dreams for sale
From the twisted mind of Money Lloyd
Prologue Part II
The Seven of Skulls
Scotland, Highlands, Glamis Castle
Two months ago
For Damien Victor Domino, the region of the United Kingdom holds a place of dark endearment in his heart historically. The former conquerors, thieves and slave traders developed a medieval caste system that parallels the modern day slave class struggle. Back then the social conflict was defined as the nobles versus the peasants and serfs whereas now it’s the affluent and wealthy versus the working and criminal classed with the middle class becoming increasingly nonexistent; the age old tale of the haves and have nots.
Indeed, focusing deeper, Scotland, a country within a country is a semi-autonomous part of the English Commonwealth. The approximately two hundred Scottish clans remind him of the gangs and sets back in the U.S., and like the gangs, they fully realized the potential of power they could have wielded if they’d put their differences aside and formed a united front against their common enemy. Instead they allowed oppression propagated by the British Crown to fuel savage blood-feuds between themselves. Meanwhile England used them to enforce its rule, pitting them against each other with land distribution, paralleling the street wars over drug distribution; the criminal underworld’s primary source of income.
But he wasn’t in Scotland for site-seeing like some common tourist. The gravest matters of the direst importance are what summoned him here for this emergency meeting of the Council today. And with its history of deceit, betrayal, treachery and murder most foul, Glamis Castle was the perfect place for their cryptic Council to convene.
“Plotting, playing or preparing for war, father?” Dominique asked.
Domino spared a sincere smile for his daughter, the only person on the planet allowed to interrupt him whilst in reverie. “All of the above, my dear. I was simply reflecting on how when the Scottish clans did manage to form fragile alliances they fought in a most unorthodox fashion. Like the American revolutionaries of the Independence war, like the Black Panther Party of the volatile civil rights era”
Dominique curled her lip in disgust. “Ugh. I can’t stand the lower class.”
“But it was the infamous William Wallace, a man of humble origins, a nameless, title less Scot that succeeded in uniting more of the clans than any other, though he was no lord himself.”
“While you may compare your exploits in the business world and the criminal underworld with the rebellious actions of William Wallace in Scotland, and while you, like him – a man with the courage of his convictions. Unlike him you’re a man of ruthless and personal ambition.” Dominique laughed. “I think you’re more like the Scottish nobles of old or the actual British Crown for that matter. We are members of the Black Overclass after all.”
Domino laughed in his hearty baritone. No one amused him more than his daughter. And he loved the castles; ancient fortresses of stone, towering over the landscape they once ruled. Built by the British Crown, the castles represented as well as defended clan and family claims to territories.
As if an uncrowned king of all he surveyed, he relished the scene with a sense of supreme ownership as he approached the ancient fortress in his chartered helicopter. From their vantage point the aerial view of the landscape was breathtaking. Erected in the mountainous highlands, the inland castle was surrounded by rolling hills. Cleaving the beautiful grasslands was a road trimmed with oak trees leading to the courtyard. The late afternoon sun shone through the clouds illuminating Glamis Castle; a fine example of medieval architecture with its walls, towers, spires, parapets and flags in all its regal glory.
“It’s absolutely beautiful in its power but its old and boring.” Dominique said like a petulant child craving attention.
“Indeed, Castle Glamis, is now owned by the Earl of Strathmore,” Domino lectured. “a direct descendant of the Windsor clan.”
“Now that is interesting.”
“Listen.” Domino said. “It has always been an epicenter of diabolical machinations, plots and plans. As one of the twelve major clans, the Windsor’s name was synonymous with intrigue. The entire family has a history of incest and ruthless internal conflicts of power. Indeed, to this day they still wield great political influence in Scotland.”
“And the Earl is also a puppet of the Council.” Dominique said.
Domino nodded his head. “Yes, of course, and there remains a room, completely walled-in, it had been the prison for a deformed Windsor child; a grotesque prodigy of one of their incestuous unions. Yet another room was an arched and ceilinged family tomb. Located on the second floor, it reeked of death and was so macabre that it had served as dark inspiration for William Shakespeare’s Macbeth scene: The Killing of Duncan.”
“Yes,“ Dominique interrupted. “The castle’s tale is fittingly one of nefarious infamy but you’re avoiding the subject, father. I need to know what’s really going on, not a history lesson.”
Unruffled by her obvious impertinence, Domino nonetheless repositioned the bulk of his huge, powerful frame, completely engaging her. “The history is the lesson, child. You already know more about Council affairs than anyone else including high-ranking members of the Brotherhood. I brought you with me to observe. “
“Yes I understand all of that but how can I observe what I can’t see?”
“Therein lies the problem, my dear. Play your position and you will see much. You will see it all.”
Dominique crossed her legs and adjusted her Dolce & Gabbana shades. “I’m still not clear on what that position really is, father. Things are even more unstable and unpredictable now that Luciano is dead, and that’s why you’re here of course.”
Domino reflected briefly on the recent death of Luciano de’Medici, former Chairman of the Council. “That like everything else was not unplanned for. The game is chess, not checkers.”
“But I can’t make the best decisions without complete information.”
“All in due time. Until then, patience, my dear. And remain in the helicopter. Curiosity killed the cat.”
Dominique smirked. “But he had nine lives.”
Domino shook his head. “That’s a myth. Remember, our kind doesn’t subscribe to rumors and myths, we create them.”
“I’m a market maker, I already know that.”
“Then act that way, girl.”
Dominique became absorbed with her IPhone.
