by Phillip Shaw
Blain stared at the multiple screens in front of him, Jenny Darcy, one of his press release writers had done the piece on the temples of Burma. He remembered influencing her one day in the elevator. Tatum had said something in passing about her joking about sucking his cock on a night out. He had looked into her thoughts that day and planted a small seed, all she wanted to do now was please him and it showed in this work. She had taken the news of the temples and crafted a truly brilliant piece on its effects on the regions tourist industry. Darcy then had cleverly drawn in threads of the previous regime and the possibilities of a bright future with the lifting of old restrictions. All in all excellent work, in any other country it may have been award winning. But in this world, the public was only interested in the next scandal blain created. The piece had been bastardised to Tatum could get her thick head around it on air, It had ended up as a novelty piece. All the other temples in the region sinking while the major one stood still. A freak natural phenomenon blamed on the movement of Teutonic plates and the dissolution of limestone. Blain himself had got Tatum to do a trashy piece blaming the Chinese pipeline in the area for her weekly column. Anything to keep the public from the truth. The truth that they had been born in an age where the fates of generations would be decided. Darcy had watched her work cut, stripped and fed to the masses. it was time to get her to do something that her skills warranted. He buzzed through to Tatum.
‘Chloe, send for your old desk buddy Darcy. I have a job for her.'
13. A Base
Bernard gathered all his equipment. When people looked at the man, computer savvy was not what they thought. Being lonely had taught him how to use the internet. Laptop, signal booster, tablet and smartphone were all gathered into his case. Checking the cameras again he made sure no one would see him leave. He needed this computer to remain on. Taking some black duct tape he covered the power lights of the PC, turning the screen off the workstation looked dead to the world. Penny was still showing the demon around the hotel, now was his chance he would sneak out to one of the recently vacated boathouses. With Mackintosh booking the whole hotel guests had to be turned away, compensated and removed. Bernard checked again. The entourage surrounding Mackintosh was like an iron curtain, they went around in twos. Whatever it was doing here must be important.
Bernard walked into the service corridor; he'd head out through the kitchen then drive his car away. Once it hit dark he'd simply hop the fence through the surrounding forest and make his way to one of the huts. The corridor was eerily quiet. Being a former stately home the underground was in need of modernisation. Damp from the attached gym and health suite was invisible to guests but a daily, dank reminder to the staff that they were subservient in this building. He moved slowly down, being seen wouldn't attract any suspicion but it was better to remain insignificant. No one would stop the ageing manager heading on his surprise weeks leave. Sixty he might have been but something had changed in Bernard. He hadn't realised himself but a burning desire was raging within him. He had to remove Mackintosh. It was a struggle within him to keep himself back from walking into her room to confront her. What would I do then? He banished the thought from his head and opened the double doors to the kitchen. The crash that followed shook him to the core and left him on the ground. Scrambling for his bag of equipment Bernard looked round. In his preoccupied state, he'd went in the ‘out' door to the kitchen. Petra was lying on the ground unconscious. Luckily the kitchen was empty apart from her. The other staff must be still upstairs with Mackintosh and Penny. Bernard acted quickly he positioned Petra out of the way of the door and filled a pan with water; he threw the water on the floor around the door and headed out into the early evening mist. The lake always cast a misty shroud over the area but tonight was the first time Bernard thought it useful.
He reached his car with no more fuss. It started first time and he made his way down the winding road next to the hotel. There was no way to avoid being seen but he was doing what they wanted him to do. He was leaving. They will never see me again, but I will see them. Parking the car at the nearby campsite he made his way back to the hotel. The backer was common in this area and he needed to stay in that frame of mind. Be the dark.
