by Jillian Dodd
I do everything I can not to flinch at the timing.
"That sound about right, Aleksandr?"
Aleksandr leans back in his seat and thinks for a second while taking a puff. Then he nods. "Sounds about right to me."
Malcolm hands me his phone. When I see the photo, even though I am expecting it, I'm so shocked that I drop it.
"Sorry, I'm such a klutz," I say, making a scene over being sure the screen didn't crack when it hit the hardwood floor. "It looks like one of those crop circles, only out in the desert."
"That's exactly what I said," Malcolm says with a laugh. "But the damn thing is efficient. And we'd like to start building these in more cities around the world."
"I don't get it. Was this thing worth giving up his son for?"
"It could change the world, quite honestly," Aleksandr states. "Even though my company was built on the oil and gas industry, imagine a world where we didn't need it. Where we could live green. It would revolutionize our society's impact on the environment."
"That's not what I asked."
"No," Aleksandr says fiercely. "I would never have given up my son. I would have found another way to make it happen."
"Are you interested in joining The Society, Huntley?" Malcolm asks, trying to change the subject to something more pleasant. "Maybe it's time we petition to allow women in the group."
"If my father was obsessed with The Society, then I want no part of it. If you'll excuse me, I think I need some air," I say, suddenly getting up and getting the hell out of there.
As soon as the door shuts and Huntley leaves, the two men look at each other, shaking their heads.
"Can you believe Ares was capable of that?" Aleksandr asks.
"Honestly, no. Yet it doesn't surprise me either," Malcolm replies. "He was relentless when he set out on a path."
"But his own son? His heir?" Aleksandr argues.
Malcolm shrugs. "At least, in the end, he left them everything. Maybe, in his warped mind, he thought it was enough. What's your assessment of his children?"
"Ari is a good kid. Stand-up guy. A little too rigid possibly," Aleksandr says. "Definitely a rule follower. But, boy, he looks like Ares. It almost freaks me out a little."
"Back when he was fun to be around," Malcolm adds.
"He always got wrapped up in things, but sometimes, brilliant minds work differently. It seemed the older he got, the more he'd go away for longer time periods until he just finally stopped coming out. What do you think of Huntley? She is beautiful."
"Yes," Malcolm agrees. "But you can see the cunningness in her eyes. She's smart and driven."
"And, right now, very pissed off."
"Pissed off or hurt?" Malcolm asks. "It was hard to tell for sure."
"Oh, she's definitely pissed. If Ares were here in this room, her look alone would have killed him."
"I feel bad for her," Malcolm says. "Maybe we shouldn't have told her."
"If I had known before this moment that Ares gave his son away, I wouldn't have told her, but I was just as shocked as she was, and I couldn't hide it. Even I don't have that good of a poker face."
Malcolm laughs. "You have always had the best poker face of all of us." He looks around the room, feeling melancholy. "I miss the old days sometimes, Aleksandr. You, me, Ares, Jack Junior, and Gio--before he became king."
"Do you think she will tell her brother?"
"Absolutely not," Malcolm replies.
"So the truth isn't important to her? Interesting," Aleksandr states. "In a way, that makes her even more like Ares. He could be a cold son of a bitch sometimes."
"Obviously more than we knew," Malcolm says, taking a slug. "I wish Peter were more like her. It's too bad Ares didn't bother to get to know her. She could have taken over his empire. She'd be lethal in the boardroom. With the right mentor, she could have taken it to greater heights. What do you think about petitioning The Society to allow her entrance?"
"You heard her; she has no desire."
"I do hope I can get her to go with Peter to TerraSphere. Maybe he could learn from her," Malcolm says hopefully.
"Doubtful," Aleksandr says. "I don't think your son will ever take to the business. But he is still young. Anything is possible. We weren't exactly responsible at his age."
"Lorenzo seems like he's stepped up to the plate. With all that's gone on with Montrovia though, I worry about him."
"He seems to fancy Huntley," Aleksandr states.
"And?"
"And I'm thinking Montrovia would be lucky to have her for its queen."
"That would make his father proud." Malcolm smiles. Then he picks up his glass and touches it to his friend's. "To Montrovia."
I leave the room, emotions swirling, and try to act normal as I quickly make my way to my room. When I get there, I lie on my bed and try to make sense of it all. I want to talk to Ari about this. I know I should, but I can't tell him the truth. I would hurt him. Instead, I text Lorenzo even though he's probably still in a meeting.
Moments later, he is at my door, looking like he rushed directly here.
"What's wrong?" he asks the minute he sees my face.
I don't reply, just usher him into the room and shut the door tightly. Then I lead him into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I don't want to risk anyone overhearing anything.
"Is it true you're going to be betrothed to Lizzie?"
"Yes."
"Is that why you've been pushing to court me?"
"Huntley, I know our time together has been short, but I am in love with you. Before I met you, I would have gladly done my civic duty for my country and accepted an arranged marriage. We would have spent a few years conceiving heirs, and once that was done, I would have been free to have discreet affairs. But, now, the thought of marrying Lizzie turns my stomach. For I am in love with you. I desire no one else. You stimulate me in so many ways. You're brilliant and gorgeous and tough, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. I know you're in the middle of something, and I don't want to rush our relationship. But I do have a ticking clock. I must be married by my next birthday or give up the crown."
