Beyond Nations

Chapter 1-2

Many times he had chosen not to listen; now she would succeed where he had failed, and on a much grander scale. She would do it the Calvi way. Giuseppe had been associated with ZTW Corporation and she had to wrestle control of the same company from the other Chosen Ones. It was she who had set up Tutulus as the new trading entity and now the new corporation controlled all the funding. Time to flex her muscles and show them what she was capable of, particularly as ownership of a single block of shares equivalent to 40 percent had recently gone to another buyer. For decades she had mirrored her brother, decades in his shadow learning from his mistakes. Now was her time, true to the Calvi family roots unlike Giuseppe’s high profile existence on Ascension Island in the Seychelles. She would achieve far more by being legal, she thought, and smiled across at her two cats, Genghis and Kublai. She mused on how she could wrest control of Tutulus and eventually had a breakthrough. Forming a group of advisers a Spanish banker had led to the breakthrough, a secret treasure.

She summoned her financial adviser Giuseppe Festo into the office, relishing the potential fortune from the Napoleonic era. All she had to do was find it and she would have the total control of Tutulus. For tha,t she needed the services of her most faithful companion and ally. Giuseppe was such a man, someone with his head buried in the minutia of running her empire, a crucial counter balance to her occasional impulsiveness.

“Have a seat, Giuseppe,” she smiled as they sat in her office in the Doges Palace, hidden from the tourists and the ceremonial events. It had once been part of a huge prison complex with the condemned going across the Bridge of Sighs between the Palace and the prisons, but now it was her centre of operations. The man who ran the Council here was her puppet, a man called Fabrizio Grete, a man more concerned with looking good than running an office, which suited her. She was the government of the republic, the Doge in all but name and great preparation for her next step, to take full control of the small state, her grand plan to rescue Venice, and rescue was the right word.

“Lucrezia, we need to be very careful with this information, it exposes you to the overt sort of risks you warned Giuseppe about. It’s clear that the Spanish authorities know nothing, and legally it’s theirs.”

“We aren’t part of Spain Giuseppe.”

“Perhaps not, but this will put you in a vulnerable position. We have always shied away from such stunts.”

“It’s not a stunt, Giuseppe, you more than anyone know we need the money. I will not have others taking control of Tutulus, there’s a power struggle and our majority shareholding is lost.”

“The Chosen Ones?”

“They are the problem, Giuseppe, I need you to check them out, make sure we know everything there is to know, look for weaknesses.”

“Spain is dangerous, Lucrezia, exactly the sort of thing your brother would have done.”

“It’s legal, a respected banker of one of Spain’s largest banks, manage him and get the secret, I want that treasure before, there will be no connection to me.”

“We have everything we want here. Evolution not revolution, that’s what you keep telling me.”

“Giuseppe, you just manage the money and I’ll worry about the rest, there are forces gathering and we must have control of the project.”

“Mare Nostrum?”

“Yes exactly, you arrange Spain.”

“Very well, as always I will trust your judgement, Lucrezia. Mare Nostrum is a great project.”

“A previous Doge once took one of history’s greatest ever risks, betting that the crusaders could repay a fortune he invested up front in building them sufficient ships to launch the crusades at the arsenale. When asked why he had put everything at such risk he replied that it was our destiny to protect our future and that is Mare Nostrum.”

“He nearly lost everything.”

“We either learn from the past, Giuseppe, or are destined to repeat it. The Doge will rise just as the Venetians managed for years to thrive as the underdog through cunning, stealth and wisdom,” she summoned her Secretary Francisca to arrange her diary.

St Lucia

Jemima, or Jem for short, made her way down to the new Rodney Bay Marina, which gleamed with super yachts as she looked for her quarry. Jem Heston was in her late thirties, and the niece of retired Chief Inspector Montgomery, or Monty, from Bermuda She had learned her investigation skills from Monty, but the relationship was a double edged sword as others thought her incapable in her own right. Of medium height with a slim figure, she was proficient in self-defence as part of her basic police training. In St Lucia on the trail of ZTW after they had recently and suddenly closed their headquarters in Bermuda, she knew they hadn’t gone out of business and smelled a rat. After all, they had successfully bankrolled various criminal operations for a number of years and she was convinced that by tracking them down she would get to the heart of recent criminal events. Those events had brought her here following the claims of the journalist Zelda Higuaín. Unfortunately her current boss had taken a dim view, so she was here in an unofficial capacity, which didn’t help her anxiety. She looked around and then saw who she was looking for, a statuesque blonde.

“Good to meet you, Zelda,” smiled Jem, gesturing to a seat at the local café.

“I’m glad the police are at last taking my claims seriously,” replied Zelda, taking a Diet Coke. “I’ve been suppressed by vested interests, both of which are powerful and dangerous,” she said, looking nervous.

