Mad Powers (Tapped In) (28 page)

“David, Carl … I’m sorry to interrupt the party, but what I’m about to say cannot wait.” Leon glanced around the table and one of the men nodded for him to continue. “The world as we know it has changed. As of Monday morning, when the U.S. markets, Wall Street, resume trading, a new financial order will have begun.”

“Does this have to do with the FCC halting trading on the NY Stock Exchange?”

“It does, David. I’m going to say some things here that might come across as grandiose—perhaps come up against your patriotic loyalties.”

“Go on, I said.”

“Things must change for this world to survive. Corporate greed will lead us to destruction. Climate change, starvation, sickness, petty wars, terrorism … hell, the threat of total nuclear annihilation … the list goes on and on. The world’s misdirection simply cannot continue on its present trajectory.”

“The world is a messy place,” I said, “but there’s nothing new about that.”

“I’d like to talk to you about the WZZ. Think of it as the new 
Economic
 
United Nations
. A group of like-minded individuals joined together—united, above an allegiance or patriotism toward country; above any corporate interests of loyalty; above all self-serving predications … I’m sure you know the top one percent of the world’s wealth is controlled by a very few individuals. So imagine what will be accomplished when all the financial resources of the world are no longer competing, at odds with one another.”

“That does sound somewhat grandiose, Leon,” I said. It also sounded utopian, and more than a little crazy, but I kept that to myself.

“On the contrary, David, not so grandiose at all ... Remove from mankind his inclination to invade neighboring territories—going to war for perceived slights, or wanting to control other factions, which often deprive the weakest of the barest necessities … and life on this planet has a good chance of surviving.”

“What makes you think others will go along with your … ideals?”

“That’s the beauty of it, David. At this point, a chain of events, which will alter civilization forever, has already been triggered.”

I fought to keep an expression of interest. In reality, I was finding his comments ridiculous.

“It’s all legal—I assure you,” Leon said

With the tap of a few keys on the laptop before him, the glass wall turned white and totally opaque. A moving graphic took shape. Thousands upon thousands of colorful particles shimmered and moved. Groupings, like tiny schools of fish or flocks of birds, darted together one way and then another. Spirals of movement broke off, forming their own clusters, then rejoined the mass of particles again. Whatever we were looking at seemed to be alive, have a consciousness.

“In the span of a nano-second, thousands upon thousands of shares are sold across multiple markets. About ten years ago, a man named Spatz, someone a lot smarter than me, and evidently smarter than anyone else, discovered something called 
micro-tides
.” Leon gestured toward the moving tides of particles on the glass wall. “Only by observing massive amounts of economic data, with the help of tethered supercomputers, can these economic 
micro-tides
 not only be tracked, but manipulated. Shares are sold or bought in waves—bulk transactions that manipulate pricing, and values change ownership in a flash. What you’re looking at, these moving clusters, are the world’s largest corporations. Shares of publicly held companies, like Google, Microsoft, Exxon Mobil, can be acquired in vast amounts before they know what is happening. 
Micro-tides
 are quantifiable mathematical algorithms. With this tool, the WZZ now yields the most powerful financial advantage ever devised. David, this proprietary program, one we call Spatz, is changing world economics even as we sit here.”

I was speechless. I looked over at Carl and he had an expression of resignation. He had known for weeks about the WZZ, their pursuit of monetary control, and the devastation they’d bring worldwide to all financial markets’ status quo. And like so many other CEOs, executives, across the globe today, it was either join the WZZ or watch your own personal wealth disappear.

“This is most impressive, Leon. Your WZZ has found a way to influence the purchase of public corporations—to buy up any and all available shares, and, if necessary, maybe even go after majority shareholders to take control. So what is it you want from me, Leon? My company is privately held—not really something the WZZ would take notice of.”

“Rest assured, our intentions are not to go after your company in a hostile manner. No, I’m not looking to ravage your company. On the contrary, I’m looking to bolster your company’s business by a factor of ten. By partnering, becoming a member of the WZZ, the rewards will be staggering. Simply put, David, capitalistic ideals of the past are no longer viable. Join us, as Carl has, and hundreds of others, and together we’ll make history.”

