***
Laurence and Brigitte hurried with their heads down along the rocky pathways past countless builders, diggers and black-suited men holding guns to a fire escape that was kept ajar by a brick and, take a sweeping lock around them, entered. They found themselves in the back entrance of the building, for inside it was not very grand; a corridor with four doors on either side presented itself to them: the floor was varnished, the wooden doors were numbered one to eight, and at the end of the corridor loomed another huge doorway. Sprinting toward it, Laurence and Brigitte opened the door and were presented with a wide reception area. At the end of this area, which was completely empty, was another door, which they trembled their way towards. The silence made them uncomfortable, and it was even more unsettling to consider how eerily quiet the place was which was made even more apparent by the building’s vastness. The door was marked with the words ‘Large Conference Room’. Brigitte took over Laurence’s hand, he smiled at her; inside he was happy, but his face was wrought with indecision. Tentatively, he placed his hand on the doorknob and began to turn it clockwise.
Suddenly the sound of a door slamming from down the corridor echoed all around the building; footsteps soon followed it, accompanied by a perky whistling tune that was full of cheer. Brigitte seized Laurence’s arm tightly and took him up the adjacent flight of stairs. This brought them to a balcony that overlooked the entirety of the large conference room. They immediately fell into a crouching position when they heard voices below them and the whistling tune coming ever closer behind them. The whistling foot-steps reached the doorway, opened it, and entered. Laurence and Brigitte poked their heads over the barrier to view what was happening. The room itself was empty, save for a long, shiny, charcoal black table with four leather swivel chairs positioned on either side of it. At the head of the table was a chair larger than all the others made of leather. It looked like a throne. Behind it was an ornamental fireplace that blazed away relentlessly, filling the air with the smell of burning wood. A man in an odd-looking cream suit with an equally unattractive cream bowler hat was resting his left elbow on the fireplace, looking out of the window at all the work being conducted at ‘Site A’, a site that seemed to serve no purpose. The other chairs were occupied by six men in expensive business suits; each one looking refined, each suit pristine and spotless, and a striking red-haired woman, with crimson coloured lips and ghostly pale skin. Her face was the epitome of ferocity and her body expressed masculine boldness. She was dressed all in red, complete with blood red high heels. The whistling footsteps became silent, almost apologetic footsteps and filled the fourth seat on the left-hand side of the table. There came a familiar voice from the fireplace that Laurence couldn’t place.
‘Nice of you to join us at last, Gomes.’ There was a tone of complete blandness in this comment, like the man was unsurprised that Gomes was late.
‘I’m sorry, I was…’ Before he could finish the voice came again,
‘Enough. Enough time has been wasted already. I have called you all here because I have good news, lady and gentlemen. Pandora’s Box is now in our possession; I was informed only minutes ago that our quarry has reached its destination. It will now be unloaded and studied before…before tonight.’ This news was said with gleeful conviction by the host, who possessed a long wooden cane which he used to walk over and take his seat at the head of the table. Laurence still couldn’t make out his face of the man as it was covered by a large hat. ‘Everything has gone according to plan and I’m sure tonight’s ceremony will be a similar success.’ He folded his hands together on the flat of the table top. There was a long silence which was eventually broken by a question from a man with a magnificent beard that fell to his stomach and covered the entire front of his suit.
‘What about your loose end, the man known as ‘Mr Swift’? Where is he?’ This man had obviously received a fine education for he enunciated every syllable with crystal clear clarity.
‘You raise an interesting point, Robert. It’s true that Mr Swift’s disappearance has been somewhat of a nuisance, but I trust that he will be little more than that; a man of his limited capabilities will be no trouble to us. Besides we now have the box.’ Laurence became angry; not because of the comment that belittled his feelings in front of a woman whose opinion he valued greatly, but because he had delivered the box straight to them! But what exactly were they going to do with it? As if he had read Laurence’s mind, a proud and noble looking man asked his host,
‘So what is it exactly that you propose to do?’
‘This evening at midnight, I will perform a religious ceremony, asking the Gods above us to bless us and allow us to use Pandora’s Box in their name. We have been given an almighty gift and we can now have the chance to make history. The papyrus scroll that accompanies the box reads in translation, “Whoever prays to almighty Zeus, the box of Pandora shall be in their use.” Gentlemen, my lady, Pandora’s Box is now mine, I mean, ours, to use. The world has become sick, overcome by greed and obsessed with money. The corrupt reign over the good and oppress those of us who dare to challenge them. Well this night I mean not only to challenge them, but to destroy them and the unpleasant world they live in. Tonight we shall change the course of justice and fate. Tonight we will turn the world on its head. Tonight we will send the countries of the world back to the Dark Ages and rebuild it in our own image. When I open the box I will usher in a new order, the order of….’ The man threw off his hat dramatically and stood up in his chair. This brought applause by the scarlet haired woman, a mixture of fearful and interested faces from around the table, but a shocked gasp from Laurence. The face...the voice...the hideous lack of fashion sense…
‘Randall Johnson!’ He and Laurence said simultaneously, one a triumphant self-congratulatory roar and the other a breathless whisper of disbelief.
