All the Company Men: Marcus Grimshaw #2 (The Secret State)

by C. J. Steinberg

  “We have some action,” Jack said, tapping Marcus on the arm. He pointed his finger straight at the group, and Marcus saw that a party of four had joined, absorbing the attention of all in the gathering. There was no need for either of them to say that the new arrivals were Daniel and the President-elect Jim Morris.

  The murmur stopped altogether as they all approached the new arrival and kissed his arm, one by one, without exemptions, the flames in the torches menacingly flaunting in the wind, orchestrating a majestic but sinister dance of shadows in the circle.

  One of the new arrivals split from the group and went into the forest, coming out moments later with a chunk of wood and placing it in the middle. When the procession had come to an end and everyone paid their respects, the man in charge climbed the piece of wood and took off his hood, revealing his face, that charismatic, strong, and clean-shaven face that had captivated the gala for the entire evening—Daniel Clarkson. But his face was now different. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the events unfolding, or maybe the shadows were to blame, but Daniel Clarkson that stood taller than them all was different, steady, firm, and his glare freezing cold. As if in a fairy tale, Marcus could feel the chill radiating from Daniel throughout the whole forest, searing into his bones.

  “Welcome, y’all,” Daniel said, his southern droll that was never before heard strong. “Welcome to the extraordinary general meeting of the Dark Forrest Order.”

  “Do you hear that accent,” Jack whispered.

  Marcus nodded in response, disbelieving how far Daniel had gone in his plans to make his dream into reality.

  “For decades,” Daniel continued, “our good order has been attempting to make the world a better place. For decades, we were forced to live in chaos of wars, protests, corruption, and general instability. Right now, our hard labor is about to give us the better world we were fighting for.” The statuesque silence and stillness of the gathered was frightening. Even Daniel was still, his hands slid into the wide sleeves of his cloak, crossed on his belly, his eyes fixed and his voice even and raspy.

  “This order was started over a hundred years ago by my great-granddaddy and the most influential men of his time. Some of you may recall him, a man weak and afraid to fight for what was necessary and right, a man who wanted our order to steer the world with nice words and profound speeches. Meanwhile, we were forced to sit on the sidelines and watch the world fall into anarchy, as the men and women ran around like chickens without their heads, plundering and destroying. I do not blame those people, but I do blame that generation of our great order because the, as we today, have the power and means to make the world a good place.

  “Upon my daddy’s untimely demise, you good people have trusted upon me the burden of leading our good order toward the greater good. It had been a mighty difficult road, but we find ourself at the gates of Heaven.

  “Watching my daddy and my granddaddy, hearing the stories of my great-granddaddy, I came to realize that praying and hoping mean nothing. I have realized that affirmative action will only breed more chaos. The only way forward is, indeed, to reset the world, to start over, to allow the people to find their own way without being influenced by their governments, their employers, and by outside interest that mean to use and abuse them.

  “We have worked very hard in the past decades to find friends in high places, friends in China, Qatar, Russia, Sweden, Japan, Italy—likeminded folk that see the world for it is and, more importantly, for what it could—and should!—be. Now, connected as we are, placed in the position from which we can make a difference, we will reshape the world, make it proper, make it good, stable, and healthy. We will not have exuberant debts, we will not allow for alternative interests to vaccinate people without their permission! Though we are to blame for the pandemic, the lockdowns, and the vaccines that do not do anything, I must say that it was necessary. It will serve to wake up the people, to anger them, to drive them toward affirmative action.

  “History will not record us, the people will not know our sacrifice, but the generations to come will have a good and safe world, a world of prosperity and of abundance. Soon, there will a great war, but this will be a war to end them all. This war will be worse than the Second World War. This war will count victims in the billions, as we will cleanse the world of dead weight, of the population that is weighing our good Earth into a black hole from which—should it be plunged into—it will never recover from.

