Chapter Forty Seven
The heat of the day gushed into the Pontiac as Johnny opened the door and climbed out after parking on Jefferson Drive SW. He strolled onto the National Mall and gazed at the giant obelisk that was the Washington Monument.
People on their lunch breaks mingled with tourists, who were busy taking pictures of one another standing before the great pillar. He crossed over two roads and walked over to the monument. Karen Blakely was standing by one of the group of flags which encircled the base.
“Mr Duncan,” she said without taking her eyes off the monument.
“Miss Blakely.”
She trained her tired eyes on him. “Right I suppose I should start at the beginning.”
“All ways good, and the truth this time please.”
“When I was a kid, my grandfather told me stories about the power of the ‘Nazi Bell’, and he reckoned it was somewhere in the US. He was an SS officer that escaped to South America after the war and then entered the US with the help of the ‘Blacksuns’ – a group of former SS officers who had settled into life stateside.”
“Right,” said Johnny, nodding.
“As you know Mr Duncan, they were in all walks of life: banking, the military and the intelligence services-the Soviets being a prime target for their wrath. My grandfather, his real name was Jurgen Roth, worked his way up in the CIA-all the time trying to find out where the Bell was. He knew of course that the Americans had used the technology to help make the first atom bomb. My father, David, followed him into the Agency and then me. Some would call it nepotism, but we didn’t care, the Blacksuns bloodline felt strong–something special. When I heard some kids had found something that fitted the description of the Bell in an abandoned government facility in the Mojave valley. I sent a special team to investigate. They confirmed that it was the Bell.
After seeing it for myself I had the place sealed off and brought in a trusted scientist.” She glanced over at Capitol Hill as if to seek approval. “I knew what was going on in the old mine would be noticed, so I put it about that a particle accelerator was being constructed–somewhere in the desert.”
“Why didn’t you release the news rather than hush it up?”
“Because, Mr Duncan, after hearing these tales from my grandfather I wanted the power for myself to out do the male dominated hierarchy of the CIA. I would go to any length to achieve that; I didn’t care who I had to enlist.”
“Leads nicely onto Lindsay Koenig?”
“Ah, well, I’m CIA–I wanted a back-up in case the accelerator story didn’t work, so Johannes Menzel came onboard, to give the whole thing crank-appeal. People would reject the notion of the Bell with Menzel involved particularly the scientific community. The thing was, he wasn’t interested in dealing with the CIA, so I got Lindsay to persuade him to join us with one of his parlour tricks. We paid Koenig well for the work he did.” She paused for a moment. “Trouble with Lindsay was I didn’t know his family had escaped Nazi Germany–he was Jewish. There was nothing in his file about his religion or his family’s background. You see, Mr Duncan, during the Cold War the CIA lapped up people like Lindsay, their background and religion was of little or no consequence.”
“So he went against you and made me see the visions and then appeared himself as if he was some divine entity to get me to announce what was about to happen. Why not tell the world himself?”
“Who would listen to some spook involved in the failed remote viewing scheme? No, from his point of view you were the right man. Anyway it didn’t matter because I brought the date of the tests forward.”
“And it was him, of course, who was hell-bent on revenge,”
“Yes, not only on the USA, but the whole Nazi thing.”
“What about all these people killed when the Hoover was destroyed?”
“I can only say I didn’t want that to happen, but Lindsay and the demon, if it was the Angel of Death, had other ideas. It wasn’t part of my plan you know. I wasn’t sure if what happened to Hitler and Himmler under the mountain was real or just something cooked up by the anti-Nazi scientists.”
“Oh the Dark Angel is the real enough.”
“Well, you’ve seen her.”
“You killed Erin!”
“Okay, I gave the order to ‘fix’ her car - I was getting desperate!”
“Then I was framed.”
“Yeah well, congratulations Mr Duncan you’ve survived neo-Nazis, demons and the Black Corps of the CIA.”
“One more thing; why did Menzel send someone over to kill me?”
“I tried to stop that, but they’re hot heads it was something about Judas Iscariot.”
She looked around wearily; hordes of tourists were still taking photographs.
