*
Looking at the card and destroyed book on the dining room table in the light of day made the events of the night before all too real. Clearly it had not been a bad dream caused by indigestion or alcohol.
Despite the echo of the warning, he was still curious about the meeting on the card. Being a well adjusted young man, he believed that if the situation arose, he would know an evil proposal if he heard one.
He continued to debate the issue with himself as he changed clothes and ate a quick meal. Finally he found himself standing in the hall, staring at his boots and jacket in the closet. Like a diver on the edge of a cliff he took a deep breath and plunged in, deciding to see where events would lead him. For too long he had deferred various offers, never wanting to take a chance on the unknown. Too many potential opportunities, both professional and personal had passed him by through his inability to act. This time he would do something.
With a new found determination he walked through his front door, down the hall and stairs of his building, exiting upon the sidewalk of the street outside.
The storm outside continued undaunted by time. Although the rain had settled to a slight drizzle, the winds had grown stronger, causing the rain to mimic the bow spray of a ship at sea.
Rather than take his car Pierce decided to walk the minimal number of blocks to his destination. The hydrated air seemed exhilarating and added to his already anticipatory mood. Each step he took towards the mysterious building on St. Patrick Street, the more determined he was to follow through with the invitation.
After several blocks of brisk walking he turned a corner and sighted the building. It was halfway down the street and still as ordinary as the day before. The stores on either side were open and seemed to be doing a standard amount of business. Parents with their children going into the bookshop intent upon raiding the children’s book section, professionals buying cuts of meat from the butcher for dinner parties, and hung-over students grabbing liquids and snacks from the convenience store. It was an altogether normal scene of midday Saturday shopping. None of the impending danger prophesized by the intruder of the night before seemed present.
Without hesitation Pierce went up to the door marked 111, prepared to enter. With a quick glance he noticed the absence of a doorbell or doorknocker. Shrugging, he decided he would have to simply knock, hoping that his host would hear him inside. Deciding that three forceful knocks would be appropriate for the situation, Pierce raised his fist and began knocking. Upon the second knock the door creaked open and continued to part, leaving him staring into the void with his arm held up in midair.
The feeling of determination that had imbued his walk started to slowly drain from his body. Trying to maintain his composure, Pierce decided he should call out.
“Hello?” he called into the void, conscious of his deliberate attempt at keeping his voice from cracking. “Hello, I received a letter yesterday. It gave this time and address.”
The silence was broken by footsteps from above him. Stepping inside the foyer, Pierce was presented with a single narrow staircase leading directly up to the second floor. Finally the door at the top of the stairs opened and a balding gentleman in a three-piece pinstriped suit appeared.
“Pardon the state of the door, you were right to knock and enter. Please come up.” The voice was well educated without the hint of an accent.
Ascending the staircase Pierce felt as though he were climbing an oak tree from the inside. The stairs and walls were all build from dark wood. Although not apparent at first glance, the walls were finely made with mouldings and carvings.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Pierce noticed that the man appeared much smaller than from below. Despite a protruding gut pushing against his waistcoat pockets, he was short and weak looking. Both shook hands as a pair of businessmen on a first meeting.
“Good day Commandant Pierce, so very good of you to show up on such short notice. I trust you found us without trouble?”
“Yes… No trouble at all… Pardon, but you just called me…” Pierce tried to answer his questions affably before he realized he had received that strange title again. Before he could continue the man interrupted.
“Yes, well I suppose it is the weekend. I can address you as Mr. Pierce if you prefer. Please take a seat.” He spoke quickly, but not rushed as they entered the room at the top of the stairs, finally motioning to one of a pair of chairs in front of a fireplace.
The fireplace was filled with a pile of glowing embers, projecting heat but very little light. The room itself was a continuation of the staircase; solid oak paneling, with bookcases surrounding the room, broken only by a pair of windows flanking the fireplace. Beneath the chairs was a crimson carpet, with faint designs along the edge. There was a table with a couple chairs in the corner. Behind that stood two doors, presumably the washroom and closet.
“I would like to thank you again for being so prompt and accepting the offer of this interview. Furthermore I would like to congratulate you on being offered said interview. The offer itself is very rare and we bestow it with great deliberation.” Noticing that Pierce was about to question what was being offered, the man raised his hand. “Please, all will be explained in due time.”
