Roger began to read from the tablet. Five minutes later, he looked up and gave it back to the perfecty, who pressed a combination of touch-screen buttons and then tossed the device onto the table. There was the sound of a muffled mini-blast; the device jarred, giving off smell of burning plastic and curls of smoke.
“It’s a bold and crazy plan,” Roger announced. “There is almost no time for preparation.”
“The scene and the timing have been chosen by the High Gathering. They are most favourable. This job will be our showcase, our tribute,” said the perfecty in a sonorous tone.
“We’ll need to act speedily and yet with caution. This is a public place with its own security,” Roger reasoned out loud.
“Well, we can only prepare ourselves as much as possible. In reality we’ll have to improvise as well.”
Roger was thoughtful for a few seconds. “It’s good to get ourselves acquainted with the place before we undertake the real action.”
“We’ll have time for a hands-on rehearsal.”
“Great.”
“Everything is ready for the operation – logistics included. Tonight we’ll check our equipment.”
“Perfecty, if we succeed ... this will make a difference. We’ll speed up change. Am I right?”
“We’ll be successful. Our progress is steady and sure. Have faith and patience.”
Roger returned to the subject of the impending operation, expressing his concern. “The file told about a blunder by our people in their home country. That makes me a little uneasy.”
“I’ve spoken to my counterpart who was in charge of that operation. Despite the setback, nothing was left to reveal our existence in any way. We don’t carry any burden in this regard,” the perfecty reassured him.
“That’s good. I don’t want the secret services breathing down my neck.”
“I believe all these things were taken into account when the High Gathering planned this job.” The perfecty looked reproachfully at Roger, as if to draw attention to his lack of faith.
“Of course. So it is up to us now. We should make it special,” Roger said, grinning broadly.
“Nothing stands in our way,” the perfecty spoke firmly. “There is one technicality you need to know of, however. West won’t be with us in this operation. A woman from Europe will replace her.”
“Is there a problem?” Roger asked anxiously.
“No.”
“We’re a team. Our five works best when we’re together.”
“It’s just a matter of expedience. We need somebody with specific knowledge. The European girl is a good choice. Do you have anything else to ask?”
“I need to gauge all this.”
“Well, don’t take too much time! Remember! – we are reshaping the world.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Whiteway Estate, Hampshire, UK
Carefully covering Elizabeth’s shoulders with the sheets, taking care not to wake her, James Whiteway slipped out of the bed. He put on a dark-blue silk dressing gown over his naked muscular body and went downstairs to the kitchen. He brewed a cup of his favourite Assam tea, added milk, and took it out into the conservatory, where he made himself comfortable on an oriental divan.
In the dawn light, a soft mist drifted over the Hampshire hills, cascading like smoke around the dense Woodsman Green Forest, which surrounded the estate.
James loved the peaceful serenity of early mornings here. He liked taking his morning tea while looking at the scenery and watching the local wildlife go about their business undisturbed in the adjoining meadow.
He was taking his first sip when he heard the broadband call signal coming from his study. An expression of weariness twisted the corners of his mouth. He knew there was only one person who would call at this hour.
As he had expected, it was Lino Mancini, an Italian friend and former fellow student from Oxford University, now living in Florence and working at the Florence National Library. Lino was a zealous Catholic, coming from a deeply religious family. His main passion in life was fighting against secret societies and investigating conspiracy theories. During the last couple of weeks, he had called several times to discuss his recent discoveries in that field. Three days ago, Lino called to ask him to look at some notes that were supposed to be a skeleton outline of his future book. James assumed that maybe he wanted to talk about this.
“Morning, Lino, how are you? It’s a lovely, very early, morning here,” James greeted him with a pinch of irony.
“Hi, James. I hope I didn’t wake you. I know what an early riser you normally are.”
James had forgotten how well his old friend knew him. Over the video link, Lino looked tired and sleepy, but his eyes burned with a feverish impatience. James realised that he would not be able to get rid of him easily. With a sigh of resignation, he settled down in front of his monitor. “I still haven’t turned around the notes you sent me. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy recently,” he said.
