Inside was a ten-by-ten room. At one end was a wooden door. On either side sconces like mediaeval torches burned natural gas. In the corner was a mannequin wearing a wooden mask and a leather shield and carrying a long spear. The spear was wood in the middle with steel forming the spear blade as well as the bottom few feet of the weapon. A huge, bald black man who looked like Mike Tyson without the tattoos was sitting at a small wooden desk. He was wearing a dark blue suit and black tie.
“Mr. Roberts, we have been expecting you,” he said in a deep Jamaican accent as he patted me down and removed the handgun from my inside suit pocket. He did not find the knife. Without comment he opened the inner door.
I recognized the room from my dream—the rich mahogany paneled walls, the stained glass windows and the Monet paintings. I recognized Rudolf Friedrichs, who was sitting in a chair in front of his own desk. Behind the desk was a handsome man in his early sixties with brown hair and blue eyes.
He stood and extended his hand. Once again, I did not take it. Unperturbed, he said, “I am Hans Schmidt, CEO of Schlangenol Pharmaceuticals. Sorry to say we can’t begin yet. We are still waiting for two others. Care for a cigar?” He opened a large mahogany humidor lined with Spanish cedar and filled with Cuban cigars. I declined.
I felt naked without the gun, though I was relieved to still have the small knife Bob had given me strapped to my ankle. I wondered if I could slice my own throat. I would kill myself if that was my only option. But I knew I would give up the chance to kill myself to kill even one of my enemies.
We waited in silence until one of the wood panels opened, revealing a hidden passageway. A tall black man with short gray hair, wearing a Hugo Boss suit, entered. On his arm was Chloe, dressed in a tight red gown with her long brown hair falling freely down her back. When she smiled up at me, her green eyes delved into my soul.
“Hello, Mr. Roberts. My name is Akello Bekila,” said the man in his deep African accent. “I am very pleased you received our invitation.”
I instantly wanted to kill this man but knew this was not the time.
“I hear you visited our chicken coop on campus. I guess after your little trip to Chicago you have it in for our fine-feathered friends.”
“No, I have it in for your synthetic crack cocaine.”
He ignored my interruption and continued, “If this was about money, I would complain about the loss of a half billion dollars in cocaine. But your life is worth more than money or drugs. I am here to crown you a king.”
“Is this my castle to rule as I see fit?”
“Don’t be silly. This is my castle to rule as I see fit.” He sat down behind the desk, after the CEO of Schlangenol Pharmaceuticals had relinquished it. Chloe moved in back of the man and started rubbing his shoulders.
“You believe this is about money and greed, but you could not be more wrong. It is about recreating the world. Making it better.”
“How? By providing an unlimited supply of super-addictive drugs to the weak-willed? By endorsing murder and creating a world of zombie slaves?”
“Exactly. We have always had murder and slavery. They do not bring an end to the world. Christianity, Judaism, Islam—they all support murder and slavery. The Bible makes repeated references to slaves. Their use is endorsed by all the great Hebrew kings. Slaves are a reward for piety. The Bible also requires death as a punishment for even minor crimes. How many must die in the name of Christ or Allah before their sacrifices are accepted? We must return to the old religion. The first religion. You have spoken to Legba. You know the truth. Free will has caused nothing but pain and suffering. It is better to be happy than burdened by the world’s problems.”
My laugh was bitter. “You sound like John Stuart Mill, except that even he realized it was better to be a human dissatisfied than a pig satisfied. You want to turn people into pigs. Mindless zombies.”
Akello Bekila sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his massive chest, erupting with rich laughter. “You have discovered my secret, haven’t you boy?”
“Yes, you were the priest who provided the powder for the second experiment. The powder that made the subjects docile by giving you their souls. These criminals from Schlangenol Pharmaceuticals combined your formula with the most addictive substance known to man. As time went on, you became more and more powerful. You were creating an army of zombies.”
The large man nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, but look how happy they are. Rudolf? Have you ever been happier?”
“No, sir.”
“What about you, Clifton?” He was pointing to the CEO of Schlangenol Pharmaceuticals.
“I am perfectly happy,” Clifton replied.
“How did you do it?”
“Oh, Rudolf here tried it during the second experiment and couldn’t get enough. Clifton, however, waited until we could create a sample that did not have the adverse side effects.”
“You mean premature aging.”
“Yes. I have also let him keep his soul.”
“What about Chloe?”
“She is my wife, or at least she used to be. Remember how Legba entered the body of MaMa to tell you what to do?”
“Yes.”
“Marinette-Bwa-Chech has taken over the body of my wife Chloe.”
“Why? What is in it for her?”
