The Seventh Secret

Chapter 1 — The Daring Solution

Dr. Billy Malgas packed up after his lecture, shaking his head at the dwindling numbers of his students. The Dean had already called him in a month ago to convey his concern for the doctor’s lack of students, suggesting that Malgas should perhaps reconsider his curriculum or reduce his lectures to accommodate his faculty status. If his students kept dropping out, the university would have no choice but to let him go.

Billy Malgas was perplexed by the situation, mostly by the lack of interest in his classes. He had an MA in Archeology, having obtained his Honors from the University of Cambridge, and extensive experience in the field, throwing in Anthropology in his spare time from a lesser institution. The black academic never admitted that the privilege of education had befallen him thanks to his British mother who hailed from a rather affluent Birmingham family. To him, the bit of help from his maternal side had not assured his success; it had been his own discipline and aptitude.

“I see the seat section was bald again today, Doctor,” Mieke, his aide, lamented as she came to join him. She held two disposable paper cups with coffee from the campus cafeteria in her hands. He looked up and just shook his head with a hard exhale, not even cheered up by her kind eyes and her blonde permed locks that fell in cascades over her ample breasts. Had it not been for her well-known intellectual prowess, she may well have been construed as a dimwitted bimbo by the campus dwellers.

From the remarks of his remaining students, he had surmised that their dwindling interest was due to the political climate of the country. With the importance of medical advancement and the soaring crime statistics, the money and opportunity lay in other vocations.

“Yep, nobody wants to learn about the past anymore. They just want power, authority and, of course, big money,” he grumbled as he shut down his laptop. It took him several hours to prepare the PowerPoint presentation for this week’s subject, but hardly anyone benefitted from it, it seemed. “Lawyers and Advocates,” he ranted, “…like we need more deviousness and greed to cheat justice with the amoral art of law.”

Mieke held her tongue, familiar with her professor’s moods and opinions. She placed the coffee on his desk. Dr. Malgas looked exceedingly distraught at his looming dismissal.

“Sir,” she finally dared, “if I may make a suggestion?”

He did not even merit her attempt with a glance as he tossed the remaining papers into his briefcase, but she was used to this kind of treatment when he was in one of his moods. Even though Mieke understood his predicament, she was one of those people who believed in solutions and proactive approaches to even the darkest of storms.

“What do you suggest, Mieke?” He sighed.

It was crystal clear that Dr. Malgas did not give a damn what she had in mind, but she knew her idea was so opprobrious that it would get his attention — probably a sermon born from shock as well — but his attention was all she wanted.

“I would like to suggest,” she lowered her voice to an almost inaudible level, “a hoax.”

If it was shock she was after, she got it in spades.

“Oh my God!” his voice rasped in a hard whisper. His eyes froze in disbelief at her notion for a moment. “Are you out of your mind, Miss Badenhorst?”

“Are you ready for the long queue at the unemployment office, Dr. Malgas?” she retorted, smiling. She knew that hammering on his insecurities would force him to listen. "You know more than God about the hidden treasures of history. It would be very hard for any old dick in the history field to refute what you claim. Don't you see? Nobody cares about your passion or the incredible secrets of the old world! They won't want to go through all that trouble to test the validity of your claims, believe me."

“I don’t know…” he frowned, contemplating it. But Mieke felt his vulnerability, and it was time to strike while the iron was still hot.

“Nobody knows as much as you do! No-one could possibly prove your theory wrong. They are too bloody busy with their own little pursuits to impress the government, Dr. Malgas. You are one of the world’s foremost authorities on relics and maritime war history,” she pushed gently.

He looked terrified. A rigid believer in morality and truth, he found her suggestion reprehensible, yet his desperation swallowed up every bit of his ethics every time Mieke reminded him of what happened to has-been academics with no tangible claims to fame.

She did not take this course to condemn her favorite lecturer, no matter how it appeared. Mieke had no aspirations for fame and fortune and she typically didn't believe in lies. What she was prepared to do, to put her reputation as an academic and her brilliant future at stake for a hoax was purely due to the admiration for her mentor who meant the world to her. Had it not been for Dr. Malgas, Mieke would have lost faith in the wonders of the hidden world long ago. There was no way in hell she was about to let his genius go unnoticed, and she was willing to put her own future on the line to help him become the master historian she found him to be.

Suddenly Dr. Malgas was sweating. He could not believe that he was even entertaining her horrible idea, but had it not been for the Dean’s subtle hint at firing him from his only purpose in life he would never have considered it.

