Relic

by Roger Weston

  She walked a few feet and stopped. She pushed her strawberry blond hair behind her ear. “For 500 years, my fellow Augeans, we have funded world progress. No progress ever happens without catastrophic events and change.

  “We funded the Cambodian Civil War. We funded the Cuban Revolution, the Nicaraguan Revolution, the Rhodesian Bush War, and so many others. We funded the Bolsheviks in the Russian Revolution of 1917. We have all made billions. The day will come, very soon, when we will all make tens of billions every year.

  “In the old days, the Romans did not fight wars every ten years. Their wars never ended. Conquest was a way of life. With morality removed from our modern world, history will repeat itself. New Romans will rise all over the globe. New Huns will rampage. Mao, Hitler, Genghis Khan, Napoleon—such men imposed perpetual war on the world. We will see men like this again—very soon.

  “Think of the Dark Ages in England. Think of King Aethelfrith sweeping through the northern counties of England. Think of Cadwallon who set out to exterminate the entire English race. These were unbound men. Such men will walk the earth again. The human spirit is not dead. It is only shackled by religion. I am breaking the shackles and opening the floodgate of profits.”

  Looking down from above, Jake saw a gray-haired man whose face seemed to have a pained expression. His eyes were glazing over. He kept squirming in his chair. He wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “Man has a need to be part of something bigger than himself,” Irina continued with a sweeping gesture of her arm. “Destroy the church, let the people feel lurking danger, and they will run to the military by the thousands. History will repeat itself. The Dark Ages will repeat like a recurrent winter.”

  “Pagan Saxons and Vikings were merciless. Back then, a monk called Gildas spoke of the marauding Saxons as ‘a race hateful to God and man.’ What made them so hateful to a Christian monk? Gildas quoted from the biblical Book of Kings, calling them ‘like wolves unto the field.’ This peaceful man of God had learned of mercy and compassion, and it ruined him, but not just him. There are countless others over the centuries. In general, Christians are willing to fight, but they are sometimes restrained by mercy. As I said, true pagans had no such restraints.

  “The medieval ‘Just War’ doctrine was concerned with justifying war. You wouldn’t have to justify it unless there was some kind of restraint to begin with. In the 13th century, Thomas Aquinas specified three conditions for war. I think you’re beginning to see the problem—conditions, restraints, averted wars, lost profits. First, wars must be declared by a legitimate authority. They must have a just cause. Listen to the next condition: they must have an unselfish intent. Can you hear the preacher on pulpit? No more stealing resources. No more plunder. That’s selfish. Christian sentiments have averted too many wars. Sadly, these have become mainstream ideas.

  “By the 17th century, the disease had spread. Even a secular theorist like Hugo Grotius added restrictions. He wanted fewer wars and less destructive wars. He claimed that unjust actions would invalidate an unjust cause. Then they add in war crimes and limits set by international convention. More and more restraints piled up as time went on. America is like an insane patient in an asylum, restrained by a strait jacket. She handicaps her soldiers with rules; then, because it’s so insane, because they suffer so much unnecessary death, they get weary and want an end of war. This must not continue.”

  The gray-haired man loosened his tie. He removed his gray jacket and laid it across his lap.

  “At this very moment,” Irina said, “the church is in a panic thanks to my news conference. As my message takes root over the coming days, their panic will be validated. When we destroy the church, when we release the moral shackles of the people, localized war lords will rise all over world to seize land and plunder. World leaders—those that stand—will find massive armies eager to live by conquest. The demand for arms will shatter all records. We will finance and sell immense quantities of weapons. My fellow Augeans, the day is stealing upon us. Ramp up your factories. Invest in your infrastructure. Increase your capacity. You must be ready. You won’t be waiting long. The start-up companies of tomorrow will be private armies, and the returns will be much higher than we’re seeing today.”

  Irina paced back and forth as she lectured billionaires. Her pink dress flowed like the purple robes of Alexander.

