by Wendy Alec
He saluted.
“And, General Mitchell, the Resisters—we are prepared?”
“Millions of ‘resisters of the NWO’ are already profiled. Marked for priority arrest, transport to these modern concentration camps under FEMA, Homeland Security, UN, or military jurisdiction, interrogation, and, ultimately, termination under “Operation Pale Horse.”
Adrian gazed up at the huge portrait of his grandfather, Julius De Vere, that hung behind his desk, and smiled.
“Then we release the vaccine.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Vox Board Meeting, Ritz Carlton Hotel, Babylon
10 Days Later
Jason walked into the plush corporate boardroom, took his chair at the head of the table, and surveyed the men assembled there.
“I received no agenda?” he said.
Everyone fell silent—unusually silent.
Jason frowned. “Xavier?” He turned to Xavier Chessler.
“We have a situation,” Chessler said softly.
Jason looked at him, bemused. “What do you mean, ‘a situa . . . ’?” Jason’s voice trailed off as Xavier Chessler pushed a document in front of him.
“Unfortunately, a rather acrimonious situation,” Chessler said evenly
Jason scanned the papers, then looked up at Chessler, stunned.
“I’m sorry, dear boy. Due to the ongoing recession, we have had no option but to call in VOX’s loans. All your loans.” He hesitated and pushed a second silver file over the table to Jason. “Thirty billion dollars’ worth.”
Jason stared at Chessler in shock, then studied the deadpan faces, one by one, around the table.
“VOX, regrettably, is now insolvent. I suggest you read that.”
Jason took his reading glasses out of his top pocket and studied the documents in silence. Finally, he looked up.
“Give me time. A week, ten days. I’ll get the capital.”
“Because of our immense love and respect for you, your father, James De Vere, and your grandfather Julius, we have found a consortium who are prepared to fund VOX: the Global Security Fund. They do, however, have one firm condition.”
Jason relaxed visibly. He removed his glasses. “The condition?”
“That you step down as chairman of the board and resign as CEO of VOX, with immediate effect.”
“They’ve overlooked one thing,” Jason said. “Mother. Between her stock and mine, we can overrule them.”
“Your mother’s shares were transferred to another family member immediately after her unfortunate demise,” Chessler said coldly. “Ten days ago. That family member is in complete concurrence with our plan.”
Chessler pushed over a second set of papers.
“Adrian.” Jason’s mouth set in a thin line.
“Your brother feels, and rightly so, that in the current climate this is the best course of action, to do the best by your father and grandfather—and, of course, especially your dear departed mother.”
“What kind of stunt is this?”
“It’s not a stunt, Jason.” Chessler regarded him with icy pale eyes.
“I’ve poured my entire life into building this company. You’re CRAZY if you think I’m going to let anyone take it away from me.”
“That’s a pity, Jason.” Chessler picked up a slim folder. He opened it, scanning the first page. “It would be tragic if you forced our hand. We would have no alternative but to release these documents to the enforcement authorities.”
He passed the folder over the table to Jason.
Jason stared down at the first document.
“Heroin, opium trafficking, cocaine, crack cocaine. VOX’s money laundering traced from the Cayman Islands and Antigua back to Colombia and Afghanistan . . . ”
Jason stared up at Chessler. “What the hell . . . ?”
Chessler shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we would be compelled to disclose the sources of VOX’s cash that made the monthly payments on VOX’S major stock, derivatives, and investments in the USA and Europe for the past nine years.”
Jason turned the pages one by one. “They’re all fakes,” he said. “Second-rate forg . . . ” He stopped in mid sentence, feeling a dull pain on the left hand side of his chest. Ashen-faced, he looked up at Chessler.
He held on to the table for support.
“They aren’t forgeries, are they?” he whispered, “They’re records from De Vere Asset management.”
“My, my, Jason, you’re even more well informed than we first suspected. Yes, a bit of creative accounting. Quite right.”
Xavier Chessler smiled.
“Unfortunately, forgeries they absolutely are not. They will stand in a court of law. Fifty billion in illegal profits from drug trafficking, Jason. Breaking the provisions of the 2022 United Nations Convention against Illicit Traffic in Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances.”
He shook his head. “Adrian would be so disappointed at his elder brother’s criminal behavior. VOX’s illegal drug money traversing international borders. All documents signed by you.”
There was a moment’s silence. Chessler smiled.
“And, of course, witnessed by your mother, Lilian De Vere.” He played idly with his fountain pen.
Jason stared at him with loathing.
“The only things that are forged are the two signatures. Right there.”
Chessler stared up at him, steely eyed.
Jason felt as if he had been physically smashed in the ribs.
“You bastard, dragging Mother’s name into this.”
Chessler continued in his calm demeanor. “You, Jason De Vere, as chairman and CEO, would be convicted of conspiracy. And your deceased mother’s name, Lilian De Vere, would be tarnished forever. The crime: conspiracy to defraud VOX holdings.”
Jason stared at the faces around the table, many of which he had known since he was a boy. He was stunned. He was being manipulated, betrayed, by the man he had known since his own birth and trusted like a father.
Slowly he raised his gaze to Xavier Chessler.
