And then there was Biceps. The Frenchman was larger than MM. His huge muscled arms appeared to be bursting from his black T-shirt but his waist was thin and his legs were like tree trunks – strong and thick. Above the monstrous body was a flat Corsican face, he had the same coloured skin as MM and the same black lank hair. Some said he was her brother. Others, that he was cloned by her first rogue scientist who had been her only friend thirty years before. No one would ever know the truth, but Biceps was respected as her general and feared for his ferocity in any sort of fight, whether it was with bare hands, any weapon, in fact anything that could kill. It didn’t matter whether he was in a scuba suit or hanging off the side of a cliff. The man was a natural born killer and would die rather than let anyone hurt Madam Musseine. Why? The workers queried.
Because he loved her. That deep unrequited love, like a puppy dog for his mistress.
Therefore a volcano is a deceptive place in more ways than one. At nearly 6000 metres high it is able to contain many secrets. The early explorers of the area in 1848 described the fear of the local tribesmen and their reluctance to climb this mountain because of “resident man-eating spirits”. Eruptions over the last 300,000 years have created passageways and caverns that remain secret, only explored by Madam Musseine and her three henchmen. Level four didn’t exist for the technicians and ninjas until they choose to leave MM’s employ. Level four contained ancient waters that flowed inland 300 kilometres from the sea. Salty, black water that was best left unexplored.
* * *
That was the volcano in Tanzania, near the northern border with Kenya, sandwiched between the Serengeti and The Indian Ocean. It was a hive of activity but totally secret and guarded for miles around by the Maasai who had been ‘bought’ by Biceps. Their job was to maintain MM’s external security and every tribesman within the area had sworn an oath of secrecy at a traditional ceremony where they had drunk the blood from a sacred black cow mixed with the beast’s own milk. In return they had been given guns to protect their families and fight their enemies, the Sukuma tribe.
The added ingredient was 100 ml of their own human blood. This truly brought them close to their god, Engai Narok, the black warrior.
It was also Biceps who initiated each of MM’s new recruits when they commenced work within the volcano. In the depths of Level one was a small stream of hot molten lava and in the flow of this stream was an island topped with a branding iron heated to 180 degrees Celsius by the red stream that curled about its lower edges. Any new recruit pledged his loyalty whilst stood naively afraid in front of the island, wondering what was going to happen. The branding iron’s shape was simple but grotesque. It consisted of a hand made up of a thumb and three fingers but with the little finger missing. The words for the pledge by the recruit were etched into the rock holding back the fiery stream and ran like this.
“I join the Black Hand Gang knowing my life belongs to Madame Musseine. She feeds me and protects me and makes sure my family are always cared for. In return, I pledge to her 100 per cent loyalty for the rest of my life.”
At the end of the nervously spoken pledge, Biceps who always stood behind the recruit, would grasp their arms and push the left hand forward and onto the super-heated branding iron. Madam Musseine would often lie in bed and listen to the screams as new apostles joined her gang. The immediate pain lasted two to three seconds as the shape of the stunted hand was burnt into the top three layers of skin but the lasting pain was from the loss of the little finger as Biceps ripped the hand of the recruit off the iron and held it in flow of the red molten rock. He would sniff the aroma of burnt meat as the little finger roasted away and then laugh uncontrollably when he finally let the person slump to the cave floor.
* * *
A scream had woken MM and so she rolled off the triple bed and lumbered towards her balcony. She pressed a large green button and waited patiently as the louvres of the blast screen silently opened. Stretching her arms above her head she stared at the savannah 5000 metres below. She could see for 60 kilometres or more. Immediately to the side shone the pure snowfields and way below were herds of elephant moving towards the West in line astern but resembling a trail of ants at this stratospheric height. Gazelle leapt from the nearest watering hole as two cheetahs sped towards them. The killers divided, one to grab the neck of the oldest gazelle and the other, the youngest, in a pincer movement. She laughed insanely, it was good to be alive that morning. She spoke to the blue sky above.
‘The young die because of inexperience when they don’t understand the rules of the game as they play and learn but the old die because they think they know the rules. However, not if it is a new game! Now the world will succumb to me, starting with the young!’ Her cackling reverberated off the rock walls and out into the fresh air and bright sunlight of East Africa.