  “None of us in this order will get to see the good day come. Most of us will not survive the fight that is before us. Yet we must do it for our grand-children and their children thereafter. You are all tasked with a mission, and you all know what needs to be done. There will be fear, panic, pillaging, and chaos on the levels not seen in a long time. But, after a fashion, the world will have balance. Less people means less pollution, less suffering, less poverty, more balance in wealth.

  “Tonight, thanks to our newly elected friend in the White House, our powerful friends in Russia and China, we will be able to begin the process of purifying our planet, of clarifying our society, of bestowing a future on the generation to come, a future they deserve.

  “Many smart and influential men and women have attempted to abdicate the world of war, illness, and poverty, creating weapons of mass destruction that will end all wars, only breathing more destruction. We, the Dark Forrest Order, we will succeed. And in our success, the world will flourish after making a sacrifice to the gods of peace, a sacrifice so great that no one will ever again dream of leaping into another war for the rest of eternity.” With that, Daniel ended his speech. He remained still as he had been throughout the evening, and his followers were also statues of obedience and belief, emotionless caricatures.

  Marcus himself was statuesque, his heart beating fast and his breath heavy. Suddenly, he felt thirsty. Suddenly, he felt like he was a child in the night, searching for his mother’s embrace to calm him, to soothe him, to make his life easy and comfortable, for a moment at least.

  In a split second, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, Daniel quickly pulled out his right hand from the left sleeve and held his hand straight in the air. The flames of the evening reflected on the ancient blade with a curved handle in his hand.

  Following his lead, the rest of Society shuffled to their left in perfect harmony, their steps one large thump on the ground. After a second-long pause, their right hands went quickly into the air, blades in hand.

  “To the God high above,” Daniel said.

  “To the God high above,” the Order repeated in unison.

  “I pledge my soul and body,” Daniel said.

  “I pledge my soul and body,” they repeated.

  “To the winged God of the skies...”

  “To the winged God of the skies...”

  “For I, a mere mortal...”

  “For I, a mere mortal...”

  “Find myself powerless alone...”

  “Find myself powerless alone...”

  “Though try I must...”

  “Though try I must...”

  “Do whatever is in my power...”

  “Do whatever is in my power...”

  “To heal and protect the eternal Earth...”

  “To heal and protect the eternal Earth...”

  “From the evil of corrupt and unscrupulous men...”

  “From the evil of corrupt and unscrupulous men...”

  “For the benefit of all human life.”

  “For the benefit of all human life.”

  In a dramatic fashion, Daniel rotated his forearm clockwise and held the knife at the height of his belly. He moved his left palm and placed it under the knife. They all followed in the same fashion, their precision and timing reminding Marcus of Nazis and their perfectly timed and executed movement and stance; he noticed that his body was shaking.

  “I offer this small sacrifice for the hope that my great sacrifice will be successful...”

  “I offer this small sacrifice for the hope that my gr
eat sacrifice will be successful...”

  He closed his left palm, as did the rest of the group. They raised their fists into the air in dramatic fashion before turning to face each other. After a moment’s pause, they grasped each other’s hands.

  “And I wow that the greater good will come before my personal good. Or else the Crow may take me.” The gathered crowd shook their hands, making a blood oath to a deity they believed was guiding them.

  Minutes later, Daniel put his hood back on and they all clasped their hands in their sleeves, like in the beginning of the meeting, and turned to face the improvised podium. The crackling of the burning torches and the flaunting of the flames in the wind filled the evening, accompanied by the crickets, raving of the crows, and Marcus’ heavy breathing.

  NINE

  B efore the meeting of the Order concluded, Marcus, Jack, and Chang were all in the van, driving home. The drizzle had started again, as if it was an ominous sign by the deity above that the meeting of the Order took precedence over everything else in the vast Universe. Everything they had understood that evening was not helped by the thumping of the windshield wipers.