“Tell me what you have found.”

“Five young girls have all disappeared from this island, all in their early twenties and all pretty. My contacts in the drug gangs claim not to know anything about it, then last week we had the murder.”

“That’s the reason I am here, was this the first?”

“First we know of but many are missing, the poor girl was molested and strangled.”

“Do you believe the gangs know nothing?”

“Strangely, yes, as I have the same situation on other islands in the Caribbean. For instance, my colleagues in Antiqua and further field report similar occurrences, also there are other factors that make me believe this is more than a local gang and is coordinated.”

“Such as?”

“The methods of disappearance are the same, always at night, and always the girls are intelligent, always in their early twenties, and always pretty.”

“Anything else?”

“Usually in decent jobs lured by lucrative modelling contracts. The activity has ramped up significantly over the last few months so something big is coming off.”

“Do you have any leads to substantiate this?”

“Just one who will meet with me tonight strictly on his terms, you can come along but it could be dangerous. It’ll cost you a hundred dollars, name’s Leroy.”

It was a warm moonlit night as they arrived at the large warehouse. Jem shivered despite her long experience and took comfort in the small gun she carried courtesy of a local police colleague. Her nerves were on edge, which was good as it meant she was ready for anything. She nodded to Zelda from the shadows as a man stepped out in the light.

“I said to come alone,” he snapped.

“”She’s a friend, Leroy,” replied Zelda soothingly. “Just need to know what you can tell us about the girls disappearing. I will pay you.”

“Said only you,” repeated the man in a strong local accent and raising a wicked looking knife, “she’s the dammed cops, I can smell it.”

“Put the knife down,” shouted Jem raising her gun.

“You are the dammed police.”

“It doesn’t matter who I am Leroy, we need to know more about what you know, these girls, where are they been taken.”

“You don’t want to get involved, really you don’t, man, there’s dangerous people out there, people who would think nothing of cutting you up and throwing you to the sharks.”

“Where are they being taken?”

“Special camps here in the Caribbean, I don’t know where, don’t tell me nothing, say keep my dammed mouth shut and I’ll live, threaten me plenty.”

“What sort of camps?”

“Slavers,” replied Leroy, “That’s my guess. They tell me nothing but I am not stupid, the girls are pretty and good for use if you get my meaning.”

“Keep talking,” said Jem, looking around uneasily, her instincts on edge. She didn’t like the area, too many opportunities for an ambush. “Need more for the money.”

“Too dangerous, man,” replied Leroy, looking around nervously.

“Talk,” said Jem raising the gun.

“Big man, dangerous man, pirate man, he owns his own island, does what he likes, he runs the main camp, you need to get out of this before they get you, I mean it man, it’s dangerous.”

“Which island?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Suggest you do,” said Jem looking over at Zelda.

“It’s called …”

The explosion was deafening and a glazed look came over Leroy’s eyes as he fell forwards. Jem spun around then heard a piercing scream and saw Zelda being dragged away.

“Stop,” she yelled, raising her gun and firing over their heads, and then she sensed something behind her and was plunged into darkness.

The early sun shone on her face as she lay there in the dirt. She struggled to pull herself up, realising she had been hit on the head. She sat up and groaned as she felt the bruises and dried blood. Her gun was gone and her police badge was laid in the dirt. Memories flooded back to her about the events. They hadn’t killed her, because she was a policewoman and they didn’t want that sort of publicity, but what of Zelda? She felt herself to make sure there were no other injuries, shuddering at what could have happened. She staggered back to the main marina, needing to get back to Bermuda and start the wheels turning. There was something major, something serious involving the young girls; the fear on Leroy’s face had been palpable before he died and she dreaded to think what they would do with Zelda. First port of call was the local police station where her colleague, a man called Toby, shrugged off the loss of the gun and helped file the dead and missing person’s reports. She then contacted the Herald, Zelda’s paper.

“She called in this morning to say she was ill.”

“You sure it was her?”

“Yes, but she did seem kind of strained, said she would be taking some overdue leave and would get back to us,” continued the young female receptionist. “She’s done it before so I paid it no attention.”

“Thanks,” replied Jem, thinking that Zelda was probably on her way to be a new recruit to the slavers. Her mobile vibrated.

“Jem, I’m in the Caribbean, thought we could catch up, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“Of course Lorna, where exactly are you?”

“Outside an island called St Bart’s.”

“I’ll meet you there,” replied Jem wondering if Lorna could help her, an acquaintance from the past she kept an interest in her cruiser that specialised in helping disadvantaged children, she hoped to God there wasn’t a link.

