Beyond Nations

PRELUDE Venice, 1432 The battered Chinese flagship made its way carefully towards the jetty, manoeuvring itself into a suitable position adjacent to the historic St Mark’s Square. At over 137 metres long and over 55 metres wide it was nearly twice the size of the equivalent European ships of the day, and dwarfed all the other seagoing vessels as it slowly navigated its way to anchor. On the horizon other Chinese vessels stood at anchor lazily riding the lagoon waters as if in a slow motion dance. The locals had been informed that the ships came in peace but still stared in awe and fear at the sheer size, as the ship’s crew returned appreciative stares at the ornate Doges Palace glistening in the early morning sun. They had never seen anything like it in their travels around the globe, a veritable floating city. Orders rang out across the ship as the crew tethered large ropes to docks more accustomed to holding the ornate gondolas, and they slowly made preparations to embark. Venice in the early morning sun was at its best, with the water providing a uniform contrast to the rainbow colours of the buildings. It exuded the wealth that had derived from its two centuries rule as the most dominant sea power on earth. The Grand Canal to the sailors left led up to the Rialto, the heartland of the trading empire whilst to their right the gates of the forbidding Arsenal stood dominating the skyline, the most advanced shipbuilding dockyard in its time. Had they been allowed to enter through its gates they would have seen the engine room of the empire, production lines of wooden ships on a conveyor belt of fear, Venetian trade and wealth a direct result of the ships mass produced here. In front of the sailors were narrow canals, a myriad of water borne craft making their journeys oblivious to their important visitors. To the Chinese sailors it was akin to arriving on another planet, and they shook their heads in awe. Their Admiral was a tall Muslim called Zheng He, who gloried in the title of the three jewelled eunuch. He was the pre-eminent navigator of his age, traversing the known world in his nations desire to achieve non-violent global domination. Each of his voyages had lasted around three years as carefully choreographed displays of power. Zheng took in the scene with interest, seeing it as the epitome of how trade could transform a country, a demonstration of what was needed in his own homeland. Pragmatic trade was the answer, not the latest inward looking isolationism and militaristic behaviour his Emperor was increasingly showing and that had necessitated his recall home. He was already destined to his place in history as China’s greatest naval commander, a man who imagined a new world of global trade and had set out consciously to fashion it. Strangely for an admiral he had been raised in China’s hinterland, the mountainous heart several weeks’ travel from the closest port. After being taken captive by the Mongols, ritually castrated, and trained at court as an imperial eunuch, he had grown in influence under the ambitious Emperor Zhu Di. He had been selected to lead one of the most powerful naval forces ever built and China’s declaration to the foreign devils that it was they who were the subservient ones. After circumnavigating the globe he was on his way home for the last time, calling in the heartland of maritime Venice to meet the ancestor of a man revered in China for his friendship with the great Kublai Khan. Then he would take his final voyage before retirement, his work and his vision completed. The countries beyond the horizon and at the end of the earth have all become our subjects, he wrote in his journal. He had also developed his own ideas and agenda, however, a vision secret to him, a vision that he dared share with no one, a vision that involved the successful deliverance of three valuable artefacts, and artefacts that were in their own right his legacy to future generations. The final leg of his legacy was his chance to make a sustainable difference, something not associated with the new Chinese Emperors, who only thought in simple of terms of superiority. No, his vision was something for the good of humanity. As he travelled direct from the island of La Gomera in the Atlantic, his experiment had already started, now he needed help to transform it into reality. He signalled to his Captain and made ready to go ashore, making sure that his entourage was alert. Niccolo Polo, the grandson of Marco Polo, watched as the ship completed its mooring before making his way down to the prearranged meeting point. He had been excited ever since the secret request had been delivered, his own chance to live history and make his illustrious ancestor proud. His childhood had been dominated by the many tales of how his grandfather Marco over 100 years earlier had travelled to Asia and met the great Khan during his wondrous adventures, including his attempt to facilitate a meeting for Kublai with the Pope. Now it was his turn to try and