by K. L. Nelson
“Professor, tell us what you’ve learned about The Pact,” Dax asked. “I understand you recently had a rather shocking revelation from the Marnoch Stone.”
“That is correct,” Skye began. “Someone spent a lot of time trying to conceal the true intent of the document, and for good reason. The hidden text appears to be the initiation rite of the secret society. In it the truly ruthless nature of The Pact is outlined, complete with threats of torture and mutilation to anyone who crosses them or fails in their endeavor. It openly advocates any means needed to accomplish their objectives, up to and including the murder of anyone who stands in their way. Agent Burke and I believe they have maintained cohesion for centuries. Therefore, these values still hold true for them today.
“One phase of the document includes their modus operandi, a sort of mission statement. It proclaims that for them the accumulation of wealth is but the means to an end. The true goal of The Pact is something much more far reaching, what the text simply refers to as domination.”
“Domination of what?” one of the agents asked.
“They want to corner the markets of the world,” another agent offered.
“You all poured over their communications last night,” the professor replied. “Did any of you find anything that would indicate they are interested in leveraging to gain market domination?”
Everyone looked around the room. “Not really,” someone finally spoke up. “In my stack, it sounded like they were planning something big though.” Others nodded.
“They’re grouped in the financial centers of the world,” Emmett said. “We know from their chatter they have infiltrated the stock markets on every level. Yet their goal is not financial. We know they have amassed huge amounts of precious metals, larger than any other known stockpile. The only logical conclusion is they are planning not for a big payday on the trading floor, but just the opposite.”
“They are going to bring the markets down,” Skye concluded. “It will be a globally coordinated operation that will cause the simultaneous crash of every major stock market around the world. The result will make Black Tuesday look like a minor market correction. The world will be in chaos. With the federal government twenty trillion dollars in debt, any bailout attempted will send inflation through the roof and cause the depression to deepen. The EU and Great Britain are in a similar state.”
An agent named Davis from the white collar division then spoke. “If The Pact tries to sink the New York Stock Exchange, they’ll have to override the circuit breaker that was set up to close trading when the market drops below preset levels. This is going to require no small effort on their part. In effect, they’ll not only have to disable the program, but also somehow keep the NYSE managers from pulling the plug when they discover the breaker didn’t trip. We’re in contact with key people on the floor. As soon as we know a timeframe we can post agents where we need them.”
Dax interjected, “The Bureau is in contact with law enforcement agencies in each of the major cities targeted. We are making available to foreign governments the intel we are gaining from our infiltration of PactNet. If all goes well, this is going to be a very bad day for The Pact.”
“Mr. Braddock,” the professor broke in. “Can you insert a message into PactNet and make it look like it came from their top brass?”
Ted started typing furiously on his laptop. “I should be able to insert a false IP address and copy the protocols to make it look like the boss is talking, but it’ll only work once before they catch on. Why?”
“PactNet is their most powerful weapon. They’ve been using it to evade justice for a very long time. Now we have access to it, and they have no idea we’re in. I suggest we capitalize on that to bring them down hard. If we give them the right command, we may be able to bring The Pact to us. Why settle for a few fish when you can have the ocean?”
“Use their own weapon against them,” Emmett said. “Just like Black Agnes. I can see the resemblance.”
“Who is Black Agnes?” Dax asked, puzzled.
“A woman who defended her castle in the Middle Ages by crushing a siege engine with a boulder that had been shot into the castle,” the professor explained. “She defeated the much larger force by using their own weapon against them.”
“So PactNet is our boulder,” Dax said, admiring the beauty of it. “Alright—Rashad, Angela; you two work with Agent Burke and the professor on this fake message. Ted, have your people combing PactNet for more intel on this stock market operation. It’s imperative we understand their timeclock. Davis, I’m putting you and white collar in charge of the sting. Get your people ready for a big day.”
