by P. G. Burns
The statement is tinged with overtones of violence. Robert considers warning Shane off confronting Chamuel but is taken back as Chamuel replies.
“Yes, sir, Massa, you is de boss. I just trying to lighten the mood. Sorry me is a bad Chamuel.” Chamuel slaps his own wrist.
Shane accepts this and looks at Robert and Leo, checking if they are okay with his assumption of leadership. Nods from both men reassure him. They find a vantage point while Shane and Chamuel trek across the fields to a small mud track that leads to the Wilkinsons front door.
“So, what? We just gonna knock on de door and hope they offer two rough-looking men the use of their jeep? That’s assuming of course, our pictures aren’t all over the TV by now, what with the Governor telling everybody that we kidnapped him and blew the entire fucking prison up.”
Shane does not respond to Chamuel’s constant yapping. He knows when to react and when not to and has already got the measure of this man… or whatever he is. Chamuel continues regardless, but not until they are in sight of the front door does Shane speak.
“Okay, I will do the talking. You try and concentrate on not freaking the poor people out, tiendes?” Then he rings the bell.
In all the time David and Jackie have lived on the isolated farm they have only heard the doorbell go twice. Once when the Jehovah’s Witnesses came to call on a nice sunny afternoon and then again when a fed-up young man selling frozen fish turned up looking very lost indeed. This time when the bell goes David is watching the news and swearing at the TV about the prison incident.
“That’ll be the fucking Muslims. Al Qaeda or ISIS no doubt. Well, I hope all the liberal bastards who blurt on about Guantanamo and how bad those bastards are treated are happy now.”
Jackie looks at him disapprovingly. She would class herself as one of those “liberal bastards” and she knows David is looking for a debate on the subject but she isn’t in the mood. Although she can’t let his idiotic statement go without some comment.
“How can a breakout in a UK prison have anything to do with the happenings in Guantanamo?”
They hear the doorbell before David can reply. Both look a little worried. The worst thing for David about the isolation of living out here was the fear of been held up and robbed. Still, he goes to the door while Jackie tries to see who it is via the window. David peers through the spy-hole. He can make out two figures, they look fairly rough and one is black. This concerns him. He shouts through the door, “Hello, can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m sorry, but we broke down up the hill. It’s my radiator. Could I possibly get a jug of water from you?”
Shane had been planning to case the farm before taking any action. First he wanted to see how many people he was dealing with and then he needed to know if there were any children. He does not want to cause any more stress than needed and, although prepared to take hostages, he really hopes that there were no elderly or youngsters.
It seems rude not to help so David Wilkinson opens the door and then immediately regrets his actions as the two men give him calculated looks; the white guy is particularly fierce-looking. David stutters his words, betraying his anxiety.
“Th… there is an outside tap by the barn. You can use the bucket next to it if ye… you w… want.”
David knows that this is not two innocent travellers and that he needs to play it cool. Problem is, he isn’t cool and both Shane and Chamuel realise this too.
“Thank you, sir. I wondered if you might have a landline we could use as well. I need to call ahead to a garage.” Shane looks past him, noticing a woman standing in the hallway. He estimates they are both mid to late fifties; this should rule out young kids. These people are not typical farmers so he guesses this is their retirement home and he doubts they would have elderly parents here with them. He decides to make a move. David’s heart beats wildly as he feels the strong arms take hold of him, throwing him into his own hallway. Shane does not want to hurt him but this is an emergency.
“How many are in the house?” he shouts at the cowering David
“It is just me and my wife. We have some money upstairs and some jewellery. Take what you want, just don’t hurt us.”
Shane is always surprised how easy it is to make a grown man cry. He does not want to be the bully but he has no respect for victims. Jackie has frozen, scared and angry. Mentally stronger than her husband, she wants to both run away and attack these bastards at the same time but what can her pear-shaped frumpy body do against these men?.