“First I will introduce myself and my organization. I am Percival Drummond, Secretary of the Black Tower Hunt Club. It is based on the traditional English hunt club, though with some modern differences. However it is mostly a club for like-minded professionals with the right mixture of credentials and characteristics.”
“What kind of credentials and characteristics would these be?”
“Well you needn’t worry about that, as you clearly have them. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Uhh, clearly, yes of course,” uttered Pierce trying to sound more confident than he felt. So far there seemed little to be concerned about. Perhaps the evil the men in black had earlier alluded to was in fact be the hunting of animals. Perhaps the intruders were animal activists. He decided to find out, as he had no wish to kill animals or have activists hound his every move.
“Now, what exactly do you hunt? I’m not sure I…”
“You needn’t worry. Foxhunting has been banned for years. We no longer hunt to kill animals. It is more of a sport now. But I wouldn’t be fixated on the hunting aspect. We’re more of a club now, and unlike your traditional gentleman’s club, we also recruit female members.”
Now I must ask you, have you told anyone of the letter we sent you or our present interview? Since this is a rather exclusive club we would prefer discretion on the part of our members.”
Now fully convinced of the nature of the nights intruders, Pierce decided not to inform his host of them. Besides, he had not told them about the interview. They already knew.
“No I did not.”
“Splendid, I think you will fit in nicely. Now if you agree to our offer I th-”
“But what exactly are you offering,” interrupted Pierce.
“Well I shall tell you,” replied Mr. Drummond, irritated by the interruption. “You will be offered a place in the club. This entails access to all of our facilities, invitations to all of our events, and all the subsequent benefits. In addition there are other members whom you will become acquainted with. I do not think I exaggerate when I say they are all unique people of influence and intelligence.”
“Who are these members and what exactly are the benefits you alluded to?” inquired Pierce, straddling the line between curiosity and suspicion.
“I cannot possibly divulge their identities,” replied Drummond quickly, his calm veneer cracking into a frown. “And the benefits are too numerous and staggering to provide here.”
Startled by this sudden change of tone, Pierce began to protest the response provided. Seeing this, Drummond’s demeanor immediately returned to its previous gentle state.
“You will have to excuse me. I am not used to having so many questions during the r
ecruiting phase. Usually prospective members are more than eager to join.”
“I am interested in your proposal, but it just seems so outlandish. I haven’t accomplished nearly enough to be included in the type of club you seem to be promoting.”
“That is understandable, however one must sometimes look for potential rather than experience. We have a complete dossier on you and believe you have great potential.”
With that he lifted a black attaché case from beside his chair and placed it on his lap. From within he removed a manila file folder and began to read from it.
“Your name is Patrick Pierce, born at the Ottawa General at 7:26 in the morning. You attended Brookville High School, despite the fact that your family is Catholic.”
“How did you know that about my family?”
“What, their being Catholic?” inquired Drummond peering over the file folder. “You needn’t worry about that. Our members have many different faiths.” Returning to the file he continued, “I see they emigrated from Shannon Ireland, though they were originally from Belfast in the North. Your father a soldier, your mother…”
“You made your point,” Pierce shot testily. He still found the mention of his parents a sore subject, despite their passing almost ten years ago. They had had an impact on him that he continued to discover everyday.
While they had been alive, his parents had been quiet about their past and lived a moderately sedate and anonymous life. They had imparted these qualities on young Patrick, teaching him to blend in and observe others closely. Together they had played games that Pierce later realized were meant to teach him the ability to think logically and to stay calm in distressing circumstances. He had thought nothing of his curious upbringing until after they had died in a car accident. He had been in his second year of university when the accident happened, shattering the simple routine of his life. At the small wake he met his maternal grandfather for the first time, reanimating his dormant familial curiosity.
Despite displaying the hardiness of a farmer working tough land, he was quick with a joke and even quicker with a smile. The old man took an instant liking to his grandson, inwardly ashamed for having not seen him before then. So when Pierce asked about his parents, he found himself divulging their long kept secrets.