  “What is man, anyway, but a warlike lump of flesh and blood? In the history of mankind, battles have never ceased because they are part of man’s nature. Hostility runs rampant in his veins. Loose that nature and you create a new era. Maybe one day they will call it the Irian Dark Age because I am the architect.

  “Just as de Gaulle appointed himself leader of France at a time of crisis, I now assume control of the Augean Command and our worldwide interests. El Jefe is weak and in constant pain. He could not even make this meeting. His time is past. Strong leadership is needed. Destiny and greatness demand this of me.”

  Several men squirmed in their seats. An overweight, gray-bearded man shook his head. A crooked, slack-jawed man with thick eye glasses and a pained expression crossed his arms defiantly and looked over at the man next to him. A lean and hungry looking man, sharp-eyed and with confident demeanor, scowled and said, “This is outrageous. Nobody in the history of the Augean Command has ever appointed themselves grandmaster. They are nominated. Their seat is passed on to a son. Ajax is the heir to the grandmaster’s seat.”

  One of Irina’s thugs, holding a silence MP5, stepped over behind the talker. This had a chilling effect on his mouth.

  Irina nodded. “Be patient. We will get to that.” She took a few steps, stopped, and turned to the table. “The tradition of the Augean Command reaches back Centuries. The Augean Command has kept up a tradition of domination and exploitation going all the way back to the Spanish conquistadors of the 17th century. We had our heroes back then. They called Camilo Torres the greatest sinner in the world, but what was he really? He was a man in shackles. Break the shackles and you free the man.

  “What Torres began we will finish. We will use the work of a master forger in a scheme to delegitimize Christianity and herald in a New World Command marking the greatest power shift since Constantine. A new Dark Age will emerge from the pit of the earth, but all men will have hearts of Vikings and Saxons. Restraint will be a forgotten contempt. The world will once again be a game where the strong rule and the weak perish without exception. Weapons will solve all problems.

  “When the people lose all faith in Christianity, militias will sprout like weeds. Leaders will gravitate more toward international organizations for guidance. The Augean Command will control the United Nations by controlling the players from above: the Americans, the Chinese, the Russians, the Jews, the Europeans, the blacks, the whites, and all manner of human trash.

  “Gentlemen, the Irian Dark Age is beginning—the real Dark Age where nobody, not even a monk like Gildas, is content to see order restored.” She pushed a button on an electronic device in her hand. The door opened and ten thugs with baseball bats walked in. They stood with their backs against the wall.

  Fear did strange things to the quiet members. Eyes shifted. Necks craned. Tension filled the air. Fingers made sudden movements. The gray-haired man unbuttoned his collar and squeezed his forehead. A bald man with hooked nose, hawk eyes, and a black sweater ignored the thugs, but his eyes seemed fixated on the bats they carried. A man with a big belly threw glances around as if he was searching for a second door.

  Irina gestured with a flowing sweep of her arm. “These are my enforcers. They are only here as witnesses of what is about to happen.

  “As you all know, after this meeting, I will put on my white wedding dress and walk the aisle with Ajax. We will be married. We both come from elite and noble backgrounds, yet it was I who seized the Christ Confession and spun it into an international sensation. It was I who threw the knockout blow. Ajax is the hereditary successor to the title of grandmaster of the Augean Command, but El J
efe Rosario is turning over the reins of Santiago Bank to Ajax. As his wife, I accept the title of grandmaster in his place. Ajax will place the crown on my head, and we will all make a blood pact to support his choice.”

  Nobody objected to this or acted surprised. The bats loomed large behind them, gripped by big hands. One head shot would be a death sentence.

  Irina said, “Then Ajax and I will walk down the aisle to seal the deal, making it official.”

  She was quiet for a moment. She watched the members. They watched the thugs’ big hands and muscular forearms. They read each other’s morbid faces.

  Irina said, “My fellow Augeans, all in favor, say aye.”

  Several seconds ticked off. Then the “ayes” started rolling off their tongues. Every member was in favor, except one. When a thug behind him raised his bat as if to smash open the dissenter’s head like a watermelon, that member also said “aye.”

