Fall Read online

  First published in Great Britain in 2013 by

  Jo Fletcher Books

  An imprint of Quercus Editions Ltd

  55 Baker Street

  7th Floor, South Block

  London

  W1U 8EW

  Copyright © 2013 by Rod Rees

  The moral right of Rod Rees to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 84916 508 2 (HB)

  ISBN 978 1 84916 509 9 (TPB)

  ISBN 978 1 84916 661 4 (EBOOK)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  You can find this and many other great books at:

  www.quercusbooks.co.uk and

  www.jofletcherbooks.com

  Contents

  Report from the Grand Council

  The Demi-Monde: The Novel

  Prologue

  Book One

  Part One: Percy Shelley

  Part Two: Xolandi, And Pobedonostsev’s Treachery

  Part Three: Battle For The Jad

  Book Two: The Real World

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Glossary 1: The Demi-Monde

  Glossary 2: The Real World

  1 February 2019

  I am pleased to report that all aspects of the Final Solution are now in place and ready for execution on the 30th April this year. Moreover, I am able to advise the Grand Council that Ella Thomas, who since her arrival in the Demi-Monde has manifested the most virulent and powerful of Lilithian tendencies, has been assassinated and with her death a profound enemy of the Grigori and a major obstacle preventing the success of the Final Solution eliminated. Now the only opponent of any note still active in the Demi-Monde is Norma Williams, her last act being to disrupt the ‘Victory in the Coven’ rally sponsored by Reinhard Heydrich, and held on the last day of Summer. The Grand Council should note that measures have been taken to minimise the impact of her intervention on the attitude of the ForthRight population regarding their attending the Ceremony of Purification and that I have ensured that my agents in the one remaining Portal giving access from the Demi-Monde to the Real World have been alerted. It is impossible for Norma Williams to escape from the Demi-Monde and return to the Real World.

  Thus all is set fair for the execution of the Final Solution.

  Recognising that such an ambitious undertaking as the Demi-Monde - the most sophisticated virtual world ever conceived - would be extraordinarily difficult to conceal - especially as it involved the clandestine accessing of confidential DNA data relating to Fragiles - we chose to disguise the Demi-Monde’s true purpose by persuading the US military to adopt the simulation as a training ground for their neoFights.

  The true purpose of the Demi-Monde is fourfold:

  – To digitally replicate a coterie of individuals identified as possessing the MAOA-Grigori gene, who, given the appropriate stimulus (notably regarding their appetite for blood and their exposure to Cavoritic radiation), are capable of having this latent Grigori aspect resuscitated;

  – To digitally replicate a critical mass of the element Cavorite (aka Mantle-ite) in the Demi-Monde, this in the form of the Great Pyramid located in the region known as Terror Incognita. As the Grand Council will be aware, despite our best efforts, it has proven impossible to fabricate viable quantities of Cavorite here in the Real World and certainly nothing like the quantity necessary to achieve activation of the MAOA-Grigori gene (this being equal in magnitude to the Cavoritic radiation experienced during the meteor strike of 1795);

  – To digitally recreate a number of the more talented scientists from history to work in the Heydrich Institute for Natural Sciences in the Demi-Monde’s virtual Berlin to help the Real World scientists develop noöPINC, the latest iteration of our Personal Implanted nanoComputer. NoöPINC is a cyborg-virus, that is a virus with nanocybernetic structures incorporated into its makeup. The virus itself – a development of the unsuccessful 1947 Plague - is Fragile-specific and hence is harmless to Grigori or those possessing an activated MAOA-Grigori gene. The Grand Council may rest assured that there will be no repeat of the unfortunate events of 1947 when the Plague mutated to an extent that it presented a lethal danger not only to Fragiles but also to Grigori;

  – To entice the daughter of the President of the United States into the Demi-Monde in order that her Real World body might be inhabited by her cyber-doppelgänger, Aaliz Heydrich. This was achieved and Miss Heydrich has proven herself very accomplished with regard to promoting the faux-religious organisation the Fun/Funs. Six million members of the Fun/Funs will be attending the Gathering on the 30th April, when their Grigorian aspect, nurtured in their doppelgängers (‘Dupes’) active in the Demi-Monde, will be energised.

