OVERPOPULATIONThe Hidden Agenda for Global Reset

by

Robert Salisbury

Book III in the Phillip Banks Trilogy

First Edition

First published in Australia, by Lime Books 2019

ISBN: 978-0-9943336-6-7

No part of this publication may be reproduced ortransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic ormechanical, including photocopy, recording, or anyinformation storage and retrieval system, withoutpermission in writing from the publisher

OVERPOPULATION

Copyright © Robert Salisbury, 2019All rights reserved

The moral right of Robert Salisbury to be identified asauthor of this work has been asserted in accordancewith the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shallnot, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold,hired out, or otherwise circulated without thepublisher’s prior consent in any form or binding orcover other than that in which it is published andwithout a similar condition including this conditionbeing imposed on the subsequent purchaser

Artwork - ‘The Journey of Thought’ by Jon PikeCover design by Stephen Molloy, Lomah Studios

Printed in Australia

Dedicated to my Dad‘Turns out you were right.’

I

to you

as you read

know that I care

that you are special

a marvel of mother nature

your mind is an infinite space

to fill with your own style and grace

beware those who toil for assets and share

filter their bullshit & know that they do not care

but listen to freaks, consider their refrain

question letters that come after name

laugh at terror it is but a game

defrock status also fame

spit on their grave

& envy no one

to you be

true

I

Synopsis

In Overpopulation – the Hidden Agenda for Global Reset,Phillip Banks is acquiring water infrastructure in Mega-citiesacross Asia and Africa.

Meanwhile, in their quest for control The Shadows launchSpiron, a computer virus more intelligent than Man, with aview to re-ordering society in its favour.

What could go wrong?

Characters

Shadows

Lord Isaac George Martin Delonge Martin ChairmanRuben Segal Morgan Sachs CEOPremier Li Xiaoping Chinese PremierRashid bin Abdullah al Fahim Saudi Oil BaronPapa Boniface X The PopePytor Nicolai Russian Shadow

Others

Phillip Banks Delonge Martin DirectorZara Fontaine Phillip’s fianceWilliam ‘Billy’ Hunt Delonge Martin DirectorHenry Delonge Delonge Martin CEOLady Elizabeth Lord Martin’s wifeProfessor Boynton Perfidious DAAG scientistVerinder Kirmani Indian Prime MinisterUlyvia Finnish school girlAbigale Marquis Zanzibar’s nieceGaspare Vitellius Italian DealmakerMamadou Nigerian media starZainab Muhammad Nigerian PresidentKitty Tuppence British LawyerJean Hemel-Hempstead British High CommissionerLeonie Vickers Phillip’s PATin-Eye Lord Martin’s bodyguardMads Aasvik JournalistKultrina Mads girlfriend

Book III Phillip Banks Trilogy

No one knows how many secret societies exist today. For, what organization worthy of conspiracy would continue if its existence were common knowledge?

Episodes

One WATER SCARCITY 11

Two OCCIPITAL WORM 53

Three ESSENCE OF INNOCENCE 91

Four AFRICAN CENTURY 119

Five STRESS, THREATS & ULTIMATUMS 177

Six CONFUCIUS ONE 223

Seven GLOBAL RESET 269

Acknowledgements 286

Inspiration 287

Author 288

Epilogue 289

In Overpopulation – the Hidden Agenda for Global Reset, we follow the life of Phillip Banks, a private banker, who travels across Asia and Africa bidding for control of water infrastructure projects on behalf of his employer, Delonge Martin.

Set in the not too distant future we find a world of boomingMega Cities afflicted by disease, mysterious infection andmass rebellion. A world controlled by the Shadows.

Meanwhile, in their quest for control, The Shadows launchSpiron, the world’s first digital consciousness, with a view tore-ordering society in their favour.

What could go wrong?

Ever since Thomas Malthus warned of the dangers of boom-ing population, Man has been beset with competition for re-sources. This book depicts a world in which those who con-trol society make plans to tackle Overpopulation.

Robert Salisbury

Episode One

WATER SCARCITYCONTROLLING INFRASTRUCTURE

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“The power of population is so superior to thepower of the Earth to produce subsistence for

man, that premature death must in some shape orother visit the human race.”

Thomas Robert Malthus (1766 -1834)History Professor (English)

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Scene IPradesh, India

‘Mama! Mama!’ barefooted Roopal ran towards his home.More shack than brick house, it sat on 7 acres of dusty flatland. His family had farmed there for generations. His motherdried her hands on a towel and walked to the dirt entrance oftheir home.

‘Mama, it’s dry.’ His mother stared into the distance where her husband and

the expensive engineer from the city were drilling. Their latestbore hole had been their deepest yet.

‘Do not do! It is your life savings,’ her father had warned.He thought everything was expensive. Only this time, he wasright, there were mouths to feed, and their only other optionwas so bad…

During her childhood, they would dig down a few feet andfind water. The land was waterlogged and plentiful. But, oversuccessive years they had had to drill deeper and deeper. Thislatest attempt was their most expensive yet. An investment. Agamble.

The drilling company from Nagpur, had bits that could

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bore down 90 meters. They were expensive. But what choicedid they have? Water meant life.

They were gambling their life savings. Without water they could grow no crops, without crops

they would have no income. As she looked at the orangeburnished sky filtered with dust blown up from the parcheddessicated land, and the land that stretched to the distance, apatchwork of ancestral memories, a living embodiment of herhistory, her heart cracked.

It’s not there. There was only one choice remaining, to go to the city and

live in the slums, without land, without space, to fight forwork amongst the millions of rootless poor.

Roopal had listened to his parents fretting over this out-come, for months. He knew only of fear.

‘What will we do Mama?’ His mother looked down into his big innocent brown eyes

that pleaded for resolution. He believed in her omnificence. ‘Where has the water gone?’

She pulled him to her hip. Her father was right. There wasno hope.

Scene IIBeggar on the Freeway, Delhi

The sun had not done with Delhi, it intended to burn every-thing and everyone, to incinerate, to kill, to create thermalsthat would carry debris and detritus high above the city, birl-ing and twirling and colliding with soot from 9 millionexhaust pipes, dusting the streets in poisonous silt and liningthe lungs of a million urchins who lived on the street.

Entering this scene was Phillip Banks, a debonair forty

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Robert Salisbury

year old English banker, whose objective was to secure amulti-billion dollar water infrastructure project. Why? Be-cause it is liquid gold. He worked for Delonge Martin (DM), aprivate bank at which he had been for over a decade.

He left his hotel and instantly felt the heat through hisjacket. His milky white Lexus awaited. Still in the securegrounds of his hotel, his driver stood next to the open door, inhat, gloves and immaculate black suit. Beneath this veneer ofcivility, Delhi belched out a cacophony of automotive indiges-tion.

He thanked his driver and settled into the coconut leatherof his rear seat. With the doors shut and the bedlam of the citysealed out, he was in meditative paradise. Even his seat wastemperature controlled. Such excesses were a prerequisite formaintaining balance, amidst such claustrophobia.

He removed his shades and opened the document he hadbeen working on: a contract for access to the DFL Mall of In-dia, on behalf of H2-EnviroCon, the British construction com-pany he represented. It was owned by his employer DelongeMartin. He was leading a tender for the Delhi-Basin Water In-frastructure Project: a $38 billion plan to supply water andwaste treatment infrastructure to the 32.9 million people wholived in the metropolis.

