The Power of Five Oblivion (11 page)

“The important thing for us to remember is that the Old Ones first came into this world about ten thousand years ago … a long time before the Bible was written. And they had a Bible of their own. In the beginning was the word and the word was … kill, damage, maim, destroy! Why? Because it was their nature. It was what they enjoyed. And they were helped by people just like us. It was always important to them that they should remain invisible. They never wanted to be seen as the enemy because that would just make everyone unite against them. The way they saw it, the greatest enemy of mankind was man himself, and people shouldn’t be given the idea that they needed any help to make themselves extinct.

“The world was an amazing place ten thousand years ago, ladies and gentlemen. There was a civilization so extraordinary that it makes everything we have today look about as impressive as a Mumbai slum. There was art and poetry and cities full of beautiful buildings. People lived at peace with each other. Well, that quickly changed after the Old Ones arrived. They destroyed it so completely that there wasn’t a single trace of it left for future generations to find. Maybe there are a few memories. People talk about the age of Atlantis. There are Bible stories like Noah’s ark … or Sodom and Gomorrah. But basically it’s all gone. Wiped clean.

“If the Old Ones had had their way, they would have continued until the planet had been sucked dry, until there wasn’t so much as a single bacterium left. That was their aim. But at the very last minute, when there were only a few thousand people left alive, there was a rebellion against them and it was led by the very last people you’d have expected. Not adults but children! Yes … I can see the surprise on your faces and I don’t blame you. There were four boys and a girl. They brought all the survivors together and fought against the Old Ones.”

The chairman paused, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say.

“And they won!”

He reached for a glass of water and sipped. The assembly sat in silence, watching as the liquid made slow, painful progress down his throat.

“As you can imagine, these were not normal children,” the chairman continued. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call them superheroes, but they did have powers of a sort. One of them was a healer. One of them controlled the weather. Two of them – they were twin brothers – could read each other’s minds and they were able to control other people’s minds too … a neat trick. We’re not even sure what the last one was able to do. He could move things and smash them – just with the power of thought. And more. He was their leader and he was the most powerful of them all.

“Alone, the children were not a serious threat. They were strong, yes, but not strong enough. As long as they were separated, in different parts of the world, they posed no real danger. But if all five came together, if they formed a circle, then their abilities would be magnified. The Power of Five. That was what the Old Ones had to prevent at all costs. And in the end, they failed.

“There was a great battle which the children won, effectively by cheating. Yes. That’s exactly what they did. They played a dirty trick and suddenly they were all there together and at that moment something astonishing happened. A great hole was torn open in the fabric of the universe and the Old Ones, with all their armies, followers and servants, were sucked through it – banished to another dimension.

“At the same time, a gate was built – a barrier to keep them out. It was given a name … Raven’s Gate, and for the next ten thousand years it stood there in what finally became the county of Yorkshire, in England. And the world, which had come so close to extinction, was given a second chance. It grew and it developed, and finally it became the world that every one of us here today inherited.”

The speech showed no sign of coming to an end and already people were fidgeting in their seats, wondering what all this had to do with them. For his part, Jonas was beginning to get a headache. He just wanted this to be over – because then his own rise to ultimate power would begin.

The chairman coughed, swallowed some more water, and continued.

“Almost from the very moment that Raven’s Gate was constructed, there were people who were determined to see it open again. Many of them were dismissed as witches and wizards but in fact they were believers, the disciples of the Old Ones. They were, ladies and gentlemen, people like us. They saw exactly what sort of rewards they would receive if they could bring the Old Ones back. Huge wealth. Power. Total dominance over their fellow humans. More luxury and comfort than it is possible to imagine.

“And finally, ten years ago, they succeeded. Raven’s Gate stayed firm but it turned out that there was a second gate in the Nazca Desert, controlled by a combination of the stars and a great man, Diego Salamanda, was able to unlock it. At last the Old Ones were able to return … with results that you have all seen for yourselves.

