REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES (26 page)

Looking down from Flight SKR
147, the Sky Runner service from Salvador to London, Érica Santos
could see her tropical home city disappearing in the distance. The
forward thrust of the engines sent the space-plane hurtling towards
orbit at Mach 5.4, but the passengers hardly noticed the force of
the acceleration upon their bodies thanks to the G-Stabilizer
technology that dampened the physical effects of the launch and
allowed the passengers to relax as if nothing out of the ordinary
were happening. The view that Érica could see out of her window
wasn’t a true image but a slowed down holographic image, for
experiencing physically or even visually the true speed of the
aircraft would likely cause severe nausea and probable vomiting; an
effect that nobody would wish to suffer or see in such a confined
space. The introduction of the holographic windows coupled with the
G-Stabilizer system had solved that problem, turning what had been
quite a harrowing passenger experience into a very pleasant two
hour trip.

All Sky Runner flights were
first class. The technology had cost a lot of money to develop and
to subsequently introduce into commercial service and costs had to
be recouped somehow. The aircraft interior was more like a high end
hotel, with passengers not being placed side by side in rows of
seats, but instead having a small but comfortably functional room
of their own, complete with en-suite bathroom facilities. To the
casual observer, who could never imagine having the money to spend
on such a frivolous luxury, flying by Sky Runner seemed the height
of debauchery, an unnecessary extravagance, but the kind of people
who could afford to travel in such a way didn’t see it as such,
most of them being high-ranking members of the ruling party of
their home countries and thus part of the network of the
Illuminati.

The Illuminati rewarded its
partners (it considered the use of the term employee to be
counter-productive and found that its staff reacted much more
favourably when referred to as partners) very well indeed. At the
levels below the Council of Thirteen Families, The Order was a
meritocracy and everyone was encouraged to better themselves and
advance through the ranks as far as possible. However, there wasn’t
just a glass ceiling in place within the top tiers of the
organizational hierarchy, it was more of a thick lead ceiling.
Nobody outside of the thirteen ruling families or their respective
ruling councils was aware of the true strategic ambitions of the
upper echelon; they just knew that their alliance with the
Illuminati provided them with a lifestyle that the average person
could only ever dream about.

It was the first time that
the Pindar had been born into one of the more successful member
families of his organisation, and he had thoroughly enjoyed the
experience. So many times he had been reincarnated into normal
working professional families which had provided him with just a
comfortable life. He knew that his parents always did their best
for him, providing him with the best education and conditions that
they could afford – and he appreciated their efforts – but this was
the first time that he hadn’t had to take a significant drop in
quality of life at his rebirth. Ana Lucia and Roberto, Érica’s
parents had had a meteoric rise through the Brazilian political
system, Roberto rising from his position as judge to becoming the
Minister of Justice for the entire country. This had been achieved
by knowing the right people, and making judgments that were highly
favourable to the objectives of the Illuminati; in return he had
received extremely high financial compensation, compensation that
some might consider to be bribes.

Érica had wanted for nothing
as a child and it was no surprise that, when she told her parents
that she wanted to study English in England, they insisted that she
should travel in the fastest and most luxurious manner available.
And so here she was, in her own small but very comfortable room on
the state-of-the-art Sky Runner spaceplane.

The two hour journey from
Salvador to London passed very quickly. Like any adolescent for the
last sixty or so years Érica was mesmerized by social networking
and, like most of the developed planet, she had an account with the
latest online social network, HoloMeet. This global application
allowed its users to have face-to-face encounters and conversations
with hologram projections of other members. If you didn’t have a
HoloMeet account you were considered a technophobe and suffered the
social stigma that accompanied the label. Even so, Érica guarded
her true identity diligently; it was important that she shouldn’t
show her hand too early. Nobody could know the intentions of the
soul that inhabited the young Brazilian woman who was now on her
way to reclaim her rightful position at the pinnacle of the
Illuminati hierarchy. Not even her parents. She had no idea how
they would have reacted had she told them that their daughter was
actually the reincarnation of the Pindar, that she was the head of
the global organisation that had provided them with such a
financially rewarding lifestyle. She was, in fact, her parents’
boss. Perhaps surprisingly, Recarns nearly always developed a
strong emotional bond with their parents and Érica was no
different. She loved her parents and didn’t want to do anything
that could hurt their feelings, so there was no way she could have
divulged who she really was. It would have no doubt destroyed their
relationship. They had been both excellent parents to her and
excellent servants to the Illuminati. But now was the time to cut
loose those emotional ties and reclaim her rightful position as
head of The Order.

She felt secure that there
would be no problem. She was sure that she had left the
organisation in good hands when she had appointed Thomas McCall as
her interim successor. Although she had limited access to what was
going on within her organisation, what she had heard through a very
elite grapevine wasn’t giving her cause for major concern. Thomas
must now be approaching his eighties and in the twilight of his
life. He must be ready for a rest, just as Nathan had been when he
self-terminated and his soul took over Érica’s body.

The gentle chimes of the
intercom interrupted her chain of thought.

“Would passengers please
take their seats, flight SKR 147 will be landing at London Heathrow
in five minutes. There is no need to use the safety belts as the
G-Stabilizer system will compensate for the reduction in speed and
you will experience a sensation no stronger than an elevator
stopping. Thank you for flying with Sky Runner Airlines and we hope
that you have enjoyed the last two hours in our
company.”

Érica sat down in the
armchair and relaxed as the space-plane descended rapidly and
touched down on the tarmac of the dedicated Sky Runner runway,
before taxiing to the Sky Runner terminal building.

