The Secret of Mago Castle

Best Life Media

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Gilbert, AZ 85234

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Copyright © 2014 by BR Consulting

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

First paperback edition: September 2014

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014946378

ISBN-13: 978-1-935127-71-0

Cover painting by Oliver Nasteski

Cover and interior design by Vanessa Maynard

For my Dumbledore

Note from the Author

As an outsider looking into the Korean culture, I’ve been enchanted by a people who have demonstrated a truly great spirit, despite generations of adversity. I was curious to know the legends and ancient histories that shaped their spirit, so I went all the way back to the beginning, to their genesis story, for insight. What I found was a story so alive, so ripe with universal wisdom, that simply knowing it transformed me. In it, I found both a mirror for my true self and the answer to the secret longings of my heart. Through it, the way I saw myself and my world evolved.

My imagination was so taken that I discussed the details of this story with everyone I encountered. I was shocked to discover that many Koreans didn’t know the full breadth of it, because much of their history and related literature had been destroyed and rewritten by the Japanese when Korea was colonized. Disheartened that this beautiful Korean story had become an echo from the past, I convinced myself that it should be known, not only by Koreans, but by all humankind, because it’s just that fascinating—so I picked up my pen and went to work.

Much like my first book, Eve, a work of fiction exploring the creation story of my own Judeo-Christian ancestors, The Secret of Mago Castle is set in both modern and ancient times. It is my greatest wish that in these pages you find the same wellspring that I found the day I discovered this fresh take on what it means to be a human being. May your heart be inspired by this story of our return to the divinity within.

Rebecca Tinkle

Sedona, Arizona

June 2014

Chapter One

Do you believe in magic? Toby slammed another shot of whiskey down his throat and banged the glass on the table.

Dude. Seriously, Martin yelled over the loud tribal music. Tell me your secret.

Magic, Toby said, spinning the shot glass between his fingers. His mood turned dark. But even with all of the magic in the world, stuff still ain’t right.

What’s not right, man? Martin opened his arms to showcase the VIP lounge of the most popular nightclub in Manhattan. You have everything.

Toby poured himself another shot from the bottle on the table and looked around the nightclub. A redhead at the bar beckoned him with her eyes, chewing on her straw seductively. Her weight swayed to one hip as she crossed her legs, which were wrapped like a birthday present in sheer hosiery.

It’s time for me to open my gift. Toby slapped Martin on the shoulder and rose from the booth. Straightening his tie, he went to fetch the woman. He looked exactly how a big shot analyst on Wall Street should look. His short-cropped dishwater-blonde hair was styled to perfection. His closely fitted suit highlighted a body he spent hours a day sculpting at the gym. His blue eyes sparked with intelligence. He was concise and precise. From the outside, it appeared that he had harvested the bounty of the land, but inside, it hadn’t rained in decades.

I’m Toby, he said to the redhead with red lips.

Jillian, she purred into his ear.

Do you want to get out of here?

That depends. Where are you taking me?

The question isn’t where I will take you, but rather what I will take you in. He held up the keys to his Ferrari.

Your place or mine? Her eyes flashed.

Mine, he answered, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet.

Chapter Two

Nana! Toby shot up in his bed, awakening from a dream.

Toby was relieved when the redhead beside him didn’t stir. He couldn’t remember her name. He slipped out of the bed and quietly closed the door behind him. He poured himself a drink and picked up the suit jacket he had discarded, reaching his fingers into the hidden compartment sewn into the lining and retrieving the little bronze mirror his grandmother had given him.

His mother died when he was eight years old. Unable to cope, his father had drowned himself in a bottle of whiskey. It took a while for the state to step in and transfer the guardianship of his young life to his Nana. For three long years, he teetered between complete negligence and his father’s drunken rants. When he moved in with his grandmother, it took him a while to learn to trust again. His confidence in their relationship was strengthened by homework and little afterschool sandwiches with the crust trimmed off. He learned to love her, despite the fact that she embarrassed him in the supermarket and drove slower than molasses in her beat-up old station wagon, which caused him to be late to school almost every day.

He knew his heart had been completely restored by her love when he felt comfortable practicing his ‘Will you go to the prom with me?’ speech on her because he was nervous about asking the most popular girl in school to be his date. He and his Nana had developed into quite the duo.

Just when he was certain that life would be good, the fates, once again, turned. Nana passed away during his senior year of high school. He came home after football practice to find her lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of urine. Once more, he was on his own.

Ever since his grandmother’s death, Toby had dreamed about her. At first, he replayed sweet dreams in his mind to recapture a fleeting moment of her presence. She held his hand and counseled him as they walked slowly through the ballpark at dusk. She sat in the old rocking chair on the porch and told him how proud she was when he was accepted at Harvard. She carefully considered every pretty girl in the neighborhood and suggested that Toby take her favorite to the movies.

