Old District—Tokyo
The person chairing this extraordinary meeting of the Council took a deep breath, pushed back his chair, and stood, commanding the instant respect of everyone present.
At seventy-two years of age, Lei Yeung was still a strong and agile man, a man still able to display the formal bearing of one accustomed to a lifetime of hard work and focused discipline. Unfortunately for his enemies, he still possessed the intellect to match his physical prowess.
Certain tragedies endured as a child meant that Yeung lacked a formal education. But that had never held him back. From an early age, his streetwise savvy had helped him see the way the world truly worked. That, together with his “unusual” skill set, had more than made up for any schooling deficits.
Yeung had the uncanny ability to know when people were lying to him; he was able to sense their emotions and the motivating factors behind their actions; and if that was not impressive enough, he also had the inherent capability to insert ideas or a particular line of reasoning into another person’s consciousness, causing them to act on those impulses as if they were their own.
Such gifts, together with a sharp analytical mind and finely honed business acumen, had guaranteed his meteoric rise within the White Tigers crime syndicate operating out of the Old District in Tokyo during the nineteen-eighties, despite his Chinese heritage.
As a teenager, he was known to have been blessed by an old head on young shoulders. Nowhere was this more evident than by his sense of maturity in enhancing his reach through the shrewd selection of loyal friends and acquaintances. Realizing such a tight-knit coterie while still young put him in the enviable position of being able to grant favors to some very well placed rivals. Favors he always ensured were reciprocated by little tip-offs here, nods in the right direction there, or when necessary, advanced warning of those situations best avoided. Seemingly innocuous acts that – over time – built up into a veritable goldmine of information and good fortune for those he served.
No surprise then, that Yeung came to the notice of those in authority.
As he began to rise, Yeung was careful to build an impeccable reputation. His word was his bond. He went to great length to ensure his promises were always honored. More insidiously, he not only displayed an uncanny insight – knowing who and who not to trust – but he was unnervingly skillful at weeding out traitors and ruthlessly dealing with them.
Little wonder then, when he soon became a firm favorite of those in high places.
Poignantly, Yeung’s success also provided the perfect platform for him to build a lethal powerbase of his own. So much so, that he celebrated his fortieth birthday by removing all opposition to his ambitions in one bloody twenty-four hour period that went on to become known in Tong circles as, “The Night of a Thousand Talons.”
It was only once the repercussions of that brutal coop had faded that Yeung’s intentions began to manifest…or not, as the case may be. For he installed trusted puppets in all the positions of prestige and influence, while he himself melted into the background to become nothing more than an elusive shadow, a legend, mentioned only in whispers.
Openly, the White Tigers thrived under their new chieftain and ruling clan. But nobody ever knew that success had not been achieved by their own kudos. The true mastermind was content to work behind the scenes, ensuring the White Tigers were always in the right place at the right time, always supporting the right venture, while avoiding those that led to calamity for others. In as little as a decade, Yeung had built a sophisticated international empire that encompassed prostitution, drugs, gambling, smuggling, counterfeit goods, laundered cash, and cyber crime. An incredible feat.
Even so, nowhere was Yeung’s prudence more apparent than in his relentless pursuit of those people like him – those anomalies – endowed with an extra edge. And that was what made Yeung especially dangerous; his ability, not just to see the bigger picture, but to reach out and grasp it with both hands.
Yeung had realized as a child that it was highly unlikely he was unique. So, as the years passed and his dominion grew, he’d kept a careful watch for other individuals like himself who might be blessed with unusual talents.
And he’d found them. Some directly, in his everyday dealings; others indirectly, through much more dubious means.
Initially, such ones were invited into a clandestine world of plenty, an environment where they were encouraged to express their aptitudes in a way that brought great gain and consolidated Yeung’s iron grip on the criminal fraternity. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before his mastery had spread far beyond the borders of Japan.
At any rate, he did experience rejection from time to time, and such ones had to be dealt with mercilessly to ensure anonymity was maintained. A scandalous waste of precious resources, from Yeung’s perspective, where each corpse, each weighted or concrete covered body, represented a loss of potential future revenue. Therefore, as time passed, Yeung devised a better means to increase his profits:
He separated the functioning of his assets.
