by Tony Bulmer
“You are a scumbag Truman. The Agency knew it all along. We just didn’t know how far the rot went—until now that is.”
“You and your precious Agency—you are relics Kane. The new age of man is upon us—a glorious dawn of Humanistian governance—don’t you see that? You and your friends in the Agency have lost. You are beaten. There is nothing you can do to quell the new ascendancy!”
Karyn folded her legs; let him see the SIG-Sauer 229 sitting there in her lap. She said, “Here’s what’s going to happen Truman. You are going to pour me a large drink as directed. Then you are going to come over here, sit your ass down and do exactly what I tell you—because if you don’t, I am going to kill you.”
63
Rockefeller Centre NYC
The suited thug forced Erin Francelle to sit in the seat by the window. The dude was a slick-operator, before Erin knew it he had snapped a steel handcuff around her wrist and clipped the other bracelet to the arm of the chair. He moved back quick, leveling the silenced pistol towards her once again. He perused her now, licking his lips. His black, greedy eyes showing he was enjoying himself immensely.
The figure by the window turned at last.
Irving King offered her a chilling smile.
“How lovely to see you again Ms. Francelle. I must apologize for the rather brusque nature of our meeting. Although given the highly moral nature of the work that you do I am sure you will understand.”
What was the guy talking about?
Erin gave him a look of pity. Her eyes flicked very slightly to the side. Huds Helman was tied up in the chair right next to her. His arms, waist and ankles encased in thick coils of mountaineering rope. He had a bulbous S&M style ball gag wedged firmly in his mouth. Helman’s face was bright scarlet and he was making furious bleating noises. He looked grotesque, like a suckling-pig at a restaurant carvery.
Erin turned back to King. “I knew you were wrong the moment I met you, just like that buddy of yours Truman Whitaker.”
“Thank you Ms. Francelle, for your subjective opinion. It counts for nothing of course, but I have no doubt that you will draw fleeting comfort from your erroneous assertions.”
“You aren’t dealing with balance sheet crime anymore King. You have crossed over into the real world—you do know what the real world is don’t you?”
Irving King walked up beside her and ran his fingers very lightly over the side of her face. “I knew from the very first moment I met you that you would be trouble Ms. Francelle. Do you have any idea what it is like to be right all the time? Of course you don’t. You are cursed by the flawed nature of your existence. That is the burden of the lower being—the Untermensch as Nietzsche once said.”
“So that’s it. You are some kind of weird-assed neo-Nazi, who hates people of color? That being the case, you have got yourself a whole world of trouble brother.”
“Nietzsche was no Nazi. He was a stouthearted Humanistian visionary, who presaged the great Randist doctrines of the twentieth century. The new future of mankind, that those great heroes predicted is with us at last Ms. Francelle, and you are part of it. Does that not make you feel special?”
“You have got to be nuts King. You are just some swank playboy with delusions of grandeur. Your talk of some mad utopian world isn’t going to make it to base one.”
That is where you are wrong Ms. Francelle. Even as we speak, the time of the Humanistians is upon us. Very soon, the detritus of human failure shall be swept away by the flood of the new righteousness. Do you not see Ms Francelle? By sunrise tomorrow the corruption of the past will be forced to make way for a new and vibrant future. I ask you, is that not cause for celebration?”
“It is hard to celebrate when you are handcuffed to an office chair.”
“A necessary precaution. I know that you and your cretinous employer here have entered into a dialogue with the traitor Truman Whitaker.” King held up his hand. “No, do not deny it Ms. Francelle, both you and Mr. Helman have been under close observation for weeks—your many phone calls and meetings are a matter of record. Unfortunately for both of you, Mr. Helman here decided to leverage information attained from the treacherous Mr. Whitaker. He tried to use it against me to attain monetary gain. I ask you, can you imagine anything more vulgar and underhanded?”
“So, I guess your little Real Estate deal is on ice?”
“What an appropriate metaphor Ms. Francelle, because very soon both you and the grotesque Mr. Helman here, will both be on ice—permanently.”
