Amity 5 CataclysmChapter 22 Outposts
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London, England. July 2003.
" ... and then Britney Spears dropped her pants!" the fop in the tan suit declared. "Can you believe it? I actually saw her in public, and she dropped her pants!"
"Excuse me, Mr. Shaw," the man walking next to him said with a growl as they exited Heathrow Airport's main terminal. "Please shut your mouth."
"Mr. Shaw? Doug, we've known each other for almost a day now. I was hoping you'd call me Dave."
"Okay. Dave." Doug Ramsay frowned and adjusted his glasses with his left hand's knuckles. He was a stocky pale-skinned man with thick light brown hair and rugged good looks. He wore dark blue jeans, a black button down shirt, and a tan hunting jacket. A navy blue rucksack was on his back, a green duffel bag was tucked over his left shoulder, and a large red suitcase was in his right hand. The blond fop, Dave Shaw, was also carrying several pieces of luggage. They both had just stepped off a flight to London from the United States.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, Dave..." Doug coughed to secure his companion's attention. "You have not shut up about celebrities and celebrity gossip since we met standing in line to get our boarding passes. I cringed when I found out we were sitting together on the same plane. Almost seven waking hours in the air, and you have barely paused to take a breath! I get it. You like celebrities. I need you to please stop thrusting their foibles in my face!"
"Hey, I let you read your book, didn't I?"
Doug glanced at the novel he held in his left hand. "Yes, but it wasn't the most effective distraction."
"I'm sorry, okay? I thought you liked celebrities too. You were telling that tall beautiful girl who was with you at the ticket counter that you think they're 'legendary figures in the modern world'."
"I do think that, but there are limits. You jumped in on Cat's and my conversation all through security, and you've been rambling on about celebrities ever since. I've never met anyone so psychotic about them. Now that we're on the ground and outside this airport, I think it's time you and I went our separate ways."
"Okay," Dave said after a pause, "if you think that's the way it has to be. But you've told me almost nothing of yourself! For instance, what are you doing in my native London?"
Doug frowned, wondering how to reply. He disliked Dave, but he could not ignore any opportunity to secure a customer.
"Come on," Dave urged him. "You must have some reason for leaving that girl behind."
"Cat and I are just friends, Dave. It's not what you're thinking. We live very different lives." He wasn't about to add that Cat was a recently qualified Olympic athlete and he felt what little they had between them could never compete with that. If Dave found out Doug knew a celebrity, the fop would really go bananas.
"Why did you move here then?"
"In my life I have traveled the world and seen many cities. London is one of my favorites. I like the sense of camaraderie there is here, especially in the wake of a victory." It was the best response he could think up.
Dave grinned. "Oh. Are you a Manchester fan too?"
"Yeah, I love soccer. Football, I mean football." Doug saw Dave's open mouth and quickly corrected himself. "I also love the music and the theater. Whether it's the arts, sports, or more mundane victories like combat or business success, there's always some reason for celebrating here in London. I want to be a part of that by moving to the city and opening my own club."
"Oh? A gentlemen's club?"
"Only in that I expect all men who visit to act like gentlemen."
"A normal club, then. Will it be a disco?"
"No, a dance club. The disco era is over. I also plan for it to include a bar, restaurant, game area, and meeting rooms for the open-minded."
"Does that last part mean what I think it means?"
"Maybe," Doug said, shrugging. "You'll have to visit and find out."
"I believe I shall." Dave stuck a business card between the pages of Doug's novel. "There's my number. Call me when your club opens and I'll stop by."
"I'll do that," Doug replied, keeping his tone civil. "Bring your friends. You probably know more people in London than I do."
"Aye, I do. You sure you don't need my help opening your club? This town can be a tough environment for newcomers."
"Thanks but no thanks. I have some connections I'm meeting that should be of aid."
"Like that man over there?"
Doug looked and saw a black Rolls Royce idling at the curb among several taxis. A beefy pug-nosed man in khaki pants, a black sweatshirt, and a tan duster stood beside it holding a sign that bore Doug's name. He had a black Houston Astros cap tucked over his face. The man was being ignored by almost everyone around him, including airport security officers who had asked other people waiting in the area to move on.
"That's Elizabeth Swann sitting inside his car, if I'm not mistaken," Dave said. He leaned close over Doug's shoulder as Doug stared at the Rolls. "Do you know her?"
Doug turned his attention to the woman in the car's backseat. He could see her clearly through the lightly tinted windows. She was thin yet shapely in her white blouse and black felt coat. Small breasts sat high on her chest amid well-defined muscles. Long curly brown hair framed her angelic features and cool brown orbs stared back at him as her mouth twitched into a smile. Doug blinked his own blue eyes in recognition and found that all his frustration with talk about celebrities was suddenly gone. He turned and glared at Dave.
