Racketeer/Occupation: Racketeer

Racketeer/ Occupation: Racketeer By Rob and the Houser brothers

1945–1955. A  Videogame/book project.

The protagonist is a GI racketeer in postwar occupied Austria. He sells narcotics, penicillin, food, firearms, and other contraband. The player can travel between the different occupation zones of Austria and of Vienna, including the central zone in the Ring and the altstadt which is shared by all the occupying armies, including the four men in a jeep. The search for missing Nazi Gold in the lakes of the Salzkammergut, and the Bavarian Alps. The Holy Lance would go missing from the National Bank in Vienna in a daring bank heist from the perspective of the villains, a bunch of evil criminals The missing Holy Lance could be discovered by this character as a mission from God, as one of his penances, to stop a group of Satanists from using the Holy Lance ceremonially in some ritual sacrifice of an important figure, a child who is going to be a significant saint, or someone who is going to save the world. Some Russian-Austrian bastard who would have a decision to save the world. During Sonny's criminal heydey, there could also be a heist of the documents centre in Berlin, which could be given to the OSS/CIA following a bidding war. Sonny and his mate Karl, a former German Abwehr officer (an idea from Dan Houser) It could turn into a caper after the sacrifice is averted, with some criminal gang stealing the lance. Ski chase against an avalanche in Eastern Bavaria, a defector coming over the Alps. The lance would be restored to its rightful place in he protagonist is a prodigal son type character who through his criminal life ends up suffering so much that he repents and converts to Christianity. Soviet torture would definitely bring about enough suffering to cause repentence. He could end up going to Soviet military prison for his racketeering and getting into deep trouble with rival racketeering gangs. The rampages of the Red Army would be covered, the bombing damage, and the evolution of the environment over time, especially reconstruction efforts. He also becomes a spy for the OSS (Office of Strategic Services) turning into the CIA, participating in intrigues relating to Operation Unthinkable, which could be delayed in order to have Cold War espionage missions, including stopping people like Klaus Fuchs and the Rosenbergs from betraying nuclear secrets, a fictional equivalent in postwar Vienna and helping defectors a la John le Carré's the Spy Who Came in From the Cold. There could be sojourns off the main map to Oxford and Cambridge to spy on Kim Philby among the dreaming spires and the sandstone pillars of the quad of Corpus Christi College. The Cambridge Five or fictional equivalents could be involved. A From Russia With Love-inspired train mission through Austria could be involved. There could be a Hunting Hitler/Hunting Bormann mission. The Ratlines would be a huge source of mission material, including intercepting fleeing Nazi war criminals, including an Otto Skorzeny character. There will also be prologue missions in the war, including the real Inglorious Basterds mission in the Tirol with Freddy Mayer. There should be a suave secret agent character who works for MI6 involved in one of these missions (Sean Connery). The whole character arc of Sonny would culminate in a massive invasion of Russia during Operation Unthinkable (Sam Houser), particularly an operation to assassinate Josef Stalin in the Kremlin by Sonny, using a disguise. There would be a special operation to beat the soviets to a downed UFO in Antarctica. Travelling there via icebreaker and plane the squad shoots down the Spetznaz team. There would also be a sneaking mission to hijack the UFO system by stealing one from Area 51, using it to contact or suborn the leader of the greys, and blackmail the Russians into surrender in a race against a Russian nuclear launch from a missile silo by using the advanced technology of the craft to stop a launch. A psychic spies mission would be interesting. The spies could reconnoitre the missile silo. They could also gain kompromat on generals and world leaders, from the Russian side, and the protagonist would have to intervene by sneaking into their heads through their mental defence systems, including perimeter fences, guard dogs, guards, and finding the hidden files and then exfiltrating – including via skyhook. Prayer would be a key gameplay function to gain extra powers and abilities via the Holy Spirit. Commanding via willpower is also an option. A fight on the Ferris wheel from the Third Man, and parkour. There is a mission where there is a car chase down the Autobahn all the way to Garmisch Partenkirchen. There is a massive car, train, ski and parkour chase. Sonny could steal a shipment of penicillin from a truck in a vehicle interdiction with another truck.

Wartime sabotage missions in a prologue sequence, free roaming with stealth, a combination of the two best gameplay mechanics (Rob and the Houser brothers).