Those of a gentler, less aggressive disposition, he used extensively to steal thoughts and ideas, thus paving the way for a fledgling Yeung Technologies to forge ahead in the world of innovative discovery. So successful were those early endeavors that his company went on to become the pioneering pathfinder of a broad spectrum of scientific and medical breakthroughs. All of which were deemed totally legitimate.
Such an approach was as simple as it was elegant, and totally risk free, allowing Yeung to maintain the front of one of society’s most respected businessmen while gaining control of an enterprise that brought him increasing wealth and prestige with each passing year.
Meanwhile, candidates whose temperaments were better suited to a darker, more hard-line way of thinking he used to head the Council itself as Apostles. A fellowship of exceptionally gifted mavericks who used their combined assets to form the largest united crime consortium on the planet, one that – unbeknown to others – focused much of its efforts on the acquiring of secrets. For as Yeung had been at pains to impress upon them, secrets were merely sensitive packets of personal, political or industrial information; information that could be stored away for later use, or exchanged for goodwill when doors needed to be opened or closed. Yes, knowledge brought power, and when that power was wielded in union with their arcane abilities, anything was possible.
Indeed, it was thought that nothing of consequence could ever happen on a global scale without the Council knowing about it, for their agents had been seeded throughout all levels of the establishment in most major countries.
Usually, that gave them a clear advantage, as they could adjust their strategy to capitalize on unexpected bounties in a way that no other organization could. However, it seemed that someone was daring to change the rules by which the game was being played. Not only that, it looked as if that same someone wanted to level that playing field and move the goalposts as well.
So, it was with eager anticipation that the Apostles of the Council – those members representing the twelve most gifted individuals of their alliance from both North and South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, Russia and Oceania – had convened, keen to discuss the implications of recent events which had caused just about everyone in their line of business to panic and wonder if this was the end of criminal life as they knew it.
The past two weeks had hit them hard. Guardian Angels – as the media were labeling these new and elusive saviors – had not only busied themselves playing God at the scenes of numerous accidents and larger disasters, but not ten hours previously had also made their unwelcome presence felt at Sochi International Seaport, Russia, one of the Council’s main operating bases. There, they had managed to rescue over two-hundred females recently procured by the Council’s own minions at great cost, who were destined for brothels in Poland, Romania, and Japan.
Somehow – and Yeung fully intended to find out how – the Guardian Angels had discovered which of the thousands of containers stacked about the dockside were being used to transport the Council’s merchandise. Arriving only minutes ahead of local law enforcement officers, they had divided into small teams, incapacitated the women’s handlers and accompanying guards, cracked open the doors of all six units, and rendered aid to those most sorely affected by the drugs used to subdue them. Following that, they had made a neat pile out of the passports and other documentation seized from the victims at the time they were kidnapped.
By the time state ministry led agencies arrived, the interfering busybodies had gone, and all police had to do was swarm the site, confiscate the evidence, arrest those responsible and act as chaperones for anyone requiring further medical treatment.
Residual fallout from that fiasco had led to the capture of a total of thirty-nine of the Council’s employees, the confiscation of nearly five-hundred kilograms of heroin, and the precautionary abandonment of several skin factories.
The loss in profits and potential income hadn’t been properly calculated yet and the meeting that had been scheduled to end around midnight was still grinding on, as the Apostles vacillated over a suitable response.
A few demanded vengeance, swift and sweet; some called for parlay, to see if these newcomers might be brought onside; older, wiser souls urged caution.
Yeung leaned forward to rest his weight on his knuckles, skimming the faces around the table, pausing for just long enough to meet the gaze of each person present and ensure them he acknowledged their concerns.
Clearing his throat, he began, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I must confess, I feel happenstance may have overwhelmed us a little and caused us to lose focus. If we do not address this problem calmly and with open minds, it may metamorphose into the tip of an iceberg capable of sinking us all.”
