The Chamber of Five

by Michael Harmon

  The kid had an icicle’s chance in hell of making the team, and I wondered what kind of self-hate had brought him on the court in the first place.

  By the end of tryouts, I’d whipped up enough on Kennedy to get his mouth going again, which made me happy. Coach blew his whistle, and as we filed through the chain-link gateway to the gymnasium, the kid fell in line beside Kennedy, and of course Kennedy, at least five inches taller, bumped him aside with his shoulder and took his place.

  Freshmen coming into Lambert were schooled quickly and efficiently on how things worked. Upperclassmen were everything; freshmen were nothing. Freshmen did what they were told, especially by Leadership Group members. The Chamber of Five were untouchable, and if you dared touch them, they ground you to dust.

  As we filed into the locker room, I noticed the kid changing quickly, not bothering with a shower, and splitting before anybody else. I could almost feel the shame burning in him. Then Kennedy bellowed, his voice echoing from the walls, “WHO DID IT!?!”

  I looked down the aisle of lockers. Kennedy was holding up his white dress shirt by the hanger. It was wet. It was yellow. I would have smiled if it didn’t mean that somebody would die, and even though Kennedy had enough ex-freshmen enemies to last a lifetime, I knew who did it. Big-ears. Kennedy, after a moment of sluggish thought, knew, too.

  As I hung my tennis shirt on the hanger and grabbed my bag, I wondered what the kid’s deal was. He had to know Kennedy would be gunning for him. Maybe he was emo in disguise, death wish in hand. He was dead meat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CARTER LOGAN SAT in a high-backed chair, one of five around the circular and deep-colored mahogany antique table set in the center of the Chamber. Next to him sat Hayden Kennedy, and two more guys, Michael Woodside and Steven Lotus, filled the chairs next to him. One remained empty. I stood at the door, which was adjacent to the study hall we’d met in the day before.

  The Chamber was located in the main building on the third floor. The building was basically an ornate and hollow box ringed with three balconied floors of spacious rooms, including library, study hall, and administrative offices, and the Chamber was set directly opposite the main entrance down below. Often enough, you would see the five members standing at the railing outside the Chamber doors, looking down on the peasants scurrying through the indoor courtyard.

  Only the five could enter the room without an invitation. There was a lock on the door, and only five keys. The Chamber was off-limits.

  Carter smiled, waving to me. “Welcome, Jason. Come over.”

  I walked in, nodding to each as he stood and shook my hand. All except Kennedy. He smirked at me, still pissed about tennis the day before, sure that I’d put the kid up to it somehow. He’d had to wear his tennis uniform around for the rest of the day due to his pissed-on shirt, and I’d cracked up every time I’d seen him.

  Carter rolled his eyes. “Protocol is the foundation of civilization, Hayden. We’re in the Chamber.”

  Kennedy grunted, standing and shaking my hand. He sat. I did, too. Carter nodded. “Welcome to your first meeting of the five. Jason, I’d like to extend you the chalice.” With that, he reached for the goblet at the center of the table and slid it to me. “Drink.”

  I looked around, then at the contents of the cup. Dark red liquid. “What is it?”

  Carter smiled. “The first tenet of the Chamber is trust, Jason. Implicit and total trust. You are amongst brothers now.”

  I took a breath, putting the goblet to my lips and sipping. Relief flooded through me. I was safe unless pig blood tasted like cherry Kool-Aid. After swallowing, I slid the goblet to Michael, who took a sip. As it was passed around, I looked at the wood-paneled Chamber. Antique globes, weathered and ancient maps, a marble chess set, framed copies of the United States Constitution and Bill of Rights, several pictures of past presidents, and other artifacts dotted the well-furnished room.

  Carter rested his hands on the table after he’d taken a drink. He stared at the goblet in the center of the table. “Novus ordo seclorum. Do you know what that is, Jason?”

  “No.”

  He pulled out a dollar bill, handing it to me. “Read the back, under the pyramid.”

  I did, and saw the words: NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM. “What does it mean?”

