“It’s a rather convoluted way of finding the killer,” James said not so much ironically as with disappointment.
Stockton shoved his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a little plastic bag with a cell phone in it. “We found it in Miss Eden’s abandoned car. Is it hers?”
James peered at the cell. It was a new Sony. “I’ve not seen it before,” he responded.
“I dare to ask – are you sure?”
“Totally.”
Stockton returned the bag to his inside pocket and glanced at the superintendent. “In the week before the death of Miss Eden, phone calls to Pakistan had been made from this phone. The only fingerprints on it are your fiancée’s.”
James screwed up his face. This was madness.
“We managed to track down one of the calls. It’s the phone number of a religious club in Pakistan. The members of that club gravitate around a radical Islamic group called Sipah e Shahaba, or Friends of the Prophet. How do you explain that?” Stockton asked.
“This is some kind of huge mistake,” said James. “It looks like somebody has tried to implicate Elizabeth in something. What I don’t get is why.”
“I don’t have any more questions,” Stockton said and stood up. “We’ll keep you informed.”
“Wait for me outside,” the superintendent said to Stockton. When Stockton had gone, he turned to James. “Yeah, an unpleasant story. Stockton is an experienced detective. I believe that everything will be put in place,” he said.
“I know he’s doing his job. But I can’t be impartial. His attempts to link Elizabeth with terrorists are ridiculous.” Anger could be detected in James’ voice.
“It’s as you say. He’s just doing his job. But I wanted to talk about something else. The department values your expertise highly. Irina also gave very good feedback about your work.” The superintendent took an envelope from his pocket and put it on the table. “This is an official letter. Tomorrow you’ll get a cheque from the financial department. There’s a good bonus for the Algeria trip.” He rose from his chair and offered James his hand. “This ends your involvement in the Costov case. I have to go now.”
James did not take the superintendent’s outstretched hand. “Strange. I’m relieved just as the investigation hots up. I wonder what’s urged MI5 to get rid of me. Could it be because of what Stockton talked about?”
The superintendent lowered his arm and was silent for a few seconds. “I’m sorry if you take it like that,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Near Moscow, Russia
Prior sat in his large-as-a-ballroom study behind a mahogany desk, turning over sheets of paper from the big pile in front of him. Those who knew him well, or did serious business with him, never used his real name, Alexander Rodnov, in private conversations. He preferred to be called Prior. He ran a variety of businesses in Russia and other countries. In the circles in which he moved, he had a reputation as a mediator in problematic economic and political situations, but his name had never been broadcast in the media.
The study, together with its adjoining secret depots and offices, occupied half of the first floor of the three-storey house in Prior’s residence near Moscow. It was tastefully furnished with antique upholstered Russian chairs, sofas and reading tables, cupboards and bookshelves. All the furniture, except the desk, was made of sandalwood, including the wainscoting on every wall. The windows were adorned with heavy drapery. Hung on the walls were paintings by old European masters, which would be formidable assets to the collections of the biggest museums in the world.
The door opened and a heavy young man in a major-domo costume appeared. “The ex-president and his people have arrived,” he announced.
“Technically he’s still president. They can wait,” said Prior, returning his attention to the papers on his desk.
A few minutes after the major-domo had left, Prior suddenly looked up. In the air in front of him was a blinking holographic red light. He pressed his palm to a square black glass plate fixed sideways onto the desk and a huge display panel appeared on the opposite wall. On the display was an Asian man dressed in an expensive suit, sitting alone at a large table surrounded by empty chairs. He was a man from the highest echelons of Chinese business.
He stood up and bowed deeply. “Prior,” he said with his head lowered.
“Hello, dear friend. How are things?
“Very good. How is it with you?”
Prior waved his hand carelessly. “Fine. Congratulations. I hear the Red Elders supported your intention to invest in the UK.”
A look of awe swept over the man’s wide face. ‘Red Elders’ was a slang term for a secret forum of the Chinese Communist Party where all important decisions were taken. A forum had been held two days ago to decide who from the business elite should be given government protection. “Thank you. I was given this privilege even though I barely deserve it.”
“Unnecessary modesty.”
“I’ll serve the cause better that way—”
Prior interrupted him. “Sure, sure.”
“My company will take a big share from the energy pie in the UK. I am also paving the way for two mine concessions in Europe. I would like to have your approval,” said the Chinese man.
“My advice for you is to slow down the pace.”
“I could delay the process. Let’s say by a month.”
“That sounds good.”
“I was wondering if you could pass on a good word for me in Brussels. For all that, we have people in key positions in the European administration—”
Prior’s face turned red. “Your brain softens when you smell profit.”
“Forgive me. I got carried away.” The Chinese man was visibly perplexed.
“We’re preparing a crucial operation in the UK, you know that.”
“Of course, Prior.”
“It needs cover and support on many levels in Europe and the UK. There are also hidden factors in play. Bottom line, this operation can only end up in success if, for the time being, we do not pursue anything else. Right now there is no room for our political and economical activities in any European country. Do you understand this?”
