Mace's Gilded Forge

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Chapter 6

Sully VanMeter and Davia Petrovic had already sent mercs from Orange Delta to the Arctic op. This was Elliot Jefferson’s idea: the current administrator and overseer for Project Gambit Viper.

Jefferson was CIA, but he wasn’t totally CIA. He was responsible for curating a number of events orchestrated by the grand architect herself, Davia Petrovic. Some sort of game was being played this time that both were unaccompanied to.

‘We had better test several candidates,’ reported Jefferson.

‘Don’t be so flustered, Elliot,’ Davia complained brashly. ‘Sully and I have already laid the groundwork.’

She was talking to Jefferson on a smartphone while sunning on her giant yacht, the Golden Cherry. Meanwhile, VanMeter was drying off from the onboard pool. He was a sleek man: the kind of envious physique seen on those sporty cologne commercials. Sully was a yes man, but he could very well operate on his own as Davia’s virtual equal. She relished his enthusiasm and sinister candor, his deadly wit, and playful bloodsport.

Elliot dropped the bomb.

‘The Marshall is still aware of our plots, Davia. We can’t afford another security breach.’

She bit her lip as she observed the handsome VanMeter pour himself a drink at the bar.

‘He was with us long before that incident. This I can assure you,’ she said, ignoring the reproach of her colleague.

‘It is a serious matter, nevertheless,’ protested Elliot.

‘Oh, rubbish! The Marshall is nothing more than a soldier who thinks he understands the omniverse more than me. He’s gravely mistaken.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘We finished our Costa Rican venture very well.’

‘We did. I know. But what if they don’t get to Siberia before 77?’

‘We have our methods to dispose of assets when necessary, Elliot. You know this. I don’t have to remind you of our latest projects. Am I correct?’

‘Lest I am a fool, no. You do not, Davia.’

‘And you have been so kind to me, dear. I would hate to put in a formal complaint to your superiors. Now, we wouldn’t want that.’

‘No, mam.’

Jefferson’s blood froze into an icy plaque, metaphorically resembling a very thick slushy one drinks for pleasure whilst visiting the park or making a pitstop at the petrol station. He knew that she was referring to herself. There was no one above her. Davia was in supreme control.

‘Goodbye, then.’

Davia ended the call. She was restless—-irritated by the anxious Jefferson.

‘It was his idea, my love,’ said Sully, handing her a margarita.

‘When you take a job you are responsible for doing the job. That’s what the poor never comprehend. I’ve read his dossier through and through. I don’t like him. He’s too neurotic. But he had some good ideas.’

She sipped her drink, pleasantly smiling at VanMeter like only a true psychopath was able.

‘Shall I inform the proper channels?’ asked Sully.

She sipped again.

The warm coastal breeze and the setting sun made her feel at ease.

‘Do it, Sully. And make sure he loses everything. He belongs to us, anyways.’

‘As you say, my love.’

‘All societies, young and old, have understood the need for sacrifice. It is time I made that further known among our people.’

In the next twenty-four hours Jefferson was found dead along the highway. Apparently he’d died by suicide: shot himself in the head with a shotgun at the local picnic area. It was enough to make the paramedics lose their lunch.

‘Are you sure we shouldn’t call the FBI?’ asked one of the paramedics.

They brought their John Doe to the coroner’s office where exploratory surgery revealed he was killed not by the hole in his melon, but rather a lethal dose of toxic metals such as lead and cadmium surgically implanted in his brain tissue. It looked like a series of microchips. On closer inspection of these chips by a local computer scientist at Harvard University, it was revealed that magic sigils were present on the micro sized motherboards.

Under the electron microscope, Dr. Edward Ferguson photographed these remarkable works of art.

The lead of neurosurgery at the Harvard School of Medicine claimed the chips had been implanted using microscopic drills. Such a device would be very costly and limited to select specialists around the globe. But they never knew about the manufacturer or the owner. They would never be able to discover who it was without more information. All one could do was hypothesize and extrapolate. It was like a math problem that did not contain enough information to solve. Very sad.

No one knew what happened to the safe deposit boxes and secret bank accounts maintained by Jefferson worldwide. Only Davia knew. Her employees were given select targets to secure from prestigious banks throughout Rome, Pretoria, and Beijing. Meanwhile, a medical team of deviants performed unauthorized brain surgery on the incapacitated Jefferson.

‘His death took four hours to complete. We stimulated him with intravenous fluids to maintain his outward composure,’ noted Sully to his charming lover.

‘Perfect attention to detail, Sully, my dearest. I love you!’ said Davia.

She cackled in her private jetliner.
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