  All four of these ambitions have been or are in the process of being achieved. In three short months the breeding stock of the Grigori will have been enhanced by the six-million-strong nuGrigori created with the assistance of the Demi-Monde; all Untermenschen (notably the Jews, the blacks and the Asiatic races) that contaminate the genus Homo will have been eradicated; and the purified Fragiles will have been culled and the rump remaining reduced to dutiful serfs by the use of noöPINC. After eight thousand years of hiding in the shadows the Grigori stand on the brink of taking their rightful place as the Master Race.

  I remain Your Humble Servant,

  Professor Septimus Bole

  Prologue

  The office of Sir Broderick Bole, ParaDigm House, Whitehall, London

  The Real World: 15 February 1947

  Operation Downfall was the codename given to the disastrous American-led invasion of Japan which began in October 1946. The operation was ultimately abandoned when US servicemen contracted a hitherto dormant infection that became known to the world as the Plague of ’47. The surrender of Japan was ultimately realised by the use of atomic weapons against the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the bombs dropped by Vickers-ParaDigm Valiant aircraft of the RAF on the 15th December, 1946.

  History of the Second World War, 1939–1946: Dwight D. Eisenhower, ParaDigm Publications

  Bole hated Fragiles, the corollary being he loathed Frank Kenton with a passion.

  ‘I never knew it got so darned cold in England, Broderick,’ said Kenton, warming his backside in a rather exaggerated fashion in front of the large fire that was keeping Bole’s office the warmest room in Whitehall.

  ‘It’s Sir Broderick, actually, Mr Kenton,’ Bole corrected, who detested anyone, let alone an American barbarian like Kenton, omitting his title. With an effort of will he kept his temper in check and his hands from Kenton’s throat. He needed the Fragile. ‘But you are quite right: this winter is one of the worst in living memory.’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s the problem with the weather, it’s so darned unpredictable.’

  Bole said nothing, though he was tempted to tell Kenton that the Bole Institute for the Advancement of History had predicted that the winter of 1946/1947 would be a bad one. And now the winter was here and the Institute’s forecast confirmed, the difficulties caused by the abnormal cold were such that even the euphoria generated by the defeat of Japan had been dampened. Since the beginning of February Britain had been in the grip of snow, snow
and more snow. Roads had been made impassable, railway lines had cracked and power stations had shut down. Even before the Winter of ’47 had run its course, with February not even over, the tabloids had already christened it ‘The Great Winter’.

  Bole’s American visitor had obviously massaged sufficient warmth into his buttocks to allow him to begin the meeting. Kenton sat down in Bole’s guest chair and made to light a cigarette.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Bole tersely.

  ‘Didn’t what?’ asked Kenton.

  ‘Smoke.’

  ‘Really? Why not? Doctors say it’s good for you: the nicotine stimulates the nervous system.’

  ‘I doubt whether such stimulation can compensate for the inhalation of the noxious cocktail of toxins contained in cigarette smoke. This being the case, I would prefer it if you refrained. I do not wish to be a passive participant in your unhealthy habits.’

  Reluctantly Frank Kenton returned the cigarette to the pack.

  Bole shot his heavily starched cuffs, arranged his legal pad and fountain pen a little more exactly before him, and began. ‘You must forgive me for asking, Mr Kenton, but which department do you represent? Since the demise of the OSS, the actual make-up of American intelligence organisations has become a trifle confused.’

  Kenton gave a rueful grin, which made him look even younger than he was. The dossier the Intelligence Bureau had prepared said he was thirty-four but in truth the combination of sandy red hair, freckles, horn-rimmed spectacles and bow tie gave him the appearance of an adolescent out on his first job interview. He certainly didn’t look like the high-flyer of American counter-intelligence he was reputed to be.

