1. Revelation in Norway (22 pgs.) – Champions Renaissance

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ACT III - CHAPTER 1

REVELATION IN NORWAY

June 23, 2019

In the cabin at the foot of a lake in Norway

Three hundred kilometers north of Oslo

A year had passed since the last meeting at Villa Ascolassi. The day of the surprise had arrived. Yellow flew them in Francisca’s helicopter into a valley. An hour later, they landed on the heliport next to a large wooden cabin, rectangular in shape, and another, narrower and longer. The first had been built by Mr. Walker eleven years ago. The second, with ten private guest suites, had been built by Francisca last year. Both connected to the entrance hall of the first by a long hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering views of the lake and high mountains on each side of the peninsula.

The helicopter left and took off again.

Francisca, wearing an elegant dress and with her round eight-month belly, was the only one to greet them. The diamond tetrahedron hanging from her neck enhanced her maternal beauty.

Following security protocols, they had travelled blindfolded in case The Family kidnapped and tortured them to force a confession.

She showed them the rooms where they would stay for a week. Then they went to the main cabin. On one wall of the living room, a huge 150-inch plasma TV connected to a computer dominated the space. On the bar table, next to the round dining table, rested the different coloured pendrives of the book, containing the work they had done over the past year.

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Francisca and her guests enjoyed a simple welcome cocktail on the wooden terrace under the large eaves. Half an hour later, conversation had begun around her.

“The cabin and the valley are beautiful,” Victoria said to Francisca. With her round belly and her diamond tetrahedron resting against her chest, she radiated an undeniable, quiet maternal power. She was expecting her first child the following month. “The water is the same colour as your eyes. I can’t believe it!”

“Is it very cold?” Arturo asked.

“It depends on who bathes,” Francisca answered.

“Oh! You Vikings like the cold,” Arturo said. “Are we going to sail on that sailboat at the end of the dock?”

“Of course, the time will come,” Francisca said.

“This place is perfect to finish the book,” Alexandre said. “But what’s the surprise?”

“Wait and see,” Francisca said. Seconds later, a helicopter hummed far above. Her phone vibrated. She read a message. Then she said “Follow me!” and moved to the centre of the terrace, eyes on the sky. She raised her hand and pointed at a black dot falling at high speed.

“There it comes the surprise,” Francisca said. They exchanged glances, silent. As the dot grew larger, a parachute opened. Only its silhouette appeared, the sun shining on their faces.

Since he and Francisca had prepared the meeting of Villa Ascolassi the previous year, he felt safe. The last months he had strengthened the valley’s surveillance network. No guest could be tracked. More than thirty radars could detect aerial attacks. They had a range of 200 kilometres. Electromagnetic pulse cannons covered the mountaintops, creating an invisible network. It hacked satellite cameras, replacing real images with virtual ones, erasing the cabin and any events. The same with drones and airplane cameras.

Everything ran through an AI he programmed. The year before, he had launched a private satellite, accessible only to him. Complete security. He could ethically hack anything without The Family noticing.

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With his parachute newly opened, he smiled, imagining their faces. The lakeside cabin had been his home for two years. He saw Francisca and the guests on the terrace. Approaching, he thought, How nice it will be to hug them.

On the terrace, they watched the parachutist, only a silhouette in the sun. A minute later, they saw the parachute’s colours: the United Kingdom flag. Alexandre recalled his first free jump in Munich with a similar parachute.

At the last moment, the parachutist made three sharp turns, landing almost horizontally, feet touching the wooden terrace with precision. He quickly packed the parachute and released the harness. The guests remained motionless, silent.

The group had moved under the eaves, giving him space. About twenty steps separated them. Alexandre walked slowly. They opened their arms. The hug lasted almost a minute. Time seemed frozen. Mouths open, no one moved.

“Let’s leave them alone for a while. They have a lot to talk about. Let’s go in?” Francisca suggested. They followed her.

Inside, they were stupefied, almost scared. Silence held the room.

“What can I get you?” Francisca asked.

“I need a whisky,” Arturo said.

“And me too,” Ricardo replied.

“Another one for me,” Victoria said. Francisca served the drinks on a tray. They stood side by side, silent.

“I just can’t believe it. My mind is blank. I want to hug him,” Arturo said, tears in his eyes, mouth still open.

Ricardo and Victoria also stared, speechless, with tears in their eyes. They wanted to hug him too, but Francisca insisted they leave the two men alone. They drank more whisky but didn’t sit. Francisca shared what had happened. She and Ronald had agreed on what they would reveal and what they would not. Ronald had told her he would share every detail of the accident with Alexandre. What neither would ever tell was what happened to her father’s head.

“Ronald, I can’t believe it,” Alexandre said. “I’m in shock.”

“Do you want a whisky?”

“No.”

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“Did you suspect it was me?”

