‘Into the De Vere family.’
Xavier Chessler nodded. ‘An advantageous start for our master’s seed. Our Master’s decisions are flawless.’
Raffaello Lombardi, patriarch of the Black Nobility Family of Venice and director of the Vatican Bank, frowned.
‘Julius . . . ’ Lombardi interjected in his thick Italian accent. ‘You are as we are all aware a most esteemed paragon of the Left-Hand Path.’
‘I remain eternally our Master’s devoted disciple,’ the older man murmured,He ran his fingers lightly over his wrist. Instantly a strange blue brand glowed – the ‘Warlock’s Mark’. Julius De Vere was one of only three who wore the brand signifying a pact between Lucifer and certain of the Race of Men. He gazed at Lombardi through hooded eyes.
‘Unfortunately,’ Lombardi said, returning his inscrutable gaze, ‘your own son, conceived of your blood, does not seem to have upheld the Brotherhood’s ambitions with the same . . . um . . . ’ he caressed the jewelled Masonic pin on his lapel. ‘ . . . fervour.’
Julius De Vere looked out at Lombardi from under bushy silvering eyebrows. His black eyes glinted with intelligence. He smiled thinly. ‘James De Vere is essential to our plan. For the moment . . . Your fervently harboured ambitions for your own four sons do not escape this table, Raffaello.’
Lombardi squirmed in his chair.
‘I am well aware that my only son,’ Julius continued, ‘regrettably, takes after my first wife. Although one of us, she became . . . let us say . . . unresponsive to our way of life. She met with an unfortunate accident. My son is weak like his mother before him. He holds a “righteous” streak and has no propensity for getting his hands dirty.’
Julius De Vere’s eyes hardened. ‘I am fully aware of his deficiencies. I shall make sure they are used to our advantage. Then he becomes expendable.
‘I, as my father before me and his father before him, have long awaited this day, in the expectation that our family would be chosen for the sacred task. To that end through five generations we have generated wealth in oil, banking and communications in preparation for our adopted son’s rapid ascension through the ranks of the Race of Men. All our resources remain entirely at the Brotherhood’s disposal.’
Kester Von Slagel gave a thin smile.
‘You are most generous, Julius. Our Master is gratified. So are we assured of your family’s complete collaboration?’
‘My son will go to any length to protect his family. I shall ensure his full cooperation.’
‘The plan must not be disclosed to James De Vere,’ Von Slagel added. ‘We dare take no risks. He must not know of the infant’s exchange.’
Julius De Vere nodded. ‘My son will bring up this infant as though it were his own, with no knowledge of the clone. We will make our demands. Though ignorant of our covert strategy, he will obey each instruction. His passivity will weigh in our favour.’
‘He will be eliminated at the appointed time?’ Lombardi inquired.
‘In the event of my own demise, Chessler will ensure his silence.’
Xavier Chessler, blond, blue-eyed, newly appointed vice-chairman of the Chase Manhattan Bank nodded. ‘James De Vere roomed with me at Yale. James trusts me. I’ll keep a close eye on him. Look after our interests. He won’t be the least bit suspicious.’
Dieter Von Hallstein, ex-German Chancellor, spoke. ‘When the Lorcan clone turns forty years of age, the First Seal will be broken. He will rise to world power. After that point, they are all expendable.’
He turned to Julius De Vere, his voice soft but intense.
‘Your son, daughter-in-law . . . your grandchildren, Julius. All to be exterminated. The first to be executed at the exchange of the clone, the remainder slain after the clone turns forty. This is acceptable to you?’
‘They are to be sacrificed for a higher good,’ Von Hallstein added. ‘A New World Order. Our Master’s Rule.’
Julius De Vere nodded. ‘The terms are acceptable to me.’
Von Slagel signalled to Piers Aspinall who handed him a document. Von Slagel reviewed it, then passed it to De Vere.
‘Your signature. Their death warrants.’
De Vere scanned it, took a fountain pen from his pocket and scrawled his name with four deep strokes in green ink on four pages. Von Slagel nodded to Aspinall.
‘Thank you.’ Aspinall replaced the document in his briefcase.
