“It may be illegal… but so’s most of what we do. Don’t worry about it. And Tony here is a real Lewis Hamilton.”
“Who’s Lewis Hamilton?”
“Hey Tony, Maurice here wants to know who Lewis Hamilton is. Lewis Hamilton, Maurice, was one of our best Formula One drivers, back in the day when cars used to race each other on racing circuits around the world. The competition was called the Grand Prix. But since the introduction of self-drive cars most people can get their kicks by actually being in a car that’s going a couple of hundred miles per hour, rather than watching someone else drive that fast. The public lost interest and so the sponsors lost interest too. Apparently it was a very expensive sport.”
“You mean that was Tony driving at those breakneck speeds, not a computer?”
“Yep, that was Tony.”
Maurice was glad that they hadn’t told him earlier; he’d have been scared stiff if he’d thought that a human being was controlling the car. He decided that if he was in danger of being killed in a car crash, he’d like to know if it would be as a prisoner or if he was being rescued.
“You said that what you do is mostly illegal. So what exactly do you do?”
“We resist. Specifically we resist the oppression of the government and its puppet-master. We work for the resistance. We work for One Life. And today we’re your fairy godfathers.”
One Life was the worldwide network of resistance cells that harassed, sabotaged and damaged The Order wherever possible. Reincarnation was a fact and One Life could do nothing about that, but their dream was to return to a world without Recarns, a world where nobody remembered past lives and made the best of each life that they had, a world that considered each life an individual life and not as part of an eternally renewing lifecycle where corrupt Recarns could pass money and forward power to their subsequent incarnations.
“But wasn’t the government voted in democratically? Surely they can be voted out just as easily as they can be voted in?”
“Maurice, do you really believe that? Hasn’t your life got worse since the ONP took power?”
“Yes, I suppose it has.”
“You suppose it has? You suppose it has? Maurice, are you fucking simple or something? Look at you. You nearly lost your daughter because you couldn’t afford the surgery she needed. You stole the money to pay for her surgery from some bloke and accidentally killed him in the process. You’ve lost your family and were about to top yourself. Yes, you’re certainly living the life of Riley, aren’t you? Who the fuck do you think is responsible?”
Maurice thought back to a previous time, a time when he was still with Karen and his daughters. He had snapped under the pressure that he might lose Caitlin and said what he really thought about the Government. But that time he had been under the protection of the anti-bug sweeper. Now he had no such protection. What if they were government agents trying to get him to incriminate himself? He thought about it for a second and then realised that if the government had wanted rid of him, then all they had to do was to have left him in the clutches of that evil bitch at the Self Termination Centre.
“Yes. Alright. Yes, my life has turned into a giant fucking mess. And yes, I do blame the government. But that still doesn’t explain why they can’t be ousted at a General Election.”
“I’ll explain things to you, Maurice. There are things that you’re obviously not aware of. Remember I mentioned the word ‘puppet-master’?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the ONP was voted in. It’s a democratically elected government. It was voted in because it seemed to have the answer to the economic mess that the country was in. It was supposed to be the saviour. Now, who do you think caused the global recession?”
“I don’t know. The banks?”
“Yes, indirectly the banks caused it. But they were acting under orders of a far higher authority.”
“What higher authority?”
“This is where you might find it hard to believe.”
“What higher authority?”
“Have you heard of the Illuminati?”
“The Illuminati? Surely that’s just a myth isn’t it? That’s just something conspiracy theorists go on about?”
“I wish it were just a myth, Maurice. But the truth of the matter is that the Illuminati really exists. It has done for hundreds of years.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we have agents embedded inside the organisation. They’re sympathisers – we call them SIMPs. They’re disillusioned members of the Illuminati and they feed us information about what’s happening.”
Of course, Maurice had heard about the Illuminati but he thought it was just stories, made up by over-active imaginations looking for someone to take the blame for life’s problems.
“It gets even crazier. The ONP, or the Order of New Perfectibilists as is their real title, is the political wing of the Illuminati. Remember in your history classes when you learnt that Sinn Féin was the political wing of the IRA, the Irish Republican Army? Well, it’s the same thing. It’s all part of a plan to establish a New World Order. Only, now it’s not just a plan – it’s a reality. Don’t you think it’s curious that so many countries have governments which behave in a similar way to ours? They all apply the same policies, and they apply the same policies because they’re the first really global party. They may have different names but they’re all the same political party really. It’s a world takeover.”
Maurice thought that it all sounded very far-fetched but it did make some kind of sense too. He’d seen old movies – especially those old James Bond film – where a megalomaniac, power-hungry individual wanted world domination. He’d read about the Second World War, and Adolf Hitler on the internet. Did this kind of thing really exist now? He knew of the existence of the resistance but he thought that they were just terrorists; he had believed the ONP propaganda. If what this guy was telling him was true, it meant that the country – the world - was in an even bigger mess than he’d imagined.
“Right, we’re here.”
The car had pulled into the driveway of a modest but elegant detached house. Maurice was curious.
