The Force (The Kingdom Chronicles)

by Alexandra Swann

  “You will have your subjects when you are ready for them,” Josef replied coolly, “And you can conduct as many experiments as you require for as long as you need. I have already secured an unlimited supply. You are quite certain that when Level Three is complete you can replace organic memories entirely?”

  “Quite certain,” responded Heinz, “We will be able to use the drug to completely subvert the memories of an organic. We can convince the president of the largest bank in America that he has lived his entire life as a pig farmer in Nairobi—or vice versa.”

  “How long?”

  “A year to a year a half if I can conduct unlimited experiments. Any organics will do in the initial stages of testing, but as I progress I will require organics from all walks of life—from transients to business executives and street prostitutes to faithful church-goers. I need to test the effects on people of varied socio-economic, political and religious backgrounds so that I can be certain the drug is effective in ‘erasing’ everyone.”

  “Whatever you need, you will have. Just let me know how many and from what background, and I will have them delivered to the laboratory. You can even specify hair and eye color if you like.” Josef was self-satisfied and smug, as usual. Heinz was excited, but even he shuddered inwardly at the realization that everything Josef said was true; he actually could deliver men and women from all walks of life to be unwilling human guinea pigs for Heinz’s experiments. That was part of what made working for Helmick an exciting experience, and it was also what made it an unnerving one.

  “One final caution, Herr Doctor, Level Two still requires a ‘talisman’ if you will—some object on which the organic can fix his attention. It is not necessary to control the outward environment the way we did with Level One, but a visual stimulus is required, and, of course, we must have a delivery medium that a wide variety of people will want to touch to bring them into contact with it.”

  Josef smiled broadly and looked directly at Heinz. “The delivery system is already in place, as is the visual stimulus. You get Level Three ready; I have everything else well in hand.”

  Without another word, Josef rose and strode from the jet. Heinz, who had remained standing during the meeting, returned to his seat and fastened himself in as the jet began to roll down the runway.

  .

  Chapter 21

  Fred had called Joshua Sinclair on the secure line that GenTECH had provided for all voice communications, and Joshua had immediately put him on speaker so that Jarrod could hear Fred’s end of the conversation.

  “I have it from a very reliable source that five or six times a year a jet lands at a private Dubai airstrip, and Josef Helmick boards the plane. He remains on board for a period of time between thirty minutes and several hours and then disembarks and drives away. No one else ever leaves the jet, and it never takes off with Helmick on board.

  “No flight plans are filed in Dubai, but I was able to find flight plans filed in Switzerland that appear to line up with the Dubai visits. They are filed under the name Lutz Von Hess, which I believe is one of Josef’s many aliases—I have been able to verify that he uses at least a dozen.

  “I have an informant at the airstrip who will notify me immediately the next time the jet lands. If we get lucky, I might be able to catch Helmick in the act.”

  “What act would that be?” Jarrod inquired.

  “The act of holding some sort of secret meeting on the plane. It would probably guarantee him at least thirty seconds in jail,” Fred said with a laugh. “I’m just trying to verify that he’s holding these meetings, because, if he is, they’re probably tied to his cloning operation in Switzerland.”

  “I found out something else that I think will be of interest to you,” Fred continued. “Rashid, the concierge, told me that a few weeks ago the Club of Rome held their annual meeting in a private dining room of the Burj Khalifa, and Josef Helmick was inducted as their new secretary-general. He swears that he oversaw the food service personally and was constantly in the dining room until all non-members were required to leave before the speeches began. Interestingly, Rashid tells me that Josef’s date that night was a beautiful young American whom he called ‘Amanda.’

  “I went onto the Club of Rome’s website and discovered that they did hold their annual meeting last month and that they inducted their new secretary-general, Lutz Von Hess. There is no mention of Josef Helmick anywhere on the website, but I am convinced that Josef Helmick, a.k.a. Lutz Von Hess, is the new secretary-general for the Club of Rome.

