by Colin Weldon
Hiran returned his smile.
“Geeks made this world, never forget that,” Hiran replied.
“Yeah well, guys with guns defend it,” Eddie replied.
“Good point,” Hiran said.
A cool breeze ran across Eddie’s brow. He could feel his forehead begin to sweat. He looked over at Abigail who looked like a statue. She was clearly terrified. He heard a creaking sound. The front door opened and a large figure emerged from the darkness inside. He was heavily bearded and carrying a shotgun which he had slung over his shoulder. Eddie squinted at the large man as he stood at his doorway. He looked to be about the right age but it had been six or seven years since they had seen each other and if it was Gordon, he had really let himself go.
“Gordon?” Eddie shouted at him, “it’s Eddie Conrad.”
The man took a few steps out of the doorway and lifted the shotgun, pointing it at Eddie. He began walking towards him. Eddie looked at the old man’s face as he approached and recognised the scar on his face. It was him, alright. Eddie could see his cold blue eyes clearly through the white forest growing on his face. He looked at Eddie.
“Where do the leaves turn pink in July?” Gordon said through a thick gravely tone.
Eddie thought about it for a second. His answer could be his last.
“Naples,” he replied remembering the old code.
Eddie could see a smile begin to form.
“Well I’ll be a son of a bitch,” said Gordon lowering his weapon.
Eddie tried to relax a little but his deadly predicament prevented it. Gordon began walking over to Eddie with outstretched arms.
“Not so fast buddy,” Eddie said pointing to Hiran’s foot.
Gordon suddenly broke into a fit of laughter.
“I see you’ve met my guard dogs. Good chap, you’re a bit rusty I’d say.”
“Hell of a way to welcome an old friend,” Eddie said.
“I’m seriously thinking of just leaving you like that after what you pulled on me in the Sudan,” Gordon said smiling again.
“Not funny,” Eddie replied.
“It’s kind of funny, where’s your sense of humour?” Gordon replied.
“Taking a vacation at the moment,” Eddie replied.
Gordon turned back to the machine gun, tapping some commands into a control pad he had just taken out of his pocket. The turret deactivated and slowly returned below the ground. He then walked over to Hiran and knelt down beside him.
“Now don’t fidget,” said Gordon pressing something just under Hiran’s foot. “Ok you can step off now.”
“You sure?” Hiran said looking at Eddie.
Gordon stood up and looked at him with mischievous eyes.
“Nope,” he said.
Hiran took a breath and stepped off the mine. Nothing happened.
“Now give me hug,” Gordon said, walking over to Eddie and embracing him.
Eddie patted him on the back
“Now can we get off this fucking field please?” Eddie said.
“Of course,” Gordon cried out as if Eddie had just rescued him from a desert island.
Gordon began walking away from the trio. He turned back.
“Step where I step, please chaps,” he said.
Hiran looked pale.
“Nice and easy guys, just follow me,” Eddie said.
Hiran nodded vigorously.
They painstakingly made their way to the house. Gordon held the door open for them as they entered and looked out onto the field one more time before following them in.
The hallway was dark. Eddie stopped just inside it and waited for Gordon who closed the door and opened a panel next to it. It looked like a high tech locking interface. Gordon tapped some commands into it and Eddie heard bolts sliding into place locking them in.
“Now,” Gordon said looking at them, “if you’ll follow me, I’ll stick the kettle on.”
The living room looked like something out of a Jane Austin novel. The front of the house was clearly just a shell. Inside it was impeccably decorated with a large marble fireplace and leather sofas. Warm and lush carpeting spread out throughout the rooms and the doors were heavy oak. An array of old weapons adorned the walls, from muskets to broadswords. It was an English manor hidden away in plain sight the heart of Indonesia. Hiran was sitting by himself on a two-seater with Eddie and Abigail taking a rich brown leather chair each. Hiran who was looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“Relax,” Eddie said, looking at him.
“Easy for you to say,” Hiran said, “you didn’t nearly have your balls blown off.”