“That’s not a problem. I want to tell you about some very interesting information I’ve just obtained.” Lino lifted his forefinger, pausing dramatically for effect. “Last night I got their manifesto. It is an ancient Mesopotamian hymn. Unknown to the general public. How about that?”
“Lino, I think you should get a girlfriend,” retorted James.
The mocking did not seem to have any effect on Lino. “This is a breakthrough. I finally managed to lay my hands on something big. But it didn’t come easy. I had to become a spy to make this happen.”
James raised his eyebrows in mock concern. Lino sometimes could act childishly. “I hope you haven’t got mixed up in something improper.”
“No, nothing like that. Just a bit of working undercover, you know, and job done.”
Lino’s glib patter irritated James. “For the love of God! Can’t you speak normally?”
“Yes, sorry. You remember that for quite some time now I’ve been associating with different sects?”
James nodded.
“Well, I became a trusted member of one of them. That’s how I managed to lay my hands on that secret manifesto,” Lino explained. “The name of the sect is the Church of Angels.”
James felt a tickle of professional curiosity. “I’ve never heard of that one. Is it local or international?”
“They have branches in Russia and in some other places, mostly Eastern European countries. Their structure is a four-ranked one. The levels are Guest, Apprentice, Master and Maestro. Now you are conversing with one Apprentice Pietro. That’s the name I’m known by. My mentor is Master Silvio.” Lino paused to give a cheeky wink.
“So, this church must be part of that secret society of societies you’ve been talking about.”
“No. That one is hidden, nameless, out of reach. It’s as if it doesn’t exist. The Church of Angels and many occult groups are its creations. Long-established secret societies are under its influence, too. All of them accept this manifesto as a prophetical cornerstone teaching. That’s why my discovery is so important. You would know more if you actually read my notes.”
“You say this manifesto has been kept secret,” said James.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, it seems to me that you managed to acquire it far too easily,” James challenged Lino’s reasoning.
“I got it from the guy who recruited me. He thinks I’m a trustworthy follower. One thing also helped, though. You may call it a bribe. I paid him the equivalent of two of my months’ salary.”
“Remind me about that when you next ask for a loan,” joked James.
“My dear friend, every cent was well spent. This time I’m angling for the big fish. I might finally expose them. I intent to dig out names, addresses, companies. My book will become a bestseller.” Lino spoke with enthusiasm.
“I sincerely hope it does, but you need to be careful. If I understand you correctly, some people certainly won’t be happy about your book. If I were you, I’d consider possible implications. Mostly, legal ones,”
warned James.
“Don’t worry. I won’t point fingers at anybody without supporting facts,” Lino leaned closer to the screen. “I’m going to push things as far as I can. Now is the most opportune time. Those clandestine organisations act more openly. This means they are becoming more accessible.”
“From what I see, I think you’re enjoying yourself. That’s good. But you keep your guard up, okay?” said James.
“Yes, of course.”
“Keep me up to date with the progress of your book,” James saw that his interest visibly pleased Lino.
“You be careful, too. Tonight I’ll send you some more pages and the manifesto. My emails are for your eyes only,” cautioned Lino.
CHAPTER FIVE
Russia
1913
At such a late hour, the town of Vladimir had usually sunk into calm and darkness, but this evening was different. There were still many people, horses and carriages out in the streets, including mounted and foot patrols dressed in the uniforms of the Tsar’s guards. Music, singing and a multi-voiced hubbub could be heard all over the town. The last of the February snow had fallen, covering the streets and roofs with a thick, fluffy, crystal white blanket that reflected the light of the street lamps and the moon that hung in the clear, dark sky.
In the large entertainment hall of the main government building in the heart of the town, Tsar Nikolai Romanov was throwing a party for local nobles and dignitaries to mark the occasion of the special jubilee commemorating three hundred years of the Romanov dynasty. The celebration was part of the national trip that had started in Moscow and was passing through Vladimir on the way to Nizhny Novgorod, and from there the Tsar’s cortege would sail down the Volga River. The planned climax of the festivities was a liturgy on the 14th of March in the Ipachevsky Monastery to celebrate the date when Russian nobles first offered the crown to the first Tsar of the Romanov dynasty, Michael Fedorovich.