It was only when he started using his gift to make trades on Wall Street that she began to look at him with accusation blazing in her eyes. Toby knew it wasn’t rational, but he was almost convinced that his sweet old grandma was really a witch who watched his every move and haunted his dream-time from the great beyond.

He stared down at the brass mirror, which was the size of a thimble, age-worn and round. It looked like a trinket you would find on a back shelf at an antique shop, so small and dingy that if you were to find it on the street, you would pick it up and throw it in the trash bin. But it wasn’t trash; it was the single source of his power and success. Another reason why he thought his grandmother might be a witch.

Couldn’t sleep? The redhead came out of the bedroom wearing his shirt.

No. He took a sip of his whiskey.

She sat in his lap and took the cup from his hand, taking a long gulp.

What’s this? She touched the tiny mirror with her fingertip.

Don’t touch that, Toby growled territorially.

What is it? Her interest was piqued.

It’s nothing, he answered.

When he held the mirror, he could read a person’s innermost thoughts. They scrolled across their foreheads like the news ticker streaming at the bottom of a broadcast, spelling out every little secret. Most of the time, he preferred not to know what was going on in the murky minds around him, but every once in a while he read something that was paramount to him acquiring more wealth. This little mirror had been the key to his success.

And no, it’s not drugs, he answered her thoughts.

Well then, what is it? She leaned in seductively.

It’s none of your business. He swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Chapter Three

Leuters examined the private ten-by-ten concrete room and located a gray track suit folded on a steel table. He picked up the cotton and touched it to his nose. He hadn’t smelled the subtle fragrance of dryer sheets in six months. He had spent the last months of his life smelling feet, varying degrees of body odor and grime in a Mexican federal prison. He stepped out of the worn orange jumpsuit and slipped his naked body into the soft jersey tracksuit, carefully folding the faded orange canvas and placing it on the table. As of today, he was a free man.

The door to the cell opened.

Are you ready, Dr. Garcia? The prison guard stepped into the room.

Yes. He nodded and placed his hands in front of his body to be cuffed.

Federal prison in Mexico was worse than he could have imagined, though to be honest he hadn’t spent much of his life as a priest envisioning what prison would be like. His general impression about incarceration was that it was the way beasts would live, if they lived in hell, and he was ready to put it all behind him. He was genuinely relieved when his foot stepped outside the perimeter of the correctional institution.

He was greeted by his protégé and dearest friend.

"Amigo. Carlos embraced him, speaking in their mother tongue. You are a free man."

"Gracias, Carlos." Leuters fought back tears at the sight of his friend.

You look like a bear. Carlos tugged on Leuters’s

facial hair.

Leuters laughed heartily. His appearance had changed while in prison. He had grown a beard that covered his jawline in grizzly black curls, and his six-foot-five frame was, indeed, more burly. He had forgone the razor and picked up the weights.

"I will take you to your casa to get cleaned up. Carlos patted him on the back and led him to the car. But brace yourself, brother. The Subsecretaría de Regulación y Fomento Sanitario Secretaría de Salud (SSA) has taken everything."

Leuters nodded his head and looked out the window. I will leave that worry for another day. He rolled down the window and felt the breeze on his face. This moment will be spent enjoying my freedom.

***

Leuters stood in the living room of his simple casa in Cancun. The empty space no longer felt like his home. He imagined the raid that led to the desecration of his sanctuary: his treasured artwork commandeered from the walls, wrapped and packed into crates by men in latex gloves; the papers on his desk swept into boxes and carried away by SSA agents; beakers and chemicals packaged into containers with the word evidence stamped on their side in big red letters. Carlos was correct: everything had been confiscated, with the exception of the couch sitting in the center of his living room. Everything of value, either sentimental or financial, was gone.

This catastrophe, handed out by the Mexican government, was in the name of civic safety. Leuters had unjustly been branded a mad scientist and a threat to public health because of information he had discovered that threatened to liberate people from an invisible

order corrupted by greed and control.

He had never been a conspiracy theorist. Being a priest, he believed in the innate goodness of people, a belief he had come to rethink. The day before he went to prison, he had stood in this very room with a corporate spy and championed a plan to irradiate illness on the planet in a foolish and hopeful display of his own humanity. The memory of that last day of his innocence played through his mind . . . .

It had begun with the doorbell ringing.

Can I help you? Leuters opened the door to find a gentleman in his forties standing on his porch. He wore an expensively cut suit and held a pristine black leather briefcase.

Yes, Dr. Garcia. He handed a business card through the crack in the door. I am Miguel from Astra Pharmaceuticals. Are you familiar with the name?

