If only you would have listened, Victor thought grimly from his lofty perch among the stand of reaching sky scrapers. How he managed to reach this secluded spot is irrelevant. The fact that he is here, is a testimony to the intelligence network of his parent organization.
From this distance, his cross hairs moved off target each time his heart beat. From many years of training and practical application, he consciously applied pressure to the trigger, timing the shot between beats.
#
On the bottom step, outside of the Plaza Hotel in lower
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Through his scope, Victor Leroux watched from a distance for signs of impact as the single 7.62mm round spiraled down from the rooftop vantage. Passing surgically between several people, the round made its presence known by creating a tiny hole behind the right ear of the intended target.
He observed the familiar sight without emotion as the entire back section of the head exploded outward from the impact of the high velocity projectile. He mentally recorded the kill. He witnessed the reactions from the gathered crowd as bone fragments and gray matter burst out like shrapnel. Spattered members of the crowd looked away in disgust as their faces and bodies were peppered. Victor wondered if his target began cooling before it crumbled to the cement.
Victor didn’t need to know that Mr. Pettimore left behind a beautiful home in the Hamptons, a stunning wife and two precious children. He wasn’t aware his target also forfeited a spacious flat in
Victor only knew charges on the business magnate had been brought up and served. Mr. Pettimore failed to heed the warning and recognize his mistake. The sentence had been imposed and carried out. The penalty for treason against the United States Constitution is death. The court he was tried in had no walls; there wasn’t a gavel to pound or a bailiff on duty. The absence of lawyers expedited the procedures. The system dealt in pure evidence and never recognized intent. The people tried in this court were mostly well-educated men and women that knew exactly what they are doing and to whom they were doing it to.
Victor thought about how very old this court was and how many people had been tried. Its’ lifeblood was that of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. He knew this was neither the first case tried nor would it be the last.
Victor peered through the scope of his Israeli made M89-Sniper Rifle to see the dead misshapen form of the convicted lying in his own blood at the foot of the hotel steps across from
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Gustave Schiller’s voice echoed off the high tapestry covered walls of the large dining room located in the majestic
“Here we are gentlemen.” His infectious smile and neat gray hair instilled confidence to the rest of the group as he delivered the beginning of what promised to be an electrifying speech.
He recognized the expressions on the faces of the hand-selected attendees. He grinned, knowing once again, he had them enthralled with his captivating animation. Whether he spoke to them individually or as a group, the outcome was always the same. He looked to the energy of the crowd to boost his already vigorous speech.
“We sit here this evening perched on the edge of history, a history we will chisel from the rock of democracy, the daybreak of a new leadership approach, led by the brightest minds in the world.”
He humbly closed his eyes to immerse himself in the blitz of applause he was receiving from the crowd of young members as each stood to praise their mentor. Extending his arms wide, he enticed all to take their seats. “It was in this very country that our organization was forced out of existence” he said, unable to hide the grin on his face.
Consumed with his own words, he almost missed the vista of young men feeding like piranha on every syllable that he uttered.
“So they thought.” He continued.
Cheers, along with raised grails filled the enormous room as the twelve men stood in commemoration of this day. Gustave grinned. His aging, yet fit frame stood erect and proud, gazing upon his faithful followers. “As I speak to you in this great room this evening, our representative in America is about to sign a contract with key Wall Street moguls and receptive politicians that will ensure our place as the destined leaders for this blue orb, we call earth.”
Festive banter erupted. Each member congratulated one another with embraces and the shaking of hands. Gustave, with his arms wide, reveled as the celebrating increased. He became inebriated with power. “As we all are aware, many secret societies have had their opportunities to take control of world affairs and do their behest over the centuries. Some succeeded, if only for a short time but most have failed.” He paused for pinnacle climax.
“Let history deed us, the mechanics of society. Let historians remember us as the founding fathers of a new and better way of life. Let the world know, the time for globalization is now. Let all know the reign of the Illuminati is at hand!” His voice grew louder with each sentence until the room burst with an optimistic energy at the brashness of their speaker.
His well-chosen words and grandfatherly appearance gave him an air of wisdom that set him apart from the much younger crowd he was addressing.
Gustave walked out from behind the head of the large 18th century mahogany table personally addressing each young follower of his senior core. He eventually made his way back to his place at the head of the table and lifted his pewter goblet of wine. With pure passion and gusto his voice boomed throughout the hall. “Illuminati!”
The small rally went wild. “Gustave, Gustave, Gustave,” they all began chanting.
Unnoticed, a courier ran into the large chamber with a message for the fulsome Gustave Schiller. The smile instantly left Gustave’s face as the small man whispered the bad news to an unbelieving ear. “Not again.” He whispered to himself.
Welcome to the Psylent Revolution.
By Neal Stapel
