The God Complex: A Thriller Page 12

  Giles scanned down the notes. Something in them had required the young black woman’s death. He had read up on her. She was a rising star with a very bright future. Politics and cabinet for sure, if not the first black Prime Minister. Whatever she had uncovered had put an end to all of that.

  Giles scanned down the pages. Her history was tragic. Her mother, raped at 13, gave birth to her at 14 and after abandoning her child had died at the age of 18 in a drug den. The programs that had warranted such acclaim and delivered the results for the borough were nothing short of common sense. The statistics of underage births were surprising, particularly as he was unaware that girls as young as ten and eleven were included in them. He was pleased to see that the handful of pregnancies across the UK each year amongst the 12s and under had been eradicated completely in the previous two years. Again, nothing earth shattering, so he read on. The statistics for the under 12s was the same across Europe where the handful had been a few hundred and across the world, where it had been a few thousand each year. Giles stopped reading, withdrew his lighter and set the papers alight. He didn’t need to read any further.

  No one under the age of 12 had become pregnant anywhere on the planet in the previous two years. Giles wasn’t a statistician but he wasn’t stupid either, that was not a chance coincidence, that was by design.

  Chapter 25

  Cash asked whether Sophie minded if he told Kyle that they were going to leave him with his grandmother and Uncle Bill at the lodge while they flew to Bolivia. As with almost every growing teenager, the fight to get them into bed was only beaten by the fight to get them out of it. Kyle grunted a ‘yeah fine’ and promised to take care of his grandmother. Cash left a note by his bedside to remind Kyle of the conversation he felt sure had gone in one ear and straight out of the other.

  “Ready?” asked Cash when he arrived back at the entrance door to meet Rigs, Sophie, and the recently roused flight crew.

  Sophie gave him a look. She knew all too well how good her son was in the morning.

  “I left a note,” said Cash. “And they’re far safer here anyway.”

  “Safer?” queried the captain.

  “Figure of speech,” Cash said, quickly bending and zipping the satchel of weapons that Rigs had laid out by the door before the crew caught sight of what was inside.

  “Pile in,” said Uncle Bill, directing them to the jeep for the short drive down to the airfield.

  “Are you not worried the authorities will check?” Sophie asked, stopping Cash and Rigs in their tracks, aware of the implications of the fugitive status of her travel partners.

  “Off the grid,” said Rigs. “My dad’s a bit of a prepper too.”

  Cash smiled. Rigs was becoming comfortable speaking around Sophie. Normally that breakthrough took far longer.

  “And the paperwork trail for the aircraft charter?” asked Sophie.

  “Through a trust that has no ties to my family; it’s clean,” said Rigs. He hoisted the weapons bag into the trunk with a metallic clatter. Sophie glanced furtively at the flight crew. “Be careful with my instruments,” she said.

  “Sorry,” said Rigs, under the gaze of the flight crew, closing the lid shut.

  “The crew are going to see our faces somewhere,” Sophie whispered to Cash, walking around the jeep.

  “There’s no internet, TV or cell coverage here,” Cash replied quietly, “so the most they’ve done is use the landline to call their families. Next stop is Bolivia. I doubt we’ll be top of the news there.”

  “And after there?”

  “One problem at a time,” said Cash. He opened the door for Sophie to climb into the front of the jeep.

  “Bolivia,” said the pilot referring to a small handheld device. “El Alto airport is the nearest airport to El Paz.”

  “What’s that?” asked Cash when he realized the pilot had some type of tablet in his hand and worried he might be connected to something.

  “A flight planner,” said the pilot, not picking up on Cash’s concern.

  “Very cool,” said Cash, straining to see the screen. The pilot turned it around for him to see. ‘Garmin aera 796’, Cash read from the plastic above the screen that showed the details for El Alto airport.

  “So you can’t get anything else on it?”

  “Don’t think so, although perhaps if you pay extra,” he pondered.