His main problem was access to land and property, ownedby DFL Construction, the Indian competitor for the project.Who, by terrible coincidence, happened to own the DFL Mallof India, a vast shopping complex under which infrastructurewould need to pass. Without access to the DFL Mall of India,pipework would have to be diverted miles, burdening theirbudget and making their tender uncompetitive.

He was under orders to secure the project no-questions-asked, even if meant going outside the law. The prospect wasunpalatable, but in view of the fact that a team of hundreds

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had worked on the tender for three years, failure was unthink-able.

His team in London had sent amendments to their tender,for his approval. As head of project, Banks had sign-off. Hewas, without any belief of success, about to raise his offer toDFL - for access to the Mall of India.

Banks had overseen eighteen such ‘water’ projects, forMega Cities (with a population exceeding 20 million) over thepast five years. Mainly, in countries that had experienced apopulation explosion since 1970. So, predominantly China,South East Asia, South America, Africa and India.

Ten minutes into their cross-city journey, they hit traffic.‘Sorry, sorry sir. This traffic very bad.’ His driver seldom

spoke. But, they had stopped again, in the centre of four lanes.Cars were stationary in both directions. Delhi's traffic systemwas abysmal. Over the past four days Banks had spent morethan three hours each day stuck in traffic.

His mind span like the wheels on a fruit machine, selectingoptions for action he might need to take should DFL refusehis offer. Even if successful, he would need to break lease onhundreds of retail, commercial and residential tenancies, inorder to re-construct the Shopping Mall. It was a nightmare.Local government was fully behind his competitor DFL. Anyattempt to win the contract from DFL would mean oiling thewheels of local government, further stretching his alreadybloated budget.

He closed his pad and stretched out his legs. Despite beinga constant 22 degrees inside the car, the glass was hot totouch. The midday temperature had hit 44 Celsius. Outsidethe road surface was blistering hot, and an almighty greycloud was forming from the auto-mobiles tail-gating into thedistance, each belching out exhaust, in their attempt to main-tain their air conditioning.

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Robert Salisbury

A man appeared at Banks’ passenger side window: a verythin man, in a much stained crème sash and clutching a pieceof red cloth covetously. He smiled, revealing toothless gums.Although not threatened by the man, Banks did feel a need tounderstand him. How old was he? Was he forty or eighty? Hecould not decide. The severity of his poverty was an abstrac-tion that Banks found hard to see beyond.

What kind of a man is he?‘Sorry sir. I will tell him to move along.’‘No need.’The beggar bobbed his head in the affirmative, whilst

holding the red cloth to the window. Does he expect me to un-derstand? Banks thought him wretched. But, his mind wasalso occupied with considerations of by how much he wouldneed to bribe local government, in order to turf out thousandsof people from their lease on property. The beggar’s eyebrowsseemed to suggest that he understood that too.

It was hard for Banks not to pity him, standing beneath themidday sun on a road that would radiate as much heat as thelining of a tandoor oven.

Descending from the embankment along the hard shoulder,came a ragged army of waifs, strays and beggars, offeringeverything from tacky plastic kitchen-ware to home-madecandy on a stick.

‘Are there no jobs for these people?’‘Oh sir, they so lazy, good for nothing peoples. Don’t take

pity on them. They do not go to school. They not learn to readand to write. They are the poor, the Dalit, sir. It is not theirfault.’

Traffic was at a standstill in both directions. Minute by minute more and more beggars descended onto

the road. Soon, each car had a beggar accosting them withpleas to purchase goods, goods that neither driver nor passen-

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ger would have use for. ‘How much longer?’‘Sir, it can stay like this for… an hour sometimes, sir.’Banks groaned. He had people waiting. The beggar began tapping softly against his window. He

appeared to be reciting something, a chant. ‘Sorry sir. I would chase him away, but I cannot leave the

car sir.’‘Not to worry Jagdish.’ ‘You can call me Jason, sir. Jason. Yes please. I have called

Jason for so many years now, I am not believing that myname is not being Jason, any more.’

The beggar was now pointing down at his left leg, whichwas missing below the knee. Banks wondered if he would goaway, if he were handed some money?

There was a clunk. Suspecting his passenger might bethinking of opening a window, Jason had applied precaution-ary central locking.

‘For your safety sir. He is Dalit, you cannot touch.’‘I see.’The beggars were becoming restless from lack of sales. In

retaliation drivers were sounding their horns. Banks becameuneasy at the thought of what they might do, in such heat,were their pleas not met with sympathy.

‘My family is from the Kshatriyas. We were once gloriousrulers. Oh yes sir.’ The balance of allegiance shifted from Indians togetheragainst the English, to Jason and himself against the beggar,who was still tapping a kind of Morse code against the win-dow.

He has nothing to lose, thought Banks. The driver took the moment to share his opinion. ‘I do not like Dalit!’

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Robert Salisbury

Banks looked at the Dalit once more and found that, to hisastonishment he recognised the words being muttered; anEnglish rhyme:

“Ring-a-ring o’roses, A pocket full of posies.A-tishoo!, A-tishoo! We all fall down.”

Up ahead the traffic had begun to move. The Dalit smiled

back at Banks, without reproach or condemnation. As theLexus pulled away the beggar’s red scarf appeared to unravel,as though it were caught in the door. Banks turned and wit-nessed the old man fall into the road behind them. No soonerhad he fallen than the car behind them ran over him and car-ried on driving, without slowing or changing course.

‘Stop! Stop the car!’ Banks leapt up to the rear window,hoping to see something encouraging about the beggar, whohad now become lost under a second and third car.

‘Can’t stop sir. Too much traffic.’‘Stop! I said.’ Banks yanked and shoved at his door, but it

was locked. ‘Sorry sir, cannot stop here sir. Nobody stop for Dalit.’Banks stared back, desperate for a sign that the old man

had survived. But he never appeared. As they picked up speedall that could be seen was the blank expression on the face ofbeggars they passed, and the distant flap of the beggar’scrème sash, on the road.

Traffic in both directions soon reached maximum speedand Banks slumped into his seat. He felt winded and defeated,and turned his gaze to the forest of skyscrapers that comprisedDelhi's financial district.

What kind of progress has this country made? ‘Air conditioner work so much better now, sir. You can re-

lax.’

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Scene IIIThakula Construction, New Delhi

Banks was late for his appointment, and it did not seem tophase anyone. He was greeted by Thakula Construction CEORajya P. Thakula, a tall gangly Gen Y, in a badly tailored bluesilk suit. It did nothing to disguise his pot belly and narrowhips. He wore his hair slicked back with gel, which created anundignified shine to his black hair. They shook hands. Rajya’sgrip was weak and slightly damp. In view of the fact thatThakula was a construction company, it told him that Rajyawas most likely the son of the owner.

‘I would like to introduce you to our chief engineer, AnjaliMittal.’ Banks shook hands with Mittal. ‘He will be joining uson this morning’s inspection.’

Mittal was a more plausible character, with big round eyes,surrounded by black dusting, pudgy cheeks and a neatlytrained beard, that twisted to a knot beneath his chin. Hemoved in his suit as if he were made of dough. They were twomost unlikely characters to be running a construction com-pany.