Ethan St Clair looked up. ‘The boy will come of age in Europe, educated in the school of our fathers. Our Scottish brothers will let Gordonstoun know that they will be receiving a “special” pupil.’
Aspinall lowered his pipe. ‘Our close friends in Washington will make James De Vere an offer that he cannot refuse – the Ambassadorship to the United Kingdom. We will ensure that the boy grows to maturity in Europe. It is essential to our plan for One World Government.’
Naotake Yoshido, Chairman of Japan’s Yoshido Banking dynasty addressed the table. ‘My esteemed colleague Julius is, as we know, in charge of the International Security Fund. During the next two decades, under Julius De Vere’s oversight, we will orchestrate the biggest, most secretive private placement financing operation in world history. My esteemed colleague, Julius, and I propose to start the fund as a token of our good faith.’
De Vere nodded to Yoshido.
‘A small token of twenty trillion dollars,’ Yoshido added.
A murmur of approval rippled round the table.
‘Your generosity shall be greatly rewarded by our Master,’ Von Slagel said warmly. ‘You are both devoted servants of the Fallen.’
‘The fund will be based in Zurich,’ De Vere continued. ‘Its connections will be to a myriad of European Union institutions, untraceable back to the Brotherhood. The trust will contain over two hundred trillion dollars by the year 2021 – the year our clone will be in position. Equipped with such limitless resources, as well as the private fund of wealth I have amassed for him in the De Vere vaults, the Brotherhood will amass sufficient finance to bribe every president, prime minister, policymaker, intelligence operative and political figure worldwide, for the rest of this century, in pursuit of our aims.’
Aspinall picked up a second file and passed it to Von Slagel who studied the papers. He addressed Julius.
‘Your daughter-in-law Lilian has suffered three miscarriages and has been receiving fertility treatment from a top specialist in the Brotherhood’s employ, Dr Morice. He has now confirmed that she is eleven weeks pregnant. Nevertheless, as agreed, the family will travel from New York to London in the fall.’
Von Slagel looked up from the papers. ‘It is essential to our Master that to execute the Brotherhood’s strategy for his political future, the Lorcan clone be born in Great Britain. Lilian De Vere will be advised in the strongest possible manner to see her term out in the UK and to stop all travel for the duration of her pregnancy.’
De Vere nodded. ‘She has been managed since a child.’
Von Slagel continued. ‘The birth is planned to coincide with the Winter Solstice and will be managed at the private nursing home she frequents in London. We are aware that she will insist on Rupert Percival, her British obstetrician. Percival will be discreetly replaced by the Brotherhood’s counterpart at the time of the exchange.
‘After extensive investigation the genetic scientist who will incubate the Lorcan clone has been chosen. The subject is a Scotsman. Fifty-six years old. Single. No children. A loner – dedicated to his field. He received the Nobel Prize in 1978 for his ground-breaking contribution to genetic research. He was the scientist in charge of the Los Alamos cloning programmes from ’77 to ’79.’
Ethan St Clair frowned. ‘He is not one of the Brotherhood.’
Von Slagel’s eyes narrowed. ‘He is the world’s foremost expert on animal and hybrid cloning. He is essential to our task. We can afford no mistakes. Last night, his Reverence’s genome was delivered into the hands of the scientist at the laboratory at our safe house in Marazion, Cornwall. He has been prov
ided with the cloning blueprints and all the technology he requires to complete the task. The DNA of the genome has been deliberately reconstructed to coincide precisely with the projected birth date of the human infant.’
Aspinall broke in. ‘It is a classified Black-Ops operation. The identity of the genome will not be revealed to him.’
‘Is the scientist aware he is dealing with non-human matter?’ Ethan St Clair asked.
‘He is aware only that it is “alien” matter,’ Aspinall replied. ‘He spent years dealing with alien – human hybrid experimentation in Black-Ops’ underground bases. He is a brilliant man who asks no questions and expects no answers. Regrettably, as soon as the procedure is complete, he will suffer an untimely and catastrophic accident.’
Kester Von Slagel rose.
‘His Reverence has indicated his satisfaction with the proceedings. The Lorcan clone . . . ’ he hesitated ‘ . . . will be a precise replica of his father.’
He paced the room.
