The Wallis Jones Series Box Set - Volume Two: Books Four thru Six

by Martha Carr

  Richard had seen it all before and could look across the crowd without actually seeing any particular person. They blended together as one moving part so easily.

  “The hive mind,” he said quietly, a smile curling up the corners of his mouth.

  This was his first meeting back in his former Management district since he had accepted his new employment as special advisor to the President. For once, a job was offered to him without any groveling or working the system or paying someone to do something to someone else.

  He let out a cynical laugh.

  “Well, I guess that last one is still true,” he said. “Hi James,” he said, giving a wave to a neatly dressed man in a charcoal grey suit. He looked up at Richard, squinting in the fading winter light and grimaced, more than smiled, without saying a word. He turned and kept walking toward the meeting.

  Richard instantly felt a small spark of anger deep in the pit of his stomach. Still not getting the respect I deserve, he thought. Not from anyone.

  He tilted back his head and looked up at the grey overcast and the light fanning out from behind the clouds creating shadows in between dark patches. Happiness never lasts for long, thought Richard, because someone is always standing by to remind me nothing has changed.

  He drew himself up to stand taller, determined to look his new part and pulled down on his lapels, setting a stony grimace.

  “It’s a new day, dammit,” he said, as he fell into line behind the others.

  Once inside, he could see that they had been moved to a larger room and there was still overflow. Faces he hadn’t seen in years were in attendance. People he had thought were dead or been marginalized by Management or altogether new faces. No one was missing this gathering.

  “Why the large crowd,” he said, nudging the man next to him, plastering a friendly smile on his face. The man looked at him from the side without turning his head and let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

  “Working at the White House,” said Richard, emphasizing every word. “You know the place? Sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue? Big white building, tall columns?”

  Even from the side Richard could see the man roll his eyes.

  “So, why the crowd?” he said, trying to sound friendly again. No need to start making new enemies, he thought. I can be magnanimous after all. I’m winning this war, he thought.

  “The Watchers called the meeting. There’s meetings all over the country tonight. They have a message they want to deliver.”

  “What do you mean, the Watchers called a meeting? They don’t call meetings. They’re not even organized,” said Richard, sounding confused.

  “They’re organized now,” said the man, who was now craning his neck trying to see over the sea of people. “There’s been a revolt going on since the fall. Someone in Maine started organizing locally and it’s been spreading up the East Coast. I hear it’s even out in the Midwest now. Everyone’s tired of this top down bullshit.”

  The man was standing on his toes, determined to get a better view of the front of the room. Richard noticed several other people were also bending and looking and straining, all pointed toward the front of the room.

  “What are you trying to see?” asked Richard, peering over the crowd. The man didn’t seem to hear him and the murmur in the room was picking up volume. People were getting more excited, smiling and talking to each other, their faces flushed from the heat of too many people wearing too much wool packed into a tight space.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone special in the cluster of people milling at the front. He knew that all he had to do was go and find the hallway that accessed the door right by the stage. His position in Management would ensure him entrance and a seat backstage if necessary.

  He hesitated, a creeping feeling he needed to know more before moving away from his spot. Things seemed to have changed more than they had since the 1940’s.

  A Watcher would never try organize under his leadership. He may have been a lot of things but at least he knew how to give out an order and make sure it was followed.

  “What do you see?” asked Richard more loudly, as it came out like more of a whine. That only made him angrier at the crowd for forcing him to lose some of his presidential prestige before he could have it pointed out. Maybe a nice introduction from the stage. He would keep his remarks short and do his best to sound humble.

  “It’s not a what,” said a woman standing nearby. “It’s a who,” she said firmly, pursing her lips.

  Richard waited for her to elaborate but that was all the information she was going to give out. “Okay,” he said, yelling now to be heard over the wall of sound. “Then who is up there? I don’t see anyone I know.”

  “See that kid?” she said, pointing between the two men right in front of her. Richard could barely make out the form of a lanky teenager standing among the grownups. He looked to either side of the boy, assuming the woman was using him as an easy point of reference.

  “Yeah?” he said, growing more frustrated when she didn’t say anything else.

  The woman rolled her eyes and turned to look at Richard. “You new here?” she asked, as she looked at the tie clip that usually designated someone as being in a leadership position in Management.

  Richard shot out his sleeve and held up his wrist to show her the matching cufflink, his mood growing darker.

  “It’s not who’s standing next to him,” said the woman, guessing at his confusion. “It’s the teenager, Paul Whittaker. He’s the one who organized the mid-Atlantic region after one of our descendants was killed by that Bowers man. I heard all about it,” she said, sneering. “Shot an old man like that in cold blood. Probably had something to do with killing President Haynes. Never cared for him much, but still.”

  Richard glanced at the woman. He knew gossip when he heard it and marveled at how powerful it was to just start talking about something. He made a note of that for later use.

