by Simon Harrak
Gerricks finished his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the concrete before returning inside. When he approached the surveillance room, a head popped out of the doorway.
“There you are. Where the hell did you go?” said Xavier before his head disappeared back inside.
Gerricks entered and found the screens had been synchronised to display a single paused video, which showed the Seal of the President of the United States.
“What’s this?” said Gerricks.
“The White House just released this,” said Xavier. “It’s doing the rounds on all the cable news networks and social media.”
Xavier pressed play, and the rest of the surveillance team stopped what they were doing and watched. The president walked toward the podium while holding a piece of paper, and after taking a moment to gather himself, lifted his head and looked toward the camera with a determined gaze.
“Today, I address not only my fellow Americans, but the entire globe,” he began, clearing his throat. “After the events earlier this week which struck almost every nation, the world needs answers. We deserve answers. I have spoken with our allies and other world leaders, and all have affirmed their commitment to order and justice for the global community. No nation which prides itself on the rule of law will tolerate such brazen violence on its streets. We are under no illusion. All of us are aware of past indiscretions and violent acts, not excluding the events known as The Worldwide Horror. Previously, we have tolerated such violence for the sake of maintaining peace and prosperity.”
The president paused while staring grimly into the camera.
“Our tolerance can only go so far,” he continued. “All peace-loving nations must now come together and present a united front against the terrorists who have instigated these heinous acts. In accordance with this, I and the other leaders of the G20 nations will be holding an emergency meeting tomorrow at 4:00 pm Eastern Standard Time in New York City. At this meeting, we will be studying the detailed reports of our intelligence agencies as well as discussing a collective plan of action. When we are done, we will reveal the identity of these terrorists, along with a plan to bring them to justice. Meanwhile, our competent military and local law enforcement will ensure security. I close my address by reassuring the world that lawlessness and unchecked violence will not be tolerated, nor will terrorism be permitted on our streets. On behalf of your leaders, I wish to assert our commitment to restoring order to our collective nations and the entire planet. And make no mistake; we will succeed in this endeavour. Thank you.”
The president finished his address by leaving the podium and escaping into the back room without acknowledging the press, whose questions had immediately exploded into a shouting frenzy.
Gerricks and Xavier looked at each other as though seeing someone come back from the dead, neither of them knowing what to say, before Gerricks picked up the phone and hurried to call Scheffler.
“What do you mean he’s not available to talk!?” screamed Scheffler, gripping the phone so tight he felt it bending beneath his fingers.
“Were my words not clear?” came Francois’ voice.
“Your words were clear, Francois. But they don’t make any sense! Didn’t you see the president’s address?”
“I did, and so did Kalakia.”
“So where the hell is he? We need to respond while we have the chance.”
“No,” said Francois firmly. “Kalakia’s instructions are to wait and do nothing. We’ll contact you soon.”
Scheffler was about to pop, unable to tolerate Francois’ condescending nonchalance a second further.
“This is total bullshit!” he yelled, thumping his finger on the phone multiple times in frustration before the connection finally closed.
What happened to the days when a person could slam a phone shut, he thought? He tossed the handset onto the desk and began huffing and pacing around the room. He could scarcely believe it. They were in deep shit, and Kalakia had his head in the sand. Those slimy bastards in their government buildings had to be shown who was boss! The League needed to start rolling heads immediately.
Scheffler stood biting his lower lip with his hands on his hips. He looked down at the desk and spotted his phone, feeling the urge to smash it to pieces. He clenched his hand into a fist and raised it, ready to slam it down like a hammer. Then he stopped, growing suddenly relaxed and lightheaded as a calming energy flowed through his body like a cool breeze. He put the ‘hammer’ away, letting his arm fall to his side. Taking his frustration out on his phone would do no good.
Chess was an enigma to Scheffler. On the one hand, he enjoyed the rush of being locked in a strategic battle. On the other hand, the complicated nature of the game frustrated him. Whenever he was outplayed or could see no direct path to victory, he would quickly lose his patience.
That same feeling was plaguing him again. How were they going to navigate this damn situation? The only person capable of playing the game on such a high level was Kalakia, and he was off somewhere shitting bricks. Scheffler exhaled slowly before looking down at the desk like it was a chessboard and tried to recall the basics. First, spread out and go after the centre squares. The League had done that, taking the battle public to the middle of every major city. Next, have no fear in exchanging piece for piece if it gets you ahead. The League had lost enough pawns last night, but were they now at an advantage? Not from where Scheffler was standing. Also, never leave your pawns isolated. When Scheffler sensed his men vulnerable to needless death, he pulled them out, saving them to fight another day. Even Kalakia approved of that move. To top it all off, The League’s ‘King’ now remained safe in his corner, out of sight, having ‘castled’ out of the way and allowing his opponent to destroy The Grand Luxus. It would be poetic indeed if Kalakia were actually laying low while waiting for the board to open up, where he could finally make his decisive strike.
