“Your misgivings about Professor Gomulka appear to have been justified,” Bernard explained.
“How do you mean?” Amit looked confused, although he knew as well as I what that meant. Our scheme to get Gomulka must have worked.
I was a bit slow putting on my own perplexed face, but Bernard was focused on Amit, so he probably didn’t detect it.
“Professor Gomulka was arrested at the Port of Brunswick last night. He was attempting to take delivery of a cargo container with nearly a dozen young Chinese refugees.
Amit and I exchanged glances. I was just as shocked as he looked, though not for the reasons Bernard was thinking. I thought the Tong was going to be smuggling drugs, not…
“Human trafficking,” Bernard was shaking his head. “And he got caught. There’s no keeping it out of the papers now. We’re hoping no one figures out his connection to the Civic Circle.” He was clearly more upset that Gomulka got caught and about the potential for bad publicity than about the human trafficking, or its victims.
“He’s claiming it was a set-up,” Bernard continued. “That his girlfriend arranged it all, and he had nothing to do with it at all.”
“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend. Interesting,” Amit said with a gleam in his eye. “I thought Gomulka would have been more discreet in indulging his indiscretions.” I had to admire Amit’s Machiavellian artistry. “Whatever my differences of opinions regarding his choice of tactics, Gomulka’s no idiot.”
Suddenly I knew exactly why Bernard was giving us the limo treatment this morning after having fired us last night. He had to make a decision. Throw us under the bus with Gomulka, or enlist our aid in saving his own skin.
“Idiot or not, Gomulka could bring us all down,” I pointed out. “This is an inexcusable mess, and heads will roll. Hopefully only figuratively.” I wasn’t sure about that “only” part. Of course, decapitation hadn’t been a preferred technique since… was the Civic Circle involved in the French Revolution, too? No time for speculation. I had to stay focused.
I had an idea.
“Yesterday,” I explained, “Mr. Larry Tolliver asked me about the Social Justice Initiative at Georgia Tech. I shared my misgivings about Gomulka with him.”
In other words, Bernard couldn’t bury the fact that we’d been concerned about Gomulka even before these events. What’s more, I had a channel of communications right around him to his leading patron.
“If we could persuade you to change your unconditional support for Gomulka, we could present a united front…”
“I may have been overly hasty last night.” Bernard made his decision – better to ally with us and Uncle Larry rather than risk trying to denounce us along with Gomulka. “Loyalty to leadership is critical for any organization, but yesterday’s events demonstrate your worries about Gomulka were justified. I’ll be happy to reinstate you, Amit, and I think there’s room in Civic Youth for you, too, Pete.”
“I’ll have missed last night’s program,” Amit sounded disappointed, but I could read him well enough to know he was thrilled to have gotten a decent night’s sleep and a shower, instead. “And Pete – he hasn’t been through any of the Hell Week activities…”
“Hell Week is really just intended to help build loyalty and teamwork, Amit,” Bernard countered, “qualities you’ve both already demonstrated in abundance. A certain… flexibility is called for.”
“We need to think quickly, then,” Amit picked up the beat. “Gomulka either plotted this himself, or he got duped by this girlfriend of his. Either way, none of us had any idea about it, beyond a… an anxiety that perhaps not all was right with him. That maybe Gomulka’s attention may have been elsewhere. Maybe that lack of commitment might explain why the Social Justice Initiative struggled so at Georgia Tech last year.”
“Yes, exactly!” Bernard almost cried out in relief. “Gomulka was either neglecting his duties because he was being duped by his girlfriend, or he was busy setting up this unauthorized… activity.”
“I still don’t see what’s going on,” I claimed. “Whoever’s responsible, Gomulka, or whoever may have duped him, what were they after?”
“I understand,” Bernard looked a bit guilty at airing the Civic Circle’s dirty linen, “some of the Thirteen and their… associates and friends have more… extreme tastes in entertainment. One of the Council of 33 owns a private island in the Caribbean where Civic Circle members can go for any manner of… indulgences. Pleasure Island, they call it. They invite Team 500 members and others. A reward for good service.”