  He lost interest in what she was saying, still going on about something she didn’t like. He craned to get a better look at Paul Whittaker standing up at the front with his back to the crowd. He recognized his father, David Whittaker standing nearby, tapping his son on the elbow to get his attention and leaning in to tell him something as Paul repeatedly nodded his head.

  “What is he, sixteen? Is he old enough to drive?” asked Richard, feeling every inch of his age in his tired bones. Once again, he felt regret over all of the wasted time in his life. He had so much potential that was just starting to be tapped.

  “He’s just sixteen,” said the woman, “and what a speaker! This is my fourth time hearing him talk. Finally, someone with a message worth listening to after all of the blather. The war really took it out of us and we weren’t supposed to talk about that and then we lose another election. But our time has come.” She turned and looked at Richard. “You’ve never heard him? I almost envy you. It’s like someone is finally listening and has ideas about how to get things back on track.”

  Paul suddenly turned around and raised his hands over his head, slowly lowering them, quietly encouraging everyone to quiet and sit down in their seats. Everyone dutifully followed him, surprising Richard who slowly moved to the back of the room where he could stand and watch the entire picture.

  He gave a shy smile and pushed down a thick, dark brown cowlick that immediately sprang back into position at the front of his head, making him appear even younger than his sixteen years.

  The last time Richard had seen Paul Whittaker he was a scrawny kid with almost no friends, Richard was sure of it. Except for one, that’s right, he thought. Paul Whittaker had been friends with that Weiskopf kid, Ned. He was last year’s great hope, thought Richard. Paul must be the new recruit to carry their message. A new approach to an old story, he thought, I like it. Innovative.

  Richard slipped out of the door quietly and crept down the heavily carpeted hallway lined with heavy padding that was designed to sile
nce footfalls during services for the dead.

  He made his way to the familiar side door, just off the stage that had been left propped open with a wooden chair so speakers could come and go without disturbing the crowd with the sound of the door.

  A hush was quickly falling over the attendees and Richard was careful to step lightly onto the tiled floor backstage, taking his place next to a Management director he recognized from another district. He looked around and realized several district directors were in attendance as a woman he had seen before turned and gave him a curt nod.

  He knew not many people had respected his position. Robin Spingler had seen to that with the way she bullied him in public. But his recent elevation to the White House gave everyone pause and he had heard through the usual back channels that people were waiting to see what was in it for them before going back to talking about him.

  He liked how it made everything predictable.

  “My name is Paul Whitaker.” The applause and cheering drowned out the rest of what the young man said at first. Richard worked his way to the right of the people backstage so he could catch a glimpse of the first few rows. Everyone was leaning forward, smiling broadly and some were whispering excitedly to each other. It had been a long time since he had seen a crowd like this at a Management gathering.

  There wasn’t much good news the past few years and things had only gotten gradually, and sometimes quickly worse.

  “First, I want to thank everyone for such a great welcome.” The applause broke out again but this time some of the people sitting behind Paul stood up and frowned at the gathering in front of them, making gestures to let everyone know enough was enough.

  “It’s alright,” said Paul, “they’re just feeling something we haven’t had enough of lately,” he said, as he turned to look back at the people behind him. He turned back to the crowd and leaned toward them as if he was about to whisper.

  “Hope,” he said, in a loud, clear voice, smiling at everyone as he paused.

  “Yes!” yelled a man buried somewhere in the middle of the audience. Richard couldn’t see who it was but he watched all of the heads turn in that direction, nodding in agreement. He felt an ache in his chest as he realized the chances were slim he’d ever have a moment like this one. It matters, he thought. What I wouldn’t give. What I haven’t already done.

  “Our recent history hasn’t given us much to celebrate,” said Paul, holding up his hand and then pointing out at the crowd, “or so it seemed. When we were fighting the Second Civil War, we were planting seeds,” he said, pointing to different people. “When we went on with our lives and took care of our families and especially those families who lost someone in the war, we were planting seeds.” His voice rang out as he started pacing back and forth across the stage, getting more worked up with every sentence.

  “Even on our darkest days, and I know for those of us from this district one of those was the day we lost so many to the murderer, Fred Bowers. Now, now,” he said, as some people booed loudly. “Even then,” he said, in a more somber tone, pausing the pacing for a moment, “even then, we were planting seeds. They tried to bury us,” he shouted, “but they didn’t realize we were seeds!”

  A man in the front row jumped to his feet cheering, as other followed him and the crowd started chanting, “Paul! Paul!”

  “He hasn’t really said much yet,” Richard said quietly.

  The director next to him glanced back with a scowl as Richard returned the same look. The man could ask others later who he was and find out Richard outranked him. For now, it was important that Richard put him back in his place.

  “Two thousand, three hundred and forty-two dead,” said Paul. “Let me say it one more time. Two thousand, three hundred and forty-two of our brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons are no longer with us. And we mourn them, every day. We feel the loss every time we want to call them or when we have to keep our families going on our own.”

  Richard smirked at the last comment. He knew that no one in Paul’s family had died in the war. The only injury was the deep red ‘x’ on his father, David’s neck, marking him as a traitor to Management.

