Jules lied back on the log without complaint, accepting whatever Alex had in store for him.
The results of the infusion were immediate. His color promptly returned, and the bags under his eyes slowly resolved. “Wow. That feels good,” he exhaled with a sense of relief.
Now in much better spirits, Jules turned to Alex. “So, Alex Pella how do I have the pleasure of your unexpected acquaintance today?”
“You can thank your uncle,” Alex said, “Albert Rosenberg.”
Hearing his uncle’s name irritated Jules. “How so?”
Alex hastily relayed to him the story about the gift that he’d received from Albert and the neurological predicament that it precipitated. He then ended the narrative with, “And the letter read: the key to change The New Reality is to break the pound.”
Jules instantly recognized the meaning of this riddle. Admiring Albert momentarily for his ingenuity, he continued to listen without feeling compelled to divulge any information about the package he had also received.
“At first I didn’t understand its meaning,” Alex explained. “However, when I saw that you’d been arrested for embezzlement and espionage…”
“Trumped up charges,” Jules insisted.
Alex continued, “…its meaning became clear.”
Jules smiled with triumph. He understood Alex’s innuendo and was proud of his accomplishment. He recalled how over 10 years ago, he brought the Bank of England completely to its knees. By selling a massive amount of their currency short on the international market during a time of financial crisis within the country, he made billions in one day on the transaction. As a result, the pound was devalued and almost fell into total financial collapse. Thus, he had acquired the reputation of breaking the pound.
“Plus,” Alex said, “your uncle was a wise man who foresaw the possible consequences of The New Reality’s takeover and warned me of such concerns with his dying breath.”
“He was an old fool,” Jules interrupted. “If he were so bright, why did he choose Myra Keres to lead the company into this new era of financial dominance? I was the mastermind that generated the company’s vast fortune and created the world’s financial dependency on The New Reality’s loans. I was the proper successor to run The New Reality.”
Jules sat up despite still feeling lightheaded. “Now look at the world. We are slaves under constant marshal law. The WOGs are everywhere and the citizens of the planet have been disarmed and cannot fight against this injustice and their political enslavement.”
“And it will only get worse,” Alex said.
“Spot on,” Jules said as he began to feel a camaraderie with Alex. “Humanity’s spirit was never meant to be stifled,” Jules continued. “The rights of the individual should be safeguarded, and the population’s shared values should hold society together, not the firm hand of the militarized police. The New Reality believes they alone hold the ultimate truth to life. However we are all human and prone to mortal mistakes. Only through coming together in an open society and accepting each other’s beliefs can we as a society come closer to the ultimate truths in life.”
Alex was familiar with this open society theory as popularized by Karl Popper, but he himself was never able to embrace its concepts. In fact, he believed it be an untested theory with many potential hazards and prone to create a society of lawlessness, amorality, and misunderstanding. But he recognized that this clearly wasn’t the right time to engage Jules in a debate.
“People will be more productive, innovate and creative in such a system,” Jules continued. “That’s where the world went wrong before and after The New Reality. Each country believed their truths to be absolute and would not recognize their neighbor’s values as equally valid, no matter how different. It was a close-minded system that became even more stifling once The New World Order came into fruition. It will eventually lead to mass chaos, revolt, and massive casualties that would make the carnage inflicted by The Disease seem petty in comparison.”
“That’s why I’ve been planning to infiltrate The New Reality now for almost two years,” Alex said. After I saw that you’d been sequestered in the Camp Williams NewREMA facility, I knew I had to act quickly before your services to The New Reality were finally terminated.”
Alex’s innuendo was not lost on Jules, and for the first time in their conversation a true, non-contrived smile emerged on Jules’ face.
“That’s why I needed to fake my own death in an aero-bike race,” Alex continued, “And destroy my biotags in the process. I knew it would provide me with a short segment of time to go off-grid so that I could find you without raising suspicion about myself.”
Jules knew Alex was correct. As a New Reality executive, he recognized that because of Alex’s brilliance, success, ingenuity, and freethinking spirit, the man was considered a major threat to the New World Order and as a result was under constant surveillance.
Suddenly, it all made sense to Jules. He knew Albert Rosenberg better than anyone else and recognized the man’s superior intellectual prowess. The old man must’ve planned this whole thing before he died, he concluded. The two packages, the trumped up espionage charges against me, the election of Myra Keres as president. It was all a preconceived, contrived plot for Alex and me to work together and take control of The New Reality.
Jules began to further think through Albert’s plan. The old man wanted us to earn the right to run The New Reality. It also explained why he left the presidency of the company up to a public election. Albert hated elections and believed they only promoted the weak to power, leaving those with the real talent to grovel in its outcome. It was all a carefully planned and executed façade. That son of a bitch!
This revelation, Jules knew, had to be kept to himself.
“Not to burst your proverbial bubble,” Jules finally said, “but how might you plan to infiltrate the company? It will only be a short matter of time before they recognize the rouse that you’ve created.”
