Nameless Cult (Threads of Reality Book 1)

by Grey Durose

  Carlos was brought back down to Earth with a bump. He'd lost himself in thoughts about his grand plan and had been completely unaware that Fernando was still there. 'Sorry, what did you say?' He gave his head a good shake to clear his mind.

  'Are you okay? I thought I'd lost you for a moment.' Dr Silva prised open Carlos's eye and flicked a torch across it.

  'I'm fine, the enzyme worked better than I'd hoped, Dr Silva. How about a drink to celebrate?' Carlos was jubilant.

  'Are you sure?' Fernando didn't want Carlos to be found dead and for this whole conspiracy to be traced back to him.

  'Certain.' Carlos assured him.

  'Okay, but if you feel any ill effects, you call me right away, understood?' No other Doctor would stand a chance of understanding what had happened.

  'Believe me, if I feel sick you'll be the first one to know about it.' He gave Fernando a smile that let him know how much trouble he would be in, should the worst happen. ‘Now, how about that drink?’

  A shiver shot down Fernando's spine, he stood up. ‘Just a quick scotch, for the road’ he replied.

  Carlos went over to the tray and poured the drinks, making sure he added the special ice cube to the right glass. ‘There you go. Cheers!’ he said as he offered Silva the drink. Silva smiled nervously and they both downed their drinks quickly. Silva made his excuses a few moments later and left with the handwritten number for a Swiss account in his pocket. Carlos was alone; a huge grin on his face. The boss's grip on his mind had been broken and he no longer had to devote such a large slice of his mental resources to blocking out the old man. He leant back in his black leather chair and sighed sweetly.

  'He won't let you get away with it.' A thin weedy voice came out of nowhere.

  Carlos span around in his chair, 'Who's there?' His heart was thumping, has someone been here in my office all along? he wondered.

  'He'll find out and, when he does, you're a dead man, Carlos.' The voice became bolder.

  'Who is that? Where are you hiding?' Carlos asked urgently, his eyes flicking from one side of the office to the other, searching for any sign of movement. He got up from the chair and walked over to the fireplace, he plucked a poker from the rack and weighed it in his hand.

  'You won't find me. Not that way.' The voice began to laugh, a terrible, mocking laugh.

  'If you're not in my office, you must be on a remote line. Who are you?' Carlos prowled round the office, running his hand under every ledge and lifting every ornament as he went.

  'Looking for bugs now? Who said I'm not in your office?' The voice asked.

  'I...You said I won't find you. I had this office built, I know it like my own hand.' Carlos went back to the fireplace and lit a fire, just in case.

  'I thought you were smart, you're not acting very smart right now.' The voice came again.

  'Who the fuck are you?' Carlos shouted, wheeling around wildly.

  'I'm a little disappointed you don't recognise my voice.' The voice teased.

  'Recognise... Do I know you?' Carlos racked his brain.

  'Come now, Carlos. Think. Who do I sound like?' the voice mocked.

  Carlos stopped his frantic thrashing at empty air and took a deep breath, he cleared his mind and replayed the voice in his head. Suddenly it clicked, 'It can't be. You're dead, I went to your funeral!'

  'There's the smart young guy I hired!' The voice chortled.

  'John; is that really you?' Carlos ventured tentatively.

  'Bingo!' the voice exclaimed.

  'It can't be, somebody's trying to fuck with my head.' Carlos went over to pour himself another drink.

  'Good idea, I was feeling a little thirsty myself.' John's voice remarked.

  Carlos dropped a couple of ice cubes in to a glass and reached for the aged single malt he saved for when he really needed it. 'If it's really you, you should be able to tell me something that nobody else would know.'

  'Okay, let me think.' The voice paused for a few moments then spoke again, 'Do you remember the day after we first met, the golf course?'

  Carlos thought back to that windy day, they were alone, John had taken him out for a round so they could talk. 'Sure, I let you win.' he recalled.

  'I know that now, you always were a diplomatic young guy.'