“Power, my friend. If I control the peoples of the world they will only worship Marinette-Bwa-Chech. All their sacrifices will be to her. That is how she gets her power.”
“So what is the big plan to enslave the world?”
“To provide free synthetic cocaine to anyone who wants it. If that does not achieve the results we wish for, we can put it in the water supply or spray the smoke into the air. It is so addictive and so pleasant it will take far less time than you might imagine.”
“I’m just curious, why me? Wouldn’t it be easier to kill me?”
“Yes, it would be easier, but not right. Why kill you unnecessarily?” Akello said.
“Also,” Chloe cut in, “Legba has deemed you worth saving. I do not need a war with the spirit world. I will give you a chance to live before we are forced to kill you.”
Chloe perched on the side of the desk and revealed a long leg from beneath her gown. “You have proven yourself to be quite resourceful,” she went on. “You were able to discover our plans. You managed to find and elicit the aid of one of the few legitimate Juju priests in the world. You spoke to Legba himself. You have forced us to kill a large number of people just to keep you at bay. You even managed to burn a huge supply of our product. You have proved a worthy enemy and will be a powerful ally.”
“Besides—” Akello started to speak but was silenced by Chloe’s look. It was clear who was running this show.
“I like you,” she continued, “and because I like you I am willing to show you pleasures and give you power that no mortal man has ever tasted.”
“Why here, in Champaign County?” I asked.
This time Akello was allowed to answer. “It is in the middle of the country, with easy access to the East and West Coasts. There are major highways and an airport nearby. Also, it has plenty of educated chemists for such a small area. Last but not least, people keep to themselves. We have built this mansion in the middle of a cornfield with no one looking on. It is the perfect location.”
I remembered an interview with Virginia Masters and William Johnson, the famous sex researchers of the 1950’s. They were asked why they did their research in the Midwest, when people on either coast tended to be more open-minded and less puritanical. They responded that people in the Midwest tend to keep to themselves and mind their own business.
It was now Chloe’s time to speak. “There was a reason I showed you so much of man’s ugly history. When allowed to exercise his free will, man uses it to torment the weak. He is worse than an animal. An animal kills to eat. Man kills for pleasure. Even the ancient peoples, who relied on human sacrifice, had a purpose other than sadism.
“I am here to save humanity, not to destroy it. Senseless murders will never stop. Genocide is commonplace. We have had to kill a few people—which is regrettable—but think of the wars, the crusades, the genocides. They will continue unless you stop them. That woman you saw being tortured in Nazi Germany? She was one of six million Jews. Think of the millions of others of every nationality. How many Russians were killed? How many British and French? How many millions of people were slaughtered? That was only one war. How many Jews and Muslims died in the crusades? How many are dying in Rwanda right now? We could easily feed the world but choose to let people starve. If men have souls, people have forgotten why. If this drug takes away their free will, then we will replace it with our own will. They will do what we tell them to do. What you tell them to do. The state of Illinois is my gift to you. I trust you will not allow your people to kill, torture, or harm one another. Thus the world will be better, not worse. For the first time, the future looks brighter than the past. Think of the benefit to the environment. People will not use so many resources. They will be satisfied with the drug and won’t demand more possessions than they need. You will be their conscience and their soul. Think of a world with no hunger, no suffering. The people will be at peace and fulfilled. They will not have to worry about anything. They will work; we will provide housing, food and medical care.”
I recalled an argument I’d had before the Appellate Court during my boring lawyer days—before that fateful day when Thomas and Chloe had entered my office. My position was that it was unconstitutional to strip-search a person picked up on a civil warrant. During oral arguments, one Justice posed this question: my client might have to wait in jail a couple hours before getting the chance to post his bond money, so wouldn’t the other prisoners be safer if he were strip-searched? I agreed that they might be safer. In fact, the world would be safer if everyone were strip-searched. However, the cost would be our freedom, and I did not wish to belong to such a society. I lost the case.
If mankind was denied all its freedoms, the world would indeed be safer. We could have avoided the wars, genocides and daily atrocities. No one would have opened Pandora’s Box or eaten from the Tree of Knowledge. We would be happy pigs.
Hunter S. Thompson, prior to his suicide, told a friend that as long as he had an opportunity to kill himself, life was “okay,” because he always had a way out. I, sadly, would have no opportunity to kill my enemies. It was time to slit my own throat with the tiny knife attached to my ankle. Bob would have made sure it was razor sharp.
“You do not seem to fully appreciate what I am offering you, Sam,” Chloe said, interrupting my thoughts. “We will build you a castle of your own. I have already bought you a red Ferrari with your name on the license plates.”
