by C. C. Monö
The pressure of the exams, combined with high levels of anxiety and exhaustion, took its toll on the students. By the end of Tuesday, both Layla and Federico had fainted at their desks and were rolled out of class while the others laughed and shouted contemptuous remarks about how they were born to follow, not lead.
On Wednesday, just before Professor Plouffe’s exam on “Asian Leadership”, Aseem, a nervous wreck, threw himself over a wastepaper basket and spewed worse than a fire hose. Of course, the others showed him no mercy and Aseem experienced a brutal bantering. So it continued. Cordelia developed some kind of stress rash that crept further and further up her neck as the days passed. It was disgusting and Axel couldn’t look at her. Dalilah and Edward grew edgy and temperamental, while Izabella became cold-hearted and mean. No one could heckle others the way she did. Like a hen pecking seeds from the ground, she harassed the others until one of them, usually Dalilah, threw a tantrum, drawing laughter from everyone else.
The harsh attitude between the students, and the teachers’ unwillingness to interfere, would have concerned Axel at the beginning of the semester. Now he knew it was all just part of strengthening the students’ character. After all, the students would have to fight their way to the top of the global hierarchy and fight to remain there. There were no excuses. Leaders had to deal with this kind of pressure all the time.
Everyone struggled but Axel was determined to prove himself. He took one exam after the other, focusing on nothing else but what was next in line. He wrote his exams during the day and studied hard during the nights. He slept no more than three or four hours, yet somehow he pushed on, determined not to show any weakness.
CHAPTER 101
A week later, as the sun crawled down behind the horizon and warm winds swept through the busy streets of Brussels, students and teachers gathered in the restaurant for a ceremonial End of Term Dinner.
A nervous chatter filled the great hall, accompanied by the clinking of silverware and soft music playing in the background. On the wall behind the teachers’ table, the Academy logo glowed, and below it were the words: “You are our future. You are our hope.”
The meal itself was outstanding, yet Axel struggled with his appetite. He smiled, joked, and conversed with the others, but there was only one thing on his mind: the exam results.
He knew he’d done well. He’d listened to the other students discuss some of the questions, and from what he could gather, he was among the top three performers along with Thabo and Izabella. Of course, what truly mattered was who would snatch the top score. That was impossible to determine since one third of the exams were essays, graded as much on creativity and style of writing as on content.
Axel felt butterflies of steel fluttering around in his stomach. His dream, until his father crushed it, had been to become a journalist. He considered himself a decent writer, better than the other students, which made it quite plausible that he’d snatch first prize.
At last, when the burning candles on their table had reached their halfway mark, Principal Cunningham stood up. He’d lost a little weight since Axel last saw him, but other than that, he appeared to be in a fabulous mood. He gave a brief but hilarious speech, in which, with sophisticated witticism, he congratulated the students on having made it through the first six months of their training without losing their minds.
After a few minutes, when the students began to relax, the old principal fell silent. He adjusted his spectacles and picked up a gold envelope.
“And now what you’ve all been waiting for: your results.”
Without a word, he pulled out a card in the shape of the Academy logo and turned to the students. Axel held his breath, as did everyone else it seemed. The great hall was silent as a tomb. Scattered in the back stood E.K.A. employees, staring at the principal with tensed curiosity. Under the table, Axel crossed his fingers.
“The results of the mid-term exams are as follows: The best performing student this semester gathered a total of 319 points out of a possible 350. That’s an impressive score, so let me be the first to congratulate the winner…Mr Thabo Zulu!”
Cheerful applause broke out among the students. Lights flashed and hologram fireworks exploded below the ceiling. AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” began to play, and in the back, someone whistled.
Axel stared at the principal, engulfed by a new sense of disappointment that was so powerful it baffled him. He turned to the others and found them clapping with strained smiles and devious eyes.
“Well done, Thabo,” Paul said, his voice drowning in the noise.
Thabo tipped his head forward in silent appreciation.
“Yes, well done,” Axel whispered, his voice croaky and flat.
Izabella said nothing. She was sitting next to Axel, hands in her lap and her face calm. He was impressed until he by chance happened to see her small hands squeezing her napkin so hard, her knuckles were white.
“Now,” Principal Cunningham said and raised his hands. The music died. “Ms Martins, you came in second, with 317 points. Also a very good result.”
More applause followed.
“Damn,” Izabella hissed. “Just three bloody points from victory.”
Axel didn’t care. Aggravated, he rubbed his palms against his pants. Not first and not second? How was that possible?
“Third place goes to Mr Reed. You received 313 points. Well done. Ms Izzati and Mr Kamala, you share fourth place with 312 points each. Mr Harris, you got 310.5 points…”
Principal Cunningham continued down his list until, with unruffled arrogance, he informed everyone that Axel had received the lowest score of everyone. 283 points! It was like being slapped in the face by a wrecking ball. Axel tried to ignore the horrible feeling of humiliation, but to come in last…it was worse than being rolled out of class in one of Dr Vella’s ridiculous wheelchairs.
