God's Lions - House of Acerbi (2 page)

“Goodbye,
Chérie
. I promise we will see each other again one day.”

Marie stared into the eyes of her daughter before she stood and walked back into her room. Without looking back, she slowly closed the door.

One of the soldiers grabbed Catherine in his arms and the two men began running down a winding stairway. Beyond the castle walls, they could hear the rattle of armor and the whinny of the horses as a huge battering ram beat rhythmically against the castle’s massive wooden doors.

Rounding a corner, they continued down a hidden staircase that led to the tunnels below. Stopping only to light a torch, they ran as fast as they could through the labyrinth of underground passageways, until finally, they emerged a half mile away, below a cliff that rose sharply above the river.

At the top of the cliff, Catherine spied a neighboring castle that appeared to be deserted. Apparently, its residents had witnessed the attack on the Acerbi castle and had wisely decided to flee in advance of the murderous army that was now sweeping across the land.

Scouting their surroundings before moving on, the two soldiers pressed into the surrounding forest, taking turns holding young Catherine in their arms as they ran, each knowing that they were bringing favor upon themselves from God above in delivering this child from harm.

As the forest greenery closed in behind them, Catherine peered over the shoulder of the running soldier and saw flames leaping from her castle home on the hilltop in the distance. She knew that her mother was still there, and that somehow, her spirit was now entwined in the rising dark smoke.

Everything that little Catherine had loved was now gone. Both her parents and the castle she had lived in since the day she was born were now nothing but memories. Ashes to ashes—dust to dust. Fighting back the tears, she gazed up at the intact but abandoned castle on the cliff above. There, sitting on a large white horse, was the bearded man. Soon, he was joined by other men—the same men who had just attacked her castle and were now spreading out over the land in search of other castles to attack.

Catherine reached up with one hand and pushed the scrolls further down into her tunic.
Her mother had told her to keep them safe ... and keep them safe she would.

Looking back up at the man on the horse, she saw him looking out over the forest, as if somehow he knew that there was another Acerbi out there somewhere, another lamb for the slaughter.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the man, little Catherine watched as he wheeled his horse around and disappeared back down the hill. A deep rage rose up within the child, and at that very moment she knew that her destiny had been set. As soon as she was older, she would seek out the man on the horse—
and vengeance would be hers.

Oosterbeek—The Netherlands

Present Day

Rene Acerbi’s dark blue limo swept through the main gate of the fashionable resort and continued along a tree-lined road until it reached the hotel’s new, Euro-futuristic-looking conference center. Stepping from the car, Acerbi looked up at the architectural work of art rising above him. He had paid for the building, but up until now he had only seen the architect’s flat, one-dimensional drawings. Sheathed in reflective silver metal, the giant, egg-shaped structure was much more impressive in real life.

Two years before, Acerbi had walked into the architect’s office to look at the plans.

“What is it?”

“It’s an egg, Mr. Acerbi. It signifies new birth ... the theme you requested.”

Acerbi spent several minutes staring at the blueprints on the drafting table, pondering the shape of the building, until finally a tight smile crossed his lips. “I like it. You may proceed with construction.”

Now, walking through the front door for the first time, he removed his coat and handed it to one of the security men walking by his side as they followed a long curving hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling glass along the outside wall. Continuing on, they passed through the blue-carpeted space until they came to a pair of stainless steel doors that led to the center’s large auditorium. Acerbi paused and looked back at the men in suits before taking a deep breath and entering alone.

From the back of the auditorium, he could see a large gathering of well-dressed people, all talking and laughing as they sat grouped together in front of an empty stage. Acerbi waited. Seconds later, the unmistakable sound of door locks clicking into place stopped all conversation as every head turned to face the man who had just entered. It was as though some instinctual, primal force had just spread throughout the room—an invisible telepathic warning prompting those inside to freeze in place, like a herd of gazelles that had just caught the scent of a predator drifting on the wind over the African savannah.

Acerbi looked directly ahead as he brushed the lapel on his designer suit and smoothed his thick, black hair straight back. With a deliberate stride, he focused his gaze on the stage ahead as he walked past the curious assembly and ascended a set of curved wooden stairs to a raised, semi-circular structure that jutted out into the immense space.

Trying to gauge the mood of his audience, he turned his head slightly to observe the faces of those looking up at him from their seats below. Their faces had turned to stone. The fact that these emotionless faces belonged to some of the most influential people in the world was not lost on him as he reached the glass podium and scanned the area for anyone who had not been invited.

Acerbi was no stranger to this group. In fact, as a scion of one of the wealthiest families in Europe, if not the world, he was an esteemed member of their gentrified cloister. It was an elite club in the tradition of a world that no longer existed—feudal lords and ladies shorn of their gilded robes, replaced instead with modern business attire. Ever since he could remember, they had all traveled in the same social circles. They had vacationed at the same summer resorts, gone to the same prep schools and colleges, joined the same exclusive clubs. They were the select few who ruled from the very pinnacle of a secret and privileged society that had embraced them with all the tender loving care a mother feels for her young.

Born of an Italian father and a French mother, his first name, Rene, meant
reborn
in French, while his Italian surname, Acerbi, meant heartless—a heartless man born for a heartless task.
Very fitting for the job ahead
, he thought to himself, for Rene Acerbi possessed a secret that he was not about to share, at least not yet.

Looking down on his wealthy peers, Acerbi allowed himself a tight smile as his eyes narrowed in preparation for the speech he was about to deliver. This meeting had been his idea. For the past several weeks, he had dispatched couriers around the globe to deliver sealed invitations to this select group whose members were a veritable who’s who of the rich and powerful. The list included several influential CEO’s who headed billion-dollar corporations, a number of high-ranking government leaders, and a collection of private citizens descended from old money—men and women of considerable power who preferred to rule from the shadows.

