The Voice, by Paul Fitzgerald and Elizabeth Gould

previous page | next page  | start of chapter | contents | buy the book

                           - 37 -


The view from the penthouse suite at the Transitron building
was limited to a few square miles bordering the Thames in
the usually foggy London sky but within those few hundred
acres, a thousand years of history had been forged and a
world had been ruled. This was of little consequence to Rick
as he reported upstairs for duty, but to Lord Gilbert,
Transitron's chief executive officer it was as primary as a
corporate balance sheet. Tiny London's architecture, its
hundreds of churches and Cathedrals packed into a square
mile area was sacred architecture built on hallowed ground
and he wanted Rick to know it.

"You see that building," Gilbert said, his face to the
sun in such a way that Rick saw no more of him than a shock
of red hair hidden in shadow. "That is the Templar Church,
dedicated by the Patriarch of Jerusalem himself, in the year
1185. Under its vaulted dome lie the original Crusaders. Men
whose dream of a golden future for mankind sanctified
England's destiny."

"I see," said Rick, unimpressed with the historical

"No, you don't." Gilbert said, annoyed with Rick's casual
interest. "Had it not been for the Templar's exploration of
Jerusalem and the East, none of what you see around you
would be here today. Law, banking, finance, the very basis
of trade itself can all be laid to their discipline, their
sacrifice and their sacred rule. They made this world a
reality my dear Richard. Nothing less than reality."