by Brad Murray
“Lars, do you believe it ironic or merely coincidental that this year’s conference is so close to where it all began?” said Letta as they rolled down the corridor towards the conference room.
“You should know I don’t believe in coincidences. I take it to have great meaning. We’re on the precipice, Letta. The time is now - we’re on the verge,” said Lars.
“I think you want to believe that to be true because we’re so old,” grumbled Letta. “You sense our time coming to a close and you can’t imagine missing out.”
“We’ve accomplished a great deal in our years, Letta. I can die satisfied knowing how much progress we’ve made.”
“Bullshit,” laughed Letta as they crossed the threshold into the conference room.
***
They all wore long white robes. Every single person in the room adorned in monochromatic uniformity from head to toe. It was a ritual of the Alicante, established from the group’s inception at their first assembly in Alicante, Spain. White conveyed purity, cleanliness, and new beginnings. The Alicante would clear the path of obstacles – those things which prevented natural order from taking its course. The world would be reborn and order re-established – the order of ruler and of servant.
“Please, Letta,” said Senator Warburg, “this is an open forum. It is not meant for one person’s domineering of the agenda. We’re all concerned about the effectiveness of the recent flu strains, but will you please let others provide their insight?”
“I believe you meant to say the lack of effectiveness of the recent flu strains,” said Letta. “There is only one explanation. We all know they are behind it.”
“We have no proof of the Order’s involvement,” said the Senator, his hand extended in caution.
“We do not require proof! Who else has the ability to develop an anti-virus so quickly and distribute it so efficiently to the World Health Organization, the Center for Disease Control, and nearly every other global outbreak organization? Brumeux has been one step ahead of us for years.”
“We have operatives inside the WHO and CDC, Letta,” said the Senator, “and we have not been able to uncover any evidence of the Order’s involvement.”
“Yet with every single virus we are assured by our scientists that it will do as it was intended, that the new design will be an unstoppable, uncontainable force,” said Letta. “‘This will be the strain to accomplish our objective,’ our scientists tell us. We all sit back and hold our collective breath - waiting for it to take hold, praying for news of its efficacy. But, inevitably, it is thwarted - doomed before it even begins. With every virus created, somehow there is an anti-virus in place almost immediately. ‘It’s virtually impossible for a remedy to be developed so quickly,’ our scientists say.”
“Perhaps we need to find new scientists,” said Ambassador Shakti jokingly, flipping her long, jet black hair over the shoulder of her white robe.
“Nonsense,” said Dr. Candore, scratching his thick white beard. “We have searched every corner of the world and secured the most qualified, leading experts in a variety of fields. My university has developed the most advanced virology program in the world. Over the last thirty years our program has located, developed, and funneled the best and brightest minds; indoctrinating them, bringing them into the fold. I can say with great confidence the finest scientists are in our employ.”
“Then there can only be one answer,” said Letta, happy Candore had taken the bait and forced the discussion to this key point. She had them right where she wanted them.
“Benoit Brumeux is behind this.”
“You and your brother’s obsession with the Order and that eccentric old man has become a distraction,” said Ambassador Shakti. “The majority in this room have agreed that we have more pressing matters than your virus program. There are better ways to accomplish our goals.”
Letta ignored Shakti and made eye contact with the faces of the most influential in the room. She cleared her throat and with cold conviction said, “We must eliminate the Order.”
The room came alive, as if a sudden jolt of electricity had shot through the bodies of all in attendance. Low murmurs and animated whispering buzzed from the lips of each of the Alicante’s nearly forty members. They sat in one large circle - figurative of equally weighted voices; no leader. Letta was content to let her fellow nobles argue and debate in their white robes, like the Roman Senate of ancient times. It was only natural that a statement as bold and controversial as Letta’s would necessitate the members’ passionate viewpoints These were people who were used to having their opinions heard, people who had grown accustomed to getting what they wanted. Rigorous and enthusiastic deliberation was an important and necessary component of Alicante discourse. All opinions would be heard, pondered, contested. Decisions were made without haste; potential risks and downsides considered carefully.
Letta shot a glance at her brother, who sat to her right. Lars returned the glance so fleetingly that it went unnoticed by the other members. But to the twins of nearly seventy-five years, the glance was a wordless affirmation that things were going as planned. She reached for her cup of tea and waited for the inevitable lull in the chatter when, as they had predicted, the barrage of questions and challenges would begin.
“What if you’re wrong?” said Minister Valkoinen in her thick Finnish accent. “What if the Order is not behind this at all?”
“Then we will be able to exclude the Order as a possibility. And we will have removed a potential adversary,” replied Letta.
“We have never concerned ourselves with the Order before,” said Belyy, the renowned Russian industrialist. “The Order has always been so…irrelevant to our cause, a minor concern in the grand scheme. I believe we should sway our focus completely away from the virus program, it’s far too risky…”
“Perhaps we’ve been myopic, Belyy,” Lars cut in. “Blinded by our own arrogance and unable to see the truth. Perhaps the Order is much more of a threat to us than we give credit.”
