Olivetti: Illumination

by Tamilore Odimayo

  Tom thought of Julianna, his girlfriend; the only member of the illuminati who treated him like a human being rather than an asset to the cause. He thought of the last words she told him. He became overwhelmed with guilt.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” Tom said as he backed away. Nina was confused, embarrassed and upset.

  “You’re seeing someone?” She asked.

  “Uh no, I’m…I’m worried. I don’t remember my uncle, but from what little I know about my family, he’d do anything to stop you from snooping around my case files. That’s what I’m worried about,” Tom replied, half truthfully.

  Her discomfort continued. Don Olivetti was the least of her concern. She felt rejected by the one man she had dreamt about for the past seven years. She should have known he was alive. No wonder she had that gutless feeling that Tom was still somewhere watching over her. Nina sighed.

  “Well! Then I’ll see you later!” She said, without looking at Tom. Tom understood her feelings. He didn’t need any special gifts to know that she was upset. Her pride was hurt.

  “Will you like to have lunch with me on Sunday?” Tom asked. Surprise filled her face. “Lunch?”

  “Yea! We could catch up. You can tell me everything I did and didn’t do,” Tom suggested. Nina smiled shyly. “Sure! My Sundays are usually a bore,”

  “Okay. Let’s meet at 2pm,” Tom said as he left the car. She was amused. A good thing might be building up. She didn’t mind not being romantically involved with Tom, she just craved his presence. There was something about his aura that drew her closer. It was soothing. It relinquished the thought of her failed romantic life.

  There was still a hint of hope.

  Detective Hernandez walked into Aventura hospital. His dark blue polo t-shirt, brown Corduroy trousers and black leather jacket defied the logic of the south Florida heat. His beards were rough, but trimmed enough to prevent him from looking like a bum. His greying hair showed everything wrong with the civil service system. He was only pushing forty and he already looked old enough to retire.

  He rushed into the hospital reception. He was determined to get to the bottom of it. He couldn’t call Don Sanchez without proof of his discovery. He wanted to be absolutely sure. He wanted physical proof that Tom was still alive. He had spoken to a couple of police officers who were at the scene of the accident. Most of them couldn’t recognize the picture Detective Hernandez presented of Tom, but recognized the picture of Nina. It had been three days since he saw Tom Olivetti. After tailing Nina, without any sight of Tom, he was beginning to question his sanity. The lack of sleep was probably causing hallucinations.

  “Hello. I’m Detective Hernandez,” Detective Hernandez said, showing his badge to the black female nurse at the front desk. “Hi! How may I help you?”

  “Uh I’m on an ongoing investigation. I’m trying to find out about a recent emergency case? A young woman by the name of Nina Owen and a man by the name of Tom Olivetti,” He said to the nurse.

  “Uh hold on! Let me get the person in charge. She’ll be able to answer your question,” the Nurse replied. Detective Hernandez waited. Soon after, an older nurse walked in with a log book.

  “Detective. Yes! We had a Nina Owen here. She was in an accident. She suffered a mild concussion. Nothing serious,” She said.

  “Uh what about Tom Olivetti?” Detective Hernandez asked. “Uh no we didn’t have anyone by that name. Although, she came with a man called James Carlton,” the nurse said. Detective Hernandez scribbled his name down on a piece of paper.

  “Thank you for your help!” Detective Hernandez said as he was about to leave.

  “Uh Detective! One more thing,”

  “Yes,” He said as she turned towards the nurse.

  “There was another man who was allegedly in the accident. I overheard the Doctors talking about how lucky he was to be alive. They were surprised to see a lot of blood with no indication of wounds,”

  A chill went through Detective Hernandez’s spine. “His name?”

  “He left without giving one. He seemed to upset that lady…Nina. If I remember correctly, her friend had to ask him to leave, after an altercation,” She said. Detective Hernandez smiled.

