Free Blood Prize by Ken Grace Page A

I’ll be that beginning.”
     
     
    _____________
     
     
    Tom sat at the dining-room table, watching Noah stomp around the room.
    “We don’t go around killing people, lad.”
    With a wave of his arm, Noah gestured towards the other members of his team.
    “Nor do we rob banks. We have benefactors that support us. Not openly, just financially.”
    “Does what you do make any difference?”
    Tom noted the group’s reaction to his question. The room became quiet and the expressions, stern.
    “Yes, we’re extremists. We destroy. We’re here to annihilate unconscious enslavement.”
    He sat down at the table and looked across at Tom.
    “Let me ask you a question. All the rules you live by in your life, your beliefs, where do they come from?”
    “Me. They come from me.”
    “Yes, but where did you get them from? Think about it, Tom. Most of what you believe wasn’t your idea. It came from government controlled media and fake parents. It’s a manipulation; a tool for control.”
    Tom wished he hadn’t begun this conversation.
    “My thoughts are my thoughts. I’ve got to go and start dinner.”
    He wandered into the kitchen, privately contemplating some of Noah’s ideas; plutocracy: a life predetermined to serve the rich and the powerful. An interesting idea believed by most of the masses.
    We live in a prison of rules to serve our masters.
    “Get out of my way, Fox.”
    Her kick struck him on his left knee and he fell sideways against the kitchen bench and on to the floor. Before he could twist out of her way, she straddled his waist, leant forward and placed a knife at his throat.
    Tom experienced searing pain and he roared his displeasure at the woman on top of him.
    “Get off me …”
    As he struggled with her knife hand, he spotted Noah running into the room.
    “What’s going on? What happened here?”
    He glared at Uta and then at Tom; his eyes following the blood trail that flowed down Tom’s neck until it disappeared below the collar of his shirt.
    “I think she just sliced a chunk out of my ear.”
    Uta got to her feet, as other members of the group arrived. The woman looked on the verge of attacking them all.
    “What? He got in my way.”
    Noah’s face flushed red with anger.
    “Everybody out. Uta … I’ll deal with you later.”
    They made way for her, as she strutted out.
    So much for their macho persona. They’re all scared of her.
     
     
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    “Petra, bring the first aid kit and something to clean up this mess.”
    Noah only stopped pacing the room, when Petra returned carrying an old wooden box with a faded red cross on its lid.
    He rummaged through the contents and removed antiseptic, gauze and a sticky bandage.
    “Wait …”
    He stopped his search. Without thinking he began stroking the yellow stained newspaper that lined the under section of the box.
    He read the newspaper article with his hand in the air, palm up, lest somebody interrupt.
    “I think we’ve found the start of our trail, Tom.”
    “What do you mean? Where?”
    “Australia … Your birthplace.”
    Noah felt a moment of anger and uncertainty. Coincidences often occurred in life, no doubt, but when they forced his team into a direction, strategically good for their opponents, it made him feel uneasy and suspicious, yet what choice did he have other than this?
    Noah relaxed the tension in his face, as he carefully removed the old newspaper from the box.
    “You’d better read this yourself, lad. The priest it describes is dangerous, but we can’t ignore the opportunity. He wouldn’t talk to us in the past, but this time we have you. Father Dominico Rossi won’t deny the son of Alexander Fox.”

Chapter Twelve
    I sobel enjoyed being at work on her own. She liked her weekend’s people free.
    This particular Sunday, she spent the morning sprawled on the office floor, sorting through piles of invoices and dozens of other registers and data reports.
    You’ve got to be bloody joking.
    She shook