Trevor Fontaine and The New Global Currency

April 13, 2011 at 10:03 pm (Horror, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Trevor Fontaine felt pleased with himself as he had a glass of champagne in his London hotel room.

He had had a meeting today with several important London financiers.

Tomorrow he would fly home to Paris the home of his company Giza Investments Ltd.

Actually it really wasn’t his company.

It belonged to the Egyptian Vampiress Isis.

But he was the front man for Isis in the world of finance.

This past weekend in Bretton Woods, New Hampshire, Fontaine had met with George Soros and other global movers and shakers in the world of finance, industry and government to set the groundwork for a new global currency.

It was this project- an idea highly favoured by his boss the Vampiress Isis- that had led to the stay over in London to brief various important City of London financiers about the project.

* * *

In another hotel room a few blocks away, Prince Suleiman bin Turki of the House of Saud who was 1,666th in line to the Saudi Arabian throne was making plans.

Well Prince Suleiman bin Turki of the House of Saud was always making plans.

He had spent the past two years plotting and trying to figure out how to get rid of the 1,665 people in front of him to the throne.

But now something else had occupied his mind.

He became aware of this new project to establish a new global currency.

But Prince Suleiman bin Turki’s plans for seizing the Saudi throne entailed the U.S. dollar remaining the de facto global currency for the next 5 years.

If a new global currency were introduced before then, this might upset his plans to become King of Saudi Arabia and ultimately the Caliph of the entire Islamic world.

Allah knew that Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad already had it in his own mind to become the Caliph of the entire Islamic world.

But it was Prince Suleiman’s destiny to become Caliph not Ahmadinejad’s or at least so the megalomaniacal Saudi prince figured in his own highly inflated egocentric opinion.

And as such, Suleiman determined that he was going to bump off those promoting the idea of a new global currency.

And he would start with Trevor Fontaine the CEO of Paris-based Giza Investments Ltd.

It had come to Prince Suleiman’s attention that Trevor Fontaine was in London this evening.

And so Suleiman had gone to a seedy area of London’s Soho District to track down an expert assassin and gunman for London’s local branch of the worldwide Russian Mafia.

Dmitri Ibumpuov had been easy to find provided you knew which palms to grease with the current de facto global currency.

After paying Ibumpuov half up-front for the job (the other half would be paid when the job was completed) and giving a photo and the location of the target Trevor Fontaine, Prince Suleiman went back to his own hotel room and started greasing his own palms while he looked at decadent western on-line porn sites of various beautiful women in interesting positions- something he was unable to do in his own native Saudi Arabia.

* * *

Trevor Fontaine sat on the sofa in his suite laughing his head off at an on-line commentary written by U.S. political commentator Glenn Beck.

Suddenly the door was kicked open and a man burst into the room shooting several bullets directly at him.

“You’re not… dead?” the man with a Russian accent stammered in English.

“No, I’m a vampire,” Fontaine smiled and then proceeded to bite the man on the neck draining him of all his blood.

He then opened the window and threw the body down into the street.

“It’s a rather difficult thing to kill me,” Fontaine laughed while looking down at the body, “tonight is not my night to die.”

Those were Fontaine’s last words before he was attacked by grey goo self-replicating nanobots who ate the vampire alive.

* * *

“Eureka! Vengeance is mine!” Renfield R. Renfield laughed with hearty abandon.

“What’s up?” Amadeus looked up from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he was eating.

“Well remember that fellow Charles Simeon who stole my tuna fish sandwiches two Fridays ago?” Renfield asked, “And how someone killed him before I had the chance to kill him?”.

“Frankly, you’ve never stopped yacking about it,” Amadeus tried his best to do a Clark Gable Rhett Butler impersonation with his mouth full of peanut butter.

“Well I found out who Charles Simeon worked for,” Renfield helped himself to a freshly made tuna fish sandwich, “it was Trevor Fontaine the CEO of Giza Investments Ltd. And I found out Mr. Fontaine was staying in a hotel here in London and so all those grey goo self-replicating nanobots I created in the lab last night I sent to Fontaine’s hotel room earlier this evening and now I’ve just got a report over the Scotland Yard police radio that Fontaine was eaten alive by them. So I’ve killed two birds with one stone. I’ve got my vengeance on the thief who stole my tuna fish sandwiches by killing his employer. And I’ve proved Prince Charles’ theory about grey goo self-replicating nanobots being harmful to be correct. So now Prince Charles will probably invite me to his son’s wedding.”

* * *

Away from the glare of both the British and French news media, Prince Charles was spending a quiet evening in an exclusive Parisienne cafe in the company of a beautiful woman who was wearing a stylishly and classically elegant gold evening dress.

The woman’s name was Isis and unknown to the Prince of Wales, she was a vampiress.

The purpose of the meeting was strictly platonic.

Isis had invited the Prince to discuss an article Trevor Fontaine had written in favour of a new global currency for the Council On Foreign Relations’ Foreign Affairs Magazine.

“An excellent article,” the Prince of Wales said, “I would like to meet its author in person. I really would. This gives me some ideas I’d like to discuss with my country’s Prime Minister David Cameron.”

At that moment, the cafe owner turned up the volume of the cafe’s TV which was set to CNN.

The story was about how Giza Investments Ltd. CEO Trevor Fontaine was eaten alive by grey goo self-replicating nanobots in a London hotel room.

The Vampiress Isis immediately excused herself and ran hurriedly from the cafe in her clicking spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes.

Once outside in the Paris night air, she emitted a nocturnal scream that seemed to shake the Eiffel Tower itself.

For the man, who in addition to being her front man in the world of finance, was able to successfully channel the spirit of her dead son Horus was now himself dead.

To be continued.

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