The indulgences – those were the carrot. The stick would be the threat to reveal the no-doubt well-documented “indulgences” to the public. Not that I was going to point out the obvious to Bernard. The Thirteen? Council of 33? Team 500? This was a great opportunity to learn more about the inner workings and structure of the Civic Circle.
“So, Gomulka could be making a play of some kind,” Amit speculated. “A bribe?”
“Could be whoever’s pulling his strings,” I pointed out.
Just then we pulled up in front of the Jekyll Island Club Hotel.
“The Thirteen called an emergency meeting,” Bernard explained. “As many of the Thirteen as they could find this early in the morning will be there, along with some of the senior members of the Council of 33. They wanted me there to discuss the Gomulka situation, and I thought I should bring you also. Let me do the talking. If they ask you anything, remember, we were all suspicious about Gomulka, but had no idea anything like this might happen. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Amit and I both replied.
The chauffeur held the door for us, and more of the Civic Circle’s ubiquitous security officers surrounded us and escorted into and through the lobby. Two more officers checked our IDs at the door. “They’re not on the list.”
“Their presence was specifically requested,” Bernard insisted.
The guard vanished and a few moments later an older gentleman stepped out. “Who are these young men?”
“Civic Youth candidates with knowledge of Professor Gomulka’s activities,” a visibly nervous Bernard replied, “at Georgia Tech.”
“Screen them,” the older gentlemen told the security officers.
First they took Bernard. About five minutes later, they took me. They required me to change clothes and shower under the watchful eye of a guard. My clothes were whisked away for careful examination while I showered. Then, they returned my clothes, and I dressed. Finally, I was escorted into a conference room.
Bernard sat in a chair, his wet hair showing that he was no more trusted than me. “This is the room where the plan for the Federal Reserve was devised in 1910,” Bernard distracted himself from his nervousness to play tour guide. He was still explaining the secret history of how the Civic Circle took over the nation’s monetary system when the guards brought Amit in.
“Senator Nelson Aldrich, a close confidant of J.P. Morgan himself, sat…” Bernard trailed off awkwardly. “Um, ah, well… Mr. Tolliver, sir. Good to see you, sir.”
Amit and I joined Bernard in rising as Uncle Larry approached. Heh, I noticed his hair was wet, too!
“Bernard,” Uncle Larry said gruffly, dismissing Amit and me as insignificant. “What’s all this about? I don’t fund the Social Justice Initiative to be awakened at this god-awful hour of the morning to…”
“It’s the Thirteen, sir,” Bernard explained. “They want to meet immediately to discuss the Gomulka situation.”
“What Gomulka situation?”
Bernard had made a good start at explaining the events of last night to Uncle Larry when the guards came and blindfolded us all. We were led down to the basement. I could hear the whine of the servers’ fans as we passed the Network Operations room.
The steel door in the tabby wall of the basement of the Jekyll Island Club Hotel – I was confident the guards were taking us through it. We walked through a long corridor, sounds of our footsteps reflecting and echoing off the walls. Then we
were led up some stairs, around a couple of corners, and we stopped. The hoods and blindfolds were ripped off us. The light nearly blinded me.
Seven… no eight robed figures sat at a table. I recognized the room from my previous visit when I set up the switch in the network closet at the Sans Souci.
“Worshipful Master,” a standing robed man turned and faced the table, “the Circle is closed, yet we have four uninitiated strangers among us who have not yet sworn themselves to the Inner Circle.”
“The Circle must be closed,” intoned the robed figures.
“Junior Warden, swear in the strangers,” the Worshipful Master ordered.
The Junior Warden approached, holding an ancient leather-bound book in his left hand and with his right hand up and facing us. “Place your left hand on the Book, raise your right hand, and repeat after me: I do most solemnly swear…”
The oath and charge were enough to freeze my blood. I took it under false pretenses, fully intending to betray my word and pay back the Circle’s duplicity with my own. I could only hope the God on whose behalf I’d just falsely sworn my fealty would understand and forgive my treachery.
“Be seated,” the Junior Warden finished.