“I know what you’re up to, Chessler.” Jason fumbled in his inside jacket pocket and, with trembling fingers, brought out the document signed by Julius De Vere. He smoothed it out on the table. “You and your illicit brotherhood—a death warrant.”
Jason rose and walked over to Xavier Chessler. He thrust the yellowed document into Chessler’s face, then grabbed him by the collar.
“To think, I counted on you as my godfather. I trusted you with my life, as my friend.”
He closed his eyes for a split second. “Of course, you were my grandfather’s closest friend. Piers Aspinall was your English club chum. What have you got planned for me, Chessler? Another car accident? An induced heart attack, maybe?”
He thrust the old man away, leaving him gasping, and snatched the document. He strode to the door, then turned.
“You haven’t seen the last of me.”
He slammed the boardroom door in their faces.
* * *
One by one, the board members left the room. Kurt Guber appeared from the shadows.
Chessler shook his head. He recomposed himself.
“He can use the death warrant against us,” Guber said.
“Let him go,” said Chessler. “We’ve got him under surveillance.”
“He’ll be found dead in the morning,” Guber announced. “Suicide.”
Chessler nodded. “Couldn’t take the strain of VOX’s imminent collapse.”
Guber nodded.
“When do we release the plague?”
“In twenty-four hours.”
Chessler looked up at Kurt Guber. And smiled.
Chapter Twenty-three
Ritz Carlton Towers, Babylon
Ten Minutes Later
Jason tapped the glass hotel telephone screen again.
“Don’t tell me the international lines are down!” he shouted at the concierge on the screen. “I’ve just had two SS thugs in here tell
ing me I can’t leave the hotel. I don’t care if there’s a damn nuclear bomb in Babylon. I want . . . ” Jason paced the penthouse suite. “ . . . my ride to the airport now!”
There was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” he shouted.
No reply.
Jason clicked the hotel phone off, strode through the lounge, and tapped a small screen. It relayed the image of a tall, lean, muscular young man in a well-fitted black suit, standing at attention in the hallway.
Jason glared at him. “Go to hell!” he shouted.
The young man stood quietly.
Jason hesitated, then opened the door a crack. “Just what part of ‘Go to hell!’ don’t you understand?”
He started to slam the door, but the tall, blond young man inserted himself deftly between Jason and the door.
Like lightning, one hand shot up from his waist and clamped Jason by the neck.
With his other hand, he reached down and removed Jason’s Breitling watch, deftly opened it, and removed a minute metal disk from inside and held it out to Jason.
Microphone, he mouthed, gently releasing his hold on Jason’s neck. He crushed the disk under his shoe.
Jason watched in amazement as the young man moved swiftly through the hotel suite, removing similar bugs from the hotel telephone screen, a bedside lamp, and the showerhead in the bathroom.
He held the bugs out in his hand and put a finger to his lips. Then, carefully closing the bathroom door, he fitted a scrambler into the bedroom security panel.
Creates interference, he mouthed. He held out a monogrammed envelope.
Puzzled, Jason tore it open. Only one person he knew still used paper and ink. He stared down at Lawrence St. Cartier’s personal stationery. The words were in St. Cartier’s unmistakable perfectly formed cursive hand.
“Liam Mercer is one of us. Don’t be stubborn. Trust him.”
“They have no intention of allowing you to leave, Mr. De Vere.” The young man spoke quietly but with an air of authority. “Tomorrow you’ll be found dead, hanging by your tie from right there.” He pointed to the central chandelier.
“With a suicide note already dictated by Xavier Chessler.”
“Mr. De Vere, sir, you can either come with me quietly now . . . ” He opened the door and gestured to the empty corridor. “ . . . or I’ll have to take you by force,” he said politely. “I’m sorry, sir. My orders.”
“Orders? Orders from who?” Jason asked. “The professor?”
Mercer smiled. “Precisely, sir.”
“Hell,” Jason growled. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You don’t, sir,” the young stranger said, and smiled for the first time. “It’s a matter of faith.”
Jason sighed, walked over to the suite safe, and took out his second passport and a black bag of gold Kruger rands while the stranger removed the nano sim card from Jason’s cell phone.
Jason pointed to the hallway. “Guber’s thugs?”
“All dealt with. The road is clear.” He held out the cell phone to Jason.
For some unfathomable reason, Jason knew he was going to put his life in the hands of this young stranger. He took the cell phone, put on his jacket, and followed the stranger down the empty corridor.
Chapter Twenty-four
Mont St. Michel, Normandy
“He took it in typical hostile Jason style, I presume.”
Chessler nodded.
Adrian spoke to the conference screen in the palace library. “Don’t let him leave. He knows too much to live.” He sighed. “Pity.” He played idly with his pen. “I was somewhat attached to my eldest brother.”
“Er . . . um . . . ” Chessler stared back at Adrian through the screen. “We have a problem, Your Excellency. Your brother has gone. Disappeared from the hotel room.”
Adrian looked up at Chessler in disbelief. “Find Him.” He gave a sharp nod to Chastenay, who clicked off the feed from Babylon.
