Even his 9-11 website was neglected, attracting fewer visitors, until finally, it too was forgotten.
Zavala turned up three months after SPO dissolved, taking a position within Venetti International’s Netherlands office. After that, Alvaro Zavala disappeared.
Roger’s research hit a dead-end, at least through more conventional means. That left him with no other choice but to then choose unconventional means – he hacked into Venetti’s electronic database.
It took three continuous days of attempts, but finally, he gained access and after several more hours of searching, located the names of four of the twelve 9-11 hijackers listed alphabetically and under the same date: March 14th, 1999. It was through SPO that each man was given a business visa granting them access into the United States. Three were from Saudi Arabia while the fourth was an Egyptian.
Roger Rucker stared at those four names for well over an hour, his mind attempting to grasp the implications of what he had uncovered.
Then came the phone call.
“Hello, Mr. Rucker.”
It was the voice of the mysterious black man who had visited him weeks earlier.
“Mr. Rucker, did you find what you were looking for?”
Roger held the phone to his right ear while staring back at the four names still on his computer screen - names he had discovered only after the clue given to him by the man now speaking on the phone.
“Who are you?”
“I’m a friend, Mr. Rucker. At least, I could be. You can call me Mr. Dorman. So, did you find what you were seeking?”
Roger paused, uncertain of the stranger’s motives.
“I found something, yes.”
“You gained access into Venetti’s system?”
“I did.”
Dorman’s tone was both approving and supportive.
“Very good, Mr. Rucker, is there anything else?”
Roger didn’t know if he was being tricked into giving up the names he had found, or being tested to see if he had actually done so.
“Four names all linked to the 9-11 terrorist attacks, three Saudis and one Egyptian. They used a subsidiary of Venetti International to obtain business visas.”
Though he couldn’t see him, Roger was certain the man on the other end of the phone conversation was smiling.
“Excellent work! Do you recall the initial job posting that was the result of the web address I gave you when we first met?”
The scrap of paper was still on Roger’s desk.
“Yeah, the posting for the data processing job.”
“That’s right, Mr. Rucker. Now if you wish to continue getting information, and answers, we need you to clean yourself up and get yourself that job. A position remains available. Tell them as little as possible about yourself, but instead focus on what you can do for them. They will test your computer knowledge. You have just proven to me that you will pass their test. The environment will be unconventional, as will the job itself. You are to ignore all of that and simply do what they ask, and then from time to time we will want you to update us on what you see and hear while you are there.”
Roger stood up in the intimate and cluttered confines of his apartment still holding the phone to his ear.
“You keep saying we. Who are you talking about and why would I want to help you?”
“We are truth seekers, Mr. Rucker, the same as you. As for why you might wish to help us, I will simply say that the same organization that helped facilitate the death of your brother and all of those thousands of others on September 11th, 2001 is the very same organization that made that job posting. This is a war, Mr. Rucker and we now asking for your help in fighting it. I need to know your answer now. You have ten seconds to make a decision.”
It took Roger less than half that time to reply. If it meant working against those responsible for killing Stephen there was no possible alternative for him.
“I’ll do it.”
Roger Rucker was not a T3 member, but merely one of many operatives for that group. He was aware of the T3 clubhouse across the street from the Illuminati building to which he reported every day to work though, and knew its significance to the ongoing battle between truth and deception. If he understood the conversation between the man called Hess and the Pindar correctly, those now inside the T3 clubhouse were in significant danger.
I have to let Dorman know.
Roger sensed eyes boring into his back. He glanced at a reflection on his computer screen and saw Malthus looking directly at him. It was as if the Illuminati operative had somehow overheard Roger’s thoughts.
That’s impossible. Just stay calm, keep working, and once I’m on my way home I can contact Dorman.
When Roger looked to find the reflection again, Malthus was gone.
21.
“I thought I’d find you here, Gabriel. You’re nothing if not a creature of habit.”
Malthus sat down at the small table across from one he knew would have preferred to be left alone.
Gabriel said nothing, sipping from a glass of dark red wine and looking out at the people passing by from his seat at a sidewalk table outside a small cafe in the center of Manhattan. It was another New York afternoon, busy with the bustle of people and their all too abbreviated lives. Clouds moved slowly overhead them, the sun well on its way to giving them all back to the night.
“Consider this a courtesy on my part. The war is beginning in earnest now. The Pindar plans to attack them directly. No more games. No more rules. We finally reach the moment of truth, brother.”
Malthus was pleased to see the corner of Gabriel’s right eye noticeably twitch when calling him brother. The designation had long annoyed his on again off again adversary.