Having taken the lift to the top of their building and made theroof, they were soon climbing into a waiting helicopter. Theyflew over Delhi. From above Banks observed that the city wasan endless maze of narrow streets between tight-knitted hous-ing, sprinkled with sand. Breaking this up were sporadicclusters of modern high-rise, and cutting gentle curves acrossit all were modern highways, that seemed to respect no his-toric boundaries. Beyond the city limits the land was a patch-work of green squares, of differing shade, which soon peteredout, to a barren sandy-coloured landscape.

Along the way, and over the noise of the engine and rotor

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Robert Salisbury

blades, Anjali maintained a commentary.‘This is important agri-land. All water for these fields is

being diverted from the Yamuna river. But, that is problem.Yamuna river is main feed for Delhi. No longer sufficient.Our nearest alternative is Ganges. But, that is also problem.’

He explained that India’s population was still growing, andthat the middle and affluent upper classes were using morewater than ever. Not to mention producing more effluent too.They had built long distance pipes across hundreds of miles,but were unable to meet demand.

Having arrived at their destination, they entered an indus-trial lift, that descended underground. They emerged into aconcrete tunnel lit by a single line of yellow lamps, thatstretched towards a white pin-point.

‘We connect to Ganges that direction, and this direction toDelhi.’

‘You could drive a double-decker bus through here. Whyso large?’ Banks looked at his shoes, there was a trickle ofwater, but not enough to worry his socks.

‘It used to be full,’ confirmed Mittal. ‘As it crosses theplateau, we need to re-cycle. As in UK. Did you know that bythe time the Thames reaches London, water has passedthrough seven people?’

Banks smiled, appreciating the lengths to which they weregoing to prove what was already known.

Anjali smiled. He certainly enjoyed his job. ‘But tell me Mr. Banks, one thing about your project, your

capacity is very low. We have run the numbers and, excuseme for saying, but for Delhi–’

‘I understand. It seems like our capacity is low. But withtechnology–’

‘We will need greater capacity. Not less. Delhi is stillgrowing.’

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‘It could shrink.’‘I don’t think so. For your tender to work, demand would

have to fall… why is that?’‘It’s complicated.’ Banks left it at that.

That night Banks attended a banquet in his honour. It washosted by Rajya P. Thakula, and his father Thakula senior,who had allowed his son to prepare Banks for their meeting.

The following day, Banks was keen to get down to busi-ness. He was offering Thakula Construction major contractsto supply teams of construction workers. The scale of workswould require thousands of labourers and skilled workers,which needed to be sourced and managed locally. Senior en-gineers would be brought in by H2-EnvrioCon, and report totheir head office in Basingstoke, UK. What Banks wantedfrom Thakula in return for the contract was government influ-ence. For without access to the Ganges to Delhi pipeline, andDFL Mall of India nothing would be achieved.

‘I will award you the contract if you can get me politicalinfluence. A politician.’

Anjali and Rajya looked at one another. Then, full ofsmiles, Rajya replied: ‘No problem, Verinder Kirmani is mycousin.’

Scene IVRashtrapati Bhavan, New Delhi

The following day, Banks sat in the back of his Lexus headingalong the grand boulevard of Rajpath to the former home ofthe British Viceroy of India, the Rashtrapati Bhavan. Built in1929, the grand palace was now the official residence of Ra-jya’s cousin, the Prime Minister of India Verinder Kirmani.

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After some ceremonial etiquette and a brief tour of themore elaborate rooms of the Palace, Banks was taken to acinema room, where he sat alone, in a comfortable seat infront of a white screen. Joining him, a few minutes later, wasPrime Minister Verinder Kirmani. They greeted one anotherand shook hands, then sat side by side in silence as the lightsdimmed.

‘Ah, we are going to be 36 million soon. Yes. Three timesbigger than your London. Oh it is very piddly little city now,compared to international stage, in the new world, where acountry like India and China, Indonesia, Nigeria we are muchmuch bigger than you. And now I see Paris only two and halfmillion, London only six million, very small country. Now, ehdon’t be so angry if you are not part of the new world. If youare part of history. Ah we are very old culture, and sometimesyou white people you used to be powerful for short space, justlittle space. Our history go back a long time, three thousandyear, and you only to ten-sixty-six, so only short time. It istime for you to retire from international world. Because Lon-don now only six million people.’

‘I think you will find that Greater London–’‘Oh, why is it you are making your numbers less and less?

I noticed Paris now only two and a half million. Eh, but I wasa there recently and I think it’s bigger than ever. Most interna-tional cities you see, they are growing. Urbanisation is themodern movement. And of course Calcutta is now twenty-fivemillion, and Bagrahan is now thirty million. And we, in Delhi,we are going for thirty-six million.’

‘Does your population cause you any problems?’ ‘We do have two problems. One is water, which I am con-fident, that with your help we can resolve. The other is morepressing.’

Banks had been briefed on the Prime Minister’s diminish-

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ing prospect of a second term in office. With a forthcomingnational election, overhauling the city water supply would godown well with the electorate. Especially since water had be-come such a pivotal topic. But, not if it were assigned to aBritish firm in preference to a local Indian one.

Still, Banks was there to pitch for Delonge Martin, for Bri-tain, which were practically interchangeable terms.

‘Our tender will save two years in construction and comein under DFL: saving you time and money.’

‘But your tender is to build very small capacity, not likevery big Indian proposal, as DFL bid.’

‘Our modelling suggests that Delhi’s population will haveshrunk by then.’

‘What you talking about? Delhi very big city. Not tiddlypiddly small city, like London or Paris. No. I think yourtender have problem.’

The Prime Minister dismissed this hypothesis, then drewattention to something else. ‘I be showing you something.’Footage ran on the screen showing thousands and thousandsof people holding banners, chanting and beating drums, whilstoccupying Old Delhi’s main square.

‘That was last month.’ Another city was shown, with sim-ilar crowds, a sea of red. Banks thought of the beggar fromthe day before, clutching at his piece of red cloth.

‘They are my problem. This is week eleven, and theirnumbers are growing, not shrinking. So you see, not only ourcities big, but our problems big too.’

Banks was surprised at the size of the protests, which hadnot registered in his debriefing. He would have words with re-search on his return to London.

‘Who are they? What do they want?’ ‘They are Red Band. What they want is revolution.’Banks starred at the masses and wondered how many there

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were. The shot changed to another city, and more crowds. ‘To date, they are in Rajasthan. But already receiving re-

port they spread to Uttar Pradesh and Gujarat.’ Verinderturned to face Banks. ‘If you resolve my problem, I resolveyours.’

Scene VPhillip’s employer is dying

Banks returned to his hotel to consider how he might alleviatethe problem of public unrest for Prime Minister Verinder Kir-mani. He fell asleep with much on his mind, only to beawoken in the small hours, by an alert from Professor Boyn-ton Perfidious, who warned him:

“He’s dying. You’d better come.”The Professor was physician to Lord Isaac George Martin,

the man who owned the bank at which Phillip worked. Con-sequently, he caught the first plane back to England. Fourteenhours later, he drove out of London at 160 mph, along a rainsoaked M40, then chanced his luck along narrow windingcountry lanes to reach Lord Martin’s home, the jewel in Buck-inghamshire: Waddesdon Manor. He pulled up in front of itsGothic entrance, and with engine still running and driver’sdoor ajar, charged into the cavernous reception hall, shoesclattering along the tiled Victorian hallways, as he made hisway to the library, where the Professor had said he would be.

