Last Man Standing

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tyler Webb took his seat at the head of the table to chair the second meeting of the Pythians. It came hot on the heels of the first, only days apart; the frequency not a part of his future intentions but necessary to start with.

“We are the Pythians,” he said. “Welcome.”

His five partners looked suitably smug.

“News,” Webb said, sipping from a fluted champagne glass. “What do we have?”

“The grand entrance we spoke of.” General Stone spoke up first. “The ‘house on the hill’ scenario is favored by all and will take a few weeks to prep. Are we pushing ahead?”

Webb was so surprised that they’d all agreed that he caught every eye. Nobody looked away. Stone’s scenario was somewhat ruthless, but still, their entry into the game should be a memorable one. “How many casualties?”

Stone shrugged. “No more than three hundred.”

“Set it up,” Webb said. “But keep the casualty rate down. I don’t want an international manhunt to be our first contact with the greater populace. We should show restraint as well as great viciousness when required.”

“The only question is — where? Maybe I’ll stick a pin in the map.”

Webb looked to Robert Norris, executive of SolDyn. “Where are we with Pandora?”

Norris bit delicately into a canapé. “Mmm, exquisite. Please congratulate your chef de cuisine for me.”

Webb waited patiently.

Norris got the hint. “Our web spreads well. Manpower is growing. The London plague pit is confirmed but its location still eludes us. More of the puzzle is required, I fear, to narrow it down. At least two other plague pits or sites do exist — in Paris and the US. I still ponder over the US site, though it is apparently confirmed. These other pits are purportedly ancient…”

Nicholas Bell, the builder, laughed, spraying a chunk of tasty canapé across the table in front of him. “America didn’t just pop up when the Redskins wanted it to,” he said, practically choking. “Bubonic plague’s been in and out for centuries. Still is.”

Several members regarded the builder with distaste. Webb didn’t blame them. His antics weren’t exactly in keeping with the group. Only General Stone came close to the commoner’s low status and even he knew when to adopt the correct protocols. Webb wondered again about resigning the builder to video calls only.

Still, he thought. The man does offer some amusement.

“As before,” he said. “Work harder. Pandora is everything for now. It will assert our stranglehold on the world. Anything else?”

Clifford Bay-Dale, the officious prick and energy lord, spoke over the top of Miranda Le Brun, the oil heiress. She allowed it with a bored smile.

“How about some of those perks you mentioned, Webb? I believe the shadow rulers of a planet should be receiving bonuses by now.”

“We are not the shadow rulers yet,” Webb said. “Work first, play later. There is much hard work still to do, Clifford.”

Bay-Dale frowned. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him before that his requests could be denied.

Webb swept the table with questioning eyes. “Are we together on this?”

Miranda Le Brun spoke for all of them. “The Pythians are here to stay.” She continued in her wearied tones, “There comes a time when those with wealth and power find they have nothing left to learn. No more to discover. No new experiences nor encounters to enjoy. I think, within this group, new horizons may open up. My expectations are high.”

Webb smiled. He couldn’t have put it better himself, thought did not fully share Le Brun’s views. The sum of his life’s ambitions were in this group. He was not only committed, he would die to protect it.

“Our day has already begun,” he said. “The world just does not know it yet. Put the first strike in position. Oh, and how did Beauregard do in the UK?”

General Stone smiled.