Mexico
Rene Acerbi had settled into his new digs with a sense of relief. He had chosen wisely for the next stage of his plan. Situated in the middle of a 14,000 acre ranch just south of the border city of Juarez, Mexico, he was surrounded by some of the most ruthless killers the world had seen in recent history.
Five hundred heavily armed men ringed his property. It would take an army to get to him, but Rene had covered his tracks well. No foreign country on earth would dare send troops into Mexico on an unproven accusation that Rene Acerbi, one of the world’s most respectable citizens, was the man behind the plague. And if by chance some ambitious do-gooder senator or congressman decided to push for an investigation into his activities, there were other senators and congressmen who would make sure that those making the preposterous accusations against him would be censured for even suggesting that a man of Rene Acerbi’s stature was not what he appeared to be-an honest businessman involved in the manufacture of life-saving medicine used to heal the sick-a man who donated untold millions to charitable causes around the world.
A thin smile spread across his lips when he thought of how quickly he had turned the tables on those who had sought to expose him. For years, the Acerbis and those who worked with them had spent over a billion dollars to embed their own people in key positions inside every law enforcement agency in the world. Their efforts had been worth twice what they had paid, because now, thanks to their influence, those who were hunting Acerbi were now the hunted.
Given the nature of the Mexican government’s losing battle against the drug cartels, heavily guarded compounds had become a common sight in a country that had become, for all practical purposes, a series of fiefdoms ruled by feudal-like drug lords. Stories of their atrocities were endless. The cartels had been known to commit unimaginable acts of horror, and people along the Mexican border were becoming immune to the daily sight of bodies lying in the streets after the innocent and not so innocent were caught in the crossfire between warring gangs. With no fear of reprisal, these bloodthirsty killers were free to roam the countryside, killing at will, and they didn’t care about the bad publicity. Instead, they welcomed it, because it made them seem even more fearsome. Their tendrils ran to every corner of the country, and due to the corrupt nature of the society they existed within, there were no good guys for the people to run to. An entire culture was being erased, and unless the people of Mexico decided to rise up en masse against the gangs, they would remain trapped in a society ruled by fear.
It was into this milieu of chaos that Acerbi had chosen to build a temporary base of operations. No Europol, no FBI, no CIA. Even if they knew where he was, it mattered little to him.
“Let them come,” he told his men. “We’ll be waiting.”
The temporary move to Mexico had been part of his grand plan all along. Here, in the twenty-first century, he would be free to put his ultimate plan into effect from a part of the world that seemed closer to the Dark Ages, and Rene Acerbi reveled in it. It almost saddened him to think that he would have to leave this place in a few short days, but his time had come. Soon he would be free to be who he was really meant to be. The whole world would soon know his name, and they would come to fear him, for they would be powerless against him.
It had been two years since Acerbi first came to Mexico bearing gifts. He had been wise enough to realize that, by setting up a foreign operation in a country virtually free from the rule of law, he would be forced to deal with new kinds of threats, ones that were potentially even more formidable than those he faced back in the civilized world.
Instead of dealing with a civilized system of law enforcement that actually had the power to enforce the laws, he would now have to deal with psychotic, drug-fueled murderers who had no discipline and prayed only to the gods of money and power-which made them harder to control. However, in a move worthy of a master tactician, Acerbi had taken all of this into account when he first began planning the next phase of his operation.
By providing the most powerful drug lord in Mexico with some inside information on international law enforcement’s efforts to curtail the drug trade, Acerbi had quickly become the cartel’s new best friend. Over time, Rene had proven himself to be valuable in other areas as well, and keeping him safe had become their top priority, at least for as long as he remained valuable. But Acerbi was no fool. The unpredictable nature of the beast he was dealing with involved traits that were all too familiar to him, so he had taken the extra precaution of layering his security into rings of protection.
The inner ring had been hand-picked by Acerbi’s most trusted security specialists. At the center of this circle, a team of intelligence analysts worked twenty-four-hours a day acquiring information on everything and everyone Acerbi considered to be a threat. Most of the members of this inner circle were professional mercenaries recruited from Special Forces teams the world over. These men were charged primarily with Acerbi’s personal protection and the operation of the high-tech defense systems he had installed around the ranch.
The outer defense ring was mostly for show. These were the decoys. This was where Acerbi placed the undisciplined hired guns furnished by the cartel. This fearsome looking bunch of bloodthirsty killers not only provided the first ring of security, but kept rival drug gangs away by creating the illusion that Acerbi’s ranch was owned by just another drug lord in hiding.
The job of controlling these men fell to a team of elite mercenaries who served as Acerbi’s clandestine enforcers. With the knowledge that a war between rival drug factions in the area could disrupt their boss’s plans and bring unwanted attention to his presence, Acerbi’s mercenaries had given the Mexicans on the perimeter strict instructions to avoid any confrontations with other drug gangs in the area. The penalty for breaking this rule was death that usually came silently without warning in the middle of the night.
The centerpiece of Rene’s new kingdom was the rambling hacienda that had just been constructed on the top of a hill overlooking the desert. With a design dating back to the turn of the last century, it was a beautiful piece of traditional Mexican architecture. The one-story, white-stucco structure had a red-tiled roof and was completely encircled by a wide porch supported by heavy dark beams over a floor of Saltillo tile that also covered the large interior courtyard.
Having a central courtyard has always been an important element in Mexican architecture, even in the cities. The idea of an inner courtyard was nothing new. In fact, the design harkened back to biblical times. From the homes of Babylon to the medieval castles that stretched across Europe, all the way up to modern-day structures like the Pentagon in Washington D.C., the fortress mentality that had spanned the age of man had appeared in homes throughout the civilized world for thousands of years. It seemed that the need for a protective enclosure had been built into our collective architectural DNA.
The most famous inner courtyards were those found in ancient Rome. The inner courtyard of a typical Roman villa provided a private outdoor oasis free from the suffering gaze of those who lived beyond its walls. The design was perfect for a man like Rene Acerbi, and the analogy to a Roman villa was a good one for a man who believed he was destined to become the new Caesar.
Acerbi’s hacienda possessed a courtyard that came with a pool, and on this day Rene was taking full advantage of it. Floating over the clear blue water behind his bougainvillea covered walls with a cold drink in his hand, Acerbi peered through his designer sunglasses at the cloudless sky above. There was always the possibility that the outbreak of the pathogen could somehow be traced back to him, but that was highly unlikely. The time was rapidly approaching when he would be truly untouchable. Until then, he would remain in hiding in his Mexican hacienda, dependent on a fearsome array of men and weapons to protect him from those who would seek to interfere with a plan his ancestors had set in motion seven-hundred years in the past.
His thoughts drifted to the coming ceremony. Up until now, the anonymous displays of his ability to kill vast numbers of people had been kept in check by the other members of his clan, but after tomorrow he would be free from their meddling restrictions. He would finally have the power and authority he needed to unleash the full force of his wrath against all the ignorant and undeserving people in the world. They would soon be at his feet. He would rule it all. Life was good.