The spaceplane had only
fifty passengers, so it wasn’t long before Érica was at Immigration
Control. She stood on the assigned mark on the floor whilst her DNA
and fingerprints were automatically matched to the international
traveller’s database, allowing her to enter the United Kingdom.
After passing successfully through immigration control she went to
the VIP arrivals lounge to wait for her baggage to be brought to
her.

Once her baggage had been
reunited with her, Érica was met by a company driver who would take
her to her accommodation.

The apartment that her parents
had rented for her was befitting someone of her social standing. It
was spacious, lavishly decorated, and she had two maids that had
been sent from Brazil – economy class of course – to attend to her
every whim. A team of three security men meant that she was never
alone. This was the main problem that Érica would have to overcome;
getting past her own security guards. It would not be easy. She’d
have to plan it like a military operation. However, if necessary,
that could wait for a day or two. She had to see the three security
men and make a
judgement
as to who she
thought was the weakest link. She had spent various lives as a
woman and knew pretty much every trick in the book when it came to
dealing with the male of the species.

The next day, although she
had staff to attend to her every whim, she allowed her cook to take
the morning off, saying that she wanted to do a little cooking
herself. Of course this was a lie – she hated cooking – but this
would mean that there would be one less witness to her escape. She
hunted through the kitchen cupboards and found the most difficult
jar to open. Preparing the kitchen to look like she was in middle
of preparing a meal, she sliced a few carrots and placed them on a
small plate, alongside a very sharp Santoku knife. She spread
various ingredients in dishes around the work-surface of the
kitchen, leaving the knife easily accessible. The jar that she had
chosen was a mayonnaise jar, whose lid was indeed impossible for
her to remove by hand. She pulled her blouse open a little to show
the beginnings of her cleavage and walked towards the front door of
the apartment, knowing that there was a security guard by the name
of Craig posted outside. She opened the door and saw Craig standing
there, alert to react to the slightest threat.

“Craig? Could you help me
please? I have a jar that I can’t open. I need the help of a big,
strong man.”

“Sorry miss, I can’t leave
my post. Not even for you.”

“I’ll bring it to you shall
I? It’ll only take a few seconds.”

“If you could, miss. That’d
be better.”

This wasn’t quite how she
had imagined her plan going, but it was only a very small hitch.
She had hoped to draw Craig into the kitchen, but it wasn’t
obligatory to her escape plan. She checked her watch. Her unwitting
accomplices should be at the front of the building now. Earlier,
she had arranged for two private security men – men not employed by
her father – to escort her from the apartment and take her to a
destination of her choice in an SUV with dark tinted windows. The
windows had to be dark enough that nobody could see inside the van.
It had seemed a strangely specific request but the receptionist at
the private security firm that Érica had called, had assured her
that their employees would be very punctual and bring with them a
luxury SUV exactly as she had requested.

Èrica, placed a pre-packed
overnight bag just inside the entrance door and went back to the
kitchen to fetch the offending jar. She returned to where Craig was
waiting, the mayonnaise jar in her left hand and gripping the
Sokotu knife with her right hand, hidden behind her back. She
handed the jar to Craig and the security man did what anyone would
have done – he held the jar tightly with one hand and attempted to
loosen the lid with the other. His hands thus occupied in fighting
the forces of physics, his grimace of effort suddenly changed to an
expression of incredulity. Why had Érica drawn the blade of a knife
across his throat, slicing into his windpipe? Why was he slumping
to the floor, blood pumping from a fatal wound? He would never know
the answer; not in this lifetime, anyway.

Érica took off the kitchen
gloves that had served the dual purpose of corroborating the
impression that she had been cooking and protected her from leaving
fingerprints upon the knife, and tossed them inside the overnight
bag. She scooped up the bag and left the room, closing the door
lightly behind her, so as not to attract attention, before making
her way down to the lobby, acting as if nothing had happened. The
building concierge smiled at her and wished her a pleasant day as
she walked casually out of the building, returning his smile. Her
escorts were waiting for her outside the building, just as she
planned, and she skipped effortlessly through the open side door
and settled herself down on a sumptuously comfortable synthetic
fur-lined seat. As the van pulled away into the morning traffic,
Érica felt a pang of regret at having left her birth-parents in
such a way, without so much as a by-your-leave, but her destiny was
far too important to worry about social niceties.

Érica had many contacts
inside The Order. Indeed, why would she not have – she had been
Pindar for nearly three centuries and holding that position for so
long brought with it much loyalty. She had been forced by the laws
of nature to take her enforced sabbaticals but had always been able
to count upon her elite corps of bodyguards to ease her passage
back to her rightful place at the head of the Illuminati. She made
her way to the palatial building that housed the upper echelons of
The Order and was met outside by her most trusted people, those who
had the task of facilitating her access. She gave them the
combination of passwords – three of her most trusted officers had
each locked in their memories a distinct part of the password –
and, once identified, she was free to enter the building. These
duties performed by these bodyguards had been passed down from
father to son for generations, and their allegiance was
unquestionable. This is how she had reclaimed her throne for
centuries, through a combination of fierce loyalty and
fear.

Duty rosters had been
changed and personnel had been rotated so that she would not meet
any obstacles as she made her way to the Pindar’s office. Only
those faithful to her cause manned the various checkpoints that
were dotted along the corridors. She stopped occasionally to talk
to people she recognised, much as a king or queen does when on a
walkabout among her people. Everybody was pleased to see her and
told her how much they were looking forward to her taking control
of the organisation once again.