Wait a minute. Scheffler’s breathing stopped as his consciousness expanded, gifting him the insight to see it all. His head suddenly dropped.
“Son of a bitch,” he said.
It all made sense. How had he missed it? He began shaking his head, stunned but also furious. Kalakia had been playing multiple moves ahead the whole time. The Five Eyes list, sending the volatile Abel after Drexler, the worldwide counter-attack. Kalakia knew precisely what he was doing. He had used turmoil as his chessboard, and now the pieces were perfectly set. To top it all off, he had told nobody.
“Son of a bitch,” said Scheffler again.
25
Shrouded in darkness, Horst Stirner sat on a cushioned chair on the front porch while looking out into the yard of his remote cottage, carefully watching his men pat down his guest. There was a single street light at the front of the property which illuminated the entrance from the dirt road. Otherwise the surrounding area relied on the moonlight, with the only inhabitants being the local fauna, from hares to foxes to the pygmy shrew.
Footsteps shuffled across the gravel before a figure appeared and carefully climbed the steps.
“Hello, Charles,” said Stirner, switching on a dim lamp, revealing head of the CIA Charles Burley, wearing his navy blue suit and burgundy tie.
Burley looked down briefly at Stirner with an unimpressed expression, his mouth turned into a frown and his bushy eyebrows pushed together.
“Horst,” he said, before taking a seat on the only other chair on the porch. “I thought for a second we were having this meeting in the dark.”
“How was your journey?” said Stirner.
“Uneventful,” replied Burley. “The opposite of what we can expect after tomorrow’s meeting in New York.”
“Just be ready and follow our lead when he responds.”
“He’s taking his time,” said Burley. “The president expected the blowback to come straight away.”
“He’s reluctant to make the same mistake again,” said Stirner. “He knows he’s dealing with a worthy opponent. I can anticipate his every move.”
“It’s almost too good to be true,” said Burley.
“The advantages of doing business with me,” said Stirner.
“Don’t count your chickens, Horst. You know him better than anyone. He’s a cunning son of a bitch.”
“Nonsense,” said Stirner. “Without me, he’s nothing. He walked into my trap like a fool, and now he has no place to go. After tomorrow, public opinion will turn against him. The people are terrified. They don’t want a war. They’ll be begging us to get rid of him. He can’t fight me, your coalition and the rest of the world, all at the same time. He’ll be a pariah. The most wanted terrorist of all time. It’s over for him.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Burley.
“You need to stop worrying and start planning for a post-Kalakia world.”
“We’re anticipating the recession to hit straight away.”
“So be it,” said Stirner. “An economic reshuffle was never going to be painless. The boom will come quickly once we untangle the wealth from his web.”
“He’s going to lash out,” said Burley. “Again, why he hasn’t already is beyond me.”
“Stop worrying. Remember, I have all the intelligence you need on The League. Its structures, movements, locations. Just follow our lead. Blame any flare-up on Kalakia, and let the media spin it as another step toward defeating the threat. Chaos is king. The more terrified the people are, the more they’ll beg for blood. The League will be history in less than a year.”
“The president wants to know your thoughts about what to do when we find him.”
Stirner rested his fist over his mouth and looked away. His body tingled with ecstasy at the thought. Kalakia dead. What a delightful picture. With the king gone, the throne would be free for the taking. The Neutralaser would rewrite the geopolitical map and herald in a new global order — with Stirner at the helm.
“We shoot him like the dog he is,” said Stirner. “Any trial could turn into a farce. He refused to hand himself in, we say. The battle was furious, and he perished in the crossfire. Deeply regrettable.”
“I thought you’d say that,” said Burley. “The president feels the same way.”
“Of course he does. He’s a smart man.”
“Don’t kiss our ass, Horst,” said Burley.
“Charles, please watch that foul mouth,” said Stirner, shaking his head. “We are businessmen here. Civility must be maintained.”
Burley briefly checked his smartphone then pushed it back inside his jacket pocket.
“I need to get back soon,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to prepare before tomorrow.”
“Of course,” said Stirner.
“We still have one thing to discuss.”
“More concerns? Haven’t I set your mind at ease?”
“There are some important people asking about their money,” said Burley.
“Ah,” said Stirner.
“How much?”
“Twenty percent,” said Stirner. “Twenty percent of all the wealth in The League’s possession. The rest I’ll let you distribute as you see fit.”
“We’ll give you ten percent. Not a penny more.”
“Good. So fifteen it is,” said Stirner.
“Ten percent,” said Burley. “Non-negotiable.”
