by Nancy Madore
Did she think she was superior to the people she helped? She was so appalled by this possibility that she started to cry. The very idea of thinking oneself superior was revolting to her. It was surely the source of all evil, the fuel for every kind of corruption. And she suddenly realized that anything could provide that fuel—skin color, sex, religion, neighborhood, social status, political party, country—it didn’t matter what it was, as long as it made people feel important and valuable. Instead of bettering themselves as individuals, they could let their affiliation provide their self-esteem.
The problem, of course, was when these affiliations became so vital to their members’ self-image that they no longer knew who they were without them. This was when their loyalty to the group would exceed their integrity. How easy this made it for the leaders of those affiliations to become corrupt. How perfectly natural it was to feel indifferent toward other, ‘inferior,’ groups. How practical to blame those inferior groups for their own pain and suffering.
Superior. It was indeed an ugly word. It was terrifying to think that even the higher powers controlling their universe might be corrupted by it!
Why this disparity between those who were different? Why was it okay for one person to work a sixteen hour day for under a dollar, while another received thousands of dollars for half that time? Why was mass murder acceptable in some cases and a travesty in others? Who decided these things?
Nadia snuggled closer to Will, and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude when his arms instinctively tightened around her. She was safe, warm and loved. She had plenty of money and was well connected. She was one of the lucky ones. For all that she had endured in the last month, she still hadn’t come close to touching upon the kind of pain that millions of people around the world became acquainted with before they reached the age of ten.
It suddenly became quite clear to Nadia that it wasn’t a person’s circumstances that defined who they were at all, but how they responded to them. She wasn’t proud of her behavior so far. She felt that she could do better. She would need to call upon all of her courage and integrity.
This was the life she’d been handed and, truth be told, she wouldn’t have wanted any other. So what was she waiting for? It was time for her to accept her fate and take on the challenges that had been presented to her.
Nadia glanced at the clock and sighed. It was after two in the morning and she still wasn’t the least bit tired. There was no use lying in bed when there was so much to do. She lifted the covers and very quietly slipped out of Will’s embrace. Then she tip-toed into the living room and opened her laptop.
There, on her desktop, was her contact list for the masquerade ball. She had highlighted the people she planned to visit. Running down the list, she saw that she would definitely have to make a trip out to DC…and Texas as well…and possibly even North Carolina—for she’d been telling the truth earlier, when she told Will about some of the egos she was dealing with. There were still a number of them that required stroking, and time was running out. As it was, many of the people she’d spoken to already had plans for that day in November. A few had agreed to reschedule their plans in order to attend her event, but some of them simply couldn’t make the short notice. Naturally, Nadia was able to squeeze hefty donations out of them, but it was disappointing to lose the prestige that their presence would’ve brought. On a televised event such as this, the guests were almost as important as the entertainers. They provided the incentive for the average person to contribute, for it is a well-known fact that people are much more likely to do something when they see people they admire doing it. If Nadia’s masquerade ball was going to be a success, she would have to make it irresistible for people to participate.
Nadia knew that her time was best spent working on appointments. But what she found herself doing, almost without her even willing it, was typing the name ‘Jeremy Nasterson’ into a search engine. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her head since Poseidon identified him as one of Wessler’s ten.
From her experience with Jeremy over the years, Nadia knew that he could always be counted on to contribute to one of her causes. She also knew that he was extremely rich—one of the fifty richest men in the world, according to Forbes. He’d had his start in oil and worked his way up to banks. He was now the owner and CEO of NOR Financial, one of the largest financial holdings in the western United States. Poseidon had described Wessler’s ten as ‘drunk with power.’ Jeremy Nasterson certainly fit this description.
But it was still so hard to believe. In spite of his incredible wealth and position, Jeremy had always seemed so down-to-earth. He certainly wasn’t among the high maintenance guests she had highlighted on her list. In fact, she knew that Jeremy would require no more than a phone call. She had always found him receptive and sincere—as well as extremely generous. But did this make him a good person? A lot of different personality types played an active role in the world of charity—many of which were not very charitable when it came right down to it. Nadia knew this better than most.
Maybe it was Jeremy’s appearance that had given Nadia the impression that he was just an ‘ordinary’ guy. Though he wasn’t a great looking man (he was at least as old as Nadia’s father) his appearance was far from unattractive. He had a friendly face that was open and responsive to those around him. He seemed to understand and sympathize with the suffering of others. He had what looked like a small, reddish-purple birthmark on one side of his face, which did not detract from the face itself, but which made Nadia think that he might have experienced some personal suffering of his own. It was just a discoloration, less than two inches in diameter at its largest point, but on the few occasions when she’d spoken to him in person, Nadia couldn’t help noticing that it sometimes grew darker, as if revealing some inner turmoil that he’d rather not have exposed. She had not imagined anything sinister in it. In fact, it made him seem more vulnerable somehow. She had wondered if he wasn’t actually very shy beneath his kind and charming exterior, and she had admired him all the more. Indeed, she’d had no reason to feel anything but admiration for the man.