Chapter Twenty
Taezali, the baby that Vuradech found in the haystack at Grangemouth, was a baby no more. He had grown taller than anyone in Fidach. Even his older brother Harbald had to look up to see his face. But Harbald did not let his younger brother forget that it was skill, not size that mattered in a fight. In truth, many times their sparring ended in a draw.
The years had changed Vuradech too. His long black hair had turned mostly grey, and on top there was not so much of it anymore. But the change within him was far greater. His Galem was gone. She had gone to the Otherworld because of a hunting accident years before. A day did not go by that Vuradech did not long for her.
But in his struggle, Vuradech found strength. At first, he didn’t know how he could go on. Not only did he miss her sorely, but how could he rule his village without her wisdom? Fidach was depending on him. With no one but himself to turn to, he resolved to do the best he could. He drew strength from Galem’s memory, often asking himself what she would say if she were there. And strangely enough, he often found the answer to that question from within.
As chieftain, Vuradech presided over disputes as they occurred in Fidach. He often surprised himself with his own judgement. Once, a warm contention arose over a certain piece of land between two hills. Beru the herder claimed the spot had belonged to him and his fathers before him back seven generations. Tarzog was aghast at his claim. He knew the spot had always been his. He only let Beru graze his animals on it as a good neighbor. Vuradech was sure Tarzog was right too, but Beru would not be satisfied. He swore he would retain the ground by the sword if necessary. The issue was such an affair that villagers began to take sides. The whole thing had the potential to upset Fidach for a long time.
One day Vuradech met the man in the village. “I’m very glad you have brought this discrepancy to light, Beru.”
“Yes,” Beru replied. “I am very anxious to set things right. I am glad you have finally come to your senses and see what must be done.”
“I do indeed my friend. Believe me; I have been in council with my advisors many long hours on just what needs to be done to correct this error.”
“What needs to be done?” Beru asked. “Just let it be known that the land belongs to me.”
“I am afraid it is not quite that simple my friend,” Vuradech explained. “You see, you have made us aware that your family has owned the land back seven generations, correct?”
“Yes,” Beru replied, “at least that long!”
“Well,” the chieftain continued, “my advisors have shown that Tarzog’s family has been paying taxes on that piece of land an equal number of generations. If what you claim is true, by our reckoning you owe Fidach several hundred head of sheep, which of course will then immediately be remitted to Tarzog in refund of the taxes he has errantly paid all these generations.”
Beru’s heart sank. “I cannot pay that, Vuradech!” he protested. “I would be broke!”
“I’m sorry, Beru. That is what the records indicate. We must abide by law or else anarchy would ensue. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“There must be another way,” Beru pleaded.
Vuradech put his hand on Beru’s shoulder. “There may be another solution, a way in which everyone can be satisfied. Go to Tarzog. Thank him for being a good neighbor and a friend to you. Acknowledge the land belong
s to him, and ask him that he might rent it to you for a fair price. If I know Tarzog, he will be happy to help a friend like you. You will get the use of the land, and it will cost you very little.”
Vuradech smiled as Beru departed. The issue never came up again. Last he heard Beru’s sheep were happily grazing on the land as always, and he and Tarzog were once again friends.
It was exactly the sort of thing that Galem would have counseled him to do. He smiled when he thought of how the woman had affected him while she lived. And he couldn’t escape the feeling that somehow she was still there pulling for him, even in death.
Thus Fidach prospered richly under Vuradech’s leadership. Their flocks flourished, as did their crops. The hunting expeditions always seemed to yield much meat. The villagers were happy and well fed.
And Fidach looked like a different village now. It seemed like new buildings were being constructed all the time. Already a master of wood, Hadrian was beginning to branch out into other materials. It started with the broch. It was his first use of stone to build something. It turned out so nicely that Vuradech commissioned a hearth to be built at one end of the Great Hall. That too was a fine structure. From then on, Hadrian began to use stone for the important building projects. He did some work on the well in the center of the village. He did a fine barn for Tarzog. Many villagers wanted an archway at the entrance to their huts. With the prosperity, they were all willing to pay for it. Hadrian became one of the wealthiest men in Fidach. His work reflected the prosperity of the village, and he was proud of it.
