The Force (The Kingdom Chronicles)

by Alexandra Swann

  Initially, Luis Carlos was overjoyed. Since the day he had met Ines, he had dreamed of arranging their lives so that he could keep her entirely to himself. Secretly, he hated her career because it afforded her increasingly greater opportunities for independence which must eventually take her away from him. And, of course, he hated Eduardo. Now, her career was gone; Eduardo was gone; her opportunities for a life without him were gone. He had achieved exactly what he had always wanted.

  Yet, something was very wrong. It was as though, when Ines forgot Eduardo, she also forgot Luis Carlos. Gone were the smoldering looks and seductive whispers which had so delighted him. Gone was the passion and heat; she was now cool and distant. In the past she had appeared eager to please him when he visited; her happiness seemed bound to his pleasure. Now, she did not appear to care for him at all. She seemed depressed and uninterested and aloof. It was as if Heinz’s experiment had doused all of the fire that had burned in Ines—the fire that Luis Carlos had always hoped to control and dominate but had never wanted to extinguish.

  Ines remembered only that she had always lived in luxury and seclusion and that her sole purpose in life was to be constantly available to Luis Carlos; she had no memory of Eduardo Quiñones. Even so, she felt a longing that she could not explain. It was as if she had fallen in love with an apparition. She felt a deep yearning for someone whom she had never met. She could not see his face, but she felt his presence. She was certain that if she could only reach out and touch him, the loneliness and sadness that dominated her every waking hour would vanish. With each passing day, she became more convinced that somewhere there was a man whom she could love completely—a man who would bring the passion and joy to her life that she so desperately longed to find.

  One Friday, Ines was alone in Alicante. Luis Carlos had gone to Madrid for a family event, and Carlitos had left earlier in the week for boarding school. Ines was bored and lonely, and she decided to go to one of the five-star restaurants in the resort suburb of San Juan. Sitting in the night air of the restaurant’s courtyard listening to the rhythms of Spanish guitar, she felt more alive than she had for months. As she sat drinking sangria and enjoying the music, a waiter brought her a bottle of champagne and told her that it was a gift from a fellow patron. When she turned to see who had sent it, she saw a man approaching her table. He was young and handsome, but it was not his appearance that made Ines’ heart leap. In that first moment when she saw him moving toward her, she felt that she had found the one for whom she had searched for such a long time. Before he had traversed the room, she knew how his voice would sound, how he would smell, how her hand would feel in his.

  “Excuse me, Señorita. Are you alone this evening?” he asked politely.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” she smiled at him seductively.

  “We share the same misfortune. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Eduardo Quiñones. I came to Alicante this weekend to be alone, but this evening when I walked into the restaurant and saw you, I knew that I had come to Alicante to find you. Have dinner with me, please, and you will make me a very happy man.”

  Ines placed her own delicate hand into the hand that Eduardo extended to her, and he led her back to his table. They were inseparable for the remainder of the week. When Luis Carlos telephoned to say he wanted to visit, she told him that she was sick with flu and could not see him. She put him off this way for weeks, until one day he saw the announcement in a tabloid at a newsstand: Eduardo Quiñones and a mystery woman “with an uncanny resemblance to Ines Jimenez” had been married quietly at a seaside resort in Spain and left for their honeymoon in Italy. When Luis Carlos saw the photograph of Eduardo and Ines in Italy, tears of rage filled the old man’s eyes, but he knew it was too late. Before Switzerland he had shared Ines with the movie industry, her fans, and Eduardo; after the experiment, he no longer possessed any part of her.

  ψ

  Heinz was preparing his report for Josef, and he knew that he must choose his words carefully. Based on the feedback from those who had chosen the subjects for the experiment, the exercise had been a colossal failure. He could not, however, tell Josef that Level Three Labyrinth had not met expectations; to do so would certainly ensure him an immediate trip to the castle’s dungeon.