He climbed the fence through the forest and made out the cabin he would use, cabin ten, the number was irrelevant but the position wasn't. He needed a higher cabin with an unobstructed path to the hotel for the signal to stay strong. He reached the door. The late evening light was fading but the hotel still looked beautiful. Bernard was surprised he had never taken the time to look at the building itself. Reflected in the lake waters like a devil's palace. How apt. He thought. The cabin was clean another lucky break it had been unoccupied when the families in the others had been ushered off the premise, none of the maids would give it a second thought this week. He took out his master key and unlocked the door. Setting up his tablet with the camera on the windowsill he opened the laptop and began fiddling with the remote settings, before long he had access to the camera streams and on the other side, the camera from his tablet showed an image of the only way into the cabin. It was his base. He set to work with his notepad to analyse what was going on.
First the guard patterns, Bernard noticed they went around in pairs. He had no experience of the military but anything seen on TV suggested that this was different. He noticed as well that they had no assault rifles of any kind. Two were out the back smoking. Bernard longed for one but that would pass. If he was there for three days the cravings would subside, he hadn't sneaked in unnoticed to have a fire alarm go off or be spotted in the dark. He switched cameras to Mackintosh, sitting in her executive suite she was behind a desk and looked like she was waiting on a call. Loading another client on the laptop he hacked the line.
Blain dialled out, he would have to let Mackintosh know about the latest developments. With her being placed into the government think-tank the economy was under control. The recent downturn in global spending had been a calculated risk; he remembered his conversation with a select few others. Tell the masses that they are in a recession and they will believe it. Nobody noticed less money in their pockets; nobody woke up one day and found that they weren't as well off as before. And they think the world could survive without us. It had turned out brilliantly, for years the population had been getting above themselves; people were reaching for what they didn't need. First, the words were whispered by his Media Empire, recession, downturn and tightening of belts. Within days it was all over the rest of the world, stocks began to fall, property prices collapsed and everyone withdrew into their shell. Their ambition was crushed they accepted their lot and Blain and his peers could maintain order. Governments changed but their messages were controlled as well. America may be the biggest power in the world but Blain had designs on everything, he had never met an adept as strong as him. The Magisters even feared him, Blain needed to share his concerns with another. The voice on the other end of the phone was familiar and reassuring.
‘Hello Thomas, I hadn't expected to hear from you on my first night here.'
‘Something's come up. After the battlefield revealed itself we all moved into hiding but there's another problem we need to discuss.'
‘I'd hardly call it hiding, I can go down and take a spa, I already have most of the staff in this hotel under control and one that wouldn't accept it has been sent home none the wiser.'
‘The Magisters believe the histories to be true; they think the demigods walk among us again. They are sending a team to find one of them if not both and then, well then I don't know what will happen. The world could break and we might not be anywhere near it, we cannot risk revealing ourselves and the leader might not find us first. Your handlers have told you this day may come. What if it's here and we are victims off it not generals?'
‘Your mind has been busy Thomas, that's what comes from you cooping yourself up in that tower with all your puppets, try going out into the world once in a while. A denouncer is more likely to run from you than kill yo
u. Look at today, one simple call and he went home happy to be on a weeks' holiday. We're kings to these people we are the rulers and nothing will change that.'
‘You always were overconfident. I'm going to monitor feeds for the next few hours and hope that Miller can tell me something. You just keep your head down and wait for my contact, the world sees you as the saviour to the financial crisis, that speech you make to the World Bank should give us the means to deal with whatever storm is brewing. Keep an eye on your guards especially the ones you can't feel.'
They made their goodbyes and Blain hung up. He hadn't felt this threatened since the night he was taken. It had led to the greatest power but at the back of his mind, through all the strands of lives, he controlled there was a worry, the worry that it would come crumbling down. He had control of the western hemisphere's knowledge but he needed more. He had been so close to ultimate power if it slipped through his fingers now there would be repercussions. Thomas Blain did not build an empire to end up like Cesar. He lifted his letter opener studying it intently, crafted in the shape of a Scottish clan chief's sword the inscription read ‘There is no knowledge that is not power'. He struck the point deep into the mahogany desktop; there it stuck like its predecessor would have on the battlefield. He had to step out of his shell. He must join the battle.
