by Brian Cain
CHAPTER TEN
The stock market had crashed and was struggling to survive. As the news of the death of four key members controlling the stock market crept through the media, the stock market crashed beyond repair. Investors, workers, mums and dads sold the system out, it ceased to trade, the domino affect fell across the planet. The price of gold skyrocketed and real estate once neglected by investors, workers and mums and dads was turned on with interest. Remote shires populated by a few thousand found themselves inundated with activity, change began to spread. Power companies shut down, but power was still available.
Stillwell accustomed to being driven around everywhere no longer had a vehicle at his disposal, he had never had a licence or owned a vehicle, he was forced to use public transport in the heart of London. Hiding behind the collar of his coat he struggled to support himself as the bus changed direction. He expected to see anarchy but as the bus progressed life went on as usual along the streets of London, the baker still baked bread, the butcher still had meat, electrical power still lit up the shop signs and traffic lights, Stillwell was puzzled. He alighted from the bus near his destination, he checked behind and around him as he walked steadily along the pavement hugging the windows and shop front, his coat collar pulled up around his face. He sneaked carefully up an alley way to the back door of a Fleet Street law firm, whilst checking the alley with darting eyes he knocked in a set sequence. The door opened slightly, then opened just wide enough to let him in, it closed in a rapid but silent move.
Stillwell entered a room, small, a wooden table and a few chairs that didn't match. Seated at the table waiting were Miles Chesterton x CEO of the Ascot racing board, Gustav Reichmann followed Stillwell and they sat down. At the end of the table was a man that Stillwell had never seen before, greying hair full head of hair, tailored tweed suit, average build and a notably bright blue tie. Reichmann closed the door and pulled his chair up to the table beside Stillwell. Stillwell lifted his nose with a sneer. "Who is this?"
"Someone we can trust from Australia," answered Chesterton. "Ever wondered how so much information that was never shared other than by word of mouth got to Stanton and his mob of peasants."
Stillwell continued to sneer as Reichmann introduced the stranger. "Would appear John Stanton is far smarter than we have given credit, considering him irrelevant for so long is one of our downfalls. Meet Lewis Faversham, son of Bradley Faversham. These names would mean nothing to you and that is part of the problem. Lewis has been our contact in Australia for years, a stock market analyst and broker he has been ruined just as we have. His sister disappeared with Rose Blake in an Australian town south of Sydney called Bowral, Rose Blake is Winston Blake's daughter, original finder of the horse Flaxmead."
Stillwell sat back in his chair, his sneer changed to a look of deep interest. "Go on."
"Your name Stillwell has also been used in favour of Stanton's tactics over time, Bevan Stanwell was prime minister of Australia for two terms, and he was a great believer in Stanton. Clever computer software programs encrypted within systems across the globe controlled by Stanton matched your names as one, Stanton knew exactly what we were doing all the time, as many other in our organisation."
"That is preposterous," replied Stillwell. "No one could achieve such a thing."
"Then what are we doing here?" asked Faversham.
Reichmann continued. "Lewis used his sister Rose to collate information while she worked for the Australian government, she became suspicious and orchestrated her own abduction, that's when Lewis began to have problems, she vanished with vital information. She was extracted by Stanton when Flaxmead ran a race in the Texas, we believe the information she passed on to Stanton led to the current onslaught and eventual downfall of aristocracy, a hell of a lot of people have gone missing in the last two years, we can't recover."
Stillwell lifted his head waving his nose in the air as he spoke. "We have merely been dislodged from control, things have changed many times since the great depression, takes some time to adjust. We shall gain control again, we must plan infiltration of Greywolf Manor, and start with the peasant that has been relegated to supremacy, the woman Roselyn Victoria. What information did we get back from the three agents that attended the opening day?"
Reichmann shook his head and blinked profusely. "They have not returned."
Stillwell coughed nervously. "They were new people, absolutely no background to trace."
Faversham spoke. "We now believe one of them was Stanton's agent, get some kind of idea what we are dealing with. The most concerning event is the drone strikes that devastated the stock markets, a reliable source tells us the Russians lost control of their nuclear arsenal for a while recently, we know this was the only network Stanton could not take control of."
Stillwell spoke. "How the hell does he control these people and continue to gain their support."
"He doesn't control them, they are free to make their own decisions without prejudice unless they cross the line and recently the line has widened. Greywolf is not a myth, he is the son of Stanton and Fonteyn, a ruthless assassin watching over an ever growing revolution."
Stillwell butted in. "This Greywolf affliction, has everyone on edge, further fear tactics by Stanton, we take out this Roselyn Victoria, and then have Stanton assassinated. Reports have it he's holidaying in at a resort in Australia with his family, we can take out the entire family, enough of this cloak and dagger approach. We are all becoming visible to them, exactly what they are looking for."