“Not really,” Alexandre said with a wide smile. “I thought you were dead. I can’t believe it.” He stepped back, looked him over, and repeated, shaking his head, “I can’t believe it! You’re alive!”

“I also have a hard time believing I rose from the dead,” Ronald said, showing the gold medallion around his neck engraved with A is A.

“The last time I saw it was in your coffin,” Alexandre said.

“Do you have yours?” Ronald asked.

“Of course,” Alexandre said, showing it.

He began to recover from the shock. The reality of Ronald’s return sank in. Soon they looked like two lions celebrating a victory. They stepped back and forth, shoved each other, slapped shoulders, and laughed aloud. Inside, the others also started laughing. Arturo’s laughter echoed the loudest.

“Who else knows you’re alive?” Alexandre asked.

“My family found out two months ago. My mother kept the medallion and gave it back to me. It was hard for them. I would have put their lives — and yours — in danger if they’d known sooner.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. Just Francisca and Yellow.”

“Did you plan your own death?”

“No. My plan was to act anonymously, but not to die.”

“There are so many questions I want to ask you!”

“So, you didn’t know Mr. Walker?” Ronald asked.

“The day I was going to meet him, the bomb exploded in his plane,” Alexandre said.

“I knew. All three could have died,” Ronald replied.

“So, you knew Mr. Walker.”

“No.”

“I don’t understand anything. Tell me from the start. How did you meet Francisca? Did she know you were alive?”

“She knew everything from the beginning.”

“And the ashes? I saw the urn with your ashes in the coffin, with your photo and that medallion you’re wearing now. I understand your mother gave it back to you, but what about your ashes? What a surreal question, talking to you! Explain from the beginning, please.”

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“The medallion was mine. The ashes were my killer’s.”

“What?”

“It’s true. My parents took my killer’s ashes to London. My mother put the urn on her dining room cabinet. Funny, isn’t it?”

“But how! Didn’t your parents ask for an autopsy or DNA test?”

“No. When the police showed them the photos, the body was unrecognizable, completely burned. They decided to cremate it. But since the police wanted to keep investigating, I pulled some strings through Francisca.”

“I don’t understand. Explain step by step what happened.”

“It started one day when I was returning from shopping. My killer was hiding in the back seat of my car.”

“Was it Lenel?”

“No. Let me finish, then ask.” Ronald continued. “Pointing a gun at me, he forced me to drive along a deserted road on the outskirts of Barcelona. I knew he was going to kill me. Calculating my chances, I threw myself off a cliff at a curve. The car tumbled thirty meters down. I gripped the wheel, strapped tight by my belt and special seat. The airbag saved me. My killer, without a seatbelt, broke his neck. The car hit a tree but didn’t explode. He was dead. I was alive, sore but moving.

“The car was wrecked. Gas leaked from the tank. I put out small flames at the front. When I looked at him, a plan appeared in my mind. I would exchange identities. I stripped him naked and did the same. I dressed him in my clothes, placed all my things on him: documents, chain, medallion engraved A is A, watch, keys, and phone. That’s when I sent you the coded message.”

“The one that means ‘code-on-pendrive’?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes. After sending it, I deleted the message and left the phone in the car, but I removed the chip. My killer had two phones in his jacket. I kept them. I couldn’t leave any of his things, only mine. I left him sitting in the driver’s seat with everything that proved he was me. In the trunk was a can of gasoline I always carried. I soaked the car completely and was finishing the last details to blow it up when it exploded prematurely. I went flying. Luckily my back was turned. The fire burned me,” Ronald said, lifting his shirt and showing the scars. “I have the most wrinkled back in the world.”

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“You were seriously injured. What happened next?”

“When I saw that my killer and the car were burned, I took photos with both his phones. I didn’t climb up the hill right away. I walked parallel to the bottom, erasing my footprints with a branch. I was careful. Anyone who saw the wreck would believe I was dead.

“When I reached the road, a red-haired woman in a sports car stopped. She saw my back covered in blood and came to help.”

“Francisca?”

“Yes. It was one of those lucky synchronicities, like the chemical accident that started life on Earth.”

“No one saw you?”

“No.”

Alexandre couldn’t believe it, but everything Ronald said made sense.

“What happened after?”

“We flew to Oslo. From there, he brought me here.”

“That easy?”

“Yes. She was already going to a private airport to fly from Barcelona to Oslo to meet her father. I told her not to take me to a hospital. Without asking questions, she made a call and arranged everything so no one except the pilot would meet us at the airport.”

“Yellow?”

“Yes. On our way to the airport, one of the cell phones I had taken from my killer rang. I figured it might be the man who hired him, so I changed my voice and said, ‘It’s done.’ Then I sent a photo of the burnt car to that number. The other phone rang. I did the same. If they were checking whether I was dead, that was proof. If not, whoever received the photo would find it strange and forget it. Anyway, that was my decision at that moment. On the plane to Oslo, I realized that being dead was my best chance. I don’t know why I trusted Francisca, maybe because I had no other option, or because she never asked questions, or because she trusted me from the beginning. She did everything I told her.”