“He’ll not make nightfall.” Knowing his employer to be one-hundred and sixty-nine

years of age, Banks had flung open the doors to the library,hoping to catch the Lord’s last mortal utterance. What he hadfound was Lord Martin standing at the fire place, in dimmedlight, elbow leaning on the high mantle, whisky in one hand,

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cigar burning in the other. ‘Ah! Phillip! What took you?’Banks yanked at his top button and loosened his necktie.

Steam escaped from his chest. ‘M’Lord! You look remarkably well.’ ‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ The Lord was watching home-

made films on a reel-to-reel projector, which was going click-erty-clickerty. Black and white images danced on the wall.Bashful men in hats and tails with moustaches and waistcoatspinched at snuff, while ladies in bell-shaped dresses, engin-eered with hoops, with exposed shoulders and voluminoushairdos, tittered to one another like porcelain dolls.

To the modern eye, it was a mess of flawed technology:scratches and blotches and bleached out scenes, with figuresmoving too quickly. For Banks it evoked no interest. But forLord Martin it held magic.

‘That’s me,’ he cried, his eyes bulging with excitement, asa tall young figure could be seen entering the circle of men.

The film ended and a loose end of film flapped on itsspindle. The house lights returned.

‘Young Phillip! Good to see you.’ The Lord held out ahand and they executed the special handshake. The big man,six foot seven, then strode across to his whisky decanter andpoured some golden spirit into a tumbler. ‘Here. Dark andpeaty.’

Banks accepted the glass and swilled some of its pepperyoak liquor over his tongue. ‘Mm… slight grassy overtone, tothe back of the throat.’ Working for the bank was all he hadknown, since leaving Oxford. He had been promoted to dir-ector just recently.

‘So, tell me, what is the news?’‘The Prime Minister sends his good wishes. He needs help

with Red Band. There is great civil unrest.’

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Robert Salisbury

‘I see.’ ‘They seem to be having outbreaks of malaria and dysen-

tery and various other nasties.’‘Yes, India, a problem. Too many people.’ Banks recalled the hoards in Delhi, their impoverished liv-

ing conditions and poor water supply. But then consideredthat in a world where wealth and resources were so hopelesslyapportioned, population seemed irrelevant, the majority ofmankind were caught in commercial slavery, and short of aparadigm shift in the structure of ownership, law, trade andeducation, that was, ‘not likely to change anytime soon.’ ‘What’s that?’

‘Oh, nothing...’‘Now I need to ask you, what do you know of War-Wink?’

The Lord referred to West Africa Water Incorporated, a pro-posed conglomerate of all water supply, treatment and man-agement infrastructure, across eighteen nations in WestAfrica. If they agreed to merge they would become the mostvaluable company in the world.

‘I’m thinking of buying them?’ Banks was used to hyperbole: he dealt with the rich, for

whom reality could be stretched like chewing gum.‘They are suggesting a price of 2 trillion. What say you?’Banks had read much on War-Wink, as Water was his mar-

ket. Two trillion? Based on profits it’s worth... a trillion atbest. Would have to go into colossal debt to pay two. Notclever in these times: stagflation, national debt, corporatebankruptcy, zombie banks.

‘Well...?’Ten years in private banking had taught him to assess risk,

apply prudence, then do whatever he was told. ‘We would

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have to print money, which would flood markets and essen-tially devalue every major currency.’

‘So…?’‘We’re talking two trillion.’ Two thousand billion or two

million millions? Absolute madness. ‘It would have to be avery good reason for buying at these levels.’

‘I know. It is.’Banks didn’t see it. No one knows how to grow the eco-

nomy any more. It’s just a chase for assets. Is this more un-winding of progress and the end of liberty for all but the Bil-lionaire class?

Lord Martin’s eyebrows were dancing on their tip-toes. ‘Well damn and blast it Phillip! What should we bid?’

Things looked to be turning sour. Banks had an acuity ofmind suited to these difficult judgements. I would have tospend plenty of time in Africa! A broad smile spread across hisface.

‘High ones?’‘Point seven? Point eight?’‘One... point eight-two.’‘Good!’ The Lord looked relieved. Banks had spent the last six years buying up water assets

across Asia. This would be the largest single investment todate. 1.82 trillion, does he know what he is doing? He doesn’tlook the slightest bit concerned.

‘I think it appropriate to break into my special reserve.’ A narrow door in the wall opened. Pink light emanating

from within a secret passage swallowed them both. Theystepped inside. Glass cabinets displayed cigars of every size,shape, length and tone of tobacco. Maintained at 21C with ahumidity of 68.5 the shelves were organised by country oforigin: Costa Rica, Colombia, Cuba, Dominican Republic,Guatamala, Honduras and Mozambique.

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Banks spotted a Perla Del Mar Corona, a Bolivar Sober-ano, and a Davidoff Cuban Special. Up and down were gems:Cohiba Esplendidos, Camacho Candela and Nica Rusitca ElBrujito.

The Lord selected two 7 inch Monte Cristo Churchills.They made their way to the Smoking Room and sat on leatherChestertons. The Lord snipped the end of both cigars.

‘May I light this for you?’ It was a tremendous honour. Hestruck a match and allowed its flame to fizzle. ‘Always allowthe sulphur to burn off before holding it to the tip.’ He slowroasted the cigar tip with three matches, one at a time, rotatingthe cigar and blowing on it. Once an even burn had beenachieved he handed one to Banks.

They drew on their cigars and blew out huge clouds ofsmoke. To be sharing a cigar with the owner of the bank wasunheard of. Most Directors at DM had never even met LordMartin, let alone spoken to him.

‘M’Lord, do you think that we might be a little long inWater? Between ourselves and Morgan Sachs, we must ownhalf the world’s supply.’

‘In a world of overpopulation, water is the key. They canlive without cars and computers, but they can’t live withoutwater.’ The Lord blew out a large cloud of smoke. ‘You know,I have never shared a cigar with any of my sons or grandsonsor great great grandsons.’

‘I’m honoured.’ ‘Come! There is no better place to enjoy a cigar than the

grounds.’They made their way outdoors, to the terrace where a fresh

breeze was swaying the tree tops. The Lord walked at a com-fortable pace and seemed in rude health. The prospect of amajor acquisition was on Banks’ mind. As they reached theend of the hedgerow, a commanding view over the surround-

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ing lush green farmland revealed itself. ‘All mine, as far as the eye can see. With the exception of

a few stubborn farmers. I used to be so paranoid. So I startedbuying up the neighbourhood. As the years past, I bought upalmost everything. You see Phillip, patience. The key to suc-cess, patience and persistence. We didn’t become wealthy bymoaning about things. We were persistent. Do you have pa-tience Phillip?’

‘I hope so. Tell me M’Lord how does one live to such anage?’

‘I am getting older and older, my bones are gettingcolder…, Just a ditty. To live a long life you need first to wantto live. I will let you in on a secret, I was born in 1826.’

‘Two hundred!’ Older than he had thought.‘Alas...’‘How? I mean how can you live so long?’‘You know Phillip, all of my children and grand children

and their great grand children have long since passed. Truthis, there is no one left. No one with whom I am close. Perhapsthis cigar is my only comfort.’

They stepped down to a lower terrace, walking betweencarefully tended displays of bushes, trees and pots on marbleplinths.

‘I was close to your father, you know? A brilliant man.’ Banks had only recently discovered that his father had

worked for Lord Martin. He had believed that he had been aprovincial architect, and not a banker.

The Lord paused to watch a bird high in the canopy. Theystood looking at the sky, which was thick with grey-linedcloud, threatening rain. The bird cleaned its wings, then flewaway.

