The Society

by Jillian Dodd

  "So you'd have a rough few years. You'd have to do some rebuilding, rebranding. You'd have the world's sympathy though. Other countries would be rushing to help."

  "Or worse, rushing to take control," he states, looking upset.

  "Giving them control of the Strait of Montrovia?"

  "Exactly. In many ways, it would also give them control of Europe," he adds, getting up from his chair and kissing the top of my head. "I'm sorry, Huntley, but I must immediately discuss this with the heads of my armed forces. If you will excuse me."

  "Of course," I say.

  But he is already gone.

  I finish getting ready, put on the dress Dr. Kate sent for me to wear today, and then go downstairs. I could actually use a mimosa right now. I am also wondering if I should call Black X and let them know my thoughts on this. But what I should probably do is talk it over with my brother.

  "Good morning," Ari says, pulling me aside. "I was just asked to interview for something called The Society."

  "What's that?"

  "I'm not sure. It's invite only. The wealthy of the world. Charity stuff. Making a difference. It was a little vague. More will be revealed at the interview."

  "Was I invited? Were you supposed to tell me about it?"

  "I think it's a guy thing."

  "Are you kidding me? What century is this? And who invited you?"

  "Well, I'm not sure. I got a note."

  "A note? What if it's a trap, Ari? Or what if it's just Allie messing around, wanting to reveal all of herself?"

  "She's already done that." He grins. "Daniel has an interview, too. And I believe Lorenzo might already be a member. I think most of the men here, at the Prescott's, are in it."

  "And it's a secret society?"

  "Well, have you ever heard of it?"

  "No, but I've been locked away for the last six years. But I have studied them. Throughout history, there have been rumors of secret societies. And if you believe the conspiracy theories, those kinds of groups rule the world, not the politicians--wait! There were conspiracy theories on my mom's necklace. Terrance said they weren't important, but what if they are? What if this society is behind what's been going on?"

  "That would mean, the men we've met this weekend are all evil. You told me you thought Peter's father was a good guy. That he was trustworthy."

  "Do you not agree with that assessment?" I ask.

  "Even though I shouldn't because we don't really know him, I do agree. He's pretty amazing."

  "And to hear him talk about Ares makes him seem more real, you know?"

  "Yeah, I do know. It's clear they were quite close at one point."

  "Speaking of close," I say under my breath as Aleksandr Nikolaevich and Malcolm Prescott make their way toward us.

  "See what you can find out," Ari says, quickly ditching me.

  I exchange good mornings with the two men.

  "Okay, I'm just gonna ask. What is this Society thing Ari got invited to interview with, and is it really only for boys?"

  "Men," Aleksandr says with a smile. "And you're not supposed to know about it."

  "She is Ares's daughter. You remember how he was--had to know everything," Malcolm argues.

  "I might be the same way," I suggest, hoping it will make it seem like I'm naturally curious and not peppering them for information.

  "Well then, let's show her," Aleksandr says to Malcolm. Then he turns to me and says, "But you have to promise to speak to no one about what we tell you. For fear of death."

  I notice a grin on each of their faces.

  "Oh. Now, you're patronizing me." I roll my eyes. "Never mind. I'll just go get a cup of tea and join the women on the terrace--where I belong."

  "Bullshit," Malcolm says, wrapping his arm around my neck. "But we do have to discuss it in private."

  He leads us into a massive library. I scan the shelves, sliding my hand from one rare novel to the next. But then I realize the books aren't just collector's editions; there are present-day thrillers and historical fiction hardcovers intermingled with the priceless.

  "You have a wide-ranging collection," I state. "Have you read all these books?"

  "Not yet," Malcolm says. "But it is my goal. When I retire maybe, but I do take an hour every day to read. It stimulates the brain and keeps you sharp."

  "And that is a direct quote from your father," Aleksandr says to me, laughing. "Something he practiced faithfully. We'd be out, tearing up the town, and we'd find him in a corner, reading."

