In the lead-up to Christmas, there was also a spate of unfortunate deaths among some of the world's richest families.
Randolph Loch disappeared while on safari in southern Africa. His entire private hunting party was never found.
In March, the Greek shipping magnate Cornelius Kopassus suffered a fatal heart attack in his sleep.
Arthur Quandt was found dead with his mistress in the spa of his Aspen lodge.
Warren Shusett was murdered in his isolated country mansion.
J. D. Cairnton, the pharmaceutical tycoon, was hit and killed by a speeding truck.outside his company's New York headquarters. The driver of the truck was never found.
Heirs took over their empires. The world kept turning. The only connection made to their deaths was in a confidential memo to the President of the United States.
It read simply: 'sir, it is over, majestic-12 is no more.'
MAJORCA, SPAIN
9 NOVEMBER, 1100 HOURS
The hired Volkswagen circled the charming cobblestoned piazza on the Spanish island of Majorca, the famed luxury hideaway for the rich and reclusive.
'So where are we going again?' Rufus asked.
'We're going to meet our employer,' Knight said. 'The person who engaged us to keep Captain Schofield alive.'
Knight parked the car outside a streetside cafe.
Their employer was already there.
She sat at one of the sidewalk tables, smoking a cigarette, her eyes hidden behind a pair of opaque Dior sunglasses.
She was a very distinguished-looking woman—late forties, dark hair, high cheekbones, porcelain skin, her posture all at once refined and cultured and confident.
Her name was Lillian Mattencourt.
Billionaire owner of the Mattencourt cosmetics empire.
The richest woman in the world.
'Why if it isn't my knight in shining armour,' she said as they approached her table. 'Aloysius, my dear. Do sit down.'
Over tea, Mattencourt smiled warmly.
'Oh, Aloysius, you have done well. And you shall be rewarded handsomely.'
'Why?' Knight said. 'Why didn't you want him killed?'
'Oh, my dashing young knight,' Lillian Mattencourt said. 'Is it not obvious?'
Knight had thought about this. 'Majestic-12 wanted to start a new Cold War. And Jonathan Killian wanted global anarchy. But your fortune is based on the opposite of that. You want people to feel safe, secure, to be happy little consumers. Your fortune rests on the maintenance of global peace and prosperity. And nobody buys make-up during wartime. Warfare would ruin you.'
Mattencourt waved his answer away. 'My dear boy, are you always so cynical? Of course, what you say is absolutely true. But it was only one small part of my reasoning.'
'What was it then?'
Mattencourt smiled. Then her tone became deadly. 'Aloysius. Despite the fact that I have a greater net wealth than all but a few of them, and despite the fact that my father was once a member of their little club, for many years now, for the sole and single reason that I am a woman, Randolph Loch and his friends have consistently refused to let me join their Council.
'Put simply, after years of suffering their various innuendos and sexual taunts, I decided that I'd had enough. So when I learned of their bounty hunt through sources of my own within the French government, I decided that the time was right to teach them a lesson. I decided, Aloysius, to hurt them.
'And the best way to achieve that was to take from them that which they desired most—their precious plan. If they wanted certain people dead, then I wanted them alive. If they wanted to destroy the existing global order, then I did not.
'I had heard of Captain Schofield. His reputation is well known. Like yourself, he is a rather resilient young man. If anyone could defeat Majestic-12 it was him, with you by his side. As such, he became the man you would protect.'
Lillian Mattencourt raised her nose and inhaled the fresh Mediterranean air, a sign that this meeting was over.
'Now, run along my brave little foot soldier. Run along. You
have done your job and done it well. By tonight, your money will be in your account. All $130.2 million of it, the equivalent I believe of seven heads.'
And with that she stood, donned her hat, and left the cafe, making for her 500 Series Mercedes Benz on the far side of the piazza.
She was inside the car and about to start it when Knight saw the shadowy figure standing in an alleyway not far from it.
'Oh, you cunning bastard,' Knight said a split second before Lillian Mattencourt keyed the ignition.
The explosion rocked the piazza.
Potted plants were thrown across the cobblestones. Table umbrellas were blown inside-out. Bystanders started running toward the flaming ruins of Lillian Mattencourt's Mercedes.
And the man who had been standing in the alleyway walked casually over to Knight's table and sat down beside him.
His flame-scarred face and bald head were covered by sunglasses and a cap.
'Well, if it isn't the Demon,' Knight said flatly.
'Hello, Captain Knight,' Demon Larkham said. 'Two weeks ago, you stole something from me. From a cargo plane travelling between Afghanistan and France. Three heads, if I recall. $55.8 million worth of bounty.'
Knight saw three other members of IG-88 standing nearby, guns under their jackets, flanking him and Rufus.
No escape.
'Oh yeah, that.'
Demon Larkham's voice was low. 'Others would kill you for what you did, but I'm not like that. The way I see it, things like this happen in our profession. It is the nature of the game and I enjoy that game. Ultimately, however, I believe that what happens on the field, stays on the field. That said, considering this unfortunate incident'—Demon waved at the smoking remains of Lillian Mattencourt's car—'and the amount of money that you have just seen go up in smoke, what do you say we consider the debt settled.'
'I'd say that would be a good idea,' Knight said evenly, his lips tight.
'Until we meet again then, Captain,' the Demon said, standing. 'See you on the next safari.'
And with that, Demon Larkham and his men were gone, and all Aloysius Knight could do was gaze after them ruefully and shake his head.
MOTHER'S HOUSE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, USA 1 MARCH, 1200 NOON FOUR MONTHS LATER
The sun shone brightly over the BBQ underway in Mother's backyard.
It was a Sunday and a small but very close crowd had gathered for a casual get-together.
Mother's trucker husband Ralph was there—tending to the sausages with an oversized spatula. Their nieces were inside, miming to Britney Spears's latest hit.
David Fairfax sat in a deck chair under the clothesline, nursing a beer, swapping stories with Book II and Mother about their adventures the previous October: tales of chases in parking lots near the Pentagon, office towers in London, Zulu bounty hunters, British bounty hunters, and their mirror-image assaults on supertankers on either side of the United States.
They also talked about Aloysius Knight.
'I heard the government cleared his record, cancelled the bounty and took him off the Most Wanted List,' Fairfax said. 'They even said he could come back to Special Forces if he wanted to.'
'So has he?' Book II asked.
'I don't even think he's come back to the States,' Fairfax said. 'Mother? What do you know about Knight?'
'He phones every now and then,' she said, 'but no, he hasn't come back to the States. If I were him, I don't know if I would
either. As far as Special Forces is concerned, I don't think Knight is a soldier anymore. I think he's a bounty hunter now.'