Chapter 1: The Cursed Tomb of Queen Nefertiti

  Acknowledgements

Thanks to Jesus and Yahweh Father for help with this book.

1923. The Valley of the Kings.

Roger Mansfeld, a bluff, paunchy, thirtysomething toff, was red-faced in the afternoon sun, with beads of sweat dripping down his neck. His white suit was caked with dust, as he lay the pickaxe down to survey the work of his excavators. They were working to uncover the tomb of Nefertiti, metres beneath the tomb of King Tut. It required digging a hole in King Tutankhamun’s tomb, which unearthed a hidden passage.

There was a general cry of alarm from the excavators. They had found something. Roger bowled through the passages, lit by gas lanterns, and came to the edge of a doorframe. Above the lintel was a passage in Egyptian hieroglyphs that read, ‘all who enter are cursed’. The white-robed, turbaned excavators backed away from the door in terror. They had dropped their pickaxes and shovels. Roger grabbed a pickaxe from the floor and set to work.

‘Stop! The tomb is cursed!’ one of the locals said.

‘Fuck off! I’m paying for this dig!’ shouted Roger. He pushed the man aside and lay into the rock blocking the door with his pickaxe, grunting and heaving and sweating.

‘But the curse is for everyone who enters to die a painful death and suffer ill fortune!’

‘Tosh!’

And so Roger continued smashing away the rock. When he saw no local labourers were willing to proceed, he pulled his wad out and started throwing money at them.

‘Get going, you bastards! My arms are getting tired!’ Roger sat down to catch his breath, remove his fedora and wipe the sweat from his brow. ‘Fuck! That was hard work!’

After a while, there was a sizeable hole in the rock.

Percy rallied his flagging spirits, picked up the pickaxe and helped his labourers to make a ‘cat flap’ big enough for him to squeeze his portly frame through. He threw a torch in, then dove in head-first.

On the far side, in the dim glow of the torch, Roger saw a tomb with an ornate sarcophagous. He stumbled over to the sarcophagous, covered in gold and artwork, depicting a beautiful queen with a massive headdress. Roger requested a crowbar – one of the locals threw him one, and he placed the it under the lid and jimmied it open pushing the crowbar down until the lid gave and he could push it off.

Inside was an incredibly well-preserved mummy. The woman looked almost beautiful, with her high forehead, noble cheekbones and long, straight nose. Inside was a bright disk, a sun disk from Amarna. Percy saw the disk, and his eyes were filled with greed. He was transfixed by the glint of gold in the wan torchlight. He leaned down and pried it from Nefertiti’s blackened hands and beheld the king and queen worshipping the sun with its centrifugal rays.

‘At last, the power of the sun! She is mine!’

Roger had been tracking this artefact for some time, with the secret aim of controlling the sun. He wished to regulate sunlight to make a killing on the stock market via investing in grain futures and other agricultural stocks. Some dust fell from the roof on Roger’s shoulders, making him shudder. Outside, the light of the sun grew dim. He caressed the blackened cheek of Nefertiti with his sandy fingers.

When he re-emerged from the tomb, a powerful sandstorm was blowing, whipping sand into his eyes. Roger closed his eyes and walked around blind until he decided to retreat into the darkness of the tomb of King Tutankhamun. The labourers had retreated to the other nearby tombs in the valley of the kings and Roger was left alone in the darkness.

Chapter 1: A Bitter Fate

Two years later.

Roger took a swig from his brandy decanter. He started coughing and spluttering. Roger had a severe case of tuberculosis, and he was not expected to see the year out. ‘Damn curse’ he muttered.

Presper Mansfield entered. Presper was forty-four years old, with slick black hair and a long, strange face with a short, pointy nose and dark nostrils. His eyes were large, round and hypnotic.

‘Time for your checkup.’

‘Oh Fuck off, brother! I hate checkups!’

‘Tough! Someone has to keep an eye on you.’

So Presper came in and applied his stethoscope to Roger’s hollow chest.

Presper’s face creased into a frown. ‘This is not good’, he said. ‘The infection has deepened.’

Roger sighed, wearily.

‘How long?’

‘It’s hard to judge. These things vary.’

‘Come on Presper, don’t beat around the bush.’

