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Thaddeus Duke · (01-31-2021)

On Board Illuminatus Two || FL280/J239 || 9:21 AM

28,000 feet above the eastern United States, myself and my chiefs are in full on panic mode. It’s clear that Brad Wallace is an Ares Project operative and to boot, I’m the one that let him on the plane. It begs a lot of questions and at the very top of that list is how the hell he managed to infiltrate Frankie’s protection detail. If we get out of this, heads will have to roll.

For the moment, my only concern is Frankie’s safety. After hastily departing the call with Liz and Karen, I hightail it out of my Sit Room and down the hall to the family room. His guards are still posted outside… minus one. Brad Wallace. Emitting a sigh of at least some relief, I open the door to see Frankie rummaging through the cabinet of video games.

Standing in the doorway I now realize I left the Sit Room entirely unarmed. Granted, I don’t know the dangers that lie ahead, or what the Ares Projects goal is. If it were me in their position and I somehow worked my way onto their plane, I’d just take out the pilots and point the nose to the ground, killing everyone aboard.

”Give me your sidearm,” I say to one of his guards. He looks back at me with a confused look, but readily hands me his full loaded pistol. ”We got infiltrators aboard gentlemen,” I inform them. They look at each for a moment then back at me. In the interim, each of them turn off the safeties on their rifles.

”Frankie come with me,” I call out to him across the room. Spying the gun in my hand, a worried look understandably crosses his face.

”What’s wrong?” he asks as he approaches the door way, for the moment, I don’t answer him.

”Did you buzz the others?” I ask one of the guards and he nods his affirmation. Just a moment later, two more of his guards exit their break room, locked and loaded.

As we stand in the hallway, the plane takes a steep dive, throwing the guards to the floor. Grabbing Frankie so that he doesn’t fall, I leave myself wide open to crash face first into the opened door jam, giving me a cut on my face along the right side of my nose.

”Thad!” the boy shouts out in fear.

”Just hold on Bub,” I tell him calmly, gripping his hand tight. Seconds later, the plane levels out again. In my mind, I can only imagine what happened in the cockpit.

”What’s going on!?” he asks, again his voice is full of fear and at the moment, there’s nothing I can do to alleviate that.

”We’ll talk about it in a little bit,” I reply to him. ”Let’s get you to the safe room first.”

With the guards now back on their feet, they await their instruction from me.

”Switch to sidearms,” I instruct them. ”This plane takes a dive again, I don’t want y’all accidentally firing automatic rifles. Three in back, two in front.

“If we come across someone we don’t immediately recognize...” I pause a moment, debating quickly in my head if this is really the right order to give. I look down at Frankie, then back up at the guards knowing his life and safety takes precedence above all else. ”Take them out.”

Hopefully that order doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass, but there’s just no chance I can take, or that I’m even willing to take when it comes to that boys life. The men and women that pledge their allegiance to me are willing to die for me for any reason. Dying for Frankie, is akin to dying for me. If I still professed the titles bestowed upon me at my birth rather than shy away from using them, regardless of whether or not he’s biologically my son, the moment his adoption is approved by the courts, he’s the heir to everything I have. The Illuminatus included.

With caution and a great deal of trepidation from Frankie, we make our way back the hallway toward the secure Sit Room. Inside the room is a secret compartment, a panic room of sorts. It’s entirely secure and impenetrable in addition to blast proof. What can I say? My dad was a paranoid leader and he’s the one that had the 747’s built. As time goes on though, I’ve grown to understand the paranoia, especially now with Frankie and with twins on the way this spring.

”What’s the plan?” asks Jim from the comfort of the Compound in Connecticut as Frankie, his detail and I enter the Sit Room. On the wall, the screens are lit up with my chiefs, Jim, Tritter and even my father.

”Why is he here?” my dad asks, referring to Frankie.

I look at Frankie then at my dad up on the screen. ”Because we’re in crisis with infiltrators on board dad, where would you have me put him?”

”You alright little mate?” Jim asks of Frankie.

”I’m fine,” he lies. ”I don’t even know what’s going on.”