‘I shall miss this place.’ The Professor’s words replayed in Banks’ head: “he’ll not

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make the night.” The Lord looked him squarely in the eye. ‘Now I know you are getting married, but tell me, is it

enough? Or, like your father, do you love the game?’

*

Banks drove back to London. Along the way he called LeonieVickers, his PA. ‘Leonie, how is your day?’

‘I was about to call. You’re booked into see Twenty-Two atone.’

That was quick. ‘Henry said you’d be coming in.’‘Henry seems to know more about me, than I do.’‘Also, Billy called. He asked if Tom Brown would be going

to the Basement tonight, for the jazz?’ Billy often called him“Tom Brown”, due to the fact that he had gone to RugbySchool, where the fictional character had spent his “SchoolDays”.

‘Tell him Tommy won’t be going.’ ‘I didn’t know you were into jazz?’‘There’s a lot about me you don’t know.’‘I’m willing to learn.’

Scene VIPhillip Banks returns to London

Banks sat at the weekly board meeting alongside a dozen orso members of the DM executive. Heading the meeting wasCEO Henry Delonge, a blonde haired, podgy, sixty-somethingyear old, who explained that the cryptocurrency, they had

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launched months earlier, had been hacked. It had been baited with a secret “back-door” which some

of DM’s own cyber security programmers had hacked into. Asizeable amount had been stolen. Henry explained that theculprits had been identified and that the value of their illicitstash required seven zeros to detail.

For their perspicacity they were promoted – put to workhacking Water plants over which they had control, to testthem for security.

For those who had not hacked into DM’s cryptocurrency,senior management awarded a letter of commendation, ap-praising their honesty and integrity. Followed, a month later,by a polite termination of contract.

‘Now, Billy, how is Prasutagus coming along?’‘Fine. She’s in orbit,’ stated Billy (Charles William Beau-

mont-Hunt, the 2nd Earl of Leominster), who was a closefriend of Banks, and a gifted director at Delonge Martin. Hewas also a Starseed with extrasensory perception, telekineticand other abilities.

‘And our pressure group?’‘We have found a small Start-up in Philly.’‘How many members?’‘Eh, 23.’‘What do they stand for?’ quizzed Henry.‘They’re vegans, they want to ban red meat. Hence their

name, Red Band, play on words.’ ‘Alright, keep them at arms-length. Start with a million.

That should ensure cooperation.’ Henry scratched at his note-book with a fountain pen. ‘And what are we doing about ourcharismatic leader?’

‘Ubiquity are on to it,’ replied Billy. ‘Mamadou, she isalready big in Asia. I’m in Milan next week. She goes globalvery soon.’

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Banks looked at Billy, as he did not know what they werereferring to.

‘Good! That concludes.’ Henry scratched some more,closed his book then pronounced: ‘Meeting closed 11:17am.’He stood. Everyone stood. He left the room. Everyone re-laxed.

‘What’s all this about Prasutagus and charismatic leader?’‘Oh, nothing much. Can you tell Coleridge to arrange pay-

ment to this Start-Up in Philly. They only have $172 in theiraccount. I’m sure when they see a million dollars drop in,they’ll be very keen to hear what we have planned for them.’

‘Sure. What are they called?’‘Red Band.’‘That’s curious, I’ve just discovered Red Band in India?’Billy did not bite. ‘I must go.’ Billy left.

Scene VIITwenty-Two and Spiron

Back in London, at DM head office, Banks made his 1pm ap-pointment with Twenty-Two.

Having entered Compliance Room S07, he was joined byTwenty-Two and his assistant Sixteen.

‘Well well, the prodigal son returns. You have been gettingaround lately, haven’t you?’ Twenty-Two fancied himself as amodern day Isaac Newton. His accomplice Sixteen, saw him-self as Dr. Watson to Twenty-Two’s Sherlock Holmes. ToBanks they were more like a nerdy Batman and Robin.

‘Hello Phillip,’ chimed Sixteen, the younger of the two.‘Haven’t seen you at the club recently.’

‘I’ve been overseas: India.’

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‘Billy has just returned from Bermuda.’ replied Sixteen, asif it were a competition.

‘Do you know about Red Band in India?’‘We know everything,’ assured Twenty-Two. ‘Kirmani needs to neutralise them. Can you help?’ They

said nothing.Twenty-Two contorted his face. ‘Isolate them, have their ring leaders arrested, do what you

normally do?’‘What we normally do? Is not what we do anymore. Not

now we have Spiron.’‘Spiron?’Twenty-Two was never happier than when a chance to be

smug presented itself. ‘All we need do is define Red Bandand Spiron will do the rest.’

‘How does that work?’‘If you were a scientist, like Sixteen here. Then I could ex-

plain it to you. But since you are not a scientist, you wouldnot understand.’

‘Try me.’ Banks knew that Twenty-Two would be unableto resist the opportunity to watch him fail.

‘If you insist. Spiron can hack any system, re-program,override, and manipulate any outcome. Do you see?’

‘No.’‘Of course not. You are a director.’‘A man of commerce,’ added Sixteen.‘Good analogy Sixteen.’‘Accepted Twenty-Two.’‘When you have finished you might tell me what on earth

Spiron is going to do about it.’‘When she is finished Spiron’s intellect will be beyond that

of any human, why would we tell it what to do?’‘If we don’t sort out Red Band, we can’t sign the deal.’

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‘He’s worried about his deal, Sixteen.’‘Tragic, Twenty-Two.’‘Spiron is programmed to Identify – Engage – Neutralize.

That is what it will do. Is there anything else?’Banks looked skeptical and could think of nothing to add.

He pointed at Twenty-Two’s crotch and added, ‘Your flies’undone.’

Twenty-Two looked down and Banks headed for the door.‘Later!’ He exited the office.

Scene VIIII’m under orders

Banks pictured his fiancée at home preparing for their guests.He knew the meticulous attention she would have brought tothe task. Zara was a perfectionist. He called her.

‘Hi.’ ‘What is it?’ She was multitasking. ‘I have bad news.’‘Don’t tell me you will be late tonight.’‘Worse, I won’t be coming home.’‘What?’‘I have to catch a flight back to India, straight away.’‘But I have arranged for Simon and Delilah to come over.

I’ve cooked salmon: your favourite.’‘I’m sorry. I’m heading for Heathrow now. On a flight in

two hours. Have to get back to Delhi for tomorrow.’‘What is it? You sound strange. Is there a problem?’‘Yes, of course there’s a problem.’‘I mean something serious?’He blew out a lungful of air. Could not answer. In truth, he

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did not want to go back to Delhi. He had no idea what hewould do. ‘I’m under orders.’

‘Orders?’‘It doesn’t matter.’‘It does. Why can’t you take a day off? You’ve been away

for nearly a week. Can’t you delay? Just till the morning?Catch an early flight. I’ll run you to Heathrow in themorning.’

‘I can’t. I have to go. I’m sorry darling.’‘You’ll miss me.’‘OK, I’m going now.’‘Will you miss me?’‘Hey! Don’t tempt me. I’m doing this for us.’‘Are you sure?’‘Of course. You think I want to go back to Delhi, with this

pressure over me?’‘What am I going to say to Simon and Delilah?’‘You’ll think of something.’‘Maybe I’ll get them to call you.’‘No! Don’t.’‘I love you.’‘Bye.’‘Bye Phillip. Take care. Call me when you land.’