At a nearby table, Cordelia and Julie giggled. Axel threw them a deadly glare but they just laughed. Beside him, Thabo, Izabella, and Paul exchanged looks. Axel knew what they were thinking. They were embarrassed to have him in their study group. He felt his anger bubble to the surface.
“Well, that’s it, folks,” the principal confirmed and peering up over the rim of his glasses. “You’ve all done well, but before we move on to the bar and get the mid-term party started, let’s toast our winner, Mr Thabo Zulu!”
Axel stared at the glass in front of him. He was happy for Thabo but to come last…a soft hand slid up his left thigh.
“Relax,” Izabella whispered while raising her glass in the air with her left hand. “We’ll talk about it, but, for now, relax.”
The tenderness in her voice surprised him. She ran her hand up and down his thigh. Then her lips curved into a cunning smirk and she gave him a little squeeze, dangerously close to his private parts.
Axel held his breath. A part of him was getting aroused, no doubt about it, but more than anything, he felt annoyed. What the hell was wrong with this woman? He’d just been humiliated in front of everyone!
Izabella withdrew her hand. Axel was trying to decide what to say when he noticed that, on the other side of the table, Paul was staring at him. Great. Their eyes interlocked; Paul emptied his glass and threw a pained glance at Izabella before looking away.
Axel couldn’t take it anymore. Even Professor Plouffe and Professor Evans’ rather amusing wiggle on the dance floor wasn’t enough to improve his spirit. The others’ sarcastic comments and jokes about his failure proved too much. He excused himself, blaming a bad headache, and hurried back to the elevators, leaving the party behind.
By the time he entered his apartment, the disappointment, shame and frustration seemed to smother him. He couldn’t breathe.
“Shit!” he bellowed and threw his tuxedo jacket on the floor, kicking it several times and cursing as he did. Yanking off his shoes, and with impressive force, he threw them into the living room, breaking a vase of fresh roses and knocking down a pile of books from the coffee table. “Shiiiiit!”
He let out a deep moan and sunk to the floor. Exhausted as if completing an intensive workout, he leaned back against the wall and stared at the massive aquarium. What was the point of continuing now? He was a failure. A disgrace. The others would never respect him now.
Axel sat motionless for a long time until he, with great sorrow, had made up his mind. He would have to quit.
He was still sitting on the floor when his phone began to vibrate. According to an automatized calendar message, Axel had a meeting at the foyer relax area in ten minutes. Now who would want a meeting with him at this hour? On a day like this? In the foyer? All the teachers, students, and most of the servants were at the restaurant celebrating the end of the first semester.
With a bad feeling in his gut, Axel stepped out into the night-lit foyer. The evening receptionist curtsied and the guards on duty bowed their heads. Axel gave them all a quick nod as he made his way to the lily pond. No one was waiting for him when he arrived, so he strolled over to the water where he watched colourful fish swim beneath the surface.
He stood there, feeling sorry for himself. Suddenly there was movement behind him.
“Hello, Mr Hallman,” said a voice so sweet, that, for the briefest of moments, his heart forgot its purpose. Despite everything, he smiled, and when she stepped up beside him, a familiar tingle dashed through his chest, stirring up emotions. She was more beautiful than ever in a sparkling, rose-gold gown, and he tried not to stare.
“Hi Nicole. What are you…”
“I only have a few minutes,” she interrupted, “so you need to listen.”
Nicole’s directness and lack of formality wiped the smile of Axel’s face in an instance. He tensed.
“Okay.”
“What I’m about to tell you must not be revealed to anyone. Ever! Can you promise me that?”
Mystified, and somewhat worried, Axel nodded.
“I promise.”
Nicole’s green eyes bore deep into his.
“You’re being punished,” she began. There was a long pause as Axel tried to understand what she’d just said. “They didn’t want you to win.”
“What…? I’m confused.”
“You did well, Axel. On your exams, I mean.”
“What are you talking about? I got the lowest score.”
“No you didn’t. You got one point below Mr Zulu.”
Axel let out a laugh that sounded hollow, even to him.
“Are you trying to make me feel good?”
Nicole shook her head, her expression deadly serious.
“They re-marked your test. They went through your essays and stripped them of points.”
Axel didn’t move.
“Are you saying they changed my grade so I’d come in last?”
“Yes.”
“Why the hell would they do that?”
“Because they can’t let you win. You…” Nicole spun around, eyes widening. “Did you hear that? Someone’s coming.” Without warning, she grabbed Axel’s hand and leaned up close to his ear. “You have to conform,” she whispered. “Your life depends on it!”
