Tumultus (14 page)

“Let me be clear!  No longer am I merely a man…or a woman. I am much-much more than that now!  I am the future of all humanity.  I am what everyone will soon aspire to be!  Where I have now gone – others will follow.  It will be mandated they do so!”

But he was not mad.  So he told himself…over and over again.

Shuffling to one of the towering, dark- curtained windows, the Great Consulate pushed a simple black button on the wall and watched as the curtains slowly opened to reveal the world outside the New United Nations complex.  The East River flowed slowly nearly three thousand feet below him.  His toothless black gummed smile spread widely across his sunken, desiccated face as he watched the hundreds of drones flying across the Manhattan skyline.  The drones had always made him feel safe.  Powerful.  Invincible.

There was that trouble in Alaska two years ago though.  He had read the reports delivered to him by the assistant whose name he continued to forget.  That place called Dominatus.  The one Alexander David Meyer had created years ago when the Great Consulate was still consolidating his power throughout the world.  The deals with the Saudis.  The expansion of the International Monetary Fund.  The collapse of the American dollar.  The dissolution of Congress.  Oh how the man who had called himself…something.  Oh how he missed those now long ago days. 

There would yet be more good days to come.  Yes indeed.  More drones.  Texas was acting out.  Texas was
always
trouble, always refusing to comply.  You thought they would have learned after Waco.  No.  They were too…misinformed.  They just didn’t understand.  Like Alaska two years ago, the Great Consulate was now reading the reports on this pathetic Texas Resistance.   Was it a few thousand?  Ten thousand?  Twenty?  It wouldn’t matter.  They would all be dead soon.  The drones were being assembled.  The weapons.  The power of the New United Nations.   His power.  The power of a god.  The power of the only one true god, for that is what he was.

“Kill them all.  Every one of them.  Make them understand.  Your power is absolute.  Your power is and always will be.  You are their god.  They must come to understand and accept this truth.”

The voice of wisdom had recently returned to the Great Consulate, and he found himself seeking its guidance more and more.  But what of those survivors of Dominatus?  They are inside Canada now.  We aren’t allowed to send drones after them there.  Not officially anyways.  What should be done with them?  What are they up to?  Why have they left Alaska?  Do they intend to come here?  For me?

The Great Consulate laughed out loud at the absurdity of such a thing.  No-one or anything could harm him.  Not here.  Not with all of his beloved drones protecting him outside.

“That’s right.  You are not like them.  You are more than them.  All of them.  Make them understand.  Unleash your pets.  Watch it being done through their eyes.  Only a god could do such a thing.  Only you can do such a thing, because you and you alone are GOD.”

Another deep inhalation of heavily drenched nicotine laced smoke entered the Great Consulate’s lung.  The voice was right.  The voice was always right.  Yes.  And the seeing always excited him.  Though nothing was left where once his gender resided, he still sensed excitement down there when the thought of the watching came to him.  He had been watching those four from Alaska.  The drone had almost killed them on the border.  Almost.  He was able to watch the attack through the seeker’s eyes.  Now they sat inside some cabin.  Waiting for something perhaps?  It didn’t matter.  He would send more.  More and more he would send until there was enough to kill them all, and he would be able to watch it being done.  Watch it.  See it.  Feel it.  Taste it.

“Yes!  You can do all of that – and more.  So bring your seekers to that cabin.  Bring enough so that you can kill them all. Do it.  Do it.  Do it.”

The Great Consulate nodded as he continued to look across the East River and to his beloved drones.  The voice was right.  The voice was always right.  But first…first he needed time in his killing room.  Yes…there must always be time for that.  The thought made him giggle as his hand once again brushed against his decimated groin.

But he was not mad.  So he told himself…over and over again.

XII.

The four survivors of Dominatus, along with Cooper Wyse, and Cooper’s associate Imran, settled into the cramped interior of the drop cabin.  Imran had brought food as a gift, a tradition he had learned long ago from his own family back in Turkey – never arrive as a guest without giving something in appreciation.

The six sat on the floor eating dried fruit and strips of well seasoned caribou jerky, washing it all down with cool water from Imran’s large thermos.  It was, all things considered, a reasonably good meal.

Imran asked more than once if they found the jerky acceptable.  Bear had consumed several large strips of it in the span of just a few minutes, and clapped the little man on the back, sending his upper body forward toward the floor.

“Good stuff Imran!  You come from Turkey, huh?  Well then, I’m gonna call this Turkey-jerky, and it’s good!  Keep it coming!”

Imran smiled widely at the compliment and offered Bear the final strip, which Bear quickly swiped and devoured, more than living up to his long-standing nickname.

Reese studied Imran carefully, waiting to proceed with a series of questions he wanted answered.  Finally, after the last of the jerky and dried fruit was gone, and a moment of silence hung between all of them, those questions were posed to the newest member of the group.

“Imran, do you mind if I ask you some things?”

Imran glanced over to Cooper, who said nothing, before he looked back at Reese.

“I would be honored, Mr. Neeson.  You are…you are well known to me and many others.  So many of us listened to your words from Dominatus during the attacks.  Please ask me anything and I will do my best to answer you.”