  After giving the matter considerable thought, Heinz began to enter his report into his PCD: “The initial findings on the five subjects chosen for the Level Three Labyrinth experiments are very promising. We have been successful in eradicating unwanted memories and replacing them with memories that serve our purposes. This function is of utmost importance in realizing our goal of controlling the actions and desires of organics.

  “It must be remembered, however, that, unlike enhanced subjects, organics are imperfect. They possess physical, mental, and emotional flaws that go uncorrected and, in time, may bear heavily on their behavior as well as their desires.

  “At the time that our subjects departed Switzerland, they had accepted the memories we had implanted as being accurate recollections of their past lives. Within three to five weeks, however, the subjects began rejecting their new memories. Although they were unable to recall the memories that we had eradicated, they began to search for their past lives in a number of ways. Among these were nighttime dreams and waking fantasies that reflected their past. The subjects seemed to be incapable of letting go of their former selves—even though they did not know that their former selves had existed.

  “I have concluded that organics become who they are through a series of choices that begin in childhood and continue until death. Even if their memories are altered, the organics tend to revert back to those choices. This process is quite common among organics and has been recognized in every cultural group since recorded history. It has been called by many names—the human spirit, the soul, the will to believe—but, whatever name it is given, it produces the same result. Organics believe what they choose to believe and, under normal circumstances, nothing can be done to change that.

  “As an organic myself, I can attest to this inherent flaw. When I was a child, I determined that there is no god, and I chose to pursue science to discover the answers to life’s mysteries. I believed that every answer to every question could be found in a test tube, and I believe that to this day.

  “My brother, who was only two years younger than I, chose a different path. He was mesmerized by the church and was determined to give his life to it. My parents were not religious, but they were not atheists, either. They went to church on the high holy days, and the rest of the time they lived as they chose. But my brother had such a passion for the church that he spent every moment that he could working with the priests, and when he was old enough, he became a priest himself.

  “He and I had many arguments about religion—his passion for it and my rejection of it—but neither convinced the other to his way of thinking. We had made our choices about what we were willing to believe long before we were capable of constructing a reasonable argument in defense of those beliefs. As we have aged, each of us has become more fully rooted in the belief system that he chose so many years ago.

  “My recommendation is that we begin immediately working to further develop a process to make these changes to the memory banks permanent. I have performed several surgeries in which I have removed a few specific brain cells containing the memories from one subject and transplanted them into another. Because these cells become a permanent part of the brain, the memories cannot be rejected. Using Level Three Labyrinth to enhance the process should ensure that we achieve the desired permanent results.”

  When Heinz had finished his report, he took a deep breath and hit the send button. He hoped that he had been creative enough to convince Josef.

  Chapter 24

  Hadad’s hands trembled as he called his cousin, Saman. He had finally managed to uncover information that Josef Helmick would be willing to pay a great deal to acquire, and he must move quickly.

  Hadad had not talked to Saman for months, but he was the mech
anic who serviced Josef Helmick’s cars. At least that is what Saman told everyone; in truth, he kept them washed and cleaned, checked the oil and filled them with gas. Josef would never have entrusted Saman with a more important role in maintaining his fleet. Josef did not even know Saman’s name and would not have recognized him if they had passed one another on the street. Nevertheless, Saman boasted at all family gatherings that he alone kept Helmick’s cars in perfect running order, and he hinted that Helmick was very indebted to him.

  Hadad knew that his cousin was a liar, but he wanted to get a message to Helmick, and he thought that if he paid him, Saman would be a willing courier.

  After an extended time exchanging meaningless chatter, Hadad finally came to the purpose of his call. “I have important information for your employer. I must talk to him; if you can arrange it, I will pay you handsomely.”

  Saman was caught off-guard. “Herr Helmick will not speak to you. Give me the message, and I will deliver it to him.”

  “Oh, that I could,” Hadad replied smoothly. “I would entrust you with my life, but my words are for Herr Helmick’s ears only. Tell him that I have information about the American. I am certain that he will talk to me.”

