Forty Degrees Below

Chapter 13

As they walked back to the car he had this peculiar sensation of being watched, so much so that he looked over his shoulder. 

"He may just be an author. You probably think that only sedentary things happen around Curtis, but you've bought into his imaginary world. Anything can happen in there," commented Anya.

Sitting in the car he turned to her and felt, once again, this tingling sensation travelling up his spine.

"What do you know about this Bilderberg organisation?" she asked.

"It's my job to know," he replied matter-of-factly, "but I didn't want to say too much back there, because you know walls have ears, and you can never be too sure who's listening. What do you know about them?"

"Nothing really, are they some secret society?"

"Pretty well, although they're more 'unofficial' than secretive. At least, that's what they'd have you believe. They're a trans-Atlantic organisation that comprises about one hundred and fifty of the most powerful heads of industry, commerce, and government from America and Europe, of which, I'm pretty sure; the guy you were meeting was one."

"Here's the interesting thing though Anya, no agenda for these meetings are set, no policies are agreed, no resolutions are passed, and no votes are cast. This is one clandestine society that we're dealing with here. How, on earth did you get involved with these people?"

"I told you, I don't know... well, in a way I do; they got in touch with me," she replied looking into my eyes. And the way she looked, the fact she wasn't blushing, led me to believe her.

"So, is it you, or Curtis that they're interested in?"

"Curtis," announced a male voice from behind sitting up. "Of course, it's Curtis."

jake turned around, startled, and came face to face with one of the men who he recognised from The French Press acting suspiciously earlier that day.

He'd never seen Anya so angry, or indeed heroic, or perhaps even foolish. She flung open the door, leapt out of her seat, stomped around, yanked open the back passenger door and shouted. "Get out! Get out of my car now!"

He hesitated, then making eye contact with Jake said, in a hurried voice. "This article of yours that you're hoping to get printed. I should let you know that you won't find an organisation or publisher who will take it. You won't be able to broker any deal either. Your claim to fame will remain buried along with all the other aspirations you have. However, walk away from this, and we guarantee you countless opportunities and undreamt of wealth. Riches beyond your wildest imagination."

Jake went to open his mouth, but no words came out.

"Right that's it!" Cried Anya, and grabbing one of his arms she physically pulled him out of the car, dragging him along the ground. She might have been shorter, and lighter than he was, but she couldn't half throw her weight around, and to good affect too.

Dazed, and lying in a somewhat bedraggled heap on the kerb he got up, brushed himself down, and, unfazed, leant in through the open window and said, "Remember, what I said. Walk away from this, and we'll see to it that you'll have riches beyond your anything you can imagine." He then turned and walked away.

Anya got back in the car fuming. She started the engine and we began to move down the road. She slowed and glared as we passed the offender clambering to his feet. Jake found my voice again, and through the open window cried out, "Your threats don't frighten me, you'll have to try harder than that to scare Jake Cassidy you know," and then they took off at high speed.

Jake sat shaking from head to foot. He looked across at Anya, and her face was a picture of smouldering anger. We sat in silence as Santa Barbara flew past in a blur. After ten minutes, her driving became less manic, and she eased off the accelerator somewhat.