“Hey, what happened to the guy?” he called out to her.
She momentarily swiveled her head, looking visibly distraught.
“I saw a man on the tarmac, zipped up in a body bag.”
He dropped his arm to his side and let the elevator doors slid shut. He wondered whether Steven died from his injuries or if he was murdered. If the latter was true, it was extremely fast action even by their impeccable standards and he would be dead by noon.
He scrutinized the yellow access card in his palm. It contained a picture of Steven and his full details, such as name, date of birth and social security number. It also contained a 16-digit Agent ID. On the top right of the card was written Et Decem.
The Buddha monk did indeed try to warn me, that poor bastard.
Underneath the name was a coat of arms displaying a dark eagle with its wings spread wide, it’s reptilian beak open and its claws outstretched. It seemed like it was swooping in for its prey. Each claw contained five toes or talons instead of the standard four. A regular eagle foot contains three front-facing talons and one larger backward-facing hallux talon. This badass eagle had three front-facing talons and two larger backward-facing hallux talons on each foot, a total of ten talons. He noted its symbolism relating to the name of the organization.
He slipped the card back in his pocket just as the display flashed 23 and the elevator doors slid open. He was greeted by a corridor that was starkly different from the grandeur of the fifteenth floor. The ceiling, flooring, and walls consisted of raw concrete slabs, illuminated by long, exposed fluorescent tubes. With bated breath, he walked down the long corridor. It resembled a war-time bunker or an unkempt prison, where simple costs such as paint seemed excessive for its purposes. He straightened his back and walked briskly. At the end of the corridor, he reached a green metal door with a small frosted-glass window. He tapped the yellow card against the black sensory panel to his right. He shuddered from the loud buzz of the door and quickly pushed it open with his foot. The silent and morbid feel of the corridor was replaced by a flurry of people working and milling about. Large glass rooms lined either side of the corridor. The transparent glass was framed by a sleek matte aluminum profile that rested above the light oak wood flooring and below the white canvas ceiling. Ambient black alloy recessed spotlights illuminated the high-tech office space.
He walked casually, doing his best to blend in, afraid that his disheveled demeanor would raise the alarm. People breezed past him with nothing more than a brief glance. He didn’t know what to make of it, in the building’s lobby he got plenty of stares.
Maybe seeing messed-up people is normal for them.
He glanced either side into the pulsating rooms. On the left, the room was filled with adrenaline-fueled young men in front of multiple computer screens displaying different tickers of financial instruments, mostly from the USA and Asia. Purchase orders were yelled across the room and into the phones, creating a constant trading desk money-feeding frenzy. It felt like a major interest rate announcement was happening every second. At the front of the room, a massive digital screen displayed a Japanese candlestick analysis chart. He pressed his face against the glass to make out the ticker. It was the VC ticker with a current value of $25,200 per Voss Coin. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.
Looks like the Federal Reserve is powerless against the rising price of VC. At this value the Et Decem could have enough monetary power to control the financial markets. The world is on the brink of doomsday.
He turned around to view the section to his right. This side was a more subdued atmosphere. A plethora of suited men and women sat in front of computer screens analyzing different satellite and surveillance images. He scanned the screens while he made his way down the corridor. A large screen to the far corner caught his attention. He instantly recognized the split-screen streaming video. One stream was of his office at Intelias. The other stream was broken down into four smaller block streams of his home. In every video he could vaguely make out that all his personal belongings were being ransacked, possibly a search for clues regarding his whereabouts. From a distance he struggled to discern whether it was the authorities or hostile agents. He shifted his attention to a plump middle-aged man in a checked short-sleeve button shirt, seated just beyond the glass. A pair of rimless glasses resting comfortably on the bridge of his bulbous nose, eyes intensely focused on the screen, his grey horseshoe hairline neatly brushed back. His thumb-like freckled index finger clicked on the mouse while he zoomed into the on-screen images. Kevin stopped and scrutinized the pictures. He was less than a meter away from the screen. It was her; frizzled grey hair peeking out from a partially zipped black body bag.