Scene IXA Death Blow

Banks landed in Delhi early local time. The heat of Delhi hithim as he left the plane. In the dry air and with the whistle ofengines from planes taxing down the runway, Banks made acall to Rajya P. Thakula, of Thakula Construction. He neededto see if he could leverage anything off his company.

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‘Rajya, it’s Phillip Banks calling. I’m back in Delhi. Canwe meet?’

Rajya delivered bad news. His company had beenapproached by DFL Construction and offered a better deal, ifthey supported the Indian tender. It was a death blow. Bankswas too winded to think of anything to counter offer, andhung up, on a promise to come back later in the day.

So now he had no construction workers, his ability toconstruct the pipework necessary was blocked by his mainrival and he was under a deadline of one week to deliver.

Leonie had booked him into the Leela Palace Hotel, whichwas set within the diplomatic enclave of New Delhi. It hadthe benefit of a Rolls Royce pick-up service from the airport.So, Banks sat in the back of the Rolls and drank champagne,as it was the only drink in the car. While he drank, hoping hisluck might change, he called the number he had been givenfor the Prime Minister’s office. It connected through to a manwho answered in Hindi, but who quickly switched to English.He was informed, in perfect RP, that the PM was out. So, heleft a message. At the Leela Palace Hotel he took a shower, then changed andvisited the roof top outdoor swimming pool. In the heat ofmidday it was gloriously refreshing. Beneath him, in alldirections, the wonder of this ancient city could be seen, butin better proportions. Unlike from the helicopter, he couldnow see people walking, driving cars, the industriousness ofthe people of Delhi in action. Having relaxed in the pool, heheaded downstairs to the Spa centre, for a massage. While helay face-down on the table, with a towel around his waist, alady with very firm fingers, pushed and kneaded the musclesaround his back and shoulders. After thirty minutes he feltmuch lighter.

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He returned to his room to check the news. A Red Bandprotest was making headlines, thousands had occupied the siteof the Taj Mahal.

Banks needed a plan. Since he had no idea what, ifanything Spiron would do to help, he needed to take action.He dressed in a light oatmeal suit with pristine white openneck shirt and headed to reception. He called his driver Jasonand waited in the bar. By the time of his arrival the sun wasfalling in the sky and Banks had already had a few shots.They drove out from the Hotel and onto the main road.

‘Where would you like me to take you sir?’‘Jason, who do you know, who is part of Red Band?’‘Red Band sir. I am sorry sir. I am not knowing them.’Banks proffered a one hundred dollar note for the driver to

take. ‘Please sir. What are you doing?’‘Who do you know, who is Red Band?’‘I’m sorry sir. Don’t know anyone, sir.’Banks added another one hundred note to his offering.‘Take me to them.’‘Please, don’t be embarrassing me sir. But, I am not

knowing anyone from Red Band.’Banks took another three hundred dollars from his wallet

and held out before his driver five hundred dollars. ‘And five hundred more, if you can take me to them.’Jason looked at the notes then slowly took them from

Banks’ hand. ‘I will try.’

Thirty minutes later Banks sat alone in a down marketrestaurant with a mango lassi. He had been told to wait.Someone would join him. Jason had emphasised that he couldmake no guarantees.

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The restaurant was busy with locals. Its front windowswere open to the elements and the interior was hot. A singlelazy ceiling fan dispersed the flies in the heat. Banks removedhis jacket and rolled up the arms to his shirt. He enjoyed thesweetness of his drink whilst updating on news: clashesbetween Police and Red Band were being reported in severalcities. Red Band were demanding free health care for thepoor. The big cities were afflicted by high levels of malariaand fever. It was India’s main news item.

Two men entered the restaurant and glanced over at Banks.One sat by himself, leaving the other to approach alone.

‘Mr. Banks. May I join you?’‘Certainly.’ The man turned the chair around and sat facing

its back. He was young, perhaps twenty, with a distinctive redsilk sash tied discreetly through a hoop in his waist belt.

‘What is your purpose?’Banks interlocked his fingers and made an A-frame of his

arms on which to rest his chin. He stared at the young man fora moment. The young man grew impatient.

‘Who are you?’ he asked whilst chewing gum.‘Unimportant.’‘You ask to meet. What do you want?’‘You are Red Band, right?’‘Yes.’‘You have demands?’‘Our people are suffering. Poor housing, poor conditions,

malaria, lack of sanitation. They cannot afford healthcare.Like the rich. Who live in hotels and travel and enjoy thefruits of India.’

‘Doesn’t the government do anything?’‘They don’t care.’‘What if I could get you a meeting with the Prime

Minister? To hear your case?’

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Then young man recoiled incredulously, then looked backat his entourage.

‘You could do that?’‘I could.’The young man stood and rotated his chair the to the

correct way around and sat down again.‘You want a drink?’‘I’ve had this,’ he raised his lassi.‘Some food?’‘No.’‘English?’‘Yes.’‘MI5?’‘No.’The young man had a tattoo on the side of his neck, just

beneath his ear. He had presence, Banks labelled him an“idealist”.

‘I am not the leader of Red Band. There is no leader.’‘I know.’‘How close can you get me?’‘Close enough.’‘What do you want?’‘I want you to do me a favour.’‘What is it...?’

Banks asked Jason to drop him at his hotel.

That night Banks searched for all he could on Red Band.They were in evidence on three continents and clearlygrowing. He made another call to the Prime Minister’s officeand left a message. Then, he changed and went down to thebar to listen to live music: a pianist was playing classics fromthe American songbook.

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Before retiring he contacted Zara, who was countingRSVPs for their wedding. He called Billy next, to update, andfinally he contacted Twenty-Two.

‘Phillip, you need to leave Delhi the day after tomorrow,by 10 pm.’

‘Why?’‘Just leave.’‘Alright.’

The following morning Banks swam in the rooftop swimmingpool, then took tea in his room, whilst checking up on news.Once again the biggest pre-election news issue was aboutRed Band. The Prime Minister was on most channels, priminghis forthcoming public address to the people, which he woulddeliver from outside the Akshardham Temple, the day aftertomorrow, and coinciding with the evening news.’

From his Hotel room he called Twenty-Two. ‘You said Spiron can hack any system?’‘It can.’‘Get me access to the Prime Minister’s official list for

tomorrow’s entourage. He’s giving a speech outside theAkshardham Temple at 5pm, there’s bound to a list ofjournalists and close protection.’

‘Child’s play.’‘Really? I’m on my mobile, can you let me know when

you’ve done it.’‘It’s done already,’ replied Twenty-Two flatly.‘What do you mean already?’‘I just did it.’‘Like that?’‘It runs at the speed of light. You see what happens is-’Banks left his device on loud speaker and went for a

shower.

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‘Phil? Phillip? Are you there...?’

Scene XThe President’s speech

The next morning, Banks had already had his rooftop swimand followed up with a massage, in the health spa. He feltmuch lighter. He dressed in a light oatmeal suit, open neckshirt then headed out for the Temple.

The day was very hot and as he left his car, he instantly felthis limbs cook. Thousands of protesters wearing the RedBand scarf lined the area cordoned off by security. Presum-ably where the Prime Minister was to appear. Banks ap-proached security and asked if he could gain access.

‘My name is Phillip Banks, I am here to see PrimeMinister Verinder Kirmani. Please check.’

