The Plagues of Pandora

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Tyler Webb tried to suppress his anger. It wouldn’t do to act hastily here, not in front of his closest minions. If General Stone’s great plan had fallen apart it was still only the first of many, still only the beginning. Any one of their great plans could fail, including his own stunning venture constructed around Saint Germain. His unquestioned leadership had to be maintained at all costs.

Stone appeared poker-faced on the colossal television, one of five split-screens, having just revealed that two of the samples had been retaken by specialist teams. The look on his face would have felled an eagle in mid-flight.

Nicholas Bell had a sympathetic expression plastered across his face. “Don’t worry, Bill. We still have Miranda’s galleons.”

Webb frowned hard. This was the first real sign that voting Bell into the Pythians had been a bad idea. Rulers of their caliber should never express certain emotions. Sympathy? The emotion simply should not exist here, at the very heights of power. Sympathy was for weak men and children. There was no compassion among kings.

So we will have to trim the pack a little. It is easy enough to do.

“Perhaps the galleons should come next.” Webb suggested, thinking ahead.

“But my lost kingdom,” Bay-Dale spewed forth immediately, starting the beginnings of a pounding inside Webb’s head. “Work is already afoot. We are close to the site. Tokyo, Taiwan and even the Beijing teams report progress.”

Webb held up a hand to stop his prattle. Seriously, this whole collection of uber-powerful whiners was giving him a migraine. Webb had been prone to horrendous migraines since he was a small boy, debilitating headaches that took him to a different world of pure pain. Until recently only utter darkness and the lack of all stimuli had eventually returned his world to a dull ache and then slow recovery. That, and his own special, personal brand of terrorism — something none of these minions would ever know about.

Stalking. The distraction of the lethal prowl. But he was keeping that beautiful, flourishing concept for later.

First, Stone’s apparent failure.

“We still have the sample from the London plague pit, yes?”

Stone nodded dully. “The mercenary, Callan Dudley, obnoxious man though he is, delivered commendably.”

“And Bell? Miranda? You are on site, yes?”

Bell nodded. “The factory is fully functioning.”

“A little small,” Le Brun sniffed. “But mostly adequate.”

“I certainly hope the long flight didn’t swell your impeccable ankles,” Webb snapped before he could stop himself. Damn. Reel your pride and fury in. They must not fall apart.

“Sir?” Bell to his credit, gave him a second chance.

“This mercenary, Dudley, is he bringing the sample to you personally?”

“I insisted that he do,” Stone put in. “With the remainder of his team.”

“Good. Good. Then we will at least have one of the samples. Start production as soon as it arrives. The process will take longer, but will still give us our edge.”

“Of course.”

“And ramp up security.” Webb attempted to stave off the pounding by gazing through his picture window, straight at the impressive torrent of water that fell out there every night and day, eternal, everlasting, undying. The faraway falls, previously, had been his only solace when his life fell to pieces.

“We will draft in other teams.”

“Do that. We all underestimated the abilities of our opponents this time. Do not let it happen again. And Stone?”

“Yes?”

“That terrorist stunt in London was beyond stupid. Don’t ever think of doing anything like that again. The attention we gained has vastly weakened our position.”

Stone frowned. “Just a minute. I thought we wanted attention.”

Webb scowled at Stone’s blatant incompetence and lack of vision. “Not from such terrorist royalty as Ramses,” he spat. “Are you mad? That animal has the power to start a terrorist world war. Do you really think that will help the Pythians?”

“No, sir.”

“No, sir,” Webb mimicked. “For the Pythians to flourish, the world has to be at least mostly stable. We can then start and end our own wars. Take all that we desire. Now ensure that sample is weaponized as soon as it arrives and keep us informed.”

Webb flicked a switch, succumbing to the hammering that threatened to pulverize the back of his neck. He was alone. By flicking another switch he closed the blackout curtains and switched off the lights, leaving him in utter darkness. Then he placed his head into the crook of his arm.

His mind drifted to the SPEAR team and their accomplices. No matter.

I will be inside their lives soon enough.