The First Book of the Pure (25 page)

“Kenneth, you’re a reporter. I don’t expect
you could keep quiet about this story. Oh yes, you get to leave all
right. I haven’t any more time, during this crisis, to spend with
you, and I can hardly just let you walk away. You know entirely too
much about me.” With that he reached his left arm out, lifted
Kenneth to his feet, and battered his face from side to side with
his right fist. Teeth and blood flew, and Kenneth tried to scream.
Karl gave him a furious blow to his stomach, ending all attempts at
screaming. Producing a slim blade in his right hand, Karl laughed.
“I never told you
how
you’d leave. It will be as a corpse,
and you should’ve seen it coming,
Mr. Investigative
Reporter
.” The blade slipped in without any resistance, but
slowly, as if Karl relished the feel of the flesh being violated by
the dagger. Blood spewed out on Karl’s fine suit and tailored dress
shirt, with Kenneth’s desperate, pain filled screams bubbling from
his blood-filled mouth echoing through the house. Images of his
children flashed through Kenneth’s mind as he began to fade. His
scream stopped abruptly and the room was silent. Karl dropped
Kenneth’s body to the floor.

He knelt down by the body of his dead guest,
pulling his knife out with a hand slick with blood. He wiped the
blade off on Kenneth’s shirt, and then patted Kenneth’s cheek with
his bloody hand. “Well, you wouldn’t have lived that long anyway,
maybe fifty more years or so.” He wiped his hand down the dead
man’s shirt to wipe off most of the blood. “Thank you, Kenneth.
Your part in this is done. I did enjoy telling you about some of my
enemies. You do, or rather did, have a flair for words.” With that
he gave a harsh laugh that didn’t fit very well with his cultured
clothing and appearance, but did suit his blood spattered
appearance of the moment.

He walked out into the next room and Bertram
rushed up to him. “Clean up the room, dispose of the body, and take
his laptop and everything else he had in his room to my study. I
have to follow up with Max Palamos and Robert Dunning. This is
truly war, and I intend to win.

“That nosey cop who seems to be everywhere I
don’t want him to be has to go too. Get the latest Intel on him and
get it to me. Life sometimes gets too complicated - I need to
eliminate some of the complications soon. Stay here until I call
for you and then bring me what you have on that detective.”

Karl went to his suite and changed clothes.
Wearing too much blood would put people off
, he thought with
a chuckle.
Although some of them would do well to see it and
remember it
.

***

An elite squad of Maximus’ men had
surreptitiously followed Karl and his one surviving mercenary as
they fled the battle scene at Max and Robert’s home. They followed
in spite of the circuitous route, the backtracking and the car
changes Karl incorporated into the trip in order to make sure they
weren’t followed. The next day, as Karl and his entourage arrived
at this different estate, the one to which he had transferred
Kenneth before killing him, that same squad was still following.
They positioned themselves with a good view of the main building, a
large stone Tudor with an added wing that jutted out the right side
as it was viewed from the front. They set up with automatic
weapons, watching from two hides, patiently waiting for Karl to
show himself.

Angled forty-five degrees to their right and
undetected by them was a lone shooter with an old Winchester. He
knew he wouldn’t have any trouble with the shot; he had a lot of
experience with many weapons, and this rifle was an old friend. As
he held it many memories were evoked, all the way back to riding
his horse alongside a running herd and shooting a massive bison
with it the first time he tried it out. He even recalled the white
man he’d killed when he took this gun from him. For a warrior and
leader of warriors, Geronimo could be very patient when necessary,
even though he was by nature a man of action. So he waited, keeping
a keen eye on the house, his Winchester ready.