“Albert’s message also mentioned something about a key,” Alex thought aloud. “It seems to hint at a possible method or some sort of technology we could use to infiltrate The New Reality.”
“Lost,” Jules blurted. “The key is lost.”
“There is a key?” Alex asked, surprised.
Jules waved his hands. “Not a key in the sense of some piece of metal shaped with incisions. My dear old uncle once possessed a highly sophisticated medallion that would unlock the entire New Reality computer system, providing him with full and instant control over anything and everything owned, run, or manufactured by the company.”
“That’s nearly everything in the world,” Alex commented.
“My uncle was somewhat paranoid,” Jules acknowledged.
“Does anybody possess a key now?” Alex asked.
“Oh, no,” Jules laughed. “The old man trusted no one, not even his successor, and took this one and only medallion with him to the grave. Plus, few besides myself actually knew that this key even existed.”
“Where’s this medallion now?” Alex inquired.
“Though I don’t like to repeat myself…” Jules began rather indignantly.
What a pain in the ass! Alex thought.
“…I will do so once for you,” Jules continued with an air of superiority. “When I mentioned that the old man took it to the grave, I meant that he physically took it to the grave. And unless you know where he’s buried, our little adventure here has ended as abruptly as it has begun.”
“Let’s not end this delightful party too soon,” Alex quipped. “There’s much more fun I still have planned for us.”
Jules was taken aback by Alex. No one showed him disrespect. “Listen here—” Jules began to say.
“You listen,” Alex stated firmly, yet politely. “I was the one who cremated your uncle, laid his ashes in a casket, and buried him. I, and I alone, know his final resting place.”
Jules stood up, forgetting about the recent indignation. His heart began to pou
nd with anticipation and his ailments seemed to dwindle with his growing excitement. “So where, might I ask, did you place my uncle’s remains?”
“Yemen, along the Arabian coast,”
“Yemen,” Jules repeated, surprised by the response.
“As strange as it sounds,” Alex explained, “your uncle’s final request was to be buried in one specific tunnel at the bottom of a massive catacomb of shafts that once provided an immense bunker system for the country’s former ruler, Ari Lesmana.”
“The Masjid project,” Jules gasped.
“Masjid?” Alex asked.
“Myra turned that entire bunker system into a massive magma-powered green energy project that’s set to go nuclear in the morning. We have little time. They’re starting to inundate the area with water from the Arabian Sea as we speak.”
Alex smiled as he, too, suddenly began to appreciate the brilliance of Albert Rosenberg’s plan. The message, the crown, and the exact time he received the package were no coincidence. But what other riddles will this gift present?
Jules began to walk over to the aero-bike. He staggered the first few steps but regained his footing after a moment. “There’s no time to lose, my boy,” he said feeling a little more chipper.
Though Alex disliked the man’s arrogance, he did appreciate his bravado. Before he could follow him, Jules turned and said rather snidely, “Don’t just think that by getting this key we’ll be able to gain instant access to The New Reality.”
Alex raised an eyebrow, controlling his mounting frustration with the man.
“You must understand,” Jules continued in the same tone. “Every key needs the precise lock to which it fits in order to work.”
“And where do we find this lock?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jules pointed at Alex. “You are the lock.”
Chapter_12
Myra slipped on her dark sunglasses and walked straight down the long underground corridor leading to her office. Occasionally frequented by reporters hoping to grasp a single sound bite, this passage was usually off limits during her speeches. This time, because she had needed to depart prematurely from the press conference, the tunnel had not been properly secured from unwanted guests.
Myra detested answering any difficult questions whereby her prepared answers were not completely vetted by her media staff. In addition, she was certainly not ready to answer any questions dealing with Jules Windsor until all the facts regarding his espionage became evident.
With her head down and accompanied by her trusted aid, Kevin, she continued her march down the long, well-lit hallway. Pictures of former New Reality executives adorned the walls and memorabilia from the company’s inception decorated the passageway.
Myra’s heart pounded as she could only imagine the news that awaited her. Once before she had been hastily rushed from a meeting, and the results were catastrophic. Still toiling in the debacle created by her poor decisions during a small rebellion, she could not afford another public relations disaster.
“Sorry that I needed to pull you from the meeting,” Kevin said in a hushed tone, “but the circumstances require immediate attention.”
“This can wait until we get into my office,” she responded without turning or changing any inflection in her voice.
Dressed in a designer black suit and open collared white shirt, her aid walked slightly behind her to the right. He looked back and forth down the hall, ready to divert any media personnel who might accost them. Though much younger than Myra, Kevin adored her and had followed Myra throughout her executive career at The New Reality. Upon her election, she granted him control over the company’s newly formed International Security Agency (ISA).
With frosted black hair combed to the side and a rugged, half shaven complexion, he sometimes attracted just as much attention from the press as she did. Rumors routinely swelled that Myra was having an affair with him. Despite Kevin’s hopes that their affiliation could someday be more than business, Myra considered herself married to her work and sought out little physical companionship from others, and even less from her unfaithful husband.
