The fifteen men around the table represented Great Britain, the United States, Germany, Russia, China, India, Brunei, and Israel. They were some of the wealthiest, most influential people in the world. Power brokers. It was Weston’s belief that power should be used overtly, not the discreet traditional behind-the-scenes machinations meant to stabilize the world. It was time to throw off secrecy, time to show themselves as the true world leaders.
It was up to Weston to make it happen. And Havelock, he thought, always Havelock.
He cleared his throat, and all the faces focused on him.
“Come to order, if you will.”
Cups were set down, notepads straightened, pencils arranged. Then they all settled and waited expectantly.
It would not do to show anything but profound regret and sadness, and so Weston’s voice was calm, respectful, the man to comfort, the man to lead. “It is with a heavy heart I’ve called this meeting. As you know, we have lost two more members of our brethren. Gentlemen, it was unclear until yesterday, but now I know we are under attack. I do not know who has taken action against us, but I do know our only choice is to band together, as we always have through the years, and find a way to stop these unseen enemies before the Order is destroyed and many of us murdered as well.”
Alastair Burrow, one of the remaining six Brits in the Order, said, “Do we truly not know who ordered Alfie and Jonathan murdered on the same day?”
“No, Alastair, I’m sorry to say we do not. Unfortunately, we are currently limited in how much we can do, since the results of the inquest on Alfie must be kept secret. If it were to get out he’d been murdered, the British government would be under fire. We must keep this silent. The public must honor Alfie as a soldier and a leader, not as a murder victim. Better to let him fade away, the victim of an untimely heart attack, than risk the world finding out who we are, and what purpose our organization serves.”
Dmitri Zachar, a former leader of Chechnyan rebels who now headed a Russian oil conglomerate and was almost single-handedly responsible for bringing his country back to life, said from the end of the table, “Two of us murdered. Who of us is next? And why?”
Weston said, his voice firm, confident, “No more of us will die and that is because we will find the submarine and the instructions on how to find Madame Curie’s weapon. Then we will be safe.”
Mason Armstrong, technological wizard and the sole American in the Order, said, “And how are we going to do that, Weston?”
Now came the tough part. “I know this is not standard protocol, that new members should be carefully considered, but gentlemen, we find ourselves in desperate times. First we must inaugurate new members since our numbers must be at fifteen in order to proceed. Then we must secure the weapon before it is used against us. And I have a way to do it.”
There was open disagreement as members argued among themselves. Oliver Leyland, head of the Bank of England, brilliant, steady, ruthless, raised a hand to quiet the group. Jonathan Pearce and Alfie Stanford had been close friends, and he was feeling both grief-stricken and wildly angry, and he didn’t like Weston, didn’t trust him. “Weston, you know we try to keep these positions in a hereditary line. However, Jonathan’s son, Adam, isn’t in a position to become a member of the Order, and from what I’ve heard, we don’t even know where he is in any case. Alfie’s son is dead, his three grandsons ignorant of the Order. I know Alfie left instructions for his successor, but those papers were stolen along with the Order’s protocols by his murderer. With that in mind, then, may I ask who you are putting forth?”
The moment was at hand, Weston thought, and said firmly, “Manfred Havelock. His father would have named him his successor, had he been given the time.”
Leyland’s thick brows shot up. “Wolfgang Havelock had six years as a member of this group to name his son as heir to his position, Weston, and he didn’t. Don’t you think if he had wanted Manfred to have his seat, he’d have said so?”
Weston said, “Wolfgang’s death was unexpected, and he hadn’t been questioned by this group on his wishes. Leyland, I know you aren’t a fan of the younger Havelock, but—”
“Too right I’m not. The man’s an egomaniac, and barking mad. What he could do to the Order doesn’t bear thinking. Which is exactly why his father hadn’t named him heir.”
“On the contrary,” Weston said, “Manfred Havelock is a brilliant scientist who can bring untold abilities to our group.”
Leyland half stood, his hands splayed on the table in front of him. “Abilities? Dear God, the man travels around the world with that bizarre woman at his side, who, I might add, is said to lay the whip on for pleasure. And look at the people he employs—that März character in particular—I’ve heard he’s a sadistic animal.
“Manfred Havelock is not the type of man to belong to the Order, the type of man to look at the world objectively, and sanely, without self-interest, and come to agreement with other members. How could he possibly be a benefit to our community?”
“He has money,” Claude Benoit, France’s finance minister, said frankly, “and money is something we always need. Also he has the ear of the entire scientific world. He has the means and the intelligence to raise the submarine.”
“We have to find the damned thing first,” Leyland said.
Weston nodded. “As you know, Adam Pearce has finally located the sub. When we have the exact coordinates, we will share this information with Havelock. He not only has the technology to retrieve the key from the sub, he can do it without alerting the military to our presence. For this ability alone, he would prove his true worth to the Order. I believe he is also in a position to locate Adam Pearce. We’ve never had someone with Havelock’s leverage before.”
Had he said too much, or still not enough? He waited.
The Sultan of Brunei, Omar Hakim, a tough old hawk who was known to disappear his enemies, said, “Leverage? Whatever do you mean, Weston?”
