"They wiped out every remaining slave-running cartel," the aide says. "It was nothing short of a full-scale extermination."
"How?" the president asks. "Do we know for certain it was them? Did they have outside military help?"
"They don't even try to hide it anymore," his general says. "They identified themselves as Invisible Fighters. Our aircraft were shot from the sky with advanced weaponry—Mexican weaponry and aircraft. Mexican military illegally operating within our borders, on our soil."
"Classic strategy. They hit when the OAS was in session knowing that the bulk of our ground and air forces would be occupied there protecting all the member state delegates."
"Do you have the proof it was Mexican military?" the president asks.
"Mr. President, it must have been them."
"These Invisible Fighters—"
"The Fighters for Invisible Women. They go by the name Underground Railroad in Mexico," an aide interjects.
"These Invisible Fighters have been operating for years without anyone's military. Quite successfully. There have been independent groups operating in Central America and South American long before Mexico got involved in this...what do they call it?"
"The Slave Wars," another aide answers.
"Why do you want to bring Mexico into this?" the president asks.
"Mexico is running it all now. The whole country is run by these religious zealots. Their secular puppet government is for show. Their lead church-man is selecting the government all over the country."
"Do you have the proof of any of this, General?"
The general starts to say something, but stops.
"Tensions between Mexico and Brazil have been bad since before we were born. No one in this room likes Mexico, but I want proof before we go to war with Mexico or any other nation in the Spanish Americas. Our cold war with Mexico existed long before their church people rose to recent power. The United States is not religious and they are not our ally. The CHINs are atheistic too, but they are not our allies either. I am not into the atheists are our friends and the religious are our enemies. We are not children. You tell me the Mexican president is a puppet of the religious church-people. Others tell me he is the puppet of the United States. General, get me proof. "
"Sorry, Mr. President. I stepped out of line. We're tired of the Mexicans. We all know Mexico is involved in everything. Trying to be like the United States used to be. Meddling in other countries' business. We're fighting these slave wars too. It is Brazilian women being snatched by these global gangsters. They have no right to trespass into our land. We're tired of the Mexicans and Argentineans undercutting our sovereignty and diminishing our standing to be a global superpower. We should be running all of the Spanish Americas."
"We will soon, but one must be patient. We must be ready. Do we want what happened to the Russians to happen here? Their president got himself assassinated. We stay in the shadows a bit longer. Grow our power quietly."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Sir, we may not be able to prove the Mexican government was directly involved, but we do know the Invisible Fighters are based in Mexico and their leader is Mexican. This religious gangster named Marcos and these Mexicans feel they can invade anyone's airspace to rescue slaves, more like prostitutes."
One of the military men looks at his palm device as the Brazilian president says to them, "Get me the Mexican president on the line. Let's see what he has to say."
One of the aides rushes out of the room.
"Mr. President," the officer with the palm device says, "I think you need to see this."
The president takes the device and plays the vid-message. He recognizes the man as one of the leading South American cartel bosses.
"Make sure your boss, President Jimenas himself, sees this, General. We had an arrangement—the cartels and the government. You stay out of our business; we keep the jihadis off the Spanish American continent. That was the arrangement. Hasn't it worked out well for everyone? No chance of the Spanish Americas ever going Muslim. Now you're reneging on that arrangement. It's fine with us because we're not scared of them and we're okay with a never-ending war with them. I always prefer target practice with live humans. When they come for your heads, don't come to us to save you. Choose your allies wisely, my father taught me. You have chosen unwisely. And, if you're going to go after our slave-running business, it might be wise to keep to your wives and sex-bots and not be buying slaves yourselves. Why are politicians always such hypocrites?"
Near Mexico City, Mexico
2:30 a.m., 28 September 2096
Augustín is fast asleep when the steady beeping of the phone rouses him. His wife, next to him, slowly sits up in the bed. He opens his eyes fully. The room has a faint blue glow from the night light.
"I'll get it," he says. "Go back to sleep." She lies back down and covers herself with the blanket. "Who is it for?" he calls out to the computer.
"Official call for Deputy Director of the Secretariat of Public Security, Señor Augustín."
He walks out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him. He grabs the ear-set from the general table and puts it in his right ear. "Augustín," he says as he walks into the living room.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir."
"What is it?"
"We have a situation."
"With?"
"The Presidential Palace."
He notices the time on one of the wall clocks. 2:31 am. "How upset will I be?"
"The president is secretly organizing a special legislative session for next Tuesday."
"Why are you calling me about politics?"
"It is a security and intelligence matter, sir. He has scheduled a general meeting for a specific time, but has the entire Parliament secretly under arrest for fear of leaks."
"What time?"
"Noon."
Augustín remains quiet.
"Do you know what that time signifies?"
"Keep a close eye on everyone and everything. I will get back with you."
"Yes, sir."
He disconnects the line and briskly walks into another room and closes the door.
Private Landing Field, Sinaloa, Mexico
7:10 a.m., 29 September 2096
Niccolo disembarks from a white hover-jet as the steps lower to the ground. He is dressed in a full black office suit, his shirt only buttoned halfway. He is in his late forties with green eyes and is naturally bald.