"Her name is Keira Knightley," he said. "I would use celebrities' real names when talking about them. Not the names of the characters they've made famous. Unless you want to piss people off."
Dave put his free hand on his chest. "Sorry. To repeat my question, do you know her?"
"Not yet," Doug answered, grinning. "I think I'm about to get to."
"Oh? Well, you're welcome to her. She's a bit too boyish in figure for my taste."
"You are blind if you cannot see that she's a beautiful woman. Farewell, Dave."
Dave gaped as Doug stepped away from him. "Fine, farewell!" He huffed a tantrum and walked toward another cab.
Thank goodness, Doug thought, glancing back at him. I thought I would never get rid of that guy! He struggled with his heavy luggage as he strode to the Rolls.
"Mr. Ramsay?" the cabbie asked in a Texas twang, noticing his approach. Doug nodded, and the man in the black cap stepped forward and took his suitcase. "Let me get those." Doug gave him a grateful expression and set his other bags down.
"Have you been waiting long?" he asked the cabbie, glancing again at the passenger who was still eyeing him.
"Not very long." The cabbie walked to the vehicle's trunk and opened it. He stowed Doug's bags as he continued to speak. "How was your flight? Did you have any trouble getting through customs?"
"No. The flight was great, except for my annoying seatmate. If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"
"Frank Martin." He punctuated the name with an odd hand gesture. "I'm to be your transporter."
Doug smiled and made a return gesture of his own. With these movements, both he and the cabbie told each other they were members of one of the world's most powerful and least known secret societies. It had been formed near the dawn of history, when a group that observed the human race's growing dominance over the planet decided they were in need of a guiding hand. The society sought to acquire and spread knowledge for mankind's benefit, and to promote and secure freedom and charity all over the globe. It did not have an official name, though when they had to call it something its members said 'the Friendship'.
"My transporter?" Doug asked Frank, smiling. "Are you the guy who inspired that action film I saw last year?"
"No," Frank said with a frown. "It's coincidence that I and that film's lead character share the same name and job." He offered his hand to Doug, who shook it. "I'm a transplant from Texas to London like you. I've lived here a number of years."
"Oh? Are you also a reverse Neil Gaiman?"
"If you mean a fantasy writer from America who now lives in England, then no, I'm not. I don't write, and even if I did I probably would not write fantasy. Thrillers are more my style."
"Mine too. I recently published my first."
"Yes, 'Faraway Reality'. I thought it a good first effort for a novelist. I hear you're working on the sequel."
"Yes." Among other things, Doug was an author who had recently caused a stir on international bestselling charts. His first novel had been hailed by critics for its detailed mix of the military thriller and science fiction genres. It was also praised by fans of Neil Gaiman, the popular fantasy author of such stories as 'Neverwhere' and 'American Gods'. This had pleased Doug, who counted Gaiman among the ranks of master writers he could admire but never join.
"I look forward to it." Frank released Doug's hand and gestured at the Rolls. "You'll have to sign my copy of your first book later. For now, your carriage awaits."
"Thank you," Doug said. He let Frank open the car's right rear door for him and then bowed to the woman seated inside. "Ma'am? I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've been personally introduced."
"We haven't," she said, her smile widening at his politeness. Doug could now see that she had very long firm legs clad in red denim. Her British accent was evident. "Keira Knightley."
Doug took her offered hand and kissed it. "I know. I've seen your films. 'Dr. Zhivago', 'Bend it like Beckham', and most recently 'Pirates of the Caribbean'. I think you're a very talented actress, even though you're only eighteen."
"I still have far to go," Keira agreed. "And you are Douglas El—"
"Ramsay, please," Doug cut in. "I'm using my Scottish clan name for professional purposes. I'm sure you can understand. May I sit beside you?"
"Of course." Keira scooted over to accommodate him. As Doug got in and buckled his safety belt, Frank closed the car door and took his place behind the wheel.
"Now as I was saying," Keira addressed Doug, "you are Douglas Ramsay. Twenty-four years old, adopted child of diplomats. You have lived in the United States, Taiwan, and Italy. Your stepfather was among the first official Italian trade representatives to the Republic of China on Taiwan and taught you much about international business. You graduated three years ago from the University of Texas at Austin with a bachelor's in history. Until recently, you were with the Travis County Sheriff's Department in Austin. Medal of Valor, top of your academy class."
