Tuscany, Italy

The clandestine meeting was held at Caesar Demas’s country house in Tuscany. That site was chosen rather than his main villa in Rome out of concerns for security. His remote estate was nestled into the surrounding hills. His private guards were posted strategically throughout the two-thousand-acre compound. Helicopters circled the property. The driveway, which ambled for a mile through his vineyards, had two separate security gates with armed guards.

Privacy was essential. After all, they were plotting a global revolution.

Demas looked around his sunroom, the one with the large working table and the breathtaking view of the rolling hills brimming with his ripening vineyards. Around the table were Lexes Demitrov, deputy prime minister of Russia, the lovely Andrea Portleva, Russia’s ambassador to the U.S., and Gallen Abdulla, president of Turkey.

The meeting was about to end. Demitrov summed up. “So, the timing is right.”

“Perfect, it would seem,” Abdulla added.

They all agreed. But Portleva, whose specialty, after all, was the U.S., stated the obvious. “America is on its knees, unraveling economically. Politically they are in chaos. And so sad about Virgil Corland’s health problems …” There were smiles all around. She continued. “And then there is the unfortunate nuclear attack in New Jersey. United States is a giant — but with feet of clay. The downfall is coming. So there will be the inevitable superpower vacuum.”

Caesar Demas had a question for Abdulla. “And you feel that you can continue to keep the Islamic nations in our coalition, that Turkey can serve as the bridge to our Muslim partners, to Iran, and the entire Arab League, and to OPEC?”

“Yes,” Abdulla answered. “Of course, now that Turkey has finally been admitted into the European Union, we can also serve as a liaison between our new alliance of nations and the EU.” He could have said more but didn’t. The two Russians and the Turk exchanged millisecond glances.

Demas was the only one in the room who had not been informed about the specifics of the joint military offensive against Israel. All had agreed, Demas included, that he needed to be sequestered from the specifics of the impending war. He only knew how it was supposed to play out. Russia’s aid in destroying Israel would earn it the endearing support of the Arab League and would grant Russia a preferred seat at OPEC and the promise of Arab cooperation with Russia’s expansionist plans. Next, the coalition would begin a takeover of key parts of the African continent and South America, with Venezuela leading the way. With the United States paralyzed into indecision, and licking its own wounds, the only obstacle left to total world domination would be China. If all went according to plan, even China could not withstand a political network so vast that it covered three continents. Pakistan and the Muslims within India would help the cause on the subcontinent. As far as the EU, they had no taste for war and could be counted on to do little to stop the expansion of the Russian-Islamic empire — all except England, of course. By that time, however, Great Britain would be in no position to launch an attack. The Russian-Islamic coalition would negotiate with the English, throw them a few crumbs to keep them placid. Australia might be a problem, but they were so far removed geographically that they could be dealt with down the road.

Caesar Demas had been promised the position of president of the new global alliance of nations with Russia in the lead. Because of that, it was thought wise to keep him out of the “dirty” business of the Jewish genocide to come. When that was over, the shift of global power would begin. The days of America’s domination — its leadership of the Western nations and NATO, and its “bullying tactics” in the U.N.’s Security Council — would soon be history.

“Of course, I’m humbled,” Demas added, “at the confidence each of you has shown in me.”

Demitrov smiled. He was thinking that, for all of Demas’s reputation as a ruthless international businessman, a friend of shadowy black marketers, and a tough global geopolitical negotiator who possessed the uncanny ability to manipulate heads of state, he had figured Caesar Demas for something else. While Demas could never conceive of himself this way, Demitrov truly believed that when push came to shove, the billionaire could be made to play an effective marionette at the end of strings that would stretch all the way back to Moscow.

After the meeting, Demas’s guests left with their entourages, surrounded by armored limousine security. All except Andrea Portleva.

When he thought they were alone, Demas gathered Portleva in his arms and began to kiss her and fondle her with abandon. She laughed a little but didn’t resist.

Portleva, still in his embrace, said in a husky whisper, “So, Mr. Caesar Demas, it appears that your wish is now going to come true.”

“What wish is that?”

“Your desire to run the world, of course.”

Now they both laughed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tomasso, his bodyguard, standing at the front door of the country home. Tomasso quickly jammed his hands into his pockets.

Caesar Demas stared him down and then snapped, “Until further notice, keep everyone away …”

Tomasso gave a quick nod of his head. “Yes, Mr. Demas. Whatever you say.”