Germania

They were all of a common heritage, born of a disaster many years ago in the cold North Sea, a disaster that had been man made. Bound together as dependents of a naval tragedy when their Battle Cruiser, the Scharnhorst, was sunk by HMS Belfast off Norway they were family in many ways, and they were now through interbreeding a very close knit community. Germania was their home and had been for nearly ten years since they had arrived at the homestead built at the turn of the 20th century by Elisabeth Nietzsche and her husband Bernhard Forster. Germania was to be a new way of life, free from the restrictions of the old Germany, where they could build a pure community. It was putting into practice what Elisabeth’s famous brother Frederick Nietzsche had been writing about for some time. Ironically, he had thought the whole idea of a remote settlement mad and had refused to take part, talking about the theory of supremacy rather than practicing it. Elisabeth was different and wanted to see the reality, even attracting the attention of a rising orator in Munich named Adolf Hitler.

Her commune Nueva Germania had been built on the edge of the rainforest on the Aguarya River and the main house was built in a dramatic, gothic style and incongruent to the surrounding landscape. Beset by poor agriculture, mosquitos and fever, the commune had eventually failed at great cost to all who had taken part, including Elisabeth, who went home to Germany. This time was different, however, for they had a purpose and a leader, a leader who had sufficient funds and influence for them to achieve their original mission. The new ruler was one of the Chosen Ones, called the Philosopher, claiming direct ancestry with Nietzsche. Under the Philosopher’s leadership they thrived again, keeping themselves to themselves and slowly building a strong and vibrant community.

Two men stood out from the crowd as the group grew. They were named Wolfgang and Helmut. Both had leadership qualities and were the archetypal blonde-haired, blue-eyed Germans. They were joined by a third leader, a dark haired man called Aitor who had arrived a year ago from Argentina. Aitor was one of the select few who exercised such power that even the Philosopher deferred. Aitor talked about his friend in reverential tones and would disappear to see her at regular intervals. Because of this powerful partner Wolfgang and Helmut handled him with care but he was not one of them, after all he wasn’t pure German stock. The three of them ran the enterprise now of over fifty individuals, the Philosopher their spiritual leader.

“The time has come my friends, the time when we will lead.”

“Can I ask when and how?” said Wolfgang, keen to take the lead over his rivals.

“You will be told all in good time. Just make sure you are ready, we have a large meeting imminently in the Caribbean, here’s what you must do.”

La Gomera

His beloved Hidalgo sailing yacht had handled beautifully during the long crossing from St Lucia. Guy Tresanton and his new wife Rose had taken the trip as their delayed honeymoon as they prepared for their new life leading the group called the Elders from its monastery in La Gomera. Together they had fought and defeated both the Teacher and the Professor and hoped the whole evil enterprise underpinned by the company ZTW was consigned to history. Over six foot high with sandy hair, Guy had chosen a life running a yacht charter business in the Caribbean until dragged with Rose through a combination of circumstances into leading the fight against the Teacher and ZTW. The secret organisation had been at the forefront of that fight, and now its Chair, an older lady called Victoria, was retiring, having chosen Guy as her successor. Accompanying them was an old friend Padraig Reilly, an itinerant Irishman who looked after the Hidalgo.

At 36 feet in length, she needed full time care, and Padraig had no other attachments or interest; at over 60 years of age was happy to spend his years sailing the seas. They left Padraig to moor the Hidalgo at the main harbour on the island where he would live on board. Guy and Rose made their way across the island to the monastery hidden in the mountains, the ideal secret hideaway. For over a century it had served the secretive Elders well as they gathered. Comprised of senior industrialists and other influential people carefully chosen for their ability, it existed to fight evil wherever and whenever it was constituted. In addition, through its foundation by the Chinese sailor Zheng He it had a mission to resolve his great puzzle, a puzzle that had involved a quest for long lost artefacts and now for the Khans’ Prophecy.

They were welcomed at the door by their respective mothers, who lived out on the edge of the large estate with Victoria. Both widowed during the fight with the Teacher, they were happy to live their lives quietly. Guy and Rose were also welcomed by the head monk Hernandez as it was a working monastery in order to provide a cover. It was an arrangement that worked well, as for the monks it was a quiet and contemplative retreat free of charge whilst for the staff of the Elders it gave them cover from prying local eyes. Guy and Rose would live upstairs with support staff whilst the monks occupied the ground floor. Down in the basement were the Elders’ own vaults, containing riches of knowledge heavily protected by an advanced security system.

“Our new home, my dear,” smiled Guy as he looked down from the panoramic main lounge window across the valley.

“Different from the deck of the Hidalgo,” smiled Rose as she settled into one of the chairs. “Do you think we can have a little period of peace now?”

“I hope so, though Victoria has asked to see me tomorrow about the vaults.”

“Well that’s not dangerous.”

“I would hope not,” smiled Guy as he reached for a drink, surprised to see Victoria at the door.

“Afraid we have a problem, Guy.”