"Your father must have given you quite the briefing on me." Keira's father, Will Knightley, was a prominent London actor and local leader of the Friendship.
"Yes. I'm your native guide. Father tells me you're to be a viceroy, like he is."
"That's correct," Doug said. 'Viceroy' was the title the Friendship used for the majority of its high-ranking members. "Are we going to meet your father?"
"Not yet," Keira replied with a sly grin. "He wants to see how you handle yourself on your own first. Frank and I will help you, but we're mainly advisers and observers."
"I see. Is that common with this program?" Doug was referring to a task the Friendship usually undertook on behalf of its up and coming leaders. Members of the society would seek out men and women of ability and help ensure that they rose to positions of influence around the world. These positions were usually in accordance with the individuals' talents and dreams. Neil Gaiman and other artists had benefitted from the program, and so had many politicians, businesspeople, and celebrities. A member offered the program to anyone they noticed displaying talent and devotion to the Friendship's ideals. Doug had accepted such an offer from his stepfather after a few years in the society's ranks.
"It's very common. We like to test our viceroys and make sure the qualities they have are what they seem. Your initiators noted you for intelligence, attention to detail, and imagination. They also said you were a man of honor. Did you develop that during your time as a cop?"
"I like to see myself as a modern knight," Doug replied. He looked at Frank, who was pulling out into traffic, and then turned back to Keira. "Don Quixote and windmills, the whole nine yards. All my life I've tried to live with honor. Sometimes I've strayed from the path, but I always come back. I became a law enforcement officer to secure myself on honor's road, in a life that gave benefit to others. I also developed much skill at physical and verbal combat. I regret I could only take the constant stress of the job for two years. I have great respect for those who continue to work as police officers today."
"As do I." Keira gave him another smile. "Now you're going to be an entertainment mogul?"
"Yes. It's always been my dream to open my own nightclub. I thought of a Las Vegas casino at first, but that seemed too far from the gentleman's path. A dance club in Soho should do me better."
"I hear you also plan to include a pub and game area in the business. Rooms for private meetings too, and a swingers' haven. I would be very interested in that."
"Oh, you would?" Doug raised his eyebrows at Keira's suggestive look.
"Yes," Keira confirmed, grinning. "My family has long been active in the lifestyle. A lot of theater people are."
"That's interesting," Doug replied. His own family members were not swingers. Some of his peers at the Taipei School for International Children had introduced him to that sexually active lifestyle. These friends were from Holland, Japan, Australia, and other nations where the lifestyle had a firm existence on society's fringe.
I'm not as involved in swinging as they were, Doug reflected. I probably never will be. Still, I do enjoy it. "What about you, Frank? Will you visit my club?"
"Yes," the cabbie replied, "but not for the purposes you're discussing. I am faithful to my wife."
"I respect the sanctity of marriage too," Doug said, chuckling. "As much as its participants do, anyway." He looked at Keira. "I must confess that I'm surprised you're the one showing me around London. You must have a very full schedule as the rising young actress that you are."
"Not so much that I can't take time off now and then." Keira crossed her legs and leaned against the door on her side of the backseat. "Father tells me that you dream of celebrities frequenting your club. I thought you should get to know one."
"I'm pleased. In particular that the celebrity is you."
She batted her eyes. "Are you flirting with me?"
Doug put a hand on his heart. "Is it obvious? Forgive me if it's unwelcome. I'm always captivated by your presence on screen."
Keira laughed and put her hand on his. "Be at ease. Your flirting is very welcome. I think you are a nice man whom I might enjoy getting to know." She released his hand. "However, I also believe we should keep our relationship a business one in the beginning."
"Business," Doug repeated. "Very well."
Keira looked at the novel he held. "I notice we share similar tastes in literature. Are you enjoying reading about Duchess Georgiana of Devonshire?"
"Very much," Doug said. He looked at his book, a biography of the historical noblewoman by Amanda Foreman, and then back at Keira. "You know, she reminds me of you. I can see you playing her on screen one of these days."
"Really?" Keira's eyes lit up. "I would love to play her, on stage or in a movie. Georgiana has been one of my primary life influences. She was a very bold intelligent woman."
"Indeed. She was also a beneficiary of the program of which I'm taking advantage."
"Many historical figures have been," Keira agreed. "Da Vinci and other visionaries, your nation's forefathers, and several of my nation's kings and queens."
"Not all of them have been good people, though. There was that Austrian painter."
"Yes." Keira frowned. "Also a certain short Frenchman, a few deplorable Roman emperors, and a cowboy president who as we speak is continuing to plunge your nation into an unpopular war."