“So what do you propose we calmly do?” interrupted a bull-necked younger man. Visibly aggravated, smoke rose from in front of him where his hands touched the desk, a stark indicator of the fiery elemental gift he possessed. A gift he was fighting a losing battle to contain.
Turning to him, Yeung acknowledged the newest member of the Council – Luigi Espasito – the son of an old friend who had stepped down due to declining health in his old age. Luigi’s inability to manage his anger made it plainly obvious that he hadn’t been ready to take his father’s place.
Ignoring the damage to the table Yeung commanded, “Member Espasito, do you have something constructive to say?”
“Damned right I do!” Espasito spat back, refusing to be intimidated, “I want to know when are we going to answer this insult, and how quickly?”
“You appear to be taking this rather personally. Why?”
“Because those assholes hit me in more ways than one, you know.” Referring to the heroin within the manifests in front of them, Espasito blustered, “Half of that shipment was due for my market in the United States. Those bastards have caused me to lose face on a number of occasions, lately. Replacing this batch will cost me in more than just dollars.”
“So, you’re concerned about what people might think of you?”
“Of course I am! I thought that’d be something you’d understand. I recently promised three of our most influential business associates in Romania, Georgia, and the Ukraine a consignment of luxury yachts and speed boats for their Black Sea resorts as a sweetener for future projects I want them to sponsor in that area. They only accepted after I promised delivery of some new toys for their VIP harems over the next two weeks. One of my regular sources for such merchandise was squeezed by these interfering morons only seven days ago in Australia. Not only did these…these Guardian Angels knock my nose out of joint, they lost me revenue on the new smuggling contacts I’d planned for my counterfeit designer labels. Can you imagine how hard it will be to restore confidence in my credibility now, especially when everyone gets wind of this latest fiasco? I might as well be blowing crap out my ass.”
Meeting his gaze squarely, Yeung whispered, “You are not the only one who has lost face on this occasion, young man. What affects one of us, affects us all. We have a reputation to maintain – both public and…not so public – and the reason the Council exists is to ensure that reputation is upheld when things like this impact us. We are here, presenting a united front, to ensure any setbacks to you are minimized by the rest of us.”
“That’s all well and good in theory, but how are we going to actually make them pay?” Espasito protested, slamming his fist onto the table. Sparks flew from his hand.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Espasito’s outburst caused a number of Apostles to bristle with indignation. Intimate thoughts began to fly between those associates blessed with that capability. Zeroing in on such emanations, Yeung discerned some were aimed at him, insisting he discipline the upstart before things went too far.
They’re right. Time to remind this delinquent how things are done.
Taking a deep breath to maintain his composure, Yeung replied, “I don’t know how we will make them pay—yet! But what I can say is the matter is in hand, and it will not be rushed. It is vital we do not act rashly.
“Remember, it has only been a matter of a few weeks, so we do not know our enemy well enough to respond. Can they be recruited? Time will tell. Are they easy to kill? I would imagine not. Can we embarrass them publicly? Possibly. To do anything effectively, we must first gather intelligence. Only then can we decide on a safe course of action…”
As he spoke, Yeung had continued to lower his voice. His tone now as flat and unyielding as an anvil, he concluded, “Personal affront takes second place to the welfare of the Council’s standing, understood?”
To reinforce his point, Yeung maintained eye contact until the younger man was forced to agree with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
“Good.” Turning to an older, pockmarked-faced brute further along the table, Yeung changed tack slightly, “Member Belikov, I understand the men we lost at Sochi were part of your syndicate, is that correct?”
“Yes, Sir, that’s right,” replied Belikov, a thug in his late fifties who had made his name in the Russian Mafia, firstly as an enforcer and later, as someone who was very hard to kill, due mainly to his amazing proficiency to recover quickly from the most appalling injuries. “They were responsible for sorting and assessing the women from our latest trawl through Europe’s capitals before their onward transportation to the flesh farms.”
“And how many of those men were in a privileged position?”