Eddie was about to respond when Gordon entered carrying a silver tray with a teapot and four cups. He walked over to an oak coffee table and laid it down.
“Now,” he said picking up the pot and pouring out the tea into the cups, “who takes milk?”
Hiran raised his hand.
“Excellent,” Gordon said, “you have English blood in you.”
Hiran grinned sheepishly. “I don’t think so. Just English taste, maybe.”
“We don’t have much time Gordon,” Eddie said.
Gordon looked at him sternly. He then finished pouring his tea, handing the cups out to the group. He walked over to a chair, which faced Eddie and sat back in it stirring his cup with a small silver spoon.
“It’s good to see you,” said Gordon.
He looked at Hiran and Abigail.
“You know the last time I saw this fine gentleman he had just pulled one of my agents out of a rather unpleasant encounter with a group of rebels in Ukraine. I still owe you one for that,” he paused and looked back at Eddie, “So,” Gordon said, “what the devil are you doing here?”
Eddie took a sup of his tea. The warm liquid felt good as it passed down his throat. He raised his cup to Gordon.
“This is good,” Eddie said.
“Of course it’s bloody good. I am not a complete savage,” Gordon replied.
There was silence in the room as Gordon and Eddie looked at each other.
“You’ve gotten yourself in a spot of bother then?” Gordon asked.
“I need a plane,” Eddie said
Gordon didn’t answer. He looked over at Abigail.
“Dr Abigail Carroll if I am not mistaken?” he said.
Abigail frowned and nodded slowly.
“Your paper on neurological interrogation was inspired,” Gordon said.
Abigail looked confused.
“That was eight years ago,” she replied.
“Still the standard as far as I know, not that I would anymore,” Gordon said, “eliciting accurate intelligence is a tricky game wouldn’t you say?”
“The correct intelligence yes,” Abigail replied.
“Reassigned to Jaguar division? Cybernetics research wasn’t it?” Gordon said.
“How do you…” Abigail started to say before Gordon interrupted.
“My dear, I never forget a face,” Gordon said.
Eddie looked at his old friend. While he currently resembled someone who was down on their luck, he had been, at one point, one of the most powerful men in the world.
“Why did you retire?” Eddie asked.
Gordon smiled through his white beard.
“You don’t retire from this business, you disappear. You of all people know that,” Gordon said., “A man with too many secrets is a dangerous liability.”
“We have a problem,” Eddie said, “we’ve got an asset out of containment and a credible threat on the president. There’s something big happening and I’m not sure I’m equipped to deal with it.”
Gordon sipped his tea and leaned back in his chair. He pointed up at a painting hanging on his wall. It depicted a woman holding a parasol with a small child beside her.
“You see that painting?�
� Gordon said.
“It’s La Promenade, Woman with a Parasol by Monet,” Abigail said.
Gordon turned to her.
“Very good,” he replied. “It’s not a copy.”
Abigail stood up and walked over to it.
“Can’t be,” she said.
“Pretend that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Eddie.
“This is in the National Gallery,” Abigail said looking at Gordon.
“Well, as you can see, it’s not, it’s hanging on my wall,” Gordon replied smiling.
“This is really the original?”
“Yep, the original itself, purportedly donated to the National Gallery by Paul Mellon in 1965. He loved art and horses. One of the wealthiest families in American history. It was stolen in 1983 by Russian intelligence and used to pay for arms and technology from dissident members of the Saudi Royal family and replaced by a replica, which still hangs in the gallery to this very day. The original was recovered in a bunker in Iraq following the American invasion and presented in secret to me by Benjamin Wise himself, for services rendered during some rather tricky operations in the area in 2005,” Gordon said.
“Jesus Christ,” Abigail said, “and you kept it?”
Gordon looked amused.
“Of course I bloody kept it. Always think ahead my dear. The ones and zeros that create the financial shroud that people live in these days can be erased by the flick of a switch. I have never believed in the financial markets and my father always told me never give away money for paper. All that you see here is my future. My pension, if you will.”