* * *
In deepest Cheshire, Jack George jerked awake as a high-pitched scream came from the kitchen immediately below his bedroom. Leaping out of bed, he sped down the stairs, three at a time and pushed the door open to see his dad sucking the little finger of his left hand.
‘Dad! What’s the matter?’ Jack ran over to him and clung to his side as if a young child once again. But Jack was only a head shorter than his dad now and nearly a teenager, nearly a man.
‘Bugger me if it wasn’t the frying pan.’ Jack looked behind his dad and saw the spitting bacon before he registered the delightful aroma. ‘It’s okay, I’ve only gone and burned my little pinkie mate.’ His boy heaved a sigh of relief and grinned as he gently told him off.
‘In that case you can make me a bacon sarnie with extra tomato ketchup for waking me up so early!’
‘So early? It’s nearly 9 o’clock for goodness sake’.
‘And also because I won’t tell mum you said bugger again!’ Dad pushed him away and gently cuffed his ear. As they shadow boxed, they both forget the hurt finger, until Jack grabbed it without thinking, ensuring an even louder scream ripped through the house bringing both mum and Timothy running to the kitchen. It was a normal start to a family weekend in Christleton. Happiness and fun in Cheshire, the opposite of what was lurking in deepest Africa where Evil was about to released onto the world.
Chapter 2
The gang of four
It was Saturday at last and the warm sun glowed on Jack from a bright blue sky as he paused under the arbour of sweet smelling honeysuckle. He tentatively held out a finger to place it next to the pink and white flowers and watched in fascination as a large bee settled upon it. He could feel all six of its hairy legs as it explored right to the end of his nail, flicking its proboscis in rapid licks before it buzzed off to find a flower that contained nectar instead of blood.
That was Jack, always brave and pushing the boundaries of conventional life.
The black and white cottage in front of him had been Kate’s grandma’s home since she was born 73 years previously. Grandma claimed she had been born on the night of the full moon at 7 pm on the 7th day of the 7th month and that was why she was psychic, and that meant she could predict the future. Kate had once calculated and informed grandma that her birth date of 1940 was equally auspicious. She had added the individual numbers together, 1+9+4+0, it made 14 i.e. two sevens and therefore quite magical for many people on earth who believed in the superstitious nonsense of numbers. Grandma had commented on the date too. It was auspicious, it was the start of World War ІІ. Grandma had also told most visiting children that she weighed 7 kilos at birth, which was really far-fetched. But Kate saw things that others didn’t, that others missed, and knew that her grandma could have unique insights into the future, and these always came true. But Kate would never share that knowledge, they would think she was as crazy as grandma if they knew she saw things too...
The pretty cottage nestled under a straw thatched roof and stood halfway between Jack’s house and The Old Manor house where Roger was due home at 12 noon.
Jack had wandered to the rear of the cottage and see
ing no one through the dirty kitchen window, he decided to go in via the backdoor. It squeaked as he pushed it open.
‘Hello, anyone at home?’ He jumped in fright as a large grey shadow leaped onto the floor in front of him. ‘Why do you always do that? You know it scares me silly.’ Wispy the Persian cat appraised him from the floor. Her green eyes blazed and made him feel like Wispy could see straight through him but that was impossible of course. ‘No, I am not going to feed you. Go and find your own food, there are loads of mice in the garden.’
Wispy turned her head on one side and meowed. ‘No, no, no.’
‘Yes, yes, yes’ said grandma walking into the kitchen. He jumped again and clasped his hand to his heart.
‘Goodness me grandma, why is it you and the cat always manage to scare me?’
‘Because we are scary my dear! I’m a witch and Wispy is my peculiar.’
‘Don’t you mean your familiar?’
‘Do I?’ She replied with her head tilted to one side.
Jack felt uneasy again. ‘Well she certainly is peculiar. Too fat by far, as well as the runt of the litter.’
‘Now now young man, she can understand you, you know.’
‘Don’t be daft grandma, she’s just a cat!’ Wispy looked up haughtily at Jack as she brushed past his ankles and jumped on grandma’s knee as soon as she was settled in her rocking chair. Kate appeared with a thump as she jumped the last two stairs that led into the kitchen. She was wearing a short pink dress to accentuate her golden locks and looked like a Disney princess. At age nearly 12, she was still a girlie girl. She kept her soft toys on her bed and preferred reading books to Facebook or TV.
