Location Unknown
They were men and women gathered around a table. Throughout the ages, there had always been men gathered around a table. Behind nearly every great war or conflict or times of enormous social and political upheaval, if you looked hard enough, you could find the men gathered around a table. Perhaps they did not cause the event to happen, but they would convene to discuss how things could best serve their interests. They had goals. They had plans. They had great and terrible ambitions.
Usually such groups were little more than a bunch of disgruntled people angry at their lot in life, hankering for anything that would set themselves above and apart from their fellow men. Anything to be special. They usually did not succeed.
The thing about this particular group was that they didn't try to dress things up. They didn't try to convince themselves that they possessed secret and infernal knowledge. The other groups drew runes and chanted inscriptions and sacrificed animals (and sometimes people), all to little or no effect. They tried to link their own order to ancient conspiracies involving the Knights Templar, the Roswell Incident, the Church of Satan, everything their confused and inaccurate knowledge of history could come up with. They tried to persuade themselves that they were special.
This group harboured no such illusions.
It wasn't an exclusive gathering of the rich – after all, wasn't Bobby Conway a college dropout from Arizona? Oh sure, there were a few rich men, and a couple of extremely rich women, but it wasn't exclusive at all. No, this group didn't hold prejudices on the basis of wealth. They didn't discriminate based on age either. Father Gumbel was nearing seventy-five, while little Mia Ling just turned fifteen last month. Nor on race. There were people of practically every race in this group.
From the outside, it looked almost endearing. A sampling of humanity, gathered to discuss things in a calm and friendly manner. It would have, if you took care not to listen too closely to what they were actually discussing.
Every group has a leader, and while there might be more than one individual who claims the title, it really only belongs to one person. Again, this group was unique in that the rest of its members never even thought about laying claim to the title of leader. It could only have belonged to one person. It would have been unthinkable to follow someone other than the old man.
The old man was ancient, far older than even Father Gumbel. He wore a white suit and tie, a present from Elizabeth Hart, the movie star. Before that, he was wearing little more than filthy rags. His hair had covered his eyes, his beard extending to his waist. Presently both were short and trimmed neatly. He spoke in whispers, but had no difficulties making himself heard. He rarely ate or drank, and never indulged in the drugs or sex that some of the group got up to, despite being offered countless times. He never wasted time, or gave an order that had not had some benefit to the group and their goal.
He had come to each of them in person, claiming to see something special in each of them. Many of them had been terrified of the man at first. But no matter how many times they called the police, he was nowhere to be found when they arrived. Eventually, they began to listen to what he was telling them.
"I can give you what you want. I can give you what you need. But only if you obey me. Only if you follow my every instruction to the letter. Then everything you can think of, you shall have. Heaven on Earth."
They didn't believe him. They never did, at first. Prove it, they had challenged him.
So he did.
An enemy, dead of a heart attack in his bathtub. A winning lottery ticket. A life-threatening disease, cured overnight. A positive test for a couple declared infertile. Knowledge of secrets. From playing in garages to a world tour. A promotion, an inheritance, a woman, many women, power, wealth, money, sex and fame. The usual.
Some believed then, and willingly followed. Others who weren't as intelligent refused to give him the time of the day after he had given them their heart's desire. They shut their gates and barred their doors and hired security, convinced they could defy him.
So he took it all away from them. Everything he had given them was taken in an instant. And when that was done, he took everything else as well. Until there was little more than a wreck of a shell of a thing that had once been a human he had deemed worthy enough of his association.
This had a wonderful effect on those who had already joined with him. They would never even dream of disloyalty now.
As wonderful as these rewards were, the old man made it abundantly clear that it was only the beginning. Just a small taste of what awaited them. Unimaginable riches lay, as it were, just around the corner. They just had to perform the tasks he set them and obey his instructions. That was all. Nothing could be simpler. A world where each of them could be a king, with the powers of a god, was within their collective grasp. Nothing less.
They knew very little about the old man, who rarely shared information about himself in any case. They did know he had almost succeeded in his grand plans, but he was foiled in the American city of New York years ago. He had little then, just one idiot acolyte and the clothes on his back. He had been stymied, infuriatingly defeated by people of lesser intellect and capabilities. He had retreated to lick his wounds and come up with fresh plans. He would not allow himself to fail again.
The group was not disheartened by his admission of past failures. After all, he had very little then. They were so much better-prepared and more resourceful, and they were all utterly committed to his cause, mind, body and soul. They could not fail.
