Last Man Standing

CHAPTER SIX

Tyler Webb surveyed the great kingdom a life of privilege afforded him. His grandfather and father had done all the work, netting billions. Once they’d died, Webb cast the everyday annoyances of running one of the world’s biggest corporations aside, deferring them to well-prepped lackeys, and began the real work of his life.

The Pythians.

A child’s dream perhaps, and indeed envisioned in childhood, Webb had always been fascinated by secret orders. By small shadowy houses purported to rule the world. When it became known in certain circles that the Shadow Elite were such a house, such a society, and had finally crumbled, Webb quickly put aside his incredulity on hearing that all his suspicions were true and considered how he might begin establishing his own.

A feat unknown in modern times. A new order with new rules, attempting to infiltrate and rule old, recognized circles. But it could be done. It could be done with money. Power. Influence. And, most important of all — with overwhelming, mortal fear.

His first act was to consider fellow members. Webb, an arms billionaire and leader in the field of nanotech, already knew several unscrupulous individuals. But he needed to stick to his parameters. Only those with unlimited power, influence and money could be invited to join. And for the Pythians, only the best, most lawless sinners in their field would be worthy.

So followed highly secret communiques to Miranda Le Brun, to Nicholas Bell of Sanstone Building, to General Bill Stone, to Clifford Bay-Dale and to Robert Norris — a man that actually sat on the board of SolDyn, the world’s biggest company. Webb hadn’t chosen these people at random. He’d spent weeks and months vetting them, gently exploring them, and then quietly testing them. At length he’d assessed them again and again, finally happy with his candidates and requesting an entirely covert, unidentified meeting. After this came more tests and finally this day — the great day of their first true meeting. The new Pythians would sit together for the first time, and the new order would commence.

Webb had spared no expense; from the highly capable security team, the military grade surveillance and computer mainframe protocols, to the twenty-square-mile blanket suppression of all signals and monitoring of all nearby traffic, whether it be vehicle, airplane, or had two or four legs. With nothing left to chance, Webb was able to relax and even feel a little excitement as his guests began to arrive.

Webb sat at the head of a rectangular table. He wanted no illusion as to who was the principle partner in this particular collaboration.

“We are the Pythians,” Webb said, once everyone was seated, sipping champagne and eating fish eggs and oysters. “Welcome.” It was the opening line he intended to use at every meeting. “First order of business — news. What do we have?”

General Stone spoke up first. “With Kovalenko’s demise and failure to test the nano-vests we’ve had to rethink. If those vests had gone off under DC and killed the President, we would have announced our shocking entrance to the world. As we stand we’re now trialing them in the UK through Coyote, a master asset. Results should be in soon.”

“Still,” Webb said. “It leaves us without a ‘grand entrance’ into the game, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Stone said. “Of course. There’s always the ‘house on the hill’ scenario.”

All the Pythians were well acquainted with current events and new group suggestions through an impregnable e-mail system.

“A bit extreme, Captain.” Nicholas Bell, the builder and least liked of the six of them, saluted as he spoke. Bell was more than rough around the edges. He spoke as if he’d been dragged up, acted like a rough lout most of the time, and showed little respect for his fellow members. But Bell, with his worldwide construction network and endless resources, offered the group a tremendous amount of options. Webb believed the man would become more than invaluable.

But perhaps they could video-link to him in the future.

“Extreme,” Stone agreed stoically. “But effective.”

Webb held up a hand, a signal to table the subject for now. “Let’s move on. Please keep us informed of the UK events, General. Now. Pandora?”

“The start of our great quest,” Robert Norris, the SolDyn executive said. “Begins there. The plague pits are being sought by our forces across the world. Our one problem at the moment is a lack of manpower.”

Webb nodded. Norris was the ultimate sneak, the man that had dirt on everyone. It would pay dividends to keep a close eye on that one. “We are recruiting as fast as we can. And don’t forget, Pandora — though huge — is only our first foray. No need to rush.”

“We believe there are three sites,” Norris continued respectfully. “London is one. As I said we—”

“Yes, yes. We heard.” Clifford Bay-Dale, the stuck-up prick that controlled more than half the world’s energy, waved Norris’s concerns away with a flick of his well-manicured hand. Recently, energy bosses had quickly become known as the world’s new super villains, squeezing even more from the needy population despite humongous profits. Bay-Dale was by far the worst. In his mind, he deserved every penny; a privileged son-of-a-bitch that owned much and believed he most certainly should do. “Is there anything more interesting to speak of?”

“Only that you should all start vetting second and third degree memberships,” Webb said. “Our sphere of influence should increase exponentially, and soon. It goes without saying that all second and third degree members will have no direct contact with the principle or first degree members. Use go-betweens. Miranda? Do you have any input?”

Miranda Le Brun, the sixth member of the Pythians and a bored oil heiress, simply shook her long hair from side to side. “No.”

“Okay then. More manpower will be available soon. Pursue the Pandora angle to its limit. Prep the ‘house on the hill’ scenario, keeping in mind that any other scenario would be preferable at this point. We don’t want to become known as mother-and-child killers.”

“But if needs must.” Bay-Dale spread his hands expressively, smugly.

“There comes a time.” General Stone said firmly. “When the best man’s boot should be stamped on the frail weakling’s neck. With our inauguration, that time has arrived.”

Webb gauged the feelings of his new order. All eyes were amenable to any possibility. Good, he thought. It means I chose them wisely.

The world was about to shudder in fear. It was about to be gripped and squeezed by the hand of the new Pythians as they sought to establish a devastating foothold. And more than that — the new rulers were coming and they were not benevolent masters.

Fear, Webb thought. Fear is the master of the working class as well as the elite. We will own them all.