The Scot smiled. “Indeed. And eventually the families and their businesses and their inventories became absorbed into the greater body of the Guild itself.”
“They sound very scary. They can show up anywhere and look like anybody else trying to make a buck.”
“They are scary, and you’ve hit on one of their greatest strengths — they’re totally invisible most of the time. Nobody is looking for them. No idea what kind of manipulations they exact on the world. And during the Twentieth Century, with the explosion of technology, the Guild became even more powerful and less visible.”
“You make it sound like they run the show.”
“Just ‘sound like’? No, Sinclair. They do. Although, it depends on what you mean by ‘run’.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, from what I can see, the Guild has never been totally in charge of things. I don’t think it wants to take over the world or anything like that.”
“Then what does it want?”
The op shrugged. “Oh, I’d say it wants what anything wants — to survive, and be comfortable doing it. And that’s more like what the Guild does — not by ‘running’ things, but more like influencing things. You know, like nudging things in directions that will ultimately be good for the Guild and its members.”
“Makes sense when you think about it.” Sinclair was thinking out loud. “They’re older than any current nation.”
“They’ve had plenty of time to get it right. They’ve learned how to make wars happen and how to make them stop. How to control the flow of money and credit and resources throughout the civilized world.”
“So…” said Sinclair. “Nations, governments, sovereigns… whatever you want to call them. They’re what? Necessary inconveniences to them?”
“Yes, the Guild is ‘supra-national,’ if you will. They operate outside the bounds of national borders, and represent no official charter, constitution, or political agenda.”
“Other than continuing to exist,” said Sinclair.
The Scot grinned ironically. “Can’t hold that against them, laddie.”
“Okay, you have a point there.” Sinclair searched the big Scot’s face for any sign of deception, found it clear. “But aren’t there other entities that go beyond national borders — The Unilateral Committee, The Cambridge Club, The Consortium for Global Unity… probably more I’ve never heard of.”
“Mostly dodges. And definitely small-time.”
Sinclair chuckled.
“There’s one thing you haven’t mentioned. What about the terrorist network?”
The Op shook his head in mock disapproval. “Now, Mr. Sinclair, you can’t be serious, can you?”
“Hmmm?”
“The terrorists operate largely at the pleasure of the Guild. Funding, supplies, locales — all propped up to benefit a variety of Guild interests. They are considered a tool just like any other. If they ever use up their utility, they’ll be tossed in the dustbin.”
“Okay, okay. I believe you. But I have to ask — why’re you telling me all this? You want me to help you stop them?”
“Are you funnin’ me a wee bit? Nobody’s going to stop them. I want you to join them.”
Sinclair nodded. He knew where things had been headed. He just needed to hear it. “And what happens if I say no? Do you kill me because I know too much?”
The Scot chuckled. “You know about the sun in the sky, but you can’t stop it from burnin’! The Guild doesn’t care what you know. It’s simple: they think you could perhaps be useful to them. Nothing more or less.”
“Fair enough.” He was not stupid. They might not care what he knew; but they’d kill him all the same. These were people who liked to keep things neat and orderly. Sinclair paused to consider the reality of his recruitment, and what it might actually mean in his life. “Tell me how it would work…”
The Scot smiled, then talked about the details.
And so, after a tragic “disappearance” during a weekend sail off the Atlantic coast, he had a new employer. His family probably missed him for a little while then started to enjoy his fat life insurance policy. He was free of all the things that weighted him down, other than a reason to get up every day, which the Guild provided.
Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the LCD which displayed the global situation map. Various colored geometric shapes indicated hot-spots of Guild intervention or manipulation. Considering the complexities of monitoring and analyzing the billions of geo-political data-bits coming into the Guild’s computers each day, Sinclair was impressed with his organization’s ability to make fast, accurate decisions.
His present ops base was a small, rocky bar forty-one miles off the North Carolina coast called East Camden Island. Having served as a Coast Guard watch station during World War II, it had been abandoned in 1946 and remained so until retrofitted by the Guild in the late nineties — only because of its proximity to an undersea data haven being built by the United States. Such havens had become the sexy way to preserve civilization in the twenty-first century. Sink giant modular cubes underwater, bolt them together, attach them to the sea floor and blow air into the sealed unit. The idea was to create a vault to store, process, and dispatch information in a series of redundant arrays within a protective environment impervious to nuclear strike, EMP penetration, comet or asteroid impact, and just about anything else short of a certain G-type star going nova.
A great concept unless somebody was hanging around while the heavy lifting was going on.
“Somebody” was; and his name had been Sinclair.
Initially used to observe the construction of the underwater concrete cube which ran 200 meters per side, East Camden Island became the Guild’s extraction point for all data contained within or passed through the data haven. Sinclair and his team of underwater engineers had been able to compromise the facility because they had been present during all phases of its construction. A year before things went online, Sinclair’s people had inserted micro-taps into the optical strand cables that connected the data haven to the outside world. They worked in total stealth, utterly invisible to the construction crews all around them. By compromising the optical strands so early in the creation phase, the taps showed up as nothing more threatening than anomalies in thickness or tension when powered up.
Once online, the Guild had access to enormous data-streams. Sinclair understood very well that knowledge is indeed power. When combined with their centuries-old network of human information conduits, such recondite incursions into the cyber-world reinforced the Guild’s position as the most powerful entity on the planet.
There was no communication on earth not vulnerable to a Guild intercept or decrypt — which was exactly the way its leaders preferred it.
As far as who those leaders might be, Sinclair had no firm information, although he had more than a few ideas. Not always specific names, but titles and power positions filled and unfilled by visits from the reaper. All part of the plan, the vision ensuring the Guild had been built to last. It bespoke a belief in the system and the philosophy that had held the organization together for five centuries. In his private moments, he imagined the Guild had long ago strayed from the purposes of its original creation, opting out for existence for its own sake.
A soft, electronic chime punctuated his thoughts. It was a signal someone had entered the sallyport — a kind of airlock-like chamber affording the only access in and out of the camouflaged command bunker. Turning in his chair, Sinclair regarded the LCD display. It provided multiple views of the pass-through chamber and the figure who stood staring into the retinal scanner by the outer door.