Security looked at him suspiciously. They blocked his way,and relayed orders to others behind them. With each minute,the sweat on Banks’ back increased, until his shirt was cakedwet to his skin. The air temperature was in the high 40s andthere was little if no breeze.

The man returned in a hurry and pushed aside the otherguards. ‘Come through Mr. Banks. This way sir.’ They rushedhim through the open gardens in front of the AkshardhamTemple and into a crowded and heavily air-conditionedportable office in the gardens. The time was 4:53pm andVerinder Kirmani was sat in a chair, looking at notes whilsttwo women fixed up his hair and make-up. Securityintroduced him.

‘A Mr. Phillip Banks from Delonge Martin to see youPrime Minister.’ The PA withdrew a few steps, allowingBanks to approach the PM.

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‘Mr. Banks, you return? As you can see I am being a littlebusy at present. For my campaign manager’s stress levels, Iam to make major speech, which he is hoping will seal myreturn to the Palace.’

‘I have begun plans to deal with your problem.’‘You make it sound so personal. But, as you see outside

there is the largest gathering of Red Band ever. Too bad Mr.Banks. While Red Band menace my campaign, your waterproject will remain in the hands of Indian contractors. We arenot indebted to the British, any more.’

Banks felt desperate. He had believed that the PrimeMinister was sympathetic to his case, it being both moreeconomical and able to execute over a shorter time span thanthat of his Indian rival. But, now it appeared that nationalismwas also against him, and he only had a week left.

‘Help yourself to a drink, join the journalists, do stayaround for my speech. But, as you can see, I am rather busy.’

Banks withdrew to the far side of the room and took aglass of sparkling water from the table, which was laden withnon-alcoholic drinks.

With a few minutes to broadcast the PM and a smallentourage left the room and walked out into the heat of theafternoon. Banks put down his water and followed them. ThePM climbed a makeshift platform and approached themicrophone. Beneath him the world’s media had animpressive shot of the gardens either side of, and the templebehind him. The sky was a magnificent orange, which createdthe kind of serenity and peace that only India can.

His director counted him in, and on the hour, VerinderKirmani addressed the world’s largest democratic electorate.

‘My fellow Indians.’ He spoke in English too!As he began a loud jeer from the hundreds of thousands of

Red Band protesters drowned out his voice. The PM was a

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pro, and continued, knowing that his microphone wouldattenuate extraneous noise. For those present, all one couldhear were chants and roars, which became louder and louder,until, like the bursting of a dam, a mass of Red Bandmembers broke through security, and rushed for the PrimeMinister. Through sheer weight of numbers, they trampledand crushed the cameramen and press and made their way forthe rostrum. Close protection agents rushed the PM. Bankswas standing next to the door to the temporary office and as itwas the only place to hide, he dived indoors. Following himtwo security burst in, with the Prime Minister in their grip.Once inside, they locked the door shut and huddled aroundthe PM, like worker bees securing their Queen.

The office began to boom with a hundred beats, asmembers of Red Band attacked the metal walls. Inside Banksstood still listening to the beats on the wall, until theystopped. He guessed security had cleared the protesters.

In a sudden movement, one of the security stood back fromthe other and pulled a gun from beneath his vest. A red scarfwas wrapped around it. He pointed it at the PM. The otherguard stood between them.

No one moved. The Prime Minister looked terrified. Bankshad a side view of the Red Band pointing his gun at the PrimeMinister who was one man between a bullet and certain death.The gun man screamed out something in Hindi, then squeezedthe trigger. The gun clicked, but failed to fire. Banks rushedforward, driving the assassin into the wall. Banks sprawled ontop of him, just as his second attempt proved successful. Thesecond shot caught the security man in the chest. At suchclose range, the bullet meant certain death. He fell to the floorleaving the Prime Minister totally exposed.

In the struggle the gun came loose and span across thefloor. The assassin attempted to crawl over the floor to reach

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it, but Banks gabbed his ankle and yanked him backwards.Banks’ hand scrapped against the sole of the assassin’s shoeas he kicked and tussled to get free. But Banks did not let go,lest the killer reach the gun. With both hands he hauled theassassin to himself. Then, whilst taking a severe kicking, herose up and head butted him. It dazed the man, but in hisheightened panic he managed to break free and ran for thedoor.

He unlocked it and exited. The PM looked deep into the eyes of Banks. Between them

lay the gun. The door slammed shut and they both knew thatthe assassin was escaping. Banks pounced on the gun and gotto his feet. He yanked the door wide open and looked acrossthe sea of Red Band. There were hundreds of thousands, withsecurity attempting to keep them back. Banks noticed a figurerunning at speed. He raised the pistol above his head, then, ina gentle arc brought it down to his eyeline, until the assassinwas in front of his barrel.

Security were shouting at him. Whether it was becausethey was shouting in Hindi or whether it was because he wasin-the-zone, Banks did not register them. The Prime Ministerlooked on, transfixed. Banks narrowed his eyes, and waitedfor a clear shot. Being so far away, the size of an insect, meantthat hitting the target would be entirely luck. The assassinstopped and turned to look back. Banks settled his systemuntil not even his pulse could disturb him from maintainingline of fire. He squeezed the trigger.

PWOOUSH! The bullet left his pistol at the speed of sound. No sooner

detonated from the barrel than it had whizzed past everyoneand exploded in the assassin’s chest. The tiny figure leaptbackwards and landed in a dead heap on his back.

Banks brought the gun down to his side, and felt suddenly

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overwhelmed with exhaustion. He laid the gun on the floor.The Prime Minister laid a hand on his back.

‘I owe you my life.’ He was moved.

Having cleared his name the Prime Minister, looked him inthe eye. They had shared something terrible and did not needwords to feel the bond forged between them.

‘I will award the contract to you. It is the least I can do.’‘Thank you Prime Minister.’‘Call me Verinder, please.’‘I just came to tell you that I have arranged for you to meet

with the leader of Red Band. Help you negotiate some peace.The rest will be down to you.’

The PM looked shocked. ‘Who are you Phillip Banks?’‘I work for Delonge Martin, we are advisers to the Reserve

Bank of India... Prime Minster.’‘Oh!’

As soon as he had left the scene Banks met up with Jason andthe two young men from Red Band.

‘Apologises for kicking your hand. I was very nervous sir.’‘That’s alright. You were very convincing. And your

colleague managed to get away, I see.’Spiron had given them both identities and member passes,

so that with the right uniform they could play the role ofsecurity for the Prime Minister. Both were unharmed andagreed to inform the relevant leader, of a meeting with thePrime Minister.

Banks phoned head office and asked to speak with LordMartin.

‘Well?’‘H2-EnviroCon have been awarded the Delhi-Basin Water

Infrastructure Project.’

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‘Is it signed?’‘By Verinder Kirmani, the PM himself, M’Lord.’‘How on earth did you manage that?’‘I gave it a shot.’‘Well done. Come and see me on your return.’ Lord Martin

hung up. Phew! Banks was exhausted.

Having checked out of his hotel and headed for the airport, inthe back of his complimentary Rolls Royce, he contactedZara.

‘Hi.’‘Phillip! Where are you?’‘On my way home.’‘Did you sort things out?’‘Yes. Could you meet me at Heathrow. I’ll be coming in on

BA142, 7.20 tomorrow morning.’‘OK. I saw your hotel online. It looks like you’ve been

having a good time.’ Banks remained silent. ‘Did you try theirpool?’ He was still thinking. ‘Phillip?’