Bernard stopped scribbling in his notepad and looked up, he didn't care anymore he stuck his head out the window and like a teenager in the school toilets lit a cigarette. His world had already broken.
His nerves calmed Bernard looked at his notes of the conversation. Blain was the head of all the media in the country. Every news programme, every newspaper was tied to him some way. He's one of them, how many more are there? He looked over the notes and made a quick list. Blain, Mackintosh, Was everyone under the control of these devils? It was too much for him and he retched in the sink. He wondered how he was going to get Penny and the others out. If he killed Mackintosh what happened to the others? He watched her in the room; all feelings of voyeurism left him despite her changing into her bedclothes. It was like watching a snake shed its' skin. Suddenly she stopped. Someone had knocked her door; Bernard watched closely, one of his staff had entered with her evening meal. Pale-faced Sergei was under her control. He watched helplessly as she made him take off his shirt, seemed there was a human element to these things after all. Sergei moved towards her willingly but dead in the eyes. Bernard turned the feed off as Mackintosh lay back on the bed. He thought of the times before, the lonely times where he would have loved something like this, now all he could do was cry. The world that he had lived in for six decades was a place of monsters. The tears rolling down his cheeks were cleansing him. He felt better, the disgust he felt for himself was leaving with them. Bernard Jacobs had a purpose; he was a white knight on this earth. His time had come; he steeled himself and clicked on the feed again.
Mackintosh sent the servant away, satisfied for the night. She was always able to choose them well. There were others she had noticed and they would follow in the week. Others called it an abuse of her gift. A gift cannot be taken back it is there to abuse. Lifting the wine to her lips she smiled. It had been a good day, Blain showed signs of weakness; he would have no idea what was going on, he had become too powerful, some even thought he was Arbitan himself. Blain was going to be removed and soon when he was gone there would be chaos, chaos breeds opportunity. She lifted the phone. If they were going to hunt for Arbitan, he would need to meet her. After all the centuries of sleep a female touch might be just what's needed.
14. The Scalpel
The room was silent as they awaited the news from Schultz. Miller had excused himself to make a call probably Blain, thought Markus. He wanted to walk over to Schultz and demand an explanation as to what was going on but he couldn't. His eyes were fixated on Ava. He had no idea what to make of her. The jumpsuit was custom-made; Markus could see that the material was not normal. It certainly was figure hugging. Others in the room were eyeing the lithe girl up and down. Markus was only human; at least, he would have something to look at on the journey. The journey, it's unheard of. As he glanced towards her face she caught his eye. Markus couldn't feel her pushing at the barriers in his mind. She's not event trying. He noticed her face. It was strangely content as if she was happy to be going on this mission and as he stared she shot him a warm smile. If the smile was warm the cool eyes of an adept were something else. Like two lumps of ice floating in his drink, there would never be a way to tell what they were thinking.
Schultz re-entered the room. His shining bald head showed signs of perspiration and when he began there was a noticeable lack of confidence in his voice.
‘The incident that happened in Texas has cost us Magister lives. There are news reports being filtered by Blaincorp as we speak about a riot in a maximum security prison. This prison was under our control. The American branch used it to remove people we presumed were denouncers. I understand this might be news to some of you more experienced in European operations, but it is the most efficient way to deal with the threat in America. The wealth and opportunity available there has led to many questioning the fairness of their lives.'
A prison for removing denouncers. Markus couldn't help but think that was a good idea, few people in the order had been as close to one as him and fewer still had eliminated one. The problem was that the others who had been as successful as him were sitting around the table. Schultz went on.
‘There was some kind of failure with the adept in control of the prison. It seems he either released those under his control or his influence over them was cut short. The results were catastrophic. Evidence suggests that we should presume that the influence was cut short. The body of the adept was discovered by our team in the prison, dead, eyes gouged out. The killer was deep under his control; they called it in and sent for reinforcements… They couldn't help. By the time they arrived the prison had descended into a bloodbath. Anyone under the adepts control went insane the S.W.A.T. in the region have only just begun to get it under control. I suggest that we begin our search in this area. I have never heard of someone controlling so many for such a long period of time being eliminated.