  'What about it? Anyone could've told you about that.' Carlos replied.

  'True, but only I could tell you what I said to you on the sixteenth, just before you took your putt.' the voice stated confidently.

  'I remember you gave me some advice, can't remember exactly what it was.' Carlos searched his memory for the words, then he heard them.

  'Make sure you get to know everything you can about the company, you'll be safer that way.' John recited.

  Carlos slumped in to his chair, those were the words, he remembered now. 'So what the hell happened? Did you fake your death?'

  'No, I died, not the way they told you, though.' John sounded a little bitter.

  'What do you mean you died? You're here talking to me.' Carlos spat out the words.

  'I'm talking to you, but I'm not here. Haven't you noticed that my voice isn't coming from anywhere in particular?' John asked.

  Carlos thought about it, he'd been all around the office and it was true, the voice wasn't any louder at one end of the office than the other, and it didn't matter which way he turned his head, he couldn't get a fix on the source. 'Why is that? The whole office must be rigged.'

  'The office isn't rigged, you know that, you built the whole damn thing and made sure no one interfered. Listen carefully to my voice, Carlos, cover your ears.' John suggested.

  Carlos shrugged and placed his hands over his ears.

  'You can still hear me, right?'

  Carlos' hands dropped to his sides, his drink spilled on to the floor. 'How are you doing that?'

  'Think Carlos; I die and within days they recruit you to the board. Think about how I might have died, think about how they cemented your place.' John was trying to lead Carlos to the truth but it was a bit of a leap, even knowing what they both did.

  'Are you telling me, that the boss… you know? Why would he do that, you did a great job, from what I can tell.' Carlos was reluctant to believe the voice in his head.

  'That's exactly what happened, Carlos. When the boss finds out what you've been up to, your fate'll be a lot worse. At least I got to live a full span, you won't make it to forty.' John warned.

  'You don't exist, I'm hearing voices. I've put myself under too much stress.' Carlos reasoned with himself.

  'You go right on believing that if you like, but it won't change the facts. When I was killed by the old man, he took a piece of me and gave it to you. Didn't you notice how you suddenly knew things about the company that you didn't know before that night?' John's essence reasoned.

  Carlos knew it was true, he'd always assumed that it was part of the gift he received but, thinking back, there were times when he had to explain those things to his colleagues on the board; if it were part of the gift surely they'd have known them too.

  'I can hear you thinking, you know. Sometimes I plant ideas in your head and you think you came up with them all on your own.' The voice chuckled.

  'You do WHAT?' Carlos screeched.

  'I get bored, you shield yourself so well from the boss it gave me the opportunity to have some fun.' John explained.

  Just then, the intercom crackled in to life, 'Is everything all right in there Carlos?' It was Judith, diligent as ever.

  Carlos was startled by the interjection of a third voice, he was only just getting used to the second one. He leaned over the desk and calmed himself before speaking, 'Everything's fine Judith, just having an argument with myself. Why don't you finish up for the day. I can handle things from here.' Getting rid of Judith was essential, if anyone heard me, they'd think I'm a madman, Carlos thought to himself, or was it John?

  'Thanks Carlos. Just a reminder; I'll be away this weekend.' Judith's soothing voice came back.

 
'No problem, just make sure you're back on time on Monday.' he replied, they had a rapport, built up over many years together.

  'Have I ever let you down? Don't answer that!' she giggled.

  They said their goodnights and, after a few minutes, Carlos felt safe to continue his conversation.

  'You still there?' he asked tentatively.

  'Where am I going to go? We're stuck with each another for life. On the bright side, that might not be as long as I thought.' John sniped.

  'If I get the same treatment from the boss we'll both be around forever.' Carlos shot back.

  'So, what are we going to do about that, young man?' John queried.

  For the first time in the conversation, John had hinted that he and Carlos might be on the same page. 'Am I becoming even more delusional, or did you just suggest that we do something about the boss?'

