“That is good to hear, Master.”
“So make your way back, Baltasar. And be, as you say, invisible. The authorities are clueless, but even a stumble can sometimes lead to good fortune. You know we have other events pre-planned, in most cities and towns around the world. Others, we can arrange quickly. If you need our help, Baltasar, tell me. Staying quiet is not the answer. Not today.”
“I understand that what I have is important, Master.”
“Important? No, it is not important. It is a fundamental piece in history, the crucial requirement to our future. And to think it has lain hidden, unnoticed, in Olympia for so long.” Xavier shuddered so badly goose-bumps rose along his arms. “Frightful. We have been vilified, outlawed, imprisoned and worse, particularly by the Roman Catholic Church, but this is the worse news I have heard in decades. It scares me like none of these media-driven disasters ever could.”
Baltasar said nothing. Xavier sighed, sensing trouble. “You do not approve of Athens, my young acolyte?”
“I just worry that one of our own may have been inside, Master.”
“Nonsense! That is ludicrous. The society would never hurt one of its own. Of course, the word went out to the chosen few. And only the herd suffered. Do you weep for the herd?”
“No, Master. They are there to be sacrificed for the greater good.”
“And?”
“What they think and believe is not relevant. But they must always believe the opposite.”
“Good.” Xavier wrapped a black cloak around him. “Their weakness and grief turns their eyes inward and away from us. Now tell me, where are you?”
“We have just resumed, Master. Thessaloniki is the next stop.”
“Good. Call again only if the need is great.”
Xavier ended the call, thinking hard. Baltasar was the best of the Hoods, the Illuminati’s branch of super-assassins and first-class agents, but even excellence was no gauge of loyalty. He was not carefully recruited, not even a member of the inner order and by no means an Illuminated Minerval. And yet, he was Xavier’s choice, and thus one to be taken care of.
Xavier rang a bell to summon a maid, ordering a pot of tea. He sank behind a mahogany-colored desk; the seat plush, black and leather-bound. In front, all he could see was the narrow strip of glass — a man-sized window that looked over some rather impressive, snow-tipped mountains. To the sides sat lavish sofas and low, expensive tables with decanters of brandy at their centers. The walls were ornamented by brass fittings and large portraits — every one a long-dead leader of a secret society that had been misunderstood and maligned since 1st May 1776. Their mission — to oppose religious influence over public life and abuses of state power, to combat superstition — was very likely as close to perfect as any society would ever get. Xavier thought their methods may have changed through the years, but the world needed a steady hand to guide it, to take it through wars and recessions that it never knew it needed to survive, to help take the good with the bad, to look beyond today’s atrocity and see tomorrow’s promise. My path will not always be easy, nor without tragedy and the Herd’s loss, but I will ensure that I stick to it, and that they follow it.
Events were one of the keys, but in scarcity. Occasional was good, and more shocking, and led to a better outcome. The real reasons behind some of the world’s most notorious and terrible events were known only to the Illuminati leaders of that era.
Xavier stared at the pane of glass, then accepted his tea from the maid. She didn’t speak, and he did not notice her. His thoughts revolved around his ancestors and all the incredible trappings of pre-eminence and supremacy they had amassed.
From the object of the moment — the Statue of Zeus to the Ark of the Covenant and all of the lost Fabergé eggs, from the bones of kings to the robes and rings of magicians, from mysterious super-ancient objects that shouldn’t exist to future weapons, capable of global destruction.
They had it all. And most of it was stored with the statue.
Complacent? Maybe. Confident? Utterly.
Xavier knew the discovery of the map might lead to their true, secret headquarters being exposed. Even their leadership, composed of politicians, masterminds, literary geniuses, influential millionaires, diplomats and royalty, risked being revealed. A centuries-old World Order was in the balance.
But plans, like a chain of explosions, had been set all along the route of discovery. It would take a very dedicated group of individuals to get even halfway without failure or death. Xavier imagined very few groups tended to exist, and his resources would get the better of them.
The game, as they said, was on. And there was no player that could beat Xavier.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bodie took a seat in the jet and closed his eyes. Spending time in a Mexican prison sure took it out of you, and he hadn’t taken the time to recover properly yet. Physically and mentally drained, a little alone time was just what he needed.
Then Cassidy Coleman plonked herself right down beside him. “Y’know, Bodie. I said time and time again that I wanted to hit that place and break the door down. They said it was too risky, but in the end that’s just what the frizzball did and, hey, it worked!”
Bodie sighed. “Frizzball?”
“That CIA chick with the hair.”
“Ah, Heidi. Well, I appreciate the sentiment but I’m sure you all had my best interests at heart. And no harm done.”
“No harm. You look worse than crap on toast.”
“Aww, thanks. But Cassidy, I know you — impetuous, hard, physical and always wanting to be the hero. You need somebody like Cross to temper your recklessness—”
Cross leaned over the aisle as the engines began to spool up. “Don’t forget she’s thirty now too.”
Bodie smiled despite his pain. “Ah yes, the big three-oh. I’d forgotten.”
“Yeah, and you’d best forget again. Any more of that shit and I’ll personally dump you both back into that prison. Or worse.”
“Well, I was about to say, next in our merry band of hunters is Cross. Career-thief, slow, redneck, slooooow.” Bodie grinned as Cross turned away in disgust. “Somewhat, paradoxically, he needs you to keep from getting stale. You guys feel like a great mix. So, between you and the backroom staff — Jemma and Gunn — I’d say we have a compact, useful and effective team.” He paused. “Bit slow on the uptake though.”
Jemma turned around in her seat. “Backroom staff?”
Cassidy shook her head. “Are you pitching us for a job?”
“I think we already have one. Is anyone else in shock about what they just heard?”
“Wait,” Jemma said with a little venom. “Backroom staff? Really? And you put me in the same sentence as Gunn?”
Bodie shrugged. “Been a while since I saw you in the field, Jemma. But I guess Gunn’s never been out there.”
“Gunn’s a pussy,” Jemma grumbled. “And lately, I’m often more useful as the overseer, back at base.”
“All very true,” Bodie said to Gunn’s annoyance.
“So maybe I’m not backroom staff? And Gunn’s still a pussy.” She laughed.
Cassidy lowered her voice. “Steady on, girl. Gunn’s still not entirely sure what that means.”
“Ahh.”
Gunn clearly decided it was time to make a stand. “I think you will find my work is invaluable to the team.” He ran a nervous hand through gelled hair. “Isn’t it?”
Cassidy bounced in her seat, sensing prey and always happy to work on a new victim.
Bodie guessed it was time to stop teasing Gunn. “Don’t play into her hands, Sam. She’s a predator; the only way to shut her down is to stand up to her. Cassidy — you happy with the new arrangements?”