Chamuel orders her to sit down and pulls down the large curtains. He disappears and returns with a couple of belts. Shane drags David to the chair next to his wife and pushes him into his seat. A nod confirms he wants them both tied up and Chamuel expertly complies.
“We will not hurt you. We need your car and the money you so kindly offered.”
It takes around ten minutes in all to commandeer the Wilkinson’s’ Land Rover and six hundred pounds, along with some clean clothes. They secure the couple in the pantry, leaving them gagged and tied up. It would be far safer to kill them both but Chamuel doesn’t even try to convince Shane of this. Calculating that the Wilkinsons will be tied up for three to four hours, Shane is confident they have enough time to find somewhere safe.
From the passenger seat of the Land Rover Shane says, “So Amitiel had a plan for us, somewhere we could hide. Do you know where this is?” Shane is hoping Chamuel is going to show them a secret HQ where he and the others will be able to rest up and plan their next move. Instead he can hear the Arc Hon laugh.
“Are you for fucking real?” says Chamuel from behind the wheel. “There was a plan but you decided to do your own thing, remember? So now, instead of utter confusion and chaos masking our escape we have the prison governor, plus Darby and Joan back there, who will be contributing to our notoriety and of course, more importantly, our fame. So in answer to your question: is there is somewhere safe for us to hide? No. Unfortunately David Beckham has more chance of not being recognised by the day’s end.
“We need to use the precious couple of hours that it’ll take for the media and the authorities to put things together, and before your photos are splattered all over the news and before Al Jazeera put out a two-hour special on the life and times of ‘Al Qaeda Bob’ to get us back on track to the original plan.” Chamuel looks at the three men with exasperation. “Luckily for you lot, these Djinn are kinky about underground tunnels and none more so than Simeon himself.”
The men look at Chamuel, waiting for the inevitable long and curse-filled explanation. They get one.
“I always wonder why humans go around questioning how the Egyptians built the pyramids and how did them druids move massive stones all the way across Britain to create Stonehenge? There is always someone who thinks he is on to something that will explain what is really happening and that all is not as it seems. Yet no one, and I mean no one, asks how the fuck did the Victorians build a fifty-mile stretch of underground railway back in 1853, and more to the point, why? I mean, it’s not like there were a heap of cars causing congestion. In fact, there were six. So, why build an underground? There wasn’t even any fucking electricity worth utilising that could run a train down there and if you’re going to tell me they had steam trains underground, forget it! No, this was Simeon’s doing. I have to ask myself, is there a conspiracy theorist that deserves the name when they miss things so obvious? With all the technology and know-how you have nowadays, you would still struggle to complete such a task. So let me explain, Simeon was pulling all the strings during the time of the British Empire. He was the king-maker and the builder of Great Britain. Like all good Djinn, he has his own fetish. Isaac loved art, Reuben loves inflicting pain, and Simeon, he loves building shit. And as I said, all the Djinn love a good tunnel.”
Chamuel holds his left hand out. “Djinn love a tunnel.” He holds his right hand out and the others shout for him to grab the wheel again. “Simeon loves to build big stuff. Result? Miles of underground secr
et passages and loads of other shit running underneath us from Oxford to the capital. Only a handful of people have ever known about this. So, we are going to Simeon’s secret tunnel network, a sort of advanced version of the Christians’ catacombs back in France. He had it built when he was first disqualified by the Council and, more recently, he had it all kitted out when he decided he was going to help you, Shane. He is a very resourceful Jinni, even us Arc Hon didn’t realise the extent of his labyrinth. I promise you, if we get there you will be impressed. IF WE GET THERE.”
Gillespie’s Bar, Nuevo Favelas, Hispanic District, 2146 AD
Donegal knocks on the door. “Hey, Ember, are you okay?” She can hear how upset Ember is, crying and mumbling to herself.
“Akk, ya poor wee mite, come here.”