  Carter smiled. “The translation is A new order of the ages.”

  I frowned. “What does it mean?”

  Carter nodded. “It means that our forefathers created a new order of power in the world. A power that would cover the globe. A power that we are a part of.”

  With that, Carter nodded to Kennedy, and Kennedy rose, walking to a desk in the corner of the Chamber. He brought back a black briefcase, setting it in front of Carter. As Carter turned the wheels of its combination lock, he spoke. “The Youth Leadership Group began over fifty years ago, and the Chamber of Five forty years ago. That man”—Carter pointed to a framed portrait on the wall—“was the founder.”

  He opened the briefcase. “The country was at war with itself over the Vietnam conflict, and the government was losing its power base to the hippies, freaks, dopeheads, and general do-nothing-for-something scum. A power base that had stood the test of time, but was eroding. The common people, simply put, were caught up in a cultural revolution that spelled out doom for the United States if it continued.” He pointed to the picture again. “Senator Logan approached thirteen of the best private high schools in the country, this being one of them, and orchestrated the group to groom us for leadership. We are but one of thirteen groups, and the Chamber of Five is actually a chamber of sixty-five. There are lines of power in this country, Jason, and we’re a part of it.”

  I looked at the picture. “Senator Logan?”

  Carter smiled. “Yes. My grandfather.”

  I looked around the table. “Lines of power?”

  “Yes. What do you think would happen if the majority of leaders in this country did not share a common view of power?”

  I shook my head. “They don’t. That’s why we have political parties. We debate.”

  He chuckled. “We debate, yes, Jason, but what we debate is not important. Who wins is, and both Democrats and Republicans make sure who that winner is.”

  “Who wins, then?”

  “Novus ordo seclorum, Jason. Republican or Democrat, it doesn’t matter. Sure, they trifle with small issues that consume the people, but party lines only matter to the man blinded by idealism, and the American people, for their own good, are blinded by the charade of politics.”

  “Then tell me what the new order of the ages is.”

  Carter steepled his hands. “Money. Money equals power, and power equals control, Jason, and our government makes sure it stays in the right hands. Did you know that only men who owned land could vote when our country came into being? A small percentage of the population controlled our ‘republic’ until the law was changed, and it’s been a struggle ever since. Our forefathers knew that to give power to the man with nothing would be the beginning of the end for America. Daily politics simply keeps the people focused on themselves.” He paused. “The lines of power must be maintained, and we are the inheritors of that power, for the good of those who don’t know any better. It’s why we exist. It’s why you were chosen.”

  “Because of my father?”

  He nodded. “Not just your father, but this.” With that, he took a file from the briefcase. My file. He opened it, sliding three sheets of paper toward me. “That is your personality profile. You remember filling it out?”

  I stared at it, remembering. My father had stood over my shoulder while I answered the questions, correcting me, telling me what would look the best. I could almost feel his shadow over me right now. “Yes, I remember,” I said, looking away. That profile was pure fiction; what my dad wanted me to be like, not what I was.

  Carter nodded. “You are a born leader. Born into the blood of leadership. Just like all of us, and to one degree or another, the entire history of the Group.
So welcome, Mr. Weatherby, and congratulations. You are a part of something tremendous.”

  With that, those around the table clapped their hands, and Carter, with a smile, nodded, taking out another file. “Now, on to business. We have a new member, and in accordance with the laws of the Chamber, a sacrifice must be made.”

  The others nodded. Kennedy smirked. I didn’t understand.

  Carter smiled. “You look confused, Jason. Let me explain. When a new member of the Chamber is chosen, the tenets of the order must be proven. The first, as I’ve said, is trust. The second is sacrifice.”

  The Kool-Aid came to mind. “What, you kill pigs or something?”

  He laughed. “Of course not. This isn’t a cult, though procession and tradition are important for any organization. Sacrifice and leadership go hand in hand, Jason, and the lines of power need to be maintained in our favor. That takes sacrifice, because sacrifice proves trust.”