  Irina said, “Gentlemen, put your right hand on the table, palm up.”

  The members did this. The thugs put down their bats and pulled out razors. Each thug took a hand and used the razor to prick the ring finger and release blood.

  Irina said, “Fellow Augeans, hold hands.” The Augeans held hands with their neighbors.

  “Now repeat after me: I swear allegiance to Irina, and I reject all other authority.”

  They all chanted this in unison.

  “I trust her leadership for the Augean Command, to carry on the tradition of Camilo Torres. If I ever break this pledge, I will pay with my life.”

  Again, they all repeated her words in unison.

  The thugs passed out hand wipes and band-aids.

  “Now my fellow Augeans, go and enjoy yourself. The wedding will soon begin.”

  Irina exited. Jake sat there for a minute in the garden above, thinking about what he had just witnessed. Then he heard a door open and shut. He crawled over to the next window and looked in. This was a ground-floor office and library with an unusual gun rack—unusual because all the guns were assault rifles. Some sported banana clips. Jake watched Irina deposit the Confession into a hollowed out dictionary, which she then put back on the shelf.

  Jake started crawling back toward where he’d climbed over the fence. He’d almost made it when two thugs entered the garden. They both held silenced pistols and began checking behind bushes. They promptly found Jake.

  With a pistol and silencer pointed at him, Jake sighed.

  A big thug with a weed of dark hair sprouting off bottom of his chin said, “Do not make me use this. Get the hell out of there.”

  “You oughta calm down,” Jake said. “Relax. I’m just looking for a stray cat I spotted. I got scared when I saw you had a gun.”

  “Nice try, Mr. Jake Sands. Get up slowly. We’ve been looking for you fifteen minutes. Very smooth how you slipped away from the party. Now the party is over for you.”

  CHAPTER 52

  As the thugs led Jake through the house, he eyed the doors, trying to guess which one led into the library where he’d seen Irina hide the Confession. They led him out a side door and sat him down on a golf cart. The bald thug sat next to Jake, holding a gun against his ribs. With his other hand, he held a folded towel to hide the pistol from wedding guests, who were scattered all around.

  The thug with the little pointed beard at the tip of his chin drove the golf cart over to the parking lot. He stopped by a garage-sized stone-walled security building with one-way mirrored windows. In front of the building was the beginning of a line of ten or twelve limos that stretched back down the roadway between rows of parked cars. Some of the drivers were talking. Others were sitting in their cars, listening to music or catching a nap.

  The bald thug sitting by Jake grabbed his arm and gestured toward the building. “Let’s go.”

  Jake stood up and jerked his arm away. “Get your hands off me.”

  The thug immediately punched Jake in the face. Jake staggered backwards. Then he stood and waited. “All right,” he said. “I get the message.”

  Figuring he had tamed Jake, Baldie grabbed his arm again, but Jake spun towards him, using his palm to chin jab the thug. The bald head whipped back, no doubt causing neck trauma.

  Spike beard wasn’t in the mood for games. He reached for his gun. He got his hand on it just as Jake kicked him between the legs. The thug doubled forward, setting himself up perfectly for Jake to kick him in the face. Now the thug lunged backwards, landing on his back.

  Jake figured that his gymnastics exhibition had been seen by more security thugs behind the one-way windows, so he acted fast.

  He raced to the first limo, tore open the door, and pulled out the driver, throwing him to the ground. Jake ducked into the car and started it up just as three security men poured out of the shack. He slammed the car into gear and hit the gas. He heard several bullets hit the car windows, but quickly realized that bullet-proof glass had kept him safe. The rear tires spit out a rooster tail of gravel. The guards shrunk back into the guard shack to flee the stream of rocks flying at them. In the rear-view mirror, Jake saw one of the guard shack windows shatter from flying rocks.

  Jake headed for the highway, but promptly saw that the way was blocked off by a black SUV that was heading straight for him. Swerving off the gravel road, Jake hit the gas and sped across the open grass, which was mowed as far as the eye could see. He swerved between the occasional tree but otherwise it was clear running. The SUV gave him chase, and Jake also saw two other cars in pursuit: a vintage 1968 Pontiac Grand Prix and a 1966 Lincoln Continental.