”We know the Ares Project is on the plane,” I recap, mostly for Frankie. ”And I’m pretty sure they’re flying it as we speak.”

”How can you be sure?” asks my joint chiefs chairman.

”We went into a pretty steep dive a couple minutes ago,” I inform them. ”Either my pilots did it to combat them, or it happened during the struggle for the controls.”

”Thad, your transponder was just switched off,” Tritter informs us all.

”That pretty much makes it official then,” I surmise, mostly to myself, but definitely out loud. ”We’re hijacked.”

”There’s a backup,” my father says as a matter of fact. ”It’s in the cargo hold. You know where the limo gets strapped down?”

I nod my head.

”Along the passenger side almost directly across from the door about six feet up is an emergency light. There’s a little black reset button. That turns on the backup transponder.”

Even in this moment, I can’t help but smile. I nod to one of Frankie’s guards. ”Same rules of engagement Harrison, shoot first, ask questions later.” He exits the Sit Room to find and turn that transponder on.

”I tried to be prepared for everything Thad,” he says to me and despite our differences in philosophy, he was definitely more prepared to be the leader he was.

”I think the first thing you need to do mate, is figure out how to retake that plane,” Jim states, as if I hadn’t already considered that option.

”I’m not willing to do that,” I reply almost immediately.

Jim looks on with a perturbed look on his face.

”He does that Jim… there’s a good possibility they’ll just ditch the plane into the ground rather than give it up.”

”In case you hadn’t noticed Jim,” I begin with a glance at Frankie, before looking at Jim’s screen. ”That’s far too big a risk to take.”

”They have the plane, if simply killing him was their plan,” my dad tries to explain to him, referring to me in the process. ”Then they’d have done it already. Nah they have something else in mind.”

”Well let’s tell the U.S. government what’s going on then,” he offers up. ”If they know there’s a hijacking in progress, they’ll send up fighters to flank you.”

”And when their negotiations don’t materialize Jim, then what?” I ask him to no response. ”And...”

The plane starts to dip slightly to the left and I stop myself to strap Frankie into his seat. ”Seats guys,” I say to his detail and they quickly take seats at the table and strap in.

”What’s wrong?”

”We’re turning,” I answer him before returning to my previous statements. ”And when they decide they have no other choice but to shoot us down over some field in Nebraska or some shit, then what Jim?

“I don’t know about you, but some dusty old nothing town in Nebraska is not where I want to draw my last breath.”

”Well I don’t know what else to do Thad.”

”The backup transponder was just turned on, you’re over West Virginia,” Tritter states.

”Lincoln keep me informed on their location,” my dad insists.

”Dad, you can’t...”

”Bullshit!” he interrupts me. ”My son and grandson are in danger and Thad, I’ve listened to you for two years about not getting involved and on this one, I’m taking it out of your hands. You’re pinned down with no defense but a few armed guards and yourself.

“That’s it.

“As soon as we figure out where the hell they’re taking you, I’ll have my boys deployed and en route to fuck up McGovern’s day. You can say and order whatever you want to your men and women Thad, but on this, I am absolutely getting involved.”

There’s literally no way to argue with him. He’s right. I have a serious lack of options at the moment and I don’t see any other way out of this.

”So the plan then?”

Sitting quietly for a moment as I debate in my head how I’ll get us out of this. And honestly, I can’t come up with much of anything aside from just letting things play out how they might.

”Dad?”

He looks up at the screen.

”Whatever happens,” I begin. ”Just make sure Frankie is taken to safety.”

”And you,” he offers in response.

I stare at him through the screen and watch him swallow hard.

”I know what you’re saying Thad,” he begins. ”If it comes down to it, we’ll get him out of there. But make no mistake I have every intention of getting you out too.”

”If it comes down to it Dad and its either him or me, you choose him. You understand me?”

He nods but says nothing else.

”You’re a talker Thad,” Tritter interjects. ”Use that to your advantage.”

”I don’t know what you’re talking about, Linc.”

”We’ve been trying to track their satellites forever,” Tritter explains. ”Wherever they’re taking you… I’m sure they’ll have eyes on it. If McGovern is there Thad, then its a whole new ball game.”

His comment perks up my ears.