A moment’s silence. At last, Presper said, ‘A month at most, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh. Thank you, Presper.’

Presper nodded solemnly and went on his way.

Roger poured himself another brandy and adjusted his will. Everything would go to Presper and Margery. His nephew Tolston would get nothing.

His wife Margery Mansfield entered the study. Roger was sat at his desk, with a view of the downs visible through the window behind him. he was writing his will.

Margery was thirty-five years old, with long curly brown hair and a slim build. She was beautiful, with large blue eyes, a pert upturned nose and charming dimples.

‘Roger darling, come downstairs, we have a guest waiting,’ her voice was feminine yet husky and enchanting.

‘I’m not interested in your damn guest.’

‘It’s the occultist I told you about. His name is Emile Dordogne.’

‘He sounds like the author of a travelogue.’

‘He’s a very skilled practitioner of magic.’

‘Really? So what, he can pull a bloody rabbit out of a hat?’

‘He can lift curses and hexes.’

‘You really, honestly believe all this is due to that blasted curse?’

‘I do. Ever since you found that tomb, you haven’t been yourself. Your thoughts have been all over the place. You’ve bee distracted. You haven’t been eating. You haven’t slept. And then you contracted tuberculosis on the Nile.’

Roger sighed. The thought had occurred to him.

‘Look what happened to bloody Carnarvon when he opened up King Tut’s tomb!’

Lord Carnarvon financed the expedition to discover the tomb of King Tutankhamun in the valley of the kings in 1922. There was a curse on the tomb; Carnarvon, howard carter and the other key figures in the dig died under mysterious circumstances within a few years of opening up the tomb. Roger was referred to in the papers as ‘the second carnarvon.’ It was a moniker he detested.

‘Anyway, he took the time to come here, and I’ll not turn him away empty-handed.’

‘Fine. Let the bloody charlatan in.’

In stepped a man in a brown business suit with a leather briefcase. He wore a black trilby. He was about forty-five, bald, with a large, fat head and protruding eyes that glinted with demonic intensity.

‘This is Lord Hawthorn,’ said Margery. ‘My husband, Roger.’

‘Yes,’ said Hawthorn, without the slightest trace of self-consciousness.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you want anything.’

‘We’ll be fine, Margery’, grumbled Roger.

The occultist sat down in an armchair across from Roger’s desk.

‘Are you familiar with the Egyptian Book of the Dead?’

‘I am. Lot of nonsense, but I have read it.’

‘Do

you understand the significance of the Ba, the Ka and the Akh?’

‘The Ba is the soul or personality. The Ka is the spirit, the animating force. The Akh is a combination of the two, said to make the soul immortal, but only when anchored to a body. Hence the Egyptian practice of mummification.’

‘How am I to bring about the Akh?’

‘Combine your soul with your spirit. And arrange to be mummified upon death.’

‘How does one combine the Ba and the Ka?’

‘It occurs in the afterlife, after the weighing of the heart.’

Roger became interested. He had nursed similar thoughts himself. This could be a means of attaining immortality...

‘The only way to truly combine the soul and spirit is through Jesus Christ. Receive Christ,’ said.

Presper understood enough about the Egyptian mysteries to know this was a grave and important secret.

The curse afflicting the house of Mansfield, established through Roger’s excavation will be lifted by Orson Mitford’s visit to the mausoleum where he defeats the reanimated mummy of Nefertiti after getting her to lift the curse on his house by seducing her and kills his vampire wife Margery with a stake through the heart in a chapel on the grounds of his estate in a reverse black mass or reverse the Satanic black mass by conducting a genuine mass at the chapel with the blood of the Messiah as the wine or a wedding. Orson or Roger could do this. To save the future Messiah in Roger’s bloodline, called Orson R. Mitford, so that Mitford’s wife can stop being so annoying and Mitford can stop bumbling about.

Chapter 1: A Bitter Fate

Two years later.

Roger took a swig from his brandy decanter. He started coughing and spluttering. Roger had a severe case of tuberculosis, and he was not expected to see the year out. ‘Damn curse’ he muttered.

Presper Mansfield entered. Presper was forty-four years old, with slick black hair and a long, strange face with a short, pointy nose and dark nostrils. His eyes were large, round and hypnotic.

‘Time for your checkup.’