Unknown to the squad of men sent by Maximus,
there was a small group of Chinese mercenaries behind the house,
purposefully avoiding everyone else. Geronimo was aware of them but
unconcerned about their presence. It seemed extremely unlikely that
circumstances and timing should bring three groups together at one
time like this. Yet here they were, and Karl did have a lot of
enemies after all. Geronimo’s thoughts as he sat there watching
were for what was left of his family.
My son
,
you should
have come with me for this vengeance, not denied what you are and
left
. His pain was acute, and hadn’t gotten much lighter since
Elihas had walked out. Geronimo knew where he was, but he’d give
his son the space he needed.
I know
,
your mother’s death
lies at my feet
. His eyes were moist as he pictured his tall,
proud son walking away from him.

Geronimo watched for any movement on the part
of the other groups, not really caring that they were there. He
would kill Karl Schmidt today, or tomorrow, and they could waste
all the ammo they cared to fire.

During the first day of their stake out, two
men in suits carried a bundle wrapped in black plastic. They
struggled with it, long and thin, clearly awkward for them.
Dropping it at the rear of a car, one popped the deck lid and they
tossed the package into the trunk, slamming it down and driving
off. Everyone in hiding watched with interest, but it wasn’t part
of their plan, so they let it go and kept waiting for Karl to show
himself.

It was a long wait. People came and people
left but there was no sign of Karl. He was, in fact, attending to
some business affairs he’d left unattended for too long. Three days
he spent on the telephone, both demanding things from people and
scalding them with his acid tongue for not doing well enough.

Finally he felt he’d caught up with the
mundane parts of running the number of businesses in which he was
involved, and decided he could travel to his estate in Italy for a
week or so and plan his next move against Maximus and Robert. The
last episode hadn’t ended so well.

As the people waiting and watching the house
lapsed into boredom, a man exited the house by the front door.
Suddenly everyone was alert and reaching for their weapons. Three
others followed closely behind the first man, who went directly to
the limo waiting in the drive. Then Karl came out with one thug on
each side, trained bodyguards no doubt, loyal only to him. He
walked toward the car, and when he was perhaps three steps from the
door the man holding the car door for him lifted a handgun and shot
Karl in the chest. He moved the gun from one bodyguard to the
other, shooting them with calm efficiency. The other three men
grouped up behind the shooter, obviously prepared to take his side.
It was clear to all the watchers that this had all been planned
very carefully. Two groups and a lone Pure, all camped out for
Karl’s blood, watched as he fell to the treachery of an
underling.

Not sure what to do, Max’s men had waited so
long they automatically took action. Their leader didn’t know if it
was the correct action, but he ordered it nonetheless.

“Make sure he’s dead! Fire at will.” They
opened fire, mowing down the man who had shot Karl and the other
three men, who were clearly the killer’s accomplices. They kept
firing, concentrating on Karl’s immediate position.

Armed men came boiling out of the house like
bees protecting their queen. Whether these men had been loyal to
Karl or to his killer meant very little to Maximus’ men, the
Chinese contingent or Geronimo. The only consideration was their
firepower as they burst out of the building in a continuous line.
The swarm of men was surprisingly large, spreading out quickly and
firing toward Karl’s attackers. Two men from the squad on the hill
were down and their leader was retreating, covering his men’s
retreat himself as they dragged their fallen comrades with them.
Finally they started down the hill, rushing toward their hidden
vehicles.

Geronimo was still and quiet in the
confusion, waiting for some sort of resolution. It took great
restraint on his part to sit still and not enter the fray. When two
of Karl’s men headed up the hill after those who had been firing at
them, Geronimo couldn’t just watch as they got to the peak. They
would have the advantage of the retreating men. Slowing taking aim,
his old Winchester barked twice, and both of Karl’s men were
down.

Karl had been hit many times, with at least
one shot to his head. His right ear was missing, and Karl seemed a
bloody corpse as his men carried his body inside the house.

Geronimo was sure Karl was dead. There was
just too much damage to his body. Good riddance. He crept away with
the natural stealth of the Apache. He was confident that even
though he hadn’t pulled the trigger, Karl was finally dead.
Geronimo slipped away, heading back to New York. He anticipated a
difficult conversation with his partner about this unplanned
absence.