  Nor the racist he most certainly was, but then Kenton kept his rather extreme opinions regarding ‘race contamination’ to himself, presumably on the basis that if his secret affiliation to the Ku Klux Klan became known it would put something of a crimp on his career prospects.

  ‘Well, ya know, Brod … Sir Broderick, my position is sorta … ill-defined,’ Kenton answered as he wrung his hands, made uncomfortable by not having a cigarette to fiddle with. ‘I sorta float around, doing whatever I’m asked to do. But for pay and rations I’m part of the Strategic Services Unit.’

  ‘And your current responsibilities?’

  ‘I’m attached to General MacArthur’s staff. I act for the general on matters pertaining to the occupation of Japan.’

  ‘Then you seem a long way from the centre of those operations, Mr Kenton.’

  ‘The general asked me to come to London to liaise with ParaDigm Rx regarding the problems we’re experiencing in Japan. The disease situation is getting kinda serious. We’re hoping, Sir Broderick, what with you being majority stockholder in ParaDigm Rx and all, that you might be able to put a little pepper on ParaDigm’s tail. It is, after all, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world: if anyone can help, it’s ParaDigm.’

  Bole nodded and then took the opportunity to take up the coal tongs and heap more coal onto the fire. He wanted Kenton’s nicotine dependency to really kick in before the negotiations went much further. ‘Tell me a little of the background to this disease,’ he said as he stoked the fire.

  ‘As you know, Operation Downfall began with the invasion of Kyushu on the third of October ’46 … as soon as the typhoon season was over. Kyushu was intended to be the staging post for the assault on the main island, Honshu. The land operations were pretty confusing for a while: the Nips were well dug in and there were more of them than our intelligence had predicted. It was Okinawa writ large: a real bloodbath. The consequence was that casualties ran high and the hospital ships attached to the invasion fleet were run ragged, so it took a while for the medical staff to identify that a good proportion of those invalided off the beaches had contracted a fever. They’d got what we now call the “Jap Jitters”.’

  ‘Describe it.’

  ‘As best we can tell it’s some form of filovirus, though the symptoms seem to suggest it’s closely akin to the bubonic plague in that it attacks the lymphatic system.’

  ‘Incubation period?’

  ‘Four to five weeks.’

  ‘The vector?’

  ‘We’re not sure but the smart money is on fleas.’

  ‘Contagious?’

  ‘Very. Those with the disease have had to be strenuously quarantined.’

  ‘How many fatalities from the Plague thus far?’

  Kenton shuffled on his chair. Bole knew that the information he’d asked for was something the US Army had been desperately trying to keep under wraps, something most certainly not for public consumption. ‘To date, a little over one hundred thousand members of our armed forces have died from the Jitters. The mortality rate is running at around eighty per cent. That’s why we evacuated Kyushu.’

  And also why ParaDigm – prompted by Sir Broderick’s unborn son, Thaddeus – had been obliged to use atomic weapons to persuade the Japanese to surrender, but regarding this, Bole remained silent.

  ‘I understand the disease has a racial bias.’

  ‘That’s correct, Sir Broderick. Negroes are particularly susceptible: black GIs have been dropping like flies.’

  As it had been intended they should drop, and the other UnderMentionable scum – most notably the Jews – with them. What Bole hadn’t expected was how quickly the Plague had mutated, to such an extent that it now threatened the Grigori themselves. Which was why ParaDigm was making its vaccines available to the Fragiles: the Plague had the potential to cull the wrong subspecie of the genus Homo.

  ‘Treatment?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘And now it has a foothold on the west coast of the United States.’

  Kenton eyed Bole suspiciously. ‘How do you come to that conclusion, Sir Broderick?’