”If McGovern is there… there will be surveillance feeds that he’s able to see and monitor… If we can hack that equipment, it gives us the location of the satellite.”

”At which point then Lincoln, I’m assuming it starts breaking down the walls to the other satellites?” Jim asks.

Tritter nods.

”Which gives us a road map to their other locations and strongholds,” he concludes aloud.

”Precisely.”

”That about settles it then,” I say as a matter of fact. ”I let them take the plane, take me, in hopes that the plane’s location gives you their location, which then results in us being able to track them at every turn.”

Tritter nods again.

”Thad?” Frankie interrupts from beside me. ”Why can’t you just fight them? You’re good at it.”

”Because its too risky,” I answer. I know he’s looking for reassurance but I just don’t have any to give him at the moment. ”One day when you’re bigger, you’ll understand that sometimes the safest course of action is also the hardest.

“You’ll be in the safe room so no matter what happens Frankie, you will be safe.”

”What about you?”

I pause momentarily. I want to tell him that everything will be fine but I can’t possibly know that. If I don’t know that, I can’t tell him that. Lying to him isn’t what I want what could be one of my final acts to be.

”Is this what we’ve become?” comes a voice from behind me.

The scene in the room fades to near blackness. Looking around me, its as if everyone on the call and everyone in the room just stopped in time, leaving only me. Turning behind me to find the source of the voice, I find my grandfather sitting in a chair, his cane beside him. While I’m not sure why it didn’t register as Asmodeus, I knew it was his voice.

”Grandfather,” I say sheepishly. Like a soldier with post traumatic stress hearing a loud bang, I’m immediately humbled in his presence. Old fears of disappointing him once again rear their ugly heads. I wonder to myself if Doc D’Ville isn’t somehow behind this. The entire journey to High Stakes, he found ways to get into my head, into my memories and pull out the worst of them. Many of them, centered around the relationship and the mentoring if my grandfather toward me.

Seeing someone “live and in the flesh” who has been dead now more than five years could make some people sick, or even feel that they’re losing their mind. They fear it. The fact is, I’ve seen these… visions… for lack of a better term, of him since the day he died. Sometimes frequently, sometimes a year passes.

”Who taught you to cower in fear, boy?” he asks as he rises from his chair. ”The Thaddeus I raised would never cower in the face of danger!”

I don’t answer his query. Instead, I look at the frozen in time Francis Robert, then back at Asmodeus.

”Love has made you weak,” he says as he shakes his head, venturing slowly around the far side of the table.

”That’s where you’re wrong,” I tell him, turning my body to follow him. ”Love has made me act smarter. There’s more to this world, grandfather, than just some hatred for an old idea like the Church.”

”Is that so?”

I nod in response.

”The Thaddeus I knew when I left this world, dear boy, would not just allow this to happen,” he says, slamming his fist on the far side of the table. Admittedly, it makes me jump just a little.

”What would you have me do?” I inquire with a bit of hesitation.

”You wait until this plane lands, and you destroy them all, Thaddeus!”

”With what exactly?”

Asmodeus shakes his head and looks down at the surface of the table.

He shakes his finger in Frankie’s direction. ”You have that boys protection detail on board! I know you have a cache of arms on board!” he shouts. It’s not anger he’s shouting with, but one of tutelage. He’s trying to get me to understand things in a way he did when I was 15 years old.

”When this plane lands boy,” he says as he rests his palms on the table, raising his eyes to meet mine. ”They’re coming for your head.”

He looks over at the beautiful ten year old boy to my left, the worried look in his eyes still frozen in place. Then looks back at me.

”You’ve privately thought of making that boy your heir, no?” he asks.

”I have,” I answer him. He takes the eyeglasses from his face and wipes his eyes a second, before replacing them on his face. ”Make no mistake, whatever is left of the Illuminatus when this is all over, when I’m all over, goes to him.

“He is my heir, grandfather.”

”Strange, don’t you think?” he asks, giving me a feeling of curiosity. ”You’ve spent the last few years of your life denying who you are. Who you really are. You’ve run from your responsibilities more than once all the while claiming this life was thrust onto you by things outside of your control.”

