September 9th 2012, 7:35 pm, John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York City
The luxury Learjet circled New York's John F. Kennedy International Airport for the second time, awaiting the tower's signal to begin its final approach, thus allowing the one known as "Geist" an extra fifteen minutes to muse before the mundane ritual of landing and refueling began.
This trip was not his style.
Not that he minded killing. He killed often, but usually only out of whimsy these days. It had been years since he had played the role of "hitman" or "assassin" and both of these titles felt trivial and beneath him. Under other circumstances, he would have ordered this murder; deeming his time too important to suffer the indignities of international travel. But this particular quarry had proven too elusive for too long. A faint look of pleasure crossed his wrinkled, but not uncomely, face as he mused about how the most valuable trophies were, at one time, the most difficult to track - and this game had quite a history. Others had already failed in the attempt - many others - and if the truth be told, Geist was anxious to test himself. Not that the outcome of this particular encounter was in any doubt. No one commanded as Geist did. Even at the current altitude of fifteen thousand feet, he could feel its energy stirring deep within the earth below. It would be a nigh impossible draw at this distance, but even so, he was convinced that he could still siphon off enough of to rip the plane in two if he so desired; and even then his life wouldn't be in any peril. Such was the power that he wielded. Neither heights, nor depths, nor men, nor machinations held any fear for him. He commanded and no one commanded him.
The lone male steward on the privately chartered Lear peered his youthful, shaggy, blonde head around the corner of the small airplane's galley and; seeing that his only guest's glass was still half full, quietly retreated back into the serving area.
, thought Geist.
His thoughts returned to the sole reason for this trip. There were others who also commanded . The Three Kings, their associates and the infrastructure they had created and sustained for over five centuries didn't hold a monopoly on all knowledge concerning - not yet, at least. This would soon be rectified, which meant that one of Geist's chief life-goals was in sight. Others would quickly follow.
As he gazed out the window, Geist's buoyant mood turned melancholy. It should have all ended that fateful night, long ago. All the were present. The plan was flawless and undetected. But, all it took was one savvy monk sneaking off into the night to preoccupy the Kings for centuries; hunting down all the that had been raised from that single thorn in their flesh. Five hundred years of researching, ferreting out, hunting and, yes, killing. Hundreds had been whittled down to two; two verified , both with one foot in the grave. The candle was one hair's breadth away from being completely snuffed out - that is, unless its final spark was used to kindle another. This is what Geist had come to prevent.
He lifted his glass of spirits, swirled it out of habit and emptied the remainder of its contents in one practiced swig. How he hated flying. Beyond the normal vertigo he experienced as the natural result of being an aging human being, Geist hated not having the earth directly underneath his feet. He wanted - no, he needed - to feel the reassuring presence of , beneath him and available in vast quantities. It reminded him of who he was. It reminded him that anything was possible.
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The Learjet's early thirties, bleach-blond attendant peeked around the corner, again, noticing that his guest's glass was finally empty. Ducking back around the corner unnoticed, he returned to the galley and pulled out his mobile phone, sending a quick text to the co-pilot on the other side of the bulkhead, before reaching up for his backpack in the overhead storage bin.
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Geist felt the gentle pressure of gravity pressing against his body as the Lear slowly began to ascend.
, he thought.
Ever alert to change, especially unplanned change, Geist readjusted himself in the handcrafted leather chair and returned to his previous train of thought. He rehearsed in his mind, for what seemed to be the hundredth time since leaving London, his current mission objectives:
Stolen story; please report.
The cleric.
How Geist longed to confront this man – this that had set back his plans for so many years. It had taken the better part of twenty-five years to locate his whereabouts, this having been achieved three years ago. Five different attempts had been made on his life during that time, all by associates on American soil. Not one had succeeded. Even the last mission involving five of the best trained and experienced associates in the States had resulted in the loss of four and a dismal report from the last, before he was executed. The cleric knew ; not only how to use it, but also how to convey its use to others - and that was the greater threat. One, lone candle would burn out in time. But, if its flame spreads ...