  ‘Mr Kenton, my department was not named the Intelligence Bureau on a whim, it being expert in acquiring, analysing and drawing conclusions from … intelligence. The Jap Jitters, as you so charmingly call this disease, has, according to this intelligence, now been reported in Seattle, where as of yesterday forty-seven people were held in the containment wing of the Seattle General Hospital. Presumably the disease was brought to Seattle by the crews of vessels returning to the navy dockyards from Japanese waters. There are also outbreaks reported in San Francisco and San Diego. My understanding is that the US government is considering the imposition of martial law in these areas and the enforcement of a cordon sanitaire stretching along the Sierra Nevada designed to protect the Midwest from the spread of the infection.’

  Kenton sighed in a despairing sort of way. He suddenly looked tired and his shoulders sagged as though weighed down by the responsibilities he was carrying. ‘You are remarkably well informed, Sir Broderick, I was led to believe that that information had been assigned the very highest security classification. As you’ll appreciate, the last thing we want is the civilian population in the USA panicking.’ Kenton took a deep breath. ‘But you are quite correct, the situation is … grave. The disease has reached the USA and we are struggling to contain it. That’s why I’m here. We need the help of ParaDigm Rx.’

  Bole pushed a piece of paper across the desk to Kenton. ‘This is a transcript of an article carried in the London Gazette of the twelfth of January 1931. It describes a plague gripping the island of Zanzibar, which lies just off the coast of Tanganyika.’

  Kenton read the piece and then looked up at Bole. ‘You believe the Jap Jitters is the Zanzibar Plague?’

  Bole nodded. ‘The virologists at ParaDigm Rx have compared the two pathogens and have confirmed them to be very closely related. The Zanzibar Plague was, just like your Jitters, a highly infectious haemorrhagic filovirus. Where your American medical experts are in error is that there is no intermediate carrier: the Plague is pneumatic, transmitted directly, person to person, and it is this which makes it so deadly. Death itself comes from necrosis of the internal organs – they literally melt – and, as might be expected, is hugely painful.’ Bole paused for a mom
ent, as though collecting his thoughts. ‘The Zanzibar Plague, Mr Kenton, is one of the most deadly diseases ever encountered by man. It is not a pleasant way to die.’

  ‘While, Sir Broderick, I am intrigued by this historical coincidence, I am at a loss to see how it might assist my country.’

  ‘As Zanzibar is a protectorate within the British Empire, ParaDigm Rx was asked to search for a vaccine that would prevent the spread of the disease.’

  ‘You were successful?’

  A nod from Bole. ‘We were successful.’

  ‘This is wonderful news, Sir Broderick, wonderful news. How quickly can ParaDigm Rx make the vaccine available?’

  ‘The first batch of fifty thousand doses could be shipped by the end of February, with a further two million doses being shipped each month thereafter.’

  Kenton was quiet for a moment. He was probably, Bole supposed, comparing the prognosis of the American epidemiologists regarding the spread of the Plague through the USA with Bole’s delivery forecast. The two, as Bole knew, were incompatible. To Frank Kenton’s credit he kept a straight face and tried to play a weak hand with as much panache as he was able. Unfortunately, Bole had already seen his cards.

  ‘Is there any way in which production could be raised?’ Kenton asked.

  ‘What quantity of vaccine do you require, Mr Kenton, and against how strict a timetable would it need to be delivered?’

  ‘At least seventy million doses, ideally supplied within three months.’

  Bole contained a smile: this was exactly the quantity he had anticipated being requested and was exactly the quantity he had stockpiled in the ParaDigm Rx warehouses in Yorkshire. He gave his head a theatrical shake. ‘To do that, Mr Kenton, would require a Herculean effort.’

  ‘But it can be done.’

  ‘Yes, but at a cost.’

  ‘What cost?’

  ‘Twenty pounds a dose.’

  ‘Merciful heavens! Twenty pounds! That’s over eighty bucks a shot! That’s usurious. That’ll cost the US nearly six billion dollars!’