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 he invited into his life? Even he could not tell. How could he know at this tender age?

The sun had set and he made his way back to the apart- ment for dinner and a light-hearted chat with his sister. He went to bed early, as the jet lag had crept into his body once again.

The next day he was to enrol in person at Davies's Edu- cation College in Holborn. He had decided against boarding, and intended to squat with his sister until he could find a place of his own. The timeframe he had put on this was within the first year. His sister agreed. Jaget was not accustomed to a negative response to his requests. This was his character. This was his unquestionable leadership. His eyes beamed with an internal strength, with a desire to conquer, to be a conqueror. His soul sensed an unexplainable unity with the world of unknowns. He could relate to the universe. He could imagine himself moving between the stars and the planets, being at one with each and every thing. He could see the shadows of man and animal without a sun in the sky. He never understood but never questioned the events.

Who was Jaget? What was he? An invitation made to what or whom? Where would it lead? How would it end?

Chapter Three

'Name, date of birth and acceptance number please,' said the pleasant-looking young blonde behind the registration counter at Davies's.

On completion of all the formalities and armed with a subject timetable and a student card, Jaget was ready to start classes for his A levels the following Monday morning. The fees for his one-year course had been transferred directly into Davies's account by his father. How the money travelled from a small town nearly 10,000 miles away was not an issue for Jaget – it was not his concern. But he was thankful anyway.

A couple of months had passed. The Christmas and New Year holidays had been fun but were now in the past. New friends had been made, new experiences enjoyed and new outlets explored. He had picked up the routes around London in an uncanny way. He knew the street names, the back streets, the shortcuts, the marketplaces for best bargains. He could have become a professional tour guide, but that was not his destiny in life.

The year 1968 passed by, and by this time Jaget had moved to his own bedsitter in the Marble Arch area, adjacent to Oxford Street. George Street was now his address. The Mason's Arms, the local watering hole of the rich and famous, was just three doors away. This was the area to live in, being in touch with the right society. A stepping stone to Mayfair, the home of financial barons and the ultra-wealthy. A world within a world, with its own rules. This was Jaget's targeted area for a home.

How could he afford the rental rates of Marble Arch at the age of seventeen, as a full-time student? His monthly allowance was handed to him in cash by his brother on the last day of the month. It was a fixed amount, just enough for food, travel and the occasional outing to a decent pub. No extras were provided for, as the brother was a tight-fisted character. The extra for new designer clothes and short holidays in Europe came from his brother back home, who had become a famous and sought-after attorney at law. Jaget enjoyed luxury but just could not afford it, not for now, anyway.

It was no coincidence that he was in Marble Arch. Or was it? Jaget's decision to move to Marble Arch was influenced by a lady he met in the August of 1968, on the banks of the river Thames. She was a wealthy lady with an upright posture and beauty beyond compare. She had a slim and athletic body, in a six-foot frame; light-coloured golden clear skin; dark brown, straight shoulder-length hair. Her eyes were full of intensity, sometimes fixed, direct and somewhat staring. They were sometimes frightening and sometimes loving. Her face had an angelic structure but was firm and with sharp features. She could seduce any man – or woman, for that matter. She did not need the money. But it helped

Chapter Four

It was a warm summer evening in August. Jaget decided to sit on the bench facing the Houses of Parliament with his back to Shell House. He was reading his Engineering Management textbook. As usual, his mind was somewhere else. His A-level exams were only a few months away, in January 1969. His attendance was a mere twenty per cent, or less, at college.

While daydreaming, he felt the bench shake slightly. He turned to his left, and his eyes met the eyes of a gorgeous, out of this world lady in a navy blue tracksuit. She had dark brown hair, worn in a ponytail.

'Good evening,' she said in a polite voice complemented by a perfect smile. 'Is this taken?' she enquired.

He did not answer. He was dazzled by her beauty and the aroma of roses around her. She had been jogging yet she smelled of roses.

'Good morning!' he exclaimed in reply.

She realised the impact she had made on him. It was evening, not morning.

