Against Time

3. The Democratic Dictator.

They were called 'The Order .' The name itself rang terror among people from the west to the east. They operated underground as people rumoured about. Moorka Valley much like the other provinces they'd captured were under strict supervision. They were searching for something. Something far more valuable than anything monetary means could ever buy. The question was why was it taking so long?

At the foothold of the Himalayas, the chalet stood high. It was their retreat. A gothic wide angled mansion spread out over the foothills of the mountains precisely 25 acres in size was the compound. The security was  stretched out even in the close proximity. People barely ever made it out to the mountain. Yaks and snow leopards roamed the foothills at night. Cold and bare vegetation made the place unsuitable for human settlement.

And moreover, He lived there. One of the Lords. One of the five whom 'The Order' lay important responsibilities on. Nobody knew each other's name inside the organisation. Everybody ran by their codes. It was all a binary heirachy. Nobody knew what sent inside the compound except for the reporters and investigators that never made it out alive. One of them was Sang's father.

He wore a dark turquoise suit. The room was dimly lit. Light streaked in through the semi opened drapes that sewed the morning sun across the pulp horizon. Dawn had earlier than expected. The room was relatively modest to the mansion. The floor smelt of fresh glycerine. An air of aqua lime odour sprang  into existence with each step he took. A guard opened the door. He proceeded towards the open hall. Walls were painted all beige. The oddity of gloom was hung across gothic paintings across the room. Guards stood at every corner.  He fixed his ribbon once again and carefully  walked through the corridor. Each guard giving him a mindful salute, a mark of utmost respect inside their circle. He walked different. His left hands swung all the way from front to thr botton in sync with his gait. His right however never moved from his static position. Years of experience in the military came at certain costs.
The gun usually kept in the right bottom pocket was where his hands were fixated on. People change but their habits remain.

He sat on the front yard. Two leather chairs were arranged before for the meeting. A cup of fresh lemon cider  tea was kept on the table covered by a white tissue. It wasn't pouring but the first signs of Himalayan was clearly visible. He sat with his one leg over the another, his hands on top of them. Two cheese biscuits occupied the plate. A guard came rushing out his eyes towards him. He had an air of urgency, much of what you'd expect from juniors.

"I don't like to be kept waiting Watkins, didn't I tell you that before?" His voice was coarsely deep. He didn't make eye contact but rather took a sip of his tea.

"I'm extremely sorry, Sir. We've been trying to track down some vigilantes and it had been extremely tiring-"

"Quit your banter. What is the problem? Did you do what I had instructed you to Watkins?"

Watkins was sweating. The rain has started pouring. He was looking at the front garden unable to make eye contact. He couldn't even look at his direction.

"Yes, your honour. But there has been a slight delay in it's enforcement. Something unexpected has popped up."

"What is it?"

"The general that was sent out to Moorka Valley is....well dead." Watkins voice had faltered. He dared to utter those words  and had to face the consequences.

He sipped his tea again and looked at the mountains. He was not going to say anything for a moment. He rubbed his lip with his handkerchief.

"Do you know Watkins about the story about the Axe and the Tree?"

"No sir I don't think I don't."

"There was an Axe that was cutting the whole forest down. When the trees started shrinking, they questioned the axe as to if he know anything about it. Do you know what he said?"