Indeed, I am. Leuters opened the door and examined the logo on the card. Miguel was a

representative of one of the largest pharmaceutical

companies in Mexico.

I have come to inquire about your formula, MFS.

Miguel smiled.

Please, come in. Leuters tried to temper the excitement in his voice. This opportunity was exactly what he had been praying for. Can I offer you some coffee?

I would love a cup of coffee. Miguel sat on the couch.

Leuters summoned his housekeeper and requested two espressos.

We have heard claims of extraordinary results from your MFS formula and have taken an interest, Miguel continued. He retrieved a handheld recording device and, setting it on the table, asked, Do you mind if I record our conversation?

Of course not, Leuters conceded, oblivious to the detrimental effects of this singular allowance.

How did you discover it? Miguel asked as he pressed the Record button on the device.

I am an ordained priest, Leuters explained. "Two years ago, I accepted a mission to provide medical relief to a small village in Africa. After only three months of service, I contracted malaria. The fever consumed me, and I was in the throes of near-death delusions. Clinging desperately to life, I begged a young village boy for help. He ran for two days to seek assistance from a shaman in a nearby village.

When he returned to my tent a few days later, I was at death’s door. He was successful in retrieving the medicine but, being a young boy, he had forgotten the specific measurements to administer. There was no time to seek clarification, so he mixed the ingredients to the best of his ability, poured the liquid into my mouth, and hoped for the best. The next day, my health had been completely restored; it was as if I had never been ill. In fact, I felt better than I had in twenty years. He clapped his hands once with triumph. That was my first experience with MFS.

Can you walk me through the process from that initial experience to deciding to manufacture MFS?

It was an easy decision. Without a moment of hesitation, I gave up my position with the Church and focused exclusively on developing MFS. Spiritual health is important but physical health is the vehicle that provides the opportunity for spiritual growth. If you don’t have health, you don’t have anything.

And what of your medical research? Miguel asked, as he wrote a few notes on a pad of paper.

I experimented with the applications of the solution myself. It had a positive effect on everything from rashes to tooth infections, allergies and common colds.

Have any other experiences been quantified? Miguel set his pen on the tablet and picked up his coffee.

A few of the tribe members with terminal diseases volunteered to try the formula. We found that in many cases both cancer and HIV could be eradicated from the body with the use of this solution, as well. That is why I have dedicated my efforts to further exploring its capabilities. With the proper funding, we have the potential to completely transform the current plight of insufficient healthcare on the planet. And the best part is that the ingredients are so common that it can be produced and distributed for pennies to everyone on the planet.

That is quite a claim. Miguel smiled.

I assure you, it is more than just a claim. Would you like to try a little for yourself? Leuters offered.

Oh, no thank you, Miguel declined politely. I’m here strictly on a fact-finding mission.

Is Astra Pharmaceuticals interested in purchasing this formula for development? Leuters leaned forward in anticipation.

Among other things. But before I get ahead of myself, I must admit that we are merely in the investigation stage. Miguel cleared his throat and stood. I think that I have enough here. We will be in contact to let you know the next step. He smiled disingenuously and shook Leuters’s hand.

The next day, a warrant had been issued for Leuters’ immediate arrest. He went to trial in front of a judge the same day and was sentenced to six months in prison. There was no jury of his peers. In the following months, his medical license was stripped, and he was demonized in the press with misconstrued half-truths about his endeavors.

Leuters had replayed that fateful meeting in his mind a thousand times while imprisoned. The subtle clues of his imminent damnation were present in the meeting, but his impassioned enthusiasm for world-wide progression compelled him to ignore that whisper of intuition. He had vowed never to make that mistake again as long as he lived.

We’ll have to start all over again, Carlos said, sitting beside him on the couch.

There is nothing to start, Leuters despaired, looking around the empty room.

But we have to finish your work, Carlos protested.

Illegally producing MFS carries a penalty more severe than distributing street narcotics. It is finished, Leuters told his old friend with finality.

There are many people counting on you, brother. Carlos touched his shoulder.

It causes me great remorse to tell you that we must cease our work, Leuters said quietly. You have no idea what it was like in there.

But the world needs MFS, Carlos protested.

The government has made it clear that our efforts would be dealt with harshly. He sighed. We have made very powerful enemies.

A spirited knock at the door was followed by multiple rings of the doorbell in a jolly rhythm. Leuters opened the door and was met with a crowd holding balloons and cakes, escorted by a mariachi band playing a hearty tune. Two young boys held a sign that read, Welcome Home, Hero.

Tears touched Leuters’s eyes. Carlos put his hand on his shoulder again.

The people of our village have pooled their money so that you may begin again.