The Chinese group sneaked around the edge of
the house halfway up the hill to watch. Perplexed, they also stood
down, waiting to see what would transpire. When Karl was dead and
the fight was over, they too slipped away. Their purpose had been
accomplished and it mattered not at all to them that they hadn’t
had to do it themselves. Their employer would just want to know the
end result.

Duke William, King William the Bastard, Karl
of Schmidt Worldwide Enterprises, friend of tyrants and villains,
was finally dead.

Always Plan Ahead

Karl’s chief lieutenant was the traitor who’d
killed him. His next in charge, Trevor Wallace, was now at the head
of the line and it was up to him to make final preparations for
Karl’s interment, and the continuation of his financial empire. He
had explicit written orders from his boss, and he followed them to
the letter. One never knew what safeguards Karl had put in place to
make sure his wishes were carried out.

The crypt on the estate was prepared, and
interestingly there was one on every major residential property
Karl owned. A closed casket was on display at the funeral as guests
at the service, three days later, filed by to pay their respects.
Although Karl had never graced the interior of a church, a minister
was procured from a highly respected, mainstream denominational
church, and some of Karl’s associates gave short remarks. They all
centered on his drive and vision for business. None were warm or
fuzzy by any stretch of the imagination.

Pallbearers carried the beautiful Rosewood
casket into the small stone building, set it on the shelf awaiting
it and walked out. The vault was sealed, the guests fed, and
everything was exactly as one would expect at a successful business
man’s funeral.

Two days later, Trevor, now in charge, had
Karl’s driver, correction, his driver, take him to another location
where other arrangements had been made. Shaking his head, thinking
this was all a waste of time, energy and money, Trevor nonetheless
checked on the arrangements to make sure they were just as Karl’s
last wishes had demanded. His thoughts regarding his now deceased
employer weren’t particularly kind.
What a waste, and what a
risk, just to hide your body. You paranoid, ego-maniac. I can’t say
I’m sorry you’re dead.
Those thoughts were also kept buried in
his own mind, never to be let out. Even in death Karl Schmidt was a
man to be feared.

The park had been donated to the city by Karl
a few years earlier. It had three buildings. There was the
necessary one for restrooms, another for equipment to maintain the
park, and the last was a novelty - a building with a small but
tasteful history of New York, using plaques and pictures, covered
with large sheets of smooth Plexiglas-like material. Workmen had
closed it for the past three days to finish some renovations.
Knowing where to look, Trevor’s eyes traced seams below the
historical diorama, pleased that it was sealed so well as to be
practically invisible. The tight seams matched the pattern from the
other panels in the room. Nobody would ever find Karl Schmidt’s
remains, locked in a metal vault hidden behind an innocuous wall of
pictures - a vault that had oddly enough been locked from the
inside by way of an ingenious little device. The container was
vented carefully to a spot fifty feet away, and the air was run
through an elaborate purifier, in case of any odors, since the body
wasn’t embalmed. The site would be forever maintained by the
proceeds derived from a perpetual trust fund set up for that
purpose.

Trevor had done what his boss had wanted. He
was now the CEO of Schmidt Worldwide Enterprises. May Karl rest in
peace.

The First Book of the Pure
is based on
the historicity of real lives. Many of the main characters are real
people in their own settings of time and place.

Our host for the telling doesn’t reveal his
identity until late in the book. The people he has known and the
settings in which he has lived are real. He is William the Bastard,
once King of England, and a real person. How he gained the throne
and the difficulties of it are equally genuine, with some literary
license.

The process of the life, conquests and
disappointments of Kublai Khan can be traced, as well as the
details from the life of Adolf Hitler.

Ruby, in her identity as Mary Parker in
Salem, who was condemned as a witch and allegedly hanged, is indeed
an historical character, and can be read about and understood. Her
culture demonstrates the tragic reality of one of the worst times
in our nation’s history.