  “By the way,” Fred added, “did the DNA on the blood sample I sent you from the girl who was found in the dumpster behind the Burj Khalifa come back?”

  “Yes, we got it Tuesday morning,” Joshua responded. “She was an exact match for Amanda Sutton. We know for sure that she was a clone. The problem, of course, is that we can’t prove that Helmick was the one who cloned her.”

  “We may not be able to prove it,” Fred interjected, “but we know it’s true. When the kitchen boy here told me about the body in the dumpster, I could hardly believe it. The officer on duty, apparently, made a call and then told Paolo to never call the police again because of anything he found in the dumpsters. If the kid hadn’t stolen the ring the victim was wearing, we wouldn’t have had any DNA. He was afraid if he tried to fence it he would get caught. Muslim law would have required that his hand be cut off, and he didn’t want to risk that. When I began asking questions, he saw his opportunity to sell it to me risk-free. He thought the ring was real, but it was just costume jewelry. I didn’t tell him that, though. I paid him a couple of thousand for it explaining that fenced jewelry always sells at a discount. Send me a picture of Amanda Sutton—I want to show it around to the staff and see if they can identify her as Josef’s date.”

  “Fred,” Jarrod interrupted. “I think it’s time for you to come home.”

  “What?” Fred was stunned. “Is there a problem?”

  “No problem; we’re more than satisfied. We never dreamed that you would be able to find out so much in such a short time. You’ve surpassed all our expectations. But this is getting dangerous. Someone very powerful is protecting Helmick, and it’s just a matter of time until they come after you.”

  “Someone a whole lot more powerful is protecting me,” Fred responded, “and it’s just a matter of time until He calls Helmick to give an accounting to Him. I’m not afraid, and unless you don’t want me working for you anymore, I’m staying and seeing this through to the end.”

  Jarrod and Joshua looked at each other, and then Joshua nodded. “Okay,” Jarrod said into the speaker, “but whatever else you do, be careful.”

  Chapter 22

  Josef’s driver pulled up to the Dubai Marina where a small speed boat awaited. Josef boarded the boat, and it sped through the waterway toward Nikolai Sokol’s waiting yacht where lunch had been prepared by Francesco Corteloni, the world’s most renowned chef.

  Josef had known Nikolai since childhood. Karl had introduced them during Josef’s first trip to Europe when he was thirteen. The senior Helmick was cloning racehorses for Sokol Farms at the time, and also, as Josef recalled, young boys for Sokol’s personal enjoyment. Josef had been surprised at how genuinely alike Karl and Nikolai were; they both had the same contempt for existing society, the same passion for a New World Order, and the same callous disregard for humanity. In spite of these similarities, or perhaps because of them, the two men were never friends. Where Karl loved science and believed that it held the key to righting all the wrongs of an imperfect world, Nikolai loved money. Karl sneered privately to Josef that money was the only mistress that Nikolai could ever give himself to completely, and in a sense that was true. Unlike most men, he did not merely long to possess or use money; Nikolai was obsessed with gaining control over all money—everywhere. He was said to understand monetary policy and currency better than any other living person, and he had used his knowledge of the workings of money to make himself one of the five wealthiest men
in the world.

  Sokol’s past was even more mysterious than Karl Helmick’s. Little was known about him that could be verified. His official biography stated that he was born in Czechoslovakia in 1951 and was a youth of seventeen when the Soviet Army invaded the country in 1968 to quash a reform movement that was just beginning to sweep the nation. The invasion was Nikolai’s moment of opportunity; he was an unimpressive youth from an unimpressive family—his own father was said to have been part of the reform movement. The younger Sokol, however, was ambitious, and as a young man in a community longing for freedom, he immediately distinguished himself to his country’s new occupiers as an eager informant. Six months after the occupation, Sokol’s father was hanged and his mother and five siblings, including a little sister of three, were sent to a Soviet re-education camp where all of them died. In his later years, Sokol’s many opponents accused him of betraying his own family and sending them to their deaths—an allegation he never denied. When questioned during a television interview about his activities in Czechoslovakia during the Soviet occupation, he responded only that he learned at an early age that survival is the only true morality.