'Well, it could just as well be a good morning tomorrow,' she assured him, with that perfect smile.

He smiled in a boyish manner in agreement, nodding his head like a yo-yo. He was somewhat nervous but felt excited. She was in her late twenties. Jaget could already sense the possibilities. He had the feel of sexuality. After all, he was nearly seventeen — the exploring and experimenting age.

'I'm Nicole Grey ... you must be Jaget Mann.' She introduced herself and stated this fact at the same time. How did she know? At the surprised look still on his face, she explained. 'It's printed on the cover of your book,' she said.

Well, that was the only thing that he had got out of this textbook, the one-sided introduction. It should have been more on Communication Technology rather than Engi- neering.

They shook hands and did not let go for a while. She withdrew first, then followed with a light cheeky tap on his left thigh.

'How about dinner, on me, tomorrow at the Plaza, Hyde Park?' she invited.

Sure. He liked luxury and posh entertainment and food places. But his luxury was limited to a couple of branded shirts and shoes, plus a couple of European holidays on tour packages courtesy of his attorney brother. That was it, and now this ... how could he refuse?

'I'll send the car around 6 p.m. What's your address?' she enquired. 'We will start with cocktails at the 007 Bar and Lounge on the ground floor, followed by dinner in my suite on the twentieth,' she said in an authoritative manner.

Before he gave her his address, a thought went through his mind. Who was she, and what was her motive? He was below the admissible age to drink at a licensed bar. Dinner in her suite ... what was going on? But given that he was Jaget, with his great sense of adventure, he handed her a piece of paper from his writing pad, his address written neatly on it.

'Ring the second floor apartment bell and I will be down in a jiffy,' he interjected.

'It will be the chauffeur driving a silver Rolls-Royce,' she added. 'Goodbye till tomorrow. You can drink orange juice.'

Nicole waved as she jogged away towards Shell House and out of sight.

It was getting darkish. As he walked towards the apart- ment his mind kept hitting on the parting words – 'orange juice'. She knew his age, or thereabouts. He was already feeling excited, not just from the thought of being in her company once again, and the surrounding luxury, but from the anticipation of being in close proximity to a woman who was created and moulded with patience to perfection. He had only seen her in her tracksuit. What would she look like in her tailored evening clothes? What a thought! And with that he retired for the day.

Wait a minute! A thought flashed in his mind. Nicole had never asked anything about him, such as where was he from? What was he doing in London? Why, at this young age? And what did he know about her? Not a thing. Just that she must be wealthy, very wealthy. Jaget was not built to back down from intrigue and solving the mysteries of life. His eyes closed, he was in dreamland. Let tomorrow be tomorrow ...

Chapter Five

The Bar and Lounge at the London Plaza was amazingly simple but elegant in decor. It was comfortable, with white leather lounge chairs that had generous armrests. There were plush thick carpets and life-size portraits of movie celebrities. Jaget was baffled by its luxury. This was surely the place made for him. He was ushered in by a tuxedo-clad waiter to a corner table for two. He sank into the oversized lounge chair. The leather felt soft. Must be calf, he thought. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, he stood up when Nicole Grey walked through the door. He was wearing his brother's black pinstriped suit with a white shirt and a dark blue necktie. The suit was a bit big and the last time it saw any dry cleaning chemicals would have been at least a couple of years ago.

Jaget felt embarrassed because Nicole made the most beautiful picture in her black velvet evening gown.

Oh my ... he thought to himself.

As she made her way to the table, all heads turned. He knew their thoughts, male and female. If only she was their date for the evening ... that was the effect of Nicole Grey.

The heads followed her and then all eyes were on Jaget Mann. What, is that her date? they would have been thinking. Maybe some friend's brother or son from the distant world, they must have thought, Jaget mused. Nicole moved into a sitting position politely and in the most elegant manner, next to Jaget. She crossed her legs. Jaget sat down with his awe still in existence. The waiter served a glass of tomato juice and a Dom Pérignon.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Devil's Wealthby Richard Bhar Copyright © 2011 by Richard Bhar. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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