closet in a home in Buenos Aires, Argentina. In his novel One Hundred Years of Solitude, Márquez initiated a branch of literature that was subsequently labeled “magical realism.”

  In my opinion, Gabriel Garcia Marquez is the greatest writer of the 20th and 21st centuries. I also feel that One Hundred Years of Solitude is the greatest novel ever written. Do you agree or disagree? Either way, who are your five favorite novelists or novels (include in the comments)?

  Magical realism pushed the boundaries between magical fantasy and historical realism in a way that had never been contemplated by previous writers. For those who believe that fantasy is the primary element in One Hundred Years of Solitude, I strongly encourage you to study, as I did at Yale University, the actual “facts” of South American history. You will discover that almost every incident in One Hundred Years of Solitude is based on documented historical events.

  When such “leaky margins” are somehow communicated to others, there is the opportunity for true transformation. My goal in writing this novel, The Power of Twelve, as in writing The Twelve, is primarily to entertain. However, perhaps I can also aid you in transforming your own life and helping to make our planet a more joyful place for all living creatures.

  For me, one of the key elements in transformation is the amorphous quality of time. More than any writer, living or dead, Gabriel García Márquez succeeded in One Hundred Years of Solitude in creating a magical time warp at the end of the novel, in which you as the reader become the principal character in the novel itself. You become the witness to the comic/tragic history of all the characters of the fictional/real Macondo in the jungles of Colombia, and you become the keeper of the wisdom and the tears of the human experience, which exists outside of time, which is eternal, and from which we as humans learn what it is to be both gods and humans.

  May The Power of Twelve offer you in its own way some of this transformational magic. We live both in and outside of time. Do not think even for an instant that fiction has any less capacity to change the destiny of our species than our technological breakthroughs or hard scientific data. As an author, I have purposefully blurred the distinction between fact and fiction in the pages that you are about to read. Some of these incidents really occurred and some of these people really exist. What and who is real I leave to you as the reader to determine as I invite you to co-create the reality that is unfolding in front of you. The year 2012 was a tipping point for all of humanity. That you are present now, reading The Power of Twelve, is all the indication you will ever need to know you are part of the great transformation that is occurring in this very moment.

  CHAPTER ONE

  EARTH 769

  KOIDU TOWN, SIERRA LEONE

  DECEMBER 21, 2012

  KEN KONDEMBA HEARD a thunderous roar and then his office started shaking. He grabbed for the telephone that was bouncing toward the edge of his desk. At first he thought it was an earthquake. After all, he had read on the Internet that the Mayan calendar was ending at sunset and that many had predicted that today would be the end of the world. Perhaps they were right, after all.

  When a huge dust cloud passed his windows, he realized that the shaking had stopped. There must have been an explosion in the diamond mine. He was the on-site manager, and he was responsible for making sure things ran smoothly. “Oh my,” he thought. “Of all days for something like this to happen, it had to be today. Arnold Wheeler is due here within twenty minutes to review our production schedule for 2013. This is a disaster.”

  Arnold Wheeler was the owner of the mine, and he would be extremely unhappy to learn about any disasters. Just as Ken was heading out to investigate what had happened, Milton Kobashi knocked on his door and entered with an ashen look on his face. “Ken, north shaft 47 has collapsed. We have more than forty miners trapped there, and unless we bring some heavy equipment here immediately, I think they will suffocate. There is little air in that shaft, and with so many men trapped, their oxygen will run out within the next eight hours.”

  “I thought additional oxygen supplies were supposed to have been provided in every mine shaft just for such emergencies!” Ken exclaimed.

  “That was the directive, but we are still waiting for those oxygen kits. They are on back order and have not yet arrived,” Milton explained.

  “Oh, my God. Those men may die. We must do something.” Ken’s mind was whirling with frantic thoughts. Finally, he seized upon one thing he could do. “Look, Arnold Wheeler is going to arrive in just a few minutes. Help me clean up the conference room so we will be ready to greet him when he arrives. Hopefully, Mr. Wheeler will know what to do.”

  Ken hurried into action, shaken by his growing awareness that without the oxygen tanks time was already running out.