  What was certain was that in 1971, when he was twenty years old, the Soviet-controlled government gave him a special pass to go to Moscow for a year, and in 1972 he was allowed to emigrate to London to study finance and economics. From that moment, every door was open to Nikolai. After graduation, he went to work for an investment firm where he met prominent men from all over the world. He was inducted into the Club of Rome on his thirtieth birthday, and shortly afterward he moved to New York City where he started a hedge fund that invested heavily in U.S. real estate. As his wealth and prominence increased, he became a king maker of sorts—betting against international currencies and making himself ever richer in the process. He invested heavily in politics, land, gold, and ideas—his think tanks produced the men and women who set policy for presidents, monarchs, industrialists and bankers worldwide.

  Nikolai was the first person to reach out to Josef after the explosion at Doppelganger. Josef was never certain how Nikolai knew where to find him; he was in Brazil partying in a club after having visited the estate of Arturo de Silva when a beautiful blonde girl of about eighteen approached him and asked him to dance.

  At Doppelganger Josef had been denied all female companionship, and for the past few months he had made up for his former austere life by indulging himself with the most beautiful women he could find—acting out all of his fantasies. After several weeks Josef had believed that he had found the one thing that had been missing from his life. He had convinced himself that all he needed to do was find a constant supply of beautiful young women, and he would be entertained forever.

  The moment Josef reached out and took this girl’s hand, however, everything changed. She was intoxicating. Her voice, her perfume, the softness of her skin seemed to fill his senses. They danced, and then he took her to his hotel suite to spend the night. Josef felt as if he were moving inside the perfect dream, and he could not allow it to end—ever. As the night wore on he realized that the only possible conclusion to such a perfect union was for him to kill her, very slowly and very painfully.

  It was Josef’s first Pleasure Kill. He had watched many of the boys at Doppelganger die, and when he was older he had been the chief executioner of those who proved to be defective. But that was different. It was business. Defective clones were eliminated and disposed of in the crematorium. The kills were quick and clean. A Pleasure Kill was different; it must be made to last as long as possible. The pain must be intense. Josef knew this instinctively, but it was his first Pleasure Kill, and he was clumsy. The girl died after only two hours. Yet, it was a beginning. He knew that he could clone her and experiment with her until he had perfected his craft. Then he would dispose of her DNA and find another suitable subject. Immediately, he collected the necessary samples.

  As Josef was leaving his hotel room the next morning, he had opened her purse and found a note handwritten on a piece of exquisite cream-colored stationery with the initials “NS” in an intricate scroll at the top. The note read simply, “Allow me to express my condolences to you for your loss, Josef. Maya is the first of many gifts that I can provide for you; have lunch with me on my yacht this noon.”

  At twenty-one years of age, Josef was himself a billionaire, and under other circumstances he would have sent back a note responding that there was nothing that Sokol could give him that he could not obtain for himself. But he had slaughtered Sokol’s gift, and he weighed his options. If Sokol came after him, there would be nowhere to hide. He would meet Sokol on his yacht and call his bluff. If Sokol reacted badly, he would deal with that situation to the best of his ability.

  When Josef had boarded the yacht, Sokol was waiting for him on deck. He extended his hand and asked, “Did you enjoy Maya?”

  Without hesitation, Josef had responded, “I enjoyed her very much. She’s dead. Is that a problem?”

  Sokol’s face betrayed no emotion. He shrugged slightly and replied, “For her, yes; not for me. I anticipated that something like that might happen so I chose the girl carefully. She will not be missed.”

  “Who was she?” Josef inquired.

  Sokol looked directly into Josef’s eyes and replied, “She was my granddaughter.”