“Dorothy,” he gasped out loud.
The plumpish man swiveled in his chair to face him. Kevin waved his hand in the air, pretending to have greeted someone further along the corridor.
“Great to see you again,” he said out loud to nobody in particular and continued walking. From the edge of his peripheral vision, he noticed the man swivel back toward the screen. He let out a sigh of relief and picked up the pace.
At the end of the corridor stood a dark wooden counter. On its front was emblazoned the eagle coat of arms, illuminated by warm LED lights. It created the effect of a dark eagle flying beneath the burning sun. A tall, navy-suited man with a craggy face stood behind the counter and typed away on a black laptop. Behind him, a rounded maroon wall split the pathway into two sections. Kevin slowed down his footsteps and inhaled deeply, processing his options. He had to find a way past the counter. He could feel his pulse reverberating through his upper torso.
It’s all about confidence and the right demeanor.
At Intelias he’d mastered the corporate “I’m too busy so don’t talk to me” persona, managing to avoid most corridor leeches. He swallowed hard, pushed out his chest, and strutted toward the counter. The man stopped typing and looked up suspiciously. Kevin flashed him the captain’s yellow access card, hastily rounding the counter. The man instinctively hesitated but feared to question his domineering posture and simply nodded in acknowledgement. Kevin fixed his gaze straight ahead and strode into the dimly lit section of the private offices. The corridor was deafeningly silent, even the sound of his footsteps absorbed by a plush grey carpet. A row of flush doors lay in co-planarity with the wall. Both were comprised of painted matte black aluminum. Below each door handle was a small digital scanner emitting a greenish glow. There was no indication to whom each office belonged, they weren’t numbered or named. He scanned the yellow card against the first door and gently twisted the handle. Nothing, it wouldn’t budge. He moved stealthily from door to door until the second-to-last door quietly clicked open. He pushed the door fully ajar with his palm and entered the unusually spacious, modern office. The sunscreen-tinted windows displayed a breath-taking morning view of the Sydney Opera House and reduced the bright glare of the Australian sun. He could smell fresh leather, hinting that the office had been recently refurnished. His eyes shifted to the abstract painting in the corner. The words “Make it Matter” jumped out at him like a distant relative.
This is the location of the video transmission to Tokyo.
It was certainly large enough to serve as a makeshift boardroom.
He shut the door and circled around the large, fierce executive desk. A black computer screen and keyboard rested on the desk’s leather top. Next to the screen lay a small white card reader. Kevin sank into the executive chair and slipped Steven’s card into the reader.
“Good morning, Steven.” A voice emanated from the speakers embedded in the ceiling and the screen flickered on. The sound jolted him. He had to work fast, they could be aware that Steven was dead and their security would be on high alert. He clicked through the desktop files searching for anything relevant. He found a recording of their Tokyo video transmission and other surveillance material. One particular image caught his attention. The Buddha monk’s fleshy lead perforated bulk on the nightclub
floor. The image file was named Agent ID, followed by a sixteen-digit code. He hastily grabbed a pen and blank paper from the desk drawer and scribbled down the details. On the computer’s desktop there was a small icon of the eagle coat of arms, which he double-clicked. An on-screen message popped up in red: PLEASE SCAN ACCESS CARD. He slipped the card into the reader again. A portal opened up with a login section requesting password. He leaned back in the chair and puffed his cheeks in frustration.
Fuck, I’m locked out.
His thoughts reverted to Steven and the accident.
The guy was willing to commit suicide just to ensure that I end up dead. He wanted to protect her. An obsession driven by jealously of our affair.
He sprung forward and typed LUCY.
Fuck, it’s not working. Think, goddamn it. Think!
His right leg bounced up and down like a rubber ball. Nerves were getting the better of him. He was desperately short on time.
He typed LUCY and the date of the horrid birthday party at Steven’s place.