And yet, there was something, now that she thought about it…some scandal from before she met him. She was pretty sure it had something to do with an alternative energy company that had gone bankrupt. The scandal had died down rather quickly but, thanks to Google, it would never be completely forgotten.
Ah…and here it was. The Renergy scandal. Nadia opened the three top articles and perused each one with interest.
Apparently Jeremy Nasterson’s company, Renergy, had received somewhere in the vicinity of six-hundred million dollars of government funding through an energy stimulus program. Six months later the company went bankrupt. Jeremy only paid back about two percent of the loan, leaving taxpayers to pay the other ninety-eight percent. Surprisingly, this wasn’t the scandalous part.
The scandal arose because of Jeremy Nasterson’s connections to certain congressmen, and the political party he was raising millions of dollars in campaign funds for. This provided fodder for the other party, who claimed that these congressmen had, in turn, pressured lenders in the energy stimulus program into giving Nasterson loans that his company didn’t qualify for. Meanwhile, despite the fact that taxpayers ended up footing the bill for the loan, Nasterson was the one who got the tax break when Renergy went bankrupt.
In fact, there were a number of tax evasion claims against Nasterson, though he ended up winning most of the charges that were brought against him by the IRS. Those that he didn’t win, he settled for pennies on the dollar. On the whole, Jeremy Nasterson paid fewer taxes than an average citizen earning fifteen-thousand dollars a year.
Several questions came to mind. First, why was an oil tycoon working so hard (even offering illegal campaign contributions, if the accusations were true) to get government support for a lagging alternative energy company that was on the verge of going out of business?
Even more puzzling, why was an oil tycoon the recipient of so much governme
nt funding for alternative energy? Surely his prevailing interest in oil presented a conflict of interest!
And what could this possibly have to do with T.D.M.R.’s plot—of which Nasterson was a part—to create an earthquake in Japan?
Nadia’s gaze was drawn toward the window, where the city lights seemed to be silently beckoning her toward an entirely different course of action. Rather than stumbling around in the dark, they reasoned; why not seek out the light? How could she solve a puzzle with so many of the pieces missing? Wouldn’t it make more sense to contact Lilith and arrange a meeting with her father?
Was this logic or wishful thinking? Nadia had been yearning to talk to her father since the moment she lost him. But did that mean it was the wrong thing to do?
Asmodeous had had thousands of years to formulate his plan. Right or wrong, it was based on events that were happening in their world. Those events affected everyone. What’s more, she agreed with her father’s philosophy about preserving the earth for future generations. But she didn’t agree that present day lives had less value than the future lives they would be preserving the earth for. Nor did she think that the djinn had a bigger stake in this world than she did. If anything, she had more. Asmodeous and Lilith could return again and again, provided there was an earth to return to. Ordinary humans didn’t have this ability. Their lives, therefore, were more precious. They were certainly not dispensable. This, really, was the fundamental difference between her beliefs and those of her father.
And yet, what she wouldn’t give for the opportunity to discuss it with him! Despite their differences, Nadia believed that they would be able to debate the issue respectfully—which could well result in a compromise that would preserve both of their values. Surely there was a way for all of mankind to enjoy this life without completely destroying the planet.
The more she thought about it, the more sense it made to try and reach her father, though the thought of going through Lilith dissuaded her somewhat. Nadia didn’t trust Lilith. In fact, she was terrified of her.
“Nadia?”
The sound of Will’s voice brought her up short.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Nadia quickly closed the windows with the articles about Jeremy Nasterson and the Renergy scandal.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “So I thought I’d try to get a little work done.”
Will came up behind her and kissed her neck. The stubble on his chin caused her shoulders to come up.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked.
Nadia turned to him and smiled. “I just wasn’t tired,” she said.
“You didn’t get any sleep?”
“Nope.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked. He seemed genuinely disappointed.
Nadia laughed. “I would never do that!”
“Why not?” he asked. “I’ve been dying to spend time with you. We could’ve watched a movie or something.”
“Hmmm,” mused Nadia. “That’s not a bad idea.”
He laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Sure,” she said. “As long as you don’t mind me bringing my laptop along, so I can work on my contact list while I watch.”
Will headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make popcorn,” he said.
Chapter 31
Delta Junction, Alaska
Beth woke up feeling irritable and disoriented. Her neck was killing her and she quickly saw why. She’d fallen asleep on a chair in the living room.
She had that unpleasant feeling she got when she drank too much—or when she did something really, really stupid, like kidnapping a strange woman who entered her house in the middle of the night.
It all came back to Beth in a flash. She had struck the dark-haired woman in the head with the butt of her gun, knocking her unconscious and then chaining her to Wayne’s secret room. Then she had come up here for a much needed drink to steady her nerves. She must have passed out.
What if the woman died during the night?
Beth got up slowly, mindful of the sore spots on her body. The twenty hour flight from London had not helped the situation. By the time she’d heard the intruder on the step, Beth had been too exhausted to think straight.