  Cash, Rigs and Sophie relaxed again.

  Boarding the aircraft a few minutes later, Bill became refueler as he helped prep the plane for takeoff. Bolivia was within reach to complete the journey non-stop.

  “Your trust fund must be taking a hammering,” Cash remarked, soaking in the opulence of the Global 6000 again.

  Rigs shrugged. “Can’t take it with you.” He held his champagne glass aloft for a refill, in a diva-esque fashion, very un-Rigs-like, much to Cash and Sophie’s amusement.

  With a champagne glass by her side, Sophie buried herself in the laptop. She wanted to know exactly what they needed to do when they landed. Rigs, set his seat back for more sleep. Cash also pushed his seat back, with every intention of doing the same, but it stopped halfway. The steward rushed across to assist, pulling out files from beneath the mechanism of Cash’s chair.

  “Do you need these, sir?” asked the steward, bundling the files together.

  Cash was about to say no, then he remembered the files held the evidence that implicated them. Proving that evidence wrong was as key to understanding everything else.

  Cash set his chair back to the upright position and joined Sophie in the hunt for clues, only his were slightly more current and didn’t require a doctorate in Astrophysics. At least he hoped they didn’t.

  Chapter 26

  Antoine exited the elevator on the sixth floor of the Atlas Noble headquarter building and hugged his cousin, Conrad, who awaited him. The view from the top floor boardroom stretched out across Lake Geneva.

  “Our ancestors’ secret is safe for another thirty thousand years,” joked Conrad, taking the seat across from Antoine.

  “I’m delighted you handled it personally,” said Antoine. “I believe it could have been rather explosive.”

  “From what I saw, let’s just say it would have raised a lot of questions.”

  “Questions we’re in no position to answer right now. Soon enough, when we can’t hide what’s coming, we can explain. Until then, it’s imperative that the secret remains guarded.”

  “Of course, although if you don’t mind me saying,” said Conrad cautiously, offering Antoine the deference to which he was entitled, “the actions in America do seem a little extreme and may well raise more questions than we’d like.”

  “Extreme but perfectly thought out,” said Antoine. He selected the C-SPAN feed on a monitor. The President was on screen entering the Senate Chamber.

  “You’ll have missed it due to your flight but he’s already had Congress ratify the disarmament treaty. He only needs the senate and it’s a done deal.”

  “Without any hassle?” asked Conrad. He’d thought the ratification might have taken weeks.

  “No hassle at all. The plan worked perfectly. Nobody dares speak out against the treaty for fear of being labeled a traitor with the conspirators.”

  Conrad nodded his head in appreciation. “And there’s hardly a mention of the Hubble 2’s demise.”

  “The President will receive overwhelming approval. There’ll be a few diehards who’ll vote against but not enough to cause a problem.”

  “Genius,” said Conrad.

  “Not all down to me,” said Antoine. “Thank Bertie, it was his quick thinking and effort that put the pack together for your DIS guys to deliver.”

  Conrad looked up at the screen. Senator Bertie Noble had taken the podium to introduce the President before his speech. As Chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, Senator Noble was one of the most powerful members of the Senate and thanks to his family, certainly its wealthiest. The Noble family had infiltrated many of t
he world’s democracies, none more so than the US’. With two senators, seven congressmen and three sitting governors, they were the political elite in the US and the largest political contributor in most elections across the nation. However, they did this under so many different guises that only those who were the ultimate recipients ever really knew who had bought their loyalty.

  “He’s one shrewd old bastard,” said Conrad, admiring their uncle.

  “He is that,” agreed Antoine. “All the other parliaments and governments are holding special sessions as we speak, to ratify the treaty and make it happen.”

  “Unbelievable! In less than twenty four hours, signed, sealed and ratified.”

  “And all thanks to Uncle Bertie,” said Antoine. “Although, the pack of evidence he put together quickly was remarkably well prepared.”

  “Nothing to do with me or DIS,” said Conrad.