“You have sworn an oath of secrecy and loyalty to the Circle,” the Worshipful Master advised us. “This is a solemn oath, for you have promised to absolve any within the Circle from killing you should you disclose our secrets or fail in the faithful performance of your duties and responsibilities to us. Do you understand the oath you have sworn?”
“Yes,” we all answered.
“Your Oaths shall be recorded in the Book,” the Junior Deacon advised us.
“Stand up, Bernard,” the Worshipful Master barked. “As Director of Academic Affairs, Gomulka is one of yours. We all want to know what the hell you and he are up to.”
“Worshipful Master,” the stress in Bernard’s voice came through, “we’ve had… concerns about Gomulka for a while.”
“Concerns? Why,” he asked, “have your concerns not been brought to our attention before now?” Bernard seemed paralyzed. Larry stood and maintained a respectful silence. “Mister…?”
“Tolliver, Worshipful Master,” Larry replied calmly. “Lawrence Tolliver, candidate member of Team 500. I’m CEO of Tolliver Corporation and I’m the principal backer of the Civic Circle’s Social Justice Initiative or SJI. Like, I’m sure, many of us in the room, I was disappointed by the lack of progress Professor Gomulka made at Georgia Tech last year.
“The premise was simple: a testbed to demonstrate that complete social justice convergence was possible, even at a university in a traditionally conservative state with a strong science, technology, engineering, and math curriculum – areas that have tended to resist convergence. Despite ample funding and thorough preparation, the Social Justice Initiative failed to place our preferred candidate, Dr. Cindy Ames, as Dean of Engineering.
“We did score a partial victory, of sorts, in the campaign that led to the removal of the Chinese spy, Professor Wu Chen, and his accomplice and probably partner in crime, Professor Marlena Graf. The circumstances, though, appear ambiguous, and some are portraying the professors we removed as martyrs.
“I believe the failures of last year raised serious questions about the suitability of Professor Gomulka to lead the effort. I expressed those reservations yesterday to some on the Oversight Council in private, in anticipation of a full discussion with the SJI Board of Directors tomorrow. Last night’s events… well, now my concerns about Gomulka’s performance have become outright alarm and bewilderment at his actions.”
“So you have no idea what he may have been up to?”
“No, Worshipful Master.” Bernard, Amit, and I echoed Larry’s denial.
“Gomulka was Bernard’s subordinate,” one of the other men at the table pointed out.
“With respect, I don’t believe Bernard can be blamed, let alone me,” Larry replied confidently. “As I recall, Gomulka came highly recommended by several prominent figures among Team 500, even a backer or two from among the Thirteen, or so I’m told. Bernard chose him, and I endorsed Bernard’s choice on your recommendations. Now is not the time for recriminations, however. We need to understand what Gomulka did, why he did it, and converge on a consensus story to share with the public. Our formal program kicks off in a couple of hours, so we don’t have time to waste.”
I admired the way Uncle Larry deftly diverted attention away from himself, and by implication, the rest of us.
“Well said,” the Worshipful Master cut off an angry retort from the man who’d been accusing Bernard. He glanced down at his notes. “Was Gomulka duped, or were his actions deliberate and intentional? Does anyone have anything relevant to offer?”
“Either case reflects poorly on Gomulka, Worshipful Master,” pointed out another man sitting at the table.
“True,” the Worshipful Master noted, “but not what I asked. Anything relevant?” There was a long silence.
“Worshipful Master, I would like to hear from Gomulka’s associates and assistants their opinions.”
“Indeed,” the Worshipful Master agreed. “Stand up,” he commanded. You on the end, who are you and what do you know about this?”
“I’m Amit Patel, Worshipful Master. I’m a candidate member of Civic Youth, a member of Professor Gomulka’s Social Justice class, and I was to be his teaching assistant in the fall. I can only say that I have no idea what the Professor may have been doing. Bernard did speak with Pete and me here last night about our experience at Georgia Tech. We told him we were concerned that Professor Gomulka was… distracted: not giving the Social Justice Initiative the full benefit of his time and energy.”