"George Bush Jr. isn't as bad as the other examples you gave," Doug defended his fellow Texan. "I believe history may be quicker to undo his damage."
"We'll see. You make a valid point, though. Our society has made its share of mistakes."
"There have also been those who achieved greatness without any direct knowing benefit of our influence," Frank added. "Most of history's religion founders, if I'm not mistaken. Also both President Roosevelts, Stalin, Churchill, Genghis Khan, and entertainers whose ranks include Walt Disney, P.T. Barnum, and the Beatles."
"Well, I'm not any of those people," Doug replied. "I take advantage of opportunities as I see fit, if I believe they can help me. I'm not a mistake either, as I will soon prove."
"I hope so," Keira said. "As your advisers, both Frank and I will be looked upon poorly should you turn out to be a problem."
"You'll be a small one if you do," Frank chimed in when Doug looked his way. "One easy to eliminate, unlike the examples you and Keira quoted. I hope you know that."
"I'm well aware. I assure you both that it is not my goal to cause trouble for the Friendship. I wish to benefit our aims by creating and maintaining a place of refuge and freedom, a sanctuary for culture and art." Doug held up his book. "Georgiana of Devonshire enjoyed such a place in the city of Bath quite often during her lifetime. I wish to create a similar place in London. I know my business will not be alone in its aims, but it will be unique."
"There can never be enough places like that in the world," Keira proclaimed, beaming. "It will be my pleasure to help you establish another."
"Mine as well," Frank agreed.
"Good," Doug thanked them. He looked out the car window at London. They were atop a freeway overpass that exited the airport with a panoramic view of the city spread out beneath. "I believe first I will need some money."
"Your novel has made you a millionaire," Keira reminded him. "My father also approved your no-interest loan."
"Good." The Friendship has never lacked for finances, Doug reflected with a smile. I suppose that's easy when your main bases include the Himalaya Mountains and Amazon jungles' hidden cities of gold.
"You'll need contacts also," Frank told him. "I don't know how much you're familiar with the entertainment business."
"I apprenticed with Clifford Antone for six months after I left law enforcement. He's the founder of a well-known club in Austin and mentored several famous musicians. He's also a viceroy. I think he taught me most of what I need to know. The rest I can learn as I go with other people's help."
"You're not lacking in confidence," Keira said. "I also notice you speak with an English accent."
"It's to correct a speech impediment," Doug replied, blushing.
"It works very well."
"Thanks." Doug again looked over the city below them. "I chose Soho for my club because it's one of the primary areas in London for arts and entertainment. That's it over there, right?"
Keira nodded in response to his gesture. "Yes. Father located a building that meets your specifications. Eleven stories, sturdy construction, and right across the street from that monument you described. Any particular reason why you wanted a location near it?"
"I want to attract the attention of the parties honored by that monument," Doug answered. "There's a clan of their kind in Austin who were my allies during my days in college and law enforcement. I think such creatures will be useful to me again here."
"I see," Keira said. "You'll be pleased to know I'm already acquainted with the clan. They're very active in London's theater industry."
"I'm not surprised. They use the same cover in Austin at Esther's Follies, the Paramount, and other theaters known for their dramatic shows. Do they also protect your city?"
"Of course. They patrol London every night to counter street crime. I'm sure they'll have no trouble making friends with you."
"There's just one problem," Frank said.
"Oh?" Doug raised his eyebrows. "What's that?"
"The current owner of the building. Are you familiar with the slums of London's East End and the people who control them?"
"Yes. Mob bosses." Doug looked confused. "Soho is West End, though."
"Well, many East End crime figures also conduct business and own property in other parts of London. This building is an example. Its current primary use is an apartment complex and warehouse for a small time but very dangerous East End gang boss. He's a Belgian who goes by the alias 'Lord Jim Kurtz'."
Doug blinked at the name. "Is he an admirer of the great writer Joseph Conrad?"
"Yes. He conducts most of his business out of a tiny pub in the East End named Conrad's. His gang is active in the local smuggling, gambling, and protection rackets. Kurtz is a user, a slumlord who takes advantage of all he can and rarely if ever lets an asset go."
"Ah. Well, I would think the Friendship has enough money to buy this building from him."
"We do," Keira said. "Father offered to purchase it three days ago on your behalf and Kurtz accepted the sum. However, he is not willing to hand over the building unless its new manager defeats him in a formal challenge. Kurtz is an old-fashioned admirer of medieval combat, you see, much like yourself."
"He wants a duel?" Doug asked, laughing. "Man to man?"