‘Miss you.’‘What?’‘See you tomorrow.’ He hung up.

Whilst contemplating his return flight, he received a call fromTwenty-Two.

‘Have you left Delhi yet?’‘On my way to the airport.’‘What time is your flight?’‘9:40 pm.’‘As soon as you take off, send me a message.’‘OK.’ Banks was puzzled.

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Scene XIBalloons & Biocide

As Banks sat aboard his flight back to London, high aboveDelhi, a fleet of planes were on the move. The first of whichopened its undercarriage and men aboard pushed out largeballoons. They distorted severely as they left the plane andcaught the air. Each plane despatched three large balloons.Once executed a message was confirmed to the head pilotwho relayed the message to Twenty-Two in London.

The balloons drifted through the black night, their covertearing as they picked up speed. As they ripped apart,hundreds of smaller balloons were released, which dispersedover a wide area, encompassing the grounds of theAkshardham Temple. As they descended to a thousand metresair pressure burst each balloon, releasing more than a billionmosquitoes into the atmosphere. They fell in a fuzzy cloud,invisible to the night, scattering across the city, landing oncars, buildings, homes, offices, trees, roads and people: RedBand alike. Each one infected with Professor BoyntonPerfidious’ deadly concoction.

Banks sat back in his seat, shoes off, his father’s book, TheFinal Solution in hand. It was a long flight, eleven hours. Hesipped on his whisky, opened the book at page one, and beganto read.

Scene XIIFlashback: Ceremony 1978

Dinner plates were being scraped and loaded into giant dishwashing machines. Chefs busied themselves cleaning the kit-chens for the next banquet. Outside, in the halls, old alliances

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had been reacquainted, leaders kissed hands, sworn enemiessigned treaties and posed for the record. Those normally ateach other’s throats, now sang the praise of their enemies,with grand eloquence. They would soon depart and hate oncemore.

Once the Shadows and senior members of the Guard haddisappeared, the real business of administering the planetcould begin. Trusted bureaucrats from the intelligentsia, aca-demia, banking, law, science, military and politics, would be-gin their download, and wait to find out if anything remark-able had been discovered. If it had, the Shadows wouldalready know. The meeting began with an overview of the global economicsituation: US and European inflation was problematic, growthsluggish, the UK was dogged by strikes, China, following thedeath of Chairman Mao, had signed-up to terms with theShadows, who were investing in China’s manufacturing sec-tor, Japan had signed a trading alliance with Europe and US[Trilateral Commission]. It was good news for Lord Martin,as Delonge Martin were major shareholders in the Bank of Ja-pan: which issued Japan’s national currency.

The Grand Hall was arranged with round tables, seating 8,fronted by a raised podium with screen for guest speakers.First up was a surgeon who had recently delivered the world’sfirst baby using Vitro fertilization (IVF) - Louise Joy Brown.She was followed by a mathematician who explained Apple’snew “operating system”: DOS 3.1. followed by their new 5 ¼floppy diskette drive. Things lightened with the arrival of ablonde haired politician who compared managing the nationaleconomy to the weekly shopping bill. She scored a ripple oflaughter for stating that:

‘If you want things said in Parliament, ask a man, if you

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want things done, ask a woman.’ Her performance sealed her future as Britain’s first female

Prime Minister. Master of House, Sir Pell Hallet-Shoubridge stepped up to

announce the next guest speaker. ‘Your Royal Highnesses, Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

distinguished guests, may I introduce, Nobel prize winningbiologist, fellow to the Institute of Diseases and Viral Techno-logies and Cambridge scholar of Anthropology, ProfessorBoynton Perfidious.’

Polite applause followed as the professor was well knownas Lord Martin’s physician. Like most present, he was almosta celebrity, yet unknown to the public.

Fiddling clumsily in the pocket of his tweed jacket, heclimbed the stage with the uneasy grace of an academic. A tallslim man with a typical Norman frame, his upper body rockedfrom side to side as he progressed on spindly legs. From be-hind the lectern he fed the spring loaded arms to his glassesaround the back of his ears, then stood to full height to inspectthose gathered.

‘In Shakespeare’s time...’ His voice boomed across thehall. He paused to scratch at the fluffy mess of grey hair thatbordered his bald head. ‘In Shakespeare’s time the populationof the world was half a billion. It did not reach 1 billion until1804. Then, took 123 years to climb to 2 billion, and 37 moreto reach 3. Today the world is 4.6 billion, and expected toclimb to 5 by 1990.’

There was a murmur of concern from guests. ‘Uh-huh.’ The professor continued. ‘If we do not contain

our population, nature shall do it for us.’ Above the chatter, Countess Heinz-Berghofen called out.‘War! War will save us.’ The idea caused uproar and the dissent of ringing of wine-

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glasses tapped lightly by fork, which was the form for asser-tions deemed unworthy.

‘Not so,’ assured the Professor, bringing the room to si-lence. ‘The deaths from 10 years of World War I and II num-ber just 126 million.’ The Professor stated that populationgrowth was running at a billion per decade.

‘Even if we rage continuous World War, we will still gain800 million more people each decade. War simply does notkill enough people.’

The room fell silent. It was suggested that if infant mortality could be reduced

in the Third World that families might be encourage to haveless children. China’s One Child Policy was applauded, aswas sterilization of the lower caste members of the Indiancontinent, through the guise of vaccination.

‘There is little point in those who cannot afford to feedthemselves in having children!’ This time a round of ringingglasses chorused with approval. Education for women wasfelt to be the best route for reducing the birth rate in the West.Further still, working women would be less likely to havechildren, especially as they would be low paid. This addi-tional source of low wage earners would also be of benefit tocommerce.

A large picture of a bee hive appeared above the Professor.‘When we reduce the hive, if we do not target, we risk los-

ing the Queen. This then, is one of our main problems: target-ing.’ The bee hive changed to a picture of a chimpanzee.

‘We have, through zoonosis, transferred the Simian Im-munodeficiency Virus from chimpanzees to humans. I giveyou GRIDS, Gay Related Immune Deficiency.’

A photo of the Village People appeared on the screen. ‘This will form our first experiment in targeting specific

clusters of people within a community. We have run virus

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testing in the Congo and I am excited to say, we have alsolaunched a limited infection in San Francisco.’

The room fell silent. ‘Did you say “Gay”?’‘Yes. The virus will only attack practising homosexuals.’‘To what end?’‘Well, ultimately... it will cause termination.’The questions came thick and fast;

What are the symptoms? How many are infected?

‘Please, please. Do not be alarmed. Everything is undercontrol.’

Which pharmaceutical companies are backing it? Is the government involved? Can heterosexuals catch it?

‘No. It is exclusively for, or I should say, prevalent to ho-mosexuals.’

Do we have the antidote? ‘We are only infecting eight practising homosexuals, who,

we will keep a close eye on. There is absolutely no possibilityof an outbreak.’

END OF EXTRACT

Books can be bought at www.robertsalisbury.com

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Robert Salisbury

Author

The Phillip Banks Trilogy

Die Dollar Die – Fall of the American ColossusThe Shadows – Nostrum Deus Lucifer

Overpopulation – The Hidden Agenda for Global Reset

Other works by the same author

Peter de Berminghame – A Medieval MusicalA Year in the Life of Greedy Bear – Child fictionThe Recruiters… (Episodes 1 – 5) – Radio sitcom

robertsalisbury.com

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