  "Tell me about The Society. How was it created? What does it stand for? If it does good deeds, why is it a secret?"

  "How it started is shrouded in mystery," Malcolm says. "And I'll be honest; I love a good puzzle." He points to a podium where a book sits, encased in glass. "One of my prized possessions. A gift from your father."

  "My father?"

  "Yes, we were curious young men. Your father, downright brilliant. We were all invited to join, but he needed to know more. After much research, he deduced that The Society was actually started by the Medici family in Florence during the Renaissance. A passage in this book convinced Ares that Medici himself started the group as a way to protect himself from his enemies in foreign lands. He invited artists and lower royalty under the guise of contributing to charity for the arts, but really, it was to have his pulse on the state of the world as he knew it."

  "I've been to Florence with my mom," I say.

  But then I realize that was something I forgot. We had visited the city shortly before she was killed.

  "Where did you go?" Aleksandr asks.

  "Where didn't we go, is a better question," I say, fudging because I can't remember exactly. But I did study the Medici family in school. I'm hoping it's enough to wing it. "Did my father join?"

  "All of us did. We were recruited by Lorenzo's father," Malcolm says. "Like I said, royalty."

  "The movers and shakers of the world?"

  "Something like that. Power has been wielded in different ways throughout history, but one thing tends to trump all."

  "And what's that?"

  "Gold, of course," Malcolm says with a laugh.

  "In other words, you only get invited if you are very wealthy?"

  "I'd say it's more a combination of political, monetary, intellectual, and ecclesiastical ties," Aleksandr adds.

  "Is it like other secret orders in history--the Freemasons, Rosicrucians, and Illuminati?"

  Aleksandr and Malcolm share a glance and then both imperceptibly nod, causing Malcolm to say, "By telling you about The Society, we are breaking our solemn oath."

  Aleksandr closes the door tightly and locks it.

  I feel a little nervous about being locked in, so I quickly scan the room, finding numerous items I could put to use as weapons. There are volumes of heavy books, a marble plinth, a crystal ice bucket, a wine opener, an ancient sword hanging on the wall, and a fireplace poker. I back my way toward the fireplace, just in case.

  "Are you guys mad at me for asking so many questions?"

  "On the contrary," Malcolm says. "We're excited that you are. Is your brother not as inquisitive as you? He has asked us nothing."

  "Probably not. He was raised in a military family. His father expected him not to question orders. Plus, his note said that more will be revealed. My mom, on the other hand, indulged me by answering everything she could. The things she didn't know, we would look up together. She was maybe a little bohemian in nature," I lie.

  Well, I sort of lie. My mother did always try to answer my questions, but there was definitely a time and a place for it. Looking back and knowing that she was a spy means things I didn't understand now make sense. Like why she'd occasionally leave me in a hotel room by myself to watch a movie. Why there were times we'd suddenly leave a place. Why she'd tell me to blend in and only speak in a certain language. Why, sometimes, we would dye our hair for fun.

  A memory comes back--dyeing our hair, a desert location.

  "That's why we're going
to indulge you," Aleksandr says. He walks across the room and hits an unseen lever, causing another secret door to open.

  "Ladies first," he says.

  I swallow hard, wondering if I should go inside, the warnings about Aleksandr from the CIA director flashing through my head. And why do I even care about this stupid rich boys' club? I highly doubt it has anything to do with my mother's death or Montrovia, especially knowing that Lorenzo's father was a member, too. They say that curiosity killed the cat. Maybe I shouldn't have asked so many questions, but I also know that, even unarmed, I could take down two grown men.

  I look at my wrist, seeing the new Cartier watch but knowing it's not quite the same as my father's. Then the realization that he probably wasn't my biological father makes me sad, driving me into the room. I need to discover everything I can about Ares and his former life.

  I take a few steps into what appears to be a poker room. There's a large humidor on one wall and a well-stocked bar on the other. The room doesn't look the least bit menacing.

  "Speaking of an old boys' club," I say with a laugh, looking around.