Frank shook his head as they came off the overpass. "More like gang to gang. Viceroy Knightley informed Kurtz of your plans for his property. Kurtz wants to know if you can command others as well as he can, well enough to defeat him in a fight."
Doug grimaced. "Oh boy."
"Don't count on London's clan for help if that's what you're thinking," said Keira. "They are experienced with battling Kurtz's gang, but not with you as a leader. You will have to be the leader of your side in the battle. Kurtz will not have it any other way."
Doug nodded at her words, considering ideas. "How big a gang we talking about here?"
"Around two hundred or so," Frank replied. "Nothing too large."
Doug gaped.
"You're not scared, are you?" Keira asked him. "For sure you dealt with men like Kurtz during your days in law enforcement?"
"Yes," Doug replied, "but such dealings never were pleasant." They never involved so large a gang either, he added to himself. "I don't suppose I can count on the local police for help with this?"
"No," Frank said. "They won't interfere in your dealings with Kurtz, but they won't aid your side or his. That was the best our society's and Kurtz's influence could secure."
"I probably should have figured that. Do I have any allies I can count on in this city at all, besides you two?"
"I have a recommendation," Keira answered. "There are some people my father contacted after Kurtz made his demands. Father told them about the situation and intrigued them. These people are former military, law enforcement, and diplomatic protection. Until recently, they were all members of an international counter-terrorism response force under the authority of the United Nations."
"Really? What are they doing now?"
"They're retired and working menial service industry jobs throughout Soho." Keira smiled. "Father thought they might make good employees for your club."
"Let me guess. They've all already been interviewed and hired." Doug wondered how many beneficiaries of the Friendship's status guarantee program were given such associates. "Pending my approval of them and theirs of me."
"Correct. Father is aware you wish to proceed quickly in resolving this situation. He has high hopes for you. He has asked your employees to assemble tomorrow night at the building which will become your club."
"Oh? Kurtz is allowing us to set up there?"
"The challenged person picks the venue," replied Frank. "Would you prefer someplace else?"
"No," Doug said after a pause. "However, there is one concern I have. If these people are like most I've known with their experience, they will not respect me at our first meeting."
"Indeed," Keira concurred. "That is why I took the liberty of asking them if there was any person who had led them who was as available as they are. Someone they would at once respect and follow again."
Doug beamed at her with pride. "And?"
"They all named the same person. A former South African special forces officer who they knew as a squad leader in their response force. Some of them served under him, while others supported him from outside the field. The man is highly decorated and only four years older than you are. He has led joint international military operations against terrorists on every continent. His final mission took place last year, and unlike most of the others, it ended in serious disgrace. Because of that disgrace, neither he nor many of those connected to him were able to serve in their response force any longer. None of it was his fault, understand, but —"
"I get it," Doug interrupted Keira. "Police work is unfortunately often the same way. What's this man's name?"
"Clarke, real name —"
"Did you say Clarke?"
"Yes." Keira glared at him. "Is his name familiar?"
"It is," Doug affirmed. "I've heard of him. He's known by his first name in military and law enforcement circles all over the world. Are you familiar with Tom Clancy's 'Jack Ryan' novels?"
"Yes, but what do those books have to do with this?"
"Jack Ryan is one of my idols as a historian. One of his most valuable allies is also a man named Clark. This has to be some kind of sign."
Keira crossed her arms. "I'm going to ignore your conceit that you're living in a world influenced by popular literature. I will also remind you that this Clarke is not your ally yet."
"Right. What's he doing these days?"
"He took his disgrace harder than most of his fellow response force members," Frank answered. "He's become an alcoholic. Until a few weeks ago, he was earning money as an illegal prizefighter. He feels that with his disgrace he can no longer hold down a legitimate job."
"How the mighty have fallen," Doug said with a sigh. "Do you know where we can find him?"
Keira nodded. "We're headed there right now."
They traveled for another hour, discussing further Doug's plans and those whom he hoped would soon be his allies. The young viceroy was fatigued from his journey to London, but he wanted to meet Clarke before checking in to his hotel.
Best to establish myself strong and fast in the eyes of the Friendship members here in London, Doug thought. Especially Keira. I long greatly for her admiration. Beautiful talented women are a constant presence in my life, but I always welcome more. Clarke also would be a great asset to me. One can never know too many warriors of renown.
He looked at the wooden building Frank had stopped in front of, a rundown London pub called 'The Crimson Boar's Head'. It was obvious at first glance that it was a dive, a haunt for the poor in spirit. It was an old building that looked about to collapse and had probably been in such a state for many years. "You're sure Clarke is here?"
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