Abigail exhaled. Eddie could not have cared less about the priceless work of art having on the wall and Gordon knew it.
“You really need a bit of culture, Eddie,” Gordon said.
“Yeah, I’ll put it on my list of things to do. After not dying. We’ll talk about how you can steal me some art when I retire,” Eddie said.
“Like I said before, there’s no retirement,” Gordon said, “why can’t you get a plane from the ample military budget that the United States of America offers its fine Jaguar agents? Or have you been cast aside like an ageing woman whose husband has a wandering eye?” Gordon smiled.
He reached over to a small wooden box on the table and opened the lid. He pulled out a cigar and a cutter. He snipped the end of it and reached into his trouser pocket, taking a box of matches out and lightly striking one.
“We are having some trust issues at the moment so I’d like to stay under the radar,” Eddie replied.
Gordon swirled the cigar around his mouth with his forefinger and thumb and raised one of his eyebrows.
“I see,” Gordon said, looking at Abigail.
He continued to stare at her for a moment and then he turned his attention to Hiran who was sitting forward with his hands on his lap like a schoolboy. He looked back at Eddie.
“It’s Nora Stone isn’t it?” Gordon said.
The room went silent. Gordon smiled, this time showing his teeth.
“Let me guess – the girl has gone rogue and you’re trying to catch her?” Gordon said.
Eddie leaned back in his chair, saying nothing. He supposed that you did not get to be head of MI6 without knowing a few things. Gordon nodded in a congratulatory way to himself and took another puff of his cigar. He reached up his left hand and began stroking his beard.
“Good for her,” Gordon whispered to himself.
Eddie threw his arms in the air.
“Ok, how the hell did you know her name, Gordon? That shit is top secret,” Eddie said.
Gordon suddenly broke into a belly laugh. He winced at Eddie.
“Please… no disrespect but we Brits invented the intelligence game. You boys have been trying to catch up ever since,” Gordon said, “but just for the fun of it, I’ll tell you.”
Gordon pointed to Abigail.
“Why on Earth would you be carting around a psychiatrist and a…” he paused looking at Hiran, “a whatever that young chap is. I’m presuming some sort of tech wiz kid?”
Hiran pointed to himself.
“Eh…Me? Well I..” Hiran started saying.
“Yeah, he’s a wiz kid, you got us, now what do you know about it?”
Gordon dropped his smile.
“What you three are meddling with is rather tricky business. I was a soldier once, like you, my good man. I relied on my humanity and my instinct to get the job done. When we learned what you boys were up to in Nevada, it nearly brought the whole thing crashing down,” Gordon said.
Eddie frowned. What the hell was going on in Nevada? He thought to himself. He decided to let Gordon go on.
“Eddie, if I were you I’d get as far away from this thing as possible. I say this as a friend,” Gordon said. ‘Vanish, like me. Go under the radar.”
Eddie felt a chill run up his spin. There was a sincerity to what Gordon was saying that genuinely scared him.
“But I know you’re not going to do that,” Gordon said, raising his hands in a gesture of pointlessness.
“What do you know about Nora Stone?” Eddie asked.
“I know that you boys made her into a bloody cyborg and sent her off into the world to try and topple targeted governments. I know that she was the prototype, and since then, more advanced cybernetic agents have been designed and built..”
Gordon took another puff of his cigar.
“There is a new world order coming old chap, and there’s really nothing you nor I can do about it,” Gordon said.
He lowered his eyes and looked at his cigar.
“Many years ago…” Gordon paused and continued.
“Many years ago, I stood in a room. The most dangerous room the world has ever known. Very few men have stepped inside this room and lived to tell about it. They’ll get to me sooner or later, that much is certain.” He let his ash grow for a bit before taking another drag and blowing the smoke out slowly.