unify east and west, to surpass his grandfather’s achievements. He smiled as the aged Chinese Admiral and his interpreter were carried forward in an ornate litter to the main reception room of the Doge’s Palace. Niccolo was using the Doge’s own rooms, which in itself was testament to the power of the Polo name in Venice. The room was covered in gold leaf, testament to the great wealth of the Empire and designed to impress visitors. Niccolo nodded in greeting as the aged Admiral was brought slowly into the room and gestured to his two aides to help. The Admiral looked up for the first time and smiled. “An impressive room,” he intoned in passable Latin. “For an auspicious occasion,” replied Niccolo, as his interpreter announced the translation from mandarin. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.” “You are a friend of Venice, you have travelled far.” “A short journey from La Gomera,” replied Zheng through the interpreter. “The last stop before returning home.” “Your fleet on the horizon, over a hundred vessels, is very impressive and a demonstration of Chinese power and wealth.” “Many large ships for practical reasons, and resistance to the world’s climates. I come in peace, not to demonstrate our power,” continued Zheng. “You are a man I know I can trust. My travelling has given me a better perception of other races and human affairs outside the Chinese Emperor’s court. I have become a citizen of the world and feel many are not so concerned.” “Concerned in what way?” asked Niccolo, grateful that the old man was keen to talk and so different from other taciturn Chinese. “I have been fortunate to travel the world and have seen a great deal that makes me believe nation states and religion breed mistrust.” “Structure and faith bring great comfort,” commented Niccolo, “particularly religion.” “Of course, but I am a pragmatist. You will be aware of the Khans’ philosophy, the Mongols from Genghis’ time practiced religious tolerance or shamanism where each is entitled to their own beliefs.” “There is merit in what you say. The Catholic Church is very rigid, but what else is there?” “There are other ways, ways that can be engineered. I am not a man who believes in the chaos of our existence, it must have a purpose, an engineered purpose.” “How can I help?” “I have a proposition for Venice, one that will be to its advantage and ensure your sustainable success, a great secret to share with you as the grandson of our greatest ally Marco Polo, a good friend of Kublai Khan.” “A great secret,” repeated Niccolo fascinated. “You have my full attention,” he said listening intently and with rising astonishment at the translated words until finally the old man sat back, exhausted. “It is true that travel broadens the mind and in your case you have provided great insight into men’s affairs. I am sure I can speak for the Doge in saying we can reach a common understanding.” “What good is wealth if it is not used for good causes? We cannot take all the gold in the world with us to the next life,” said Zheng quietly. “True,” acknowledged Niccolo, thinking the Doge would have to be persuaded on that, yet he was sure Zheng’s story would be well received. “You are a visionary, a man who wants to make a difference, rise above the short term desires of others.” “As with your ancestor Marco,” replied Zheng. “Our secret will underpin our nations long after we are gone; such a secret has of course to be protected from those who would misuse it.” “How do you propose to arrange such protection?” asked Niccolo, intrigued. “La Gomera sits on the very western edge of our world, a stronghold where such defence can sit well away from any nation states direct influence, an island in the middle of nowhere, an island holding our secret safe.” “Protected?” “Not by force, secret powers do not require such just like your Medici’s and Calvi’s. See, I have read my history,” smiled Zheng through his interpreter. “And you want the Doge’s support for this arrangement to preserve this secret.” “It will make your empire truly sustainable led by a trusted few who when the time comes will rise to acknowledge the truth of what I tell you. In the short term your Venetian trading empire will grow supported by our pact spreading influence by trade, not force.” “And this body of wisdom in La Gomera will be called what?” “A meritocracy called the Elders, a body of the smartest who are capable of managing the secret.” “This secret, is it a physical thing?” “It’s a secret to be treasured; one that I wish to bequeath to future generations, but unfortunately in the wrong hands it is as dangerous as it is beneficial.” “It brings tangible benefits?” “Riches of the pocket and mind beyond the experience of anyone and guarded by these Elders.” “What do you want from me?” “We must be alone, a different room please, it’s not secret here.” “I have a confession,” said Niccolo, rising, “the Doge has been listening to this conversation through our network of listening posts installed as a security precaution