  Josef had always been glad he had accepted the invitation; Sokol had influence, connections and power, and he had opened up a world to him that he would have never been able to access on his own. After twenty years, two or three times a year Josef still received a handwritten note on the same distinctive stationery reading simply, “Have lunch with me on my yacht this noon.”

  Sokol had just celebrated his ninetieth birthday and rarely appeared in public. Josef had offered many times to “rejuvenate” him, but Sokol always refused, saying that he preferred to finish his life as he had lived it. Josef suspected that the real reason for the refusal was that Sokol feared Josef might be planning to replace him with an enhanced version of himself who would answer only to him. That was actually true, but what Sokol did not know was that in spite of all his precautions, Josef had systematically collected all of the genetic material he needed in order to make a perfect copy, and now with the improvements to Labyrinth he could make this copy obey him completely. His frequent lunches with Sokol provided a unique opportunity for Josef to dispose of the organic Nikolai and replace him with the enhanced one. Only one thing prevented him from doing so—Nikolai was in the process of executing a plan to usher in the New World Order, and Josef did not yet have all of the pieces of that plan. Nikolai was careful to tell Josef only what he needed to know at the moment, and even with all of his spies, including his many paid informants in various government-surveillance agencies worldwide, Josef had never been able to discover exactly what Nikolai was planning to do or how. He needed the old man’s blueprint as well as his connections in order to make Sokol’s vision a reality. Therefore, Josef waited patiently, having lunch with the old man whenever summoned, closely watching him through a network of spies, and biding his time until enough pieces were in place so that he no longer needed his mentor. When that time came, he would personally end Nikolai’s existence.

  Josef was all smiles when he boarded the yacht. Nikolai was seated at a table on the deck enjoying a glass of champagne. His excessive weight, combined with his advanced age, made it difficult for him to move, so as Josef approached, the old man remained seated and merely waved a greeting.

  “Welcome. You have been busy, Herr Doctor. I heard about the magic show you performed for the Club. The entire group has talked of little else. It seems you made quite an impression.”

  “I always make an impression,” Josef smiled smugly, “but the demonstration was less magic and more science. You should have been there to see for yourself—they stared into those crystals as if they had actually journeyed through a time warp. You would have been thoroughly amused.”

  “Ah, but I did see it. Like God, I see
everything, while I remain unseen, behind the veil, as it were. I watched the entire evening as it happened. I was very impressed. So you are now confident of your drug? You are sure of what it can do?”

  “Quite sure. My chemist has just finished perfecting the second level and is now working on the third. Using Labyrinth, we can remake the human race after our own image. People will remember what we tell them to remember, venerate what we order them to worship and perform the tasks we give them to perform, all without question. I must tell you, though, that my chemist was very concerned that we find a delivery medium that everyone will want to touch in order to absorb the drug. I assured him that this was not a problem.”

  Nikolai chuckled, “No, it is not a problem at all. Our delivery system is the one thing that everyone in the world, great and small, rich and poor, most desires to possess.” His tone grew more serious, “Everything must be ready on time, Josef. I cannot overemphasize the importance of this. In eighteen months, the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank will hold a joint meeting in Switzerland to announce the world’s new reserve currency—the Dunamas. A group of us from around the world have pledged a portion of our real estate holdings and gold and platinum reserves to back the new currency—so far we have just a little over two hundred fifty billion Euros. Of course, this has been tried before—on more than one occasion. The developed nations of the world always resist an independent reserve currency because such a monetary system prevents any one nation from dominating the others economically. This time is going to be different.” Nikolai pointed to a sealed envelope.

  Josef picked it up and opened the pouch. Nikolai continued, “In this envelope you will find the exact specifications for the new currency. The image of Gaia will be on each bill with the Altar as a backdrop. Various denominations of currency are noted in your instructions. Labyrinth must be laced into the currency at the time of printing so that it permeates each bill.” Josef glanced at the instructions and then turned back to Sokol.