“You have got to be nuts King. The U.S. Government will never let you get away with this. Your squalid little plan for a coup d'état will be stamped flatter than a road kill breakfast.”
“I own the U.S. Government Ms. Francelle. They will do my bidding as required. The Humanistian vision is all encompassing, our supporters are everywhere.” King turned towards the giant picture window and flung his arms wide, in a salute to the dusk that was gathering over the jagged rooftops of New York City. “Behold Ms. Francelle, bear witness the final sunset of the old world. The new dawn is upon us. But sadly, you will not live to see it.”
Erin turned to Huds Helman who was still making furious bleating noises from behind the plump ball-gag. “You hear that Hudster? Your nutso buddy is going to kill us.”
Irving King smiled. “Kill you? How very vulgar. Your departure into obscurity will be far more considered—an artistic statement if you will. No, I will not kill you and your fat employer Ms. Francelle. I am merely preparing you to meet your final destiny. But you can rest assured that destiny will be very unpleasant indeed. Tell me my dear, are you very afraid?”
64
Sun Island Golf Club, Shanghai, China
The large entourage of socialites and prominent industrialists watched very carefully, hardly daring to breathe, as Zhàn Tao made the shot. Finally, he hit the ball; it puttered enthusiastically across twenty feet of pristine green and clunked throatily into the 18th hole. A spontaneous ripple of applause sounded out and a team of assistants moved in quicker that an F1 pit crew. The ball was removed from the hole, washed and polished. The putter was toweled down and replaced into the golf bag like a sacred object. Mr. Tao was spritzed with lilac water, whilst mobile fan bearers carrying portable A/C units moved in close, to cool their master as he received a freshly chilled iced-tea and a mint biscuit from the refreshments supervisors. Zhàn Tao pulled his white leather golf clubs tight and gnawed the biscuit. The gathered crowd applauded once again. Tao acknowledged his supporters with a short, barely noticeable tip of his head, a gesture that had the crowd roaring still louder. Tao regarded them with a dead gaze, his lips pulsing with latent displeasure, as the vaguest aroma of industrial effluent wafted through the cordon sanitaire set up by the mobile A/C crew. Tao made a sharp slicing gesture with his hand and barked an order. The A/C crew tightened up, as though their very lives depended upon it.
A convoy of golf buggies moved onto the green. It was a regimented display, timed to the very fraction of a split second. Mr. Tao was a man who demanded efficient and well-regulated service. Any deviation from dictated schedules would be treated with the harshest of discipline. It was perhaps unsurprising then, that a sudden unscheduled roar of heavy engines caused the assembled crowd to gasp with surprise and disapproval. Mr. Tao was no fan of raucous interruptions. Who could possibly have the effrontery to disturb the great man at this, the most sacred hour of his day? The sound of revving engines seemed to be coming from all around now, rising up over the fairway, emerging from the shaded woodlands. The crowd began to panic, looking around in consternation. Then, all at once they came, roaring in from every direction. A vast wave of ATVs and 4WD trucks, in the drab camo colors of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army.
The panicking guests began to run. But it was no use. There was no hope of escape, not even the slightest possibility. The soldiers had guns—many of them with bayonets fixed. There wasn’t going to be any escaping this round up. Protests were made of course, man
y of them loud and tearful. But all objections were treated in the same harsh manner—a savage clubbing with rifle butts, followed by an ignominious trussing with zip-tie flexi-cuffs.
Zhàn Tao’s inner circle of assistants and facilitators put up a valiant defense of their masters dignity, but they were quickly and ruthlessly overwhelmed.
Finally, Zhàn Tao stood alone. Calmly and without comment he perused the soldiers surrounding him. It was an incongruous scene—the leader of perhaps the world’s greatest and most powerful corporation, surrounded by a battalion of fresh-faced young soldiers, peering nervously down their rifle sights at a man who was regarded internationally as a living legend. Zhàn Tao, technology guru—world leader in computing, aerospace and automotive innovation. Zhàn Tao, power generation super mogul, the man who got paid every time anyone anywhere in the world flipped on a light switch, cooked their dinner, or heated their home. Zhàn Tao—millionaire, billionaire, trillionaire—standing here on the 18th green in designer golf clothes looking for all the world like just another corporate golfer. Could this vision be real? Could this really be happening?