The Tsar intended to make his subjects remember this jubilee and had ordered his quartermasters not to stint on spending. All food and drink in the inns and taverns that night had been paid for. Stalls had been set up in the streets from which everyone could take a free bag of flour and a bottle of vodka. Patrolling soldiers had been ordered not to disturb celebrating citizens, only to collect up drunks that had fallen down in the snow before they froze to death. The Tsar’s presence and generosity had attracted many peasants from the surrounding areas of Vladimir. They came to watch street shows, get a free drink or meal and go home with some flour.
There had been a constant toing and froing in the town the whole evening, which is why nobody paid much attention to the men who sauntered casually out of several inns and houses just before daybreak. All of them wore simple villagers’ clothes, but they rode horses, which were beyond the means of an ordinary villager. Their white faces and smooth hands were signs that they were not used to hard labour. If someone had taken the trouble to look at the men more closely, they would have noticed that they were anything but villagers.
They left the town by different routes, but after a while turned towards one destination – the dark mass of the forest lying several kilometres away from Vladimir.
* * *
At the same time, in the forest about thirty kilometres away, a little settlement was awakening to its daily routine. One by one, the chimneys of the wooden houses and huts began belching out smoke. Men and women then came outdoors to engage in their morning chores. All the men and some of the women of the settlement were armed with personally chosen weaponry: Berdan and Mosin-Nagant rifles, different types of revolvers, sabres and knives. This settlement was situated away from the main road and was surrounded by hills and a dense forest. As far as the state authorities were concerned, the settlement did not exist; it could not be found on any map. Its inhabitants and the few who were acquainted with its location called it ‘Bezimiannoe’ or ‘the village without a name’. The reason for this anonymity was because it was the winter residence of the ringleader of the biggest and strongest criminal gang operating in the Russian Empire. The tentacles of this notorious organisation spread from Petersburg and Moscow to the eastern borders.
Around the settlement, strategically placed shooting points had been set up. There were shooters in positions deep in the forest and in front of the biggest house in the centre of the settlement. That morning, inside this house, three men sat at a long wooden table enjoying a breakfast of tea, black bread, dry fruits and meat. The flimsily dressed and dishevelled women with whom they had shared their beds the previous night were serving them in silence. At the head of the table sat a blond man in his late thirties with a sinewy body and a longish face. His eyes were small, clear blue and slightly sunken. This was the most wanted man in the Russian Empire. His name was Batka Ivan, known simply as Batka, meaning ‘Father’. The table companions of this notorious ringleader were his second and third in command, Big Leonid and Butcher Stephan.
When Batka had finished eating, he pushed away a big silver plate of leftovers. Immediately, one of the women took it away, cleaned the table in front of him and added tea to his cup.
“The Tsar’s nobles are having fun in the town, Batka,” Leonid said. “The festivities have attracted people like iron to a magnet. There has never been so much movement in the forest before.”
“Let’s send a detachment closer to the forest’s edge. They will be able to see if any soldiers are moving this way,” Stephan suggested.
“That’s not good idea,” Batka said, shaking his head in disagreement. “The garrison and the police are quite jumpy now. They dispatch patrols. Watching out for His Majesty’s safety. Someone may spot our men and then we would be in trouble.”
“Right. We need to stay attentive but without attracting any attention.” Leonid tried to sound wise.
“For now we’ll just put a few more sentries around the village. That I’ll leave to you, Stephan,” said Batka.
“The weather is good, but we’re running low on meat. We’ll have to go hunting in the forest. Why don’t you join us, Batka?” said Leonid.
“I will. Get ready and wait for me at the stables.”
By the time the hunters had got back to the settlement, the day was half over. Their horses carried the carcasses of wild pigs and deer. When they were dismounting, Stephan approached them. “I’ve got news,” he said. “One of our scouts has spotted armed men in the forest. He thinks there are about twenty-five to thirty of them.”