‘Hello Jack’ she fluttered her eyelashes, ‘have you come to take me to the cinema? There’s a lovely film about ponies that has just come out.’
‘Are you jokin or what?’ Jack could be very rude to his best “friend-girl” who adored him. ‘I wondered if you were coming to meet splodger as he’s home soon.’ He stared at her white ballet shoes, making her self-consciously look down. She had put them on as she was reading about the fairy queen and felt the need to look like her. Grandma could see her embarrassment.
‘They were her mum’s Jack. I thought Kate might want to take up ballet. Her mum was really quite good at it.’ Jack felt awkward. Kate’s mum had died four years earlier and now he was sorry he had been so rude. He attempted a joke.
‘If we play footie, you’ll have to go in goal. Goalkeepers sometimes wear pink.’
‘Back in a minute.’ She trilled and then she turned and lightly ran upstairs to change into jeans and converse basketball shoes.
Her “girliness” was becoming more of a dilemma, she didn’t want to change her fashion but the boys in their gang were always taking the Mickey now. ‘Why shouldn’t I wear pretty clothes?’ had been the argument at Easter. They had been playing in the park and she had started to cry when likened to Lady Gaga. However, the boys had been sufficiently ashamed to walk across and pat her on the shoulder. Hugs would never have been considered and even pats were a sign of weakness. In unison they had said sorry and Jack had explained ‘It’s a boy thing, you know, teasing and all that.’ But they were growing up whilst grandma tried to keep her beloved granddaughter as a child. She thought it was a way of protecting her from the loss of her mum. At the time Kate had replied.
‘Well you should show some consideration for others Jack George and Roger Ponsonby-Smythe. We all have a right to be individuals!’
She bounced back down the stairs and stared at Jack waiting for his approval of the new outfit. Jack was sat on a bench by the pine table with his arms crossed. He totally ignored her. However, her tears had dried up whilst in her bedroom and she was back to her skippy self. ‘Do you fancy a cup cake Jack? They have lovely pink icing on the top?’ He was such a boy with his answer.
‘No way. Maybe if they were chocolate.’ He left it hanging and grandma smiled as she could see how much Kate wanted to impress him.
‘Come on Jack, I helped her to make them and they even have strawberry jam fillings. Be tempted my boy.’ Jack selected the largest cup cake and demolished it in two bites. He dwelt on his guilt to persuade him to accept their kindness with an odd ‘good’ and ‘quite yummy’; which made Kit Kat happy again. This was Kate’s nickname, given to her by Jack the previous hot summer, when he had caught her licking her fingers smeared with chocolate after she had demolished two of the bars. He had also likened her to Wispy’s favourite cat food. Now, whenever he used the nickname it made her feel guilty about the episode and delighted by his attention. Grandma could see he was fidgeting and restless to leave. She sniffed loudly, her fat jowls wobbling.
‘I can smell something acrid, a burning sulphurous smell of rotten eggs. It’s so warm in here children, have I left the oven on?’ Kate and Jack looked knowingly at each other. Grandma was off on one again. One of her silly predictions was coming, they could tell. She slowly walked to the oven and checked it was turned off. Then she flopped back into her brown leather armchair by the old-fashioned range.
‘Dear me, I am so forgetful nowadays. I felt all hot and bothered as if I was inside a cave, it was stifling and smelly.’ Kate and grandma exchanged glances. Kate knew she had seen the future but it was a skill to be hidden from everyone but themselves.
‘Come on Jack, let’s go and see Roger.’ Kate kissed grandma on the cheek and followed Jack out the door and down the winding path of the pretty cottage garden.
* * *
As they neared the pond at the centre of the village, they could hear a dog barking in excitement. Turning the corner by the ancient church, they could see it was Licko, Roger’s brown shaggy mutt that was running up and down the plank of the village ducking stool. Roger was seated on the landward end, whilst Licko ran towards the seat that precariously perched above the water. The long stool dipped slowly downwards and kissed the pond allowing Licko to sip the dirty water before racing back towards his master and re-balance the seesaw, ensuring the crazy dog stayed dry.