The soldiers baked in the humid air. The fetid stench of big factory pollution encroached. Trigger fingers twitched. Sweat ran in rivulets—the tension thick, tangible—all encompassing.
The standoff was punctuated by the whimpering of Zhàn Tao’s supporters, as they were led away to an uncertain fate. It was then, that Chi Wu, head of the Chinese Ministry of State Security made a modest and rather shambling appearance on the edge of the green. He shuffled close to China’s wealthiest super-magnate and announced rather shrilly, “Zhàn Tao, you are under arrest for counter revolutionary infringements against the People's Republic of China.”
Zhàn Tao’s lips grew tight, his cruel eyes narrowed and he said, “You are interrupting my game. I do not appreciate having my game interrupted, especially by a sniveling little rodent like you Chi Wu. I assume you have the Prime Minister’s sanction for this unforgivable intrusion upon the sanctity of my day?”
“It is with the Prime Minister’s special mandate that these charges are drawn Zhàn Tao. You are finished, and henceforth, the Government of the People will absorb the counter-revolutionary structure of the Tao Corporation.”
Zhàn Tao’s eyebrows rose fractionally but he said nothing.
The lack of reaction seemed to enrage his accuser. “Bring him!” squawked Chi Wu, his voice rising a shrill octave.
And so it was, that Zhàn Tao was marched at gunpoint from the 18th hole of the most prestigious golf course in Shanghai. It was a long, ignominious walk to the clubhouse, but when they arrived, a convoy of sleek black limousines was waiting. The soldiers leading Zhàn Tao brought their prisoner to an abrupt halt. There was a soft whir and smoke-tinted window rolled down. A rough hand pushed Zhàn Tao forward until he stood, looking into the yawning interior.
Prime Minister Geng Sung lounged back on black leather. His sagging waxy face turned and he regarded Zhàn Tao coldly. “Death is the price of failure,” he said.
Zhàn Tao absorbed the comment wordlessly as the window rolled up. Then, once again, he was pushed forwards towards the next limousine where he was bundled inside. Chi Wu climbed in beside him, while two burly Special Forces men in combat fatigues rode shotgun in the bucket seats.
Chi Wu was over his initial shrillness now. He gloated happily at his captive and said, “You have failed. Your treacherous plot to overthrow the government has been utterly defeated, have you anything to say for yourself?”
Zhàn Tao stared ahead for a long silent moment, as the limousine gathered speed and said, “Death is the price of failure.”
Chi Wu gave him an incredulous look. His triumph replaced by sudden bewilderment. Was this traitor to the People’s Republic really so arrogant? Was he really so—
A blinding flash, then the world held still on its axis. The explosion was so powerful that it almost lifted Chi Wu’s limo off the ground. A surge of destructive energy engulfed everything. The power of the blast buckled the limousine’s bulletproof windows. The glass crackled and crazed, as it twisted into a hideous broken spider web. Zhàn Tao folded forwards very quickly, hands over the back of his head, as every panel in the vehicle crumpled inwards, crushed by the power of the blast. The clatter of shrapnel falling from the sky lasted a long time.
Zhàn Tao sat back very calmly.
Chi Wu clutched the top of his seat. He was trying to see out the back window, but the pulverized glass would only allow the sight of swirling madness, as flames consumed the shattered remnants of Prime Minister Geng Sung’s vehicle. Crying out now, his fragile mind overcome with the horror of the moment, Chi Wu turned to Zhàn Tao, words of accusation rising to his lips. The sentiments remained unspoken. Chi Wu drew breath and stared into the yawning blackness of the gun barrel that Zhàn Tao was pointing at him.
The frozen moments stretched eternal.
The gun-barrel vortex chasmed deep.
The shot came fast. It was the only one that counted. The ones that followed were surplus to requirements; they came from a cruel and savage place devoid of mercy. Blood and cranial matter splattered everywhere. The Special Forces guards sat motionless in their seats. Zhàn Tao turned towards them, regarded them both very carefully. They stared ahead sphinx like. Tao issued a short, dry snort of contempt. He threw the gun to the floor of the limousine and popped the door.