“The Tsar’s soldiers?” asked Batka.
“No, city people we think. Our man says they were hiding behind an outcrop overlooking the bypass road to Vladimir.”
“City people, you say,” said Batka.
“Yes. They seem to be acting clumsily in the forest.”
Batka frowned. “I don’t like it. Get a dozen men and the scout. We’ll ride out there.”
* * *
The Tsar’s cortege of nine hussar riders and two troika sleighs, each driven by three horses, travelled on the outskirts of Vladimir. One of the sleighs, driven by a single coachman, was in the lead. The coachman wore the uniform of a Poruchik of His Majesty’s Rifle Battalion, which was garrisoned in Vladimir. Following this sleigh were four hussars, then the other sleigh, and at the rear more hussars. The riders wore white and blue uniforms and they waved white flags with golden eagle on them, indicating that they belonged to the Tsar-Emperor’s elite Leib Guard. In the second sleigh, hauled along by three giant white horses, sat two men: Tsar Nikolai II and his trusted adviser, Semeon Laptin,a small, middle-aged man. Laptin was a high-ranking secret-police officer. He had arrived in Vladimir the previous morning from Petersburg with important news for the Tsar. His unexpected visit had prompted the Tsar to change his schedule. Laptin wanted to have a private meeting with him, so the Tsar had cancelled his morning appointments on the pretence that he would go hunting.
Although the hunting trip was a feeble and unconvincing excuse, thought up at the last minute, the Tsar was secretly reli
eved that for a few hours at least he would be able to detach himself from the sycophants that had been following him and attending to him at every stage of his jubilee trip.
After about an hour into the private ‘hunting’ trip, the Tsar’s cortege was already travelling through Vladimir Forest. The Tsar and Semeon Laptin were still absorbed in conversation when the Poruchik who led the first sleigh shouted, “Hai, hai!” and smacked the horses’ backs with the reins. The sleigh tore off quickly, increasing the distance between it and the rest of the cortege.
“Poruchik, stop!” Commanding Hussar Rotmister yelled.
Instead of complying, the Poruchik began smacking the horses even more frenetically and they galloped away at full power. Then shots were heard and bullets began to fly, killing and wounding some of the hussars and horses. Two trees fell across the road simultaneously to halt the royal party. From amongst the woods on both sides of the road, silhouettes of the attackers appeared, running towards the trapped cortege, brandishing their sabres and firing their revolvers. Shouts of, “Death to the tyrant!” tore through the air.
Laptin, the Tsar, and the few still-standing hussars only just had time to unsheathe their sabres before the first attackers reached them.
Suddenly, behind the attackers, another gang of men appeared, chopping and shooting their way through the melee. Their attack was silent and fierce. Within a couple of minutes, the Tsar’s ambushers had been slaughtered. For a few moments, the newcomers and the Tsar’s party stood with their weapons pointing at each other. Only the bodies of the common enemy and the pools of blood that had been accumulating in the snow separated them.
There was stillness, disturbed only by the wheezing of a few dying horses.
During these moments, Batka felt an unshakable certainty building up inside him. The decision to save the Tsar was the right one. He and his people had arrived only a few minutes before the assault on the cortege, and he had to decide what to do on the run. Nobody had spotted them. Batka could have ordered a retreat and left events to follow their natural course. It was then that he recognised the Tsar thanks to the photos he had seen in the newspapers. In that very instant, Batka decided to fight on his side. Now, because of that, he was standing face to face with the Tsar-Emperor of Russia, intoxicated with the thought that he, the bandit, held the fate of this vast country in his hands. With a single blow of his sabre, he could eliminate the Tsar of the biggest state in the world and change the course of history. It was during his moment of revelation that he realised why he had been put on the earth and what his life mission was. In that very instant his mind forged the supreme plan to which he was going to dedicate the rest of his life, and he formulated the legacy he was going to leave to his descendants.
The Gods' Gambit Page 3