against Genoese spies.” “Does he not trust an old man,” smiled Zheng, amused at the subterfuge. “Precautions come with power and success; he has already indicated that he is in favour of your proposal,” replied Niccolo, acknowledging the nodding head of an aide who had briefly appeared from the Doge’s office, the prearranged signal that all was well. “Then I can see my legacy is secure,” replied Zheng, his old mind alive and excited. The artefacts had provided the tangible signs but now it was time for him to go home. He had carried out his instructions to the letter; granted, he had adapted them a little, but all for the good of humanity. Zheng was very wary of the gathering forces of darkness in his homeland, forces that could destroy all his hard work. He had his private meeting with Niccolo and then left, satisfied. Unseen by both men as they made their respective ways was a small wiry Chinese man, a non-descript servant dressed in a sailor’s outfit of the lowest order. On Zheng’s ship for many months he had had his own agenda, and now took the opportunity to record what he had heard as carefully as he could. His name was Jainyu, which translated as building the universe’. His eyes gleamed as he went to the harbour front, his eyes intense and not those of a man dulled by being obsequious. This was a man of standing and a man on a mission; he had what he needed and would report back to the Chosen Ones. It had started. Niccolo watched as the old man was carried down to his ship, and he reflected on the event. Zheng had achieved a great deal, but it was only the tip of the iceberg. He had always believed you needed to understand the full picture before making decisions of magnitude. No picture was bigger than the one he had discovered on the Silk Road as he travelled around Asia, a picture that in the wrong hands could spell doom. He talked briefly to his Doge then headed south on the road to Rome. Later, he heard that Zheng had perished at sea off the Indian coast. It had been a precipitous and fateful meeting. Gibraltar, 1805 The famous limestone rock stood majestically against the skyline, a monument to the amazing strength of the millions of dead animals’ remains bonded over centuries. It was a particularly welcome sight to the exhausted British sailors of Nelson’s fleet as they made their way into the bay after the momentous sea battle at Cape Trafalgar. The Flagship Victory itself led the fleet limping into the docks carrying the body of its greatest hero, Horatio Nelson, encased in a large barrel of rum below deck. He had died a hero, stalking the decks in full uniform and encouraging his men to victory as their flagship had pierced the French and Spanish lines. The effect of his bold plan and his personal leadership had been dramatic, as the smaller English navy triumphed against the large combined Spanish and French fleet condemning Bonaparte’s naval ambitions to ruins. The two silhouetted figures surveyed the dramatic sight at the large dock under the shadow of Gibraltar’s cliff. They watched from the Spanish port of Algeciras as the fleet slowly came around towards its moorings. One was Edward Tilley, a British banker, and the other was Carlos Vasquez, Spain’s most senior state banker. They represented the most powerful economic forces on the continent and were well aware of how perilous their position would have been had the French won at Trafalgar. Both men now knew that the dictator’s fleet had been sunk and Spain could successfully prosecute a land war against the French invaders by helping the Duke of Wellington on the Peninsular. They smiled in relief knowing that their huge gamble had paid off; if the French had won they would have been arrested and put to death as traitors. Now they would be seen as heroes, rescuing vast sums of gold bullion and gems from under the clutches of the French occupying regime. Such was the lottery of war. “We did it Carlos, we did it.” “Close Edward, dammed close but a gamble that paid off, all thanks to the Battle of Cape Santa Maria last year and the treasure we appropriated at a time when our countries weren’t even at war, a masterstroke of yours,” smiled Carlos. “Dear old Brigadier Don Jose de Bustamante and his frigates from Montevideo,” murmured Edward, “treasure brought over here unloaded secretly, then the frigates sunk.” “Right under the French eyes,” smiled Carlos thinking back to the frantic activity a year ago. “All authorised secretly by our governments at our personal risk and one that will now pay dividends as the20 tonnes of gold on the frigates was a fraction of the real amount. The Mercedes frigate alone was carrying 30 tonnes of bullion when she went down, over 100 tonnes salvaged and hidden, to say nothing of the diamonds.” “Droits of the Crown,” smiled Carlos, referring to the legalities of taking ownership of the gold when countries were not technically at war, in effect the British stealing the treasure. Their planning of the proceeds had been handled professionally to hide it as