They were meeting in an elegant board room of a major multinational corporation. The chairman of the board was one of their members, and he was delighted to be of service. It was very comfortable, but the surroundings did not matter. They had met in warehouses, abandoned shacks, even in the middle of fields. Every place served a purpose.
The old man was seated at the head of the table, eyes closed, apparently lost in thought. The group waited patiently, drinking coffee and nibbling on cookies. After about half an hour, the old man opened his eyes and looked around at his assembled followers.
"It has happened. She has allowed herself extensive contact with a mortal."
The group hushed up and listened closely to the old man. One boy raised a hand.
"Teacher, I don't understand. How is it that you are able to ascertain what she is doing?"
"It is difficult to explain, Mr. Sabu. Imagine our universe. Filled with galaxies and planets and life."
They nodded obediently.
"Now, our universe exists on a mortal plane of its own. Below it and above it, in a manner of speaking, lie countless other planes, each with their own universes. And within one such plane lies the realm of our quarry. That is where I have been keeping a very close watch. Through certain procedures, I am able to divine when a being leaves or enters that plane. The sunless lands are devoid of life-forms or beings of any kind whatsoever save our quarry herself…until recently. A mortal has been allowed access."
The group murmured in surprise. Surely she would not have made such a fatal error.
"It is the truth. She has weakened enough. Once there could have been no possibility of such a thing occurring. I wonder what has changed. Nevertheless, this could be the chance I have waited for all of my existence. But we must be patient. Measured. Every action we take from now must be as delicate and deliberate as an arrow fired from a bow. We cannot let this chance pass us by."
"Yes, teacher," the group echoed.
"Where is Miss Sherman?"
"Sydney's overseeing that special project in Chicago, Teacher. It's not yet time for her daily report."
"Oh, yes. Please set up the video conference screen. I wish to speak to her."
"Right away, Teacher." A button was pressed, and a small screen unfolded itself from the table and rose up in front of the teacher. With the touch of another button, the screen flicked to life.
"Miss Sherman, are you there?"
The Hotel Intercontinental
Cape Town, South Africa
"Uh...uh...take it...take it in…oh God…oh yes..." panted Paul Redeker, feeling the sweat rolling down his face and off his nose. The cool hotel room seemed as hot as a sauna. His arms were wrapped around his partner, his hands buried in her long red hair. Occasionally Paul would lower his mouth to one perfect round breast and roughly tease her nipple with his teeth and tongue. It was more violent than Paul usually liked but the woman had paid his agency three times the usual rate and for that amount of money Paul would do anything that anyone could dream up.
It seemed disingenuous to call her a partner, to him they were customers, nothing more. Getting paid to have sex wasn't everything the internet porn sites made it out to be. After taking up modelling to get him through medical school, and then having to drop out of school and turning to modelling full-time, only to be screwed by his agent and left with no other alternative, this honestly wasn't what Paul wanted after leaving his hometown for the city. His mother still thought he was in school, he couldn't bear to tell her the truth.
It wasn't all bad though. After getting the call from his handler that this latest broad had paid triple Paul had braced himself for an ugly old hag, rich but hideous. Nothing could have been further from the truth. She was unquestionably beautiful, a word that Paul rarely used while describing women. Long red hair that fell in perfect waves down her back, creamy white skin with the merest hint of a freckle, startlingly bright green eyes that had unconcernedly assessed him the moment they first met at the hotel bar, like a tigress sizing up her prey. He'd felt oddly light-headed and out of breath, but she'd apparently found him acceptable. He'd wondered briefly why a breathtaking woman like her would have needed his services, but he wasn't paid to ask questions and she certainly wasn't about to give answers. She spoke in cultured, educated tones but her sentences were short, to the point and revealed nothing. Paul got the message. She wasn't interested in small talk, just sex. And that's what he provided.
She didn't want to whip him or be whipped or anything like that, although Paul was prepared for anything. A couple of hard years had forced him to be prepared for anything. She made love with a furious intensity, matching him stroke for stroke, moving her hips in time with his. Once she had bit him hard enough to draw blood, although he was strictly forbidden to do the same. No kissing, either. She clutched him tight against her breasts and let out a scream that seemed more ferocity than passion. Paul had reached the end of his endurance.
"Oh God," Paul breathed, and came hard in three quick, hard final thrusts. He withdrew slowly and rolled off her to one side. Something told him this woman wouldn't have appreciated him falling asleep on her chest, or wanted a post-coital cuddle.
She didn't look at him as she calmly removed a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the bedside drawer, and lit one. She didn't offer him a cigarette, seemingly content to say nothing and smoke away. Paul was beginning to be ticked off by the oppressive silence. The woman was acting as though he wasn't even in the room.