Adrian walked over to the window and looked out at the tide rolling in furiously from the Atlantic. “So . . . we revert to plan B.”
Chastenay nodded. “On her way up, Your Excellency.”
A satisfied smile spread across Adrian’s face. “At last, a visit from my favorite niece.”
The drawing room doors automatically swung open, and a well-fed Rhodesian ridgeback with a glossy tan coat wagged its tail and licked Adrian’s fingers.
In the center of the hallway, sitting in her wheelchair and beaming up at Adrian, was Jason’s daughter.
Lily De Vere.
* * *
Babylon International Airport, Babylon, Iraq
Jason sat in silence, looking out at the newly extended Babylon International Airport as the Gulfstream taxied down the runway. The stranger sat opposite him.
Jason studied him. Good-looking. Clean-cut, dirty-blond hair, clear green eyes. Obviously worked out—muscular shoulders, manicured fingernails.
“Where are we headed? To the monastery?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to say.”
‘What happens to my jet?’
Jason pointed in the direction of his gleaming new Gulfstream 7, still parked on the runway.
‘Its been commandeered, sir.
‘What do you mean comandeered?
‘By direct order of Xavier Chessler.’
Jason shook his head in frustration, then looked back down at the note from Lawrence in his fingers. “You work for St. Cartier, then?”
“Yes, sir,” he said respectfully. “In a manner of speaking. The professor mentored me.” He hesitated. “And my brothers.”
“You have brothers? How many?”
“Two, sir,” the young man answered.
Jason raised his eyebrows. “You the youngest?”
The stranger shook his head. “No, sir.”
“You know, I’m one of three brothers.”
The stranger nodded. “Yes, I know, sir. The De Vere brothers.”
The jet took off into the clear Babylon skies.
“How did you get clearance for this thing? Without going through the diplomatic channels, it’s impossible.”
“Sorry, sir, I’m not at—”
“Right.” Jason smiled. “Not at liberty.” He raised his hands. “I know.”
The stranger held up a bottle of mineral water. Jason sighed. “That the strongest you’ve got?”
The young man poured the mineral water into a glass.
Jason held out his hand. “Thank you, Liam Mercer. For getting me out.”
“It’s my job, sir. I was just obeying orders.”
Jason scanned the New York Times. He couldn’t quite place the accent. He looked back up at Mercer.
“Where are you from, Mercer?”
Mercer looked uncomfortable.
“From all over, sir,” he said softly.
Jason grinned. “You’re close to your brothers?”
“Close to the youngest, sir.”
Jason nodded. “Like me,” he murmured. “My youngest brother and I—we’re very close.”
Then he went back to his reading.
* * *
Liam Mercer stared out the Gulfstream’s windows. He was the only one aboard who saw the pack of grotesque gray vampire vultures, flying at speed directly in the Gulfstream’s flight path, a mile behind.
Lucifer’s surveillance demons.
He closed his eyes and folded his hands. Gabriel’s reconnaissance team, the revelator eagles, would overtake them at any moment.
Chapter Twenty-five
JFK International Airport, New York
“This is the final boarding call for passenger Alexander Lane Fox, booked on Egyptair flight three-seven-two-A to Cairo. Please proceed to gate seven immediately. The final checks are being completed, and the captain will order the doors of the aircraft closed in approximately ten minutes’ time. I repeat, this is the final boarding call for Alexander Lane Fox.”
Alex glanced down at
his watch. “God, Pol, I’m missing you already. Make sure you feed the moggy.”
Polly kept step with him as they rushed toward security. She was in New York for the summer, on an internship for Amnesty International, investigating human trafficking.
“I’ll always love you, Alex.”
“I know, Pol. I know.”
She looked at Alex strangely, then kissed him passionately, clinging to him.
“Hey, hey, kid.” He looked at her, amused. “I’m only gone for ten days. I’ll be with Nick. C’mon, Polly, or I’ll miss my flight.”
Alex took out his cell phone from his backpack and gave the stern flight attendant his most winning grin. “I’m Alexander Lane Fox.”
The flight attendant pressed the glass screen at her right hand. “Lane Fox. He’s arrived. I’ll rush him through.” She nodded to Alex.
Alex put up his hands. Only hand luggage. She pointed to the iris-recognition immigration system a few feet away, which Adrian had recently had installed throughout the USA and the ten-kingdom axis nations.
“IRIS,” she instructed.
Polly swung around to Alex.
“Pol . . . ” He frowned. Tears were streaming down Polly’s cheeks.
Alex sighed. “It’s this Rapture thing again, isn’t it? It’s got you all wound up. You think it’s going to happen while I’m gone, and you won’t see me again.”
He held up his hands. “Pol, we’ve been over this a million times.”
“Look after Lily,” Polly whispered. “She loves you.”
Alex took back his passport and walked through toward security. He turned back to Polly. “Didn’t get that, gorgeous.”
He grinned and waved to her, standing behind the ropes. “Take you out on the lake as soon as I’m back.”
He walked through the departure hall and looked into the camera at the IRIS barrier.
The system flashed “Registration valid.”
He waved at Polly. “I love you, Pol. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you!”
He blew her another kiss, then disappeared behind the security doors.