  “Which is somewhat concerning,” said Antoine, thinking out loud. “My father always told me be careful of Bertie, his ambition always outstripped his position.”

  “He’s not said anything to me,” said Conrad.

  “It’s probably nothing, ignore me,” said Antoine. “He delivered what we needed, let’s not forget that.”

  “But just a tiny speck in the ocean of what’s still to be done,” said Conrad.

  The disarmament treaty was important and would reduce future risk of interference but, as Conrad mentioned, it was only a small part of a very large plan, of which only Antoine was fully aware. The task that had befallen the Noble house was a task entrusted to them and them alone. Their doctrine forbade them from ever sharing their knowledge and ensured that every cent they earned was devoted to the task. The population’s future rested in their hands alone. To date, they had kept to the doctrine, as had the countless generations before them. Even though the first transports would be required to begin their journeys shortly, the knowledge of what was to come was too devastating for the masses to ever fully comprehend.

  “So how can I be of assistance?” asked Conrad turning the focus back to why Antoine had summoned him.

  “We may have an unexpected problem,” he said. “Anya has informed me that with the correct information, Hubble 2 is not required. Current technology, given the exact co-ordinates of where to look…”

  “But that problem has been resolved!” said Conrad. Security was his responsibility and within that, DIS.

  “The son escaped your grasp.”

  “And is being hunted as public enemy number one.”

  “That may be but he was there when his father died, a man who had worked out exactly where to look.”

  “Thanks, Anya,” blurted Conrad, knowing of his cousin’s friendship during her university years with Charles Harris.

  Antoine’s look of displeasure at Conrad’s criticism of his sister, however warranted, was very clear for Conrad to see.

  “I apologize, it was not my place,” he said obsequiously.

  “However, we are where we are,” said Antoine sternly. “And it’s your job to rectify it. Let’s not forget, the son slipped through your team’s hands!”

  “I’ll get right on it,” said Conrad rising to leave, the mood in the room having dropped significantly.

  “Obviously, the last thing we need is Cash Harris in the US government’s hands. God knows what they’d uncover before we want them to,” warned Antoine. “I’ve also made Bertie aware of the problem, he’ll assist you as much as he can.”

  Conrad nodded and left the room, wondering exactly what he was supposed to do. He had a few hundred operatives scattered across the United States, whilst they had millions of law officers and every citizen in the land looking for him.

  “Bea,” said Conrad, greeting his cousin as he exited the boardroom. Beatrice Noble headed Atlas Noble’s pharmaceutical and medical division.

  “Conrad,” she said warmly, standing to hug her cousin. “Good mood?” she nodded towards the boardroom and Antoine.

  “Sorry, he was,” he said sheepishly.

  “Wonderful,” she said, raising her eyebrows before hearing her name being shouted out by Antoine from behind the door.

  Antoine’s secretary looked over apologetically. “I think he’s ready,” she said politely.

  “Antoine,” she said, entering the room.

  Antoine waved towards the seat opposite him, not taking his eyes off the report in front of him.

  Bea sat and waited patiently. Antoine finally raised his head, his mood having improved. Whatever was in the report had cheered him up.

  “It worked,” he said pushing the report away.

  “Yes,” she said proudly.

  “Down to that level.”

  “And beyond if required.”

  “Beyond? How so?”

  “Well, say for example you wanted to exclude a particular eye color from a particular race, or hair color or any number of physical traits, we can do it.”

  “Fantastic. Can we do above a certain age?”

  “I don’t see why not. Do you have the final numbers?” she asked.

  “Not yet, but obviously seven billion is a number that doesn’t work. Even with an eighty year window.”

  “Don’t forget the birth control initiative will significantly hamper the birth rate in future.”

  “But there are still only about 56 million dying each year. Even with no births that still leaves 2.5 billion and that’s too many, even with no births at all.”

  “So you want to start more radical controls?”