The Lear continued to climb away from J.F.K., much to Geist's disappointment. How he hated unwanted complications. He unbuckled his seat belt and faced the front of the plane, waiting.
As if on cue, the bushy-blond steward twisted around the corner, brandishing a hand-crafted, ceramic 9 mm handgun that had been designed for such airline assassinations. He extended it in his right hand, professionally, and in less than half a second, three rounds at the point blank range of five feet were sizzling toward Geist.
He'd had his misgivings about this crew from the very first moment he'd set eyes on them in London. Geist had misgivings about everything, especially arrangements that had been made by others. Assassination attempts on Kings were not common, but had happened before, even to him. Some associates simply didn't have the patience to wait their turn.
, he thought.
Geist effortlessly drew upon his stored internal reserves to raise up a induced shield that melted the bullets, instantaneously, upon impact. These reserves, however, were not limitless and Geist assumed that his assassins knew so. They were, obviously, trying to cut him off from through the physical distance of altitude and the numbing effects of drink. How little they understood ...
But, truth be told, stopping three bullets at that range had nearly depleted Geist and as a final measure, he used the last of his stores to strategically hurl the red, concave shield that had initially saved his life toward the young man. It collided with him, violently, knocking him to the floor.
Geist dove to the deck and began to crawl toward the back of the plane, hoping to reach the cover of a rear set of chairs before his attacker could regain his feet. Sliding behind a swiveling, leather chair, he quickly removed his shoes and socks, then strained with all the substantial skill he possessed in order to draw any measure of into his being at this height, which he assumed to be in excess of twenty thousand feet, by this time.
If any other plane had been in the vicinity at the moment with a passenger whose eyesight was extremely keen, they would have noticed the faintest bolt of reddish lightning licking the bottom of Geist's Learjet. And, if it were still possible for that same witness to trace the origins of the bolt far beneath them, they would have seen that it extended all the way to the awaiting earth below.
But, it wouldn't be enough and Geist knew it.
If such a charge were to be directed at his killer, it might be felt, but to no more degree than if the man had stuck his tongue on the posts of a nine volt battery. Geist needed other options and looking immediately to his right, he found them.
It was the exit door.
He could hear his assailant regaining his feet and beginning to methodically make his way, step by anxious step, toward his target's position.
Geist used what little of the power he had at his disposal to produce a brief flash in the direction opposite his position in order to draw away the gunman's attention, before he lunged toward the door, threw down the bar marked with the large red letters, "OPEN," and felt himself being sucked from the plane and out into the wide open expanse of sky.
Geist felt himself tumbling and spinning in the freezing evening air, occasionally being flipped onto his back where he could see the Lear majestically poised above him, as an eagle in flight.
With each passing second, he could feel his connection with the earth increasing. Already, a substantial link to had been established and, like an automotive trickle charger, Geist was replenishing his depleted stores, still spinning and falling uncontrollably toward the ground.
Geist drew into his being steadily now, with more confidence, even using its power to bathe him in a reddish-hued shield that righted his body and placed him in a reclining position, facing the fast-shrinking plane far above him.
While still lacking the power to produce an offensive attack, Geist was able to slow his descent noticeably, no longer hurling to the ground at terminal velocity, but falling at a pace of his own choosing - even taking the time to turn his head in order to choose a more secluded field to eventually land in.
He continued to slow his descent as thin tendrils of red lightning seemed to leap from the earth and stab themselves into his surrendered body. His whole frame was aglow as the final few hundred feet were traversed. The lightning bolts were supplemented, now, by wave upon wave of cupped force fields that rose from the earth, two per second, intersecting Geist's body and slowing him to an almost imperceptible speed, righting his position vertically. Geist landed softly, embraced by the field that he had spied from above.
The moment Geist's feet touched the ground, he lifted his gaze in the direction of the Learjet, now only a tiny speck in the expanse above him, extended his left hand skyward and released a blinding fireball in the airliner's direction.
With that, the first of the three kings turned his head in order to take in his surroundings, then began to resolutely walk due west toward the nearest road that he had spied during his fall.
It took nearly ten seconds before he heard the faint explosion from above.
