First of all, thank you for your question, from time to time readers leave questions at various places pertaining one my books. I try to answer all which I’m able to answer.
Chapter 8-The Immortal Lover
The True Power Hierarchy
The Question is: Is this chapter a hint at the present election? Or the present President?
No, it has nothing whatsoever to do with any one real; Living or dead in the past, present, or future.
It’s all fictional.
As far as I know, there will be no President, an Italian American President named Berlioz 500 years in the future. And also, as far as I know, the American people run their own government, not an ancient immortal or secret society. All of the things in the book are written strictly for entertainment purposes. There’s nothing prophetic about it. If I had that ability I would play the New York Powerball and win every week for people I wants to help. 🙂
The main character, Azazel, suffers from many traits of a narcissistic personality disorder. He exhibit a pattern of self-centered behavior, arrogant thinking and behavior that shows an utterly lack of empathy and consideration for others, mortals or immortals. He doesn’t have an excessive need for admiration from others. He’s very ancient and so arrogant he admires himself. People with NPD are cocky, manipulative, selfish, patronizing, and overly demanding.”
But thanks for writing, it’s a nice conspiracy to dream up. 🙂
The newly elected president had heard rumors about meeting the man, but of course no one really believed it. At least he didn’t. Upon his meeting the seated president, the latter secretly instructed him what to say when he meets Cargill.
“You mean mogul, Ashton Cargill?” The fresh faced newly elected former governor asked his predecessor.
“Yes,” President Berlioz said. “He controls all the world’s finances. Do not ever deny him shall he asked to be seen or deny anything he requests—well rather orders for he doesn’t exactly ask you to do anything —it is in your best interest to obey him. Every president since the late 1800’s have had to deal with him.”
The President Elect looked at Chavez Berlioz as if he had truly lost his mind. He politely hid a smirk, believing the stress of the Oval Office of had gotten the better of his predecessor’s mental capabilities whom he defeated last November. Seeing the smirk, Berlioz leans forward and looks his former opponent seriously in the eyes.
“I know you believe you defeated me. But Cargill wanted me gone. I didn’t call off certain agents on the trail of a personal friend of his. If you piss him off, I can promise you he will seat someone else in this chair. He already has access to all the systems data and will jam it if peeved off,” Berlioz warned, passing an electronic file across the Oval office desk to president-elect Gov. Eberhard Tanilla. Who was one of the many members of the new party called the National Liberators. A party which won big in this election. The party won the White House, Senate, and House of Representatives all in one sweep. Or at least, the dark underworld let them believe they did.
It was the Thursday after the landslide election and Tanilla and his party was riding high. Drunk on victory after running a blistering campaign built on bullying and intimidation. He had vowed to the public to put that notorious BuFaye woman in the death chair. She was out of control. Bellowing to the frenzy crowd that Berlioz was weak on criminals like her.
He read the folder and openly laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. There are no such people as Immortals. The Illuminati is real only in Hollywood. But the bodies they have found of that BuFaye’s woman victims are real. Who know how many people she have killed? And you let your presidency fail because of a stupid legend. C’mon Berlioz, I respected you. You’re a good man. Nothing I did or said out there was personal, but this is totally derisory! The mere capaciousness of you showing me this is unbelievable.”
Berlioz knew Tanilla wouldn’t last. The man in question was standing right beside him and the idiotic buffoon didn’t know it.
“So, this is all a joke to you?” Ashton Cargill leaned down and asked in Tanilla’s ear. His breath was so hot it felt like a blow torch. So hot, Tanilla brushed the left side of his face to make sure he wasn’t on fire.
The big man with more hair than he ever seen on anyone took a seat next to the newly elected president saying, “I let Berlioz by with lots of things because he is a good man but those after her are controlled by Nikola Machiavelli. I don’t have proof yet but in this case suspecting is as good as knowing. Now, here is how it’s going to be. You will lay off her and her family or you won’t live past the inauguration.”
Tanilla was skimming through hundreds of pages down through the years of someone fitting this man’s description involved from the shadow in the true operating of the world. He found a 1904 photograph taken by a Pinkerton man of this man at the mayor of NYC inaugural ball.
“What are you?” Tanilla asked, looking at the other two occupants of the room.
“To beautiful women, I’m an immortal lover but to you I am your worst nightmare.” The intense, strange-eyed man said.
“There’s no way one can be alive now who was at Mayor George B. McClellan, Jr.’s inaugural ball in 1904.”
“Berlioz, tell this fool that nothing in this world is really as it seems. Tanilla, to me, you were nothing more than bait to draw out Nikola’s followers. I knew the same people who supported you were also the same type of people who follow Nikola. Since you have served your purpose. You’re now useless to me.” Cargill said, balling up his fist and quickly twisting it, breaking the man’s neck without touching him.
Ashton looked over the president seated behind the ancient desk and said, “Berlioz, you will be reinstated and this time don’t piss me off. I don’t want to get in trouble for harming you but I will before I allow you to harm that woman. Have I made myself clear?”
Berlioz adamantly nods that he understands. It is a blessed relief when the man thing disappears. Now, he must weave a story of how the newly elected president Tanilla ended up dead in the Blue Room. He was hoping to exit this office. Between Vonderbilt, Cargill, and this BuFaye woman, all three are making his life miserable. Neither of two men have any sense of morals. He wonders about the woman—since she’s connected to them both.
The president rose from behind the presidential desk and looked at the lifeless body of his successor. He rang for the secret service to remove it. But not before gashing himself with a letter opener.
He declined medical treatment to seal the wound. He wanted to think about what he just encountered. He looks out over the lawn and ponders if the world only knew half of the things he have witnessed since taking office it would think he had gone mad.