  "Yes, well, my wife won't allow me to smoke in the house, so this is our compromise room," Malcolm explains. "It's fully sealed, soundproof, and has its own ventilation system."

  "And enough pleasures to keep us happy for a very long time." Aleksandr chuckles.

  "I feel so stealth in here," I joke. "Are we going to play poker?"

  "No, but if you don't mind, we might like to enjoy a cigar while we tell you about The Society."

  "I don't mind," I reply.

  They go directly to the humidor and spend about five minutes choosing the right cigar before pairing it with the right scotch. I study them carefully, sensing their camaraderie and wondering if Ari and I would have been a part of their world had Ares wanted to raise us.

  When they join me in the leather-couch-filled sitting area, Malcolm says, "For just a moment, you looked sad. Tell me why."

  "You seem to have such a wonderful friendship, and I was thinking about how, if Ares had claimed us as his children from the start, my life would have been so different. I know it's not nice to talk ill of the dead, but it kind of makes me hate him."

  "As I told you, your father was a brilliant man, but he was not without his idiosyncrasies. I will admit though, we were very shocked to learn he had children. He always said he didn't want them. He was worried about our future world. Worried about overpopulation. Said he didn't want to contribute to it."

  "I guess that explains it then. He never wanted us."

  "I sort of assumed he never knew about you--until I saw your birth certificates. It's obvious, based on your names alone, that he did."

  "I would hate him, too," Aleksandr says, surprising me. "I can't imagine a situation that makes it okay to abandon your children."

  "I have a question. Something has been eating at me since Ari and I discovered that we are twins. Do you think Ares was the kind of man who was capable of lying to my mother and telling her that Ari had died?"

  Both men look shocked I would even suggest such a thing, but Aleksandr starts nodding his head.

  "I mean, I know he ended up getting military contracts and stuff, and I'm sure I'm making a ridiculously huge assumption, but I know that my mother didn't give him up. I know that she always mourned for him. And I just can't fathom any other reason to explain the situation. Did either of you know Ari's adoptive father? He was a four-star general who worked at the Pentagon. General Bradford."

  "Paul Bradford?" Malcolm says slowly, like he just realized something. But then he recovers. "I'm afraid I didn't have the pleasure, but his reputation preceded him."

  The men share a glance, and I sense that they most certainly have heard of him and something possibly just clicked regardless of what they say.

  Malcolm rubs his hand across his forehead, looking distressed.

  "What?" I ask.

  "This is going to sound crazy to you, but your father could be irrational at times, especially when he wanted something."

  Aleksandr shakes his head at Malcolm, seeming to indicate that he shouldn't tell me whatever he is about to.

  "No," Malcolm insists. "It all makes sense now."

  "What does?"

  "Why you and your brother were separated. I believe that Ares lied, told your mother her son had died, and offered him to Paul Bradford as a bribe."

  "Aside from the moral questions, why did he do that? What did he want?"

  "Have you ever heard of the echelon?"

  "Are we talking about the Medici family again?"

  They nod.

  "The echelon was what they considered the top tier of their society. Or is it more than that?" I ask.

  "As you know, the Medici family were bankers and had great wealth. Many of today's royal families have Medici in their bloodlines because way back then Lorenzo the Magnificent wanted stability in the region, in the world. The Renaissance was a time of peace, and Medici wanted it to continue, but not everyone agreed with him, so he formed The Society. A group from the upper echelon of society whose goal was to control the world without politics interfering."

  "And The Society you belong to today, does it have the same goal?"

  "One thing you will learn about the very wealthy is most manage to increase their holdings regardless of where they are from because their investments, particularly in this day and age, are rarely tied to one country. Our members are upper echelon, and we strive to bring stability to the world as a whole. A noble cause, we believe."

  "I agree that is a good thing, but how do you bring stability exactly?"

  "Let's just say that, when you bring together those with power, influence, and money, it's easier to make good things happen."

  "Good things for its members or good things for the world?" I ask. "In other words, does The Society want to control the world?"

