Last Man Standing

CHAPTER FORTY THREE

Tyler Webb sat alone behind his great desk, staring out of the enormous picture window that, due to the building’s height, gave him a clear and wonderful view of the Falls. Such a grand view came at an equally grand premium, but Webb and his fellow Pythians sat on more riches than they could squander in a thousand lifetimes.

The Pythians were growing; becoming notorious, mysterious. Now they had a second layer of protection — a tier of first-degree members — each one powerful and wealthy in their own right. Not one of them knew who the puppetmasters were. Their army was growing. Security levels were extraordinary and would only increase in both physical and cyber strength. They would need the extra layers. Their recent failed operation in the heart of Washington DC was proof of that. Do-gooders were always happy to thwart them at every turn, laying their very lives in the line, for what? Glory? Duty? Certainly not power or money.

Webb didn’t understand the lower masses at all.

Webb now allowed himself the luxury of respite. Goals and ambitions flooded his mind, crowding in. It would all start with Pandora, very soon. London, Paris and Los Angeles would pay a high price. After that, more attacks would come, some covert and deep, others as obvious as the destruction of a small town. The Pythians would worm their way into the infrastructure of the world, corrupting and betraying everything until they held every string that controlled every puppet, every red button that might start a war.

And above it all one single quest. One overwhelming objective.

The greatest unsolved mystery of our time:

Le Comte De Saint Germaine.