Chapter 40 George: Time to Roll

I checked if there was anyone following me, but there wasn’t. I strolled through the streets as the sun got covered under heavy clouds. I went back to the park I slept at, and as I expected my lighter was there. I walked towards the wall and circled until I got to a broken piece of it. It took around 10 minutes of a light stroll to cross the town not using the main road.

A few buildings were being repaired, and the wall was almost finished. I looked at the signs of the destruction left there, one of the buildings was still destroyed.

I thought it might have been artillery, but it wasn’t, as the destruction had a non-linear path. I thought it might be a tank, but the wall was not repaired at the bottom part, only the top.

The road had some depressions and scratches a few meters apart from each other and in one place the signs of burning.

“So, what do you think happened here, Mr Holmes?” Professor asked me as he approached.

“Something big and strong.” I looked around again “Depressions in the ground look like they were made by a massive biped. Signs of burns on the buildings, so it was on fire. The wall was barged in through and climbed over. The wall looks thick and sturdy, so I don’t see an animal without siege equipment barging through that. Well, unless some magic was involved. I’d assume someone smashed the wall with maybe a catapult or magic, set a big animal, twice the size of an elephant, on fire, and let it loose”.

“That was close. What else?”

“It’s strange, the damaged area is relatively small, so the town was most likely not sieged. Looks like a distraction. Unless someone wanted to burn this tavern or that jewelry store.” I pointed at the signs put in their places.

“That’s some interesting assumptions, Sherlock. I heard from the locals that it was a massive burning lizard.”

“I don’t think you fit the role of Watson, Professor.” I looked at his new clothes, he looked a bit like a doctor or a priest now, with white robes and a combed beard.

“I have a nice spot where we can talk.” He started to walk. I followed.

We moved through a ruined house, to the top of the tower not far from the wall.

I looked over the wall. A long plateau stretched before us, with mountains at a distance, obscured by dense, fast-moving clouds.

“Holmes, it is baffling that the Esoteric Order would send someone here.” As he said that two things flashed into my mind: Ryu the dragon who got me here mentioned it. I remembered that the professor’s courses were on the history of secret societies.

“I think that analogy is a bit off-topic. Unlike Holmes, who knew a lot about secret societies, this is the first time in my life that I heard about said order.”

“Oh, right! It was Holmes' brother who worked for the British secret services and participated in a club! My apologies.” His obvious attempt at probing was too on-the-nose, but I did feel the pressure.

“Mycroft’s position was more of an overseer and advisor, not secret services. I think you are mistaking it with adaptations.” I wasn’t working with MI6 anymore, but ambiguity was my greatest ally.

“Do you know how to tell which secret society a person is from? Well, a real person.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You are Armenian, so you can’t be from Zion, Stormbringers, or Illuminati. Templars and Ark always wear crosses on them, while you don’t. Armenian descent and journalism is more often than not Esoteric Order. Just like your uncle and parents.” He talked calmly as if I was his student and he was the professor explaining some basic concepts to me.

“I think you are mistaken here, and why can’t I be from the first three?”

“You are not a jew, so not from Zion, not a moron, so not a Stormbringer, and you are not a rich jew so not Illuminati.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“A few days ago I would have considered you insane on the Illuminati and Zion point alone.”

“Haven’t heard that Jews run about a third of the world? The US and Israel are run by Zion, and it’s not like they are hiding it. They openly call themselves Zionists in the Senate. Some European and Russian banks are run by the Illuminati on their last breath. Don't tell me you don't know why the war in Syria started.”

“What next? The history of the eye behind the dollar?” I said jokingly.

“Oh. The Eye of the Providence, as it was put there by Freemasons, symbolizes the Great Architect of the Universe. But Freemasons went virtually extinct in the twentieth century, so I don’t think it relates to our conversation.” I felt confused as he spoke.

“Oh, right. I forgot that Washington was a freemason.”

“Done with the history. So, you are not an Esoteric. I don’t think there is a point in keeping secrets here.”