“Just two of them, Sir, Dorogi and Koslov from the pleasure hubs serving Poland and Romania. Both have received conditioning, and can be trusted to remain silent and serve time rather than open their mouths. They know the consequences only too well.”
Yeung nodded. “Excellent, excellent, at least there’s that. Please make sure their families are looked after while they are away from home. And make haste to alert our contacts within the police and prison services. We must set an example of support in this matter, and I want those who remain loyal to experience the reality that we are with them every step of the way until we’ve managed to arrange for their early release.”
Belikov inclined his head respectfully, and acknowledged it would be done.
Yeung then commenced walking slowly around the room, studying each of his closest associates in turn. “These Guardian Angels or whatever they are, represent a danger to our current operations. In hindsight, our gifts have caused us to become complacent over the years, caused us to think we are untouchable and beyond reproach. That is plainly no longer the case.
“We must be cautious, assess their capabilities and weaknesses, see if we can indeed make inroads into their organization and turn what we find to our advantage. We will survive this difficult period, of that I am sure. Alas, I’m also sure of the fact that we will have to adapt in order to do that.”
He lingered opposite Espasito, staring him down. “What we must not do is take matters into our own hands. We have only glimpsed a fraction of what these Guardian Angels can achieve. There’s no doubt they’ll be capable of more, much more. Note too how the world seems to be reacting to them. Is it any wonder they would work in a way that curries favorable public opinion? What they do requires a degree of largesse and understanding. Who knows, perhaps it is by this avenue we might strike back in the future?”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Everyone that is, except for Espasito, who appeared furious at being singled out.
Seeing this, Yeung decided a short break might be appropriate before continuing. Retaking his place at the head of the table, he declared, “Ladies and Gentlemen, much can be accomplished by hindsight’s grace. Please, let’s enjoy a short recess and collect our thoughts before resuming in say, thirty minutes, when we will be in a better position to determine the wisest course to follow as we attempt to navigate safely around the iceberg that threatens us.”
That announcement was met by unanimous eager compliance. An organized mob, the delegates stampeded for the door. Yeung concentrated on the newest Apostle as he stomped from the room, easily discerning the defiance and deceit that tinged the younger man’s naturally ruddy aura with deeper tendrils of scarlet and black…And something else that aroused suspicion.
He’s going to be a problem if I don’t keep him in check.
“Madam Papadakos, a moment?” called Yeung as the final group approached the exit.
A voluptuous Greek woman in her mid thirties checked her stride and walked quietly back to her seat, dark eyes flashing with every step.
An Apostle of the Council’s European drug smuggling operations, Angelika Papadakos’ inviting looks were cunningly misleading. For one thing, she was aggressively telepathic and enjoyed the added bonus of being able to remote-view an area for up to a mile from her own location. Even worse, she was capable of draining the very life essence from a person just by touching them.
Smiling, she waited for the others to leave before asking, “Sir?”
“Angelika, I feel I may have need of your particular talents in the very near future. How are you with small aircraft, high rise buildings, and flammable substances?”
“It depends. Why, what do you have in mind?”
Yeung reached behind his desk and produced a small leather-bound document. “The gist of what you need is in there,” he said, handing it to her. “Destroy it once you have the details and let me know the results as soon as you’ve completed your appraisal. Use as many troops as you need to get this done, understood?”
Placing the document in her purse, the siren nodded once and walked slowly from the room, her seductive swagger only enhancing the sway of the shimmering tresses that paved a silken path toward her hips.
If only I were twenty or thirty years younger, the old man mused.
Pulling himself free of the unattainable joy such a daydream offered, he called after her, “Oh Angelika, ask Harry to come in for a moment, would you?”
She waved in acknowledgement, and as the scent of her perfume receded, Yeung’s head of security, Harry Bing, made his silent way into the office.
Powerfully built and in his late forties, Harry originated from Johannesburg, where he’d been carving out a career for himself as head of the private police force used by “De Beers Consolidated Diamond Company” at Premier Mine, Gauteng, South Africa.