  Jake led the race across eighty acres of manicured lawns. Horses reared and bucked riders as Jake cut across the Polo field. He heard the screams of women. Jake flew out past the Polo field and then the shooting started. Thugs in the pursuing cars opened fire on him with automatic weapons in burst mode. Amazingly, the bullets were not penetrating the windows.

  The Pontiac Grand Prix had a lot of power under the hood. It flew past the limo, got in front of it and tried to slow down. When Jake tried to go around it, the Grand Prix swerved, cutting him off, so Jake sped up and rammed the car. When the Lincoln Continental came along side, Jake swerved toward it, broad-siding it.

  Then Jake swerved the other way. He did doughnuts on Ajax’s lawn as he angled for another car to hit. The limo smashed into the rear quarter panel of the SUV. Then Jake made a run for it, stomping his foot down on the pedal. When the SUV came up alongside, Jake waited for the right moment, then slammed into it, changing its course so that it crashed into a tree.

  More shots were fired from the Lincoln Continental and the Pontiac Grand Prix, which were in hot pursuit. They outflanked him on both sides, so he swerved back and forth, broadsiding them both. Shots were being fired from the Lincoln, so Jake swerved into it, causing the driver to steer the car away.

  The vehicles were flying down an open strip of grass at close to 50 mph. Jake hit the brakes and went into a sideways slide. He finally did a 180 and was glad he didn’t roll the limo, which he now drove into a patch of trees. He swung around and waited, not for long.

  The noses of the hunter cars eased into view. They were crawling along, looking for him. He poured on the fuel and propelled the limo into the driver’s side of the Lincoln. When he backed up, he had a strong impression that the Lincoln would not chase him anymore. The left-front wheel was bent over like a twisted ankle.

  Jake peeled out. The rear wheels tore up streaks of grass as he got sideways and went after the Pontiac Grand Prix. The Grand Prix driver saw it coming and fled.

  Now the pursuit was on, a drag race on open grass. Three times, Jake slammed the limo into the Pontiac Grand Prix, but the driver righted himself each time, even though he was going fifty-five. They roared toward the wedding party. And Jake could see that the crowd had already thinned out from all the shooting. Now he saw more guests fleeing for safety.

  Jake slowed down to forty as he raced by the house. A caterer threw a tray of drinks in the air and dove into the poo
l. A Polo player was leading his horse back toward the parking lot. The horse began rearing and the rider tugged at the reins, trying to control the beast.

  Jake turned the wheel sharply, and the limo went sideways into a white caterers’ tent. The limo took out barbecues and tables. When the crash ended, Jake saw slabs of steak on the windshield. He got out and ran for the house.

  The Pontiac Grand Prix had come to a stop, and a shooter opened fire on him. He heard bullets hit the house within inches as he dove through a window. Inside, he gained his feet and ran for the library, kicking open the door. He grabbed an AK-47 assault rifle from the gun rack.

  Gunners were closing in, so he squeezed off a couple bursts of 7.62mm ammo out the library door, scattering his pursuers, giving them reason to slow down.

  Jake exited through the side door into the next room, a home movie theatre. He left the theatre and fled down a hall for an exit. Unfortunately, the exit door was pulled open by a shooter before Jake got there. The man raised his gun. Jake gunned him down, but he saw several more shooters out there, so he took a hard left and ran up a staircase.

  As he took stairs two at a time, he heard a male voice say, “He went upstairs. We’ve got him trapped.”

  Then he heard Irina’s voice say, “I want him dead. Bring me a body.”

  Jake didn’t like the sound of that. A woman on her wedding day didn’t play games.

  CHAPTER 53

  As Jake reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner, gunfire punched holes in the wall where he had just been.

  He swung his gun around the corner and squeezed off a burst. He heard yells and someone falling back down the stairs.

  Jake decided to hold his position, but then a shooter appeared down the hallway.

  There was another stairway!