  “We should at least conduct trials on them. I’d like to know what we can do if need be.”

  “Of course. Any thoughts on size of the trial?”

  “Nothing too dramatic. We still want to keep things low key,” said Antoine.. “Say between a quarter to a half million?”

  Bea opened a file on her tablet and scanned down a list. She stopped a third of the way down. “Got it. I’ll get the virus coded and we’ll start delivering tomorrow.”

  Chapter 27

  FBI Headquarters

  Pennsylvania Avenue

  Washington D.C.

  Despite their police outriders, Secret Service Director Paula Suarez and Attorney General Lynn Bertram could not get near the FBI Headquarters building. Crowds had gathered overnight and swelled during the morning as the news of the treasonous plot spread. The outrage felt by most Americans at the attempt to assassinate the President in order to derail the disarmament process was palpable.

  “Do we dare walk through that?” asked Lynne.

  Paula Suarez had risen through the ranks of the Secret Service and was more than capable of looking after herself but even she was not sure. The crowd was vying for blood and all but ready to lynch any of the plotters should they have the misfortune to venture within their grasp.

  Before they made a decision, another procession of vehicles approached. It was a military entourage with no intention of allowing the protestors to block their way. The vehicles careened towards the crowd, horns blaring. Unsurprisingly, the crowd parted and the vehicles swept through into the underground car park entrance.

  “Follow on,” Paula said to her driver, who was able to squeeze through before the crowd moved back behind the insistent convoy.

  The military vehicles drew to a stop at the elevators, allowing their occupants to disgorge. From the five vehicles— four Humvees and one limousine— only two men exited: a man in full dress uniform and another man who Lynne recognized as the imposing figure of Senator Bertie Noble, Chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.

  Both she and Paula rushed to catch up with the two men.

  “Senator Noble,” said Lynne warmly. He was a man you made a point of keeping on your side.

  “Ah, Lynne my dear,” he boomed, bending down and kissing her on the cheek. “And the delightful Miss Suarez,” he added, offering Paula the same courtesy. “This is Colonel Steve Andrews, US Air Force. He’s attached to the Special Operations Command.”

&nb
sp; Both Lynne and Paula nodded in greeting to the uniformed man.

  “Are you here for the handover?” asked Senator Noble.

  “Thankfully!” said Paula. “This investigation is way beyond our capabilities in the Service.”

  “To be honest, only 9/11 comes close in scale,” agreed Lynne, selecting the executive level button on the elevator.

  “Shocking, truly shocking,” said the Senator. “You may be interested in why we’re here. Who are you scheduled to meet?”

  “Deputy Director Howard Kliner. I believe he’s going to be personally running the investigation.”

  “Howie’s a good guy. In fact, you’ll probably want to come with me. I’ve called a meeting with the Director and I’ve a funny feeling Howie will be joining us,” he said, patting the laptop safely tucked under the Colonel’s arm.

  “Why, what’s happened?” asked Lynne, noting the sly grin on Senator Noble’s face.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” he promised, leading the way to the Director of the FBI’s office at the far end of the corridor.

  “Jim,” he boomed, entering the office without knocking.

  FBI Director Jim Walker looked up from his desk, covering the mouthpiece to the phone call he was in the middle of.

  Senator Noble took a seat and waved for him to carry on as if he wasn’t there. Lynne and Paula waited in the outer office area with the Colonel and the exceptionally perturbed personal assistant to the Director of the FBI. Her boss was exceptionally important and as such, so was she. People didn’t barge into her office, let alone the Director’s.

  “How dare he!” she exclaimed. “Who does he think he is?!”

  “A man who does as he pleases,” advised Lynne Bertram. Actually, she was the FBI Director’s boss.

  “Well, I’ll be having words when he leaves. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “Good luck with that,” whispered Paula Suarez to Lynne.

  Deputy Director Kliner rushed into the outer office. “I believe he wants me urgently,” he said, as he came up against the immovable PA.