“I am not a member of the Esoteric Order and barely can be considered an Armenian. But before I say more, what order are you from?”

“None. Barely Armenian? What are you going to tell me next? That your uncle is not from Esoterics?”

“I’ve never even been in Armenia, I know maybe fifty words in Armenian, and I don’t think my uncle or parents were members of some secret society...” I stopped for a second as a film vanished from my mind’s eye. Uncle was a very successful journalist, and I never understood why. With his reach, he couldn’t possibly generate his wealth. My parents died in a very suspicious car crash throwing their car off a bridge. I was a teenager back then, and I was pissed that the other car’s driver was never found. I couldn’t remember where my parents worked, they never told me directly.

I was too young then, so I never looked at my family through the eyes of an investigator. I never doubted them, or anything they said.

“Sweet summer child. Did the blindfold fall?” Professor smiled at me and combed his blonde beard, he looked at a distance towards the mountains.

I noted a few things. This man made me trust him. It gave me a feeling that I knew him way longer than I actually did. He shook away the spy mindset I had been using and shifted it to a student’s.

He was controlling this dialogue and the narrative, and I followed it. He put me off guard the moment he greeted me, and now, when we met near the wall he did it again. The way he started the dialogue as if it was a test, and the way he tried to put me into the mantle of Sherlock Holmes, how he listed organizations. He read me like an open book, and now, as he was staring at a distance, he wanted me to look there too, and we were at this tower maybe because of that.

He would have kept control of the dialogue if not for his power trip, the man was a narcissistic control freak.

I turned my gaze, to where he wanted me to look and the mountains at a distance were now in a better view as clouds moved to the side. Twin peaks: one massive, rounded summit snow-capped with snow, and the smaller, conical one rising sharply nearby. It filled the horizon and dwarfed everything in sight.

It was unmistakable. It took me a second to recognize the profile. It was Mt. Ararat, and I was geographically in Armenia. This world was replicated from mine, and he wanted to show it to me in the most dramatic way. He started with ‘you are an Armenian, so’ while he could have just said about uncle and parents. It was a calculated tangent.

Moreover, he knew I wasn’t a member of a secret society. How? I was unsure.

But there were two interesting details he gave away. He either had a perfect memory to store names and biographies, including the secret ones, or what is more likely had a device with a very interesting database on him.

Considering he made MI6 reference, his data was 3-7 years outdated while I worked at MI6. He was probing me for that. He mentioned Syria when we met. It was 7 years ago. I had a way bigger report that made me relatively famous in 2019. I can’t remember anyone mentioning ‘Professor Smoke’, dying in the graduates' chat.

Initial assumption: he arrived here between 2015 and 2018.

Should I pretend that I am impressed, that he still controls the dialogue, or assert that his manipulations won’t work anymore? I felt danger. The man was the danger’s incarnation, and my eyes cleared again.

“You think about shooting me?” He asked me, in a slightly frightened voice trying to put me off guard. I felt a bit of a game in his voice. He noticed that I figured out the game. Even his accent got worse.

“Why would I?” I responded looking surprised.

“Your awe as you looked at the mountain, almost perfect. But your eyes changed focus to close, as you assessed me with your peripheral vision, as if I am dangerous.” He said the last few words slower and in a sad voice.

“Gun wouldn't work, there was no real fear in you.” I swiftly aimed my gun at him, keeping it close to myself. He flinched just a bit too late for it to be natural.

“How did you?” He smiled at me, his face bearing no discomfort from being aimed at.

“I didn’t, you just confirmed it. Melee might work though.” I looked at him, and his brows raised, showing a surprise. He laughed what seemed to be genuine laughter.

I’d stand no chance in melee too. He realized that he gave it away just a bit late, he got played twice using the same trick.

“My luck today is through the roof, Yossarian.” He grinned at me. “Now tell me, what do you seek?”

“You first Professor.”

“It’s Nessen, but you can still call me professor if you like.”