Kevin stepped ahead of her at the end of the hallway and placed his hand along a barely discernable off-white circle on the wall. Immediately, a door dematerialized. After stepping into an elevator shaft. Myra would not turn until the door once again materialized behind her.
She then took off her sunglasses and looked up at Kevin. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. After a recent bout with some life-threatening medical issues, she still had trouble focusing. “What the hell has happened now?” Myra asked. “Another one of my former crooked business partners attempting to blackmail me?”
Kevin placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to allay her fears. Although the news would certainly not be positive, he hated to see her upset.
“Tell me,” she insisted. “Am I being indicted again or is there another insurgency against the WOGs somewhere in the world?”
“It’s Jules,” Kevin replied as the door to the elevator dematerialized.
“Jules.” Myra shivered involuntarily. No one else on the planet frightened her more than Jules Windsor. Pleased by the espionage charges levied against him, she knew it would provide an adequate excuse to dispose of the one person who posed a significant risk to her authority over The New Reality. After receiving boxes of incriminatory evidence about him from an anonymous source, she acted immediately.
From the first time they met, she could barely look Jules in the eyes without feeling as if he were sucking her soul from her. His commanding presence, articulate manner, and overall authoritative demeanor made her tense. Plus, his cunning intelligence and manipulative strategies made her feel like a mere novice in comparison.
Myra walked into her office and over to a glass table by the bay window overlooking a vast tree-swept landscape. After grabbing an overturned glass and placing in two ice cubes from a crystal jar next to it, she filled it to the top with one of the many selections of scotch on the table.
Kevin waited patiently until Myra began sipping her drink before providing the bad news. After a few swallows, he led her to the center of the office where a large New Reality insignia laden with gold and diamond lay etched into the marble floor.
“Jules escaped,” he finally said.
Before she had a chance to react, a distorted holographic image of an aero-bike and two people next to it on top of their highly secure Utah NewREMA camp appeared above the insignia.
“We were just able to acquire this visual,” he continued. “The image had been so badly distorted by some sort of cloaking device that this is the best the ISA could produce.”
Myra pointed to the holograph. “Do we know the conspirator?”
“There’s only a small handful of people in the world who could perpetuate such a brazen act,” Kevin answered, “and we have them all closely monitored at all times.”
“But?” Myra interjected.
“But,” Kevin continued, “the ISA was momentarily fooled by the actions of one of them. Let me show you.”
The holograph appeared to quickly reverse in time until just a barely visible lone figure stood next to the aero-bike. The satellite image became even more distorted as it quickly back-tracked to a canyon with a large flowing river running through it.
“Though we could not directly track the aero-bike,” Kevin explained, “the ISA mathematically calculated its flight path through subtle quantum inflections in the space-time continuum. I’m going to take you back now two minutes before we first lost visual contact with the vehicle.”
A holographic image appeared of an aero-bike skidding next to a rocky outcropping and falling encased in a honeycombed cocoon into the river. The image played twice in order to recap the event.
Myra gulped what was left of her scotch. “Alex Pella,” she gasped, remembering all too well his fate during the aero-bike competition earlier in the day. Because Alex had earned celebrity status after helping cure The Dise
ase, the event made immediate international headlines. She turned to Kevin and handed him her glass. Without another word she sat down on one of her lush white leather couches. The news of one of the world’s most formidable minds working in conjunction with Jules Windsor was overwhelming.
Kevin filled the glass once again and refreshed it with another ice cube before handing it to Myra.
“Alex Pella,” she spat. She shook her head and breathed deeply. “So what do we do now?”
“The ISA has been tracking their quantum fluctuations since escaping,” he answered, “and have pinpointed them somewhere in here in the forest of eastern Oregon.”
“Anything more specific?” she asked.
“That’s all we have so far.”
“Where are they going?” Myra asked, slightly relieved that they were not heading eastward towards Georgia.
“We have no clues as to where they are headed nor of their motives. I have all available ISA pulled to deal with this matter.”
Myra sat back on the couch and propped her arm up on one of the pillows. Despite having the entire world’s militarized WOG forces and the ISA working for her, she felt extremely vulnerable. “Were we able to obtain any information from Jules’ interrogation before his escape?”
“Not a thing,” Kevin responded. “The man’s mind is a closed vault. Our pathologist was just about to start a microdissection of his brain when Alex rescued him. However…”
Kevin stood up and walked over to an end table at the other end of the room. Myra did not pay attention as she was momentarily lost in thought, contemplating what Jules and Alex could be plotting.
Returning with the ornately decorated shield Jules received from Albert, Kevin held it up for Myra to view.
She instantly recognized the ancient artifact—she’d seen it once before when Albert Rosenberg introduced her to his massive collection of Greco-Roman antiquity.
“I’m sure you recognize this shield,” Kevin commented. “It was delivered to Jules Winsor just before we captured him. A note was attached, but only microfragments of it could be found.”
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