  "The world as a whole is what we strive for. And I wouldn't say control. I would say the goal is to gently guide it."

  "Where does my father and the general fit in?"

  "In 1997, military operations were taking place in Iraq, as was the rebuilding after the first Gulf War. One of your father's ideas was something called TerraSphere." Malcolm takes a puff of his cigar.

  "I've heard of the Terra Project. Is that similar?"

  "Yes, and no. Where did you hear of it?"

  "Lorenzo's cousin, Clarice, told us all about it during Race Week in Montrovia. We were drinking champagne, and I wasn't listening that closely, but I do remember Peter and Lorenzo discussing it with her later. It had something to do with going back to bartering instead of using currency. She mentioned everyone working together for the greater good and having equal access to resources. The way she put it sounded great, except we know from history that socialism doesn't work."

  "Your father's TerraSphere was simply a specific design for a new type of city. A city that uses solar, water, and wind energy rather than depleting our natural resources--one that is environmentally green."

  "How does this all relate to General Bradford?"

  "General Bradford was instrumental in the rebuilding process. As you can imagine, it was quite an expensive undertaking. Your father wanted to put his plan in motion. He was earning a lot of money but had to get government funding in order to finance the development of the project. Bradford was against it. He believed in acting on concrete information, not something that sounded good on paper. And even with Ares's connections to the upper echelon in The Society, no one in the military was going to allow it unless Bradford approved, and he was a man with a reputation above reproach."

  "In other words, he couldn't be bought?"

  "Exactly. But he and his wife were childless. I remember Ares mentioning it. In fact, his exact words were, 'Unless I want to steal a baby boy for that bastard, this deal will never happen.'"

  "Were you involved in the deal? Why did he tell you about it?"

  "Aside from the fact that we were friends and often d
iscussed business, he wanted my company to do the actual construction of the project."

  "Do you remember when Viktor was born?" Aleksandr asks Malcolm. He's been quiet up until now. "He suggested offering him up to the general. At the time, I thought he was just joking."

  "It makes sense now--why the general had a sudden change of heart," Malcolm says. "I figured Ares had finally offered him so much money that he couldn't refuse. I never would have agreed to--" He shakes his head, and then he leans over and pats my hand. "I'm sorry, Huntley."

  I get up, pour myself a scotch, and quickly down it. "I used to wish I had met Ares Von Allister. Now, I'm glad I didn't. I hate him."

  If I didn't know before whether I could trust Malcolm Prescott and Aleksandr Nikolaevich, I absolutely do now. The look of utter disgust on their faces over what Ares did mimics my own.

  "And then, after that, he got to build TerraSphere?" I ask.

  "Not right away. We didn't start construction for nearly ten years. Ares kept tweaking the plans, wanting it to be perfect. Even then, it wasn't. We had to make numerous corrections on the fly. Despite the general's reservations, it turned out to be quite the success.

  "Normally, when you build such a project, you are shipping in parts and equipment from around the world. For the most part, the materials used were readily available locally. All we had to do was add the technology, and, boom, it's a new way to live.

  "I'm sending Peter there to see it this summer. He's not thrilled, but I'm making him go. It's about time he learns what this business he will inherit entails. Would you like to go with him? The facility is owned by a subsidiary company that was a joint venture between our three companies. And, since you've inherited massive amounts of stock in each, you have a vested interest."

  "Do you have any photos? I'm having a hard time envisioning it," I say, dread forming in the pit of my stomach.

  "Of course," he says, setting his cigar in an ashtray and taking out his phone. He scrolls through numerous photos. "Before I show you this, I should tell you, the project is top secret. Sort of."

  "Sort of?"

  "We built it out in the middle of nowhere in order to see if it truly was self-sufficient. We don't want word getting out or anyone trying to copy the design, so we just haven't broadcast it."

  "When was it finally completed?" I ask, thinking it must be fairly new.

  "Six or seven years ago, I guess," Malcolm says.