Nameless Cult (Threads of Reality Book 1)

by Grey Durose

  'How can this be? Surely I must have known your father!' he joked.

  'No, my old friend. It's me, the same George that played at soldiers with you in the garden.' he reminded Ahmed.

  'I remember it well, and how you would refuse to die, no matter how many times I shot you!' he chuckled.

  'Bullets can't kill a Horrendo!' George cried. They both burst in to laughter at the shared memory.

  'You look so young, I must know your secret. Time has not been so kind to these old bones.' Ahmed patted the wheelchair he was sat in, his wrinkled face pulled in to an exaggerated frown.

  'I try to look after myself; exercise, good diet, all the things my father taught me.' George said, dismissive of the observation.

  'Ah yes, Giovanni. He was remarkably youthful for so long, too. I was saddened to hear of his death. He has been much missed but time catches up with us all, eventually.' Ahmed lamented, his broad nostrils flaring.

  'Yes, it was a terrible loss and I'm sorry it's been so long, my friend.' They both smiled as the memory of Master Giovanni was given a moment of respect. 'So, Younis is your grandson? He didn't mention that before.' George observed.

  'Yes, my favourite grandson. I have so many grandchildren now, it's hard for an old man to keep up.' Ahmed winked.

  George and Younis both laughed at the old man's joke.

  'You'll see us all to our graves!' Younis interjected.

  'Come, sit! We will do our business and then we will talk. Younis, fetch some ice tea for George and I. Then you can take the rest of the day for yourself.' he directed his grandson.

  'Yes, grandfather. It's a pleasure to finally have met the famous George.' Younis chuckled as he left the room.

  Ahmed waited until he was sure Younis was gone, then he leant over and whispered, 'He's a good boy but a little wild, how much extra did he get out of you?'

  'Five thousand. It was quite a performance.' George admitted.

  Ahmed chuckled, which turned in to a wheeze and then a cough, 'Too many years of smoking. I will reduce the fee; I don't mind him ripping off the other idiots we bring through but I won't tolerate him ripping off my friends.' he frowned again but his hazel eyes shone.

  'Very good of you. So, fifteen thousand?' George sought clarification.

  'Fifteen thousand it is, it will pay for the new bathroom, it's not so easy to get in to a bath these days.' Ahmed pointed out.

  George dug deep in to the bag, pulling out the bundles of cash. He counted out the fifteen and passed the pile over to Ahmed.

  'Even in these days of electronic transfers and credit cards, there's nothing quite like the feel of cash in your hands.' The old man crooned.

  'I know what you mean. These days everything's done on a computer.' Occasionally he pined for the days when he wasn't under the constant gaze of the surveillance society.

  'Oh yes, that reminds me, I shall give you my email address, in case you need to contact me in the future.' Ahmed muttered, fumbling on his cluttered desk and producing a small, cream business card.

  The two old friends sat and chatted about past times for a while. Younis came and went with the drinks and time slipped by, until a growl from George's stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since the night before and Ahmed, as any good host would, led him off to the kitchen to get something to eat.

  The kitchen was a hive of activity, it was where the women of the house spent most of their day, chatting and drinking tea and preparing the food for the evening meal. They covered their faces as George came in, a rush of whispers circled round the room. Ahmed wheeled over to the fridge, plate in hand. From within he plucked a few figs and spooned out some couscous with pumpkin seeds and chopped, dried apricots scattered through it. He grabbed another plate and dished up some more for himself then handed the first plate to George.

  'Eat! The figs are from the garden and the couscous is my wife's recipe.' Ahmed announced, patting George on the arm. He wasn't going to take no for an answer.

  George thanked him and they both set about it like two hungry boys who'd been at play in the garden all day. Simple food but all the better for it, when received by an empty stomach.

  After they'd eaten, they returned to the study with a pot of coffee and determined to hammer out the details of the journey ahead. There would be much that needed to be prepared before they set out the next morning.