“Did you work for the CIA or MI6?” Alexandre asked.

“No. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” Ronald said, laughing.

“Peter Bolt was your hacker teacher?”

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“Yes. The best ever.”

“Did you know he worked for the CIA?” Alexandre asked.

“I found out when he told me he had discovered something horrible,” Ronald answered. “He had spied on The Family for at least a decade and had a lot of information that could destroy them, or at least weaken them. By the way, there are also good people in The Family, like Mr. Walker, who wanted to reform it,” Ronald said and continued.

“In many secret societies, unions, sects, political parties, and other groups, the same thing happens because of crowd psychology, it lowers intelligence and reason. Members at the base of a social pyramid are usually unaware that their leaders can range from ignorant people with no self‑esteem to psychopathic criminals, all of them irrational.

But back to Bolt. Shortly before my death, he discovered that four nuclear bombs would trigger Armageddon through a false‑flag attack to wipe out half of civilization. He verified that the bomb clocks were already set to explode on July 15, 2018 — the day of the World Cup final. The good news was that he had discovered the code to stop the bomb clocks. The bad news was that the code worked in sync with GPS data, and Bolt had no idea where the bombs were.

He also didn’t know that the detonation date matched the World Cup final in Moscow. He wasn’t interested in sports, so he didn’t notice. He only knew the date the bombs would explode and that he had the code to stop them. A week before my fatal accident, he told me he would save the code on a pendrive and, when the time came, he’d tell me where it was — but he couldn’t, because I died first.”

“And that’s why you sent me the coded text saying the code were on the pendrive?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes.”

“What happened after?”

“On the way to Oslo, Francisca helped me plan every detail so everyone would believe the charred body in my car was mine. Many people had to be bribed. Since I was dead, I couldn’t use my money, so she offered hers. You already know how generous she is.”

“And who did Francisca bribe?”

“Some police officers and detectives who had doubts about the accident, but later stopped investigating. We also gave incentives to several journalists from prestigious outlets, especially TV, to publish the story of my life. Once it went viral, my death was beyond doubt,” Ronald said.

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“But you knew they wanted to kill you?” Alexandre asked.

“It was a probability, not a certainty,” Ronald replied.

“Who do you think ordered your murder?” Alexandre asked.

“It wasn’t easy to piece together what happened that day, and I have no conclusive evidence. But what I’ll tell you is most likely. I think Gambino asked Lenel to hire a hitman to kill me. At the same time, Gambino hired another to kill Lenel’s hitman, and me. Gambino’s man killed Lenel’s, took his cell phone, and got into my car to wait for me. After the car fell into the ravine, I kept both phones. When Gambino and Lenel later called their hitmen — as I said — they wanted to confirm my death. When I answered, ‘It’s done,’ and sent the photo, they never imagined they had spoken to the dead man,” Ronald said, laughing.

“Did you know Lenel?”

“Yes. I met him at The Family library in London. Remember when I went to recover from an injury? They introduced us there, and we disagreed in a conversation about philosophy,” Ronald said. “He was a mystic who believed in destiny and hinted that he was powerful and had a divine mission. He struck me as someone with messianic delusions, but later I realized he was completely insane.

Incidentally, that’s the psychological profile of many rulers. Shouldn’t the law require a psychological test for presidential candidates?” Ronald asked.

“Yes, that law should exist,” Alexandre said. “But there should also be a law forcing the ruled to pass an exam to qualify to vote, like renewing a driver’s license.” He paused. “At that moment, did you know The Family was dangerous?”

“No. I found out after I told Bolt about my project to write the book. I told him that writing it was what had brought me to The Family library. He realized we shared the same values and wanted to help me. He trusted me and showed me evidence of The Family’s crimes, including videos showing the leaders committing murders or sexual aberrations, to be used as blackmail if needed. Every leader had a glass ceiling.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew The Family?” Alexandre asked.

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“It was a very big and unnecessary risk.”

“Did you apply to The Family?”

“Yes, but then I regretted it. Let me explain. When they saw me spending hours in their library, they thought I wanted to join them, and I accepted their invitation. Maybe they were testing me, but I said yes so they wouldn’t ban me from using the library. I attended a couple of preparatory meetings for an initiation ritual, but I didn’t like what I saw.

One day, a stranger on the street — whom I never saw again — stopped me as I left their headquarters. He told me they would force me to commit a crime to enter. I did some quick research, very superficially, but the rumours were bad. So when they invited me to the ritual oath, I refused, and they didn’t like that.”

“Did you know about The Family’s crimes?”

“Not until then. But as I told you, I became convinced it was true when Bolt showed me the evidence. Some of the leaders were real psychopaths, Gambino among them.”