“Where are we?”
“We’re home. Rather than having a lot of us in one place – which could arouse suspicion and also be a security risk – we have a cell system, i.e. small units ready to act at very short notice. We never go on missions in our own area, we always operate at a range of a hundred miles or more. That’s why we were sent all the way to Devon to rescue you.”
“Rescue. That’s a welcome word. I was afraid I was a prisoner.”
“A prisoner? Believe me, Maurice. If you’d been a prisoner we wouldn’t have treated you with such kid gloves.”
“So… what’s your name? I know the driver’s Tony. But what’s your name? And the other guy who hasn’t said a word since we swapped cars?”
“I’m Roberto. And yes, I know I don’t sound Spanish. That’s ´cos I’m not. It was my Spanish grandfather’s name. We’re all brothers. Tony is really Antonio and the one who doesn’t speak much is Miguel, or Mike. We call him Silent Bob.”
“Who’s Silent Bob?”
“Jeebus, you don’t know much do you? Where have you been hiding all your life? Silent Bob was a character in an old film called ‘Dogma’. Don’t you watch movies? You hungry?”
“Starving.”
Right, let’s go into the house and have something to eat then.”
Chapter 16
9 a.m. Thursday, 3rd August, 2051
Thomas hadn’t let the grass grow under his feet. He had been in charge of the Illuminati for over six months now, and had already increased the priority of two of Nathan Smith’s projects. There were a few raised eyebrows when he diverted even more funds to those projects, but anybody who held any office of stature in the organization knew that they were also very important to Nathan, bordering upon an obsession, and so nothing was said that could be construed as counterproductive to the projects’ progr
ess.
Thomas was glad to now be at the helm. It suited his purpose perfectly. He wasn’t satisfied to be just another name in the long list of acting Pindars, he wanted to break Nathan’s stranglehold and replace it with a new dynasty. Nathan’s and Thomas’s goals were almost identical but Nathan had been the one in situ and therefore he had had the advantage. Now, in the period between his death and his return as Pindar, Nathan was vulnerable. He had left mechanisms in place to ensure that his return to power was as trouble-free as possible, but nothing is without its risks. Loyalty could always be bought. Removing Nathan from the equation would be a difficult task but Thomas didn’t believe it would be impossible. It may not be possible for a number of years but Thomas was certain that in the not too distant future he would be able to begin his own self-perpetuating dynasty as the Pindar.
In the lavish room that had until recently been Nathan’s seat of power, Thomas shifted around in the large leather seat until he felt comfortable. He had initially used the chair that matched the original beautifully carved wooden desk but he had succumbed to using a more modern and comfortable executive chair, that gave his weakened body more support. The desk was far too ornate for Thomas’s taste but it had been the seat of operations for the Pindar since the inception of the organization in the 1760s. It had seen Nathan leave and return in various incarnations and had seen several temporary Pindars ensconced behind it whilst awaiting Nathan’s return. It had survived the brief period when the organization was known as the Perfectibilists, it had survived the two hundred and fifty years or so of the Illuminati, and was still present now that the Illuminati had metamorphasised into the New Perfectibilists. It also had the large Illuminati symbol, the all-seeing eye within a pyramid, carved into the front of the desk. Thomas didn’t want to tempt fate by changing it
This seat would be his for twenty years or so and then he would relinquish it to its rightful owner without a murmur of protest. That was the published plan. But that was Nathan’s plan. It was important that Nathan didn’t suspect anything and to the observer, it would appear that Thomas was simply continuing Nathan’s efforts on pet projects. It was actually part of his remit. Nathan certainly wouldn’t want to come back to reclaim his position and discover that the projects had been stagnating in his absence.
The challenges of these projects were immense. The soul was known to exist, there was no disputing that fact. Reincarnation had confirmed its existence. But what form did it take? It was generally accepted that the soul was sentient energy but its very nature posed numerous problems. How could this energy be trapped and contained? How could it be placed accurately into its new host body? These were not the kind of problems that would be resolved in a few months. Ever since technology had advanced sufficiently to make this transference theoretically possible, The Order had had teams of researchers laying the groundwork for this more focused research.
Chapter 17
10:45 a.m. Tuesday, 24th October, 2051
The room was spacious and decorated in a tasteful pastel apricot colour, although the patient could change the colour of the décor at the flick of a switch. There was a small bedside cupboard with two drawers to the left of Ana Lucia’s state-of-the-art hospital bed, and beyond that there were a matching armchair and sofa-bed. An integrated TV/computer monitor was sitting on top of the bedside cupboard. To the right, were the medical necessities; the health and vital functions monitoring system, a sink, an antiseptic gel dispenser, and an as yet unused intravenous drip stand.
Ana Lucia was feeling a little anxious. She checked the time on her Rolex wristwatch which was alongside her on top of the bedside cupboard. It was 10:20 in the morning. She was sure that the surgical procedure had been booked for 10:15 a.m. Her husband Roberto had gone to find a member of the nursing staff to find out why things were running late, but they shouldn’t have worried really – this was Brazil, after all, and Brazilians are notorious for not being slaves to the clock. However, she imagined that a hospital should be more punctual about its schedules.