He grunts as he takes a seat in a chair. Leaning forward upon his cane.

”Yet here you are, thrusting your life, your responsibilities onto a boy not equipped to carry that burden,” he says as he looks up at me. That’s a pretty valid point.

”How do you know he’s not equipped?” I ask of my grandfather. ”He’s good. He’s kind. He’s decent. He’d be a just ruler.”

”That’s all well and good Thaddeus, but you left out a rather important trait,” he retorts. ”One I know you still possess, and one he needs you to use.”

”What?”

”When they’re done with you and they come for him, who’s alive to protect him? Who’s alive to make sure he makes it out of this?”

I have no answer.

”What stands between the Ares Project and Francis’s death?”

The question makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t fathom such a thing.

”Your ruthlessness,” he answers his own question.

”Grandfather, I...”

”Quiet boy!” he shouts as he pops out of the chair. ”What happened in Berlin at the airfield?”

A lot of things happened at that base. Without even realizing it, I pull Harold Jenkins dog tags from inside my shirt, passing them between my thumb and forefinger.

”They hit you hard and you hit them back with a coldness, a ruthlessness that made this old man smile from within,” he says as he once again slumps back down into the chair. ”You were angry. You unleashed your war machine on these unprepared clowns. You were more than happy to return the favor of ruthless aggression and you’ve been lying to yourself ever since.”

”You’re wrong.”

”Am I?”

”I...” I begin to explain myself. Or attempt to, more accurately. Yet I can’t find the words. ”My War Machine, as you call it, isn’t here to help me. I have no planes. No bombs. No soldiers besides those guys,” I say, throwing my thumb in the direction of Frankie’s detail.

”There’s no way to win this,” I finally conclude.

Asmodeus stands from his chair and starts to pace the floor back and forth. He stops for a moment, looking up at the wall behind him, at the screen of his son, my father, frozen in time.

”It’s because you haven’t thought hard enough,” he fires back with a calm demeanor. Removing his eyes from my father, he slowly makes his way around the table toward me. Leaning his cane against the table, he places his hands on either of my shoulders, massaging gently. ”Look into his eyes, boy,” he says as he momentarily point toward my father on the screen before once again placing his hand on my shoulder.

”You know what he’s sacrificed for us?”

The question throws me for a loop a moment. Asmodeus rarely talked about sacrifices made in order to see his vision through. When he did, it was in broad terms. Never about individual sacrifices.

”His own happiness,” he begins to answer his own question. ”He endured and persevered through a great many things to give you the comfortable life you now lead.”

”Grandfather, I know...”

”Quiet!” he shouts out. ”You see a man that lost his wife, for the cause. A man that lost his best friend for the cause. You see a man, Thaddeus, that lost his only son once upon a time and while maybe I didn’t acknowledge his sacrifices when I was among you all, I never once refused to acknowledge it in my mind.”

”I can’t risk retaking the plane,” I say to him as I crane my neck to look up at him.

”The way I see it, you have two choices. Surrender, or fight. We surrender to no man, Thaddeus. If you surrender, allow them to take you captive, you’re as good as dead.”

”I know,” I admit with a sigh.

”You need to be smart and ruthless my boy,” he informs me as he removes his hands from my shoulders. I turn to look at him, but Asmodeus is gone. The Sit Room brightens and the frozen faces of those I trust and those I love are alive again.

”Guys,” I say aloud, looking up at the screens. ”I have a different idea.”

For as good as Chris Page is, and as good as he claims to be. For as smart as he is and claims to be. He really is clueless as far as the modern day approach to branding and extending brands into the mainstream. What I’m referring to is avenues and ventures outside of professional wrestling. See, he cries quite a bit. Maybe not so much tears, but he’s bitching and moaning and complaining that I didn’t fly my happy ass from the set of ‘Department 17’ to Italy to sign a god damn piece of paper, when number one, I accepted his challenge on national television and two, that verbal acceptance was already the equivalent of a verbal contract.

