Death of a Pharaoh (38 page)

“Thank you,” James
replied with as much modesty as he could muster. “In exchange for your
financial backing what will your people want in return?”

“Not as much as
you think,” he assured him. “We do not believe in usury or taking advantage of
people when they are down. We expect a modest rate of interest; shall we say
Libor plus 5%.”

James was stunned
but tried to remain impassive. He had anticipated a more aggressive offer.

“How much are you
willing to lend?”

“I have authority
to offer the sum of 60 billion US dollars.”

It was double what
he had hoped.

The Italian
continued, “We have a rather embarrassing amount of gold bullion in secret
vaults whose providence I’d rather not explain. Unfortunately, it is worth much
less now than before your recent debacle. We are anxious to see the price of
gold return to its previous highs. In addition, we will take repayment of the
loan in goods; specifically grain, rice, soy beans and other food staples. We
want you to guarantee that we will have exclusive rights to purchase and
distribute these goods in the following countries.” He produced an envelope
from his left pocket and slid it across the table.

James removed the
single typed page and reviewed the names on the numbered list. There were over
fifty countries grouped in geographic regions. Many of them were Catholic but
several were Muslim and some even atheist.

“All you want is
the right to feed the populations of these nations?” he confirmed.

“Starving people
make easy converts. We wish to make certain that the Evangelical churches in
South America and Africa or the Muslim Brotherhoods in other areas are
powerless to provide for their people. As millions begin to die, those who wish
to survive will have no choice but to join our flock.”

James had to
admire the diabolical brilliance of their plan.

“You will purchase
at market price?”

“Of course, we
want you to make a good profit so you can pay back the loan.”

“I think we can
agree to those conditions.”

“There is only one
other matter,” the Italian added.

James knew there
had to be something. It all seemed too good to be true.

“The young
American who outwitted all of you, the so-called Pharaoh and head of the
heretical organization known as the Servants of Ma’at. We want him dead and his
organization destroyed.”

“You get no
argument from me on that one,” he agreed, “we’re already working on it.”

“We have
significant intelligence that we are willing to share in order to assist your
efforts.”

“That’s downright
charitable.”

“Charity is the
pure love of Christ,” the banker affirmed.

“Indeed,” James
demurred never comfortable with religious sentiment. “I’ll have the papers
drawn up tonight. How soon can we expect the funds?”

“We’ll wire them
in tranches of 10 billion, about 72 hours all together,” the Italian estimated.

“Excellent, we
starve them and you save their souls. A partnership made in heaven.”

The Dorchester Hotel, Mayfair, London,
17.22 GMT, November 16, 2016

Herbert Lewis read the intelligence report with great interest. The
steady stream of information provided by the Head Butler of the Private Club
proved invaluable. He now had a thick dossier with biographies on every member
of the Executive Committee of the Consortium. The fact that they had just
joined forces with the Vatican would cause no end of headaches for the new Pharaoh.
Herbert certainly hoped that was the case.

He had never
expected the hapless teenager to make it out of Dakar alive, let alone to his
coronation. It had been a mistake to allow Ethan to take over his position.
Nkosana’s death would have solved everything. As the last living member of the
dynasty and with the meddling Chief Mbaye out of the way, the Regency Council
would have turned to him to lead the organization out of the grave
institutional crisis. He would only be Regent but he was certain that the Gods
would eventually see the value of his leadership and appoint him as Pharaoh.

His best-laid
plans went up in smoke along with Chief Mbaye’s compound. Against all odds and
with the assistance of his former prison butt-buddy and the wetback Mexican,
the grandson made it to Egypt in one piece and it galled Herbert to no end when
protocol forced him to place the crown on his undeserving head. He should have
let him drown in that lake twelve years ago.

Herbert stopped in
London on his way back to the United States, ostensibly to supervise the effort
to discover the head of the Consortium. He had just sent a dispatch telling the
Pharaoh that the identity of the leader still eluded his team of investigators.

Tomorrow, he would
return to Philadelphia but first he had an appointment with Lord Dunveran over
dinner to discuss how he might help them achieve their goals and how much it
would cost them now that they were flush again. He reserved a private room at
an East End restaurant far from the prying eyes of the butler. His betrayal of
the Pharaoh wouldn’t affect his appetite. Eventually the Gods would understand
the error of leaving the fate of humankind in the hands of a teenager too young
even to vote. It was time for a palace coup. Nkosana would never make it to
Timbuktu alive.

TO BE CONTINUED IN

THE WEIGHT OF ALL EVIL