  “Thank you for your help, madam,”

  Seven years had passed since the initial launch of the special investigation unit. Mark Shaw was still relentless in the pursuit of the mob families. Agent Weaver, Agent Parker and Special Agent Kimberly were his most trusted comrades. They were the FBI’s underdogs. Mob cases were trivial compared to the more popular Islamic terrorism. Yet unknown to the world, every day, there were incidents tied to the mob, but none had sufficient evidence to warrant an arrest.

  Agent Parker wasn’t the kind to bring work home. He wasn’t obsessed with the case, but loved it enough to show up every day with a little bit of enthusiasm. It was a means to an end and much better than seating in an FBI building, collecting random intelligence and filing mundane paperwork that may never see the light of day. His partner, Kimberly, a middle aged woman, married to her career was slightly more obsessed with her work. Her love for computers and digital forensic analysis made her love her job more than anything.

  Agent Weaver was the opposite. He ate, slept, and drank, thinking about the best way to bring down the mob families. Obsessed, he couldn’t phantom any logical reason why members of the mob families weren’t already behind bars. He practically lived in the FBI safe house and was beginning to express symptoms of paranoid delusion.

  Once, he thought there was a mole in the three man team set aside specially to capture the Olivettis. He began to keep most of his investigations to himself. The FBI district director—Mark Shaw, the only agent who had lived to see the rise of Frederick Olivetti, the disappearance of Frederick Olivetti and the rise of Don Daniel Olivetti, had craved the moment he would see an Olivetti in prison.

  Special Agent Kimberly, walked into the safe house, wearing a tight skirt and white blouse. Her heels clogged with each step. She locked the door behind her, trying not to spill the hot coffee on her clothes. She walked towards the living room where all the computer and surveillance equipment were. At the far corner of the living room, Agent Weaver snored like a grown Bear on a cold winter evening. The pile of papers next to him was stacked as high as the Eiffel tower. Kimberly sighed.

  “Weaver!” she yelled to wake him up. Their monthly debrief was in an hour and she didn’t want to delay it for any reason. Agent Weaver jumped, ready to attack.

  “Relax! It’s just me!” she sighed.

  Agent Weaver gave out a sigh of relief. She returned an awkward smile. Her red hair always complimented her red lipstick and gave her the cute look that tempted him to get married, quit the FBI, settle down and raise a bunch of kids and puppies. Though it sounded nice, it wasn’t on his to-do list for a while.

  “If I was a killer, you’d have been dead already,” She joked.

  “Yeah – yeah,” Weaver said, yawning. Kimberly stared at him. For seven plus years, Agent Weaver had been the only male figure in her life. The job made them best friends. They were the only single people in their special investigation unit without a family. The only problem, Agent Weaver was too preoccupied with his work to realize Kimberly’s attraction to him.

  “Go take a shower or freshen up. I brought coffee. Black, the way you like it,” Kimberly said with a smile as she jumped on her computer. He could tell she had visited the salon that weekend. The smell of her red hair filled the room. Agent Weaver nodded then rushed into one of the rooms. Kimberly did her morning routine. She scanned through all law enforcement databases as she sipped a hot cup of coffee. The computer beeped. Her eyes widened and almost choked on her coffee.

  “Weaver! Come over here, now!” She yelled from across the room. Weaver ran out, still trying to put on a fresh shirt. “What! What!?”

  “Someone is searching for Tom Olivetti,”

  “Who?”

  “Nina Owen, a woman he went to school with,” She replied
.

  “Oh. She’s probably just missing him…you know. High school romance and all…she needs closure,” Weaver said. He turned back towards his room.

  “No! You gotta see this. She had his finger print verified and it matched the sample,” She said. A chill ran through his spine. He ran towards Kimberly, grabbed a chair and pulled out one of the wireless keyboards they had. He typed in a bunch of codes. A file popped up on the computer.

  “Where the fuck did she get his finger print?” Weaver said to himself. Something else popped up on Kimberly’s computer screen. “One more thing,”

  “What?”

  “There’s a Detective Hernandez looking into Tom Olivetti,” Kimberly replied, leaving Weaver completely confused.