This was the date that their daughter was due to be born. Fortunately the birth wouldn’t inconvenience their professional lives as October was the month during which Roberto took his annual leave and he would be able to spend more time with his wife and new daughter. Ana Lucia would still have a Caesarian Section though; they didn’t want to waste the rest of the holiday period wondering when baby Érica would be born. They felt lucky that their obstetrician was free on that day; he was highly respected in the city of Salvador and therefore in great demand. Doctor Anibal Pereira was also a family friend and was only too pleased to be participating in the birth of his friends’ baby.
At 10:22 Roberto returned with the elusive Doctor Pereira. The doctor kissed Ana Lucia once on each cheek and apologised.
“Sorry about the delay. A slight problem that needed resolving. Nothing to worry about.”
Ana Lucia, relieved, told him not to worry, that she wasn’t going anywhere. The doctor looked at her and winked.
“So, my dear, are you ready to bring your little one into the world?”
Ana Lucia smiled and nodded.
Two hours later, after Ana Lucia had recovered a little from the ordeal, the couple was back in the private room, but this time with baby Érica in a cot at the end of the bed.
Érica appeared no different from any other baby in the world. She had ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. She had beautiful brown eyes and a few wisps of hair straddling the top of her head. She blinked her eyes trying to focus on objects in the room but it was hard work and so she drifted off to sleep. She would spend the next six or seven years in complete ignorance of who she had once been, but as soon as the memory of Nathan Smith returned from the dark recesses of her mind, she could set about organising her return to the Illuminati and regaining the Pindarship – her birthright.
Chapter 18
11p.m. Tuesday, 7th November, 2051
It was raining and there was a chill in the air as the girl cowered in the pawn shop doorway, trying to keep dry. She had entertained herself for a while by looking through the mesh grill covering the window at the goods that hadn’t been reclaimed by their owners in time and were now available for anybody to buy, until the rain began to fall and she retreated to the relative shelter of the doorway. She had particularly liked the guitar to the right of the display and wondered what could have driven someone to pawn such a beautiful instrument. Then she realised that if she had had a guitar she, herself, would probably have sold it by now. At least the original owner of the guitar had, at one time, harboured the hope and intention to be reunited with his or her instrument.
.She had the look of someone who had been living on the streets for far too long. Each breath was clearly visible as it left her lips, like smoke from an invisible cigarette. She wished she could go home, back to the comforts of a family home but she knew that her family - well, her father principally - would never accept her and her unborn child. It was over five months since she had fallen pregnant, the result of a fumbled and less than romantic encounter in the back of a van. She had drunk too much at a Saturday night party and she was now carrying the result of this triste in her belly. Abortion hadn't been an option. It was bad enough that she was having a baby at the age of sixteen, which had alienated her father, but her mother could never have accepted it if she had terminated the pregnancy. She didn't want to turn both her parents against her. She didn’t want to completely burn her bridges behind her.
There weren't many people on the street that night; a few couples walking home from a night out, a group of six men - noisy but harmless - ending a night of hard drinking, proclaiming their drunken love for one another, and a well-dressed young man in a leather jacket, T-shirt and jeans. He stopped as he drew alongside the girl.
"It's cold tonight isn't it?"
The girl looked at him and wondered if he expected a prize for stating the obvious.
"Yes."
"I'm a little bit lost actually.
I'm supposed to be staying at a mate's house tonight but I can't find it. Maybe you can help me."
"Maybe."
"I've got it written down on a piece of paper. I'll show you."
The girl wondered if this guy was a bit simple. Surely, all he had to do was to enter the address into his mobile phone and GPS would guide him to his friend’s house. She was sorely tempted to point this out to him, but thought better of it. She was alone on the street and didn't want to antagonise the stranger. The man pulled a folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket and carefully opened it up, holding it in the palm of his hand. The writing was small and the girl had to lean in closer in order to be able to read what was written. The man also leaned forward and blew onto the paper with great concentration, a fine powder leaving the paper's surface and floating into the girl’s mouth and nostrils. She felt giddy. The man spoke again.
"It's not a night for a young lady in your condition to be staying on the streets. I think you should come with me to my friend's house. We'll look after you."
The girl felt very disorientated and didn't want to go with him but she felt as if the energy to resist had been drained from her. She'd spent plenty of nights worse than this on the streets. She didn't know who this guy was, she'd never met him before. He could be a rapist or a murderer, for all she knew. But she didn’t have the energy to stop herself from agreeing.
"OK. I'll come with you."
The man raised his arm and a black van appeared from round the corner of the street. As it pulled up, a sliding door opened and the girl got in, willingly. The man closed the side door of the van, locking it for security, just in case the girl came to her senses and tried to escape, although he doubted that would happen as the scopolamine powder had the girl under its control. He slid into the front passenger seat and nudged the driver.
REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES Page 12