To begin with Pierce was not his father’s real last name, it was actually Wallace. He had been an officer with the 22 SAS Regiment, assigned to Northern Ireland during the Troubles. He had been a born a leader and natural soldier, earning the respect of his men and adversaries alike. One rainy night in Belfast he came across a young woman being attacked by a group of drunken soldiers near a checkpoint. Their excuse was that the woman was a known IRA sympathizer and potential member. Their colourful response to Wallace’s order to place themselves in his custody for court martial was met by instant action. Within minutes they were all face down on the ground, arms bound, and bleeding from their faces.
The girl was Bridget McPhee, Pierce’s mother, and she fell instantly in love with the soldier before her. It was true that she was a member of the IRA and had been responsible for some daring but little known assassinations of senior officials. She rationalized her love for a British soldier by the fact he was actually Scottish. However this proved of little consequence to the local IRA Commanders who viewed the young couple as a danger to be dealt with. When they refused to leave each othe,r a bounty was placed on both of them. Due to their training and respective professions, the pair easily procured money, passports, and way out of Belfast before the hunt truly began.
They crossed the border into Ireland with little difficulty, stopping by Bridget’s father’s farm for a day on their way to Shannon. Unlike his Fenian brothers, old McPhee saw the love between the young couple and realized their fighting days were over. They flew from Shannon to New York and slowly made their way North to Canada. The young couple settled in Ottawa as Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, raising a son in peace. Patrick had appreciated discovering the truth to his past and had stayed close to his grandfather from then on.
As Drummond continued speaking, Pierce knew that it was only because of his parents and his upbringing that he had stayed moderately composed so far.
“You now have the ability to make a change in your life. I am providing you with the ability and means to do great things. All you need to do is sign on and become a member of the club. Once you have done this we can immediately travel to the Manor. I can have some people collect your things and have them delivered, though truth be told you will not require much of them.”
“Manor, what are you talking about?”
“Sorry I must have glossed over that. Membership includes a set of rooms at Ravenwood Manor, a large staff to look after your needs, and a considerable allowance.”
“What if I don’t want to move out?” replied Pierce suddenly wary.
“Why would you not?” Mr. Drummond replied in confusion. “However, if you feel more comfortable remaining at your current lodgings, that is your prerogative. I would suggest that you at the very least take a tour of the Manor.”
Pierce was now at a crossroads of opinion. If this offer were nefarious in any way, surely Drummond would have provided a take-it or leave-it attitude, forcing him to accept despite his reservations.
“I know this is a lot to accept in such a short time, but we are anxious to have your response to our offer,” he said while removing some paper from the attaché case. “Are you ready to sign the membership so we can begin? The car is down on the street at this moment, waiting to take us to the Manor.”
“Well,” replied Pierce with newly acquired apprehension, “I would like to read those documents first if I might, then take a day or two to decide if that is alright.”
“Of course,” offered Mr. Drummond courteously and without apparent disappointment. “We wouldn’t have it any other way. It is obviously a big decision and one must not be rushed into these things. What do you say to a quick drink in celebration, as I’m sure you will inevitably realize the magnitude of the offer you have just received.”
With that he rose from his chair and moved to the sideboard where numerous glasses and decanters sat.
“Irish Whiskey satisfactory?” inquired Mr. Drummond over his shoulder.
“Absolutely,” replied Pierce. Looking around the room he added, “this is a strange place to do business out of. From the outside you’d never realize what kind of rooms where inside. Plus it is a very strange part of town for a club such as yours to have offices.”
“We find the setup discreet and the area sufficiently anonymous,” he replied handing over the drink. Saluting with the glass he proceeded to take a drink. After the first sip he noticed Pierce had yet to raise his glass and was staring at him.
“Surely you don’t think I would be so melodramatic as to do anything to your drink,” he said, obviously offended.
“Of course not. Sorry I was just lost in thought for a second.” The fact that, that was precisely what he had been thinking made Pierce blush slightly and take a quick drink from his glass.
Mr. Drummonds gaze turned from one of indifference to one of intensity. Slowly a smug smile began to appear as the edges of his mouth raised slightly.
“Well now that you’re drugged, I hope that you will accept our offer with slightly more enthusiasm.”
Pierce chuckled and was about to say something in response but found himself unable to speak. Slowly his vision began to blur like the view from inside a windshield immerging into water. The last thing he saw was Mr. Drummond walking over to one of the two doors, opening it slowly.
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 6