  “How much will you pay?” Saman asked. “A conversation with Herr Helmick is worth much.”

  “One hundred dollars American.”

  Saman felt a pang of disappointment, “Five hundred.”

  “Two hundred,” Hadad countered.

  “Four hundred,” Saman pressed.

  “Two hundred. Take it, or I find someone else.”

  “Done. I will help you because you are like a brother to me,” Saman lied. “The money is not important. This is about family. I will give him the message.”

  Saman stood just outside the garage door thinking how he would deliver the message to Herr Helmick when Josef came tearing up the street and stopped his Lamborghini a few feet from Saman. “Have Ludwig look at my car. The brakes need work. And get someone out here now to take me home.”

  Saman could not believe his luck. “Yes, Herr Helmick, I will drive you myself,” and he scurried off to get a suitable car.

  When Josef was settled in the back seat and Saman had pulled onto the street, he spoke, “Herr Helmick, it is my good fortune to find myself in your presence today. Praise be to Allah who has brought us together! I have a message for you from Hadad.”

  “Who is Hadad?”

  “I am surprised, Herr Helmick, that you do not know the name, that you have not had previous dealings with him. Hadad is a buyer and seller of real estate, but his main business is information. No one knows more about what goes on in Dubai than Hadad.”

  “Never heard of him,” Josef replied. “What is the message?”

  Saman handed a business card over his shoulder. “Hadad says to call him at this number. He has information about the American who is asking about you.”

  “Pull over,” Josef ordered, “and get out of the car.”

  Saman immediately brought the car to a stop on the shoulder of the road and stepped out. Josef, too stepped out of the car and faced a frightened Saman. The gun was in Josef’s hand before the car stopped, and, now he brought it up and shot Saman directly in the heart. Stepping over his body, Josef slid into the driver’s seat and sped away.

  Twenty minutes later, Josef was in his apartment at the Burj Khalifa. He heard Hadad’s PCD ringing on the other end of the line and then, “Hello?”

  “You have information for me?” Josef asked without identifying himself.

  “Herr Helmick?” Hadad inquired.

  “Do you have information for me or not?”

  “Yes, Herr Helmick. I am at your service. I have eyes and ears everywhere, and I have learned much about the American who is here asking about you.”

  “What could you possibly know that would interest me?”

  “I think we must meet in person. Such sensitive information must be carefully guarded.”

  “What is your address?” Josef asked coldly.

  “401 Kabul Square. Can I expect you this afterno….” The line went dead, and for the first time in a long time Hadad felt genuine fear.

  As Hadad waited for Josef, he began to think that he had made a serious error in contacting him. He had not doubted that Herr Helmick would be willing to pay a great deal to know about the American who was so interested in Helmick’s affairs, but now he was not sure. He strained to hear the sound of someone at the door, but, at the same time, he wished that he would not come. Something told him that Herr Helmick would not be willing to play his game and pay his price.

  Just when Hadad had convinced himself that Herr Helmick was not coming, he heard the door open and the sounds of men’s voices in the reception area. His receptionist was speaking, but he could not understand what she said.

  Within seconds Josef entered Hadad’s private office and sat in the chair across from him. “Now tell me, what information do you have?”

  Hadad smiled nervously and licked his dry lips before he began, “One of the sous-chefs at the Burj Khalifa overheard Paolo Castro, the kitchen boy, talking to the American about a ring he had taken from the body he had found in the dumpster a few weeks earlier. The American bought the ring from Castro for an excessive price and shipped it to New York. The shipping label read, ‘Jarrod and Joshua Sinclair, GenTECH Enterprises, 113 Sinclair Plaza, New York, New York.’”

  Three minutes later Josef rose and left a clearly shaken Hadad sitting at his desk wondering what to do next. As he opened the outer door and stepped into the street, Josef gave a quick signal to the men who had accompanied him. Before he sped away, Josef heard the sound of round after round of ammunition being fired, as the receptionist, the fat clerk who had just returned from running an errand, and Hadad, slumped into lifeless bloodied heaps.

