She answers with an overjoyed grin. “Because you’re expecting. Congratulations!”
“Ha, ha! Good one, Michelle. You must do that to people all the time, huh? Did that pearl psychic put you up to this?”
Her eyes are deadly serious. “What are you talking about? Sophie, I’ve been your gynecologist for many years. This is not my idea of a joke.”
Sophie sits there like someone just told her the world is ending. Emotions take over her brain. “You’re saying I’m going to be…I’m pregnant?”
“Yes, you are.”
“Are you sure? Like absolutely?”
“Yes, Sophie. Blood tests came back positive.”
She hands her the folder so she can see the results for herself.
“There must be a mistake,” Sophie says, reading her blood work. “I took a home test a few weeks ago. It was negative.”
“This is a common occurrence. Home pregnancy tests can give false positive or false negative results. There are a number of reasons. Sometimes these tests are faulty, or you may have ovulated later than you thought.”
“No, no, no.” This can’t be happening. “You’ve got it wrong. We’ve always used protection.”
“Well, even then, protection is not 100% reliable.”
“Okay, what about the fact that I don’t really have any symptoms?”
“That just tells me you are a lucky woman.”
Lucky? “How far along am I?”
“Six weeks.”
Jesus Christ. She stands up at the news and puts her hand on her forehead. “What do I do? I don’t know what to do!”
“For starters, why don’t we do a sonogram?”
“A sona-what?”
“A sonogram, to check for fetal growth and movement.”
They walk to the exam room together and the doctor leaves Sophie to undress, instructing her to lie down on the table when ready. She returns after a few minutes and helps Sophie put her feet in the stirrups.
“All right, here we go,” says Doctor Vargas. “Are you comfortable?”
Yes. No. Sophie is shaking like a leaf. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to call Oliver?”
“I’m sure.”
She inserts an ultrasound probe. “Does that hurt?”
“No.” Sophie looks at the black screen next to the exam table.
Doctor Vargas presses buttons and looks around her womb for a baby. She points at the monitor. “Okay, so, this is your uterus right here, and this is your bladder.”
“What about a baby? Do you see a baby in there?”
“Well, this far into your pregnancy, the embryo is a glob of cells the size of a lentil. It doesn’t really look like a baby. You’re not able to see it, but we can hear it.” She pushes a button on the control panel. “Hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Oh my! Two heartbeats.”
What! “Two…two babies?” she manages weekly, frowning.
“That’s right! You’re having twins!” Doctor Vargas says with a big smile. “Here’s Baby One. And,” she moves the wand around and points at the screen with her free hand, “here’s Baby Two. It really doesn’t come as a surprise. You’re the daughter of a twin and also the granddaughter of a twin. Says so in your file.”
Just like that, she utters those life-changing words: “You’re having twins.”
All her thoughts jump to images of two strollers, two car seats…two cribs. Oh, God. How can this be? One time. One defective condom and some fast-swimming sperm and pretty soon she’s raising two Sophie-Oliver hybrids, sending them off to school with their lunchboxes filled with crap because Mommy is lousy at this parenting thing. What is she going to do now? Hell, she’s never even held a baby! If the media finds out about this, everything will go down the toilet.
Sophie throws her head back on the table pillow and stares at the ceiling.
“Twins can come in two variations,” explains Doctor Vargas. “They either share a placenta or they don’t, having separate ones. In your case, they’re in the same sac.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the twins are identical. They came from the same egg; they just split into two separate embryos a little early. So, the twins will be the same gender. It looks like your due date is in late August of next year.”
Sophie breaks down crying.
“Do you need a moment?”
“I have two babies in me.”
“It’s going to be okay, Sophie. The twins have nice strong heartbeats.”
“I can’t do this, Michelle. I can’t.”
“I bet Daddy is going to be excited.”
I bet Daddy is going to flip.
TWO LITTLE PERSONS are growing inside her. Sophie feels like she is going to puke. Leaving Doctor Vargas’s office, she gets on the phone with Oliver as Diego, Reed’s replacement, opens the back door of the Lincoln town car for her. She jabbers away for five minutes about the weather being a total dick and how she’s wearing three shirts and two pairs of socks.
“Soph, you okay?” Oliver asks on the other end. “You hate small talk. Where are you? What’s going on?”
“Yeah, everything is fine,” she says softly, trying to hide her emotions. “I’m on my way to Aunt Peg’s to drop off some Christmas presents. What about you?”
“I’m down at the police precinct.”
“Precinct? Please tell me you’re not in trouble, Oliver.”
“No, actually, who is in legal peril is Gordon Flynn. He was arrested last night.”
“Are you serious? For what?”
“Turns out that audit report revealed Flynn is a fraud. He was using his position to finance his lifestyle and boost his private prison company. Stealing money and falsifying revenue to meet shareholder expectations, bid-rigging, stock price manipulation.”
“Oh, my God. Reed was right, wasn’t he? He was right about Black International. He said he didn’t think you were in on it, but something shady was going on with the Lundberg Group.”