‘And now to our timeline, gentlemen. The Prince will be dedicated in the crypts of the Vatican by His Reverence and the black elements of the Jesuits. He will then be transferred to London from Rome. The De Vere infant and the Prince will be exchanged on the night of the infant’s birth – 21 December 1981. The De Vere infant will be murdered. James and Lilian De Vere will never know of the exchange.They will bring up the Prince as their own.’
Von Slagel turned to the thirteen men in the room.
‘A one world government. Headed by our messiah.’
He nodded to Piers Aspinall. ‘Pray, enlighten us as to the Brotherhood’s aspirations for The City in the next four decades.’
Aspinall donned a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and read from a sheaf of papers marked ‘Eyes Only’.
‘By the year 2008, we project that the daily turnover of foreign exchange in London’s Square Mile will exceed 1.6 billion dollars; the City will house 22 per cent of the global foreign equity market; 70 per cent of all eurobond turnover; at least £263 billion of worldwide premium insurance income in the UK; and 1.7 trillion pounds of pension-fund assets under management. We predict a 43 per cent global share in the “over the counter” derivatives market, and an 18 per cent share of all global hedge fund assets in the UK. By 2012, the Square Mile will be the leading Western centre for Islamic finance. And it will all be in the hands of the Brotherhood.’
Von Slagel walked over to the window and looked out at the 677 acres sprawled in front of him.
‘The wealthiest square mile on earth,’ he murmured. ‘We have achieved our Master’s goals this past century, gentlemen. The City is a privately owned corporation that is not subject to the Queen or Parliament. Behold our secret – ’
‘Remember that the end justifies the means.’
The men followed Von Slagel’s gaze as he surveyed the Bank of England, the Stock Exchange, Lloyd’s of London, Fleet Street and the London Commodity Exchange.
‘And the wise take all means . . . ’
Chapter Twelve
Disclosure
Jether walked the nameless secret passageway from the throne room of the First Heaven through the twisting labyrinths of the seventh spire, beneath the sacred vaults, to the Tower of Winds. Stopping in front of the small silver filigree door of the Walled Garden of Tempests, he placed his onyx ring over the keyhole. The door slid open onto the vast lush gardens of the Tower of Winds.
Obadiah, Jether’s attendant, a youngling of an ancient angelic race possessing the characteristics of eternal youth, remained blissfully oblivious to Jether’s arrival.
He hung from a tree, his stocky little legs entwined around a bough, avidly plucking sweetmeats from a low-hanging branch and stuffing them, six at a time, into his already chock-full mouth.
‘Humpf.’ Jether cleared his throat. Obadiah stared at him with wide eyes, then fell with a loud thump onto a bed of cowslips beneath him, crushing the flowers. The cowslips let out a loud sigh. Obadiah jumped up and scurried over to Jether, grasped his satin train and wiped his sticky hands on the fabric.
Jether glowered at him, then strode at full speed past the water fountains and the manicured hedges.
Obadiah’s orange curls flew in disarray as he desperately attempted to keep up with his sprightly master. He stared greedily at a second tree of strawberry sweetmeats, as they hurried past, plucked a large blue strawberry and opened his mouth.The strawberry flew from his hand directly into Jether’s palm.
‘I told you, Obadiah,’ Jether said, sternly, ‘I have eyes in the back of my head!’
He popped the sweetmeat unhurriedly into his own mouth, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Obadiah followed behind him, his squat little legs flying. He gaped in rapture at Jether’s back.
Jether continued into the very centre of the tower gardens to a large golden table where the Council of Yehovah sat on twenty-three golden thrones, their long white hair and beards blowing in the cool zephyrs.
Jether surveyed the elders, bowing to each in turn before sitting down heavily on his jacinth throne. He raised his hand and instantly the zephyrs subsided to a gentle breeze.
‘Let us bow our heads in supplication, my fellow compatriots.’ And as one, the High Council bowed their white crowned heads. ‘Today,we have weighty matters to discuss. Obadiah, you are dismissed.’
He watched as the youngling’s stocky little legs carried him down the gilded stairs from the Tower of Winds. Jether sighed. ‘Oh to be a youngling – so uncomplicated an existence. But come, let us open the Council, revered compatriots. We are gathered here today on grave matters.’