“And you knew The Family wanted to kill Bolt?”

“No.”

“Is he alive?”

“No.”

“I remember your look of fury when you said you’d finish them off and they wouldn’t see you coming,” Alexandre said.

“At the time, I didn’t know exactly who they were,” Ronald replied. “I only knew what they were capable of deceiving people through propaganda. I never imagined they wanted to end civilization.”

“And what did Mr. Walker know?” Alexandre asked.

“In relation to what?” Ronald asked.

“To the book project,” Alexandre said.

“At first, nothing. But after you and Francisca had dinner at Villa Ascolassi, the night before the second philosophical meeting, Yellow told him what her daughter was up to, and he talked to her. She told him you wanted to write a book on objective philosophy. He wanted to help because, like us, he loved Aristotle,” Ronald said.

“Was that when he invited Arturo and Ricardo to his apartment in London, and then they travelled to Edinburgh?” Alexandre asked.

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“Yes. He introduced them to a small group inside The Family who wanted to reform it. You already know that, on the way back, the bomb exploded on the plane,” Ronald said, then added, “By the way, I built an electromagnetic network over the whole valley that makes us invisible and inaudible. It’s impossible for anyone to see or hear us from the sky. Although this is true, I prefer to call Ricardo and Arturo as that, instead as their real names. I am exaggerated when it comes to security.”

“I understand,” Alexandre said. “Returning to the bomb in the plane. That day, when Arturo and Ricardo arrived covered in smoke after the explosion, they told me Mr. Walker was in the hospital. He recovered a couple of months later,” Alexandre added. “A pity he disappeared. I wanted to meet him. Why did Francisca help you?”

“I think at first she played along, taking it as a game. But when I told her I wanted to write a book on objective philosophy, she decided to help seriously. She told me everything you did. When you gave Ricardo the meeting summaries, Francisca made a copy and gave them to me. We read them together and made notes. If something occurred to me, Francisca passed it to Ricardo as her own idea.

By the way, Francisca had the idea of armouring the Mercedes after the bomb exploded on the plane. It was done a week before they tried to kill you,” Ronald said.

“Lucky synchronicity that saved my life in Munich. Thank you,” Alexandre replied.

“We had to protect you so you could finish the book,” Ronald added.

“I understand. What I want to ask is this. If you had all the time in the world, why didn’t you write the book alone with her? Why did you want me to write it with Ricardo and Arturo?” Alexandre asked.

“Objective reality is best explained when seen from different perspectives,” Ronald replied.

“Were you the other motorcyclist who pushed the one who shot at the car and then he fell on the road?”

“Yes. I pushed Lenel out of the highway. He wanted to kill you in Munich.”

“So, were you the skydiver on the other plane when I made my first free jump that same weekend?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes.”

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“Why did you do that?”

“For two reasons,” Ronald said. “First, to save your life if your instructor was a hitman sent by The Family. Second, to see you born as a free man. I wanted to be there when you had that experience that changes everything. At least for me, it was very important. I just wanted to be there,” Ronald said. “I wanted to see you born as an eagle.”

There was silence. Alexandre remembered how important his first free jump had been.

“Yes. It changed my life too,” Alexandre said. He paused. “Did you travel often?”

“When necessary. Not at first. I was still recovering from my injuries. I spent a lot of time here alone in the cabin. Francisca bought me the most advanced hacking technology, though there was already some here in the bunker.”

“There’s a bunker?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes. Under the cabin there’s a bunker, and deep below that, an anti‑nuclear shelter,” Ronald said.

There was silence, then Alexandre asked, “In Venice, were you driving the taxi boat that was chasing me when Victoria was kidnapped?”

“Yes. Lenel wanted to kill you in Venice,” Ronald said. “After both boats flew through the air, I saw Lenel hit your head. You were unconscious. I got off. He didn’t recognize me. We fought. He was an expert in martial arts, and he beat me, but I managed to punch him in the eye. When he fell, he shot me in the stomach. I was badly injured and could barely move. Then I saw him put you in a boat and escape with you. I thought I’d never see you again. I was left with a broken jaw and a bloody belly.”

“So you were the man Victoria saw fighting with Lenel!” Alexandre said.

“Yes. I was sorry I couldn’t stop him from kidnapping you. I knew he would kill you. I was devastated. Ragnar’s kidnapping and yours, almost in the same week, it was too much. It was a very hard time for Francisca and me. We were very happy when we learned you were alive.”

“And what happened next?” Alexandre asked.

“Francisca went to Venice and found a doctor. She paid him a fortune to treat me without asking questions. I stayed in the hotel recovering. She returned to Oslo because the police needed her to find her father. When we learned you were alive, she found me and brought me here.”

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“I never would have imagined any of this,” Alexandre said.