“Ah, yes. The Lundberg Group. They’re questioning him about that as we speak.”
“Is he talking?”
“He’s talking, all right, but his one-liners aren’t proving to be helpful.”
“Does this mean you’re going back to being CEO of Black International?”
“Seems like it.”
“Babe, this is great news! This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Oliver heaves a sigh at this. “Yeah.” He isn’t exactly sure how he is going to run a company, battle cancer, deal with Bridges being let out, Sarah MIA, and now…unbeknownst to him, raise a family—all at the same time.
“When are you going to be home?”
“It’s a busy day. I’ll be here awhile, then the office, see my lawyer.” Against his better judgment, he also has to go to a sperm bank to cryopreserve his fertility for the future. “I’m going to be out most, if not all, of today.”
“What about the charity ball tonight?”
“I’ll be back before that.”
“And the biopsy results?” Sophie presses him. “You’ve gotten your stiches out already. How much longer do we have to wait?”
Oliver has been reading just about everything about Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. He has a quiet resolve to beat the cancer. No losing his head and no worrying anyone. In his mind, this is a mature decision. “I forgot to tell you. The results came back normal. No signs of any malignant cells.”
“Thank God, baby. That’s wonderful news!”
“Yes, nothing to worry about. I have to get back. I’ll call you soon.”
“Oliver?”
“Yes?”
“It’s going to be okay, right?”
“Yes, it’s going to be okay.”
Sophie ends the call. She needed to hear that. When Oliver says it’s going to be okay, she believes him. And she needs to buckle down for what’s to come…what’s “two” come.
T H I R T Y - T W O
Hamblinski
AS OLIVER AND his bodyguard leave the police precinct and walk across the indoor parking lot, one tall man in a fancy dark suit is waiting for him, standing against a black Escalade parked across their path like a brick wall.
Oliver puts his hand up to make his bodyguard stand down. “Is there a reason why you’re in my way?”
He stands with his arms crossed, muscles flexed. “Mr. Black, I’m going to need you to get in the car and go for a ride with me.”
“And why would I do that?” Oliver grouses.
“You’re going to want to hear what my boss has to say. Big guy here can drive behind us if he’s too worried.”
“Tell your boss to call my office. This conversation is over.”
As Oliver is walking toward his car, he hears a gun cocking behind his head.
“Move and he dies,” he tells the bodyguard. “You can make this easy or you can make this real complicated.”
Oliver’s body reacts with masterful technique as he throws an elbow smash to the tall man’s face, whips around, and strikes his knee into his solar plexus, knocking him down.
The bodyguard says, “Mr. Black, with all due respect, you don’t need to do my work for me. I could’ve handled it.”
“I’m sure you could have. But these days, my patience is running thin.”
A sharp clap makes their heads turn. From out of the Escalade walks a man, grinning like he’s just struck gold.
“Bravo! They told me you would put up a fight, but I had no idea. Oh, you’ll be fine. Get up,” he tells his minion who is down on the floor wincing.
Oliver makes eye contact with the seemingly Indian man, making out his familiar face. He is fiftyish, has dark, curly hair and pitch-black eyes.
“Hello, Oliver. My name is Elijah Goswami.”
“Is this a joke? I know who you are. You’re the District Attorney. You served as the head prosecutor in John Bridges’s case.”
“I’m glad you know who I am. Let’s go for a ride.” He draws his handkerchief out of his suit pocket and offers it to Oliver for the blood beginning to dribble from his nose. “I promise not to tell anyone about the cancer.”
“Mr. Black?” The bodyguard waits for further instructions.
“Stay here. It’s fine.”
Getting into the SUV after Elijah, Oliver wipes his nose clean, and they are off in a moment with the minion in the driver’s seat.
“You must feel real proud to have closed the case, don’t you?” Oliver says, looking at Elijah.
“Politics aren’t for the fainthearted, Oliver. John can never be convicted. He would have to be killed first, and we don’t want to do that just yet. It’s as simple as that.”
“Why? Because he’s special?” Oliver chuckles under his breath.
“I only follow orders, as does John. The difference between him and me is that I know from whom. I understand he is in possession of a very valuable asset.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sarah Summers. What I know is that she was bought by who is currently her handler, sometime before John started treating her. His assignment was to psychologically condition her for the actions she would be required to take. Sarah’s pure hatred for her sister derailed the plan for a moment there, but John took care of it.”
By kidnapping Sophie… “What actions?”
“Well, she’s in training at the moment. Gets paid with medication. But her chief objective is taking out politically prominent people, or just simple obstacles.”
“Oh, so you’re telling me she’s an assassin?”
Even inside his SUV, Elijah takes an instinctive look out the window, making sure they aren’t being overheard. The stakes are too high. “The term assassin should be used loosely. We prefer diplomatic eradicator.”
Oliver rolls his eyes. “Elijah, don’t waste my time. I have better things to do.”