“I’m quitting,” Axel blurted. “I’ve made up my mind. I…”
Nicole’s face went pale.
“You can’t,” she hissed and threw a glance over her shoulder. “You don’t understand. You and Ms Wangai…” There was movement behind the greenery. “Please don’t quit. There are things you need to know.”
Then Nicole did something remarkable. She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek; a warm, delicate kiss that triggered an explosion of wicked feelings within him.
For a split second they both stared at each other.
“I…eh…wow,” Axel mumbled, but Nicole wasn’t listening.
As if someone had pulled a mask over her face, her usual smile returned, her face relaxed and she turned with grace as a guard stepped out from behind the greenery.
“Good evening, Mr Hallman,” the guard said and bowed her head. Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Nicole. “Ms Swan, Principal Cunningham wants to speak with you.”
“Thank you. I’ll be with him in a minute.”
“No, Ms Swan. He wants you in his office immediately. He demands it.”
EPILOGUE
In a dark corner of the Concert Hall balcony, the old man leaned over to his son. “I got a message for you from Smooth this morning,” he whispered.
Below, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra tackled a few gentle notes of the otherwise emphatic and majestic third movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.
“What kind of message?” the young man wondered.
“You are to leave for London next Friday.”
A forceful crescendo cut the old man off. Leaning back, he closed his eyes with a blissful expression on his face, letting the brilliance of Beethoven fall upon him. The young man furrowed his brows in frustration, but settled back to wait.
“You and Cat have an assignment,” his father explained a minute later, when the music finally softened enough for the two of them to continue their whispering. “And it’s a delicate one.”
The young man shifted in his chair. He glanced around the hall, ashamed of the excitement growing in his heart. “Of course. You know I’ll do whatever I have to, but, I must ask, if it’s a delicate task, why aren’t you going?”
The smile on his father’s face faded and he leaned in even closer. “We have intercepted information about a simmering tension within the Academy management. It needs to be analysed.”
Stunned, the young man stared at his father. “What kind of tension?”
“Sorry, son, I can’t tell you more at this point.” With a discrete motion, he passed the young man an envelope. “Tickets are in there. Cat will pick you up at Amersham station at four p.m. By then she’ll know the details of your task.”
In the dim light, the young man accepted the envelope and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket. With mixed feelings of nervousness and pride, he settled back in his chair as another crescendo erupted.
This was it. He was now officially part of the team that would change everything. The team that would start the revolution.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
We live in a world that glorifies the concept of leadership and individualism. It doesn’t matter what field we look at, be it politics, business, science, arts or something else, success is often attributed to a single individual. This, of course, is rarely the case. Take the process of writing a book as an example. In its simplest form, authors offer their words and sentences to readers (or listeners) who, through their thoughts and imagination, turn these words into stories. Without readers, the story remains untold. So, with this in mind, I want to thank you for reading this book. Together we breathe life into the world of the E.K.A., something I couldn’t have done alone.
Of course, this book is the product of many different forms of collaboration. Several remarkable and skilled people have participated in the making of this book. My wonderful wife Cindy has read the manuscript an incredible six times, each time helping me develop it further with her clever and insightful ideas. Henrik Beyer, my good friend and writer, has given me invaluable support and assistance throughout this project. The same is true for my good-hearted friend and agent-in-disguise, Anna-Liza Stojkovska, who, after reading the manuscript, has shown an extraordinary determination to get this book into the hands of those who might enjoy it. As any author will tell you, that kind of support is priceless!
My gratitude also extends to my father Ralph Monö, who continues to inspire and challenge me as a writer. He, like Christina Ross and Elisabeth Monö-Persson, are all avid readers and were therefore the perfect (though perhaps unfortunate) guinea pigs during the early stages of the manuscript. So were Adam Amberg and Anna Rex, who both have a unique ability to identify things that others tend to miss. This is a quality that they share with Fredrik Reibäck and Håkan Ireholm, who read the final draft and returned it with superb comments.
Moreover, I�
��ve been fortunate enough to work with Shelly Stinchcomb, a phenomenal editor, whose witty, constructive and thought-provoking comments made the process of polishing this manuscript immensely educational as well as enjoyable.
I’ve also had the great pleasure of working with Donna Hillyer, who proofread my text and came back with suggestions on how to improve it further.
Last, but definitely not least, I want to thank my daughters, Zoey and Emmy, my mother Birgitta, sister Cecilia, parents-in-law, Kari and Ove, and everyone else who has not yet been mentioned but who has helped, inspired, challenged, and cheered me on throughout this project. You are all part of this book and for that I will be forever thankful.
Chris Monö
25th February 2017
CCMONO.COM
Don’t miss the second book in this series – THE BOX. Out Spring 2018.
You can also visit www.ccmono.com for pictures, “behind the book” material, and exclusive information about the E.K.A.