“As I said in my opening remarks, the last ten years have been very good to us. Is there anyone here who wants to complain? Of course not. But there is a problem. It is what you might call a thorn in our flesh – and it brings me to the point of this conference. It brings me to the endgame.

“Somehow, the same five children – the four boys and the girl – have reappeared. Their names are different this time but it is almost as if they have been born again on the other side of time. And once again they are hoping to lead a rebellion against the Old Ones. Only this time, we are not going to let it happen. This time, they are not going to win.”

The chairman had nearly finished. The effort of talking so much had exhausted him. His skin was sagging and there were strings of grey saliva between his lips. There was so much water in his eyes that he almost seemed to be crying.

“Very soon there will be another battle, a re-run of the one that took place ten thousand years ago. The King of the Old Ones is waiting for it. He has invited it. He has built himself a fortress at the very end of the world – in a place called Oblivion, in Antarctica – and it is acting like a beacon, drawing all the forces of rebellion towards it. This is where the five children will go, bringing all their ragbag followers with them. And when they finally reach the frozen wastes of Oblivion, what do you think they will find waiting for them? A second victory? No. This time we will be ready. An army will have been assembled … and all the resistance that is left on the planet will be wiped out in one fell swoop.

“Now, some of you may be thinking – I can almost hear you asking – why do you need to know all this? What has it got to do with me? You’re all business people, aren’t you. Politicians, consultants, celebrities, pleasure-seekers! You wear fine clothes and work in comfortable offices. You would never dirty your own hands … not even to make yourselves a cup of coffee. So why all this talk of war and battles? Well, this is what it boils down to. In return for the many riches and rewards that have been bestowed upon you, the Old Ones are now asking for a display of loyalty on your part. They want you to join the army. When the last, great struggle comes, you are going to be on the front line.”

There was a murmuring in the room. People were glancing at each other as if they weren’t quite sure of what they had just heard. There had to be some sort of mistake, hadn’t there? Many of them thought the chairman must be joking. Only Jonas Mortlake knew the truth and he was smiling to himself. This was what he had been waiting for.

“You have been chosen to become foot soldiers in the army of the Old Ones,” the chairman exclaimed. “There are a thousand of you here, enough for twenty battalions. Most of you will die. That is tragic but unavoidable. The rest of you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have repaid the debt you owe to the Old Ones, even at the cost of great pain and suffering to yourselves.” He spread his hands, drawing them all in. “You’ve all been recruited and you will begin your new lives immediately.

There are buses waiting outside to take you to training camps, where you will be given clothes and equipment. You are also going to be adjusted to turn you into superb fighting machines…”

“Wait a minute!”

A man in the front row had got to his feet, raising his hand like a policeman stopping the traffic. Such a thing had never happened before. Nobody would have dreamt of interrupting the chairman while he was speaking. But the man was one of the most influential people in the room, with a business empire that stretched from Shanghai to New York. His name was Sir David Lang … he had been knighted even though he wasn’t a British citizen. He had made his fortune in airlines, hotels, expensive boutiques, film production and telecommunications. He was in his fifties, a small, neat man with silver hair and a slightly effeminate face.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “What’s going on here? Are you seriously inviting me to join some sort of army?”

“I’m not inviting you, Sir David. The decision has already been made.”

“You’re crazy!” Lang looked around him, trying to draw the audience onto his side. “If you want people to fight for you, go out onto the street. There are millions of them out there. Pay them a dollar and you can do anything you want with them.”

“We are not interested in the people on the street. We want you.”

“Well, you can forget it. I’m not available.”

The chairman seemed genuinely surprised. “Can I take it that is your final word on the subject, Sir David?”

“You most certainly can.”

“Then I’m afraid we’ve come to a parting of the ways.”

