For more than three decades, a handful of brilliant forgers, all of them at the same time renowned painters, worked so hard and so well that today no one can put their hand in the fire and say, without batting an eyelid, that they possess the original of this or that painting, of any famous painter, of this or no matter what other era. The scientific experts, skilled in the most modern techniques of dating and attribution, the most prestigious gallery owners, art historians, auctioneers, and other intervenors in the field, have all let slip fakes that have consequently been catalogued as authentic and sold as such. The existence of two and even three or more apocrypha of many of them was later discovered. A strict censorship has been imposed on the media; a real veto has fallen from the highest levels that has turned the subject into a sacred taboo. For if it were to spread, panic would spread, as distrust spreads regarding what the system has turned into the supreme currency of exchange, which not only never devalues itself, but has, in recent years, increased in value according to a geometrical progression. The safe-haven value that has more than replaced gold. The elites who hold absolute power would lose colossal amounts of money and their influence would be diminished, to the detriment of their unspeakable projects. With a perfect mastery of the technique of thriller and suspense, Alba Longa tells us the story in which he himself was involved and, during which, he almost cost him his skin. THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR is set in cosmopolitan Nice that is about to experience the most dramatic events in its history. To tell the truth, you don’t come out well reading this novel. The reader is left with the impression that the most sacred words in the world today: freedom, democracy, human rights, social progress and so many others, are nothing but manufactured mirages, a smokescreen called NWO (New World Order) that prevents us from seeing ourselves for what we are: the new slaves of the Empire, at the unconditional service of other Nero and Caligula who are not mad, and for that very reason is more wicked than the former.
QUINQUENNAT MACRON
FRAGMENT FROM “MASKS ALWAYS SPEAK WITH AN ENGLISH ACCENT.”
VIII
Bemoz and his lieutenants, as well as his operational team and other members of his entourage, had been assigned a mansion on the outskirts of Paris as their domicile for the duration of operations in that capital.
Sitting alone, on the porch of his temporary residence, in front of a gargantuan table covered with a blindingly white tablecloth, he devoured the lunch that his personal cook, who accompanied him on all his trips to the five continents, had prepared for him that Sunday. The waiters came periodically to remove the empty plates, as well as the mountains of spines and bones, absolutely plain, that the colossus was leaving aside.
In the perfect silence of the mansion, only the singing orchestra of the winged inhabitants of the thick jungle made up of the garden that surrounded the main building was tolerated.
From time to time, a servant in livery would approach and refill the glass that was never to be shown empty. Between trips, the servant was busy uncorking the different bottles of white or red wine, always the best and most expensive wines, depending on the established program. To finish, a bottle of champagne, whose value exceeded the monthly salary of a worker, was chilling in the refrigerator, waiting to be opened at the right moment for the sophisticated dessert.
While Bemoz's powerful jaws chewed the different delicacies with the power and sufficiency of a hydraulic machine, his brain ruminated on the latest events.
The idea of taking advantage of the notorious dislike of the rector archpriest, Maurice de Sully, for Viollet-le-Duc had turned out to be brilliant. The result produced was something unusual, unthinkable, apparently contradictory, and highly profitable. The inveterate and bitter enemies collaborating in a common cause. Of course, in a punctual and temporary manner, absolutely exceptional.
The archpriest had shown himself to be an intransigent negotiator, he had bargained short, both with respect to the formal commitment of the State to rebuild according to a precise plan, and in relation to the subsequent reaction of the Church, collaborative, yes, but only to a certain point and limited in time. The essential thing, however, had been achieved, namely, that he did not shout to the heavens and did not call, out of hand, for a crusade. Anyway, the main head of the beast, although not the only one, we control. If they decided to break part of the conditions, they wouldn't get very far.
Now everything is ready. A special fuel was needed to make those ancient, almost fossilized beams burn. Agni already has one made from liquid oxygen in his tabuco and knows how to use it. In a few minutes, the roof will burn like a torch, illuminating the Paris sky at dusk. The statues of Viollet-le-Duc have been removed with the double excuse of being restored and cleaned, for the common people, and to prevent them from causing, with their weight, greater harm by collapsing, for the archpriest. It was necessary to promise that they will never be replaced.
The symbols, not only of Paris, but of all of France, are the Eiffel Tour y Notre-Dame. When the French see the latter engulfed in flames, there will be a national commotion equivalent to a declaration of war. The entire country will be left breathless and all other worries and disagreements will take a backseat. The social body will remain united like a pineapple waiting for the instructions of the head of state. Goodbye to the weekly carnival of the yellow vests. The revolt will be uprooted, since no one goes out to scream in the streets when they are short of breath. The rest will depend on the skill of the politicians, who will certainly receive instructions on how to behave in due course.
Once the revolution is suffocated in France, it will immediately be extinguished in the rest of the world. Once and for all, his Masters must recognize how much he is worth, how much he deserves the bread they feed him and the few, although expensive, whims they grant him.
It was the first time that Bemoz was going to use his new toy and, given the special characteristics of his baptism of fire, he had given him the name Agni. And Agni will stay with him forever, he decided. There is something ineffable in the Indian that inspires, even in him, the beast arising from the earth, a sacred terror. From the beginning he had sensed that it would be of great use to him. Under his rule, there will be no shortage of missions. It would have been an intolerable waste for such an individual to be lost.
Once his mission is completed, he will escape through the sewers like the filthy and gigantic rat that he is, without anyone seeing him leave the cathedral. Afterwards, a team will recover it and bring it here, where I will put it in its case until the new operation. Now, it will be necessary to give him, from time to time, the food he needs, without which his loyalty will not be available. For this there are places much more remote than this and enemies worthy of your care and attention.
After scraping the bone from the last leg of lamb, he sucked it noisily and left it on the tablecloth, as if it were just another knife, a wild butcher's knife. He grabbed a napkin and unfolded it, wiping it first over his mouth and chin, reaching up to part of his cheeks, all of which had accumulated an enormous amount of fat and glistened as if the skin were illuminated from the inside, then his hands, equally sticky. After that, he grabbed the cup, which resembled a mass chalice, and emptied it in one gulp.
Immediately the waiter came with the trays of cakes and the pourer with the champagne. Bemoz swallowed them whole and drank more than a greeter. After that waiter came another and then another and finally one more, until a formidable, thunderous belch, worthy of the giant Gargantua, put a sudden end to all that. ballet of liveries and trays and silver and gold cutlery, the hustle and bustle ceasing until nightfall. Everyone knew that the ogre would take a nap for hours and then they could unbutton the last buttons on their shirts and breathe deeply. As long as the entire body of the building shook with their snoring, they could enjoy a period of serenity. Then everything had to start again for dinner.
https://books2read.com/ap/xrw0jL/Alba-Longa
Automatic translation of the original article. The language of this page does not determine the language of the book: purchase links lead to the editions indicated, including editions in their original language.