The portal pinged and instantly logged him in. He smiled ruefully, lucky it was on a Fourth of July weekend and he managed to recall it. Sometimes a good guess is better than prejudice. There were four tabs at the top of the screen. The first one was named SEND INSTRUCTION TO CARTER, and the second one named RECEIVE INSTRUCTION FROM HANDLER. Kevin clicked on the first tab, which displayed the message, KILL KEVIN VOSS.
Luckily, that didn’t go well.
He clicked on the second tab.
ATTEND A MEETING OF THE SPECIAL COUNCIL. PLACE: MOSCOW, GORKY PARK OBSERVATORY. TOMORROW AT MIDNIGHT. CODE WORD: TRADERE. There was a blue reply button below the message. He clicked on it and typed CONFIRMED.
He figured that if Steven wasn’t murdered and had died in the accident, it could take time until they discovered he was dead. A reply could buy him more time. At this stage every additional second mattered.
The third tab read LA FAMILIA. It displayed a page with three columns: Agent ID, Organization, and Brigade. Under Agent ID were more than 100,000 sixteen-digit randomized codes utilizing letters and numbers. Each agent code corresponded to an organization name and a brigade number ranging from one to ten. There was no name to identify the individuals. Kevin briefly scanned some of the organization names. Naturally, he had heard of most of them: FBI, CIA, FSB (Formerly KGB), MI6, MOSSAD, YAKUZA, SOLNTSEVSKAYA BRATVA, CAMORRA, TRIAD, SINALOA CARTEL.
The list continued endlessly. He quivered in fear; his family would never be safe. This was greater than one person or a single entity. The list indicated agents within all the world’s top intelligence agencies and criminal organizations. It also contained many of the world’s leading international corporations. He clicked control F on his keyboard and searched for Intelias.
One listing popped up. He had sensed all along that he wasn’t their man inside Intelias. He jotted down the agent’s code and noted that he belonged to the tenth brigade. Next, he searched Steven’s agent ID as indicated on his yellow access card and noticed that he was also listed under the tenth brigade.
There must be some kind of connection. This could be the brigade that’s after me.
He searched the Buddha monk’s agent ID. He was registered under organization name Yamaguchi-gumi, Japan’s largest Yakuza organization. More interestingly, he was listed under fifth brigade. He jotted all these details down, specifying the overlap in brigades. He would find a way to connect the dots.
Steven 10th brigade; Intelias member 10th brigade; Buddha monk 5th brigade.
He clicked on the fourth tab, which read ET DECEM PROTOCOL. It was a thirty-page article relating the history of the organization and their achievements. He skimmed the article as quickly as possible, making a mental note of the key elements.
“The organization is comprised of ten independent brigades. The head of each of these brigades forms part of a ten-person special council known as the ET DECEM, which pools their resources from each brigade. The identity of the ten council members remains secretive and unknown to anybody even within their own brigades. Each brigade abides by the same strict code that all commands are passed by rank in a secretive manner, either through their messaging portal or by specially issued telephonic codes for lower ranks. The member receiving the orders will never know his commander; he can only know the identity of the members below him. If the identity of a higher-ranking member ever becomes known, the order is to execute him with immediate effect. In that way, the Et Decem is impenetrable. They meet in secretive locations worldwide on a quarterly basis to oversee finances and pass judgement on operations. The meeting dress code specifies a black hooded cloak and Venetian mask of choice. Their main recent global contributions unknown to the public are listed as Brexit, swaying U.S. elections, and developing the Voss Coin. Historically, they primarily dominated the world’s criminal activity of drugs and human trafficking, but in recent times they began to have more control in the political and business sectors, driving their interests to become the most powerful entity in the world. They maintain office centers and employees in over sixty countries worldwide. The employees are not considered members, and the offices are operated and managed transparently, like regular corporate entities. However, the employees are contract bound to trade secrecy terms, often with deadly consequences if breached.”