  'You seem to have a solid plan but, as yet, you have no idea how to get rid of the boss. It won't be an easy task, he's been around a lot longer than either of us and he has a few other advantages over us.' John pointed out.

  'That was the main sticking point: how to get rid of him. Any ideas? You knew him a lot longer than me, John.' Carlos felt a wave of relief as he realised that, what had seemed like a problem, was turning out to be an opportunity.

  'Let me think on it a while, this is going to be a challenge.' John muttered, distracted by decades of his own memories.

  'Don't take too long, the master plan is coming together nicely, I might not be able to hide the diverted resources from the others for much longer.'

  'The others are morons, mostly. You might have to watch out for Pete, he was my assistant before he took his place on the board, I taught him everything and he knows exactly where to look if he suspects anything. Frida too, never did trust that bitch. Too ambitious by half.' John trailed off in to angry recriminations.

  'Good to know. Maybe we should recruit them.' Carlos heard himself say 'we', it seemed a strange word to use, when talking about his plans. So far he'd been on his own, he knew he'd have to bring other people in on the details of the project eventually but he never foresaw any of them being inside his own head.

  'Much as I hate to admit it, that'd probably be for the best. I hate the bitch, though. Promise me I can kill her when the dust settles.' John seethed.

  Carlos was surprised to hear John talking that way, he'd always seemed so amiable. Despite his membership of the board, Carlos had never killed anyone. He knew people must have died during some of the operations he'd signed off on, and he'd seen the boss at his worst. It was compulsory, the boss liked to show off.

  'How are you going to kill her, you're just a voice in my head.' Carlos contested.

  'I hadn't really thought that far ahead.' John conceded.

  There was a lull in the conversation as if both men were thinking, Carlos was; he was thinking about a list of names, board members he wanted on his side. John, on the other hand, was concentrating on something else. Suddenly, Carlos's left hand leapt up from the arm of the chair and landed on his lap. Carlos stared at his hand, must have been a muscle spasm, he thought. He stretched his arm and the action prompted a yawn, he drained his glass and wandered across the room to make himself a coffee.

  'Maybe we should go to bed.' John suggested.

  'Not yet, old man, another four or five hours before I head home. By the way, I'd prefer it if you didn't refer to me as we, in future, it's kind of creepy. Especially when you're talking about going to bed.' Carlos scolded the voice in his head.

  'Easy tiger, you're not my type.' John joked.

  'Holy shit! I suppose you've been around for the hookers too.' Carlos blurted out.

  They spent the rest of the evening going over the details of Carlos' plan until, around midnight, Carlos decided it was time to head back to his apartment.

  Chapter Eight

  George awoke to a bright light shining on his eyelids. He rolled over to escape the glare and opened his eyes. It was morning already and he could hear the bustle of the household and men at the back of the house were loading vehicles, slamming doors and occasionally bursting in to fits of laughter.

  There was a knock at the door. 'Hey George. You awake yet?' It was Younis, he made no attempt to be quiet.

  'Just about. I'll be right with you.' George mumbled, not even convincing himself.

  'Okay. Grandfather sent me to tell you that we leave in about forty minutes. I brought you some coffee and breakfast, I'll leave it out here.' he explained, in the tone of someone who wanted George to get a move on but had been scolded about his impatience and told to be polite.

  George pulled himself together and made the trip to the bathroom. He had a quick shower and felt suddenly revived by the cool splash of the water on his skin. He headed back to his room, picking up his breakfast on the way, the smell of the fresh coffee was calling him. He got dressed, packed up his gear again and walked down the stairs to the entrance hall.

  Ahmed was waiting for him by the door, sitting in a chair and resting his hands on a hefty walking stick. 'Ah, sleeping beauty has decided to join us!' he laughed.

  'And a good morning to you too!' George retorted with a wry smile.

  'Did you sleep well, my friend?' Ahmed gave a broad friendly grin that revealed a row of tobacco-stained teeth.

  'I can't remember sleeping that well in ages.' he assured Ahmed. The absence of dreams had been a genuine relief.