But would that stand up in a court of law as an excuse for murder?
Beth felt as if she were about to be sick, but before anything else, she had to know if there was a dead body in her cellar. She couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. As she descended the steps into the cellar, she reached behind her for her gun. She paused for a moment outside the secret door, closing her eyes to utter a silent prayer.
Please let her be alive.
She slowly opened the door. At the sight of the chain on the floor her stomach lurched, but somehow she managed to keep from vomiting. The woman was reclined on the couch—very much alive. She seemed smaller than Beth remembered. It must be her will that makes her so intimidating, thought Beth. And her eyes. There was an insolence in her look that seemed better suited to a much larger person.
The woman appeared to be sizing Beth up—surely not for a fight? Even hung-over and exhausted, Beth was pretty sure she could take the little floozy with one hand tied behind her back. Still, she lifted her gun to avoid any such encounter.
The woman shrugged—and then she actually smiled.
“Good morning,” she said, but there was an ironic inflection in the greeting that almost made it sound like an insult.
“Are you hurt?” asked Beth.
“I have a terrible headache,” replied the woman in the same ironic tone.
It occurred to Beth that she hadn’t really thought this through. She had no idea what to say to this woman. ‘If I let you go, will you promise not to go to the police?’—seemed rather pathetic.
The deed was done. Undoubtedly Beth would have to pay for it. But first, she would get answers.
“What is your name?” asked Beth.
“My name is Isabella,” said the woman.
“Where are you from?”
“Here…and there,” she replied evasively. “You might say I get around.”
“Why did you break into my house last night?”
“I already told you,” she said. “I came here to get back the ring from the cemetery.”
“So you can release the soul of your friend,” Beth finished for her.
“Yes,” said Isabella.
“And this friend—Asmund, was it?—can tell me where I can find a similar ring that will release the soul of my husband,” Beth continued.
“Yes.”
“The only part of this that makes any sense is the name of your friend,” said Beth. “Strange as that sounds, considering his name is Asmund. What kind of name is that anyway? Is it English?”
“I don’t know,” replied Isabella irritably.
“Well, it’s the only reason you’re still here.”
“I’m starving,” said Isabella. “I would get something for myself, but—” she lifted her leg, which was chained to the wall. Beth was instantly contrite.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” she said.
“And coffee?” added Isabella politely.
Beth grunted. “There’s a small bathroom on the other side of that bookcase,” she said.
“I already found it, thank you.”
Beth left Wayne’s secret room heaving a huge sigh of relief.
Not only was the woman—Isabella—alive, but she was taking the situation remarkably well. There hadn’t been a single whimper or even a tear! She certainly didn’t fit the profile of the pampered little beauty queen. Women who looked like that were never as tough as this one—not unless they were in the movies, and then they had stunt doubles to help them pull it off. Who was Isabella? And what was that heavy duty hunting knife doing in her hand? It was impossible to imagine her actually using it. She was the kind of woman who screamed when she stepped on a bug. She wasn’t the sort to slice people’s throats in their sleep.
But then ag
ain, how could Beth really know this? She, of all people, knew that monsters came in all shapes and sizes. She had ‘seen it all’ at the hospital, especially when she worked the emergency room. When it came to human beings, you couldn’t judge the book by its cover. No matter how small or fragile looking the person was, there was no telling what they were capable of—especially if they were crazy. And really, for all Beth knew, this woman might have escaped from an insane asylum.
But Isabella wasn’t the only one seeking the ring. Wayne had been going after it too, at the request of someone identifying him or herself as ‘A.’ And, for that matter, Beth had been going after the ring as well.
But lost souls?
Beth poured water into the coffee machine and popped two pieces of bread into the toaster.
Isabella was hiding something. Still, there was no question that there was something special about that ring. Beth was neither religious nor superstitious, but it seemed plausible that it might hold some kind of mystical power. A dark power, perhaps. It might even be scientific—some kind of revolutionary power that had been created by T.D.M.R. Maybe this Asmund stole the ring from T.D.M.R., and Wayne and Isabella were somehow in on it with him. By dangling Wayne’s ‘soul’ before his grieving wife, Isabella hoped to coax the ring from her.
But Beth had no intention of giving Isabella the ring. In fact, she had the distinct impression that she would lose what little negotiating power she had if Isabella somehow managed to get her hands on it.
But where did that leave Beth? She couldn’t just keep the woman in her cellar forever.
Beth cursed when she saw that she had burned the toast—then she laughed at herself. Look at me, acting like she’s a guest, she thought as she set everything out on a tray.
With her hands full, Beth was particularly careful opening the door to the secret room. But Isabella was still sitting in the same spot, waiting serenely for Beth to return. When she saw the coffee her face lit up.
“Mmm,” she murmured appreciatively. “That smells delicious!” She reached for the coffee first, stirring in carefully measured amounts of sugar and cream. Then she sat back and took her first sip, closing her eyes and savoring it as if it were the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.