“Okay, you can call in whoever’s got you wired up, I’ve given you enough.”
Heb Dewar and Chris Gaft appeared out of the crowds and arrested her.
“I only did it for America!” She shouted, as she was taken away by another two plain clothes policemen.
“Thanks John,” said Heb, as he took back the wire.
“Yeah well, she gave herself up–just glad to get it all off her chest.”
“Hey John she killed Miss Rodgers and all these people out west.”
“Goodbye Lieutenant,” said Johnny as he shook the policeman’s hand.
He then headed back along the National Mall. “Time to go home,” he said to no one in particular.
Johnny climbed into the hire car and turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened–no lights-no radio–nothing! He raised his head up to the sky as if to gain inspiration. Then he saw, from the side of his eyes, two figures approaching the vehicle. He pressed the handle on the driver’s door and locked the car down.
A hand reached for the front passenger’s door as the car unlocked and a man in a dark blue suit climbed in followed by another in the rear.
“Oh, what now?” Johnny asked with a sigh.
“We would appreciate it if you would you come with us. The gentlemen we work for would like to talk to you,” said the man in the front passenger’s seat, who had cropped fair hair and light grey eyes.
They don’t look like thugs, thought Johnny – no bulges in the jackets. “Why should I come with you?”
The man next to Johnny turned from looking at him to stare out of the windscreen. “You are, of course, free to go, but take it from me this is a unique opportunity. My employers never talk to the media.”
Intrigued, Johnny agreed and a black limousine drew up alongside the car.
“Mr Duncan please,” said the man who had been sitting in the back as he opened the rear door of the limousine.
The two men followed Johnny in, and they were driven to a tower of black metal and glass on Massachusetts Avenue where he was escorted past the reception of Transglobal Bank to an elevator with the doors open. A lift person pressed a button, and without a word being exchanged they rose though the floors at great speed.
The lift eventually stopped, and the doors opened with a ping and bright sunlight swept into the box. Johnny shaded his eyes and peered out at a black Bell Helicopter, the blades a blur, sitting within a black circle with an ‘H’ in the centre.
“Just a short flight,” said one of the men as they led Johnny over to the aircraft, heads stooped.
Inside, he strapped himself in beside a window and put on the headphones that had been lying on the seat. The others did the same and then pulled the door shut.
“Welcome aboard,” said one of the two pilots, who turned and gave a ‘thumbs up’.
“Flight time: an hour and a half gentlemen,” he continued as the helicopter then rose and flew over the city.
After a few minutes flying time Johnny looked down at the expanse of blue that was Chesapeake Bay. He then gazed the other way, past the two suited men, and saw the city of Baltimore ease by.
After a while, as the urban sprawl of Philadelphia stretched into the distance, he thought: we’re heading for New York. A thought soon confirmed with the appearance of the patina green figure of the Statue of Liberty with the Manhattan skyline in the background .
They flew over piers flanked by many sized craft before passing over the maze of towers of the city. The helicopter settled on the helipad of a black metal and glass building similar to the one in Washington DC.
After the ‘thumbs up’ from the pilot Johnny unbuckled his seatbelt and followed the two men out of the aircraft and over the roof toward black elevator doors as a ferocious wind swept over the building and sucked the breath out of his lungs.
The doors rolled open, and the men entered as a metallic voice welcomed them to the Transglobal Bank. And, after a short elevator ride, the doors opened to reveal a large reception area. The two men led Johnny past a large mahogany desk where two women sat-both on the telephone.
A party of people led by a man that Johnny recognised passed them going in the opposite direction. My God, he thought, that was the French President.
“Have a good flight sir,” said one woman from behind the desk who had come off the telephone.
“This way Mr Duncan,” said one of the men who had accompanied him.
As they led him toward two large, dark wood doors Johnny looked down at the black circular design on the white marble floor. Where had he seen that before?
One man knocked on the double doors and then opened them and announced: “Mr Duncan.”
Johnny walked into a spacious office where one wall was glass and offered a spectacular view over the Manhattan skyline. The other walls were of panelled mahogany and were interspersed with paintings.