  'Good. We're ready to go. I'm just waiting for the boys to bring around the truck.' Ahmed began to struggle to get up.

  George helped Ahmed to his feet and the two of them wandered outside on to the drive, arm in arm. The heat of the morning was a surprise and George could feel a film of sweat form on his brow and upper lip, it was going to be another warm day.

  Even Ahmed remarked on it, 'Call this winter?' in a crackling voice, he gave a hacking cough and spat out a gobbet of brownish phlegm.

  The three trucks pulled round from the rear of the house and parked, with the middle truck in front of George and Ahmed. Mohammed was driving, Younis had joined the front vehicle. Mohammed jumped out and helped Ahmed around the truck to the passenger side and George followed, they both helped Ahmed in to the truck and took their places either side of him. The old man pointed out the assault rifle behind them and handed George a handgun and corporate ID from the glove box, which also contained a satellite phone and a short range radio handset. George handled the gun carefully, he checked to make sure the chamber was empty and the clip was full and that the action of the gun was working well, no point having a gun if it doesn't work, he thought

  The small convoy pulled out of the driveway and turned left, towards Basra. Once past the city it would be a clear run for most of the journey. The main roads through Iraq would take them Northwest, virtually all the way to the ancient city of Ur, then there would be a shorter journey along less reliable roads to Abu Shahrein and from there George would have to find the final destination himself.

  Ahmed had already arranged for them to travel past any check points unhindered and their corporate identification would only be a back-up plan until they reached the main arteries. Before too long they'd left the relative greenery and civilisation of Basra and the rocky desert lay all around, only occasionally broken by the smaller settlements that sprang up along the roadside. There was more traffic today, mainly trucks from a company named Langmore Industries, and George felt somewhat more secure hiding among them, even though it was far from busy.

  Iraq was much more populous than people gave it credit for, mostly settled along the banks of the great rivers, with the main road arteries running to the North and South of the broad flood plains. In ancient times this part of the world had been known as Mesopotamia, which meant 'the land between the rivers' but this part of modern Iraq was more like the land between the roads.

  They made their way along the road, taking their time so as not to attract undue attention or overheat the engines. There was clear blue sky and blazing
sun when they set out but now there was some cloud gathering and the wind had risen, picking up the dust and scattering it across the road and lifting it high up in to the air. Small twisters or dust devils forming briefly and at random, then disappearing as quickly as they'd manifested.

  Their time was spent chatting and listening to the radio. Ahmed poking Mohammed with his stick whenever he tried to change the channel to something less traditional. Tribal roadblocks popped up seemingly at random but each one was carefully negotiated, with the corporate markings acting as a shield.

  Eventually, they reached the exit and George could sense his objective was getting closer. From here on most of the places would be small settlements, largely feeding off the interest in the ruins of the ancient cities that grew up here thousands of years ago along the banks of the Euphrates; whose path had long since shifted, taking with it the life-blood of civilisation.

  The last stretch of the journey took the longest, the roads had become progressively worse and the terrain a series of rises and dips, seasonal streams and treacherous looking little bridges, which were the only distinctive features of any interest. Eventually they had to take to driving along tracks which were no more than a path taken by previous vehicles. The dust was astonishing.

  The trucks slowed to a crawl as it got to the point where Mohammed couldn't make out the lead vehicle through the dust and there was a danger of a major collision if one of them had to stop suddenly. Finally, after a full day of driving they found themselves about a mile from the site and decided to make camp there for the night.

  The sun was setting, like a great red ball of flame that melted the cold blue sky and turned it to layers of copper and bronze. They needed to prepare the camp before it got dark and the men set to their task diligently. They set the vehicles up in a row, to act as a break against the prevailing wind, and the tents they would spend the night in were erected behind them. Ahmed acted as foreman, directing the men and taking the odd swipe with his stick to hurry them along. Younis was set the task of building a fire, it would be cold tonight, they needed to keep warm and also heat their food.