  Chapter 25

  Hadad had known of only two names, besides his own, of contacts he could confirm Fred had made in Dubai. The first of these was Paolo, who was now hanging from his own belt in the tiny closet he called an apartment. The second was Walid’s grandfather, Afshin.

  The last rays of light were fading from the filthy alley as Josef entered Afshin’s crumbling dwelling. The stench of rotting food and human waste permeated the air. The death of Walid must have left the old man with no one to care for his personal needs, and so he sat rotting away in this dark little cave of a room.

  “Come closer, German,” the old man hissed as Josef stepped through the door. “I have been expecting you.” His gnarled hands beckoned for Josef to approach. Who could have warned the old man that he was coming? Immediately Josef was on guard—was someone else here? He drew his Luger and waited for his eyes to adjust to the fading light. The room was quite empty except for the hideous old man.

  “Why do you disturb me? What do you seek here?” The hoarse, raspy sound emitting from Afshin’s throat barely seemed human.

  With the Luger still in his hand, Josef approached. “Your grandson, Walid, was acting as a guide for an American here in Dubai. You are going to tell me everything you know about the work the American was doing and what he wanted.”

  “First you pay!” droplets of the old man’s saliva sprayed Josef as he emphasized the final word while extending his palm.

  Josef rested the barrel of the Luger against Afshin’s temple. “Do you feel that? You have two minutes to tell me everything I want to know, or you will never speak another word. Whatever relatives you have left will spend the next few days scraping your brains off these walls.”

  To Josef’s amazement, Afshin laughed. “You have no power to kill me, German. But I invite you to try, if you dare.”

  Josef had killed dozens of men and always they begged for their lives. Afshin’s response unnerved him. He pressed the Luger into the old man’s temple. If he shot him, he would have no other source for finding out about the American. He stood in the hazy light pondering what to do; the stench was making his stomach churn. With his free hand he drew a few coin
s from his pocket and tossed them onto dirt floor with a thud. “A choice, old fool, because I am in a generous mood. You will tell me what I want to know. If I like what you say I will pay you with gold. If I do not, I will pay you with lead. Agreed?”

  Afshin cackled again.“Agreed! My grandson was weak. He worked for the American and embraced the American’s God. His death was inevitable; if he had not died in the market I would have killed him myself while he slept. No one who serves that God can live here.”

  Josef shoved the barrel of the gun more forcefully into Afshin’s temple. “I have no interest in your grandson, and I don’t believe in any God. Who was the American and why did he hire Walid? What did he want? Who is he working for?”

  Afshin raised his withered hand and pushed the barrel of the gun away from his own temple. Josef’s impulse was to stop him, but he did not. “Walid told me very little—only that the American was visiting the man Hadad and that he was investigating a series of murders, both here and in other places. He never told me who the American worked for.”

  “I am wasting my time here,” snapped Josef disgustedly.

  “Patience. I merely said that Walid told me little; I never said that I did not know the answers to your questions. But you must pay…and more than a few coins on the floor. I will tell you what you want to know…more than you want to know—for the right price.”

  “So far you have told me nothing. What is the right price to you old man? How much?”

  “A small house in the city of Pamukkale, near the cavern where Pluto’s breath pours forth from the earth.”

  Josef hesitated for a moment before answering. “If I like what you tell me, you will have your price. If not, you have bought your own death.”

  “Take your gun away,” the old man ordered. “Put it back in your jacket.”

  Josef withdrew the gun but continued to hold it in his hand. Afshin seemed satisfied. “Walid called the American ‘Fred’. He is a detective. He works for two who hate you, who serve Fred’s God. They sent him to our country to bring you to justice. You will not be able to stop Fred—he is old and weak, but you cannot stop him from completing his task.”