“You are no brother of mine, Malthus. As for the plot you say is underway, my knowing serves no purpose beyond your attempt to annoy. That is unless you are personally involved. If that is so then listen to me carefully, Malthus. You risk awakening the avenger in me and will be the unfortunate focus of that transformation.”
Malthus’s right hand reached out to encircle Gabriel’s left wrist, squeezing the other man’s flesh until his long nails threatened to break the skin.
“Your empty threats are just that, Gabriel – empty. You are astray in this world of monkeys. Your god is an absentee parent who lost interest in any of you ages ago. Don’t pretend I am not aware of this. We are all orphans, Gabriel, the neglected children of indifferent masters. You would not risk having to leave this place you hold so dear. Your wine, tobacco, the whoring, you wallow in your wretchedness. You embrace it! Don’t stop doing so on my account, brother.”
Gabriel winced. Malthus had grown strong - perhaps too strong.
“You’re hurting me, Malthus.”
“That’s right, Gabriel, I’M HURTING YOU.”
Gabriel didn’t attempt to remove himself from Malthus’s grip. Instead he sat motionless, waiting patiently for the other to grow tired of his demonstration. That patience was finally rewarded.
Malthus let him go.
“I didn’t come here to fight with you, Gabriel. In fact, I wish to offer you the chance to join me. This world, these creatures you appear to care so much for…it is all about to change. You have to sense this as well. There will be far less light in the coming days, Gabriel. Why not make your place beside me?”
Gabriel’s laughter was like sharpened blades plunging into Malthus’s skull.
“Oh, Malthus, always the schemer and dreamer of things well beyond your standing. You come from nothingness, and it will be there you shall return to if you break our rules. There can be no direct involvement to interfere with the Law of Free Will. Even your master would not allow such a violation to go unanswered. You would do well to stick with your powers of persuasion. Admittedly, it’s a clever loophole you’ve made for yourself, but the things you now indicate would suggest you wish for a more direct approach. I will warn you yet again, you threaten my own awakening. If my true self is unleashed, there will
be nothing left of you.”
Malthus pointed to the reddened indentations of Gabriel’s wrist while growling his retort.
“I don’t fear you, angel. Your time is dissipated, while my time is now. My powers grow exponentially within this world of greed and rage. Your master is a lie, even as I am now my own master. This world is mine, and if you refuse the offer to join me, then you will have no place in it.”
Gabriel swirled the remaining contents of his wine glass and then quickly brought it to his mouth and emptied it. His head shook slowly from side to side as he placed the glass back onto the table.
“So tell me more of Zavala’s plan to attack the T3 Group directly. Why would he take such a risk?”
Malthus sighed while watching the hordes of people moving back and forth past his place at Gabriel’s table.
“Who cares what motivates these monkeys? Illuminati, T3 Group, in the end it’s all the same to me. Let them fight so that I may feed from their pain and delight in watching the world drown in the blood of its own self-inflicted wounds.”
“And what are the Pindar’s plans for Mr. Bennington and Ms. Wellington?”
Malthus shrugged, attempting to appear unconcerned.
“They’ve made enemies, Gabriel.”
Malthus leaned across the table, his dark eyes wide.
“I make my final offer to you. Join me.”
Gabriel closed his eyes, wishing he had been able to enjoy a moment of quiet with only the taste and scent of the wine to keep him company.
“You already know my answer, Malthus – NO.”
Gabriel opened his eyes and saw the shadows of two approaching men reflected back to him from within Malthus’s stare. Even as he attempted to turn, the back of his head exploded in pain, the blow sending his face smashing into the table in front of him.
Then came the unmistakable sting of a long needle being inserted into his neck. His body’s weight seemed to instantly multiply, making even the lifting of his head impossible. Gabriel felt his hands being bound tightly behind him as the lids of his eyes grew impossibly heavy.
Before the darkness took him, Malthus’s voice echoed inside the remnants of Gabriel’s quickly retreating consciousness.
You underestimated me for the last time, brother.
22.
Guardian Nagato received the warning that evening. Dorman’s contact within the Illuminati complex indicated an attack was imminent. Nagato had never known Dorman to be wrong. The man was closely affiliated with Alexander David Meyer himself, whose patronage made the T3 New York clubhouse’s continued existence possible.
The billionaire was gone though, his remaining empire in the hands of a man whose motivations the guardian long considered suspect. Peter Berg was not to be trusted.