“Sarah is the perfect subject from what I’m told. For one thing, she’s young and an orphan. Second, she kills anything on sight, no questions asked. Third, nothing scares her because she has nothing to lose. Fourth, should she decide to talk about what she knows, no one would believe a paranoid schizophrenic. That and she knows what happens to traitors.”
“Let’s say I believe you, what about Sophie?”
“Sarah knows she can never go back to her sister. The rules were very clear. Her stay with you was temporary until her therapy with John could resume. We knew she wouldn’t try anything while under your care. Too risky.”
“And Sarah Summers? And the dead women? And Gordon Flynn?”
“Everything you need to know will be explained to you when the time is proper. And you still haven’t said yes.” Though he won’t be given the choice to choose otherwise. Little did Oliver know, he was in on it from the moment he set foot in the car.
“Yes to what?”
“Allow me to be brief so you can get back in time for the party. We’ve been watching you and have come to the conclusion that you have the requisite readiness to become one of the Twelve. Wealth, intelligence, dedication, prestige, background, among other basics. We know who you are, where you live. We know what you eat for breakfast and that you’re allergic to peanuts. You’ll swell up, lips, tongue, throat, everything. We know you have a disease concentrated around your neck and chest that will require three months of chemotherapy. Three or four weeks of daily radiation. We know Sophie is having her hair shampooed and her scalp massaged as we speak. Your father was one of our esteemed benefactors before his passing, though he was never directly involved in the decision-making. He was invited to attend the yearly meetings every start of the year, but it was more of a token. You, on the other hand…the steering committee is looking forward to your membership.”
“When?”
“When what?”
“When was my father a benefactor?”
“Well, the late Warren Black was older than I am, but if my memory serves me right, he attended in 2004, 2005, and 2006.”
2006 was the year before his father died. Oliver can spot-on remember his father, prior to his prostate cancer diagnosis, leaving after every New Year for a week. His stepmother always used to say he was away on business. But what kind of business? Oliver never asked. He always came back different too. They, whoever they were, would do something to him. Every January leading up to his death, his father changed. He was a little less Dad, a little more cold and distant.
“Does my stepmother know?”
“Is she still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then she doesn’t. We are sworn to secrecy.”
“What do you want, Elijah?”
“Wasn’t I clear? You. We want you.”
“Who is we?”
“We are high government officials. We are corporate executives. We are financial elites and major media companies and environmental leaders. We are Hamblinski.”
Oliver gives way to a laugh. “Hamblinski is a hoax.”
“Is it?”
Oliver Black has yet to realize that the world of power is far darker and more insidious than he could ever imagine.
E P I L O G U E
* * *
For This is Not Only the Story Of Sophie Cavall
IT WAS EASY to lose herself in a man like Oliver Black—in his voice, in his humor and smile. Once Sophie realized he had her heart, she surrendered, and everything started to make sense like a movie unravels the truth. She had never been happier. Oliver Black was good. They were good. Love never seemed truer. They were sweet, vibrating octaves flooding the room with beautiful music.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said when last they spoke and everything seemed normal.
Not fine, but normal. Normal for Sophie and Oliver, that is. So-so. Tolerable. With a plaguing sense that something major was in motion. He didn’t know she was pregnant. She didn’t know he had cancer.
Nothing was okay.
Oh, no. Not even
close.
The wrong musical notes were struck and their melody died. They were a game of chess; Sophie was the king and Oliver both a queen and a rook, forcing her to the side of the board. Black checkmated white. The game was over. Sophie and Oliver had a nice Christmas and right after, he was gone.
Why?
It was madness trying to understand why he “can’t do this anymore.” Why his teary eyes said he loved her, but his mouth said it wasn’t a good time for them. He said there wasn’t anyone else and he wanted her to be happy. “Live a safe life. Stay away from the public eye.”
But all Sophie could think was: why is he doing this? Did he stop loving me? What am I going to do with two babies all by myself? She wouldn’t be the ex girlfriend crying pregnancy. She wouldn’t play detective and try to figure out what happened. She would move on without him.
Stacey, Aunt Peg, Uncle Pete—everyone’s opinions of Oliver Black shifted. One pitied him while the other cursed him, and Aunt Peg gave Sophie the proverbial “you will find someone better than him.” Because that’s how it goes when you break up. “Ahh…shit happens, love fades…oh well.”
No one else’s opinions quite matter, for this is not only the story of Sophie Cavall. This is also the story of Oliver Black, the man who struck a deal with the devil’s servant, and he would rather have Sophie hate him than for her to die because of his choices. This is also the story of an elite secret society covertly running all aspects of the government, manipulating reality, with the power to make or break anyone—even the president himself—ever since 1960. The Order of Hamblinski, thought by the few who have heard the whispered mentions to be nothing more than an urban legend. Conspiracy nuts find them fascinating and some paranoid individuals claim them to be a Big Brother-type group. No one knows for certain if Hamblinski exists except for the members themselves, who are sworn to secrecy. If they do exist, they must be very dangerous.
OTHER BOOKS
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Black Diamond Page 27