the French approached. A clever manoeuvre that had effectively ensured a hundred tonnes of gold and gems, along with four Spanish frigates, had disappeared as if they had never existed. The two men sat on a fortune hidden in the Spanish countryside, and the other men involved in hiding the treasure were killed, a necessary but sad precaution. “We need to discuss the next steps over a celebration drink,” smiled Edward, turning away and indicating the horse drawn coach as they headed back down to their carriages Edward outlining the next steps to Carlos. There was no time to lose if they were not to fall victim to the strong French spy network in the area to arrange for safe passage of the treasure back to Britain. It wouldn’t be easy, as the vast treasure was much further to the east in the province of Almeria and spies were watching many unconvinced that the large amount of bullion had been lost. Rumours were rife that it had been spirited away into hiding. “A drink, my friend,” said Edward as they reached the old coaching inn sitting down in the corner with their backs to the wall from force of habit giving a good view of the other clientele, old habits dying hard. They relaxed for the first time in days and opened a bottle of the house’s finest wine before becoming absorbed in a parchment in front of them, so much so that neither saw a large lady amble towards them. Edward and Carlos both looked up in unison as her shadow appeared, the last sight they saw before sharpened blades pierced their throats. Paraguay – Present day The heat was unbearable as the five men made their way carefully along the difficult narrow path through the jungle. The travellers were weary, having been walking for six days after a difficult sea journey, all kept going by the lure and promise of what awaited them. They shared a common faith and conviction that had led them to give up their previous lives. Each had told their families that they were going away for some time. Each knew that they may never return but that they were about to enter the most exciting time of their lives. After trekking for another five hours from the river, trying to avoid the various insects and mosquitos, they finally entered a clearing and saw the iconic building they had spent much of their lives imagining. It was a building that was ingrained in their memories, a building that symbolised everything that their nation had alone represented. They broke into excited chatter as they reached the front door and an old man appeared. “We have been expecting you.” “A long and difficult journey,” said the leader of the men as they made their way inside and gratefully sipped the proffered drinks of water. “We are here now and ready to do our part.” “You will meet the great leader, protocol demands the correct greeting is ‘the philosopher,’ and will only speak when spoken to and will not contradict,” continued the man carefully leading them through. “The Philosopher is a direct descendant of Nietzsche so pay due homage.” “I can’t believe we have finally arrived,” exclaimed the smallest of the men as they were ushered into the grand room. “What a fantastic place, such ornaments.” “Welcome to you all,” boomed a voice. “You are our disciples and shall have your rewards for the loyalty you have shown, men of the faith. Through your long journey you have demonstrated that you possess the necessary determination and strength, the journey was your test, you have passed by being here.” “We are honoured and have revered you all our lives, we are hear ready to begin the great fight,” said the eldest man of the group. “I am touched by your passion, gentlemen. The great adventure has started, an adventure that will turn you all into rich men and transform our world just as our ancestors intended it over a century ago. Tomorrow the great service starts, so now go and get some rest before dinner is served and we will arrange for some companionship.” As they filed out the Philosopher turned to the video screen to speak. “We are ready; our ancestors’ dreams will be fulfilled.” “And what of the treasure you talked of, where is that?” asked the Germanic voice on the video link. “The Paraguay treasure, as I believe it is known?” “The ancient treasure of President Lopez and his mistress stealing into the night in 1870 loaded with the entire treasury contents bankrupting his country.” “Yes the same, I am told 600 carts of gold from the vaults of the capital were dumped near Las Lomas, its location known only to you.” “Yes, it will finance Tutulus, shift the emphasis away from ZTW.” “Good to hear, the Teacher and the Professor were unwise. The world is about to change beyond recognition; we now have the necessary tools in place to ensure our new project, just as our forefathers predicted.” “Germania was more than just a dream,” espoused the Philosopher grandly, “it was a great idea ahead of its time, the foundations of our new world.” “Absolutely. The Chosen Ones are ready; the loss of two of our group is of little consequence.”