Granted, I know he hasn’t branched outside of professional wrestling so the only thing he has to go on is wrestling contracts where one guy signs for a match that’s as good as booked anyway and the other guy signs on the dotted line in agreement. Having done things other than wrestling, I do know a thing or two about contracts. The fact of the matter is, Dustin Diamond’s… err… Derrick Diamond’s attempt to build hype for a match that needed no additional hype, flying halfway around the world to sign a piece of paper when it’s already redundant as it is, didn’t seem to me to be what was best for business.

As I said, this match sells itself because the wrestling world, the fans, the papers, the shows… they’re all talking about it because I’m the one promoting the hell out of it everywhere I go. Do you think any of that happens without someone making time out of their busy schedules to drop the XWF name, to drop the Snow Job name, to drop, yes, even Chris Page’s name to outlets that wouldn’t normally cover any of that?

While you might be stuck in the 1980’s Chris, the year is 2021 and when the premier champion in the company is out on his own dime, is out shooting TV shows, is out on talk shows, is out talking to print outlets and other media, it extends the XWF brand as well as my own. You’re too short sighted to see it and that in and of itself tells me you ain’t got what it takes to be the top dog. How would Chris Page bring more eyeballs into the company if all he ever does is stay within the company? It’s the same viewers every week Chris. You don’t bring in new eyeballs by, first of all being an out of shape smoldering star that was always damn good but never quite good enough to reach the pinnacle of the highest mountain. You certainly don’t bring in more viewers and earn more eyeballs on the XWF product by playing to the same crowd.

You can bitch and moan that I couldn’t sign your arbitrary and redundant piece of paper in acceptance of this match but here we are, right? We’re just a day away from Snow Job now and the last I checked, we are actually having that match that you challenged me to, The same match I agreed to. The same match you thought I was trying to weasel out of by sending Heyman in my stead to sign that arbitrary redundant piece of paper.

You can cry and complain about me venturing outside of wrestling to do others things until Robert gives you that reach around to make you feel better. The fact is, these ventures outside the eyes of the XWF cameras and inside the eyes of other media avenues sheds more light onto the Xtreme Wrestling Federation. What I do when I’m not wrestling, what I do when I’m not signing that stupid meaningless piece of paper, grows the XWF.

Moving on from the Chris Page Bitch Session version 2021, we now move onto the same dumb shit that the unimaginative always rely on. One thing nearly everyone has said about me in the closing stages of a promo cycle. The age old recycled content accusing me of questioning myself, or more appropriately, doubting myself. While I make no statements to the contrary regarding self doubt in my past tenures here in the XWF, has there been one time since my return where I questioned my resolve to win? Even in the few losses I’ve taken since my re-emergence from the shadows Chris Page, not one single time did I ever doubt my ability to win. Not one time did I ever think that someone was better than me.

I’ve been back on XWF programming for almost eight months. I’ve enjoyed it all. The successes and the defeats. In those eight months Chris, two people enjoy that distinction of beating me. Robbie Bourbon… and you. See, you’ve gone on record now countless times claiming I make excuses for that loss to you. Excuses are reasons to make yourself feel better about failure and allow me to be perfectly fucking clear: failure is never acceptable. I don’t and never have tried to stroke my ego to soften the blow of failure. That’s your bag, daddy. My loss to you is fact. The reason I lost is also fact. I allowed myself to be distracted. I’m on record multiple times owning it yet you still claim I don’t. You really can’t own anything more than saying in any statement the word ‘I.’ Kind of fitting though if you think about it. You refer to me as a walking contradiction every time you open your geriatric mouth, yet I’ve heard nothing but excuses from you every time you talk about our other matches that followed.

You know the ones.

The ones that I won.

Those ones that are supposedly unrelated to these current proceedings despite being the very reason we’re even having this match to begin with. Then its perfectly okay to invalidate those victories because you just couldn’t quite get over the hump and get the job done. It’s kind of your claim to fame isn’t it? Being unable to get over the hump? Always the bridesmaid, but never the bride.

Not only did you not catch the bouquet, your friend Robert did. It was his time to step to the plate yet… here you are Chris. Robert is missing in action and you hold his bouquet.

Clearly those things aren’t connected.

Know what else isn’t connected? Chris Page and reality. I think I’ll fix that at Lambeau.

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