Kit Kat and Jack looked down on Roger and beamed welcoming smiles. As Licko ran to the opposite end of the ducking stool, Roger explained the game.
‘Hello men, I was teaching Licko some basic mechanics that we learned at school this term. Change the weight and distance from the fulcrum to achieve a balance.’ Kate had crossed her arms and was hugging her purple “X-factor” T-shirt.
‘And hello women’ she said adamantly. She admired Roger for his intelligence but not for his old-fashioned views on the female sex. She stared hard at him to remind him she was female.
Roger was a lightweight, gawky boy with black hair and heavy black glasses.
He pushed his glasses tighter on to his nose. ‘Oh yes, sorry, just an expression you know.’ He stood up to shake hands with his friends, just as Licko was at the far end of the plank. There was a howl followed by a loud splash as the dog somersaulted into the green stagnant water causing the ducks to complain loudly as they quacked their way to the opposite shore. ‘Oh I say.’ He turned, appalled, to watch his dog paddling towards them as Kate and Jack collapsed onto the grass laughing hysterically.
Jack was the first to recover as he sat with his arms around his knees to hold himself upright. ‘I think your fulcrum must have moved dimwit.’
‘No Jack, actually no. It was the temporary aberration of my weight, a little displacement rather than a change in pivot point.’ Jack was lost with the use of the big words and he certainly didn’t understand mechanics, he preferred any sport at school and excelled in them all.
He was shaking his head as he replied. ‘What? Is that the same thing as - I forgot my dog and stood up?’ All three started laughing as Licko looked dolefully at them through a pile of green algae perched on the crown of his head. But the laughs quickly turned to screams as he started to shake his heavy coat, covering them with mud and water laced by spots of green. They raced away from the dog but were chased by Licko who was full of excitement after
his adventure and it wasn’t until they had slammed the side door at The Manor that they were safe from the silly mutt.
An awfully posh voice echoed down the corridor leading to the snug. ‘Roger, Roger darling. Is that you?’ The three friends trooped through the door to find Maria and Rupert Ponsonby-Smythe sharing a Financial Times and a cafetiere of finest blue Tanzanian coffee. They were sat on a large brown settee made out of leather that had seen better days, they were rich but careful with their pennies. Maria carried on. ‘Katie and Jack G, how nice to see you. How were your exams last term, did you get all A’s?’ Maria smiled at them giving time for Jack to reply.
‘We didn’t do no exams Mrs Ponsonby.’ Maria tilted her nose downwards to peer over her Dolce and Gabbana reading glasses.
‘Smythe.’ She completed her name for the boy. ‘Dear me, what are state schools coming to Rupert?’ The beautiful dark-haired women with a large nose tried to encourage her husband to join in the conversation.
He grumped instead. ‘FTSE’s down again Maria. Dashed inconvenient that BP oil spill off Libya.’
She encouraged him gently again. ‘Darling, look who’s here!’ He briefly raised his bald head to appraise the three children.
‘Watch you don’t get that mud on the carpet you three. Now toddle off and play, whilst we get on with adult business.’ They were dismissed by the busy parents and immediately disappeared to Roger’s study in the attic. On the second floor he also had a cavernous bedroom, his own lounge to watch the latest Sky 72 inch 3D Sony TV and an Apple PC in his equally large attic study. Roger’s “occasional” living area in between the boarding school terms, was the size of Kate’s grandma’s cottage! They settled down to play “world domination” on the sofa in the study. Jack fetched Roger’s laptop from the bedroom and Kate borrowed Roger’s IPad Air from the lounge. Although she was new to gaming, the boys were surprised how quickly she picked it up and over the next two hours she had amassed an exciting batch of new assets. 15 houses, 100 horses and a commercial stable for breeding racehorses. Jack now had 25 destroyers, 6 stealth fighters and an army of 1000 men. Whereas Roger had diversified into gold and diamonds on the “futures” market i.e. trading the valuable commodities today based on the expected prices in months to follow. He found he had the knack for this sort of trading, which imitated his dad. He looked like his dad, he traded like his dad and he was intelligent like him. By 5 pm the three friends called it a day and went their separate ways vowing to play the game that evening and keep in touch via Facebook chat. The next morning they planned to visit “The Place” at about 10 am, their secret hideout on the outskirts of Christleton, near the playing fields.