Harry had attained that prestigious position due to his unprecedented skill at picking out those fools intent on smuggling precious gems and equipment through the complex’s extensive range of checkpoints. Yes, the company employed state of the art “Scannex” technology. Even so, items still seemed to go missing. But not when Harry was on duty. He could spot a crook from a hundred yards away, and over twenty-five years, had personally apprehended more than three-hundred and fifty thieves.
He had been quite happy at De Beers, until a chance meeting with Lei Yeung himself just four years previously highlighted how his talents could be put to better use. Not only was Harry one of the most powerful telepaths Yeung had ever met, he was also a gifted teleporter. It went without saying that making the right decision changed Harry’s life dramatically.
Harry sat without invitation at the end of the conference table, waiting for his boss to amble over to him.
They shook hands and Yeung said, “Harry, I’d like you to do something for me.”
*
Fort Wainwright in Fairbanks, Alaska, is home to over ten thousand soldiers and family members, comprising units of 1st Brigade, 6th Light Infantry Division, the Arctic Support Brigade, the 4th and 123rd Aviation Regiment, along with the 23rd Aviation Intermediate Maintenance Unit, and the 283rd Medical Detachment.
Its commanding officer, Brigadier General Alan Pascoe, was a career minded veteran with more than forty years unblemished service in numerous theaters around the globe under his belt. He was also an insightful man, who could read the underlying current governing most situations to deliver a frank and honest appraisal of what was really going on. As such, he’d insisted he be allowed to examine the results of an enquiry that had taken place in light of the incredible rescue of all six hundred and two souls from the Delta Airlines flight into Fairbanks just two weeks previously, before they were sent to the US Department of Defense at Arlington, Virginia.
Scrutinizing the completed report emblazoned across his screen, triggered a mild repetitive twitch in the corner of his left eye
Understatement of the year? Top Brass at the Pentagon are gonna spit up a shitstorm from hell…and to be fair, I can see why.
To discover that a previously unknown, technologically advanced and equipped, highly trained and motivated group of people are running around out there is a shock. And a big one at that. Yes, they appear to be benevolent, as indicated by the commendable way they’ve striven to render aid to anyone who urgently needs it. However, their gifts – or superhuman abilities – whatever you want to call them, simply can’t be ignored. Neither can the way they seem able to circumvent just about every known security protocol in existence. Such power, such ease of movement, will be a source of great concern, especially to the more gung-ho of my contemporaries within the Defense Intelligence Agency.
Pascoe smiled as the scene of a tiny rolling snowball precipitating an avalanche unfurled within his mind. As I’m sure it will to the black widows and bureaucrats hidden away in the web of intelligence agencies around the world. No matter how much good these Guardian Angels do, they’ll always be viewed as a threat.
Tilting back in his chair, the general laced his fingers behind his head, stared up at the slowly revolving ceiling fan, and recounted the fallout he’d had to endure since the airliner had dared to land, unannounced, smack bang in the middle of his command.
Let’s see, what have I had? NSA, CIA, Homeland Security, Army Intelligence and fuck-knows who else snooping around like they owned the place. And don’t forget the endless badgering from HUMINT and the National Threat Assessment Center…All of them wanting a piece of the pie; everyone falling over themselves in the hunt for imaginary foes. Idiots! As if we could ever begin to anticipate the “clear and obvious danger” such an outfit might represent if they ever did become hostile.
His gaze came to rest on the distant lights from those vans and cameras still circling like sharks outside the base’s perimeter fence.
And the press? When are they gonna get it through their thick skulls that we don’t have any of the Guardian Angels tucked away in one of our cells being subjected to God knows what kinds of invasive interrogation.
Snorting loudly, he shook his head in disbelief. They’d all disappeared long before my first soldiers got there. And anyway, do they seriously think we’d have anything that would hold them?
The eye tic got worse. Deciding he couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer, the general leaned forward, reached for the mouse, closed the document and moved the cursor so that it hovered above the “send” icon. As he did so, he imagined himself standing at the very top of an ice-capped mountain. Bathed in moonlight, a glittering slope of pristine silver radiance yawned away before him. He clutched something cold, something that made his fingers burn in his hand.
