The Hand of Christ (29 page)

Instead of finding his center in the unseen nature outside, he settled on attempts at serenity through the Zen garden that sat on his desk. Picking up the miniature wooden rake, the Director began to push the sand around into nonsensical, random piles. The small black rocks that were part of the garden just seemed to get in his way so he raked them into one corner of the garden.

The events that had just transpired were drifting beyond the plan, beyond his control. His mind was listless with questions. Michael? The Pope? Why had the Messenger deviated so far from what they had agreed upon? The level of risk has just elevated beyond quantification.

The buzzing of his private cell phone caused the Director –
the Other
– to jolt from his lack of any real transcendence through the Zen garden. Only two people have access to his private number, the Primitus and the Messenger. He knew precisely which of the two it would be; he answered without saying a word.

Void of any formalities, the Messenger issued a cold, “Hello, Director. Go secure, encryption channel Bravo-Two-Bravo.”

The Director didn’t respond, his temper suddenly replacing his worries. The Director could feel his face begin to flush and the skin near his collar beginning to warm with a slight film of perspiration. He entered in the right combination of numbers on the cell phone to create the secure environment.

The Messenger waited for the sequence of tones that would confirm the secure connection was complete; it only took a few moments for it to be finalized. He knew the Director was angry, he had expected this and continued, “Don’t be so concerned, Director. I know precisely what you are thinking. You are taken aback by the unannounced shift in our plan.”

“
Taken
aback
? A bit of an understatement wouldn’t you say? Just what in god’s name are you doing? The Pope, what does he have to do with any of this? And what about Sterling, he was to be blamed for the Ayatollah’s killing, but he was not to survive! Iran knows that he is CIA; they have proof. This is not what we planned! And for Christ’s sake, how did Sterling get our book?”

“
Mr. Director, the Pope has everything to do with my plan; I did not include you in my decision to terminate his Holiness’s young and illegitimate Papacy and to let Sterling live only because it wasn’t necessary to include you.”

“
Not necessary to include me!” shouted a furious Director.

The Messenger interjected, “Director, the Pope is a fraud, and, I needn’t remind you, his kind is the reason our Order came into existence. It was the vicious attacks, the vile deeds by the Church that led to our beginnings. They must pay for tormenting us, for the torture of previous masters of the Order, for trying to wipe the earth clean of our history; the Pope’s death begins that repayment. They have forsaken what is right, and the truth; solely for the glory of power!”

The Director voiced his fury and spat out, “Spare me your lesson in our history, I am the one who taught it to you!”

The Messenger ignored the Director’s anger; “You would have never gone along with my greater vision in the beginning, now you have no choice. You are my rook, Mr. Director, and the Pope is my Queen, he is the most powerful piece under my control. Dr. Sterling is, well, let’s just call him my pawn. This is what is known as checkmate.”

“
Checkmate! It was our plan, not yours; Sterling was to die! Sterling has led some of the greatest defeats against Islamic terrorists and was the perfect choice. You were supposed to make it look like he was working with Israel’s Mossad; the blame for the Ayatollah’s death was to fall solely on Sterling and Israel. He was to be Israel’s connection to the assassination! Now, there is none! To make matters worse, Iran’s President is blaming the US; he is giving us forty-eight hours to hand over Sterling, or it’s fucking war!”

The Messenger couldn’t understand why the Director didn’t see the perfection of his plan and said, “Of course it’s war; war was our plan. Don’t you see that the only difference is that a World War will bring us to the end of our mission, to our final goal, much faster? Or are you as blinded by personal ambition as is the Primitus?”

“
Faster? You cannot rush our mission. Iran was to fall just as Iraq did; after the Fertile Crescent fell, the Persian Empire was next in our plans, but not this way! You’ve just brought into this mess the greatest superpower on the planet and not as peace keepers, now what!”

The Director was seething, and continued yelling through his gritted teeth, “Listen to me you sanctimonious, ungrateful little bastard, it was I who brought you into The Order. Without me, you would still be chasing undersexed, big-breasted Middle Eastern housewives so that you could get closer to their powerful husbands. I took you off the grid. I gave you the opportunity to be where you are. It was me that recommended you to our Primitus. This plan has become a disaster; you are now a liability!”

No, Director. It is you who is the liability
.

The Messenger didn’t care to verbalize his thoughts and ignored the Director’s heated diatribe. Instead, he calmly proclaimed, “The game has changed, Director. I now control the pieces. My orders no longer come from you. It is the other way around; your orders come from me.”

“
Game? You think this is some fucking game? How dare you. The Order has worked excruciatingly hard and with pained discipline to control the movement of the free world; we decide its destiny together. We decide on who receives what wealth, on who will be the leader of which country, the outcome of elections, of the markets. It has been our way since the beginning, for centuries. This is no game! You are risking more than you realize! This war was to stay in the Middle East. It was supposed to be between just Iran and Israel and no one else. You are risking everything that The Order has accomplished and for your own personal gain!”

The Messenger had enough with the Director’s aggrandizing of the great Order, “Director, it is simple. I am now in control. As the great Sun Tzu wrote:

“
Military tactics are like unto water; for water in its natural course runs away from high places and hastens downwards. Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing. Therefore, just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are not constant conditions. He, who can modify his tactics in relation to this opponent and thereby succeed in winning, may be called a heaven born captain.”

The Director was fuming, and yelled, “You have gone mad! Can you even hear how ridiculous you sound?”