"When will your engagement to Lizzie be announced?"
"Soon, unfortunately. Honestly, I have considered giving up the crown for you, but I am unsure if you return my affection."
I swallow. "I learned something today. Something I have to tell you about. I need advice, and I trust you."
He pulls me into his arms. "All I want to know right now, Huntley, is if you love me."
I look into his eyes, and I cannot lie. Not about this. But I still can't say those three simple words. "I am afraid that I do."
He kisses me. It's a hard, passionate kiss.
One that makes me sad.
Because I know I shouldn't have said what I did. I should be encouraging him to marry Lizzie. To focus on his country, not worry about his heart. I fear that I will do nothing but break it.
When our kiss is over, he keeps me close. "Now that we have that resolved, what did you need to tell me?"
"I believe that Ares Von Allister told my mother that my brother had died at birth and then gave him to a general as a bribe to have our government build something called the TerraSphere in Iraq."
"He gave his own son away?"
"Yes. I know my mother would never have agreed to it. She mourned every year on my birthday. She once told me that they never let her see him. That it never allowed her to grieve his loss properly. Now, I understand why they didn't; he was still alive. I know I should tell Ari the truth, but I just can't bring myself to do it."
"It's understandable that you don't want to hurt him, Lee, but if it were me, I would want to know. It's part of his heritage. And, based on what you said, it might be important in your case."
I cock my head. "How so?"
"I want to help you unravel all of this, but I must be careful in how I go about it. When I left you earlier, I was going to speak to the heads of the Montrovian royal
forces, but after much consideration, I decided to delay that conversation."
"Why?"
"Because you got me thinking about my uncle's and father's deaths. Add to that the things Ophelia planned to do, including feeding me to the sharks, and it's all fishy. Pun intended. Everything happened so quickly after that--my father's death, my coronation, taking on the duties of my country--and I didn't take the time to process it all. I didn't see that it could all be connected. And it hit me; what if it isn't some kind of terrorist attack? What if there is a plot inside my own government or military?"
I blow out a deep breath of air, the weight of it settling in. "That wouldn't be good. Do you think you have a traitor in your midst?"
"I'm not sure, but the fact that Clarice was killed after Ophelia means she knew something and was silenced. So I did what you suggested and contacted Mossad. I have to be careful about who I trust. I'm sorry, but I won't be able to attend the tennis championship with you this afternoon. They are sending a high-level liaison to my home in London, where I have a secure facility in which to share sensitive information. I desperately need to know what they might know as well as help in uncovering the plot."
"There's something I haven't told you about yet, Lorenzo. After Clarice was shot, after she passed, before the police got there, Ari had a little time to go through her home. He was able to recover some items that we hoped might contain clues. We're still going through her personal diary, phone, and computer drive, but so far, we haven't come up with anything. But Ari brought an item that he found odd. Ophelia's closet was completely bare, except for an empty shoebox. He thought maybe the numbers on the outside related to an account of some kind. But, when I took the box apart, I found a one-hundred-dollar bill with the Montrovian royal crest. It looked similar to your currency with a few marked exceptions."
"What was different?"
"Instead of your father's photo, there was one of Ophelia. She was wearing what looked like the crown and robe from your coronation and was holding the Royal Scepter and the Rod of Equity and Mercy."
"How could that be?"
"Um, I don't know."
"No, I mean, she shouldn't have had access to the royal vault. Ever."
"Do they keep track of who goes in there?"
"Yes, they do. And, when I find out who allowed her in there, the traitor will be dealt with swiftly."
He starts to leave, eager to get to it.
"There's one more thing," I say. "She gave your country a new name. Arcadia."
"Arcadia? Why does that sound familiar?"
"I'm not sure if you've heard it recently, but in Greek mythology, it was where the god Pan lived in complete harmony with nature. During the Renaissance, it was seen throughout all art forms."
"It was Utopia. The large painted dome in the crown room features such art. Remember how Clarice was going on and on about that Terra Project--about living with nature in a fully green way? Isn't that essentially what Arcadia was?"
"Here's something else I just recently learned. Ares Von Allister developed a city similar to what Clarice described as the Terra Project. It was apparently a top-secret town built in the Iraqi desert during their reconstruction. It was designed by Ares, but building it was a joint venture between Von Allister Industries and Malcolm's and Aleksandr's companies.
"Remember when Peter said his father would be sending him somewhere to check out some project? That's the project. It was a success.
"And another crazy coincidence. When my mother died, she gave me her locket and told me it was top secret. All these years, I assumed that meant it was for my eyes only, not that it was actually top secret. But there was a flash drive in it. On the flash drive was a photo of what appears to be that project."
"Do you think that's what got your mother killed?"
"I think it's an awfully big coincidence if it's not. What if the reason she never introduced me to my father is because he was a bad man? What if she was investigating him? And what if former president John F. Hillford Sr. had her killed because she had seen or discovered something she wasn't supposed to?"