The room was silent as the possibility was weighed. “They do not possess the science to be the threat you believe them to be,” countered Dr. Candore. “Their people are second-rate compared to ours. There must be some other explanation as to why our trials have been unsuccessful.”
“I agree with Doctor Candore,” said the Senator. “There are far too many unknowns to lay blame on the Order. I think all of you would agree that starting a war is a measure of last resort.”
A chorus of affirmations supported his logic.
“We must have proof,” added the Minister.
“And what if we find proof?” said Letta. “What if Lars and I are able to uncover undeniable proof the Order is thwarting our efforts?”
“If you are able to present undeniable proof then…,” replied the Senator, taking a deep breath. “Then we will vote on the matter. But I believe we are all in agreement that if in fact the Order presents an obstacle to our success, they must be eradicated. The Order will find itself confronting the full wrath of the Alicante.”
The din of verbal support and the nodding of heads confirmed the Alicante’s official position. Lars and Letta showed not the faintest hint of reaction. They sat stoically for the remainder of the meeting, soberly pretending to concentrate on the trivial dronings of their colleagues. Two hours of impassioned yet unimportant speeches on subjects such as international natural resource planning, the manufacturing of war in the Middle East, and the imposition of a universal legal system. Two hours squandered as far as the twins were concerned. These were subjects for which they cared little about - at least not at the moment. For what good was it to bicker about the problem of controlling global water supply, when the exponential growth of human consumption made the problem impossible to deal with? For Lars and Letta the solution was simple.
It was a question of demand rather than supply.
To solve the paramount problem of finite resources, the world must be rid of a great number of consumers. The vir
uses were supposed to accomplish this. But the Order was doing something to hinder them. Finally the Order was within their grasp and, though not the slightest trace of gratification could be perceived, Lars and Letta were jubilant.
***
The breeze from the Balearic danced across the resort lawn and gently drifted over the twins’ plush veranda. Golden rays of the day’s last light waterpainted the western sky in pinks and oranges as the sun drown itself in the ocean. Lars raised his wine glass in victory, his feeble hands shaking the liquid inside.
“To Mother and Father,” said Lars smiling. “They would be proud. Of this I have no doubt.”
Letta grinned satisfactorily and clinked her glass to his. “I am certain you are correct, brother. But we must be mindful that we have not accomplished anything yet. Until the Order is eradicated, our vision remains in jeopardy.”
“Certainly,” said Lars, a slight frown appearing. “I am quite confounded and altogether aggravated that our fellow Alicante have not been able to see this as clearly as we have.”
“They see only their self-interested corner of the world, Lars. They are selfish and focused on their personal empires. It is this selfishness that blinds them from the truth.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose you are right, Letta. And it is our duty, as the most senior of the Alicante, to show them the light.”
“We’ve allowed Brumeux and the Order to exist for far too long, dear brother.” Letta sipped the red wine and closed her eyes, the breeze rustling through her hair. “Do you think if Mother and Father were alive they would do anything differently?”
Lars eyed a seagull as it dove into the water. “I think if they were alive Benoit Brumeux would be lying underneath a headstone right now. And I think the Order would be nothing but a memory.”
“Yes, well…perhaps,” said Letta. “But times are different now. The Alicante is more cautious, and rightfully so. Our manipulations must be more…discrete. With technology and social media nowadays, secrets are much more difficult to maintain. The masses mustn’t become aware of our activities.”
Lars nodded in silence and took the final sip from his glass. Empty, he sat it on the book that was lying on the side table between them.
“Don’t do that – you’ll ruin the cover!” snapped Letta, quickly lifting the glass away. She wiped clean a non-existent ring from the cover and sat the book on her lap.
“I wish you would throw that dreadful book away, Letta.”
“Nonsense. I treasure it. I can’t believe you won’t at least have a look.”
“I know all I need to know from the title.”
“’The Henchmen of Haasburg.’ Quite extensive research by the author, but written from today’s politically correct point of view, unfortunately.”
“Exactly. And that is why I won’t read it.”
“I care not for the words, brother. But for the pictures. Pictures I had not seen before. Look. Look at this picture here,” said Letta, lifting the book to show him.
“Josef Schwarz. And on this page is a picture of his family,” said Letta, pointing to the black and white photograph. “His son, his daughter. I wonder if they are still alive?”
“I highly doubt it. They would be as old as us, dear sister. And we are ancient.”
Letta laughed heartily, closed the book and set it back on the table.
“Can I get anything else for you, Miss?” said Maria, picking up the empty wine glasses. Letta shook her head. Maria vanished silently inside the suite.
“I suppose it is time to turn our talk into action,” said Lars. “I suggest we call the Sisters.”
Letta grunted. “Disgusting creatures, I loathe them so.”