Ember shuffles out and is grateful for the tight hug. She feels torn-up inside but knows she must go back in and watch the rest of the recording. Over Donegal’s shoulder she spots Chamuel standing in the corner. He says nothing, just turns and leaves.
“It’s a drink you’ll be needing.” Donegal releases her grip and walks behind the bamboo bar. She takes a bottle from under the counter and pours two generous shots.
“I don’t drink,” says Ember, settling onto the bar stool and lifting the glass anyhow.
“Trust me, if you’re gonna be spending time with that one out there and his like, you will need the sauce.”
“Thank you.” Ember drinks it down in one gulp then coughs and splutters as she attempts to keep it down. Donegal necks hers too and pours one more for each of them. “I am guessing there was some bad news on this thingy-me-bob he’s given ya?”
“Well, yes and no,” she sighs, trying to make sense of it herself. “I just found out my daddy’s not my real father, and that my real father died a long time ago.” She takes the second drink, handling this one a little better.
“Well, we all need our daddies. Mine was a good man, bit of a drunk, not the tidiest, but he loved his family and he was my best friend ’til the day he died. Didn’t leave me much, just this place, and the debts that went with it, but I still wish he was here.” She pours two more. “Have you watched it all? I couldn’t help overhearing you trying to turn the thing off, sounded like there was more.”
“There is but I’m not sure I want to see or hear any more.” Ember feels she can be honest with this kind-hearted woman but they both know it isn’t so much a case of “wanting to see more”. She simply isn’t sure she can physically or mentally take any more.
“Well, ya dunna have ta. Just take it and fling it out da window. It’ll fly across the favelas from up here.”
Ember sighs. “I can’t do that, and to be honest the damage is done. Perhaps I should go back. Get it over and done with?” She looks down at the glass, realising she feels a little strange.
Chamuel comes back into the room. He is unusually quiet. She is grateful for his silence. They nod and share a faint smile before Ember jumps down and returns to the viewing room.
“She is very young, Chamuel,” says Donegal, running her hands through Chamuel’s tight curls. “I don’t know what you have her watching in there but I am guessing you have plans for her. I hope you know what you are doing.”
He holds her around the waist but for once has no cocky retort. “Not exactly.”
“Well, we could be waiting out here a long time so best we keep drinking, as me old daddy would say.”
They do wait a long time. The message runs for over two hours. No more crying is heard though, no more shouting at the screen. The first indication that it is over is when the door opens. Both wait expectantly as Ember reappears. Donegal is pleased to see the young girl looking radiant, with a glow she had not seen in her earlier. She turns to Chamuel, about to comment, but notices that he is staring at Ember as if he has seen a ghost. Donegal follows his stare and is sure he is looking just above Ember’s head.
Chamuel is entranced. He was prepared for a change in Ember after she saw the message but he is amazed at what he can see. Swirling above her head, a thick silver cloud glistens. The cloud takes a shape and Chamuel knows he has seen this aura once before but even so, he cannot explain it. The great white shark swims between Ember’s arms, around her torso, up along her legs then back across her shoulders. Chamuel mouths the words as he is thinking them. “It can’t be.”
Venice
Reuben has calmed down or so it seems. He paces around, staring at the floor. Simeon is grimly expecting a very slow and painful death to balance the distress he has caused his fellow Jinni. Finally Reuben speaks. “Touché, old friend. It seems you have managed to get the human out safe and sound. I should thank you really, it would be no fun to win so easily.”
Reuben walks around the smug Simeon like a hunter circling its prey. “I suppose you want to know my next move. You know, so you can message whichever one of those cunts, who are supposed to WATCH and not interfere, is helping you.”
Simeon is not surprised that Reuben has worked it out. Of course, someone would have to be an Arc Hon for Simeon to be able to link with them. He doubts Reuben will be able to work out that in fact all three remaining Arc Hon have decided to ally themselves with the new challenger. They will still follow certain rules but for the most part they are no longer Watchers; they are players.
