bring a lot of guns to bear. They’ve already aimed the DMS at us. Those sons of whores took out seven cells that we’ve been grooming for hits here in the States.”
“How?” demanded Toys. “How does the Inner Circle know what you’re planning?”
There was a heavy silence in the room.
Finally the King of Famine said, “We suspect that the Conscience of our former King of Plagues was leaking information.”
Toys glanced at the empty seat. “And where is he now? Seems like you should be turning thumbscrews on the chatty bastard.”
“We did,” said Gold, and when Toys and Gault looked at him they saw that he wasn’t joking. “We can get quite—oh, what’s the phrase?”
“We went medieval on him,” supplied the King of Fear. “But we got a little overzealous. Well … I did, I guess. By the end he was confessing to everything from killing Marilyn Monroe to starting the Chicago Fire. My bad. I thought I could open him up.”
“If I may,” said Rafael Santoro, placing his palm over his heart, “if there is a next time, please consider allowing me to do what is necessary, yes?”
The American nodded. “Not a problem. I should have waited until you were back in the country rather than having a go at it. Even so, the leak seems to have stopped, though.”
The Russian said, “Our goal of instability works even when the Bonesmen are pulling the strings in Washington and, through proxy, the Middle East. We have damaged and will continue to damage governmental credibility, and when America stumbles money spills all over the place.”
“And you were there to lap it up?” said Toys with a smile.
“We were there with big fucking buckets!” declared Famine. “The economic crash of 2008? That was ours. It was our riposte to the invasion of Iraq, and we skewered the Bonesmen very nicely.”
Gold laughed. “People talk about all the billions that were lost, but money is never ‘lost.’ It is like energy—it continues to exist in one form or another. Money drained out of banks and automobile manufacturers and it flowed to us through a thousand channels within the global market.”
Gault smiled. “This is all brilliant, but … is there a place for me in Eris’s program?”
“Please,” said the King of Thieves quickly, holding up a hand. “In the Chamber of the Kings, she is to be referred to as the Goddess.”
Gault bowed. “‘Goddess’ it is, and I can’t think of a better description for her.”
“The first wave of the program is already under way,” conceded the King of Famine. “But your late predecessor, the esteemed and much-missed Dr. Kirov, had been working on several key steps of the second phase. They are very much ‘your’ kind of thing, Brother Plagues.”
“Tell me.”
He told Gault the plan. The information was staggering in its beauty.
“Kirov had about half of it worked out,” said the King of Gold. “And he was preparing for a trip to Egypt when he died. A stroke, by god! A tragic loss and a hard blow, because we don’t know how he was going to accomplish several key steps.”
“Yeah,” observed the American, “it left us with a big fat frigging hole in Mom’s evil master plan. Kirov was the point man for this whole operation. Now we have to decide if we can continue with what Kirov had planned, or if we need to cut our losses.”
Gault pursed his lips. “I’d like to look at Kirov’s research and see his lab. And, of course, I’ll need to know
“That will take some time … .”
Gault smiled a great and icy smile. “Then let’s get to it.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Fair Isle Research Endeavor
The Shetland Isles
December 18, 2:41 P.M. GMT
Mr. Church’s phone rang and he stayed inside the chopper to take the call. The caller ID said “unknown.” The voice said, “Area 51 was the work of the Seven Kings.”
“I was wondering when you would be calling,” said Church as mildly as if the call were from an old friend. “It’s been a while.”
He attached a cable to his phone and plugged it into his laptop, initiating a seven-continent multiphasic search that used MindReader to hack satellites and phone company databases.
“Did you miss me?”
“I always enjoy our chats. Do you have something for me?”
“I want to see the Kings destroyed.”
The tracking signal began bouncing around from country to country.
“The DMS could accomplish that,” Church said, “if you gave us something more concrete to go on.”
There was silence on the line. The tracker had so far traced the call through eighteen national exchanges and fourteen service providers.
“Can you at least tell me something about the Seven Kings? What do they want to accomplish?”
There was a sound that might have been a laugh. “They want to break the bones of their enemies and suck out the marrow. That’s what they want to do.”
“That isn’t particularly helpful.”
“Yes,” said the caller, “it is.”
And he disconnected.
The signal vanished without any clue to its origin.
Chapter Thirty
The State Correctional Institution at Graterford
Graterford, Pennsylvania
December 18, 2:42 P.M. EST
Nicodemus was led into the office. Rudy sat behind Stankevi
ius’s desk. He had borrowed a technique from Mr. Church and had purchased a pair of nonprescription glasses with tinted lenses. Except in direct light his eyes were virtually impossible to see.
“My name is Dr. Sanchez,” said Rudy. “Please … sit down.”
Nicodemus sat. His hands were cuffed to a waist chain and he laid them in his lap. He stared at Rudy with eyes that rarely blinked.
“Please state your full name.”
