Chapter 4: Serialisation of the novel by Osman Khareef
Prologue — Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3
Chapter 4
His Holiness, Cardinal Mirphy paced up and down the office recently vacated by the now-forgotten John Visorkis, ex- CEO of Biophar Drugs Corporation. Mirphy was angry with himself. Things had been allowed to slide. He had not exercised the rigid control he normally had over his own staff and the bishops of the diocese.
An ascetic man with scrupulous good taste, he felt distinctly uncomfortable in John Visorkis’ overblown pretentious office with its Fifties paraphernalia. Sweet Jesus, he thought, how could a man have a Cadillac for a desk? Sure, it may be crucial good taste in the purple velvet twilight of some Black Baron’s Harlem drug dealing den. But here? In the HQ of one of the premier pharmaceutical companies of the US? One of the best secret revenue-producers and money-launderers of the Catholic Church? No.
His thoughts turned to the upcoming sale of the company. The Church badly needed money now, squeaky clean or not. There was never enough, despite the huge revenues generated from the various business operations and share dealing scams put together over the past two decades — a fine legacy of Cody-Marcinkus.
The sale of BC would net a tidy three billion dollars. Not bad, considering the serious problems the new Japanese owners were about to inherit — the defunct R & D programmes and the carefully hidden problems with the best-selling FlavAdd product which appeared to have serious teratogenic properties similar to Thalidomide. This was a fuse burning towards a future time-bomb that even the Cardinal couldn’t bear to think about.
Oh, yes! The Japanese would find BC a very slippery foothold in the US market, despite the well-located prime lakeside Chicago property and manufacturing facilities. They would find out soon enough that, in the thirty years of operation on the site, BC had been dumping leaky drums of radio-isotopes and complex organic solvents under the vast employee car-parks and piping, into the Great Lakes, waste of such toxicity that no fish, no aquatic life, no bacteria had ever been found within a four-mile radius of the outfall; not even the shit-loving algae could bloom.
Still, these were not his concerns. The Church wanted its money. The Holy Father in Rome had complained that revenue was down and this must be rectified. BC must also be sold before the employees found out that their pension fund had been Maxwelled. BC must be sold before the Federal Investigators finally unravelled the fact that the Church was the main aggregate stockholder through an intricate network of shell companies and private individuals who had been blackmailed into making over their earthly shares in return for protection from a premature early collection of equity in Heaven. And also before it became known that their accounts had been Andersonised. Ah, the sins of Sindona.
His Eminence was snapped out of his reverie by a knock on the door. “Come in. Come in! he called impatiently. “Ah. Maniato, is it?”
“Yes Sir. Joel Maniato. Head of Security.”
“Good. Good. Come, sit down. I need a progress report on various projects and there’s work to be done. Let me inform you, first of all, that Mr.Visorkis has resigned as of today. I am appointing you as Chief Executive Officer until the hand-over of the company to its new owners is completed.”
“New owners?” gaped Joel. “New owners? Who are they? I’ve not been informed.”
“Of course not. It’s none of your business. Your job is to assist in the smooth transfer of the company to the buyers. I will assist you. Don’t worry, it will all be okay. Now tell me what is happening on Project Maraschino. Where is JeanLuc now?”
There was a buzz on the intercom. “I have those files you requested Your Eminence. Shall I bring them in?”
“Yes, do that will you, Shelley. Thank you.” The Cardinal released his finger from the button.
Shelley Lang, sexecutive assistant to John Visorkis, came in. Both men regarded her hungrily as she catwalked slinkily towards them. Shelley could provoke sexual interest from a blind castrated armadillo or pump up a truck flattened hedgehog. It would be inhuman not to lust after a body which had all the attributes of Roger Rabbit’s Toon Lover: lustrous blond hair and a mouth like the swirl of raspberry syrup in an ice-cream sundae, set in the face of an angel only recently kicked out of Heaven.
Dumping a couple of fat files on the Cadillac desk, Shelley turned on a high heel and slutted out, well aware of the Viagra impression she had made. She closed the door behind her.
“Does she come with the job?” asked Joel somewhat breathlessly.
“I suppose so,” the Cardinal agreed reluctantly. He walked forward, picked up one of the files and opened it. “Ah, yes. This is your dossier I have here, Maniato.J. Let’s see now.” He quickly flicked through the pages of the personnel file.
“You have been a naughty boy, Mr.Maniato!” he said as he put down the file and looked over at the flinching Joel.
“How so?” Joel exclaimed. “You’ve got nothing on me. I’m Head of Security here. I’m the one that knows where all the skeletons are buried. I’m Mr Clean.”
Cardinal Mirphy smiled. “You don’t really think we would have promoted you to where you are now without having a hold of some sort on you, do you? Now be sensible, Joel. You’re an intelligent man. It is in your dossier over there, the whole thing — enough to put you away for years.”
“You’re bluffing!” Joel said heatedly.
“Why should I? It’s standard industry practice even in the Holy Church. Insurance for all of us — life insurance,” he repeated with a meaningful look.
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Well, maybe not by your set of values, Mr Maniato. But these are not shared by the US Legal system or the majority of US citizens. If I recall correctly, Exodus 22 has something to say about it too.” He pursed his lips and looked judiciously at Joel. “I would say that the Polaroid pictures and the information about your cocaine use held in that file would get you five, maybe seven years. Given the right prosecutor.”
Joel wracked his brain. Where had he slipped up? He couldn’t begin to think how they had got hold of anything. He had been so careful. It must be more than fifteen years ago, long before he joined BC, when he was still at college…
“Oh, yes. I can see you thinking, Joel. How is it possible? Well we do have our little ways, don’t we? Tell me, out of curiosity. What is oral sexual congress with a chimpanzee like? Was she cute? Lovely rubbery lips, eh!?”
Joel blushed crimson. He felt humiliated and shamed. Cardinal Mirphy heaved with laughter. “It was a college prank. Just a college dare,” he mumbled.
“I dare say it was. But it’s too late for that now. In any case, it hasn’t done your career any harm. In fact, it may help to interest Shelley in you!” He roared with laughter again. He wiped his eyes with a tissue from the container on the desk. “We really must get down to business. Where were we? Oh, yes. Project Maraschino. Where is JeanLuc now?”
Prologue — Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3
Icon Rapture by Osman Khareef can be purchased HERE