Randall Johnson was alive!
Laurence knelt down behind the metal bar and Brigitte turned to him.
‘What’s wrong?’ She asked.
‘That man at the head of the table is Randall Johnson! The man who I thought was dead.’ Laurence couldn’t take his eyes off him.
‘The man who hired you?’ She was worried as she looked at Laurence, who nodded to answer her question Laurence. She returned her attentions to the scene below her, where Randall had begun to walk around the table.
‘You have all given me significant sums of money in order to ensure your family’s protection and to seal a position at the head of the future world’s new governing body. I thank you, each and every one of you, for your support. You shall all be richly rewarded tomorrow. Unless there is any further business to discuss we shall adjourn, and I shall see you all at tonight’s ceremony.’ He glanced up the table, not expecting anyone to speak. The subdued businessmen and the smug-looking woman rose in silence from their seats, except for Gomes, who straightened out his suit, coughed to clear his throat, and spoke aloud in a quivering voice that betrayed his fear of Randall.
‘Actually, if it’s alright with you, I’ll withdraw my interest and take my money back.’ Nothing was said in reply to this; Randall just stared blankly at him. Gomes, growing in confidence, continued by saying, ‘This is all ludicrous. It’s a worthless piece of pottery that means nothing and should be gawked at by tourists in a museum somewhere, not used to pamper your fantasies of power and delusions of importance. What’s your problem anyway? You told us you had something that could benefit mankind, not annihilate it. I want nothing to do with this anymore, thank you. I think you’re all quite mad.’ Silence reigned in the room. Stunned faces turned from Randall to Gomes in quick succession. Although Gomes had said exactly what they all had been thinking, except for the vermilion woman. But none of them dared oppose Randall. He was mad!
‘Come over to me here, Gomes.’ Gomes calmly went over to where Randall was and the American placed his arm round him, taking him over to the window. ‘My problem, as you call it, is the world. It’s not fair! The rich have it all th
eir own way and we, you and me, Gomes, are oppressed by those who are of no importance. Take Giorgio Carraciolo for instance. He inherited a large sum of money, wasted it on luxurious items of no consequence that do not aid our world, and yet he is celebrated for it. As for me, I have worked hard, devoted years of my life to benefitting society and yet no one cares. My own ‘death’ only made page 7 of the Paris Gazette because some blasted tourist interrupted the Tour de France and apparently that’s more important than the death of a great museum benefactor.’ Laurence let out a snort of laughter and pumped his fist into the air. The scarlet-haired woman raised her eyebrows. ‘But not anymore. By this time tomorrow the whole world will know my name and, what’s more, they shall love it.’ Gomes shuddered as Randall took his huge paw of a hand off his shoulder. He turned to leave, leaving Gomes staring at the scene below, but swivelled round to say one last thing to the poor Gomes. ‘Oh, one more thing, Gomes; don’t ask stupid questions!’ He grabbed Gomes with one hand on the back of his neck and the other by the belt of his trousers and with his huge strength lifted him up as if he weighed nothing more than a feather and hurled him with an evil look upon his face through the glass windows and onto the ground below. A few startled workers surrounded Gomes’ body and looked up to where he had fallen, but a scowl from Randall sent them back to work. Randall dusted his hands and gave one look at the other in the room, who promptly returned to their rooms without a word of complaint.
‘Madman’ Laurence muttered. He could not believe Randall was behind everything all along, and not only playing everyone for a fool, but winning.
‘What should we do?’ Brigitte asked quickly. She slipped some stray strands of hair behind her ear. Their knees were both beginning to ache from having been crouched down for so long.
‘Brigitte, I’m sorry for getting you involved all of this.’ Laurence shook his head at his foolishness.
‘Don’t be silly. I chose to come along.’ She smiled at him and gave him an assuring pat on his back.
‘Go back to Wesley and tell him to call for help. I need to talk to Randall and try and stop him.’ She let go of his arm without any protest at his plan and left silently as a mouse down the steps. In his mind Laurence put all the pieces of the puzzle together at last. Randall’s death was just an elaborate alibi to allow him to steal Pandora’s Box in order to satisfy his own jealousy and make himself feel important. Giorgio’s call was right; Randall had turned power-mad and he had to be stopped. Worst of all however was the fact Laurence had delivered the box to Randall on a silver platter. But now was not the time to bemoan what he had done. Now was the time for action and Laurence resolved to strain every sinew, push his every limit and fight well into the night to stop Randall!
As soon as he got up from his crouched position, Laurence was sent crashing back down to the floor again by a heavy blow. He was out-cold and promptly picked up by four large men, kitted out in desert camouflage, who dragged him downstairs; the red-haired woman looked up at the balcony, a wicked smile drawn across her foul face.
Chapter Nine
The Harlot in Scarlet