“The faces of the men in that room have been burned into my brain where they will remain for what’s left of my life,” Gordon continued. “I’ve seen things you could not imagine. I have ordered good people to their deaths. I’ve prevented attacks on cities and countries all over the world and I’ve started wars. All in the name of preserving our way of life. ” he said paused, “But this world that they want to create is something that neither I nor anyone else can prevent. Presidents and Prime Ministers report directly to this room,” he looked meaningfully at Eddie, “all of them.”
“They are the ones you should be worried about, not Nora Stone,” Gordon said.
“Gordon, no offence, but what the hell are you talking about?” Eddie asked. “What room? Where?”
Gordon smoked his cigar.
“The Quorum,” Gordon replied, “I am talking about The Quorum. The council of five. The most powerful men on the planet. We are all ruled by a council of five men. They were thought to be a rumour. Something conspiracy theorists got their teeth into. The top one per cent of one per cent of one percent. And this is not about money. Every decision directly affecting the planet, from economics, to military to the goddam moon landing is made in that room. Lincoln tried to take them on. They took him out. Kennedy made one mistake. One little mistake in carrying out the Bay of Pigs fiasco and he was also taken out. The rise of the Nazis was merely an experiment. A test of American military strength. A single conversation that plunged the world into the greatest conflict that man has ever seen. Puppets on a string old chap. Puppets on a string, that’s that we are to them.”
Eddie looked at Abigail. Was the old man losing his mind? She was looking at the ground and didn’t catch his eye.
“Nobody knows for certain when or how they started or where they came from. Can you imagine that? A council of a five, dominating the planet for millennia? In complete secrecy?”
&
nbsp; Gordon looked around at Abigail and Hiran. Hiran’s eyes were wide. He looked like he had just seen a ghost.
“Of course you think I am crazy. But it really doesn’t matter. They have existed since the dawn of modern man. They have but one pursuit. Population control,” Gordon said stopping to smoke.
Eddie leaned forwards in his chair and placed his hands on his face. He rubbed his tired eyes and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“Gordon, I need to stop an assassination attempt on the President of the United States. I have to locate and apprehend a rogue agent and also tackle both the head of CIA Jaguar and some sort of cybernetic assassin. I really don’t have time to take in – or think of taking down – an ancient society that rules the world. I’m just a soldier, Gordon,” Eddie said looking at him. There was something in his eyes that Eddie had not seen before. It was fear. More than that, it was terror. A tear escaped from his right eye and made its way down Gordon’s hairy cheek. It was as if the weight of what he had just told Eddie had released something from inside him. A secret so deep that his body could not help but react to it.
“It really is inconsequential, old chap,” Gordon finally said, “there’s always something.”
Eddie leaned forward.
“Yes Gordon, there is always something, that’s why we exist, you and I, old war dogs, just doing what we can. What else is there?”
Gordon wiped a finger over his eye.
“I guess we’ll find out won’t we,” Gordon replied. “So – you want a jet? Consider it done, on the house. I also have something else that might be of interest to you. It’s a very special item of clothing. Tip the edge in your favour. Consider it a farewell gift.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PARIS
19:43
Tarsis stood on the corner of Avenue de la Grande Armee and looked across the street at the Arc de Triomphe. He watched the play of shadows cast by the sculpted reliefs on the south facing façade as car headlights bounced off it. His eyes focused in on the La Prise d’Alexandrie (The Fall of Alexandria). He zoomed in on the stone-carved depictions of men in combat. Something was triggering in his mind about it. A file he could not access. He turned his attention to the underground entrance to his left, which led to the busy circular street towards the famous monument. He glanced once more at the carved depictions of men in battle and frowned. He then logged the reaction for diagnostic purposes later. He made his way off the street and down into the tunnel that ran under the road. He kept his gaze forward, logging the faces of the passers-by as they went about their business. Each of them unaware that their life stories were playing at high speed in front of the eyes of the man they had just walked past. There was nothing to concern Tarsis down here from a tactical perspective. Nobody knew he was here. The tunnel was well lit with high fluorescent tubes of light lining the walls. Tarsis, dressed in black fatigues and a black hooded top was making sure to move quietly but quickly towards his destination.