I looked around the table. Carl and the other two men appeared mentally and emotionally exhausted, defeated—prepared to do anything to hold onto a lifestyle they’d worked for, invested in, grown accustomed to.

“You’ve provided some interesting, dynamic concepts here, Leon. I hope you’re not expecting an answer right this minute. A lot to think about,” I said. I smiled approvingly at him but the truth was, I was angry with what Leon and his WZZ were doing, not only to the men in this room, but others like them, worldwide.

Leon smiled sympathetically. He got to his feet; apparently our impromptu meeting was over. “I certainly didn’t expect a definitive answer here and now. But I have the whole weekend to work on you, right? Please don’t let our little discussion derail the party going on downstairs and our plans for the weekend.”

I looked at him quizzically, as the rest of us rose.

“Oh, Heidi hasn’t told you yet? You and Pamela, as well as some others, are staying as our guests for the weekend. Heidi has big plans for us to get to know each other better by spending some quality time together.”

Chapter 43

As soon as Baltimore entered the assembly hall he was greeted by two of the largest men he’d ever seen. Blond and blue eyed, thick and strong looking, they could have been brothers. They both held pistols pointed toward his heart.

Baltimore was relieved of the handgun he’d taken from the guard on the stairs. His wrists were pulled behind his back and secured with plasticuffs.

He was shoved down onto a chair. “Nicht bewegen und ruhig lagern,”
Do not move and keep quiet
, one of the guards said.

Baltimore sat for close to an hour before Goertz entered the hall. He moved to a raised dais at the front of the room and sat down.

“As you undoubtedly know, my name is Leon Goertz. These are my employees, Heimi and Lance.”

Baltimore didn’t respond.

“Who are you?” Leon asked.

“I’m the bartender.”

Leon smiled and studied Baltimore for several moments, then nodded toward Heimi. Heimi moved from Baltimore’s side to his front. He punched Baltimore in the face with enough force to knock him out of his chair. Heimi and Lance each grabbed an arm and repositioned him back onto his seat.

“One more time, who are you? Who do you work for?” Leon asked.

Baltimore tasted blood at the corner of his mouth. He shrugged and smiled back at Leon. With his hands still bound behind his back, he also took this time to administer a combination of depressions onto his own multi-sided wedding band. He’d just transmitted that his cover was blown—he’d been apprehended.

Baltimore looked up at Goertz and spoke very quietly. “I’m going to plant my forehead into the middle of your nose.”

Not hearing and not understanding, Leon leaned in closer, while keeping his distance. “Don’t you fuck with me, Mister. What did you just say?”

Baltimore looked to be on the verge of unconsciousness, and mumbled again: “I said, I’m going to plant my forehead into the middle of your nose.”

Leon’s temper was already boiling over. “He gestured for the two giant-sized guards to hold him, while he moved in somewhat closer.

Baltimore saw the split-second opening and made his move. He sprang, pulling the chair right along with him. As promised, Baltimore drove his forehead into Leon Goertz’s face—but missed his nose. He landed a solid blow squarely onto Leon’s left cheekbone. Skin tore and blood sprayed into the air as Leon staggered awkwardly backward.

“Sie dreckig ficken!”
You dirty fuck!
Goertz bellowed.

Lance and Heimi nervously manhandled Baltimore back onto his chair.

Fists hammered Baltimore’s face, taking him to the verge of losing consciousness.

Leon stood, wiping at his cheek with a bloodied handkerchief. “Take him to the chamber. Strip him and prepare him for tonight’s ritual.”

Heimi and Lance brought Baltimore to his feet and half-walked, half-dragged him toward the door. Leon turned and said, “We have many years of practice in the ways of procuring information. Rest assured, we won’t be waterboarding you here, Mr. Bartender. Heimi and Lance enjoy their work. They take pleasure in a job well done. Unfortunately for you, that will entail a substantial amount of disfigurement. You need to prepare yourself for that, young man.” Leon exited the room through a different door than the one Heimi, Lance, and Baltimore used.