Rudolf Friedrichs rose to his feet and dropped a car title and a set of keys on my lap.
“We have a private jet available for you at any time. Your friend Alma is an excellent pilot. She is also a very good lover. Although why stop there? You can have any woman you desire. You can have any food, any drug or any drink. Anything you desire will be provided without question. You will live as no man has ever lived. Kings and queens may question the loyalty of their subjects, but you know the loyalty of your subjects is absolute. You will hold their souls in your hand.”
“As long as you are willing to fulfill my every desire,” I said wryly, “may I have a loaded AK-47 and a grape popsicle?”
Chloe gave me a hard look and then turned to Akello Bekila, who pulled what looked like a small silver cigar case from his inside jacket pocket. When he opened it I saw a glass syringe and a bottle of clear liquid with a yellow tinge.
“Do we want him addicted or dead?” Akello asked Chloe.
“It is up to Mr. Roberts. I promised him a quick death if he preferred it.”
I stood up, allowing the keys to the car and the title to fall to the ground. “King of Illinois, you say? I do enjoy sex, food and absolute power. Is it too late to change my mind?” I bent over, presumably to pick up the keys, and grabbed the knife at my ankle.
“Much too late, I’m afraid,” Chloe replied, “but I will give you the choice of death or addiction. I will keep you as my personal servant for a while, if that helps you make your choice.”
I was still bent over when I heard a loud bang, which sounded like a firecracker in a bottle. The door to the room flew open, and Alma stood in the doorway with Bob’s gun in her hand. Blood covered her dress and threaded through her long blonde hair, and her face was striped with black mascara. Her wild eyes darted from person to person. For a split second it occurred to me that—even carrying a gun and stark raving mad—she was one of the most desirable women I had ever seen. I was ashamed of thinking such a thing in such a situation, but perhaps Chloe was right: humans are mere animals.
The pistol in her hand recoiled as the bullet left the barrel. Akello Bekila’s eyes were wide with surprise as his large skull gave way to a small lead projectile. In falling he left a dark red stain behind him on the wall, as if someone had tossed a bowl of red and black oatmeal against the mahogany paneling.
With the knife from my ankle in hand, I leapt at Chloe, trying to slice her throat. I could hear Alma behind me sobbing in what I assumed to be Swedish. The only word I recognized was “Helga,” repeated again and again. Chloe swatted me to the ground with a strength beyond the capacity of her small frame. I must have lost consciousness for a moment because when I looked up she was sitting on my chest, her knees on my arms preventing my movement. Her eyes, bright green with thin slits for pupils, stared down at me. Holding a curved silver knife pointed at my right eye, she hissed, “I gave you the chance to live as a king or die quickly. Now I am going to blind you and allow my followers to eat your still living flesh one bite at a time. You will feel the pain you so richly deserve. There are things far worse than death, far worse.”
She had just raised the blade with both arms, lifting her body to bring its full weight down upon my eye, when I heard a loud pop. Blood filled Chloe’s eyes, and dark red sprayed out her left ear as the bullet passed through her right temple and out. A large portion of her skull was blown away.
Alma stood above me. She’d shot Chloe at close to point-blank range.
I assumed Alma had shot Rudolf Friedrichs dead during my momentary lapse of consciousness. A bullet had entered his skull from a perfectly placed shot between the eyes. Hans Schmidt had been shot in the chest. He was lying on the ground, blood pooling around the wound, gasping for breath. Given the bubbling sound coming from the wound, my guess was that a lung had been punctured. He would be dead soon.
Alma was on the ground, crying. She took the gun and put the barrel into her mouth.
“Please don’t,” I begged.
She looked up at me, eyes swimming with tears. I ran to her as the gun exploded in her hand. A chunk of blonde hair attached to a larger chunk of skull and brains hit the wall. Blood and gore were smeared throughout the room.
I removed the gun from Alma’s hand and checked the clip. It had two rounds left. I replaced the clip and put the safety on. Placing the gun in my jacket pocket, I searched the desk drawer for another gun. I found a box of computer discs as well as fifty thousand dollars in cash. I stashed them in a Gucci briefcase I found behind the desk then added the car title and keys to the briefcase.
In the other room, I found the huge, bald bodyguard dead on the ground. Blood was pooled around his head. I retrieved my gun from his desk and took a Micro Uzi from the dead man’s hand. It was slightly bigger than my pistol but fully automatic.
I walked down the hallway and out the door that led to the marble balcony, which I followed to the main entrance of the mansion. As I continued down the stairs, I waited for shots, but none came. About twenty people were left in the front entryway. They seemed to be walking about aimlessly, unaware of my presence.
I needed to find the laboratory in the basement.