15 The Black Market I

"It's been two days since the devastating explosion rocked the compound of the enigmatic Cult Of Seth," the female reporter with short brown hair and hazel eyes narrated, her soft voice grave and somber. "The full wreckage of the compound has been combed twice, but so far, no bodies have been recovered."

The screen changed, displaying images of the charred remnants of Setesh's house, with copious amounts of smoke billowing from it into the sky. The whole property, even the outer section that held the mini forest, had been marred by destruction.

It looked like a huge forest fire had just run its course, burning the trees and plants to blackened crisps. The devastation was almost mesmerising.

"The local authorities still do not know the cause of the explosion, but experts are speculating that it was caused by an accidental gas leak. More investigations are being conducted to ascertain the real cause.

"The local authorities, together with the FBI and CIA, are still conducting investigations into the whereabouts of the members of the cult and their leader, the mysterious Set Farguoge.

"It seems they hav––" The reporter's words got cut short as I switched off the television screen, plunging the hotel room into silence.

Lounging in the plush armchair, I raised the glass to my mouth and took a long sip of the fragrant red wine, savoring its sweetness as I reflected on the news and the events of the past few days.

Just as the reporter said, two days had passed since my stunt at Setesh's place. The police and the authorities had been busting their balls trying to make sense of what happened back there, but to no avail.

The explosions caused by the series of naquadah explosives were comparable to a ballistic missile.

The positions they were planted in had been perfectly calculated by yours truly to create a localized resonance effect, effectively incinerating most of the things in that house and efficiently erasing any evidence they could've used to compile an accurate report.

The only lead they'd have would be the followers, but by this time, they were long gone. The CIA didn't have any records of them, only Setesh, so they were in the clear, as well as me.

The whole case was a wild goose chase. They'd eventually get tired, frustrated, or both, and then the whole thing would be added to the long string of mysterious occurrences of this nation.

Then, it'd be forgotten, and no one, except perhaps the locals, would ever speak of it again.. The chapter had been closed and I had moved on.

I gulped down the rest of the wine, placed it on the tabletop, and stood up, my eyes scanning the room. I was in a hotel room, a very luxurious one.

It was big and lavish, with cream-painted walls adorned with framed prints and artwork, dark brown carpeted flooring that added a touch of warmth, and a high ceiling that had a golden-colored chandelier hanging from it, softly illuminating the room.

Floor to ceiling windows adorned with luxurious golden drapes stretched on the walls at the sides of the room, providing an almost picturesque backdrop of Seattle's city lights and the starry sky.

The room was furnished with everything I needed: a television set, a computer seated in the corner, armchairs, tables, and elegant wooden closets, etc.

Behind me was a large bed with a headboard, fitted with mauve silken sheets and pillows, flanked by bedside tables with lamps.

The central air conditioning system flooded with room cold air that hugged and chilled my half naked body, making me feel like I was right home.

It cost a pretty penny to get this room, especially in this city, but I was rich now, and had more than enough to splurge, so I got it anyway. The penthouse suites were already taken; else, I would've gotten one.

I've always had a taste for the finer things in life. My Goa'uld memories only made it worse. With all the money and resources I had now, it was going to be very hard for me to settle for anything less.

Stretching myself, I stepped to the computer in the corner of the room, enjoying the feeling of the soft and warm fabric of the carpet underneath my bare feet, and took a seat on the swivel chair in front of it.

I thumbed the power buttons of the monitor and system unit and relaxed my back on the backrest, waiting for the computer to boot up as the monochrome screen flickered to life.

I pulled back one of the drawers of the desk, took out a modem inside it, and plugged it into the computer after it finished booting up.

Refreshing the primitive Apple OS, I clicked on the Web icon and, with a few keystrokes, accessed an underground secret forum I'd been active on for the past day.

Now that I had considerable wealth and resources, it was time to create my foundation. All the stuff I'd taken away from Setesh had been stored in a secure private warehouse on the West Side of this city, near Elliot Bay.

I didn't have any real use for them right now. The only things in that cache that would help me now were the money and the jewelry. But even that came with some problems.

I wasn't sure they were clean. Even if they were, I couldn't use them for large-scale stuff because as it stood now, I literally had no identity.

To use my new resources for the things I had in mind, I needed an identity, an American background, a legal name, and paper trails to back them up.

I couldn't exactly brainwash my way into getting these, nor could I politely ask for those from the US government, so my only option was to use the backdoor. In other words, the black market.

I'd get all my needs and more catered to there very efficiently. It was the best alternative I could ask for. Was it illegal? Yeah, very much. Did I care? No, not even a little. Maybe I would've cared in my past life, but now?

The law was as inconsequential as the speck on my boots. Having thousands of years of memories and experience in ruling planets and solar systems kinda had that effect on people. Besides, the law didn't take aliens into consideration.

I'd spent the better part of yesterday roaming through tons of online forums and chat rooms for a black market contact or even any black market activity. I managed to find a contact, but it wasn't easy.

If it were at least the early 2000s, all I'd have to do was download the Thor browser, go through some safety protocols, and then I'd find myself on the Dark Web. The unfriendly part of the broader Internet.

There, it was only a matter of asking the right questions and saying the correct things, then voila, I'd find and get whatever I needed.

Unfortunately, it was the '80s. A time where the Dark Web didn't exist and the black market barely had any presence on the Web.

It was only with luck that I managed to get a contact. From there, I told whoever it was what I wanted. He or she told me they'd discuss my deal with their superiors, and they'd get back to me later on the next day.

They gave me an appointed time at which they'd contact me on the same forum to give me feedback. It was only two minutes left for them to contact me.

I had full confidence they'd give me a location to meet up to discuss the finer points of my proposal or deal. After all, it wasn't every day they met clients who wanted to wash twenty-six million dollars and also forge a new identity...

A beep resounded as a notification popped up on the forum page for my account.

Clicking it, my page got redirected to a black chatroom. The ID or username: Black Savant was blinking white on the page. A message popped up on the page.

black savant: Club Night angle, D.C, eight o'clock pm tomorrow, keyword, white angel. Come alone and don't be late.

V: Roger that.

I typed a reply and immediately, the chat room closed down, as they erased it, bringing me back to the forum listings.

I exited the Web and powered down the computer, pressing my back against the chair as I relaxed, the corner of my lip curling into a small smile.

"D.C it is then."