“Yes. I understand. Although, I hoped that we would not need to hide anymore.”
“Don’t mistake the desirable for reality. Patience.”
“Yes, I understand,” the Chinese man repeated.
“I’ve got a proposition for you. Now I must meet with somebody. Watch to see what it’s about. Then we’ll speak again.”
Prior’s fingers ran over the black glass plate. The display disappeared but the man at the other end of the connection could still see into Prior’s study.
The major-domo entered.
“Let him in,” Prior said tersely.
The young man nodded and quickly left. Four of Prior’s guards entered; two stopped near the door, the others split and took up a position either side of Prior. Soon after the major-domo, an aged black man walked in.
Prior greeted him. “President Ngono, welcome.”
“Prior, it’s an honour to meet you.” Ngono’s reply sounded insincere. “Allow me to give you a humble gift from myself and Burunga’s grateful people. He took a small, elongated metal box from an inner jacket pocket, opened it and placed it on the desk. Inside were a dozen large unpolished diamonds.
Prior did not even look at the expensive gift. “Make yourself at home,” he said.
The major-domo passed a chair to President Ngono and stepped back, taking the metal box with him.
Prior waited until Ngono had made himself comfortable and then started to talk business. “The latest news from Burunga is not good. The opposition is gaining strength. One of your generals recently changed sides. The people there are beginning to think that their president may stay in exile forever. Your position grows weaker every day. Sorry if I hurt your pride, but that’s the information I have.”
Ngono sighed. “The ordinary people are on my side. My enemies have mos
tly external support. There are a few traitors, though. They’ll get what they deserve. I’ll make sure of that. They and their families and friends will pay—” He stopped suddenly, realizing he had said too much.
“The diplomatic activity supporting your return is at a standstill. Yet more and more doors open in front of the leader of the opposition,” Prior continued in the same even tone.
Ngono swallowed hard and started pulling at the front of his jacket. “Our common friends reassured me that your intervention could tip the balance in my favour,” he said.
“Nothing is impossible. Unfortunately, the transition of power in Burunga is at an advanced stage. You should have called me earlier.”
Ngono’s lower jaw drooped. “I was assured … Our common friends guaranteed … If somebody could help, that’s you,” he said incoherently.
“It will be a difficult task. But as I said, not impossible.”
Ngono’s hope rose again. “I’m prepared to collaborate with anything.”
Prior opened a drawer and took out a thick bundle of papers. “In about a month, after retaking the president’s post, president Ngono announces the privatization of the National Mining Company. Fifty-one per cent is sold to a consortium for a good amount and an even better investment programme. Sixteen per cent is sold to two investment funds. Soon, other deals in different economic sectors follow as part of the president’s ambitious privatization programme. His new approach brings new jobs, more work for local subcontractors, new infrastructure.” Prior pushed the bundle across the desk towards Ngono, who was listening wide- eyed. “The papers need to be signed for that to happen; they’re all here. Your signature is the only thing that separates you from a triumphant return.”
President Ngono hesitated before taking the bundle and starting to read it. He had turned over several pages when the major-domo, prompted by a surreptitious signal from Prior, came close. “Let me help, sir,” he said. In contrast to his polite words, he leafed quickly through several pages and shoved a pen into Ngono’s hand. His index finger jabbed the bottom of the page. “Sign here, Mr President,” he said.
Ngono made an angry face.
“Trust is most crucial for our partnership,” said Prior.
Ngono looked into his eyes, hesitated for a second, then took the pen and signed the pages as the major-domo passed them to him.
After Ngono had gone, Prior sent his people away and switched the display back on.
“Impressive,” said the Chinese man.
“There are only a handful of gods and a few ‘touched’ ones on the black continent. We need to strengthen our position there. I need you for that deal.”
The Chinese man smiled. “I sense profit.”
“You’re going to buy that sixteen per cent from the two funds. Then you’ll resell it to another company. A legitimate one. Don’t worry, your profit will be ten per cent.”
“Twenty per cent would be completely satisfactory,” the Chinese man said quickly.
Prior raised the corners of his mouth into the semblance of a smile. “Burunga’s folks wouldn’t approve of disproportional gain from their assets. Ten per cent is the maximum.”
“Okay. I’m in. Are you sure this little dictator will keep his word?”
“It’s in his best interests. Besides, his replacement wouldn’t be a problem.”
The Chinese man was silent for a brief while. “Prior, how far have you got in the UK?
“I believe very soon we’ll get the good news from there.”
“So you’ve discovered his identity?”
“His banishment’s been scheduled already. The trap’s been set”
“Who is he?