Just as he was about to say something, there was a knock at the door. Contrary to her earlier ice-cool demeanor, the woman whipped her head round at the sound, sending her hair flying. Her lips drew back from her teeth in a snarl that made Johnny shrink and edge away from her.
"Who is it?" she called. Her voice, calm and steady, did not betray her obvious temper as Paul could see. She was glaring at the door with such malice he would not have been surprised if twin holes had begun to burn through it.
"I apologise Ms. Sherman, but this is important. The Teacher called. He wants to speak to you immediately."
Paul heard her sharp intake of breath, and for a moment, saw a look of something approaching fear in her eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the expression he was more familiar with, poised and intent.
A shiver of fear ran down his spine when she finally looked at him with that same cold, clinical assessment she had displayed earlier in the bar.
"You were looking at me."
Paul tried a version of his most winning smile. "It's hard not to, you're so beautiful."
"Shut up you insignificant little worm. Don't patronize me," she snapped, and continued looking at him in that same cold way, as if turning something over in her mind. Then she clicked her tongue in irritation.
"I can't shoot you, that will leave too much of a mess. No fire either. Hmmm..."
Paul gasped, hardly able to get the words out. "But - why?"
The woman sighed.
"You heard my name, and you now know my connection to the Teacher. I can't let you leave now."
"No, please! I don't know anything! I'll leave right now, never say a word to anyone!" Paul sprang out of bed, not even bothering to pick up his pants, he suddenly wanted to put as much distance between himself and the woman as humanly possible. But he was too late. Eyeing him with idle curiosity, she extended one long arm and laid one delicate hand on his arm. Paul suddenly found himself unable to move a single muscle, frozen to the spot. It was as if he had been paralyzed.
"If it's any comfort, you were a good fuck. Good, but not great though. I've had better."
With that pronouncement, the woman inscribed a little circle in the air with her finger and jabbed it forward three times, pointing at Paul's head, heart and groin.
The first thing he felt was his knees beginning to buckle. That was odd, he couldn't move a muscle yet he wasn't able to stand properly. Then his arms flopped uselessly to his sides. He couldn't see the way they suddenly deflated all at once, because it no longer had a bone to hold it up. He could feel it though. He could feel his vertebrae disappear one by one as his spinal column vanished into nothingness and he flopped onto the floor like the world's biggest blow up doll. He felt his skull pop out of existence and his eyes rolling uselessly on his face, barely tethered to his body by their optic nerves. He felt the last of his tibia or fibula or whatever the names were that he had never bothered to pay attention in medical school and was now wishing he had disappear as well. His entire skeleton was gone. He was nothing more than a bag of skin, guts and hair.
He wanted to scream. God, he wanted to scream. But he couldn't.
Unable to hear anything, as ear bones were required to collect the necesary soundwaves, Paul couldn't hear the woman allowing the man outside the door to enter the hotel room. Paul became aware of the light being blotted out, a large man in a suit was looming over him.
"He knows too much. Take him out back to some forest and bury him." Ms. Sherman commanded, lighting another cigarette. Her bodyguard (for that's who he was), hunted for some trash bags and shovelled the still living flesh of Paul Redeker inside without comment. Except one.
"Should I kill him first?"
She shrugged. "If you like. Doesn't matter either way."
She hurriedly pulled on her clothes, and went into the adjacent room to receive the call.
"Ms. Sherman, are you there?"
"Yes Teacher."
"Good. I have important information. The event we discussed has finally happened. I believe it is time to enact our third plan of action."
She almost wanted to blurt out "You've got to be kidding!" But of course that would have been unwise.
"I am...pleased, my Teacher. I will begin the necessary preparations at once."
"Good, good. I trust you remember what is required of you."
"All will be done as quickly and as efficiently as possible. The Association is clueless and it will be a simple matter to replace most of their key security personnel with ours. Then all we have to do is wait for the Final to begin. We are ready to carry out your orders. We have been ready for a long time now."
"Patience, Ms. Sherman. We could lose all by acting in haste at this crucial moment. I trust you will not falter. You are my most trusted operative and you must be the one to set the trap and set events into motion."
"I understand."
"Good. I will see you again."
"And you, Teacher."
The image on the screen fizzled out. Sydney allowed herself a single shriek of mad, insane joyous laughter. To think it was finally happening, within her lifetime, and that she would be the one entrusted to making it all happen. It was almost too much to hope for, yet it was coming true.
She walked quickly out of the room, her mind buzzing, already thinking of her next actions. She would have to call in her team. And see to it that everything went according to plan.