“Me neither,” Ronald replied. He waited a few seconds, then continued. “I spent most of my time hacking here. Peter Bolt had taught me all the tricks, but I kept learning new ones.”

“Did you hack Boris’s phone?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes. I sent you the message to leave the stadium during the London bomb attack,” Ronald replied. “I had all your phones hacked. I could read your messages, listen to your calls, and hear everything you said. I assigned a server to each of you and kept all the data. But hacking Boris’s phone was harder. I found out about the London bomb from their hackers and sent the warning from Boris’s number, because I knew you’d take it seriously.”

“How did you meet Ricardo?” Alexandre asked.

“It was after a match he was directing. I walked onto the field and told him I wanted to write a book on objective philosophy using football metaphors. I had read an interview where the engineer explained how objective reality guided his actions. I thought his professional discipline could help me. He told Arturo, who also wanted to write a similar book — so the three of us met. I proposed holding several philosophical meetings to exchange views. I had already prepared the study notes for each meeting — including material from The Family library. That’s what you did for almost a year,” Ronald said.

“Why did you decide that I alone had to prepare the meetings and write the summaries?” Alexandre asked.

“Because that’s how we agreed. They told me that, due to family and work commitments, they could dedicate no more than one weekend a month. The work you did before and after each meeting was supposed to be done by you and me together,” Ronald said.

“I understand. As the ‘philosophers of football,’ we had to do the heavy lifting,” Alexandre said.

“Yes. They didn’t have more time than that. The four of us would do the philosophical meetings, but you and I would prepare them and make the summaries. I was excited to tell you the news soon, but I died, so you did double work.”

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“The truth is, it was a lot of work. I did it at night because I didn’t have time during the day with my obligations to the Club and the French National Team,” Alexandre said. He paused. “Did you tell Francisca to talk to Ricardo so the book could still be written, without you?”

“Yes. On the plane to Oslo, I realized I could still continue my plan to write the book and participate indirectly through Francisca. That’s when I told her to contact Ricardo. She first approached him outside a gym, naturally as her own initiative. She told him she wanted to help with the book — but no questions asked, using other names. We gave them a couple of days to respond. After they accepted, I instructed Francisca to leave envelopes in the trash can in front of Casa Milà, with instructions you should follow. She helped me organize the notes you used and printed the cards in the style of a wedding invitation, with the questions ‘Where am I?’ ‘How do I know?’ and the others. We have a very good printer here in the bunker, along with an excellent workstation,” Ronald said, adding, “Francisca also gave them the special cell phones I prepared so that only I could monitor them.”

“Did you send Francisca to the funeral to put that note with the kiss in my jacket pocket?”

“No. She coordinated that with Ricardo, but the note and the kiss were her idea.”

“She is a great woman,” Alexandre said, looking down.

“She never hides anything from me. She told me all about the dance of the goddesses in Berlin. She planned it with Victoria and even showed me the choreography drawings.”

“Do you really not care?”

“If I had to choose who would sleep with her, I wouldn’t choose anyone else,” Ronald said.

“Neither would I,” Alexandre said, thinking of Victoria.

“They are adorable and brave,” Ronald added, as both looked at the mothers inside the cabin.

“I will call my son Alexandre,” Alexandre said.

“And mine, Ronald,” Ronald replied.

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“Victoria suffered a lot because I couldn’t tell her I was meeting with Arturo and Ricardo,” Alexandre said.

“I can imagine her pain when she read the note, just from the side with the kiss. It must have been very hard,” Ronald said.

“Did she read the note? And only the side with the kiss?”

“I’m sorry! I thought you knew,” Ronald said.

“She never told me,” Alexandre replied.

“Don’t tell her I told you. Victoria told Francisca, and I’m not supposed to know,” Ronald said, adding, “She had no way to prove she found the note by accident, looking for Gambino’s card. She was afraid you would think she was spying you. How I admire your wife!” Ronald exclaimed.

Alexandre remained silent, swallowed, looked at the lake, his eyes glistening.

“Please! Don’t tell her I told you. I thought you knew,” Ronald insisted.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell her,” Alexandre said, containing his admiration.

“Francisca admires you and Victoria. Both have been her source of inspiration. You largely motivated her to vow to build the world she loved and thought she had lost.”

“Why do we inspire her?” Alexandre asked.

“Because you didn’t want to sleep with Francisca behind Victoria’s back, and she didn’t want to sleep with her behind yours. That left her deeply impressed,” Ronald said.

Alexandre remembered the dance of the goddesses in Berlin.

“Francisca was so impressed with your honest relationship that she made me promise the same,” Ronald added.

“What did Francisca tell you about the dance of the goddesses and the red boots?” Alexandre asked.

“She told me that after the show, you three went to bed, but I told her I didn’t want the details.”

“I think the same. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” Alexandre said.

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“Did you have anything to do with that fateful Friday the 13th, two days before the World Cup final?” Alexandre asked, changing the subject.