The chairman hadn’t given a signal but a second later there was a gunshot, the sound echoing in the vast space. The sniper must have been hidden somewhere high up in the ceiling. Lang twisted round, his blood splattering over the women who had been whispering together before the conference began. The two of them reeled away, their eyes wide, screaming. Lang collapsed. Jonas Mortlake sat quite still. He had known that the businessman was dead from the moment he had opened his mouth.

And it was as if this first death was rippling outwards, like some fearsome disease. Everywhere, people were getting to their feet, shouting and crying, falling over each other as they tried to fight their way out. At the same time, doors burst open on every side and there was a commotion of whistles being blown, of shouting and barking. Security guards had appeared – the same guards who minutes before had been helping the business people to find their seats. Now their eyes were gleaming with undisguised pleasure as they marched back in, many of them with vicious dogs – Rottweilers and pit bull terriers – straining on leashes. The guards carried truncheons, whips and canisters of mace. There was no way out. The terrified audience was surrounded.

“Stay right where you are!” the chairman commanded. His voice had found new strength. It was louder than ever. “You must learn discipline. You’re in the army now. Try to behave with dignity.”

There was no dignity. People were sobbing, screaming, tearing at each other, trying to hide. A man in his sixties – red-faced and overweight – let out a bellow like a bull and charged towards the nearest exit. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps before the guards rounded on him, clubbing him down with their truncheons and then continuing, pounding him long after he had lost consciousness. Several people had followed him but, seeing what had happened, they fell back, their hands raised in surrender, whimpering. There was a second gunshot. In the very centre of the room, a man stood clutching his stomach. His name was Haywood and he had been the head of a petrol company that had managed to pollute more than one hundred kilometres of the Australian coastline. Now blood, like oil, was leaking through his fingers. He fell to his knees, tumbling over the seat in front of him, and lay still. There was more screaming and confusion. The chairman watched, impassive, from the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please!” he exclaimed. “Let’s be civilized about this.”

It took an hour to clear the hall. The delegates had become a seething mass, fighting against itself. They wanted to get out, to escape. At the same time, they were terrified of leaving, knowing what was waiting for them. Gradually, the guards beat them down, setting the dogs onto them or using the mace to blind them. They were laughing, enjoying their work. There were men here who had arrived with their noses high in the air. Women who had spent hundreds of dollars on their hair and nails and now found that they were worth nothing at all. They were jerked to their feet and sent spinning through the doors.

There was a fleet of yellow buses waiting outside. Once they had been used to ferry New York children to school but now they had been adapted – the windows barred, the seats removed. The men and women were jammed into them so tightly that they couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Even at the end, they tried to find a way out, tearing off their own watches and jewellery to offer as bribes to the guards. The guards snatched the precious objects, then pushed them inside anyway.

At last it was over.

Jonas Mortlake was still in his seat, his hands resting on his knees. There were about twenty bodies around the hall. A few of them had been shot and some of them had been crushed in the stampede. But most of them had suffered heart attacks and were sitting there, facing forward with huge eyes and open mouths. The chairman had never left the stage. He was leaning against the podium, framed by the symbol of the Old Ones. The two of them were finally alone.

“Let’s go to my private office,” he said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for a drink.”

TEN

The chairman’s office had a panoramic view over the river that seemed to stretch on for ever to the north and to the south. Jonas Mortlake stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling, triple-glazed windows, looking at the women washing great bundles of clothes in the murky water, the children splashing around in the shallows, the old men turning scraps of meat on bonfires that had been built along the shoreline and that added clouds of grey smoke to the already polluted air. Dozens of ships were lashed together in the mudbanks, slanting at odd angles, the metal ones rusting, the wooden ones rotting. There were still a few ferries afloat, making the journey between Manhattan and Long Island City, but no one in their right mind went over there. The overcrowding was so bad on the island that some buildings had two or three families crammed into each room. The crime levels were off the scale. It was said that you couldn’t walk the length of 21st Street without having your throat cut and that afterwards you would lie there until you rotted. The police never went into the area. There was no rubbish collection. The whole place was left to get on with itself.