  A few minutes later, a black Yukon pulled up, throwing dust as it braked to a halt in front of the mine’s administrative offices. A fit, energetic man waited for his door to be opened and then walked briskly toward his next meeting. He was wearing an Armani suit with diamond cuff links that were five carats each. His jet-black calfleather shoes were brightly polished, and he avoided the ruts and puddles as he made his way up the walkway. Arnold Wheeler had arrived.

  He instantly noticed, in the distance, a crowd of men rushing toward a mine entrance, crying out incomprehensible words of panic. Turning toward a fortysomething, incredibly fit blond man following him, Arnold directed, “Eugene, I don’t know what is going on here, but keep your eyes open. I don’t trust anyone at this mine, not even our managers. If this turns into a riot, we must be ready to flee in an instant.”

  “I understand,” replied Eugene. “I will watch your back.”

  Ken and Milton had had time to dust off the conference table and arrange the chairs. Bottled water had been set out on the table, and a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne rose from an ice bucket next to a tray of toast points and caviar. Ken Kondemba knew from past encounters that Arnold Wheeler would not be pleased without his standard refreshments.

  Eugene remained standing in the hallway, guarding against any of the madmen racing around outside, as Arnold entered the conference room.

  Even before sitting down, he exclaimed, “So what the hell is going on here? As we were driving up, I heard an explosion that felt like the end of the world.”

  Just at that moment Jobo Tmala, an assistant manager, knocked on the open conference room door, gesturing to see if he might be permitted to enter. “Come in, Jobo,” Ken encouraged. “What is the report on the explosion?”

  “Very bad. I am afraid that the chances of saving the miners are very slim. It will take at least two hours to haul the proper equipment here, and even then the chances of breaking through the rubble in time are not optimistic. How should I proceed?”

  Before Ken could respond, Arnold asked, “Are you sure the odds are so bad? Two hours is nothing. We have had mine accidents in other locations that took us days to extricate miners, and often the majority of them survived.”

  “Unfortunately, in this case there is limited oxygen. These miners have hours, not days.” By this time Ken had had a chance to think through some options. “We might have to consider creating some controlled explosions to give these miners a chance.”

  Arnold recoiled at that idea. “No, that would be much too dangerous.” Ken assumed at first that he was referring to the danger the trapped men might face, but Arnold quickly disabused him of this notion. “Such destruction could compromise our entire operation. There must be another way. Our investment in this mine is well over a hundred million dollars.” He pasted on a face that seemed to indicate sorrow, though it was belied by what he said next. “Regrettably, we must weigh that large investment against the lives of these miners. Tell me, what about the mine itself? How much of the mine is damaged, and what impact will it have on our production schedule?”

  Jobo answered, “Fortunately, less than five percent of the mi
ne itself is impacted by the explosion. I doubt that the production schedule will be affected at all.”

  Arnold smiled. “That is excellent news. Go back to your station and wait for further orders.” He was already thinking ahead. “If any reporters call, tell them that it is too dangerous to allow them to enter the mine. And if anyone asks the reason for the explosion, let them know it was an error by the miners.”

  Ken Kondemba grimaced. He knew that the real cause was defective equipment. It was supposed to be replaced but had been kept in service in order to meet the ambitious production schedule set by Mr. Wheeler and the other owners of the mine.

  By now Arnold had poured himself a glass of champagne and was munching on a caviar toast point. “Well, thank goodness there was no major damage to the mine. Ken, I need you to increase production in the other shafts. We cannot let this unfortunate accident impact our production and delivery schedules. The price of diamonds has never been higher, and we have customers waiting throughout the world.”

  Arnold grabbed a second caviar toast point and continued. “Of course, it’s too bad about this mess with the miners. Given the odds, though, it makes no sense to waste further time and money trying to save them.” He quickly clarified that point, lest he seem callous. “I mean, I feel bad for them, but they are easily replaced. Send each miner’s family a few hundred dollars and a condolence note.” He nodded to himself and continued planning out loud. “We can assess when and if it is appropriate to reopen that shaft at a later date.”

  Ken thought of protesting the decision to abandon any efforts to save the miners, but knowing Arnold Wheeler as he did, he knew that the decision was final. Any attempt to influence the decision would only draw Arnold’s wrath. He said meekly, “Yes, sir.”