“What I have here gentlemen is the Book with Seven Seals,” said Thomson holding up a laptop as he walked into the meeting of the Inner Sanctum.
He placed the computer on the illuminated desk, around which sat the seven figures, opened it and pressed a few keys. He then turned to one of the black-suited agents standing around the periphery of the room.
“You!” he shouted pointing at the man, “come here.”
The agent just stood and watched with passive eyes.
“Come here,” growled Thomson as the man flew forward and was suddenly standing beside him.
The others drew their guns, but were told to stand down by Ron Scrimgeour.
“Here, open this file,” said Thomson pointing to the screen.
The agent shrugged his shoulders and tapped the touch pad. Suddenly he screamed as he burst into flames activating the sprinkler system and fire alarm in the room.
One of the other agents rushed toward his burning colleague with the room fire extinguisher and hosed as the members of the Inner Sanctum made to leave the room. But before the first man could leave, the handle of the door flew out of his hand and the door slammed shut.
“No one’s leaving.” Thomson said in a mocking voice. “You, cancel all this,” he said pointing at Scrimgeour and then waving his hands in the air. He then looked at the agents and the two guards while kicking the smouldering ex-agent, “you gentlemen, pull this out of the way!”
After the sprinklers had been extinguished, and the alarm switched off Thomson put his two fists on the desk and looked around. “Now, please take your seats, and I trust that little demonstration has wiped any doubts from your minds of what we’re dealing with gentlemen.”
“Just what are we dealing with?” asked a grey-haired man as he sat down.
“Now now, you gentlemen haven’t been reading your Bibles. Let’s see. What do we have? The Lamb of God, the Book with Seven Seals and hmm… well, me!”
“Okay, we get the gist. What can be done about the position, because I’m sure I speak for us all,”
said the grey-haired man. He looked around at the nodding heads, “we’re happy with the way things are?”
“Of course you’re happy with the way things are, your Illuminati!” said Thomson as he circled the table.
“Why not destroy the computer?” Ron Scrimgeour asked.
“An intercontinental ballistic missile couldn’t destroy it!” Thomson said. He thumped his fist off the table. “The upcoming apocalypse can be stopped only one way, and that’s by keeping the Christ from opening the seals!”
“And how do we do that?” A man with dark hair and a moustache asked.
“Well, you could pray,” answered Thomson with sarcasm. Then he looked around the table.
“Probably not a good idea.”
“If you weren’t… I’d….” said a fair-haired man.
Thomson, with blazing red eyes, turned on the man, who rose into the air, and said in a thundering, other-worldly voice: “Well, I am fucking Satan, and you will do nothing!”
Then putting a finger on his chin, with eye colour restored, Thomson again circled the table as the fair-haired man crashed down onto his seat. “You could take this person into custody.”
“I’ll get right on to it!” Ron Scrimgeour shouted as he jumped up.
“Sit down Mr CIA man it’s already been done.” Thomson said as he walked from the room.
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