“Are you referring to when the big shots of The Family fell?”

“Yes.”

“I just helped a little. It was Boris and his hackers who leaked to the press the evidence Bolt had collected. That weakened them significantly. Mr. Walker wanted to reform The Family from within, to turn it from irrational to rational, but the group of criminals among the leaders wouldn’t allow it. They will fight fiercely to prevent it in the future,” Ronald said.

“Did you already know Boris during the World Cup?” Alexandre asked.

“No. During the World Cup, we were all focused on stopping the clock bombs. I found out about him through his hackers, but I never spoke to him.”

“Were you ‘The Invisible Hand’?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes. I signed as ‘The Hand,’ but Boris’s hackers added the word ‘Invisible,’” Ronald said. Alexandre suppressed a laugh, remembering how angry Boris had been when his phone was hacked.

“When Boris confirmed the bombs would explode, I was desperate to publish the book on the opening day of the World Cup,” Alexandre said. “Then Mr. Walker was kidnapped, and Francisca disappeared. After Ricardo spoke with her, he told me she had instructed not to publish for any reason. I was furious and confused. Arturo and Ricardo were angry too. We contributed twelve million euros to hire the best professionals. We had a plan. Everything was frustrated, first with Mr. Walker’s kidnapping, then with Francisca insisting the book wasn’t ready,” he said, seeing Ronald staring into the lake.

“Did you have anything to do with that?” Alexandre asked.

“You knew the book wasn’t ready for proper publication,” Ronald replied.

“She said those words appeared before her eyes and she read them. What do you know about that?” Alexandre asked.

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“If she told you, it must be true. She doesn’t lie,” Ronald said, recalling that she read those words from his phone as they descended the hill after burying her father’s head.

After a long silence, Alexandre asked, “Where were you for the World Cup final?”

“Here, in the nuclear shelter.”

“And you were going to let me die just like that in Moscow?”

“Boris told you to go south, but you didn’t want to. As ‘The Invisible Hand,’ I sent him a message asking him to insist that you and Victoria go to Australia, but you insisted on staying in Moscow,” Ronald said.

“How did you know that?”

“I already told you. I had all your cell phones hacked. You could have gone to Victoria’s uncle’s house in Sydney. But you wouldn’t have, because you’d already made your decision,” Ronald said. He paused, then added, “Besides, I couldn’t tell you I was alive or that you should come here, because then it wouldn’t have been safe. It was a very difficult decision, and we had a vague hope in Boris. That’s why, for the past year, I worked to make this place invisible. Arturo and Ricardo did well to go to South America. Someone had to rebuild the world if The Family destroyed it.”

“So, you spent the World Cup final in the nuclear shelter in case Armageddon came,” Alexandre said.

“Yes. We watched the game sixty meters underground. Mr. Walker had built it ten years ago. Francisca designed it, and also the nuclear power plant,” Ronald said.

“I knew she had studied physics and economics, but I didn’t know she was a nuclear physicist,” Alexandre said.

“That’s right. One of her professional titles is in nuclear physics. We were in the shelter, and although we had a TV with the live broadcast, we weren’t watching the game. We were working with Boris’s hackers to stop the bomb clocks. We knew Boris was looking for the pendrive, but the Russian bear had disappeared. When Boris’s hackers received the code, they didn’t ask how he found the pendrive. That’s something I still need to figure out,” Ronald said.

“I told him,” Alexandre said.

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“But how did I not find out? I had all your cell phones hacked! I could hear every conversation!” Ronald exclaimed, surprised.

“To discuss important things, we left our cell phones away,” Alexandre said. “And that’s what we did that time,” he added.

“I understand, but how did you know where the pendrive was? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“I found out in a nightmare. I dreamed the nuclear bombs exploded and I died. A very surreal nightmare. I woke up sweating, dreaming you were the devil,” Alexandre said, continuing. “It reminded me that, at your funeral, I had received a message from an unknown number that said: RONALD: PENDRIVE BEHIND CASA MILÀ SOCKET. I thought it was sent in error, so I deleted it and completely forgot. When I woke up, I remembered, located Boris, told him, and he went to Barcelona to get the pendrive. That was the last time I saw Boris.”

There was a long silence. Ronald gazed at the lake, as if discovering something.

“Bolt sent you that message,” Ronald said.

“Why do you think that?” Alexandre asked.

“Because I gave him your phone number to use only in case of emergency,” Ronald said, and everything clicked for Alexandre.

“So, did you tell him about me? Why give him my number?”

“I didn’t tell him about you. Why I gave him your number? Don’t know, an impulse. I told him it was my other phone number, for emergencies only. Surely, when he couldn’t reach my charred number, he sent it to the other number, thinking it was me. If it came to you at my funeral, it must have been sent shortly before he was killed, because his death coincides with my funeral.”

“That’s why the message addressed me as Ronald,” Alexandre said.

