He sat on the edge of the bed. His heart was pounding out of control.
He thought back to Liza’s text.
You and me both.
PART III
29
“Do you have the money?”
Big Daddy, the ruthless dictator of Somaliland, nodded. He’d said little since arriving at the Order of Astrum’s magnificent estate in the south of England a short while ago. Wearing a black leather cowboy hat and denim jacket, he looked more like the villain in an Italian spaghetti Western than the despot of a tiny African nation. According to the newspapers, his country’s economy was in a shambles, and his people were close to revolting. He was a desperate man, and it showed on his face.
“I brought cash,” the dictator said. “Now give me the information. I am anxious to know when the attack on New York will take place.”
“You know the rules. I must first have the money.”
Big Daddy made a call to his driver on his cell phone. The driver appeared at the front door of the mansion with a bulging suitcase. Big Daddy brought the suitcase into the parlor, and dumped stacks of fifty-pound-sterling notes around his host’s feet.
“There is your money. Now tell me about the attack.”
His host visually counted the money before proceeding.
“Very good. Now here is your information,” his host said. “On Tuesday night, at a few minutes past ten o’clock, New York will experience a major attack in Times Square that will effectively shut down the city. Thousands will perish.”
Big Daddy’s eyes glistened. “Go on.”
“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”
“That is unacceptable. It is not enough.”
His host did not like to be challenged, and his eyes narrowed. “I beg to differ. This information will serve two purposes, both being beneficial to you. It will send the stock market into a tailspin, as these types of events tend to do. You will benefit by shorting the market, and reaping huge financial rewards. Second, it will show the world how vulnerable the United States is. Both of these things serve your purposes, yes?”
“I must know more.”
“Sorry, but that was our deal. It’s not like you haven’t done business with us before.”
“Give me something, anything.”
“I can’t.”
“Will the attack be a bomb? Guns?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“How many men will be involved? A dozen? More?”
“Sorry.”
“What organization are they affiliated with?”
“I can’t share that information with you, either.”
Big Daddy fumed. A long minute passed.
“Tell me where your powers come from,” the dictator said.
His host leaned forward. Rarely did their clients ask them to pull back the curtains, and show them how things worked. “Do you want to know how we see into the future?”
“Yes-it fascinates me.”
“Have you ever visited the spirit world?”
“No.”
“There is a price of admission, if you will.”
“I will pay.”
“Are you sure?”
Big Daddy nodded, having no idea what lay in store.
“Very well. Come with me.”
They walked outside the mansion. The sun was shining, and it was a spectacular day. The Order lived on a sprawling estate in a remote area of England not far from the Chiltern Hills. The area was not on a map, nor could it be found on Google Earth.
The property had been run down when the Order purchased it. Tapping into its vast fortune, the Order had transformed the grounds into an occult appendage of Versailles, with each building more ornate and spectacular than the next. One building housed a Pagan temple, where the elders could indulge in every sexual fantasy known to man. Another was a museum which stored their vast collection of rare paintings and art work. Then there was the castle, complete with drawbridge and moat filled with brackish water, called the Palace of the Occult. It was here that the elders conducted seances and communicated with the Devil.
The two men crossed the bridge to the palace. By the entrance stood a pair of stone-faced guards with submachine guns. For security purposes, guards were strategically placed around the estate, with orders to shoot intruders on sight.
Inside the palace were a maze of twisting, dimly lit vestibules. They passed rows of Carrara marble statues and walls covered in gold leaf. On marble benches sat a trio of beautiful dark-skinned girls in diaphanous white and green garments. Plucked off the mean streets of India, they served as concubines for the elders and their guests.
The host stopped, and pointed at the girls.
“Pick one.”
Big Daddy pointed at the middle girl. “Her.”
His host waved his hand. The chosen girl’s eyelids grew heavy, and she fell into a trance. She rose and followed them as if sleepwalking.
“Is she hypnotized?” Big Daddy asked.
His host did not reply.
“At least tell me where we’re going. I don’t like to be kept in the dark.”
“Be patient. You’ll understand soon enough.”
At the end of the vestibule, a door opened by itself, and they entered a chamber whose walls were covered with burning white candles. In the room’s center sat a wooden table with carved astrological signs. The girl climbed onto the table, and lay facing the ceiling.
His host opened a drawer on the table. A gold knife with sparkling jewels encrusted in the handle was taken out. He handed the knife to his guest.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Big Daddy asked.
“You don’t know?”
“No. Tell me.”
“I want you to plunge it into her heart.”
“
“If you want to be like me, then you must pay the price.”
“Killing her is the price?”