Besides presiding over these prosperous times, Vuradech had become a legend because of his deeds at the Battle of Linn Garan. The people of Gunneld knew him as their savior, and everyone else knew him as the man who slew Ecgfrith. Hadrian and his other advisors all agreed he was in line to be the next king of Pictland. He wore the Chain of the Matriarchs proudly at every official occasion. It symbolized not only the Pictish noble line, but Vuradech’s own dedication to his people.
He would not mind becoming king. He regretted seeing some villages neglect manning the brochs. Many in the Seven Kingdoms seemed to feel secure since the defeat of the Angles. Vuradech knew there were other threats. The Norse had for centuries claimed the outer islands. Word was they were now looking to the mainland. The Norse king was strong. Vuradech knew the Norse were patient. Once they set their minds on conquering a land, they did not stop until it was accomplished. It made Vuradech uneasy that many Picts seemed to ignore this threat in the wake of so great a victory. Bridei could require the villages to remain vigilant, but he did nothing.
Vuradech took heart when a messenger rode into Fidach one day. There was to be a great feast at Scone, the ancient seat of power. The heads of the Seven Kingdoms were called to assemble with the Gael king Cinaed mac Ailpin to discuss a powerful alliance. Vuradech was excited to attend. It was just what Pictland needed! Perhaps this would also be an opportunity to increase his stature among the nobility. He couldn’t wait to advance his ideas in the assembly.
But on the morning Vuradech was to leave for Scone, he was deathly ill. Though he could hardly stand, he ordered his servants to ready the horses. He may die, but he would not miss this feast.
“You’re in no condition to ride,” Hadrian insisted. “Send an emissary. Send me. I’ll explain everything to the king. He’ll understand.”
“You do not understand. I cannot miss this feast, my friend. This meeting will shape the future of our people. I cannot let others determine the fate of Fidach and Pictland.” Even as he spoke, he had to steady himself.
Vuradech hefted himself onto his horse and departed with Hadrian and two servants. Hadrian whispered to the servants to keep an eye on Vuradech. They did not get far before the stubborn chieftain slunk over in his mount and fell completely unconscious. The three men made camp in the trees for Vuradech to regain his strength. He would be going no further without some rest.
The men nourished Vuradech for two days as he slept under a tree. Hadrian decided it was upon him to attend the feast. If he didn’t, Vuradech would never forgive him. At least there would be some representation from Fidach. He left the men to care for the chieftain as he took his journey alone.
Hadrian arrived at Scone late. As he approached the Great Hall where the feast was to be held, something did not seem right. The place was strangely quiet; too quiet for a feast. He decided caution was in order. It was fortunate that he was alone. He would pose as a lonely traveler of no consequence, so as not to attract attention.
A garrison of soldiers was camped not far from the hall. Hadrian approached the camp and hailed the men as they sat around a fire.
“Who are you?” one of the soldiers said in Gaelic as he arose and drew his sword.
Hadrian was glad he knew Gaelic. “Calm yourself lad! I’m just a lonely hunter following the herd. You haven’t seen any caribou come through here have you?”
“There are no caribou here old man. You’ll have to move on.”
“Fine, fine,” Hadrian replied. “You won’t mind if I rest a bit though. I’ve been in the saddle all day. I’ve got sores on top of my sores. Would you like to see them?”
The men permitted Hadrian to rest for a short time, if he promised not to show them his sores. He sat down by the fire and spoke to them.
“Looks like a very fine thing here today,” he said. “What’s going on up there in that big building? Will there be dancing? I am not ashamed to admit that I am a fine dancer…”
“There’s no dancing here today, stranger. It is best not to ask questions. You could wind up in a lot of trouble.”