The peaceful, manicured, park setting of the courtyard was disturbed only by the helicopters, limousines and black suited, personal security details that patrolled the grounds. Although the most influential people in power from around the planet were meeting inside, there wasn’t a single reporter or protester in sight. Unlike the annual Bilderberg Group meetings, they were actually meeting in complete secrecy and their theoretical policies became policy in fact on a global level.
After landing Domino entered the Council chamber room. It was majestic with a high vaulted ceiling. The torches in their crenellated sconces illuminated the chamber as the hiss and aroma of their burning permeated the room. Coats of arms and glistening suits of armor lined the stone walls reflecting the light. Glorious tapestries of great battles were hung strategically telling a historical as well as prophetic tale. Carved directly into the masonry, chiseled in a fifth century Uncial script were the words:
“The Most Secret Plans Are In Agitation: Plans Calculated To Ensnare The Unwary: To Attract The Irreligious And To Entice The Predisposed; To Combine In The General Machine For Overthrowing All Governments And All Religions.”
The quote was derived from a correspondence the forefather George Washington had sent to William Russell in 1798 in relation to the Illuminati. It served as a personal reminder to Damien Victor Domino of exactly the power of the forces he was dealing with.
On the wall opposite was carved the motif of a huge skull with the definition directly below it.
“Skull; The Head as The Seat of Intelligence.”
In the center of the vast chamber was an onyx round table of monolithic size. And inscribed in its center in molten platinum, “Ordo Ab Chao.” orbited the all-seeing eye seven times; a circle within a circle within a circle. Reflected torch flame shimmered across its glossy surface like liquid flame. Situated evenly-spaced around the grand round table were seven ornately carved high-backed chairs. Standing solemnly behind five of the chairs were five grim faced men. Their white cassocks fashioned from fine brocades resembled the ancient robes of the clergy. But they were members of a new church or rather a very old and exclusive religion and their doctrine was New World Order, world domination.
“How gracious of you to honor us with your presence, Damien.” Petruchio said. He stood behind the seventh chair, the one directly beneath the skull inscription. The position of power. The Seat.
“Forgive my lateness, Brothers,” Domino said. “The helicopter I chartered encountered unforeseeable complications.”
Petruchio nodded his head ever so slightly.
“You dishonor the entire Council with your excuses.” Grimes spat. His voice dripped distilled venom and disdain. He was Gregorian Gaylord Grimes, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
“And what would you know about honor?” Domino said.
“Enough.” Petruchio commanded. In the absence of a Chairman he held the Seat as regent until a new Chairman was selected for service. “We have much business to conduct and not much time to do it in.”
Domino and Grimes eyed each other in silent communication. They’d been bitter rivals before but the latest events would forge them into deadly adversaries.
Petruchio turned to address the entire Council. “You all already know the reason for this emergency convening of the Council is nothing more than a formality.”
The Dominion of the Order and the Sub organizations under its umbrella number into the hundreds, yet the Council consists of only seven members. As the innermost circle of the governing body they each held the title of Skull; the head as the seat of intelligence. Thus they were each bosses, commanders, an office they held for life or until untimely death in some cases. For the penalty for infractions against the Rules of the Order at this level were often fatal.
And the position of ultimate, undisputed leadership was that of Chairman of this supremely exclusive Executive Board of Boards. The top of the pyramid, literally.
“This Council is hereby convened.” Petruchio said formally. “Remain standing, gentlemen,” then turning toward Domino. “And you, Victor, since you have excuses, will serve the blood wine.”
“As you command,” Domino responded, ritually as he went to retrieve the wine and goblets.
Domino placed a crystal goblet before each Council member then he filled each from the ornate crystal decanter before reassuming his position behind his chair.
Petruchio held his goblet high and the other Skulls followed suit. “Since the blood wine has been served as penance for belatedness, we will break with tradition today. So who will stand in honor of commencement?”
After a momentary pause Sir Albert Ingram of the Court of the Bank of England spoke in his haughty English. “I stand in honor for the Order this evening.” He then recited the blood oath speaking most eloquently, waxing poetic as the dark poetry of the oath deserved.
Once finished he spoke the secret sign. “Dark nights are unpleasant.”
“Yes,“ the council answered in chorus with the cosign, “for strangers to travel without brothers to illuminate the path.”
“The clouds are heavy,” they continued en masse, a choir of dark mass.
“Because a storm is coming. Yet we are not unprepared.” Sir Albert finished. Then he held his goblet up higher before throwing his head back and drinking the entire draught.
“A Skull above all others!” He shouted.
“A Skull above all others!” The congregation repeated in unison, raising their goblets to return the toast.
Then Sir Albert suppressed one cough, then another before succumbing to a virulent coughing fit. The brutal barks echoed throughout the chamber as they racked his body. He leaned over the table with his arms and legs shaking uncontrollably as blood spewed violently from his mouth with every horrible hack. Gurgling he collapsed to the floor choking as his lungs filled with fluid drowning the Englishman in his own blood.
Grimes spat his wine out followed vehemently by his fellow Council members. Shocked silence descended upon the chamber as they came around the table to look at the Englishman. The sight they beheld was one of upmost horror. The late Sir Albert Ingram lay crumpled like discarded laundry. Blood still oozed from the corners of his mouth, nose and eyes. Stunned murmurs and shattering crystal resounded as members dropped their goblets to the stone.
“Dio mio!” Petuchio exclaimed in shocked confusion.
Then the entire chamber erupted in a cacophony of shouts and confusion.
Copyrighted Material. All Rights Reserved. Duplication Unauthorized.
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