Careful, man, don’t make Havelock sound like the promised land. Back off a bit, let them find their way to the answer. “Perhaps leverage is too strong a word, Omar. Let me rephrase. Havelock has a foot in a world we don’t. The closest we come to the scientific community is Mason, and he admits he’s very limited in his technical scope.”
Omar said, “I do not see what the rush is to vote in new members. We should take our time, do things properly, according to the bylaws of the Order. We can certainly act, even though our numbers are not at our mandated fifteen. It is an emergency, after all.”
Huang Chén, a wealthy Chinese industrialist from Beijing, all of seventy, with a brain fast as a striking cobra, said in fluent English, “The bylaws allow for emergencies, Omar, and as you said this appears to be a big one—someone is trying to destroy our world, this same someone who had Jonathan and Alfie murdered, and now I believe it imperative that we get back to strength immediately. I for one have no intention of allowing Marie Curie’s weapon to be used against us or anyone else. If we don’t find it, and control it now, the world could be in very big trouble.”
51
Oliver Leyland looked at the men around the table. He was shaking his head. “Jonathan and Alfie aren’t even cold yet. Surely this can wait until we have buried them properly.”
“I fear not, dear Leyland.” It was Stuart Niles who spoke, the eldest member of the Order, and a leading British member of Parliament, a hard-line old autocrat, verbally skilled, intelligent, looked up to by the other members. Weston once would have voted to euthanize him, but not now. Niles was on their side. Even though he spoke in an obnoxious stentorian voice, the other members usually followed his lead. “Weston is right to move quickly in this matter. I have heard rumors the American FBI have been investigating, and are aware of the submarine’s general location.” He turned his attention to Weston. “The simple fact the American FBI have the location, and we do not, is a disgrace. Should they retrieve t
he sub and the key before we do, the weapon would be in their hands. You said we still do not have Adam Pearce, Weston?”
“He is adept at hiding in plain sight.” Weston smiled, allowing a bit of nostalgia into his tone. “His father taught him well.”
“I ask myself,” Leyland said to the group, “why wouldn’t Adam Pearce come to us immediately? Why is he hiding? From us? And the answer is, of course, that Alfie was murdered, his safe cleaned out, his own father was murdered, and Adam Pearce isn’t a fool. He fears there’s something going on within our Order, and that’s why he hasn’t run to us. And now you wish to add Havelock? I tell you, it’s insanity.”
“Leyland, I must correct you,” Weston said. “Adam Pearce ran because the FBI is after him. He has no fear of us.”
“Leyland, the bottom line is that Havelock has the resources right here to find Adam Pearce and go after the sub,” Stuart Niles said. “The rest of it, we will deal with in due time. My friends, the last thing we want is to be outed to the world.” He paused a moment, then his orator’s voice rang out. “I move we have a vote. Today. Right now.”
Weston wondered what Havelock had given Niles to bring him over. He wasted no time. “So moved. Do we have a second?”
Alastair Burrow raised a meaty paw. His voice was better suited to television, deep and throbbing with sincerity. “I second the motion.”
Weston said, “All in favor of extending membership in the Order to the son of Order member Wolfgang Havelock—Manfred Havelock, who has a hereditary right to the position—say aye.”
A super majority ruled. It was rare they found themselves divided, in any case, but today was different. Today the vote was the narrowest in Order history.
There were twelve men in the room. Six hands raised immediately. After a few moments, Dmitri Zachar assented, giving them seven. Who would be the eighth? Weston looked around. Not Leyland, he was against this, sitting upright in his chair, clearly angry. Weston watched Omar Hakim bite his lip, then slowly, he put his hand in the air.
Weston wanted to yell his victory, but he said nothing, merely raised his own hand in the air. He made the ninth.
“The ayes have it. Manfred Havelock will be inducted into the Order straightaway. I will let him know immediately,” Weston continued. “You know Alex Shepherd. He’s proved his loyalty time and again through his covert operations on our behalf, most recently his three-year stint in New York with Jonathan Pearce. Some of you believe Shepherd should go back into MI Five and work his way up. One day he could run the British intelligence services, and if he did, he’d be a true asset to their group. Therefore, I also would like to move that Alex Shepherd be made a full member of the Order and take over as Messenger for Jonathan Pearce. He will continue his nominal position with MI Five because it is to our advantage that he does and he has expressed an interest in taking over for Pearce.”
Alastair Burrow said, “So moved.”
“Seconded,” Niles said.
“All in favor?” This time, to Weston’s relief, all the hands raised.
“Excellent,” Weston said. “Alex will be well pleased by this news. I will tell you, he is currently with Sophie Pearce, who is cooperating fully with helping us locate her brother. As you know, Adam Pearce has the exact coordinates of the sub, and, as I said, he wisely ran from the FBI. We will have him with us again, very soon, and we will keep him safe from the FBI.
“Alex tells me Sophie Pearce is passing him a message to come in, and we will guarantee him safe passage from the FBI and any further persecution on the Americans’ behalf. As soon as I have news, I will send our new Messenger to you.”