It was then that Hadrian noticed some men carrying a corpse out of the hall. He looked at the men seated around the fire with him, and then back at the corpse. “Oh, I see. You’re having a funeral. Forgive my irreverence during your time of mourning. I’ll just go pay my respects to the deceased and be on my way…”
Trying his best to not look suspicious, Hadrian wandered up to where the men were burying not one but many corpses. He heart took fire as he saw the bloody remains of men he knew, all Picts of nobility. His mind raced as he tried to understand what he was seeing. Slowly he pieced everything together. Cinaed had called the feast not to discuss an alliance, but to crush the Pictish line of nobility and assume the throne of both kingdoms!
He blended in with the soldiers and made his way inside the hall. What he saw inside almost made him vomit. Where the chieftains had been seated at the table, there was a large pit with blades of steel fixed at the bottom. All at once, the men had fallen to their deaths when a bolt was pulled causing the floor to open beneath them. Any signs of life that remained after the fall would have been easily extinguished from above. The Pictish kings didn’t stand a chance. Cinaed had murdered every one of them in one fell swoop.
Except one.
“All are accounted for but Vuradech of Fidach,” Hadrian heard one of the soldiers report nearby. He forced himself to look up at the face of the culprit of this horrid injustice: King of the Gaels, Cinaed mac Ailpin himself! He was standing near the entrance of the hall. It was all Hadrian could do to keep from running him through. Every feeling of his heart was screaming at him to do it, but his mind told him that Vuradech was going to need him to return alive. If he killed Cinaed now, he would never make it out of Scone.
Men were already being assembled to find Vuradech. Hadrian had to act fast. He found his horse and slowly made his way out of the village another way. As soon as he was out of sight, he circled back and headed for Fidach at full gallop.
He found Vuradech where he had left him, still recovering from his illness. Acting quickly, he had the servants help him take their camp deeper into the forest. When they were hidden well, he turned his attention to Vuradech. He still writhed in agony from his fever. He was completely delirious, unable to act or even think. Hadrian’s mind raced. What would Vuradech need done in this dire moment? He thought of Cinaed’s men. They would be coming to Fidach. They may sa
ck the village. There was little Hadrian could do to prepare them except muster the men. But that might make things worse. He was willing to gamble that they would only search the town for Vuradech and not harm the villagers. He thought of Vuradech’s family. He had to save his sons and daughter!
He left the servants with Vuradech once more and raced to Fidach. Atop the hill overlooking the village, he stopped to observe. He could see the men entering the place from the old road on the opposite side. He raced to Vuradech’s house on the next hill and found his daughter Bodicca inside. Without an explanation, he rushed her out and found her a horse to ride. She knew the boys were hunting on the mountain. Hadrian was glad of this good fortune. He and the girl searched the hills until they found the boys.
“You scared away the herd!” Taezali exclaimed as Hadrian and Bodicca approached the group.
“Never mind that, my friend. I’m afraid we’ve got bigger things to concern ourselves with.” Hadrian took this opportunity to sit with the children of Vuradech and relate the sad fate of the Pictish nobility at Scone. They listened in horror and immediately wanted to know if their father was alive.
“Yes,” Hadrian replied. “He’s very low with a fever, but that may have saved his life. Come with me now and I will reunite you with him.”
Avoiding the village, the company journeyed through the wilderness to the hidden encampment where Vuradech lay ill. He was showing signs of improvement when they arrived. That evening he finally opened his eyes and raised himself up.
“I must get to the feast,” he muttered, still unsteady.
“You have been asleep for a full day now, my old friend,” Hadrian replied. “You have not missed the feast; I am sad to tell you that the feast never happened. I did go in your place, and instead of a feast I found a horrendous treason against the kings of Pictland. Vuradech, the entire noble line of our people is no more. My eyes beheld the scene. You are the only Pictish noble left.”