“You,” the Worshipful Master pointed at me. “Peter?”
“Yes, Worshipful Master.”
“Do you have anything to add?”
“We thought Professor Gomulka was a well-meaning ally of social justice who merely might not be the best candidate to lead a bare-knuckles fight against the reactionary establishment at Georgia Tech. We had no idea that he might be pursuing some kind of… alternate agenda, or working with some other parties at… cross purposes.”
“Did he have other affiliations or associations?”
“He was very close to one of the deans at Georgia Tech.” I named him and gave details. That dean was a real weasel and one of Gomulka’s allies against Professor Muldoon. I wasn’t going to pass the up the opportunity to throw him under the bus. I could see one of the Thirteen writing a note and handing it to the Warden. The Warden stepped out of the room.
“Professor Gomulka was a master of the indirect approach,” I continued. “He liked to work behind the scenes using the Dean to influence campus administration and his Social Justice students to create the impression of grassroots support for his initiatives. He was a master of intrigue. My concern was he favored the indirect approach instead of more direct action. I could see him faking this girlfriend so he’d have some kind of an alibi if his plan went south.”
“Gomulka wasn’t all that skilled at information technology, Worshipful Master,” Amit picked up on my lead. “It should be possible to trace the supposed girlfriend’s emails back to him if he was faking it."
“Omnitia turned over all the logs they had on Gomulka, Worshipful Master,” one of the Thirteen noted. “The FBI… our FBI,” he added smugly, “haven’t been able to trace it. The IP addresses are from all over the place.” Good. We’d covered our… “Fortunately, one of the emails was sent through a compromised node. We’ve traced it to a Berkshire Inn. Rapid City, South Dakota.” I did my best to appear impassive, but damn. They must have cracked some of the TOR nodes and traced it back to Amit’s hotel network. “That took a fair amount of computer skill. Skill Gomulka simply didn’t have, Worshipful Master. He was clearly duped by a third party.”
“Or Gomulka was collaborating with someone with those skills…” I got a sharp look from him at my temerity in disputing one of the Thirteen. “W
orshipful Master,” I added as respectfully as I could. I’d have to be careful not to be too obvious in spreading doubt and suspicion.
“Bernard?”
“Worshipful Master,” he gulped. “Patel and Burdell here spoke with me last night – shared their reservations about Gomulka’s conduct at Georgia Tech. In retrospect his lack of performance at Georgia Tech may have reflected his distraction by and involvement in whatever led up to this incident. On my oath, I had no idea Gomulka was procuring this… unauthorized entertainment or why he did it.”
“So,” the Worshipful Master snorted in disgust, “no one has any clear idea what Gomulka was up to, whether he was duped, or who else might be involved. Splendid. Do any of you have anything to add?”
We stood in silence.
“Bernard, do remind our guests about the consequences of their oaths before they leave,” the Worshipful Master ordered. “You are dismissed.”
The guards entered, blindfolded us, and led us back to the Jekyll Island Club Hotel, returning us to the Federal Reserve Room, and removing our blindfolds.
“I know the score,” Larry preempted Bernard, “but we should remind these youngsters of the consequences of disobedience.”
Bernard nodded. “Our friends are listening to everything you say or do,” he noted. “Most of it goes by unnoticed, but if they turn their attention to you, they will be able to follow your every communication, your every movement, almost your every thought.”
“We understand,” Amit piped up, “but what if someone else leaks? What if people find out what’s going on here? Couldn’t we get in trouble?”
Bernard chuckled. “Who would believe it? The Circle has assets in place in many critical positions in law enforcement and the judicial system. They’ll make sure that any effort to reveal the truth, let alone seriously investigate or prosecute it never happens. If it is investigated, charges won’t be filed. If charges are filed, the prosecution will be sabotaged. If the prosecution goes forward, a Circle-controlled judge will throw the case out. If the case is ever heard, enough of the jurors will be Circle assets or leaned upon to deliver the right verdict. We have friends everywhere. The system is thoroughly firewalled, at least at the federal level, to protect us.”
The Brave and the Bold Page 21