“Disgusting, yes. But effective. Silent, persuasive, cunning, and quite inconspicuous. One would never suspect what they are capable of from first impression.”
“If ever there was a better example of wolves in sheep’s clothing…,” said Letta. “They’re perfect of course. You call them.”
“How did I know you would say that?” said Lars, a pained expression on his face. “I’ll need the file on our target – the gent our people identified as a member of the Order.”
“Not just any member, Lars. He’s key to their operation. Our informants consider him to be a prominent player, one who has the ear of Brumeux.”
“Yes, yes. What is his name again? I’m afraid my memory isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be.”
“Minkowski. Dmitri Minkowski.”
“Minkowski,” smiled Lars. “By the time the Sisters are through with him, he’ll wish he never stuck his head out of his rabbit hole.”
15
Yesterday - May 28, 2011
They say music soothes the savage beast. And in the case of the doctor, there was no better illustration. For him, imperfection was everywhere; it seared his mind wherever he turned, like glaring, radiating neon lights. Imperfection jabbed and stabbed at his brain, a thousand needle pokes at a time. Sometimes, the chaos and imperfection of the world was too much. And often the beast inside would snap because of it.
But in music, he found order. In music, everything had its place. An assortment of individual instruments followed their own particular set of instructions, each producing their own particular sound. Without the instructions - without the rules - the assortment of instruments would be in complete disarray; would produce nothing more than a jumbled mess. Yet this assortment, if played according to the rules provided, united together to produce something beautiful; something orderly. It was this same yearning for perfection that attracted him to mathematics and science at an early age. Here, there were no shades of grey. It was black or white. There was right and there was wrong. And out of this, there was order. But it took discipline; it took precision and rigor in uniting a particularly complicated mix of instructions and rules to reveal the answer; to unmask truth. He lifted his head from his microscope and closed his eyes in anticipation of the coming crescendo that would dance through the speakers and so deliciously into his ears.
Dmitri Minkowski was in his place of Zen.
At the moment, Zen was the basement laboratory of his home, located in the western suburbs of St. Louis. He eyed the wall-mounted clock – nearly 7 a.m. It was Saturday morning, and it was nearing time to leave for his 8 o’clock flight for the daily commute to work. Though he was not required to report on the weekends, the thought of doing anything but work never crossed his mind. He’d been at it for over three hours already – as was his routine. Awake at 4 a.m., a quick shower, bite to eat, and a few hours in his lab before departing to the private airfield located a short drive from his house. Each day. Every day. Routine was order, and order was sanity.
In the twenty-one years since he discovered the Super, Minkowski had become a prominent name within the ranks of the Order. He was respected by his peers and feared yet esteemed by his subordinates. He even had a direct line to Benoit Brumeux, who had come to deeply trust his opinions and advice. Brumeux had become a friend. It was a long way from his early days in the Order; from the first years in which he’d been recruited out of school in Moscow. Those were the “dark years” as he thought of them now; the years that had begun with such naïve excitement. He had believed he’d start right out of school working on important assignments; work that would make a difference. But years spent toiling away in hospital labs, day-after-day, blood sample after blood sample, had begun to wear him down. He had grown disenchanted - disillusioned with the Order and had contemplated leaving, though he didn’t really know if it was even possible to leave the Order.
And then it happened - he found the Super.
It was like discovering a hidden treasure that you didn’t really believe existed in the first place. Things were different for Minkowski from that day forward. Not only did he garner the respect he so craved, but his fading belief in what the Order stood for had been restored.
Minkowski could recite the history of the Order forwards and back – both the version everyone in
the Order knew, and the true version that only a select few had knowledge of. Benoit Brumeux had confided in him years before – how he’d grown up in Haasburg as Viktor Schwarz and how Dr. Wagner and the Schwarz family had changed their identities to escape the Allies’ post-war manhunt. Minkowski reveled in the fact Brumeux had trusted him with such sensitive information, and made a promise to himself to protect the family secret and the Order’s true history with his life.
Dr. Wagner or, as everyone else knew him, Dr. Pierre-Louis Brumeux, had always been his idol. After all, it was Dr. Brumeux who had created the Order. And it was Dr. Brumeux who championed Transhumanism, the theory that the fundamental limitations of the human condition could be overcome by technology. The idea of human transcendence was age-old, but it was Dr. Brumeux who built an organization around it. That organization flourished and grew tremendously during its first decade. Scientists, philanthropists, politicians and leaders of industry became its secret members. But when Pierre-Louis died in the early 1960’s, for a time the Order lost its way. Its leadership passed through a series of well-meaning but lackluster leaders. They lacked the passion of Dr. Brumeux, and they lacked the charisma necessary to inspire the advancement of the cause.
But one day in late 1970, everything changed. Confirmation of the existence of a real life Super kick-started a sputtering organization. Prior to that day, the “Super” had always been a tall tale amongst the Order’s members - a yarn spun by Pierre-Louis himself as a motivational tool.