  “Makes no sense except…” Weaver said then paused as his scanned through the files in his biological computer—brain.

  “She’s a big time lawyer with connections with the DA of Miami. Pull out facial recognition for all three; Hernandez, Tom, and Nina,” Weaver said to Kimberly. She typed in a bunch of codes on her computer and all CCTV surveillance camera videos matching Hernandez was pulled up. None matched Nina or Tom.

  “Nina didn’t pop up? Not even at a gas station? Someone’s messing with these tapes,” Agent Parker thought.

  “Get me Detective Hernandez’s number – seems we’re going to Miami,”

  17

  December 15, 1964

  Long Island, New York. The weather was cold with mundane disdain for earthlings. It was snowing heavily. Frederick stepped out of a limo dressed in a black suit and black over coat. He adjusted his black gloves and shoes as his guards walked side by side with him, to escort him to Senator William’s funeral.

  St Peter’s Catholic Church, New York City. It was a magnificent and ancient building. The sound of the choir was harmonious, engulfing the church with beautiful music. Frederick inhaled deeply as the sweet scent of dampened old wood engulfed him. He could hear the priest’s sermon. He could see Senator Williams, the most unworthy Catholic, laying in a casket. No matter the prayers, Frederick was sure Senator Williams was going to hell.

  His family sat in the front row of the church. Some mourned. His wife didn’t. From her thoughts, Frederick could tell that his wife was aware of Senator William’s multiple extramarital affairs. She was more concerned about his lustrous Will.

  United States Senators, city council men and other dignitaries were present. No one cared to be there. They were only present to create a false façade of how much they loved Senator William—a revered Veteran and Servant of the public people.

  Frederick sat humbly in the back row, trying not to gain any attention. His guards sat by him. Suddenly, Frederick paused.

  “You killed a Mason,” A voice from behind him whispered.

  “You killed Clara!” Frederick replied without flinching. He was expecting Francois. He knew he’d attend the funeral.

  “You know how much shit you have put the Order in?” Francois replied in his French accent.

  “Not in as much shit as you’re going to be with me,” Frederick threatened. Francois scoffed. “Oh please! You and I know I had orders!” Francois whispered, trying not to interrupt the ceremony.

  “Orders from whom?” Frederick asked.

  “If you can’t see it, your ability to see the future must be diminishing,” Francois replied. Frederick was quiet. His blood boiled. Every inch of him wanted to snap Francois’s neck right there in the church. He managed to remain calm and collected. Francois smiled. The only reason he showed up in a church was because he knew Frederick wouldn’t be able to do anything to him in public.

  “The Order sent you?” Frederick asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but you and I know there has to be a good reason for it,” Francois replied.

  “Good reason?” Frederick said, nodding impatiently.

  “You killed the mother of my son right in front of her baby and you think I’m just going to let it go?” Frederick added.

  Francois sighed. “The Masons are after you now! Watch your back. They know you killed Senator William and they won’t stop till…”

  “Till what?” Frederick asked.

  “Look, I can help! I can sort this all-out,”

  Frederick was calm. “I don’t need your help. I can’t trust you anymore,” Frederick replied. Francois sighed.

  “Suit yourself. Die if you want. It’s all pointless. I don’t have as many gifts as you do, but you can’t do anything to me without incurring the wrath of the Order,” Francois whispered in Frederick’s ears.

  “I’ve seen all possible instances of the future and you die in all of them. Do yourself a favor and kill yourself. If I find you, you will wish you were dead,” Frederick threatened. His voice was deep and genuine with traces of vehement anger. Francois froze. It dawned on him. Frederick was a naturally vengeful maniac. His formidable gifts only made him a high functioning sociopath. He was scared. He walked out of the church in a state of hopelessness.

  The only people who could save him from Frederick’s wrath were the members of the illuminati Order.

