The Devil's Fate (5 page)

“Wait here, please.”

The woman went in and quickly closed the door. She came out again a few seconds later, leaving it ajar.

“The manager will see you now.”

Norman stepped inside. His disbelief was greater than the curiosity that had spurred him to go there. He found himself in the most beautiful and elegant room he had ever seen. The marble floor mirrored the ceiling frescoes, which were so well painted that the figures seemed real.

“Good morning. I’m George Diesel, manager of the National Bank. Please, have a seat.”

Norman did as he was told. He shook the man’s hand and sat on the sofa in the middle, next to the armchair the manager chose. His chubby face and firm handshake purposely gave the impression of a decent man who could also be ruthless and determined with those who attempted to trifle with him. In any case, he wouldn’t be the manager of one of the most important banks in the world if he didn’t have both of those traits.

“I received a telephone call earlier, telling me a wire had been credited to me. Can you tell me who sent it?”

“Yes, of course. I always keep the names of our most important customers on my desk. One moment, please.”

He went to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper with the relevant information written on it.

“Ah yes. Here it is. The wire was sent via our office in Hong Kong by Cartoon Network of Chicago.”

“Cartoon Network? How much for?”

“Fifty million dollars.”

Norman hesitated for a second. He had obviously misunderstood.

“Could you repeat that, please?”

“Fifty million. Is that incorrect, perhaps?”

Norman blanched as if he were about to have an asthma attack. His mind was emptied of coherent thought by the roaring in his head made by the echo of the words his ears had just heard.

“Fifty... million dollars?”

“Are you feeling all right? Would you like a glass of water?”

“No, thanks, I’m OK. It’s just that... I think something’s...”

Before he could finish the sentence, his phone rang. He looked at the same words on the display: “Withheld”. He answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Have you received the money, Mr. Lae?”

“Who is this? Are you the one who...?”

“Relax, my friend. All in good time... I’ve already told you that.”

“Hang on. You again? But how ...?”

“I’m waiting for you. If you want to carry on with your search, this is the time to do it. Tell me if you want the information I have.”

“What have I got to do?”

“Central Park. Twenty minutes.”

He hung up without waiting for an answer.

“Is everything all right, sir?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ve got unfinished business to attend to.”

“Of course. As requested, I have the briefcase prepared. Just one moment.”

He went to the desk, bent over and returned holding an attaché case.

“There you are. Two million, fresh from the mint.”

“There’s... there’s two million dollars in here?”

“Yes. Did I misunderstand? Should there be more?”

“No, no. This is fine. Thank you very much,” replied Norman firmly, disguising his true feelings and trying to sound as if dealing with the unexpected was part and parcel of his daily round.

“Goodbye, Mr....?”

“Diesel. George Diesel. At your service.”

Norman turned to leave, almost afraid the manager would change his mind and ask him to give the booty back, or realize a mistake had been made. He wouldn’t have to work another day for the rest of his life, he thought, with that amount of money. He closed the door behind him, and just as he was about to walk down the stairs, the secretary’s voice stopped him in his tracks. He froze for a second, then turned towards the woman with the sheepish look of a man caught with his fingers in the jam pot.

“Excuse me, but you have to sign a receipt.”

Norman relaxed his face muscles; a slight smile played on his lips for yet another unexpected triumph.

“Naturally,” he replied, mentally heaving a sigh of relief.

He picked up a pen from her desk and was just about to sign when he noticed his bank balance written on the sheet of paper below the withdrawal. There were too many zeros to take in, especially when the reader’s vision is blurred by disbelief. Norman read the account number. It was accurate: it was his. The mistake was probably bigger than he thought. The last deposit was fifty million. The last withdrawal was two million. The final total at the bottom was thirty-five, followed by a trail of zeros. He managed to count nine, but there were too many for him to comprehend the full magnitude.

Chapter 7

Dustin was watching two youths arguing over a ball. He had watched a number of matches, but had never understood the true nature of the game. Reading between the provisional lines of the unfolding story of a match, he sensed the calming effect this kind of recreation might have, but when he analyzed the behavior more thoroughly, he realized that what happened between two rivals was a war. The final result was not, as might be assumed, the feeling of peace that sharing a passion should produce, but simply the end of a war: one won and the other lost. Everything man did merely led to that single, irrefutable fact, pure and simple: the supremacy of one individual over another, glory versus annihilation, physical and mental. The strong ruled those who believed in teamwork. There were no rules. Their real objective was to obtain supremacy and uncontested and irreversible control over the weak. Whatever the cost and whatever it took. He had gone over the story time and again, grasping at straws in an effort to find signs of good will. But all he found was destruction and discouragement. Human beings continued to survive thanks to one pure and unbiased emotion: hope. Perhaps something was changing though. Or rather, it would change through his intervention. And through the love of those who had truly found it. The soul he was trying to save had succeeded in finding the words to unite the minds of everyone. He thought of the poem he liked best of all.

I am... that’s all I know.

Although nothing is clear-cut and leaves doubt room to learn... I am...

I am the emotion of believing, I am the simplicity of a gesture, the spontaneity of a word and the right moment to speak it...

I am the reason for being here and the only reason to stay...

I am the cry of a child seeking courage, I am the strength to beat pride... I am a word, a surrender... and a promise...

I am the will to change, or better still, to be myself...

I am the good I have inside, the part I convey of myself...

I am the threshold of the world that was, is, will be...

I am the voice of conscience, the twilight of fear and the triumph of my peace...

I am the look of acknowledgement, the cure for pain, the longest embrace...

I am the one who won’t be bought...

I am the ability to apologize... and the hope of being forgiven...

I am the desire to be a man and the humility of being “seen”...

I am the only thing that counts...