“Exactly. It all makes sense. My death wasn’t in the news yet, and Bolt never watched the news. He didn’t know about my accident when he sent it. He thought he was sending it to me,” Ronald said.

They talked about those and other matters for more than two hours, then fell into a long silence.

“Let’s go in,” Ronald suggested, and they joined the rest of the group.

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Inside the cabin, Ronald greeted Victoria and the others. Yellow was absent. They ate, drank, and laughed.

“Do you plan to return to the world?” Arturo asked while they sat at the table.

“I never left. You are my world,” Ronald responded.

“Let’s drink to Ronald!” Arturo said.

“No! Not yet!” Francisca said, raising her hand in a stop gesture. “The surprise still needs to be completed!”

A long silence followed. Everyone looked at each other, confused. Ronald and Francisca exchanged a knowing glance. They continued talking until the sound of a helicopter approached.

“Now the surprise will be complete. Please wait,” Francisca said, walking toward the helipad.

Everyone stood motionless, listening as the helicopter’s engine slowed. A minute later, a two-meter giant appeared in the living room, the light illuminating his face. Like a son running to his father’s arms, Alexandre advanced and hugged him.

“Boris! You are alive! I thought you died!” he exclaimed, and Boris hugged him like a bear hugging its cub.

“The Dead One saved me,” Boris said in his deep voice.

“That Dead One?” Alexandre asked, pointing at Ronald.

“Yes. ‘The Hand of God,’” Boris nodded.

“No. I am only ‘The Invisible Hand,’” Ronald shook his head, smiling. Arturo is ‘The Hand of God.’”

They all laughed, except Boris. He knew nothing about football.

They made several toasts, including Yellow, and an hour later, the cabin buzzed with joy and conversation. Alexandre had never seen the Russian bear laugh so heartily, unaware that Boris was laughing with only one lung.

Ronald and Alexandre went out to the terrace, each with a glass of champagne.

“What are you going to do in the future?” Alexandre asked, watching the lively conversation inside.

“I will continue here, in front of the lake. I’m not interested in returning to the world. If I have to act again, no one will see me coming. Francisca and I will have many children and educate them ourselves, just as her father educated her.

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I will continue studying philosophy and pursue some projects with artificial intelligence. Without a productive goal, true self-esteem is impossible. That is very well explained in the book.”

“Indeed. Why did Boris say that the dead one saved him?” Alexandre asked.

“He never imagined I was alive. That’s why he calls me ‘The Dead One.’”

“But why does he say you saved him?” Alexandre pressed.

“Because when he disappeared, I discovered he was in New Zealand at Gambino’s house and had the GPS coordinates.”

“But how did you know?”

“I had Lenel’s cell phone and those of his closest collaborators hacked. He had threatened to kill the hacker who knew Gambino’s GPS position,” Ronald said. He continued, “Tired of Lenel, the hacker sent the GPS coordinates to ‘The Hand,’ hoping justice would be done. By then, I had a reputation as a champion of justice in the hacker community. It was a gift that came to me from heaven. I sent Boris’s GPS to his hackers two days before the World Cup finale. One day before the final, Russian satellites took photos of Gambino’s house and surroundings. They saw explosions and identified Boris. The Russian intelligence community admires him. For them, he is a Russian-style 007, but better.

They saw him injured from the satellite and sent two combat helicopters and a hospital helicopter, similar to the one used by the President of Russia. They found him bleeding, unconscious, and almost dead. The doctor in the helicopter saved him with resuscitation equipment and diluted seawater. She said he would have died if they had arrived ten minutes later. Today, he breathes through one lung, the other was destroyed by Gambino just before Boris sent the voice code to his hackers.”

“Voice code?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes. The code on the pendrive worked in sync with a voice code. Boris had to go to Gambino’s house in New Zealand to retrieve it. That’s when he lost his right lung,” Ronald said. “Boris is the unknown hero who saved the world from Armageddon. The same doctor who saved him is giving him a new lung. She’s a beautiful woman, inside and out. They fell in love, married, and last week became parents of twin daughters.”

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“Boris a dad?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t imagine it.”

“Lately we’ve become good friends. We talk a lot about history and philosophy,” Ronald added.

“He told me he considered himself a history detective, but I didn’t know he liked philosophy. Why does Boris call you ‘The Hand of God’?” Alexandre asked.

“Because I saved his life by sending his GPS position to his hackers. That allowed them to send the rescue to Gambino’s house in New Zealand.”

“Why God? As far as I know, he doesn’t believe in God,” Alexandre said.

“God is just a cultural meme, an expression that must be respected as such, a kind of cultural theory, like Zeus, Thor and all the others. They have a moral function to maintain social coherence, but for an unmature humanity. Science is changing that very slowly. Boris admires Russian culture, including the values of the Orthodox Church,” Ronald said.