There were murmurs among the group. It was time for the last play. Weston drew in his breath. He knew this was going to be tricky.
He cleared his throat to bring all their attention to him. “Gentlemen, before we adjourn for the day, we need to nominate and vote in one last member. This will bring us back to full strength and we can then move forward, helping Havelock retrieve the key. Alfie Stanford relayed to me his desire to see Heinz Gernot take his place. You’re all familiar with the man; Gernot is the head of Germany’s—”
Oliver Leyland banged his fist on the table. “Wait a minute, Edward. Gernot would change the balance of the Order. We always have eight Brits. This would give the Germans two seats.”
Weston smiled. “As I said, Alfie told me Gernot would be ideal, with his obvious influence in the EU. Indeed, he was quite insistent we begin to branch out, to lessen the British grip a bit. And Gernot is a friend of this country. Why, last month he—”
Leyland jumped to his feet, fury pouring off him. “No. I will not go along with this. We will not be forced into yet another new member, not until Alfie’s papers are located and we can actually read his wishes and reasons.”
Weston met his eyes and asked in a very quiet voice, “Are you calling me a liar, Leyland?”
“I don’t see Alfie nominating Gernot,” Leyland said. Of course Weston was lying. But why? Leyland looked around the room at the faces that seemed content and those that were clearly disturbed. He took a mental count. Something was very wrong here.
He turned back to Weston. He had to stay calm. “You already seem to have a majority vote, Edward. Another few days without a fifteenth member won’t matter and you all know it. We should wait until we actually have the key and the weapon is secured before reworking nearly three centuries of practice.
“Gentlemen, allowing Havelock to join is a mistake, one we will come to regret. Adding Gernot is insanity.”
Leyland was eloquent, damn him. The other members began talking among themselves. Weston threw up his hands. He knew better than to push Leyland further. “Fine, fine. We will wait. But there is one more bit of business. We need a pro tem leader until all fifteen members can meet and vote for a new one.” He cleared his throat. “I am willing to proceed in the role until such time as we can have a clear vote.”
Leyland met Weston’s eye, and barked a short, humorless laugh. “It seems you’ve already taken over, Weston. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
He stalked out of the room, leaving the remaining Order members to look after him.
Weston watched him go, and calculated. Could Havelock safely eliminate Leyland?
He turned back to the group. They looked uncertain. Get them back on board, man, or you might have trouble. While Havelock had been voted in, he still wasn’t a full member and wasn’t supposed to be given the secrets of the Order until that ceremony was complete. But Havelock already knew as much as any of them. Weston had seen to that. He thought briefly of the ten million pounds safe in four different Swiss bank accounts. He thought of the power Havelock promised him once they had Madame Curie’s weapon, once he and Havelock together would decide what to do with it.
He held up his hands. “All will be well, my friends. Leyland is right, these are difficult times for us all. We can table the newest member for the time being, until this crisis has passed,” and he nodded to each of them in turn, now the man in charge, their leader. He fully intended to remain in charge.
—
ON THE STREET BELOW, Oliver Leyland stepped into his waiting Jaguar XJ, slammed the door, and waved for his driver to proceed. He immediately rang one of his oldest friends. Thankfully, Harry Drummond answered on the first ring.
“Harry? It’s Leyland. We have a very serious problem.”
52
Over the Atlantic
8:00 a.m. ET
Nicholas’s fingers hadn’t stopped flying over the keyboard since they’d left Teterboro. Mike had heard him talking to Gray, much of their language too technical for her to get more than the gist.
She’d eaten her fill, then set a steaming cup of coffee and a few muffins at his right hand. He’d eaten and sipped from the coffee absently, never stopping. She’d never seen him coding before; he wasn’t kidding about
being in another world.
She was on her second cup of coffee and debating a third when she spotted a report from deep in the FBI files about an organization they’d identified as the Highest Order. What a highfalutin moniker that was.
Then she read on and her heart began a wild hoedown. This was it, she was sure of it. She finished reading the dossier. It was maddeningly brief, but gave her at least some background on who they might be dealing with.
“Nicholas. Take a break. I’ve found something.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Is it important? I’ve only a few minutes left here until Gray and I are done.”
“Stop, now. You need to hear this.”
He stood, stretched, and actually focused on her now. “Ah, that’s better. I’m very close here. What’s your news?”
“It’s a dossier, prepared about seven years ago about a group called the Highest Order. I think this is who we’re looking for. These are the fifteen men from Pearce’s files.”
“The Highest Order?”
She nodded. “The information was lifted off the computer of a diplomat who visited the U.S. with a British delegation a decade ago. It’s incomplete, but at least we can get an idea of what we might be up against.”
He stood over her, hands braced against the ceiling of the fuselage. “Rather rude to invade the computers of a foreign delegate. Is that common practice? And how’d you do it?”
“The easy way. The Brit logged in to an unsecured wireless network in his hotel, and welcomed us right in. But no, this isn’t common practice. He must have been under surveillance and tracking software was put on his computer.”
The Lost Key Page 21