  They decided to take three all-terrain vehicles and four men - along with the two of them - plus Younis and Mohammed. Everyone would need to be armed - in these troubled times you never knew who you might encounter or where - but trouble was to be avoided if at all possible. They also decided to take tents - they might well have to sleep in the desert - and plenty of food, water and medical supplies, just in case. Ahmed suggested digging tools and George agreed but secretly hoped they wouldn't be necessary. Finally, Ahmed suggested that their journey would be made simpler if they posed as a corporate repair team. The old man had contacts at Sleke Oil and had all the relevant identification and badges for the trucks. George's role would be to pose as the company man, sent to oversee their work. Younis was summoned and given a list, he scurried away to get everything arranged.

  That evening, George ate with the family and was glad to spend a bit of time with other human beings. The loss of Henry had been harder on him than he'd expected and being part of a family, even for a night, made it a little easier. He'd spent little enough time at home but the knowledge that Henry was there had been a small comfort in his hard, empty life.

  After dinner, George was shown to a room at the back of the house. He took off his clothes to go to bed, noticing the wound on his leg was still bandaged. George took the opportunity to check on its progress and was pleased to note it had healed nicely. He lay back on the mattress, crisp clean cotton sheets had been provided but George didn't need them, he just closed his eyes and drifted off.

  Chapter Seven

  Carlos Teran had spent the last third of his thirty six years working for the same company. His ascent had been meteoric. His parents were hard-working immigrants, who'd spawned a brood of eight children, five sons and three daughters. They'd never had any money, despite all the hours they’d worked and despite all the sacrifices.

  Carlos had watched as his father slaved his way in to an early grave. His mother looked much older than her fifty eight years, the result of working three jobs. They were not his chief concern now, he couldn’t risk allowing them to get too close to the company. Carlos had a new family, one he was also tied to by blood. In a different way.

  He'd been lucky, he had been a clever boy and he’d shone far more brightly than any of his classmates at school. Added to his intelligence, he was a hard worker. His father had pounded a strong work ethic in to all of his children from birth but rather than using his hands, Carlos had hit the books. He'd honed his reasoning to a razor, soaking up knowledge like a sponge. He despised anything he didn't understand, he saw it as an obstacle that had to be attacked until it collapsed in surrender before him. When he’d graduated from high school, one of the leading lights in the whole of California, scholarships had fallen at his feet and he found himself able to pick from an array of top educational establishments.

  In the end he’d chosen MIT, he had some idealistic yearning to be an engineer, to make the world a better place. As time passed, Carlos realised that his desire to be rich far outweighed his desire to improve the world. When he graduated it wasn't hard for him to find himself an internship, which is what had first brought him to Langmore Industries. Some days he went without food, the place he was living in was a pit and waiting tables by night was a drain on his energy, but he got through it.

  When his internship came to an end, he expected to be overlooked in favour of one of the white kids with money and connections. Langmore didn't disappoint him though, they offered him a position at one of their engineering subsidiaries out in Texas, a good job with prospects and the best package offered to any of the interns that year. After only eight years
he’d found himself heading up an entire division; it was only then that the people at the top made themselves known to him and began to draw him in to their close-knit inner circle.

  Carlos' bosses seemed like ordinary businessmen and women, the kind you find all over the world but more diverse. John was the CEO back then, he was old, probably in his seventies, and coming to the end of his tenure. A year or so passed, with frequent invitations to dinner parties and soirees, Carlos had begun to get the impression he was being groomed for something even bigger, big enough for him to put his own dreams of a start up on hold.

  John died, he'd been a likeable - even generous - boss and everyone had been sad to see him go. It was only after the funeral that Carlos had discovered the true nature of what his colleagues had planned for him. After the wake, Carlos was invited to join the remaining members of the board at the top of the tower. All he was told was that they wanted him to join them for a drink, as a mark of their respect for John, and that he'd have the opportunity to meet the company's founder and sole shareholder.