Berg was a secondary concern though. The safety of the clubhouse and its members was now the only thing that mattered. As guardian, Nagato had to do whatever necessary to keep it, and them, safe.
His private study was small, befitting a man whose stature required little space to be comfortable. Besides, Nagato had spent many years in a cell far smaller than these opulent by comparison, surroundings.
Taku, you must focus! A problem remains a problem until it is solved. Focus on the solution, not the problem!
It was the voice of another age, Taku Nagato’s primary Ninjutsu instructor, an ancient teacher by the name of Master Shiro who ran an orphanage deep in the Ou Mountains of Japan. Nagato spent the first fourteen years of his life at that orphanage, learning and then excelling in the mysterious ways of the Shinobi. Master Shiro was said to have been descended from Kumawakamaru, the legendary founder of the Ninjas.
The seventy-four year old forced his breathing to slow to the point where he was inhaling no more than once per minute. The study was lit by a single candle, its flickering casting quickly moving shadows across the guardian’s nearly unlined face.
How would they attack us? They cannot draw too much attention. That is not in either organization’s nature. Both the T3 Group and the Illuminati are best served remaining as the world behind the world, and the clubhouse can be quickly fortified if need be.
Nagato’s eyes opened as a chill fluttered across his awareness.
They intend to become the world. The old rules will no longer apply and we are to be this new world’s first casualty. They need not come to us, but instead require that we come to them.
The guardian realized his error. He had just an hour earlier told Stasia to do a perimeter check of the Illuminati church and then report back to him any signs of movement or unusual preparations on their part. He had sent her to do so because she was their best operative, the most capable among them. The newly arrived Frank Bennington had demanded he go with her, but both Stasia and Nagato told him no, he was to remain inside with the others.
Malthus knew Stasia was here, just as he knew she would be the one I would send out to monitor them.
The guardian leapt from his chair behind his small desk and rushed to the second floor hallway outside his room. From there he ran toward the stairs, his feet making almost no sound despite his haste.
It took Nagato less than nine seconds to reach the front door of the T3 Clubhouse. The guardian’s hand trembled violently as he reached out toward the handle, his mind screaming a warning of the vastness that would swallow him whole should he step outside.
There is no honor in fear! Fear must not be allowed to control our actions, or inactions!
Master Shiro’s long ago warning was not enough to overcome Nagato’s agoraphobia. The guardian knew his condition was irrational, a creation of his own protective instincts born of years of abuse and torture, and yet, the fear to leave the clubhouse remained, unrelenting as ever.
The guardian turned quickly at the sound of footsteps behind him.
“What’s wrong?”
Frank Bennington repeated the question, forgetting Nagato’s inability to speak, and his own inability to read sign language.
“You ok? You’re covered in sweat.”
The guardian nodded and began to sign, and then stopped, realizing Bennington had no idea what he was saying.
The private detective’s instincts were quick to read the conflict upon Nagato’s face though.
“Where’s Stasia? She hasn’t returned?”
The guardian shook his head. Frank’s concern quickly turned to anger.
“I told you, I told both of you, she shouldn’t go out there alone!”
Nagato’s eyes softened, admitting his fault to Frank. As Bennington began to move toward the door, his T3 phone suddenly rang. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar.
“Tell the guardian we have a proposition for him! His life for hers! Don’t keep me waiting, Mr. Bennington.”
The call ended. Frank loomed over Nagato. He knew then they had Stasia, and he was prepared to push the smaller man out of the way.
“One of them told me to tell you your life for hers. Now get the hell out of my way.”
The guardian placed his right hand against Bennington’s chest with surprising strength.
Nagato turned again toward the door, his mind demanding his right hand not tremble at the thought of opening it. The hand refused the demand, slipping off the handle as the guardian then clasped it with his left hand in an attempt to minimize the shaking.
Both men turned at the sound of someone approaching. Bennington was relieved to see the muscular form and determined gaze of Hugh Madsen staring back at him.
“They have Stasia. I saw them from upstairs. She’s bound and gagged. There’re three of them outside the church entrance. Two I recognize as regular security, the third man I’ve never seen before, but he seems to be the one in charge. He’s bald, and wearing a uniform I don’t recognize. They’re all armed.”
Madsen then realized Nagato was attempting to force himself to go outside. Frank quickly explained why.
“I just got a call. They told the guardian he could offer his life for hers.”
“They don’t want a shootout any more than we do - too much attention. I say we demand they hand her over and in the meantime, I’ll make some calls and get some more operatives over here. Let me handle everything from this end, ok?”
Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series... Page 66