  I pointed to the file. “What’s that about?”

  “It’s a file. A student file. It’s also a test for you. To prove you are a true leader. To prove that you are willing to sacrifice for the good of all.”

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  Carter leaned back, his head against the chair, his hands under his chin. “The student in that file does not belong here. It is your duty to … show him he doesn’t belong here.”

  I glanced at the file, not opening it. “So I’m supposed to get this kid kicked out?”

  He nodded.

  “Just because he doesn’t fit in? Why? Because he’s smart?”

  “No. We need brilliance.”

  I slid the file back. “Why doesn’t he fit in?”

  He shook his head. “You’re not understanding, Jason. He doesn’t matter. You do. And you have to prove your belief through trust and sacrifice, just like with anything else. Each person at this table, including me, was given a task to show his determination and ability to lead.”

  I squirmed. “I’m not doing it.”

  Carter smiled. “Sacrifice goes both ways, Jason. Even a simple soldier in our simple army needs to sacrifice to be accepted, no? He has to prove he’s worthy. This is no different. Leadership is the ability to make decisions for the good of all, and Lambert, for the good of all, needs to be kept clean. Our status is important, your future here is important, and you must show us. Though the student chosen for termination is smart, he has an extensive juvenile criminal record. He does not belong here.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  He studied me. “I would have expected understanding. Hasn’t your father ever grappled with decisions that may hurt a few but that benefit the majority? He’s a great man.”

  I swallowed. “It’s not right.”

  “Then perhaps this file”—he pointed to mine—“should be replaced with that file.” He pointed to the file I’d turned away. “Would that be good, Jason? Would your father be happy about his son being expelled from Joseph T. Lambert School for the Gifted? My God”—he rolled his eyes to the ceiling—“it would probably make the papers if it was bad enough.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  He laughed softly, glancing at the other members. His eyes came back to me. “Do you recall Mark Spencer from last year?”

  “Yeah. He trashed Professor Downey’s math class.”

  Carter sat back. “No he didn’t. Kennedy here did.” He studied a fingernail, absently picking. “I hear Mark is out of juvenile detention now. Isn’t he, Kennedy?”

  Kennedy nodded, his goofy smile broad. “Yeah. His dad sent him to some private school in Idaho for fuckups,” he snickered. “Land of potatoes.”

  Carter leaned forward. “See, Jason, there’s things at work here beyond your control. That’s why we need lines of power. Trust. Sacrifice. We’re a brotherhood.” He gestured to the files. “This is a proving ground, Jason, and you must prove yourself.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Carter.”

  He smiled. “It’s not a threat, Jason. It’s an invitation to your future.” He paused. “Every Chamber member since the beginning has had to prove himself. It’s like being in the Boy Scouts. You have to earn your Merit Badge, be initiated.” He eyed me. “I don’t want to see you caught up on the wrong side of winning. You don’t, either.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  His eyes lit, intense. “Fair has nothing to do with life, and that’s what this is about. Those who believe in fair are the ones who lose.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. “Only the strongest can sacrifice the weak, because only the strongest can see what’s best for everybody. It’s our job, and we’d have chaos otherwise.” He eyed me. “I’m surprised that with your background, you’d be so ignorant.”

  I stared at him, my insides squirming.

  He leaned back. “I know this is difficult. It always is the first time, and I understand that. You’re a good person. We all are. But we have choices to make, and those choices can hurt sometimes.” He pointed to the file. “Bring that with you and think about it. Take some time.” His eyes glinted. “And by the way, I already sent your father a letter of congratulations about your acceptance to the Chamber.”

  I looked at the file, not appreciating one bit the leverage of the letter. Carter knew how to play the game, and I was stuck. I took the file. “I do need to think about it.”

  He studied me, a small smile on his face as he nodded. “I want to show you something before we adjourn. An example of sacrifice to prove trust.” He spoke to the Chamber. “We have a guest today. Michael, open the door. Our visitor should be waiting.”