He considered the immense golden Codex that lay open before him. After a few moments, he raised his face to the elders.
‘It has been nearly two thousand years since Lucifer’s defeat at Golgotha. The Great Battle of Armageddon draws nigh.’
He paused to let his words sink in.
Issachar nodded. ‘Lucifer knows this well. At Golgotha, his third of the Fallen were resoundly defeated by our armies.’
‘Lucifer vowed it would never happen again,’ Jether said. ‘And as we are all aware, he conceived a diabolical scheme.’
He gazed out at the assembled elders.
‘A scheme to conceive his messiah. His own Son of Perdition. Issachar, pray relay the Council’s findings.’
Issachar the Wise folded his hands, his normally gentle features grave. All eyes were intent on him.
‘My honoured compatriots. Our findings bode ill. Through this messiah, Lucifer’s intention is to control the world of the Race of Men by his institution of a New World Order – a One World Government. His goal is to control the banking systems, the military-industrial complex, the intelligence communities, pharmaceutical and drug cartels, and mass communication.’
Issachar sighed. ‘His ambitions are endless. Through this messiah, Lucifer himself plans to govern the world of the Race of Men.’
Jether surveyed the faces around the table. ‘Up until now, the Race of Men did not possess the capabilities to produce a clone. However, man’s technological advances have greatly accelerated this past decade. We have received word that Lucifer creates a clone in the world of the Race of Men. A clone who will carry his own DNA.’
The High Council stared at Jether in shock.
Lamaliel spoke. ‘Then he will no longer be reliant on the Stalins and Hitlers of this world who failed him.’
‘You have spoken truly, Lamaliel.’ Jether turned to Xacheriel. ‘As Yehovah’s revered curator of the sciences and universes, pray deliver the scientific facts as they stand.’
Xacheriel cleared his throat loudly. Then, putting his monocle to his eye, he thumbed through his scientific papers. His voice trembled with emotion.
‘Unlike Christos’s birth, the birth of Lucifer’s messiah will not be supernatural. It will be a feat of biogenetic engineering executed by Lucifer’s iniquitous super-scientists, the Twins of Malfecium, my own protégés for years here in the First Heaven.’
Xacheriel turned beetroot red with indignation.
‘Pray calm yourself, old friend,’ Jether admonished him gently. ‘The times of such treachery in our world are long past.’
Xacheriel glowered at the elders around the table from under huge bushy white eyebrows.‘Lucifer’s pets,’ he scowled. ‘At very best you could call them depraved biogenetic engineers.’
Jether gave him warning glance.
‘Anyway, the point is for over two thousand years, beyond the vaults of Vagen, a thousand miles beneath the Labyrinths of Angor, has lain a sarcophagus safeguarded by the Twins of Malfecium.The sarcophagus of the Furies.There lies the Vial of Sacred Progeny. It contains a single genome.’ He stared ominously at the elders around the table. ‘Lucifer’s genome. From which he would create a clone . . . ’
‘A replica of himself,’ Jether continued. ‘It is the most dastardly of all his strategies.’
He gestured to the goblet at Xacheriel’s right hand.
‘Pray sip some elixir to calm yourself, then continue, old friend.’
Xacheriel took a loud slurp of harebell nectar. ‘His super-scentists have been prepared since Alexander ruled the world. They were prepared during Stalin’s purges – and they got very close during Hitler’s reign of terror.
‘The Kaiser Wilhelm Institute of Human Heredity and Eugenics was a base for Hitler’s more depraved genetic and eugenic experiments. Othmar Von Verschuer, Grebe, Mengele . . . depraved monsters all!’
Jether frowned.
‘They all had one aim instigated by their Dark Master – cloning. But even the Nazi scientists, so technologically advanced, did not possess the technology to create a clone from the Lucifer seed.
‘In the 1940s they failed at every turn but, during these past few years, the Twins have provided technological blueprints to the darker elements of the Race of Men, in order that their Black Intelligence units might conduct secret cloning experiments in the Los Alamos facilities in North America. One scientist in particular is a genius.’ Xacheriel threw up his hands in a mixture of repulsion and admiration.