‘Oh Fuck off, brother! I hate checkups!’

‘Tough! Someone has to keep an eye on you.’

So Presper came in and applied his stethoscope to Roger’s hollow chest.

Presper’s face creased into a frown. ‘This is not good’, he said. ‘The infection has deepened.’

Roger sighed, wearily.

‘How long?’

‘It’s hard to judge. These things vary.’

‘Come on Presper, don’t beat around the bush.’

A moment’s silence. At last, Presper said, ‘A month at most, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh. Thank you, Presper.’

Presper nodded solemnly and went on his way.

Roger poured himself another brandy and adjusted his will. Everything would go to Presper and Margery. His nephew Tolston would get nothing.

His wife Margery Mansfield entered the study. Roger was sat at his desk, with a view of the downs visible through the window behind him. he was writing his will.

Margery was thirty-five years old, with long curly brown hair and a slim build. She was beautiful, with large blue eyes, a pert upturned nose and charming dimples.

‘Roger darling, come downstairs, we have a guest waiting,’ her voice was feminine yet husky and enchanting.

‘I’m not interested in your damn guest.’

‘It’s the occultist I told you about. His name is Emile Dordogne.’

‘He sounds like the author of a travelogue.’

‘He’s a very skilled practitioner of magic.’

‘Really? So what, he can pull a bloody rabbit out of a hat?’

‘He can lift curses and hexes.’

‘You really, honestly believe all this is due to that blasted curse?’

‘I do. Ever since you found that tomb, you haven’t been yourself. Your thoughts have been all over the place. You’ve bee distracted. You haven’t been eating. You haven’t slept. And then you contracted tuberculosis on the Nile.’

Roger sighed. The thought had occurred to him.

‘Look what happened to bloody Carnarvon when he opened up King Tut’s tomb!’

Lord Carnarvon financed the expedition to discover the tomb of King Tutankhamun in the valley of the kings in 1922. There was a curse on the tomb; Carnarvon, howard carter and the other key figures in the dig died under mysterious circumstances within a few years of opening up the tomb. Roger was referred to in the papers as ‘the second carnarvon.’ It was a moniker he detested.

‘Anyway, he took the time to come here, and I’ll not turn him away empty-handed.’

‘Fine. Let the bloody charlatan in.’

In stepped a man in a brown business suit with a leather briefcase. He wore a black trilby. He was about forty-five, bald, with a large, fat head and protruding eyes that glinted with demonic intensity.

‘This is Lord Hawthorn,’ said Margery. ‘My husband, Roger.’

‘Yes,’ said Hawthorn, without the slightest trace of self-consciousness.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you want anything.’

‘We’ll be fine, Margery’, grumbled Roger.

The occultist sat down in an armchair across from Roger’s desk.

‘Are you familiar with the Egyptian Book of the Dead?’

‘I am. Lot of nonsense, but I have read it.’

‘Do

you understand the significance of the Ba, the Ka and the Akh?’

‘The Ba is the soul or personality. The Ka is the spirit, the animating force. The Akh is a combination of the two, said to make the soul immortal, but only when anchored to a body. Hence the Egyptian practice of mummification.’

‘How am I to bring about the Akh?’

‘Combine your soul with your spirit. And arrange to be mummified upon death.’

‘How does one combine the Ba and the Ka?’

‘It occurs in the afterlife, after the weighing of the heart.’

Roger became interested. He had nursed similar thoughts himself. This could be a means of attaining immortality...

‘The only way to truly combine the soul and spirit is through Jesus Christ. Receive Christ,’ said.

Presper understood enough about the Egyptian mysteries to know this was a grave and important secret.

The curse afflicting the house of Mansfield, established through Roger’s excavation will be lifted by Orson Mitford’s visit to the mausoleum where he defeats the reanimated mummy of Nefertiti after getting her to lift the curse on his house by seducing her and kills his vampire wife Margery with a stake through the heart in a chapel on the grounds of his estate in a reverse black mass or reverse the Satanic black mass by conducting a genuine mass at the chapel with the blood of the Messiah as the wine or a wedding. Orson or Roger could do this. To save the future Messiah in Roger’s bloodline, called Orson R. Mitford, so that Mitford’s wife can stop being so annoying and Mitford can stop bumbling about.