  As Michael rose, Carter’s eyes met mine, and the corners of his mouth turned up. Then he winked. Michael opened the door, and a girl, her hands clasped, stepped in, ducking her head timidly and looking around. She was pretty, and I recognized her from history class last year. Carter stood, welcoming her. “Come in, Brooke. Come in.”

  She walked across the room, stopping a few feet from the table. Michael took his seat. Carter sat down, speaking to her. “Thank you for coming.”

  She swallowed, standing uncomfortably in the silent room. “Thank you for having me.”

  Carter nodded. “And how is your mother?”

  She smiled. “Fine. She’s just made partner at the law firm, and she has an eye on becoming a federal judge.”

  Carter gazed at us. “Brooke’s mother is an attorney in the city. She represents congressmen and senators who find themselves bogged down with the intricacies of leadership. In fact, she represented Congressman Hinks this last year concerning his … difficulties with monogamy.” He smiled. “You know, Brooke, Mr. Weatherby here has a father in Congress.”

  She smiled again, looking at me. Pretty eyes. Brown and soft, like a fawn doe. “Yes, I know.”

  Carter cleared his throat. “Well, to the business at hand. I received your mother’s letter of recommendation for your election to the Leadership Group, and I was very impressed.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Thank you.”

  “Hoping to attend Harvard, yes?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m following in my mother’s footsteps.”

  He sat back. “Wonderful. Then you’ll be happy to know you’ve been accepted into the Group. Congratulations.”

  She grinned, nodding. Relief spread over her face. “Thank you so much. You don’t know—”

  Carter held up his hand, stopping her. “However, there is one last thing. The Group is here for you, Brooke. You and your future. The service it does for you will carry on far beyond this school, and you will no doubt be accepted to Harvard with the help of our backing.”

  She beamed. “Thank you.”

  Carter nodded. “As the Group serves you, you must serve the Group. We all have responsibilities, and occasionally those responsibilities may test us.” He glanced at me. “Isn’t that right, Jason?”

  Silence.

  Carter went on. “You understand this, Brooke?”

  “Yes.”

&nb
sp; He nodded again with finality. “Good. I knew you’d understand. Sometimes what we want must be sacrificed for what is best.”

  She grimaced, a look of uncertainty on her face. “Well, I suppose so.”

  Carter studied her. “You sound unsure, Brooke. Do you believe your mother enjoyed representing a man who cheated on his wife with a seventeen-year-old congressional page?”

  She shook her head. “No. She didn’t like him at all. He was a creep.”

  Carter smiled. “Of course she didn’t like him. She represented him because she knows what is best. Best for her and best for this country. The good Congressman Hinks does far outweighs the bad, and your mother sacrificed a part of herself because she understands this. We all must do these things.”

  She nodded. “That’s what she told me.”

  He ran his finger along the ridge of his jaw. “So you do understand.”

  “Yes.”

  A moment passed, then Carter slid me a glance. His voice floated softly across the room. “Unbutton your blouse, Brooke.”

  I held my breath. No way. This wasn’t happening. Brooke stood with her eyes at her feet. Carter smiled. “Your mother will be so proud, Brooke. Imagine how happy she’ll be. Imagine Harvard.”

  A full minute passed, silence in the Chamber. I met Carter’s eyes, and he shook his head, putting his fingers to his lips. Brooke unbuttoned the first button. Then the second. After another moment and with her eyes still on her feet, she’d opened the last one. Carter, his voice soft, spoke. “Take your blouse off, Brooke.”

  I sat, transfixed, unable to do anything. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe it was happening for my benefit. Carter Logan was showing me his power, and I couldn’t even breathe. My dad’s angry image flashed through my mind.

  She sighed, her breath quivering, then did it. Her bare shoulders, pale and soft and defined, trembled.

  “Fantastic. Now your bra.”

  She hesitated, then unclasped it, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts were full and firm. My stomach squirmed and my mind revolted against what was happening. Sickness spread through me, but I did nothing. There was a detachment. There had to be, because between my father and this school and Carter Logan, I was powerless.