Back in the corridor, Baltimore was ushered down another long flight of stairs, a hundred feet below the castle grounds. Everything here was ancient stonework; ornate pillars and archways led in multiple directions. Like the catacombs of ancient Rome, the place was immense and more than a little creepy. Flames in gas lanterns flickered but provided little real light.
It
would be easy to get lost down here
, Baltimore thought.

It was the smell that alerted him first. This must be what Leon had referred to as the chamber. Rank body odor, feces, and a smell Baltimore was well acquainted with—decomposing flesh. It was a circular chamber, with fifty or more prison-type jail cells around the outer perimeter. In the center of the room stood a massive wooden table, along with a stone fireplace, where red-hot embers glowed brightly, adding to an already hellish atmosphere. The heat emitted from the fireplace felt like a blast furnace.

An elderly man, with long white hair and wearing nothing more than rags, turned to see Baltimore and the guards approach. He stoked the fire with a couple of quick jabs from an iron rod, then gestured toward one of the cells.

Heimi and Lance dropped Baltimore onto a cobblestone floor within the empty cell. Approximately ten by ten, there wasn’t much to it: a wooden frame with a blanket on it in one corner, strewn hay lay on the floor and a metal bucket that clearly hadn’t been emptied since its previous occupant.

“Isolieren Sie ihn nach unten,”
Strip him down,
Heimi said to the old man.

Both Heimi and Lance pointed their guns at Baltimore while the old man methodically removed Baltimore’s shoes, socks, pants, shirt and underwear. The old man eyed Baltimore’s ring, spat something unintelligible, then smiled a toothless grin. With one more glance the old man scurried out.

Lance followed him out and walked over to the fireplace. Several moments later, Lance was back and holding the red-hot iron poker. Baltimore backed away as Lance came nearer. With his back against the wall, Baltimore looked for something, anything, he could use as a weapon. Both Lance and Heimi were smiling, clearly enjoying themselves. The still-glowing point of the poker drew ever closer, now less than a foot from Baltimore’s face.

“Wer arbeiten Sie?”
Who do you work for?
Heimi said in a calm, almost friendly voice.

Baltimore had his hands up, ready to grab the metal rod as soon as it got any closer. In a quick movement, Lance lowered the rod and drove it deep into Baltimore’s upper thigh, inches from his private parts.

“Sie verpasst haben, Lance,”
You missed, Lance
, Heimi said, with an abrupt laugh.

Baltimore fell to his knees, holding his damaged leg. The smell of burnt flesh and hair brought bile to the back of Baltimore’s throat. Gasping through the pain, Baltimore readied himself for the next strike—for more pain. But Lance and Heimi were already out of the cell, locking it behind them. Lance tossed the metal poker back into the fire.

“We see you soon,” Heimi said in broken English. Together the two giant men left.

Baltimore continued to sit on the floor, his hand gently resting on his upper thigh.

“What did they do to you?” came a soft voice from across the chamber.

Baltimore moved his head so he could see around the legs of the wooden table in the center of the room. In the cell directly across from his own, stood a small, bald-headed man of Indian descent. He wore wire-rimmed glasses with one lens cracked.

“They jabbed me with that hot poker,” Baltimore answered.

“I’m sorry,” the man said.

“Not your fault.”

“Sorry just the same. My name is Horris.”

“You can call me Curt,” Baltimore said. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know, maybe a year.”

Baltimore let that sink in for a moment. The thought of being incarcerated here, along with Heimi and Lance, was sobering.

“Why are you here? What do they want from you?”

“They want my mind. I’m a programmer.”

Then it hit Baltimore. Of course, he’s Horris … Horris Spatz.

Chapter 44

At least we knew Baltimore was still alive. Pippa and I received the same momentary flutter of two, and then three distinct vibrations emanating from our wedding bands. Just one more capability our SIFTR rings possessed. There were a variety of the rings’ Morse code-like signals we’d memorized before arriving in Germany.

I watched Pippa as she sat on the bed appraising the room. The party had wound down about an hour earlier and we were shown to our room by the same hostess, Melinda, whom we’d met earlier. More like a luxury suite, the accommodations included a bedroom, sitting room with television, small kitchenette, and opulent his and hers bathrooms.

I opened a set of French doors and walked out onto a small balcony. The last of the tables and chairs were being trucked away from the courtyard, four stories below.