  Carlos had never been to the top of the tower before that night, all he knew was that the 'old man' lived up there and that he was a bit of a recluse. The decision had already been made, as became clear when the owner showed up. The rest of the night had not gone as Carlos had imagined and, when he left the penthouse, he was a changed man.

  Years later, and Carlos was pretty much running the show. More and more responsibility had been loaded on to his broad shoulders and he welcomed it. He was rich, he was powerful and, after years in his personal gym, he was toned. A lick of thick black hair curled round over his forehead, where an extra line had been forged by worry. His, once chubby, cheeks were now hollowed out and muscular, adding to the squareness of his jawline. His steely blue, eyes took in the view from his office. He'd chosen to base himself in Texas, there was nothing that happened in New York that couldn't be dealt with from far away and far away was where he preferred to be.

  The industrial complex was on the edge of the Franklin Mountains, North of El Paso. Carlos' office was right at the top of the building and had views in three directions, whenever his duties began to bore him he need only look out at the world and remind himself why he was doing it. The plant seemed perfectly normal, above ground, but that was just the tip of the iceberg.

  He sipped on a steaming espresso and pondered his day, as the sun fell upon the horizon with fiery wrath. He liked these moments, not sipping on his coffee while the sun went down, the moments when he knew, with absolute surety, that he was about to be told that an important part of his grand plan was going to be realised. It was part of his gift, he saw glimpses of what might be and, with enough resources he could make sure that what might be, became reality.

  At last, the sound of his personal assistant’s voice crackled over the intercom, 'Doctor Silva is here to see you, sir.'

  'I was expecting him. Send him right in and, Judith, no one is to disturb us.' Carlos had made sure that he and Judith had a code, when he told her he didn't want to be disturbed it meant that she was to make sure that any electronic bugs would be jammed and the glass in the office would be tinted to black.

  Judith did as she'd been instructed and, a moment later, Dr Silva entered the room. In his late forties and with streaks of grey running through his black mop, Dr Silva still cut quite a dashing figure. His pale green eyes sparkled with youthful mischief despite the thin lines that closed in around them. 'Carlos!' the Doctor cried in greeting as his swept across the office floor.

  'Fernando.' Carlos acknowledged. ‘How’s the family?' He didn't really care, he'd met them at some point but he couldn't remember a thing about them, he needed his file to remind him.

  'They're all fantastic. How about you? Found a woman to settle down with yet?' Fernando grinned when he asked.

  'No-no, I'm still free to do what I like.' Carlos joked. The joke was a mask, as was his laughter, Carlos had no intention of settling down, the permanent presence of a woman in his life would be a distraction; besides, the constant stream of escorts that visited him by night, looked after any needs he had in that department.

  'You're still young, wait a few years and you might see the benefit of having someone to come home to.' the Brazilian winked.

  'Maybe. I hope you haven't come all this way just to talk about women.' Carlos tried to change the subject.

  'I could talk all day about women, but no, you're correct.' Dr Silva confessed.

  'Well, don't keep me in suspense.' Carlos found Fernando to be pleasant enough company, usually, but tonight he was focused on business.

  'What do you want to know, I have so much to tell you.' Dr Silva had been working on one of Carlos' special projects, possibly the most important.

  'Start at the beginning. Did you manage to acquire the target?' Carlos asked.

  'Of course. I wouldn't have been gone so long if we'd failed at that point. We found him in a plantation up in the hills, it wasn't easy, three good men died before we could bring him down, but once we had him in the clamps he gave us no more trouble.' Fernando explained.

  'A good start, and you took him...'

  'To the centre in Mexico. As you instructed.' Dr Silva pre-empted.

  'And the authorities gave you no problems?' Carlos was sure that he would have heard about it on the news if things hadn't gone to plan.