“Well, actually, I am going to tell you… no, I am going to show you what my next move is and you, dear friend, are going to link with your Arc Hon friend, and then they will show it to Shane Mills himself.”
Simeon is curious and a little concerned about what strategy Reuben is about to play now. A strategy that he is so confident will work that he wishes to willingly inform his adversaries about it.
“I won’t be aiding you in any way,” says Simeon. “If there is something you want Mills to see, then it’ll be my task to make sure he doesn’t. You should know, old friend, there is no pain that you can inflict which will cause me to compromise the challenger.”
When Reuben looks up, he smiles a smile that Simeon recognises as one of confidence. Whatever he has up his sleeve must be good, Simeon concludes. He waits to hear the smarmy retort that he expects to come from Reuben’s mouth but instead he hears another voice, a female voice. Solfrid.
“Oh, I think we can manage to change your mind, my dear Simeon.”
Shit, he thinks, of course the bitch was helping Reuben all this time. She was probably the one who told him how to eliminate the others. In fact, she probably helped him do that.
“Why?” he asks.
“What did you think this game was all about? Do you really think it was all just a distraction for the Djinn collective, something to relieve the boredom?” She laughs at the quizzical look on Simeon’s face. “Oh, you did think that, and of course you swallowed the bullshit too, about us ultimately helping the humans reach enlightenment. God, can you imagine these savages living on the same plain that we occupy? No, this game will establish the Djinn once and for all as the true and rightful overlords, both in our world and this pleasure-filled physical world. We are GODS to these humans! We shouldn’t be skulking around in the shadows. We should be sat upon the thrones ruling them! And I don’t just mean the select few that the all-fucking-mighty Arc Hon allow to take physical form, I mean all of us. The thousands who seethe in envy from our dimension. There has been a shift, Simeon. The Djinn want the life we always should have had. We will cross over and we will rule!”
Simeon has never trusted Solfrid. She was the first Djinn to take human form and he knows she has been corrupted by the pleasures of the flesh ever since. However, she is ranting about an impossible task here. Even the Arc Hon could not possibly transfer the thousands of Djinn to the state she expects.
She smiles at him. “You wonder what I am talking about, how this could be possible. Let me show you.”
Simeon’s mind merges with hers and he sees the universe outside of the physical barriers.
“In approximately 150 years the Age of Aquarius begins and
the Demiurge returns, hoping to find his calculations have proved correct and that a utopia has occurred. The alignment will coincide with the event of the Nibiru cataclysm, which heralds his arrival. These events and a controlled nuclear fusion via our new toy, the Hadron Collider, will cause a power surge that will enable a mass crossover. We will farm human bodies for future possessions, allowing the Djinn to exist as infinite beings in the physical world. When the Demiurge sees what we have done, he will accept this is now our planet and that his plan has failed.”
Simeon scoffs. “Another oracle. How would you even know what his plan is? Even the Arc Hon wonder what the plan is. So you come up with your own interpretation? That is just the same as the humans with their deities, their Quran or Bible.”
The harsh slap from her hand leaves a welt across his face. “Never compare me to these vermin!”
Simeon prepares for another blow but she calms down, as though the next thought that has entered her mind has caused her to become serene. “I will tell you how I know what his plan is, shall I? Better still, I will show you.”
Inside his mind a vision appears, showing the image of Michael, the Arc Hon who has been missing for centuries. He sits in the realm known to Simeon as the corona, the world between worlds. The vision shows Michael speaking with Reuben and Solfrid. Simeon witnesses the whole meeting from a fly-on-the-wall position.
“I am delighted that we are close to completing the plan,” says Michael. “Soon the world will be lost to chaos what with the Muslim Jihadists, the crazy Jews blowing each other up, and of course that nasty virus we will release in Africa. Soon we begin the Solution under your leadership, Reuben. You will become the saviour with grateful followers.”
“Yes, and then we can prepare for the Nibiru to reappear from its Occultation and blaze the path ready to combat the Demiurge’s return!”