Because of their worldwide connections, the members of this exclusive club were sought out by other wealthy and influential people who had no idea who they were really dealing with when they needed a favor, legal or otherwise, that required a high level of discretion—a very high level. But every favor had its price, and as the favors mounted, so too did the influence of the Acerbi clan. Over time, they had become embedded among the power elite around the globe—secret players hidden in plain sight within the governments of practically every country on earth.

Acerbi stood unblinking as he watched his audience and waited. A phone on the podium rang only once before he picked up the receiver and listened without comment before hanging up. Satisfied at last that they would not be interrupted, he stepped to the side and turned to face a large screen that was already lowering into position behind him. The lights began to dim just as a flickering beam from a concealed projector filled the screen with colorful moving images selected to deliver maximum visual impact to his audience.

There was no sound as the film began and the camera focused in on a glimmering pond. The surface of the pond was topped by water lilies and populated by reeds, and along the gently sloping grassy edge, flowers of every imaginable color grew alongside its banks. The stillness of the scene was finally broken by a small silvery fish that jumped into the air and splashed back down into the crystal clear water. In the distance, the fleeting glimpse of a deer moving through leafy woods was captured by the camera before the animal became aware of the presence of humans and scampered off into the thick underbrush.

The film then morphed into a fast-forward, time lapse montage that showed more and more creatures sharing the pond as it changed over the years from its tranquil beginnings into an overcrowded, polluted pool of stagnant water. Soon, the reeds and flowers were gone, replaced instead by an eroded, muddy bank littered with the skeletal remains of animals that had drunk from the pond’s filthy water. On the surface, bloated fish floated in the murky froth, and even the birds avoided landing near their once beautiful watering hole.

As the camera panned up from the pond, the audience grew increasingly uncomfortable when they saw that the surrounding woods were now gone. Hundreds of trees had been chopped down, replaced instead with metal buildings built upon acres of concrete and surrounded by a chain-link fence. Heavy equipment could be seen coming and going from the site, and a large metal pipe leading from the property oozed a brown, sludge-like substance into the once pristine pond.

The film abruptly changed to a scene filmed from an old Stearman biplane as it flew over the city of Dallas, Texas in 1949. The flickering black and white images revealed a rapidly growing post-war city rising from the flat tree-covered plains, and as the plane flew on, the scratchy film revealed acres and acres of pastoral farms interspaced between open ranchland reaching outward as far as the eye could see.

The scene slowly faded, then jumped to new color digital images taken recently from the open door of a jet-powered helicopter. The new film jolted viewers with the shocking reality that a drastic change had occurred across the same landscape within a single generation. The old two lane, ribbon-like, country road that had once been the only connection between the two cities of Dallas and Fort Worth had been replaced by several multi-lane expressways full of speeding cars, and it was painfully obvious from the lack of open countryside that miles of virgin earth had completely disappeared.

Alongside the new superhighways, rural farmland had been gobbled up in a mindless orgy of construction as vast tracts of land had been cleared away to make room for sprawling new suburbs. Endless rows of newly-built houses were separated by even more wide swaths of snake-like concrete that undulated into infinity, while any remaining bare land sprouted asphalt islands filled with retail shopping space in anticipation of the hordes of shoppers that would surely follow. The two cities were actually growing together, giving rise to a new term that had recently entered the American lexicon—
The Metroplex.

As abruptly as it started, the film ended and the lights inside the auditorium slowly came back up. Acerbi resumed his place at the podium and paused to study the solemn faces staring up at the screen.

“I hope you will all excuse me for this bit of cinematic drama, but I had some of my people put this short film together to illustrate something that concerns all of us, and if we don’t act soon, the window of opportunity to do something about it will be lost to us forever.”

From the third row of seats facing the stage, a voice shouted out. “What is all of this, Rene?”

A second voice followed with another question. “Yes ... what’s your point ... what are you showing us?”

Acerbi smoothed the dangling black hair from his forehead and squinted at the scowling faces peering back at him. Inhaling deeply, he let his breath flow out in a long, slow hiss of air before speaking. “What I have endeavored to show you with these simple pictures, my dear friends, is nothing short of our eventual demise as a species unless we begin to take action now.”

The expected murmur caused by over fifty voices all talking at once filled the auditorium.

Exuding the aura of an elder statesman, a white-haired man stood in the front row.

“Just what kind of action are you talking about, Rene?”

The back and forth banter was growing louder as Acerbi tapped his hand against the microphone. He wasn’t smiling as he fixed his guests with dark eyes—eyes accustomed to watching for subtle reactions that revealed weakness in others during long hours of business negotiations—negotiations that usually ended in his favor after those sitting across the table from him noticed the cold and calculating stare that signaled he had inherited the warrior DNA of his ancestors.

Taking a sip of water from a glass on the podium, Acerbi paused before speaking again. “The images from the film you have just seen were selected to illustrate a point. Our planet is changing. The world is currently undergoing change at a rate never before seen in history, and the populations of our cities are increasing to unsustainable limits. As you all saw in the film, the effects of a growing human population on a small, local pond can be devastating ... but the results of the same inevitable population increase on a global scale will soon be a worldwide catastrophe. We are standing by idly while the planet’s resources are being gobbled up at a fantastic rate, and the effect on our cities will be the same as that on the pond. If mankind continues along this self-destructive path, there will be nothing left to sustain future generations.”

“But that’s just nature taking its course,” said a man who looked confused by the whole subject.

Nervous laughter filled the room as a second voice called out, “It’s called progress, Rene.”