“Some Englishman. His name is James Whiteway.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Whiteway Estate, Hampshire, UK
The vision had a hypnotic effect. James felt the already familiar, and yet still strange, sensation of witnessing another reality. Under the weak light of the reading lamp, he saw the interior of his bedroom as a distant background. He focused his attention on the figure of Elizabeth floating about a metre off the ground. She was made up of pale lights of various colours. She looked agitated. She waved as if she were calling him. Confused, James sat up in bed with his feet on the floor. Elizabeth had turned her head away. She was pointing at something. James stared at the empty space between her silhouette and the wall to which she was pointing. He could perceive writhing serpent-like figures that he had seen before in previous visions. Between them was something white. It took him a few seconds to realize that this was a baby in swaddling clothes. Then the vision disappeared.
James remained motionless until his breathing returned to normal. This surreal vision had placed additional tension on his overstrained nerves. He knew he had to regard these weird occurrences as complete illusions or he would lose his mind. He had already lived through moments when his natural psychological defences almost gave up and he felt himself on the threshold of madness.
His desire to sleep had abandoned him even though his eyelids felt like lead. After mulling over what he had just experienced, he went downstairs to his study and switched on his PC. He had suddenly remembered the unread emails from Lino. There were two from his friend in the inbox. He opened the latest one first. It started with verses of the universal hymn manifesto of the secret societies, as Lino had described it.
Praise to the Ruler,
Who ascends the Throne
In the Time of Crossing –
May all serve Him well.
From the fragments of Chaos
Divine order is settled –
May His glory shine forever.
His foes are tamed; his servants rewarded,
His Seers unravel the knots of Destiny –
There’ll be no stone unturned.
Blessed are those
Who pave His way –
They will inherit the world.
May all serve Him well.
Lino explained that the man who had furnished him with this hymn believed that it was part of a larger prophetical text. It had been found during a dig to uncover the old Sumerian city, Lagash. The hymn was highly valued because of its authenticity and because its message referred to the present. The expression ‘Time of Crossing’ was a definition of today’s world situation. After this brief explanation of the hymn, Lino had pasted a few chapters of the book he was writing into the body of the email. James read them slowly and carefully. He then read Lino’s first email. He read some passages twice.
The working title of the book was Dark Horizon. Its central theme dealt with the unprecedented current acceleration of the activities of all sorts of modern gurus, sects, cults and secret societies. According to Lino, this phenomenon was due to a combination of objective and subjective reasons. The objective ones included the new means of communication, which allowed easy access to information, the profanation of society and all-pervasive materialism. The main subjective reason was the continuous action of some mighty clandestine organization behind closed doors. Lino saw proof of its existence in the unifying tendencies that were present amongst so many people with different beliefs. He insisted that there was something called the ‘World Religious Forum’, which functioned as the coordinating headquarters for all alternative religious entities. Amongst its members were also organizations such as the Freemasons, the Templers and many others. He asserted that such a close collaboration between so many organizations could exist only if they had a common ideological and spiritual base. He called this base ‘the first teaching’. What could prompt a powerful and incredibly well-financed organization like the Freemasons to join this secret pact? The answer was a more powerful and richer organization. They were the holders of the so-called ‘first teaching’. Lino thought that this enigmatic organization had been infiltrating different sects and secret societies for decades or more, taking them over on the quiet from the inside. They had been bribing their leaders. They had created new occult schools and sect
s and, at the same time, had never stopped trying to corrode the influence of traditional religions. Now, the time for the next stage of their strategy had come – institutionalizing the conglomerate of ‘alternatives’ as a legitimate globally recognized religious denomination. The last stage would be to impose it as a global religion. At the appropriate time, this would culminate in boosting its high priest into becoming a world theocratic ruler. That was also what the prophecy of the Sumerian hymn manifesto meant.
When James finished reading, he rested his head on his hand and pondered. If he had read the emails immediately after he received them he would have congratulated Lino for his wild imagination and that would have been it. Now, he saw it all from a different perspective.
Was it possible? He asked himself in disbelief. He wanted this not to be true, yet he couldn’t dismiss the obvious. There was a connection. Maybe not direct but clear. A possibility existed that the people who had killed Stefan Costov belonged to the organization Lino was talking about. Lino didn’t know what its name, origin, or exact beliefs were. He had assumed this was a cult worshiping the biblical Satan as the Almighty God. They believed that Satan, called the ‘Demiurge’ by many Gnostics and occultists, was the real creator of the universe and all that existed. This core belief was the ‘first teaching’ commonly accepted in the occult sphere. Lino had also sent him an attachment of symbols and pictures through which Satan had been depicted in the occult world. James was acquainted with most of them. What struck him was a drawing of two horned dragons standing on their hind feet facing each other. It closely resembled an ancient bas-relief dedicated to the Sumerian god Ningishzida. James remembered some credible scientific theories which traced the origin of the biblical Satan to ancient Sumer and, more specifically, to Ningishzida.
What would Lino say if he had been acquainted with the details of Stefan Costov’s murder? James thought.
There was another link that James was thinking about – the hymn manifesto. Lino’s source considered it Sumerian. Two of its verses spoke about transition from chaos to order. The same message was conveyed by the symbols drawn around Stefan Costov’s body.
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