  Their professionalism and organization made Marcus feel small, inferior in every way. In his head, the fight had been straight-forward, him versus them, but now he realized that it was just a fantasy. The secret to success of all the great leaders who have committed countless war crimes in their efforts to take the world was the appearance of their army and their power, more so than the actual strength they possessed. When the Nazis saluted their leader, when the levees appeared at the enemies’ gates, when the Samurais went to battle, they were doing everything in unison, like a hive mind, making their opponent fear and quiver before they even estimate the enemy’s strength or go into battle.

  Much like a warrior, Marcus was a man of action. When he decided to do something, he did it. Nothing could stand in his way, and that applied to the Company, but what realistic chance does he have of stopping them? What hope can he have to prevail against such an organization?

  He looked at Chang with the corner of his eye, seeing that he, too, was feeling the same way. He didn’t have to look at Jack; his state of mind he could feel. He was lost in his own head, too, realizing probably that he had undertaken a much larger challenge than he at first anticipated.

  Marcus focused on yellow-lit asphalt, mesmerized, becoming a part of the road. He could see his life’s path in that road, from start to finish, every evil deed staring back at him, every good deed shying away. Why had he chosen this life? Was it ever his choice? No, you think like that, he thought. All you have done was deplorable, but now you are fixing it. Well, you’re willing to fix it.

  There it was again, his need to attach to other people, to impress them, to fill the archetype of his parents with other people. He told himself that the reason he engaged in the fight against the Company was to avenge his father’s death, but was that true? It looked to be more of an excuse to fight. He felt now more than ever his great desire to die. His entire life, reflected on that road, was a collage of action, death, and dangerous situations he put himself in willingly. Some people in this world truly are suicide bombers, not in a kamikaze sense but in a psychological sense; they are people who strive for success yet never succeed, falling into distractions around them, finding excuses to stop themselves. Marcus’ distraction was his job, his duty to his government and the Company. He told himself that he was serving a greater cause, fighting for the greater good, so why did he fall into crime as a teenager? Why did he go to the army? Why did he accept Joseph’s proposal to join the Company? And why, after everything he had seen that evening, was he still determined to fight the Company?

  Months before, it was for survival. The Company was hunting him, nearly killed him in a country he thought they would never suspect to be his haven. Back then, he had to fight them. For his freedom. For his existence. Or is that just another lie in his march toward death?

  When he pulled up to the house, the headquarters of their operation, dawn had begun to break. The sky was having a deep, dark blue color about it, light and yet dark at the same time. Soon, the sun will come up and shine bright upon the world. Why did that matter to him in that moment, he could not say.

  Jack was the first to exit the van. Realizing that indeed time was moving forward, Marcus and Chang followed out. Jack had put three glasses on the table and poured whiskey into it. “Cheers, boys,” he said and all three bottomed their glasses. Jack poured them another round, when a realization had struck Marcus.

  “Where is Didier?”

  It seemed like neither of them had even thought about their friend until this point. Jack looked at Marcus who then looked at Xiu, all three confused. Jack cussed and slammed the glass on the table. In the spur of the moment, Marcus ran to the van and turned on the feed. Darkness still. Already, he thought. Their fight hasn’t even begun and they already have a fallen comrade.

  “Shit,” Jack said from behind him, visibly upset. “How can we stop these people, man, when... When... God damn it.”

  Jack couldn’t say it aloud, but Marcus knew exactly why; Didier must be dead. One horseman down, three to go, he thought as he slid down the spiral of disappointment and desperation. “How are we supposed to stop them? How can we stop such powerful people who have found a way to organize themselves like that, united behind one man? What can we do? They controlled America financially, but they are now doing it politically. Do you hear me, Jack? They have America!” Marcus said, groaning in defeat. “And why were Arabs and Chinese there,” he yelled suddenly. “What is going on? Restart the world? What does that even mean—restart the world?”

  “A war to end them all,” Jack replied without any vigor.