Sulién spoke up. ‘What of the Magister handlers.'
‘Dead, their bodies were discovered among thirty others. Seems they used up their remaining ammunition defending themselves. The killing was indiscriminate. Markus, you and Ava should prepare to leave immediately. It's the only lead we have so far. The appearance of the battleground was the first sign. We must follow up every abnormality we come across.'
Markus sat silent. Is this real, I thought we were here for an AGM and now I'm going on a mission to chase down a myth. The thoughts swirled in Markus' mind. In truth, the acolyte in him had just awoken. He could write himself into the histories of this order. He could make Snapper proud. There could be another secret hero in the family. He rose and went over beside Ava, ‘We will need to prepare.' He turned and went to the door of the room without looking back he could hear what was going on. Miller was pontificating about the importance of using Blain; Sulién was trying to get him to shut up. If anything leaving these pen-pushers and getting out on his own was what he needed. The problem is you're not alone. He turned around and saw the small bob of blonde hair beside him. He glanced at Schultz. A nod of his head towards the girl seemed to give consent. What was their history? Maybe Markus would find out on the journey.
Schultz watched the two figures leave. The chaos that the meeting had descended into served him well. Better there was no time to question the information dump that he had placed upon them. Miller and Sulién were the most vocals of those who remained but the others would need to be reassured if his plan was to work. He didn't rise to this position without being able to juggle a few egos. ‘Gentlemen, there are roles for us all, make yourselves comfortable'.
The journey in the elevator was unusual. Markus and his partner headed deeper into the facility. The lights could be nauseating to those inexpe
rienced with the building but Ava just leant back against the handrail. Markus wondered if she had any emotions at all. He remembered his first trip to the facility. The armoury, the private quarters, the servers, and right at the bottom the vault. Only the head of the order had access to the vault. Inside it held the histories. Markus didn't even know if they were physically written down on some tablet or scroll or if there was some other storage. All he knew was that they contained the canon for what civilisation was based on. He still couldn't believe an adept was in the building let alone travelling down into the inner sanctums of the base.
They headed to the equipment room. The quartermasters there would provide them with anything they wanted. One rule of the Magisters was total mastery of a single weapon. There was nothing to reinforce this in the histories Markus simply carried on the tradition. Every Magister was trained to be a weapons expert so that the teams of two could complement each other. Nowadays it always seemed to be some kind of pistol or rifle but Snapper had told tales of every weapon being represented. He wondered if Ava even needed one.
The armoury was his favourite room. Markus felt at home here. When he entered the building his case immediately went down here. The cold clinical décor down here actually warmed his heart. It reminded Markus of home. Sweden was cold, clean and minimalist. The armoury was the same. Only a couple of members down here to facilitate the handling and resupply for the field agents. Markus hadn't used his weapon in a while so he had just requested it serviced. The custom built replica of the Luger pistol Snapper had brought home from his own trip to Germany was a work of art. Completely redesigned and modernised it boasted a custom made grip and barrel. The rifling inside added range without the expense of stopping power. The magazine was doubled from the original and the grip was lined with black memory foam unique to him. The iron sights on the gun were minimalized also. Markus didn't trust them, he preferred his judgement. Opening his case he checked the ammunition. Advancements in their research department were evident here as well. Hollow points, ranged, even rubber rounds for wounding were all here stored under a ceramic shield for travel. The boy in Markus always loved getting his firearm back serviced and ready. The realist in Markus hoped he never needed to fire it. He walked over to the practice range it was always good to fire a few shots to remove the trace of cleaning. He stopped wondering what weapon Ava had specialised in. the normal compliment to his precision pistol had been either shotgun or assault rifle. He had been on missions with both. The Luger was all that remained alive. He watched as she strolled over to the quartermaster and received a case.