by Phillip Shaw
EPILOGUE
Arbitan sat in the private jet looking at his travelling companions. Kim Clements was brimming with confidence, she had let go of her whole broken life and joined him. It helped of course that he had released the power within her. He knew he would have to meet more people like her to build his army. It would not be easy but the fates were smiling on them so far. Here they were on their way to meet another player in the game. According to the feelings, Arbitan had access to Thomas Blain was a major figure on this earth. He could only hope that he would not need to be replaced. Their captive and host Jenny Darcy was under Blain's influence and as Arbitan could access her knowledge when they got to London, he would be prepared.
‘Take off in five minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts.'
Kim buckled up and smirked across at the girl who had tidied herself up. Attractive but without the experience to use it she might provide some amusement on this trip. Kim's own mind was racing. Already she had used her new found powers. The check in for private flights was obviously less stringent than commercial liners but she still had to get their bags and equipment on board. The poor souls at the security didn't stand a chance but at least, she put the seed in their head to have a good night when they were off their shift. She couldn't feel the individuals at this distance but the pulling in her mind hadn't ceased since she took them from Massaro.
‘Arbitan, will I be able to feel them in another country?'
‘No, but the directions you have left them will remain. Always be careful what instructions you leave with people. They may become counter-productive. Look here, I doubt Thomas Blain realised that sending his servant here out to us would lead to this. One more thing Kim, call me Clyne. Arbitan is not a name for this world.'
The engines roared into life and Jenny Darcy sat quietly. She felt lucky to be alive but was she really alive. Her two new captors had been talking non-stop about getting to Blain. The fact that she knew him was all that kept her alive but her desire to please Blain was blurring her decisions. These people are clearly important; the whole city will be looking for them. What a story this will make when I get them back to London. Maybe I will get to do the interview. Blain will be pleased.
Bernard looked in the mirror. In his unshaven, unwashed state he shocked himself. For the best part of a week, he had housed himself in here and watched the staff in his hotel being controlled by the demon. The desire to murder her had subsided enough that he was able to take a note of their movements. So far Mackintosh had lived like a hedonistic queen. She had enjoyed the pleasure of many of the staff both male and female and relaxed in the health suite all week. Every night she had made her telephone calls before sleep. Bernard only knew that today was an important day. Mackintosh had eaten early and had herself dressed in a striking business suit. She is beautiful. He shook his head; he had to remember what she really was. If I even know what she is.
The day started with a fleet of security arriving to supplement the ones already there. What followed was a cavalcade of world leaders and dignitaries the like of which Bernard had only seen on television. The summit of world leaders rolled up one by one and got out. As Mackintosh greeted them at the door he could detect nothing from them. They were neither demon nor under her spell. That can mean only one thing. She's going to control them as well! The sight of the Prime Minister arriving was the final straw. Bernard knew he had to do something. She can't be allowed to control them all.
Blain put the phone down. It's happening; our years of planning are coming to fruition. The pieces are in place just in time. The rumoured return of the combatants would have thrown everything into disarray. It was all up to Mackintosh now.
Chloe Tatum walked in with her usual grace banging the door.
‘Thomas, I have just had word from Darcy, she's on her way back on the private jet and she's not alone. She says she is bringing that Clyne fellow from Manhattan, the one we saw on TV yesterday…
‘What! Are you sure?'
‘I was thinking I could interview them. It's a job for someone senior, like me. I like Jenny, did I tell you she used to work at the same desk as me?
Blain felt the anger rise in him. The hereditary streak of violence that came from his father. Tatum had annoyed him for the last time. She was in broadcast mode and had no interest in listening to him. Despite the control he had over her some things just couldn't be changed. She was in her own way trying to please him but it wasn't working. He walked up behind her as she was looking out his window. The rage had built to a cataclysmic level. He could almost see his father's face as he grabbed Chloe by the back of her necklace. He didn't care about the look of terror in her eyes or the squawking coming from her mouth. He threw her as hard as he could against the window. It cracked but didn't shatter. The blood began to run from the cut on her forehead as she groggily bounced off the window and back to Blain. A final grab and throw smashed the glass and took Tatum through it.
Blain would regret this later he knew but in his mind, there were bigger problems. He was so close to his endgame but it could all be snatched away. He walked towards the smashed glass and looked down. The prostrate body of Tatum would be down there. It would be an inconvenience for him to find another assistant so hopelessly under his control but he would find one. There would be no investigation; the first police to respond to the scene would have to be convinced of her suicide. The pressures of appearing on T.V. and the threat of her job being taken by Jenny Darcy. Yes, that will do nicely. It might even be true. Darcy will have to be the replacement, assuming she and her guests don't meet an unfortunate accident in the air. The screams coming from below told him that Tatum had landed; he looked again and rubbed his finger along the edge of the broken glass.
‘I paid for thicker than this.'
Schultz sat on the floor of the elevator, his back against the wall; his knuckles were fractured from the assault in his office. Poor Patrick.
It had been unprovoked; Sulién was delivering bad news upon bad news, deaths of agents, and deaths of adept. The whole petroleum conference was gone, the order was crumbling all around them. They hadn't had a concerted attack against them in centuries and now it had only taken five days to bring them to their knees. Patrick Sulién sat going over the figures and talking about the disaster plans, he couldn't know. When he turned to get the latest reports Schultz struck, he grabbed the Frenchman's head and drove it into the spines on his library. Schultz knew that wouldn't be enough but he had no idea the element of surprise would be so useless. Sulién retaliated with a swift elbow to the temple of Schultz that staggered him, Schultz looked his former friend in the eye and the realisation looking back at him tickled a nerve of guilt in his head. Guilt is a sentiment of the weak, depression is for the weak minded. Sulién had charged at him but that was exactly what he wanted, the aging head of the order merely sidestepped him and let his momentum take him onto the heavy table, before he could turn Schultz was at his back and began punching him hard in the back of the skull, the blows did as much damage to the perpetrator as the victim but each blow drove the head of the agent into the hard table, when it was done Schultz stood alone. There was nowhere for him now topside, he opened the spirits cupboard and doused his office in fine alcohol. His last act before ignition was to send out the message.
ALL ORDER MEMBERS CHECK IN AND REPORT TO THEIR NEAREST BASE.
It couldn't be helped, Sulién knew too much or did he? In any case, I've made my choice. I made my choice a long time ago. I played my gambit and now I wait for my hand to come up. I haven't left anything to chance.
The door opened and his apprentice helped him to his feet. His old body ached from the conflict but there was energy in his heart. He looked at the work his apprentice had done in the vault and smiled.
‘Our time has come.'
on Archive.