The door opened in silence then gently closed, a stranger lent with his back to it. stocky build just above average height, a grey leather jacket, blue denim jeans and crepe soled Redwing boots, he took of his gold rim Ray Ban sunglasses and slipped them in his top jacket pocket. Reichmann rose to his feet turning round to look at the intruder. "This is a private meeting, how did you....."
The intruder pulled out a weapon from the back of his belt underneath his jacket, a silver colt peacemaker with a gold wolf emblem on the black handle. He aimed at Reichmann's chest and blew him across the table, his body hit the wall and slid down to the floor. Blood and tissue fragments spattered Stillwell's face, he went pale. The intruder looked Stillwell in the face. The room fell deadly silent, smoke from the guns muzzle lingered, it had an ominous odour. "Is that enough confirmation Stillwell, may I introduce myself," he removed his wig. "John Stanton, operative prefix, Greywolf."
Stillwell swallowed hard. "John Stanton is in Austra...."
"Reichmann was correct, you just don't listen, something we've been able to capitalise on many times."
"You just murdered a man."
"We needed you and Reichmann to find our friend over here, Lewis Faversham. Or I would have moved far earlier."
Stillwell stood up, Greywolf's gun followed the centre of his chest. "You are going to kill me, I have helped your father on several occasions."
"You are plotting to kill Roselyn Victoria Cavendish."
"I admit I was rather hasty in my resolve, how an earth could you be sure."
"This place has been bugged for years."
"You knew I was coming here."
"No, I was sitting behind you on the bus, not being able to track government vehicles has caused an unexpected problem, lack of location information."
"Why me?"
Greywolf chuckled. "You just don't get it, think you're born to reign, I was born to kill and you have lost your sovereignty. Most of the peers above you are gone, little of the old regime survives, but life goes on, apart from yours."
"You will suffer for your sins."
"We calculated how many peoples demise you were directly involved in, just because you don't pull the trigger doesn't mean our void of responsibility. We gave up at twenty thousand."
"You don't understand how to maintain order or democracy."
A shot rang out and Stillwell was thrown against the wall as his chest disintegrated. Greywolf turned the weapon on Faversham. "You maggot, trusted with the life o
f hundreds of our operatives, you took money from Lovington, Forbes and the Nasih brothers. A one person my father viewed as irrelevant, we now know differently do we not."
Lewis Faversham sat hands palms down at the end of the table, he looked at the muzzle of Greywolf's weapon. "I can lead you to the big guns."
"Rubbish, tell someone who cares. This weapon was made for my mother by my father, she lost it in Dubai, had I not had to step in and extradite her I would have hunted you down and killed you then. This weapon ended up in the hands of Idris Nasih, back to my mother then to me."
"I know nothing about that weapon."
"Then can you explain why your DNA was detected on the weapon, lodged in the smallest of crevices, you picked up the weapon, left in her bag at the hotel."
"That's a fine line you claim."
"I searched your home not long after Dubai, you will find my DNA on my mothers bag and personal effects found in your bedroom wardrobe."
"That was some time ago, why now."
"My father saw you as a good source of information, I see you as a person that tried to kill my mother."
"I wasn't going to kill her I wanted to go to be....." Three shots rang out and Faversham hit the back wall still seated on his chair, the bullets pulped his chest and blew away half one side of his face. Greywolf opened his weapons magazine and removed the hot spent cartridge shells, he placed them in his left pocket, reached into his right and one by one reloaded his weapon. He wiped a solitary blood spot from his face and checked his clothes for spatter, he walked into the hallway toward the front door of the Fleet Street establishment, the same door his father had used years before. He went into the office adjacent to the front door on his right. A woman, the company secretary, coward on the floor up against the far wall, her short dress had ridden up and exposed her suspenders and the fact she wore no panties. She held either side of her head with her hands wanting to shut any sound out. He walked within a few paces of her.
"You know who I am."
"She didn't look at him and whimpered. "Yes."
"You know why I'm here?"
She yelled and shook her head in rage. "Yes!"
"Then why didn't you run."
"What good would that do me?" She looked at him, tears running down her face leaving black trails of mascara. "Id live in fear, not only from you but my own."
"Mmm, pawns. If it's any solace, there are only a few kings, queens, bishops and knights left, but they will all die." She stood and adjusted her clothes, her cleavage brimmed her tight blouse, she stroked her shoulder length brown hair and pulled down her short skirt. "They made you dress like that."
"No, they liked it and so do I."
"I know how many of our agents you killed, enjoy that."
"Was my job."
As shot rang out and she was thrown against the wall, she slid down to a sitting position, her head slumped over her cleavage. Greywolf looked at her limp body, the back of her head had been blown out, this had nearly happened to his mother. "My job too." He removed the spent cartridge from the weapons chamber and replaced it, he put the weapon in a body holster beneath his grey leather jacket, he walked out onto the street and vanished.
