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Devil's Wealth

A New World OrderBy Richard Bhar

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Richard Bhar
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-6800-8

Chapter One

It was early morning when the Caledonian Airways Boeing 707, carrying Jaget, took off from Kuala Lumpur Airport and landed at Gatwick the following day, flying via Mos- cow.

It was a cold, foggy mid-November evening. The plane landed safely after only a short skid on the tarmac due to the thin layer of ice. The flight was tiring but pleasant for a first-time experience.

Jaget Mann stood in the arrival hall on clearing the unfussy immigration and customs officers. He had claimed his solitary suitcase. Suddenly, hit by a certain awareness, he shivered as fear ran through his body. Where was he? People with white faces were everywhere, with different coloured hair. Long coats that covered part of their legs. Leather boots up to the knees. Smoke in the air. Revolving doors and neon signs.

He was only from a rural town, someplace in South East Asia. He was certainly not known to these people. No one cared. He was alone, scared and worried.

He had no will to go forward but a tremendous urge to run back to the plane. The craft that had brought him to this unknown planet would surely take him back to Earth and his hometown. He had never ventured more than a few kilometres from his home except to catch the flight. But then his family was with him. He was safe and cheerful with them, not realising where he was headed for, and all alone.

The whole force of reality dawned upon him with the sudden rush of cold winter air engulfing his body. Air came through the revolving doors. He was only sixteen. Unex- posed to the outside world, he'd been protected by his family and the townspeople. He wanted to get back to the security of the warm tropical nights, sitting with his siblings under the rubber and coconut trees, or being at the dinner table surrounded by cheerful voices, his father looking at him with disgust. He had been a naughty boy. So what, as the look only made Jaget realise how much his father loved him. He was the youngest and there were no more to come. The production unit had shut down. He loved his father intensely. He was after all more a grandson than a son. The age difference ... he wanted to go back.

'No,' said a small voice in his head. He knew he was here on a special mission. What was it? No answers. Only fear. Yes, Jaget would not retreat. He would walk through those revolving doors. He had to. He was not a coward. With the pleasant thought of having dinner with his elder sister in a couple of hours, he forced his way through those steel and glass doors, lugging his lone suitcase.

This was the beginning of the end of all things known to Jaget.

As he turned right, leaving the revolving doors behind, he saw a crowd waiting for the arrivals. There in this crowd he saw a familiar face, a smile. It was his brother. His somewhat fearful state turned into a state of well-being, a state of warmness, when he hugged his brother. The hug lasted until the last strains of fear had drained through his body. His brother led him to a waiting green airport coach, where they seated themselves on blue velvet-covered plush seats. The coach was heated, and Jaget removed his pull-over. The coach manoeuvred its way down the winding road and on to a straight motorway, towards London.

Here comes Jaget, he thought to himself.

He didn't know what the future held for him. If only he could bring the future into the present. Nothing was visible except for the lights of moving vehicles and distant houses and some small factories. It was after all 10 p.m. and, being winter, the sun had set a long, long time ago. After an hour, the coach parked in a covered driveway at Victoria Coach Station, where the air vibrated with the steady roar of diesel engines. The brothers stepped down from the coach and stopped to claim the suitcase from the hold.

They caught a black London taxi to their sister's apartment. It took a mere fifteen minutes. The traffic was light at this time. Their sister greeted and welcomed Jaget with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. After all, he was the baby of the family. The suitcase, carried by the brother, followed them up to the second floor. There was no time to freshen up. Jaget's stomach was growling, so straight to dinner it was. The cold weather always increased your hunger pangs, Jaget found. Chicken and spaghetti Milanese, in a sauce with Gruyère cheese, tiny roasted eggplants on the side and a salad of greens with tomatoes covered the dining table. They tucked in and the food vanished in a matter of minutes. Jaget was hungry and so was his brother. Dessert was an assortment of pastries from a famous French patisserie in the neighbourhood.

There was no unpacking. Jaget went straight to bed with the clothes on his back. The room was paraffin heated. Curled up under the quilt, he closed his eyes and thought of tomorrow as the first day of his new beginning. No more thoughts could be entertained. He was in slumber land, in the midst of the financial capital of the whole world. It was the beginning of something the world may not have been ready to witness. But what would happen – and when?

Chapter Two

Jaget was awoken by the sound of a closing door. It was already midday. The apartment was two-bedroomed and well furnished with a romantic touch of the Mediterranean. His sister had left for her classes followed by part-time work. His brother had left the night before for his own pad in Kilburn, North London.

Jet lag was in his body but his mind was all excited, keen to view the outside. After a shower followed by a glass of hot milk and some toast, which his sister had left on the table, under a cover, Jaget put on his brother's overcoat, on loan to him, and ventured into the streets of London – the capital city of nearly three-quarters of the world, at one time not long ago.

It was cold and the winds were blowing against him, restricting his forward movement. The heavy overcoat added to the effort required. He was in Lambeth North, south of the River Thames. Standing next to Shell House, he could nearly touch the famous clock tower, Big Ben, standing opposite him. It was just across the river, con- nected by a slightly humped bridge. This was Westminster. Rays of sunlight had broken through the clouds. The Thames' surface sparkled as the sunrays bounced off the waves created by small ships and boats plying up and down the majestic waterway snaking through the heart of London.

As he sat on a bench overlooking ancient buildings, full of architecture from both classical times and the last century, Jaget felt a burst of realisation in his heart. His education was here. The future to absolute success was here. The road to power was here. There was nothing one could not accomplish here. London held out its arms to welcome Jaget. By whatever means, he would take the road to abundance and success. Jaget had made up his mind about that invitation.

Jaget remembered the prophecy as told to him by his father, but he was then only sixteen. Twenty-one was five long years away. He decided he would just follow the normal sequence of the education route and see what came his way when he reached the age of twenty-one. He remembered the phrase 'beginning of the end'.

'London, here I am in your bountiful arms. I await whatever is mine and for the taking. There are no limits, no reservations. See you at the top, London,' Jaget said to himself.

With these thoughts, what had...