Reese paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“You…your family was part of the forced Muslim migration into Canada, right?”

Imran nodded his agreement without speaking.

“What was the purpose of this migration?  Why is it that the New United Nations left Canada alone – that it wasn’t required to follow the mandates?  I’ve heard some explanation of that before, but you experienced it first hand.  I want to know your version of it.”

Imran appeared to hesitate for a brief moment, his eyes glancing at the floor. Then he returned Reese’s gaze and held it before proceeding.

“What was once Canada is following the mandates of the New United Nations, just a different version of them.  Canada is rich with resources the globalists need.  Fuel, coal, wood, and chaos.  Chaos…it is the threat of chaos that keeps so many in the former United States in line.  Years ago, just after the American president was made the Great Consulate, a series of videos were released by the government controlled news agencies showing beheadings happening in Canada.  Do you recall those?  I was barely a young man by then, but I remember them very well.  They were very graphic, very brutal.  These beheadings were carried out by newly transplanted residents into Canada, radicals who followed Sharia.  It was said they were punishing their own, and so that was, at first.  But then…then they were shown punishing white Canadians.  People who were alleged to have done an injustice to Muslims.  Do you recall this?”

Reese nodded.  He had witnessed the brutality of the beheadings from numerous media reports, as well as recalling the panic it created within the former United States and throughout parts of Europe where the Muslim threat was by then even more significant.

Imran continued.

“And while the New United Nations condemned these beheadings, it did nothing to stop them.  Nothing.  In fact, some have said they were the ones ordering those terrible acts.  They were the ones who disseminated the videos to the media.  They created the threat of Muslim radicals, they promised to protect the millions who remained inside the borders of the former United States.  You see, it was said that only the New United Nations had the power to stop the Muslim threat – but it was the New United Nations that created that threat in the first place!”

“But why is the Canadian Black Market allowed to flourish in direct violation of the mandates?  Why would the New United Nations powers allow that to happen?”

Reese’s question brought a smile from Imran’s face as he pointed to Mac.

“Mr. Walker, you were military, yes?  For many years?  And some of those years were spent throughout the Middle East, correct?”

Mac gave one brief nod but said nothing.

“And what did you see?  Who…who was so often in power in that part of the world?  Was it the official government, or was it someone or something else?  If you needed access through an area, through a town, who did you set that up with?  Say in Pakistan, or Iraq…or Libya?”

Mac glanced at Reese, and then stared back at Imran.

“If we were among hostiles, we had to coordinate with the local warlords.  The clerics, the generational families who controlled the land – people like that.  They were scum, dangerous, but would take money, or promises of weapons, whatever.  As long as they allowed us access, or a window of time, that’s all we cared about.”

Imran’s eyes narrowed slightly as he paused, wanting Mac to take his answer just a little further. 

“And who, Mr. Walker, who funded these warlords as you call them?  So often, where did that money come from?  Who provided them weapons?  Who further consolidated their power?”

‘Besides the United States government?”

Mac’s comment held no humor – he wasn’t joking.

Imran nodded again, his smile returning.

“Yes!  Besides the Americans, who funded so many of these groups?  These very people you described as dangerous, as scum?”

Mac covered his mouth with his right hand and coughed, then cleared his throat.  He appeared to be very, very tired. Brando’s head was on his lap as the former Navy SEAL’s left hand gently scratched behind the Doberman’s ears.

“Most the money, if you followed the trail, which our people did from time to time, most the money came from the Saudis.  Millions here.  Millions there.  Sometimes hundreds of millions or even billions.  More than enough to buy up huge sections of countries.  Take Afghanistan, for instance.  The Saudis didn’t much bother with the capital of Kabul.  Let the Afghan government pretend to run things there, but the Saudis controlled just about everything else.  In a country of thirty million or so people, the Saudi influence dominated at least two thirds of them.  You had thirty-four Afghan provinces.  The Saudis had at least twenty, maybe thirty of them bought and paid for.  And all that money the U.S. government was sending to Kabul to prop up the national government?  The Saudis were taking their cut of that as well.  They would turn right around and dump that money back into the other provinces – using American tax dollars to buy up weapons and resistance to use against the American military.  It was one huge, pathetic mess.”

“And was this arrangement, it was common throughout the Middle East, yes?”

Mac nodded slowly as his eyes closed.

“Yeah, sure.  Iraq after Saddam was gone.  Egypt after Mubarak was forced out.  Libya after Gaddafi.  Same thing.  The power vacuum was always replaced by an increased Saudi presence.  They used the Muslim Brotherhood to do a lot of it.  That’s what so many people missed - the Brotherhood connection.  Or they didn’t want it pointed out because the Brotherhood had such close ties inside the American government.”

Reese opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then went ahead and posed another question.

“I thought the Muslim Brotherhood was banned in Saudi Arabia?  I recall reports indicating the two groups, the Brotherhood and the Saudi Royal Family, didn’t trust each other.”

Mac chuckled.

“Sure, that’s what the media repeated to everyone and anyone who would ask.  Not that many did.  Most people back then if you asked them about the Muslim Brotherhood would have had no idea who they were. None.  Too busy tweeting about nonsense to pay attention to their world destroyed all around them.