“Obviously, when he said ‘The Hand of God,’ he didn’t know that hand is Arturo’s hand!” Alexandre laughed changing the topic.

“No idea. He’s never been interested in football. I don’t think he even knows what a hero Arturo is in Argentina.”

“Yes. Arturo is a creative hero. Not only in Argentina and on the football field, but also philosophically, during our meetings,” Alexandre said, remembering his metaphor, You can’t kick a penalty without a ball. “He is creative in football and philosophy.

It amuses me when he said Pelé was the best player in history, but he was God! He even has his own church!” Alexandre laughed, then changed the subject. “Before simulating your death, did you want to leave the world?”

“Like you, I love being alive. But I was tired of political and cultural garbage. I wanted out of the system. Interacting socially with frivolous people who confuse self-esteem with social status bores me,” Ronald said. “I prefer a few friends united by reality over an empty social life.”

“It’s true,” Alexandre replied. “Few people like us love truth or strive to become their best selves.”

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“The worst are narcissistic rulers who feel special. Even more dangerous are those who believe their god is the only god and that they are chosen above others, as if they were the only gifted son of their only god,” Ronald said. “A child raised believing their tribe is the chosen race of Zeus or God can become a heartless psychopath as an adult, committing genocide without empathy.”

“Empathy is crucial. Nature doesn’t recognize superior races. We are all born equal under the sun,” Alexandre said. “Cooperation is better than confrontation for human flourishing, but for that you need to be mentally healthy. Today, psychological health worldwide is low, in both rulers and the ruled. Many act as if asleep, automatically. Instead of thinking for themselves, they follow the group or blindly trust authority. Cultural memes hijack their brains, and they act without choice.”

“Exactly! You can’t force a mind to think for itself. Thinking is a free, sovereign act. It begins with the choice to focus your mind. You cannot focus if a gun is pointed at you, if cultural memes hijack your brain, or if the group ostracizes you,” Ronald said. “Honestly, I don’t have much hope the book will become popular. We must do our best to reach the masses. Even if only a small minority reads or understands it, it’s worth it. The book is a tool to build the world where Francisca and I want to live, where our children and their children will grow. But you cannot force anyone to think. Absorbing cultural memes isn’t thinking. Thinking is voluntary. If it’s obligatory or mechanical, it’s not thinking. The only thing we can do is publish the book. I’m working on a film to explain the essentials, maybe with artificial intelligence.”

“How interesting! I’ve been thinking of making a board game with question cards on the book’s themes, and the book containing the answers,” Alexandre said.

“That’s brilliant!” Ronald exclaimed.

“I have the draft board design. Cards with numbered questions so players can track answers, also numbered in the book,” Alexandre said.

“Man! That’s super brilliant! It facilitates dissemination to the masses — exactly what we want!” Ronald said, thinking, My great friend is a genius and doesn’t even know it.

“I imagine a board game where you roll the dice only if you answer correctly,” Alexandre said.

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“Sounds perfect. Promise me you’ll do it. The game and book could form a self-educational system. They should be the tools of an educational movement. The book should serve as an answer manual to the game’s questions,” Ronald said enthusiastically.

“I will develop it, I promise,” Alexandre said. A long silence followed, filled with energy. The night was warm; stars shone above, outlining the mountains. A soft breeze caressed their faces and the lake’s surface.

“What are you going to do in the future, Alexandre?” Ronald asked.

“I’ll continue in football. I’ll have many children and educate them with Victoria. I’ll find a place like this or sail the world with her and our children,” Alexandre said, gazing at the sailboat docked nearby.

“That’s a funny coincidence. Francisca and I also want to sail around the world for some years. But we must do it anonymously. We’re preparing everything and will set sail after the book is published. Perhaps the others will join us.”

“Sure. That would be fun,” Alexandre said, looking at the sailboat. The wind blew. Their destinies felt sealed.

“Neither theists nor deists; neither religious nor mystical; no secret sects, no sacred texts. None of that is necessary for a just society based on empathy and objective reality,” Ronald said.

“Indeed. I would add neither communists nor capitalists; neither socialists nor environmentalists, but Silvio Gesell. Did you read The Natural Economic Order?” Alexandre asked.

“I don’t know it fully, but I saw the movie The Miracle of Goergl and the video Guan Jondred Dollar. I believe the root of political problems is the financial system,” Ronald responded.

“That’s right,” Alexandre said. “Money is a brilliant invention based on trust. But in the hands of rulers without empathy, the rulers enslave the ruled. Did you see Mike Maloney’s video on how central banks create money out of thin air?”

“Yes. And did you read Human Action by Ludwig von Mises?” Ronald asked. Alexandre answered yes.

And so, two indomitable, curious minds — knowing they had to continue investigating money creation — shared discoveries, enriching each other as if no time had passed since Ronald’s accident. Shortly after, they entered the cabin together.

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