At least they allowed me this courtesy…though I can only imagine what the autocrats of the administration will make of its contents. Still, I’ve done my bit. And I don’t think we’ll be the only ones to display such paranoia.
Click!
And with that, a fresh snowball was set on it way.
*
That figurative snowball gathered size and momentum the further down the slope it traveled, for one of the developments to emerge from this era of new concerns was the spontaneous resurrection of obsolete paranormal study programs in one country after another.
People are not aware of how seriously some administrations conduct research into psychic phenomena, especially in relation to ESP, telepathy, remote viewing, and telekinesis; as such abilities would prove invaluable tools in counter espionage.
It went without saying that the international scientific community had been set on fire by recent events. Enthusiasm seemed particularly focused on the scope of the extrasensory abilities the Guardian Angels possessed. Because of this, many old programs were brought down from the shelf, dusted off and given shiny new names. They also found themselves on the receiving end of generous budgets with remits granting them access to some of the finest military and civilian scientific staff and resources available.
In the USA, the Angel Project was rekindled from the ashes of a defunct World War Two program into psychic conditioning. Moved from Nevada to Virginia, its director was given a golden egg laying goose, incorporating a brand new underground self-contained testing facility, hand-picked staff and carte blanche authority over the acquisition of aspirants with a “measurable paranormal quotient.”
What’s more, the project manager received a written promise of unlimited future funding if he could isolate such aspirants quickly.
In Russia, The Directorate of Special Activities suddenly found itself with a lot more power and influence within bureaucratic circles. By order of the president himself, the colonel in charge of the team was extended the opportunity to choose whatever manpower and resources she saw fit, no matter what the cost. And pick them she did.
Outwardly, nothing appeared to change within the Peoples Republic of China. Infants – both pre-school, and in their first years of education – were regularly assessed for psi abilities anyway. The only difference was that such assessments were now much more rigorous, and widespread.
In fact, within weeks of the startling happenings around the world, it became part of the educational curriculum for all children within China to submit to a thorough “intuitive evaluation,” with a new proviso stating that, in future, such examinations would take place twice a year. Anyone scoring above a certain percentile was whisked away to isolated State sponsored schools where all contact with their families was heavily restricted.
Additionally, the selection process for employment in sensitive positions went on to include a higher tiered comprehensive “psi-test”, with an even tougher process for those attempting to secure governmental positions of oversight.
From the outside looking in, it appeared a common thread was developing: I want one, and I’m going to get one before you do.
And in these early days, the powers that be seemed happy to wait and see what the coming months would bring within their own borders. After all – they reasoned – if the Guardian Angels had sufficient numbers to respond to major disasters anywhere in the world, then there must be some similarly blessed individuals who weren’t attracted to the limelight of their calling?
On the face of it, a logical an innocent assumption.
However, those aspirations hid darker motives, especially within the more cloak-and-dagger agencies of those regimes who would never be satisfied serving the needs of society as a whole. For the true undercurrent revealed a more aggressive focus on finding candidates, stronger and more talented than those on the other side; more willing to serve the goals and aspirations of their particular government’s foreign and domestic policies.
Basically, they wanted super spies – possessing the skills of Jason Bourne meets Obi-wan Kenobi – and they wouldn’t be content until they found them.
From the amount of traffic now bouncing back and forth over the Ethernet and in secret communiqués, there seemed to be an almost fervid determination to achieve this goal by any means necessary. The perceived race had started, and there were no prizes for coming second.
Some even had aspirations of boosting their chances, by persuading or even coercing members of the Guardian Angels to assist in their research programs.
That line of thought could only end in tears.
*
As it transpired, General Pascoe’s assessment was unerringly accurate in more way than one, for the Guardian Angels were also the topic of conversation among a startling number of some of the world’s most notorious crime bosses.
These characters did not have the advantage of an intelligence network like the Council, nor did they boast the resources of established entities like the CIA, FBI, NSA, or their Australian and British counterparts, ASIS or MI5 and MI6. Nonetheless, they did have their own way of getting things done.
And they wanted something done, fast!