I am... love.

He would have cried if he had been able to. But the emotion he felt could not be far removed from the one human beings expressed through tears. The person he was expecting touched him on the shoulder. Dustin spun round. He well remembered the expression in those eyes and understood their power. He would have felt fear if only he could comprehend it.

“Hey there, my old friend!”

“Friend? What makes you think I’m your friend?” retorted Dustin.

“Don’t confuse our different aims with war.”

“Hearing that from someone who gets his biggest booty from war certainly has a strange effect.”

“Come on... We all follow our own destiny.”

“If that’s a joke, it’s not amusing!”

“As you’ve doubtless been told before, you should chill out. Having fun every now and then is a gift that only makes things better.”

“What are you going to do with that young man?”

“What do you think I’m going to do? I have to make sure he doesn’t put a spoke in my wheels. His kind is very dangerous. You know that as well as I do.”

“We look at things from different sides of the fence, but what he’s doing goes far beyond whatever we might want. I’ll stop at nothing to fight for him. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“How noble! You’d sacrifice everything to save someone who may already have let himself be bought?”

“His heart is pure. You won’t have any influence over him!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. He’s wobbling like a ladder with no nails in it... all I need is a gust of wind to topple him off!”

“His footing is firmer than rock. Don’t tell me you’ve not realized that. Or are you afraid of him and you’re trying it on by using hope to make me give up?”

“My dear friend, I’m the one who teaches fear. Haven’t you learned anything in all these years here? You should pay more attention to your advisors. They know me well; they’d never rely on these rookie tricks.”

“Maybe it hasn’t sunk in to your head yet that I’m the one who decides here. That’s how it’s always been!”

“Yeah, but it’s different this time, isn’t it? Otherwise we wouldn’t be here talking about it!”

“It’s not the first time it’s happened. Do you want me to refresh your memory?”

“You insolent bastard! How dare to talk to me like that? I could make you sorry right this instant for even speaking to me!”

“Your power is completely useless against me in this here and now! Save your games for someone else!”

“So you won’t surrender? You really want to carry on with this? Why don’t you stop and think it over instead? We could set up a partnership together.  Just give it some thought for a minute. We’d be invincible! Nothing and no one could stop us! The whole world would be at our command! Every soul on earth would be lost and vulnerable. Every attempt to take them back home would be useless.”

“That’s where you come unstuck. You can’t see the bigger picture. All you see is the material aspect, and every detail transmitted to your brain is reduced to a worldly context. You have no idea what’s beyond, because your only goal is to possess without understanding and command without listening. Only an idiot would think of joining forces with you!”

“Stupid ignoramus! If you knew what I’m really capable of you’d stop trumpeting your mysticism!”

“I know all about your power. And I also know what you’ll never be able to do. Unlike you, I understand human beings.”

“Is that right? And what can you see inside them that I haven’t already seen?”

“I’ve read of a place where the only thing that counts is being there, searching for the missing piece whose existence is engraved in curiosity, vouched for by faith...

I’ve read of wonderful dreams and ambitions so great they outdo the concept of universe...

I’ve seen images so beautiful as to beg my eyes not to look at anything else...

It’s a book with neither pages nor words, but only a myriad of emotions. It’s called: “The Heart of Human Beings...”

“Damn you to hell!”

“That’ll never happen. But ... you can always learn to hope!”

“We’ll meet again soon enough. Then we’ll see who’ll be drinking a toast.”

“And I’ll be waiting for you. Maybe with a gift of bitterness, just so you don’t forget who you are!”

Luc’s stare burned into him. He wanted to pulverize him, but knew it would do no good. He would only show his strength to someone who had absolute power over the infinity of time.

Chapter 8

“Fellow citizens, we are here today to prove that the strength of a few is at times the only way to achieve great and remarkble results. For some time now, we’ve been lobbying for the Government’s collaboration, but we’ve always had the feeling that something is amiss within its mechanisms and corrupt halls. Recent events confirm that our misgivings were not mere illusion, but a true state of affairs, as incontrovertible as faith: the Government is dead!”

The crowd was in uproar; never had so many people gathered in one place with the sole purpose of listening to a single individual. Tommy Queen could touch people’s hearts with a simple sentence; he was the one the people had been waiting so long for, the one described as “the right man at the right time”. He was handsome, young, athletic, spontaneous, candid and knew how to convince his fellowmen that what he said was... best. His close acquaintances said that if he put his mind to it, he could convince even the mentally ill that they were merely in a semi-conscious state waiting to be awoken by an angel and brought back to the real world. 

His political career had begun almost as a game. One evening, as he was peacefully sitting in his usual bar sipping his usual drink and listening to country music on the walnut juke-box in the lobby, he had noticed a beefy, grim-faced man weaving wildly across the room and wearing a cowboy hat that gave him the look of a man scarred by life who was longing to smash the world into smithereens out of pure spite. He had continued to repeat meaningless phrases, but anyone who listened closely realized they weren’t so far off target. He was talking to himself: about love, sport, life. But what had struck a chord was the comment that became the motto Tommy would follow for the rest of his life: “The world isn’t ready to be understood; it’s wiser to observe it as it tries to look better in the eyes of the people who want to conquer it”.

He stepped off the platform and strolled over to the gazebo prepared by the aides who never left his side and with whom he had established a relationship of mutual respect. His right-hand man, Karl, was the one he liked best. Not so much for his total dedication to public relations, but because he was completely under his sway: whatever task he was ordered to do, he carried it out obediently, and, above all, without asking questions. That, plus his history in the Special Forces and their punishing training, made him the perfect soldier. Tommy called him over and asked him to report on the directives he had given earlier.

“Any news?”

“We’ve found the mark. The rescue team is already working on it.”