  'None at all, your men did their jobs and the paperwork was waiting for us when we arrived in the country.' Fernando confirmed.

  'Were the samples hard to extract?' Carlos enquired.

  'No more than if we'd taken them from a normal man. Though this one looked particularly old and frail, he was in good health.' Fernando was lying. The samples had taken ages to extract, the subject had a way of drawing his blood back from wherever they tried to drain it from him.

  'So the subject survived?' Carlos was surprised.

  'Unfortunately, no. The further extractions took their toll on his health, he seemed to grow older as the days went by and, eventually, his cells began to break down on the table.' Fernando tilted his head and forced a frown. He'd never liked having that creature around and it was better off dead, in his opinion.

  'That is unfortunate, I would've liked to have the chance to study him further, maybe pass him around a few more labs. Did you get all the samples we needed before he fell apart?' Carlos asked.

  'Yes, we got the samples. I sent them to the labs but, I have to tell you, it wasn't a simple matter of biochemistry. There was an enzyme in the samples - and that was what we were trying to isolate - but, as soon as we got a few drops, it broke down. We couldn't synthesise it so extraction from the samples was our only hope. In the end we had to look at the rest of the cells and set the occult department to work on them.' Fernando tried to explain.

  'But you were successful?' Carlos thought he knew the answer but things could have gone wrong along the way, especially when dealing with so many unknowns.

  'I wouldn't be here today if we weren't.' Fernando teased.

  'You have it with you?' It was better than Carlos had expected.

  Fernando drew up the little black bag he had been carrying when he came in, and clutched it to his chest. He patted it gently with one hand, 'Right here.'

  'This is fantastic news, Fernando. You're officially my favourite Brazilian.' Carlos enthused.

  Fernando laughed, he'd never seen Carlos so excited. 'I brought all the things I need to administer the shot, do you want me to do it now?'

  'Has it been tested?' Much as Carlos wanted to get the injection right away, he had no desire to die.

  'I did some testing, there wasn't enough to do all the testing I would have liked so, in the end I decided to test it on myself.' Fernando explained.

  'And?'

  'I have no ill effects, it's been six weeks now, it seems safe.' Dr Silva had felt amazing since taking the enzyme but, other than that, he hadn't experienced any great improvements in his health. 'May I ask, what is this enzyme supposed to do?'<
br />
  'That, Fernando, is none of your business. Suffice to say it'll be more helpful to me than to you.' There was only so far Carlos could trust anyone, even if he wanted to share with Fernando, he couldn't.

  'Fair enough.' The Doctor was a little offended by the lack of trust. 'If you'd like to take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve, we can get this over with.'

  Carlos prepared himself for the injection. Fernando cleaned the spot on his arm and loaded up the syringe with a thick yellow fluid.

  'Since I have no idea what the purpose is, I suggest we maximise the dose.' the Doctor suggested.

  'Fine. You're the Doctor.' Carlos agreed, impatient to find out if it worked.

  'You'll feel a slight pinch.' Fernando said, mostly out of habit.

  The needle slid in to Carlos' vein, the yellow fluid mingled with his blood as it coursed by. He didn't feel anything at first and, when Fernando withdrew the needle, he found it hard to hide his disappointment. He was about to remark on the failure of Doctor Silva when he suddenly felt a change. It was subtle at first, like a fuzziness where a sharp connection had once been, but slowly the fuzziness grew until, after a few minutes, he could no longer sense the constant battering of his willpower that he'd felt since that night at the top of the tower. The enzyme had worked, Carlos was free, free to continue his plan without fear of discovery, free to go to New York without being filled with paranoia. He would have to share this with some of the others, he'd sensed quiet doubts among fellow members of the board and he'd need some of them on side if he was going to pull this off.

  'How do you feel? Any change, or odd sensations.' Fernando had been sat in front of Carlos for five minutes, without a word spoken, and he was starting to worry that Carlos might have had an adverse reaction to the enzyme.