Lorenzo lowers his head into his hands, shaking it, trying to deal with all this information. Finally, he looks up at me and says, "It seems I have a vested interest in your work beyond your personal safety. From now on, will you please tell me everything?"
"You have my word."
He gives me a kiss and then says, "I must go now. After the match, will you come to my London residence and spend the night instead of coming back here?"
"That all depends."
"On what?" he asks, holding me close.
"On if you're going to show me this secret lair of yours."
He lets out a chuckle. "It would be my pleasure."
With Ari and Daniel having their interviews, Allie not showing up, and Lorenzo heading to his meeting, Peter and I end up being the only ones from our age group going into London for the Aegon Championships at the Queen's Club.
"Looks like it's just the two of us," Peter says with a quick glance across the terrace.
"Why isn't Allie coming with us?" I ask.
"She's feeling a little under the weather today," he states, then leans in and whispers to me. "A little too much champagne last night, I'm afraid."
"That sucks."
He rolls his eyes. "I don't think Allie is the girl for me."
"Really? She's so sweet."
"She's clueless. At first, I found it endearing. Now, I just find it annoying. I can't believe I'm going to say this because I'm going to sound like my father, but I guess it's possible that we agree on one thing. I need a woman who is a little more refined. Granted, she is completely gorgeous, but I don't have the inclination to teach her proper social grace and etiquette. Especially now that I'll be joining--" He stops speaking, his eyes big.
Remind me never to tell Peter a secret.
"The Society?" I finish.
He pulls me aside. "How do you know about that?"
"My brother and Daniel both have interviews today. I asked your dad what the deal was. My father was part of the group, so he told me a little about it. Mostly the history. I have no idea what really goes on, but I assume it's like any other boys' club--drinking, card playing, talking about women."
"It's much more than that. This group literally controls the world."
"And how do they do that exactly?" I ask.
He glances at his very expensive watch. "We have a little time before we leave. Come with me. I want to show you something."
I follow him back inside the house and down a long hall.
"I haven't gotten to see this part of the house yet," I mention.
"My parents do a lot of entertaining. Most of the areas you have been in are set up for that purpose. All the art and furnishings were selected to impress. You'll notice the art in this gallery is much different."
"It's more eclectic."
"Each piece chosen simply because my mother loved it. When we purchased this land, it came with a crumbling seven-hundred-year-old farmhouse. My father wanted to bulldoze the whole thing, but my mother was captivated by its charm. She insisted on restoring it. As a compromise, they built the new home in a similar style to the old one, restored it, and attached it to the main house with the long gallery. It now functions as a private family space."
"It's cool that your parents were able to save it. I've gotten to talk to your father quite a bit, but I haven't seen your mom much."
"Mom isn't nearly as social as my father," he says. "She is a bit of an introvert. They are total opposites, but it seems to work for them. It's pretty cool, really. They have been married and in love for over twenty years, unlike many of my school chums' parents who have divorced."
We step into a cozy and charming living area with a large stone fireplace, comfortable linen and velvet-covered furnishings, and old-fashioned wall sconces. There is a compact kitchen to our left and a set of French doors leading to a garden out back.
"I can see why y
our mother wanted to save this. It's so rustic and beautiful. I can just imagine building a fire and doing nothing but reading a good book all day."
"That's exactly what she would say. She's more creative than my father and could see its potential. Although my mother does tend to get what she wants, during the reconstruction, my father got something he wanted as well."
He walks over to a massive wooden writing table set in front of a picture window. I'm so enthralled by the trellis of roses outside, I almost don't notice him pull a desk drawer open and place his palm on a biometric scanner.
A panel slides open opposite the desk, and he leads me through it. "This house was built during a time when Europe was often at war, and we uncovered a tunnel and a vault when trying to shore up the foundation."
"A vault?"
"Yes, and its brick and stone design was actually quite efficient. My father dug deeper into the bedrock, then fortified the place with steel, and hid the entrance."
"What's in the vault? Paintings? Jewels?"
"Something much more valuable than that. And being that your father and my father are old friends, I suspect you have one of your own. Have you not discovered it yet?"
"Discovered what?"
He doesn't answer my question, simply raises his eyebrows playfully. Then he leads me down a spiral staircase and to a room that's not much bigger than a stone closet. He pauses to tap his foot three times on the bottom tread, and one of the rock walls opens, revealing a massive steel door. The kind you would see not at a local bank, but more like the Federal Reserve.
He places his palm on a screen, which causes a numeric pad to pop out. He enters a sequence of numbers and has his retina scanned, and then there is a hissing noise as the door opens.
I walk into the vault, unable to believe my eyes.
"Gold?"
"And seeds, among other things," Peter says, rolling his eyes. "My father and his doomsday planning. For a time in the United States it was actually illegal for citizens to own gold. And during the Great Depression, people had to hand over their gold to the government. Quite honestly, it could happen again. Some of the most powerful countries in the world right now are also the ones with the most debt."
"And you think there is a vault like this at my father's home?"
"I would suspect he has gold in more than one place. We have vaults like this in each one of our homes. The Society recommends it."