Two men stand near a waiting SUV as he approaches.
"Niccolo, you have a call," one of his guards says as the Italian is getting into the limousine.
He gets in and throws his jacket across the open seats. He touches his ear-set as he activates his private e-pad. It is Augustín's face.
"The Mexican insider," he says.
"The Italian fixer," Augustín says.
"You never call me, so this must be important."
"What happens at twelve noon today?"
Niccolo pauses for a moment.
"Niccolo, send your men to pick me up at my house now. Hurry."
New Lerdo Church, New Lerdo City, Durango, Mexico
9:00 p.m., 30 September 2096
The Catholic Continuum are meeting in the church's Executive Meeting Hall. The senior leadership of all three contingents of the New Catholic Order—Spanish American, African, and Italian—some nearly four dozen people. The room looks like it was carved out of white marble, including the conference table that is in the shape of a "T."
"That means nothing," one of Niccolo's men challenges. The younger Sicilian man is also dressed in black. "Why are we concerned about some Exile Jews who will say anything to get our attention? They're excommunicated so the meeting should never have happened."
"That is true," Mona Lisa replies. The slim woman has model-like features with olive skin and silky black hair styled to hang to the right side of her face. She wears a basic white sleeveless dress with color matching pearls around her neck, and heels. "But the Continuum ha
d other reasons for allowing the exception."
"Meaning?" one of the nun leaders asks. "These Exiles are all government spies. They don't even deny it. That's why they were excommunicated. Why did the Jewish Continuum allow the meeting?"
"And I hear that the Protestants have also allowed meetings with their Exiles," a senior deacon says. "And don't say it's because we want to be compassionate to their children who were born or were little when they were excommunicated."
"It will be discussed at the Full Continuum meeting," Mona Lisa assures them.
"But you know why?" a nun asks.
"Yes."
"Do you concur with the decision?"
"I do."
"Brethren," the large face of Archbishop Masai from Africa stares back at them from the vid-screen in the center of the room, "is this a matter for the Catholic Continuum or is it a matter for our security and intel services until there is more? Is there a threat to Father Marcos? Is there a threat to the ceremony? That's all that concerns me. Niccolo?"
"We have nothing concrete now, Archbishop," Niccolo answers.
"You and I both know that many lives have been saved in our time by not waiting for the concrete. What do your instincts say?" Archbishop Masai asks.
"There could be something, but we must investigate further. I do agree with the sentiment of the group that it is extremely suspicious for a group of Exile Jews sitting in Florida with supposedly no contact with Faith World to have any knowledge at all of the ceremony. It could be someone within their ranks playing a game with us just to see us chase our tails. But then again, how could they know when not even the general Catholic population knows?"
"We have more security here than has ever been assembled before by any Faither community in our history," Mr. Blond, the ex-Texas Catholic, says. "No one and nothing of any kind will get near Father Marcos that's not supposed to."
"My Lost Boys will tell us if anything is wrong," young Rodrigo speaks up. The boy is an official leader in the Catholic Continuum too. "There's nothing. No chatter."
"We did wipe out the final remnants of the slavers in Brazil," a priest says. "Could there be a connection? Cartel retaliation?"
"There's no one left to retaliate," Sister Serena answers. "The women were liberated back to their families. But again, no one outside our Continuum knows. No one in Brazil or any Spanish America government, including Mexico, knows. The other Faither Continuums didn't learn of it until weeks ago."
"When was the official Papal Conclave?" Mr. Blond asks.
"Last December," Archbishop Masai answers. "But the College of Cardinals is only twelve people, including myself. Security preparations were made for the ceremony without participants even knowing they were doing so for the ceremony. The Catholic Continuum was only informed recently."
"Do we really believe it's even remotely possible that there was a leak within our Continuum?" Mona Lisa asks. "I don't believe that for a moment. It must be something else. These are Exiles. Liars."
"Agreed," Masai says. Other Continuum members nod.
"Didn't these Exile Jews have this information long before our final Brazilian operations?" Serena asks.
"Yes," one of the men answers.
"So the timelines don't even match," Serena notes.
"I'll continue to investigate," Niccolo says.
"We should all simply do our jobs as normal. We'll leave it to the real secret agents like Niccolo to find out if anything nefarious is really being plotted," Mona Lisa says. "In addition to the normal plots we have to contend with."
"If I could see Niccolo and Augustín alone after we adjourn," the Archbishop says.
The group says their goodbyes and adjourns. Masai's face disappears from the screens. When everyone else is gone from the room, Masai's face reappears. Niccolo and Augustín are the only ones remaining.
"Mr. Augustín," Masai says.
"Yes, Archbishop."
"You were very quiet."
"I talk when there is something to say."
"Could this all be tied to the information you shared with Father Marcos? The Bull, the Turtle, the Lion."
Augustín thinks for a moment.
"No one knows that I know."
"But others suspect too," Niccolo adds.
"Suspicions mean little in intelligence and politics," Augustín says. "There are always suspicions. You must have the smoking gun."