Kevin switched off the screen. He had all the information he needed. The Et Decem didn’t just break the law. They wrote the law. They weren’t a group of outlaws, they were lawmakers. The picture was steadily developing in his mind, and it was time to connect the dots. He had only one dilemma left. Even though his gut told him the truth, he had to be certain. He whipped out his mobile phone and made a video call. Within a few short beeps, she appeared on the screen. She wore dark red lipstick that accentuated her puffy lips. Her smooth, rose-gold locks, cradled her delicate, unlined face. Her amber eyes lit up with excitement when she saw him.
“Hi, Kevin, sweetheart. How’re you doing?”
He smiled casually, “Hi Alice, everything is OK. Been doing my best to stay safe. Hope you and John are well.”
She pouted her lips.
“Yeah, you know us, staying strong and not letting these dangers dominate our lives. John has a lot of faith in you.”
She sipped on a glass of red wine, maintaining eye contact, narrowing her eyes impulsively. She held the long-stemmed wine glass toward the base of the stem between her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger, her other fingers resting naturally on the base. She had the perfect wine etiquette, like she’d been born with a glass of wine in her hand. She gently swirled the wine.
“I have a plan, so you can tell John that I’ll meet him sooner than he thinks to discuss it. By the way, Alice, Lus and I have our anniversary coming up and I want to get her a nice rock. She told me a while back that she really loved your ring. Do you mind if I see it?”
He maintained the Duchenne smile as long as possible, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Without hesitation she flashed her left hand in front of the camera. Even through the phone’s camera lens, the breathtaking eternity ring sparkled into a crescendo of unique colors. “That’s some serious bling, Kev. It’s going to cost you an arm and a leg,” she chuckled.
Kevin laughed uneasily and quickly said his goodbyes, choking back his frustration. He hung up the phone and stared at the scribbled page in front of him. There was never a severed finger on either hand. Between her holding the wine glass and displaying ring, he clearly counted ten digits. He was right all along. The dots didn’t just connect, but they formed a seamless sequence of events.
He folded the paper in his pocket and quickly exited the office, sweat trickling down the nape of his neck. He had an insurmountable task but he would go down in a blaze of glory. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, held his breath, and strode confidently down the bustling corridor. He was so intensely focused on the green exit door that he didn’t hear her voice call out behind him. She placed her slight palm on his shoulder, completely s
tartling him.
“You dropped your card, Captain,” she said with a cute smile, placing the card against the door’s glass-paneled sensor. He froze in a catatonic state, his face crimson from the rush of blood. He was so close. If she read the details of the card, then she could clearly see by the picture that he wasn’t the Captain. She had long, black hair and deeply tanned skin, resembling aborigine decent. Her demeanor exuded calm and decency. The heavy green metal door buzzed open with a loud clang. She simply handed him the card. He couldn’t believe his luck. “Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver. Literally,” he said, almost collapsing in relief.
She laughed. “Have a nice day, Captain,” she said, and let the bulky green door swing shut.
He was once again alone in the ominous all-cement corridor. He hobbled toward the building’s elevator. The doors slid open.
I’m alive.
He grabbed the cold steel elevator handrails and steadied himself. His shoulders and arms shook uncontrollably, expelling the excess adrenaline from his body. He pressed the ground-floor button and stared in the mirror. His eyes burned with the fire of survival. He had sacrificed, planned, killed, protected, and survived. D-day was coming.
32
Gorky Park
The frosted grass crumpled below his thick boots with an icy slush. He kept his hooded head low, constantly screening the darkness for movement. He reached Gorky Park’s main entrance, designed with Stalin’s imperialist style. It consisted of a monumental arch with towering pillars and imposing iron gates. He rattled the closed gates until one of them slightly creaked open. He gathered his cloak and slipped through the small opening. The sleety glacial air perforated an icy chill through his bones. The wind howled like a Siberian wolf, exacerbating the stinging cold. He increased his pace, thumping through flowerbeds and greenery, in a vertical direction toward the observatory. He could hear the gushing swirl of the Moskva River. It always felt colder near the water. He hummed the famous Scorpions song, “Wind of Change.”
The Voss Coin Page 24