  The funeral service was over. Senator William was underneath the earth, buried and never to be seen again. The circumstances of his death left his family and the state of New York in shame. Frederick walked back to his limo, casually. A young petite woman with jet black hair walked briskly to catch up with Frederick. She was wearing a neat black dress, long white gloves and had white pearls on her neck. Her heels made her about five feet nine inches tall. Frederick turned towards her.

  “I’m sorry. Who are you?” the woman asked with a smile.

  Frederick glanced at the woman from head to toe. She was stunning and petite. He nodded. The guards walked ahead.

  “I am Frederick…Frederick Olivetti,” Freddy introduced himself without hesitation. She smiled. “Famous!”

  “You can say that again,” he said, trying to figure out what she wanted.

  “So how did you meet my father?” she asked.

  “Uh who?” Frederick asked in return, pretending not to know what she wanted. He had already played their conversation in his mind over and over again before he introduced himself.

  “Senator William,”

  “Uhm we did business together,” Frederick said. She laughed.

  “What?” Frederick asked.

  “My father won’t work with a mob boss. We don’t associate ourselves with criminals,” she replied.

  Frederick laughed. “You’re talking to me. Aren’t you?”

  “Uh yeah…” she replied, wondering what his question was leading to.

  “You’re talking to a criminal,” Frederick replied. She scoffed then smiled.

  “Fair enough,” she paused as she scoped him once more from head to toe.

  “You’re smart too. I’m only trying to figure out why a criminal would attend a funeral occupied with top law enforcements officers,” She joked with the intent of getting a response. They paused for about ten seconds. He knew her intentions and decided not to reply.

  “Well Miss Williams, I’ll be seeing you later,” Frederick said about to walk away.

  “You didn’t ask me for my first name. Why?” She asked curiously. Frederick gave a slight face of confusion. “Most men usually want to know my first name,” she added with the intent of getting acquainted with Frederick.

  “Well, Cecilia, I’m not most men,” Frederick replied, leaving her with a shock on her face. “How did he know my name,” She thought.

  “Like I said, I’m not most men” He said, intentionally replying to her thought as he entered his limo.

  Three days after the funeral. The media was beginning to grow wary of the death of Senator Williams. Francois was in his apartment. Cheap. Desolate. The woods on the floor creaked with every footstep. The heater barely worked. The walls were so thin; Francois could hear the sound of the couples next door having sex. He was seated on a chair beside an
old desk. On the desk were scrambled papers and a pistol. He had tried contacting the Illuminati, but none responded. He was alone. Everything suddenly became complex. His relationship with Frederick changed as soon as he killed Clara.

  “The Order has no use for me anymore. They would have contacted me,”

  Every second he had was a second he was grateful for. Frederick could walk in at any time and he’d be dead in the worst possible way. Frederick was a maniac and an expert in psychological warfare. He knew his death would be slow and painful.

  The only reason he was still breathing was because Frederick wanted to cripple him with fear. He was downhill paranoid. Every sound, every smell, every moment seemed like extreme torture. He only wished he was born with gifts other members of the Order had. “Why did they ask me to kill Clara?”

  He checked the files he had on Clara, eager to discover a tangible explanation for the Order’s need to kill Clara. Just then, he heard a creak on his apartment floor. He grabbed his gun. He held his breath. He tried to remain calm.

  “Relax,” a voice with an English accent said.

  “Oh, thank God. It’s you. You heard my call,” Francois said, relieved. It wasn’t Freddy. It was another member of the Order—a more prominent member, Richard Bradford. He was wearing black trousers and a black sweater in a minus two degree weather and was completely resistant to it.

  Francois placed his gun back on his desk.

  “Wow! This place is filthy,” Richard said, looking around the apartment.

  “Yea this is the safest place I found, for now. There are so many assholes in this building with fucked up thoughts and fucked up futures. Their messed up thoughts will make it harder for him to find me,” Francois replied.

  Richard’s emotional expression was plain. He had a conniving look, but no one ever questioned his loyalty to the Order because he did everything by the book.

  “So what’s the plan? How are you getting me out of this?” Francois asked in an optimistic tone.