  “My father has suffered at their hands, as well,” said Paul, pointing to David. The top of the ‘x’ was clearly visible above his collar. “Marked as a traitor amongst us. As someone to be hated and treated like an outcast. It takes a strong man to withstand all of that and tell the truth. You know what that man taught me? Set the truth free and watch it do its own work.”

  “What’s the truth? I know a lot of you already know the answer but the word can travel slowly, sometimes.” Paul stopped, squeezing his eyes shut as if he was holding back tears. He pressed his palms against his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “This is good theater,” whispered Richard. “Again with the frowns?” he said to the man in front of him, as he stood up straighter.

  Paul put his hands back down at his sides, his eyes still shut as he lifted his face till the spotlights shone on his wet face. “The same killer, Fred Bowers, the Circle’s inside man, their own operative, cut my father and left him for dead.”

  Richard rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything more. Everyone around him seemed to be growing restless and shifting their weight or letting out a short cough. Better to fall in line, for now, he thought. Let things ride.

  Someone waved to David Whitaker who struck a humble pose and gave a small wave.

  “Left him a man without a larger family, or so he thought. The family he has devoted his life to for the past thirty years! That’s what Bowers didn’t count on, didn’t understand. It’s where he took a giant misstep. But how could he know? A Circle operative wouldn’t understand what we value more than anything in our collective groups. What is it?” he asked, cupping a hand around his ear and leaning out toward the crowd.

  Only a couple of people in the audience faintly called out, “Loyalty!” but everyone around Richard shouted in unison, startling Richard. He felt out of step and realized they must have known this moment was coming.

  “Let’s try that again,” said Paul, putting his hand back to his ear, smiling as if everything was going according to plan. “What is it?” he asked again, louder this time.

  “Loyalty!” the crowd shouted, some were even stomping their feet, eliciting a giggle from Paul, reminding everyone for a moment just how young their new leader was. No one seemed to mind.

  “Just for fun, let’s do that one more time. What is it?” he asked, putting up both hands to his ears.

  “Loyalty! Loyalty! Loyalty!” shouted the audience, rising to their feet.

  “That’s right, and that has always been the first seedlings that sprout up for us, reaching out toward the sunlight. Loyalty,” he said, more quietly.

  He went back to slowly pacing the stage. Richard watched all the heads follow him in sync with each other. Their faces looked mesmerized.

  “Bowers didn’t know loyalty. I’ve heard he’s being hunted by his own people. Isn’t it ironic,” said Paul, shaking his head, smiling, “that what he tried to do to my father, he only managed to do to himself. Wanted by no one, hunted by everyone. There are stories that he is part of a secret army that’s broken off from the Circle and is working to undermine both the Circle and us,” he said, sounding incredulous, patting his chest. “Working hand in hand with Wallis Jones.” More boos went up from the crowd and the mood immediately shifted. Richard wondered if the boy had gone too far and lost control of his followers.

  “We thought she was working with us, didn’t we?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders. “Certainly seemed to be when she stood up in front of a lot of us here and make a case for all of us coming together. Turned out to be just a deadly game, sadly.” David started pacing again, stopping at each corner of the stage to make a point. “More will be revealed,” he said, conspiratorially as if he was only speaking to the people sitting off to that side.

  “Wallis Jones has shown herse
lf to be a mastermind when it comes to getting her way. The Black Widow. I was a childhood friend of her son, Ned Weiskopf,” he said, nodding vigorously. “It’s true. And he was another brief appearance as a Management bright star, along with his Uncle Harry, may he rest in some kind of peace. Nothing but tragedy came of any of it!” he shouted. “And now, it seems, the entire family may have been starting their own group all along. But enough about yesterday’s problem. Let’s talk about today’s solutions, and there are plenty of them.”

  Richard watched David suddenly reach inside his coat pocket and pull out his phone, tensing as he looked at who was calling. He quietly got up and came backstage and stood near Richard as he answered the call.

  “Hello?” he whispered.

  Paul glanced backstage and gave a tight smile, momentarily balling his hands into fists before giving what looked like a forced smile and resuming his speech.

  “Now, through a violent, unforeseen act that we would never condone,” said Paul, “we control the White House. It’s true,” he said, nodding his head. “No surprise that eventually people are attracted to our style of doing things. Others want what we have and have been willing to change their allegiance. Our new President is one of them. President Reese has taken to wearing our pin, proudly,” said Paul, tapping the pin of the American flag on his green wool sweater.

  Richard was trying to pay attention to the speech while glancing casually back at David.

  “Of course,” said David, holding the phone to his ear. “Going well. Every director accepted the invitation. They’re all here. Yes, I’ll call you when it’s over,” he said, lowering the phone to push the red icon and end the call.

  Richard glanced over just as the call ended and saw the name, George Clemente. He was about to ask David why he was reporting to someone who was kicked out of Management when he realized he was being called to the stage.