Ignoring the question, the Messenger flatly stated, “Director, I am a heaven born captain. The nature of the ground over which the waters flow has changed, so to must my tactics. I will have victory over my foe. Up to this point, you are not considered that person, but you are dangerously close to becoming him. It is up to you to be with me or to be my foe.”

The Director was irate as he spat out, “You truly have gone mad! How you dare threaten me! I gave you what you needed for this mission! I gave you the ability to make Operation Merlin a success. You presume that it shall only be you who stands alone when this is done?”

“
There is no presumption, Director, only the reality.”

The arrogance of this man, thought the Director, and said, “You seem to forget that I have the remaining part of the key that unlocks the final piece of the puzzle that you need. Your half of the key is useless without mine. I will never give you the code that unlocks Iran’s missile guidance systems. Only I know where it is and how to get it, without it you have nothing, no control. Without me you cannot possibly finish this!”

“
You are correct, Director. I did not expect that you would simply hand over your half of the key. The Art of War has taught me this.”

I am so sick of hearing about The Art of War!

The Director was growing tired of the Messenger’s quotes and said, “You are too beholden to the poetry of an ancient and obsolete warrior. This is a new age. You will need more than a passing acquaintance with the rants of a dead warrior to succeed.”

“
Director, do you not remember with whom you speak, after all, it was you that taught me the art? Are you absolutely sure that it is only you that holds the other half of the key? Why else do you think that His Holiness is now part of my plan, why Sterling lives, and why I didn’t include you in that part? There is one final document that has the key of which you speak. Soon, it will be in my hands, making you no longer necessary if you so choose.”

Instantly, the Director knew exactly to what the Messenger was referring. Snapping upright in his chair, he wanted to lash out at the Messenger, but would play his game, and, instead, replied, “The lost Apocryphal, the Pope has it? Impossible! The lost Apocryphal has not been seen for fifteen-centuries! Are you telling me that the Church had it all this time, that your man inside the Vatican knows where it is?”

“
You ask me to show you my next move. Tsk, tsk, Director, this insults me. What you failed to learn as the great Other is that the parchment very much does exist. The only thing you need to know is that I am now in control; and that the parchment is under my watchful eye, its secrets will soon be revealed and Sterling will help.”

Sterling?
The Director was confused by this assertion.
Sterling will help?
This must be why he is still alive. He said nothing of his thoughts; Sterling would be soon dealt with.

The Messenger’s tone was darkly condescending when he asked, “Director, my question to you lingers, are you still necessary to me?”

Upon hearing this, the Director jumped to his feet knocking over the Zen garden spilling shiny, round black rocks and sprawling sand across the tightly woven carpet of his office floor. He spat out, “Are you saying that you will send your filthy assassin after me if I don’t bow to you? Who in the fuck do you think you are?”

The Messenger could hear the rise in the rate of the Director’s shallow breaths and detected a slight shake in his voice; he had him right where he needed him to be: panicked.

“
Quite to the contrary, Mr. Director, your destiny will be determined by your choices alone. If you so choose, you will still have control of the West, and with the fall of Iran, I will have the East. The only difference is that you will report to me, we will not be equals; I will become the new Primitus; it is your choice: choose to live and you will have wealth beyond your dreams with near-absolute power over the West.”

The Messenger closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and reveled in his own words as he thought,
I have waited so long to say these things, oh, how good it feels!

Opening his eyes, the Messenger said to a speechless Director, “We will finally enjoy the complete control of both halves of the world that The Order has toiled after and died over for so many generations. That is our destiny; it has been since Yeshua, since the Church’s betrayal of Dagobert, and their torture of King Sebastian.”

The Messenger paused before he asked, “Or, Mr. Director, cross me and become unnecessary. What shall it be?”

“
Listen to me,” the Director appeared frantic in his words. This was precisely the appearance that he wanted to give to the Messenger. “Listen, I don’t think that I, that we should continue. That is, we should postpone.”

The Director was rambling.

The Messenger enjoyed it.

Preparing to continue his rant, the Director was interrupted by his new nemesis: “There will be no postponement, Director. To the contrary, we are going to speed up the plans; the war will happen. The Primitus wants to meet in the next twenty-four hours. He is already on his way to Rome. We will meet there. I will send the instructions to you on precisely when and at which location.”

The Director forced himself to find a new calm; his thoughts seemed shocked into submission. With Sterling alive and in control of the book, and the Apocryphal in the hands of the Church, the Messenger believed that he had everything. It was as the Messenger had said: he had become his pawn. They would soon meet with the Primitus and the old man would die, just as was planned.

“
So soon? Are we prepared?”

“
Ah, I see that your mind is starting to find a new ease with this. That pleases me. Yes, we are more than prepared. My assassin is on his way to Rome as we speak. The death of the Pope and the Primitus will be the birth of a new life, Mr. Director. The mission of The Order will unfold as we have always planned. The old man has become too complacent, unwilling to risk his comforts for The Order’s cause. He sits each day in his mansion, entertaining the powerful men that The Order controls, enjoying the fruits of your labors, of mine, while we risk our lives with no gain.

He wanted to go to his grave having done nothing for The Order. He lazily sits back and simply enjoys what has been accomplished before him, but not by him. The Primitus is a traitor to The Order, and one thing is for certain, Director, he will go to his grave. You and I, together, will accomplish our anointed task, the one that the Primitus failed to achieve. The planet will be our kingdom. We will rid the world of those not enlightened, of those that passively stand by and cling like parasites to the backs of the elite. We will finally fulfill our destiny. Tell me, Director, are you with me?”