“So very nice to meet you Mr Duncan,” said a man with thin, grey hair and blue eyes, as he walked round from behind a large desk which sat in front of the window wall. “I’m Albert Redman, and this is Harold Collins,” he said opening a hand toward a man who rose from a brown leather settee.
“Please have a seat,” said Collins, a thick set man with a shaven head and a grey drooping moustache.
Johnny sat at the opposite end of the settee to where Collins repositioned himself. Albert Redman strolled behind a small bar which had glasses of all shapes and sizes stacked at one end. Bottles of various spirits and liqueurs lined a shelf at the back.
“Would you like a drink Mr Duncan?”
“Lemonade will be fine–thanks.”
After pouring two drinks Redman left the bar, handed out the glasses then returned behind his desk. “We asked you here today to answer some questions for you. We thought after what you’ve been through and where you’re going we, at the least, were due you that.”
“How do you know where I’m going?”
“Oh, we have our sources.”
Harold Collins crossed one leg over the other and sipped his drink. He had on a light grey loose-fitting suit. “Albert and I together are Colman Holdings; we own many companies and banks–including this one.” He turned and gazed out of the window.
“I’m afraid after all the effort you went through–Karen Blakely will be released and placed back in her position at Langley. The Bell will be retrieved and hidden in a better place this time.”
“What?” A puzzled Johnny asked.
“You see, Mr Duncan, it’s not governments, and therefore government agencies, that rule the western world, it’s the banks, despite what the media says. In fact most of the world leaders come to see us at one time or another.”
Johnny chuckled.
“Mr Duncan please don’t treat this lightly, we never talk to the media. You're granted this interview because, as we said, of the position you’re in. Imagine how many people – conspiracy theorists - would like to be where you are now,” said Redman.
“The Blacksun!” Johnny said. “I’m sorry, but I just realized where I saw that design on the floor outside your office. Are you members of the Blacksuns?”
Arnold Redman laughed as he swivelled his seat from side to side. “Ah, the nitty- gritty!” He looked at Harold Collins. “Both our fathers were SS officers, who were helped to settle in the US after escaping Germany at the end of the Second World War. The help was by a group known as the Blacksuns, who no longer exist.
We are the direct bloodline of a small group of people who came to this planet ages ago through what is now called a wormhole. They arrived through the black hole at the centre of this galaxy. The term black hole is a recent term before this it was known as the black sun.”
“So,” said Johnny, as he stroked his chin. “Your ancestors were Aryan people from another planet who tried to dominate this world.”
“No Mr Duncan, not tried, but has dominated this world through capitalism. When that wall came down in eighty-nine the revenge was complete. We drank a toast to the great Sixth Army beaten not by the Russians, but by the Stalingrad weather and a leader suffering from Parkinson’s disease.
“The theories were right then?”
“Mr Duncan, you will not be able to prove any of this and there is no way anyone from the media will get to us,” said Collins. “We will look after your family. This is not a threat. We would just like to help,” he continued.
“One more question, said Johnny as he placed his empty glass on the coffee table in front of the settee,” something that has bothered me through this whole thing: if Himmler knew about the powers of the Bell before it was moved to Germany why didn’t he tell Hitler?”
“We don’t know for sure,” said Redman,” but, we have two theories: the first is that he wasn’t sure what he had - unlikely; the second, and probably the right one is that he despised Hitler – a man who espoused the Aryan and German ideals and was neither. He had just wanted him to fail. Now Mr Duncan, your helicopter awaits you. The pilot is instructed to take you straight to Dulles Airport for your flight to the UK. If you would leave the keys for the hire car at the reception desk everything will be taken care of for you.”
Johnny stood up. “Well, thank you, it’s been most enlightening.”
“Farewell Mr Duncan,” said Harold Collins, as he picked up a copy of the New York Times from the coffee table in front of the settee.
As the helicopter rose above the Manhattan towers, the Journalist in Johnny wanted to write an expose’, but he knew they were right: he had no proof. And he did want someone to look after his kids–who better than the banking elite of the world–even if they were Nazis!