“What do you have in mind, Miss Badenhorst?" he cringed. It was evident that the 45-year-old man was struggling with his conscience.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Malgas,” she consoled. “I’ll take care of everything. All you need to do is to be ready with answers when the press hears about your….discovery. Alright?”

"Provided I know what the discovery is,” he whispered.

"Of course, I will fill you in on all the details once I have set everything up,” she assured her teacher with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll set it up?” he scowled. “Forgive me, Mieke, but what do you know about historical secrets?”

“I don’t know half of what you know, sir,” she said, “but do not underestimate me. I know more than you think. After all, you are the one who taught me what I know now.”

“How will I know what you chose to lie about?” he asked in all honesty. Malgas was very much aware that his aide was a student close to his caliber, but she lacked the years of experience and thus practice.

“I will fill you in on everything before I go public with it, sir. I am not a fool,” she reminded him as she took a sip of her coffee. “I will bring you in the loop before letting anybody else know. Believe it, Dr. Malgas; I only have your best interest in mind. I want the world to notice you. I want them to see your passion for history, especially World War II history,” she raved. Then she whispered, “But only if you are willing to take the risk. It could just be my cynicism talking here, but,” she drove the last nail, “I don’t think you really have a choice anymore.”

Wearily, he stared at Mieke. Stiffly leaning on the lectern, he looked at her with hardly a spark of resistance left in him. In the end, he figured, it did not matter anymore whether he was caught or not. How could his reputation get worse than that of a lecturer who failed to fill up even one measly course, let alone do anything significant in the world? Malgas realized that Mieke only suggested to him a means to revive what he had already deemed dead and gone — his career as a historian, holding extensive knowledge of secrets no longer pertinent to the chase for glory these days. Even if he was discovered, his ruse exposed, he was a nobody, so it wouldn’t change much anyway.

Dr. Malgas looked at all the books, pamphlets and research he had prepared for the class of students who did not appreciate his efforts and had no respect for his years of studying. Mieke was right. He knew that now. She was the only one who knew how hard he had worked to bring the University students an enjoyable and informative course.

“They probably only take this class to get credits when they would have failed other courses,” he admitted. His voice trembled with disappointment in the dim light of the immaculate lecture hall. Only his projector and one spotlight above him illuminated the lectern, just as his career only barely kept alive by the meager admiration of few.

“We both know that,” Mieke agreed. “And once they hear of the secrets you have uncovered in your study of Nazi artifacts of post-World War II, they will be flocking to your lecture hall to hang on every word, every fact, every morsel of information you give them.”

Gradually, in the context of her desperate idea, Dr. Malgas realized that Mieke Badenhorst was meaning well and that her unorthodox methods were perhaps just the level of recklessness he needed to resuscitate his career. He had never been one to break the rules, but his reluctance was now challenged by utmost necessity.

When he had everything packed, he gave Mieke a long, stern look, “Are you aware of the possible repercussions of what you are suggesting?”

“I gave it more thought than you think, sir,” she answered, dead serious.

He gave a weary sigh, collected his case and motioned with his head, “Let’s get out of here. This is not something we should be discussing at the institution, let alone in a bloody auditorium.”

Mieke nodded, adamant to dispose of every last bit of doubt Dr. Malgas might still have been harboring. As a matter of fact, even if they were to be caught she was prepared to own up to it and take the brunt of the blame, as long as her mentor started shedding his self-doubts and found his confidence in the process.

Something moved in the far distance of the auditorium. It drew Dr. Malgas attention, but in the darkness, it was hard to discern. He flicked the lights on just before they left the lecture hall, quickly surveying the room. Uniform in their appearance the rows of seats revealed no intruders.

“What’s the matter, sir?” Mieke asked, peeking around the doorway to ascertain what he was looking at.

“Just thought I saw something,” he frowned. He had a distinct feeling that they had unwanted company.

Eventually, he abandoned his suspicion and switched off the lights. Together they walked along the main hallway toward the staff room and main entrance of the University of Port Elizabeth.

“When we are ready to make this public we will need someone we trust to report on it, Dr. Malgas. I know a few journo students who would love the opportunity…”

“No!” he cut her off. His face was contorted in focused somberness. “No amateurs, Mieke. This is far too serious to entrust to the fumbling vocabulary of rookies, let alone their ineptitude in dealing with press vultures should they get put on the spot.”

He breathed heavily in his urgent thoughts and kept his voice low as they approached the lobby. “We need someone who had experience in spinning the truth, a sharp mind, fearless in the business of journalism, someone who is credible.”

“It would help if this sharp mind were a friend or close colleague, I agree,” she remarked. “Do you know anyone?”

“I do. The best. His name is Sam Cleave.”