  “Exactly! And what was that about his father’s untimely demise? Are we dealing with a man who was willing to kill his own father? Jack?! What is happening?”

  Jack didn’t reply at first, his body weak, his eyes locked to the floor. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I just don’t know.”

  Marcus leaned back in the chair and rubbed his forehead, his brain working a thousand miles per hour, his neurons churning without respite, moving so fast that Marcus couldn’t think. There seemed to be no way out, no rational move forward. “We need a plan,” he said. “We need something.”

  Jack said nothing.

  “We need to fight, man, because we have gone too far not to fight. They will not stop hunting us because Daniel will not stop his plans. He won’t. No matter the cost.”

  “Oswaldo Mosley,” Jack ominously said. Marcus snapped his head to him. “There is nothing more dangerous than an unscrupulous individual who believes that he is doing the right thing. You are right, we need a plan. Whatever that plan may be.”

  Marcus sighed. “I need a cigarette,” he said.

  Jack looked at him, then his wounds, but he said nothing. Marcus was aware of his shortcomings, but at that point, he didn’t really care. He needed to calm his mind, to stop his brain from working so rapidly, so intensely, forbidding him to think, to feel, to reason. If there was ever a time to be focused, it was in that moment.

  “I don’t think he is that well-organized as we think,” Jack said. “I think that his entire plan rests upon the President. He is already elected, if not officially, and without the Presidency, I honestly don’t see any of his plans coming to fruition.”

  “What do you mean,” Marcus asked.

  “Well, think about it. First, the gala speech. He told everyone how important the new administration is, led by his dear friend, a man who will change the world. Then think about the second speech in the woods...” Jack had to pause. “In the second speech he again stressed the importance of their ‘friend in the White House’. Without him, I don’t think there is much they can do. His entire plan was resting on the shoulders of Senator Morris.”

  Marcus carefully mulled over what Jack said, remembering the speeches and the situations, feeling his stomach twist and his body st
iffen. “Jack,” he spoke softly. “What are you saying here?”

  “I am saying that we have a way of stopping him. Of stopping the Company, the evil bastards that have subjugated, murdered, and pushed millions into poverty, the people that are forcing us to be vaccinated for nothing, to keep away from each other for nothing, to kill ourselves because the loneliness gets to us. That is what I’m saying.”

  “And how exactly would that work?”

  Jack stared Marcus straight in the eye, determined. Marcus knew what the next words out of his friend’s mouth will be, sweating in anticipation of them.

  “We remove the president.”

  Marcus cussed.

  “It is the only way, brother. Daniel did say that billions will be sacrificed.”

  “Are you crazy,” Marcus yelled as he turned back to face his friend. “Do you hear yourself? You want to kill a President-elect!”

  “To save a billion lives.”

  “Bull shit, man, and you know it. You just want to do bad things to them to get some sense of justice.” Marcus stood up from the chair rapidly and ran his fingers through his ever-longer hair. He paced around the room, a sour expression on his face, thinking, wondering, questioning. “To kill a president,” he muttered.

  “What else do you suggest,” Jack quipped. When Marcus didn’t answer, he continued. “We don’t know how far his plans are along. Maybe everything is already in motion, waiting for the inauguration to kick off the game. Maybe this is only another step toward something more. Either way, Markie, he has to go.”

  Marcus couldn’t accept that as the only solution. Fighting the Company in a sort-of cold war was one thing, but going at them openly, killing a president of a world’s nuclear superpower, was something completely different. The consequences would be too great to bear, and he was certain that the Company would make sure to pin it on him. Thus far, even though he was branded a terrorist, blacklisted and sought after by every major spy agency and police force, he was able to move around. If they pin a presidential assassination on him or an attempt thereof, then he will be another Lee Harvey Oswald, looking like a child who had done wrong on national news, trying to explain his position. “What are you saying, J.J.? Do you hear yourself? None of us would live long enough to see the light of the next day if a whiff of this plan goes public. Think about what you’re saying.”