"But you did decide to share these suspicions with Father Marcos," Masai says, "and as a result of that conversation, Mexico will soon have a new president by our own machinations behind the scenes. You knew this would be the result of that conversation."
"Father Marcos has many enemies. The Continuum has many enemies," Niccolo says.
"But they don't know we know," Augustín says. "We haven't moved against them and we've made no indications that we are or that we will ever move against them. I appreciate the adage that 'a paranoid people never die,' but even our paranoia can become crazy."
"Perhaps," Masai says.
"Archbishop," Niccolo says, "we will get to the bottom of it either way. Mr. Elliott will follow the leads with the Exiles directly. He's taking point on their One Project for both the Jewish and Protestant Orders. We'll pursue the matter from our own angles. If there is a real plot, we'll find it."
"I have every confidence in you, Niccolo," Masai says. "You saved our future pope once. I know you can do so again."
New Lerdo Church, New Lerdo City, Durango, Mexico
6:50 a.m., 2 October 2096
Church services of the Catholic Order are earlier than any of the Christian Orders. The attendance today will be massive and it will be broadcast via Freespace to Faith World sites all over the Spanish Americas, Africa, and the rest of the world. Local townspeople fill every inch of the streets to the church. Young and old, all smiling and happy faces, eager and anxious for the start of the new city's celebration that is being called the city's official 'christening.' Every road on the outer perimeter of the city has been barricaded to all vehicles so even the invited dignitaries—elected officials, Catholic leaders from surrounding territories, prominent businesspeople—are on foot too.
Over three years ago, it was a meager, run-down church—until Father Marcos arrived. Now the rebuilt church is a unique, stark-white structure like the old cathedral Sacre Coeur in Paris, France before the Islamic occupation. Actually, it is the second version of New Lerdo Church—three times the size of the previous one and the parish grounds are five times larger, not including the expanded living quarters and garden; all courtesy of one of the trillionaire families of Mexico.
Among the crowds, moving through the people and watching without being noticed, are Lost Boys, from as young as six to sixteen. The term was always the term for orphaned or abandoned boys that used to loiter Mexican streets, but Father Marcos in particular, and now the entire Catholic Order in Mexico and many parts of the Spanish Americas, gave them permanent homes, found them jobs, and gave them purpose. The Lost Boys, unknown to most outside New Lerdo City, are also the New Catholic Order's primary street surveillance and informants. Here in the Spanish Americas the threat to Faithers is the government and the cartels. Human intelligence, not who has the most guns or the best tek, is the bedrock of their defense. If something is happening or going to happen on the streets of Durango, the Lost Boys will be the first to know.
Niccolo and Augustín are among the many people walking to the church. A Lost Boy glances at them, sitting on a window sill of a bordering closed business establishment and waves hello. It is Rodrigo. Not even a teen yet, but not only an official member of the Catholic Continuum's senior leadership, but the leader of all the Lost Boys—and Lost Girls. The men gesture back.
Augustín notices that there are many newborns among the crowd.
"Are there going to be baptisms too?"
Niccolo nods. "Yes, a special day for them. All of them. And then...that little thing happens."
Augustín grins. "Are half the people here
undercover security?"
"No, Augustín. More like three-quarters."
As they come over the hill, they have an unobstructed view of the road to the church. There seems to be millions of people walking to it. And there on the hill, high above, is the church. They saw it before, but from this vantage point it looks like it is floating above the ground—an amazing construction. To think not too long ago the entire area had to be destroyed and rebuilt because of a narco-cartel plot and...scorpions.
People already treat New Lerdo as the new Vatican, but most, even within Catholicism, have no idea that it is—Rome fell to Caliphate years ago, a secret maintained by both Faithers and the Caliphate in the know.
"Who's waiting for us?" Augustín asks.
"Everyone, but we cannot burden him with this. We must handle it. He has the baptism service and the other things to occupy his mind."
Niccolo realizes just how many babies there really are in the crowds. Some being held by their fathers, others in their mother's arms, some by older siblings, others sitting in front pouches of either parent. What's odd to him is that none of the babies are crying.
"The babies. They are all, collectively, so well-behaved. Did you drug them?" he asks.
"You're Italian so you wouldn't understand," Augustín replies. "Mexican babies are the best behaved newborns in the world."
"No, that's Italian babies. I think you're drugging them."
The men's joking around continues as they near the small wall surrounding the main grounds of the church. Both men see the White Guardsmen first—Texas Catholics who abandoned America to be the dedicated security force for the New Mexican Catholic leader. In the front, greeting the townspeople, are the church's primary and volunteer staff of nuns, priests, deacons, and lay volunteers. They follow the crowds under the small archway when Niccolo sees the man he is expecting.
7:25 a.m.
Niccolo arrives at the internal command center for New Vatican—everyone uses the phrase nowadays. The man-made hill where the official offices and residences sit was hollowed out for the many floors of the secret command center. Ironically, the Day of the Scorpion event gave them the idea.
Pure Conspiracy (The After Eden Series): The Genesis of World War III Page 7