Stirner clenched his jaw. His anger boiled up, lifting him out of his chair as he fought it back. It took a moment for the wave to pass, as Burley’s determined stare infuriated him, until finally he grew calm again. Patience. He nodded reluctantly in agreement, knowing that the real negotiation would begin when the guns started firing and the streets were littered with bodies.
“Right,” said Burley. “So what do we need to know about their financial network?”
“I can’t tell you precisely how they invest and store the money. It’s a complicated web. Their intelligence unit tracks and manages it all. Real estate, stocks, gold bars, cash, artwork, business investments, off-shore accounts, commercial properties. It’s everywhere, and we’re going to have a lot of fun untangling it all. But it can be done. They have eight major network centres where the information is stored, and I can tell you the identities of the people who have access. One of the intelligence centres is in Berlin, tucked inside an old bunker system. But I’m sure you already know about that one. We’ll need to take care before we go in. What you don’t know is that each intelligence facility is wired with detection sensors and enough explosives to wipe out an entire town.”
“I want the names of the gatekeepers and blueprints of every facility.”
“You’ll get all the details when our agreement is made official, signed by your president and the other members of the G20, and only after Kalakia is dead.”
“Don’t fuck with us on this, Horst,” said Burley, his stare hardening, the shadow of the dim light exasperating the harshness of his expression.
“Charles. Language, please,” said Stirner. “We need each other. We have to keep our eyes on the prize.”
Burley flinched as though an insect had bitten him before reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone. He stared sceptically at the flashing screen before answering.
“Yeah.”
He listened carefully for a moment with a neutral expression then hung up.
“Speaking of the prize,” said Burley. “He’s just appeared on the news show ‘Kingdom Come’ with Gabby Mechtkempf. He’s about to give her an interview. I got to go.”
Burley stood up and peered toward his car parked beneath the streetlight while tucking his phone into his pocket.
“An interview?” said Stirner with a sudden high pitch in his voice, giving Burley an incredulous stare. “That can’t be true.”
“Well, it is. I need to get back. We’ll talk later,” said Burley and marched off, descending the stairs with two rapid steps then disappearing inside his car before it sped off, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.
It was a simple yet striking room. Two mustard-coloured armchairs faced each other, with a blue and grey woven carpet beneath. A flat-screen television display was mounted in the corner. In front of Kalakia sat Gabby Mechtkempf, her dark features, angled jaw and sharp, bright gaze giving her a staunch presence. In the background facing the camera was a framed painting depicting a revolutionary fighter planting his flag in the ground as dead bodies lay all around him, while behind him his fellow combatants pointed their rifles toward their enemy. Seeing Mechtkempf in person for the first time, Kalakia decided he had chosen the right person for this moment.
“Hello, viewers,” said Mechtkempf to the camera once she was given the signal. “Welcome to ‘Kingdom Come.’ Joining me today is, and I can’t believe I’m saying this…” She looked at Kalakia for a moment before turning back to the camera, blinking multiple times. “Joining me today is… well… Kalakia, the head of The League Of Reckoning.”
Kalakia nodded his greeting to Mechtkempf.
“As you all know,” began Mechtkempf. “The League Of Reckoning is arguably the best and worst kept secret of our generation. Its existence has been felt by all, yet confirmed by very few. Like an invisible hand, wealth inequality has eased considerably over the last decades, with the odd outbreak of violence reminding us that something is going on behind the scenes. This harmonic truce between order and chaos, this ‘Pax Kalakia’ — if I may call it that — has held together since the events of The Worldwide Horror. Now, things have changed. This week’s violence has shocked us out of our slumber. The world has pressing questions, and I have the honour of asking them to the man behind it all. As already agreed, Kalakia will allow me to interview him, after which he will have the opportunity to address the audience directly.”
There was a pause while Mechtkempf turned from addressing her audience, shuffled her papers, then faced Kalakia.
“Shall we begin?” she said.
“Of course,” said Kalakia with a nod.
“So my first question is why? Why, after all these years, have you finally decided to reveal your identity?�
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Kalakia was sitting back and upright in his armchair, one arm on the rest and the other supporting his head with his index finger pressed against his temple.
“Identity is a fluid concept,” he said. “As a reporter who investigates abuses of power, you know this better than most. When power fades, the corrupt person reinvents themselves to regain it. Therefore revealing my identity is not my reason for this interview. I am here because a terrible threat has emerged.”
“Which threat?”
“His name is Horst Stirner. He is a former member of my organisation who has betrayed me. The criminal underworld has banded behind him in cooperation with world elites.”
“As you already know, the American president gave a speech hours ago on behalf of world leaders declaring the emergence of a so-called ‘threat.’ What role do our governments have to play in this?”
“Your governments are acting according to what is expedient. They have constituents to please, and a political hierarchy to maintain which relies on the wealthy elites. I have no conflict with your leaders. I understand their predicament. That does not mean I will allow them to fall prey to corrupt forces.”