65
Rockefeller centre, Manhattan, NYC
“Alive? You never told me she was alive. Where in the hell is she? I want to see her now.” Truman Whitaker sat in the driver’s seat of the BMW 7 series and stared indignantly at Karyn. His eyes flickered quickly across the pistol she held on her knee then crawled downwards, lingering on her legs.
Karyn chewed gum and said, “Don’t pretend like you got yourself a humanity transplant all of a sudden Truman. We both know just exactly what you have been doing and to whom, whilst that sweet little wife of yours has been away.”
“You don’t understand Kane. I have needs and I have every right to take care of them in whatever way I see fit—besides, those terrorists who captured her, and made those vile Internet videos—those monsters kill people all the time. Who would imagine that my own dear, sweet Lauren would make it out alive and by some miracle return home. Where is she Kane? I demand that you take me to her.”
Karyn made an impatient gesture with her index finger. “Get the car moving Truman. I got no time to listen to any more of your whining. We both know that sweet little lady of yours has the goods on you, so you might as well knock it off with the phony concern.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that Kane, but if you are holding my wife against her will, depriving her of the love of her husband—well, you better know that my lawyers will maul you, the Agency, and that self-righteous asshole Jack Senegar too. After a couple of years in front of a congressional panel of inquiry, your career as a dirty tricks operator for the CIA will be over. You get that Kane? I will finish you.”
Karyn angled the SIG towards his ribcage and said, “You are talking like you still got options Truman. Fact is your choices ran out the second you climbed into bed with Irving King and his Humanistian friends—that’s right Truman, the Agency knows all about their madcap plans to take over the world. Have you got any idea how dumb that sounds? Do you really think that is going to happen—like ever?”
“You have been talking to Irving? What did he say to you?”
“Relax Truman. You do just exactly as I tell you and you will come through this. I will make sure you do, just as surely as I saved your ungrateful neck back in China.”
“You didn’t save me. We got captured. The Chinese Military were very unpleasant. I had a thoroughly excruciating time.”
Karyn pulled a face. “Oh, boo-hoo. You are really breaking my heart with that sad little story, but you are missing the point. Your Humanistian pals had you all lined up for a hit back at the Tao funeral. That’s right, Zhàn Tao wanted to see your
ugly carcass splattered all over that grand mausoleum he built—”
“I am going to be president—they promised me that I would be president…”
Karyn laughed. “You believe that? And just what did you think your pal Irving King was going to be doing while that happened?”
Truman Whitaker looked puzzled, the big gears of his mind ticking over as he figured through the implications. “Irving?” he gasped at last. “He wouldn’t. He promised me. He said I would be president. He said…”
“They were using you Truman. They needed your contacts, your connections. But you were never going to figure in the bigger picture. You were expendable to them, always were, right from the get-go.”
Truman Whitaker gripped the steering wheel. His bottom lip started trembling. He looked as though he was going to blub.
Karyn pulled a face. “Get it together Truman. You start bawling now you got yourself a problem. I am fresh out of tissues—and sympathy too. So why don’t you give yourself a shot at some kind of redemption and tell me where the bomb is at?”
“Bomb?”
“That is right Truman, the EMP bomb, like the one in Mumbai.”
Truman Whitaker looked horrified. “A bomb, right here in New York? I swear I know nothing about it. I swear.”
“You have been playing it real cozy with our friend Irving, haven’t you Truman. The Agency has been watching you, listening—recording every phone call email and text message. But you have been crafty, evasive, haven’t you Truman? You met King for breakfast this morning at the Waldorf Astoria, didn’t you? You made pleasant talk about nothing, then left, like you were floating on a summer breeze. Now, we got most of the conversation down, apart from the one-minute-fifty-three seconds you both went to take a leak in the bathroom.”
Truman Whitaker’s jaw sagged low.
“Don’t lie to me Truman, I got a nose for such things. That creep told you something didn’t he—gave you orders of some kind?”
