by Dermot Davis
"She's out of danger now," he asked as he checked the reading and then adjusted the wires going into his old-model desktop computer.
"Yes, she's living with me for the time being."
"It's terrific that she has you, looking after her best interest, as you do."
"Yes," Abigail answered, a slight irritation entering her voice. "Of course."
"Sorry, just a minute here while I adjust the connections. I must say, I've had the best time with you."
"Oh, me too."
"I thoroughly have enjoyed our time together."
"Yes, I agree. Are we ready now?" she asked, checking her timepiece.
"Yes, it's very simple. All you have to do is watch the images as they appear on the screen. There's nothing frightening, don't worry, just generic common-or-garden images."
"Lovely."
As Abigail watched the images flash on and off, Dowling paid attention to the needles of the polygraph. He was already anxious to know the results of his surreptitious questioning (his real reason for the test) but would have to wait until she left when he would be able to examine them more clearly. Even though he was disappointed that she was leaving early, a part of him felt relieved. She was so stressed and preoccupied with her problems that she couldn't fully relax in his company. He felt strained trying to reach her and make a true connection. Her lack of calmness and togetherness caused him stress.
"Again, I'm so sorry about the evening, I hope to make it up to you somehow," she said, once the test was done, as she was leaving.
"Don't worry about any of it, these things happen. I perfectly understand," he said as he gave her a hug and a brief kiss to send her on her way. Once the door was closed behind her he sighed and allowed all the tension that had built up in his body and being to dissolve. Returning quickly to the precognition test apparatus, he unspooled the roll of graph paper that would give him a clue to her answers to his questioning.
More interested in Abigail’s reactions to the “secret,” conversational questions, asked prior to the test proper, he unfurled the graph paper to the beginning. As the initial question concerned her state of relaxation, he would use it as the barometer or baseline state against which to judge the physiological responses that she’d had when responding to the other questions. He stared at the paper intently.
When asked about Fiona, Abigail apparently had become stressed as her body had immediately exhibited a high sympathetic arousal, a stress reaction. So, though his casual questions about a mutual friend shouldn’t have caused undue upset, her responses showed that, although she was answering in a positive, casual manner, her internal state suggested otherwise. She was not being honest in her replies when she stated that Fiona was doing well and that she was looking after the girl and had her best interests at heart.
Certainly there were questions about the scientific validity of a polygraph test but, still, he realized reluctantly, as the subject hadn’t understood that she was being tested, there was no possibility that she would be concerned about lying.
Feeling a knot developing in his full stomach, Dowling looked down further at her responses to his conversation about their relationship. Even though she agreed that she had been having a terrific time with him, her internal state again suggested that her casual agreement was not altogether honest or true. He couldn't tell if she was feeling the exact opposite of having a terrific time, however.
Obviously, he couldn’t use the polygraph test to read her mind. However, what he could accurately deduce from the test results was that what Abigail said she was feeling and what she was actually feeling were two very different things altogether.
Dowling’s heart sank and he sat down to think. Why she was saying one thing and feeling the opposite was beyond the ability of the test to decipher. Hence, whether she was deliberately lying or scheming would be pure speculation on his part. Either way, he couldn't help feeling his world cave in as the knot in his stomach became a raging volcano. The next thing that he knew, he had to rush to the bathroom so as to allow the contents of his stomach to violently erupt.
Summoned to the conference room to meet with Abigail, Andrew took only a notebook and pen with him. Wondering what kind of meeting it would be, he walked down the corridor thinking that, lately, as far as a get-together with Abigail was concerned, there was only one kind of gathering: urgent and stressful.
Reading an incoming text from Professor Dowling gave him pause for thought: U R RGT. A NOT 2 B TRUSTED it read, followed by a sad face. The A had to stand for Abigail he considered as he arrived at the conference room. "You wanted to see me?" Andrew asked after he had knocked softly on the door and opened it to poke his head inside.
"Yes, yes," Abigail fussed, waving her arms at him in an invitation. "Close the door and sit down."
"What's going on?" Andrew asked in an attempt to sound casual and ideally set a relaxing tone for the session.
"Those names you volunteered," Abigail said, looking up at him with a steely eye. "I scoffed at first," she said carefully and slowly as if, and it really surprised Andrew, an apology might be forthcoming. "Turns out that where there is some smoke, there is usually some evidence of a fire."
"They checked out?" Andrew asked, trying to sound nonchalant and innocent.
"You say you found the list on Simon's computer?" she asked bluntly.
"Yes."
"Then you need to bring it to me. Heaven knows what else is on that drive and whatever little nuggets of gold my brother has been stashing away all these years."
"You do know that it's all encrypted, I mean different encryptions for different files, I'm still working on—"
"Of course I know that it's encrypted," she interrupted rudely. "You're some sort of decryption and decoding expert, all of a sudden? I didn’t expect you to actually find anything so I let you play around with it. But, now that I know it’s serious, it’s time for the experts. We have a team of computer geeks that can crack open whatever it is in a matter of hours. How long have you been chipping away? Months?"
"No, sure, fine," Andrew said affably. "I guess I've been working on it like it's my baby, my own personal project."
"Well, it's not," Abigail barked. "I didn't see it coming but it turns out you've been sitting on the equivalent of an explosive device that has the capacity to... never mind,” she added, as if she tired already of her own analogy. “Just bring it to me."
"Sure," Andrew said, making a note in his notebook. When he looked back up, Abigail was still looking at him.
"Bring it to me, now!" she said, like he was an utter imbecile.
"Oh, sure. I'll go get it," he said and rushed out.
Running down the corridor he wondered if surrendering the laptop was actually a good thing. He'd like to talk to Simon first, but he didn't have time or any way to reach him in prison right away. As the elevator door opened, he found himself standing firm while the door closed shut again and the elevator took off. Turning back around, and entering the conference room empty-handed, he knew that he was taking a serious risk.
"Well?" Abigail asked when she saw him return without the laptop.
"You know what?" Andrew asked, his face a study in pain and embarrassment. "I took it back to the house."
"What?"
"I've been working on it evenings and weekends and I guess I forgot to pack it this morning."
"I see," she said, looking at him with eyes that he was certain knew that he was lying. "Well, then, I imagine you should go back home and fetch it, straightaway," she said without flinching or batting an eyelid.
"What, right now?"
"Yes, right now," she answered impatiently. "Didn't I just say that I needed that laptop?"
"Yes, of course," Andrew said, rising to his feet. "I'll go get it right now."
"One more thing," she said, looking down at her notes. "We need to hold a general assembly," she said as if he knew what she was talking about.
"Okay," he answered, wondering if she was going to e
xplain further.
"A conclave where all members will be expected to attend."
"Okay," he answered again, nodding his head like he understood.
"I need you to organize it."
"Okay," he said again, although this time much less enthusiastically.
"Now, go," she instructed as if she were tired of looking at him already.
"Will do," he said as he quickly left.
Relieved to be out of her company, Andrew rushed to the elevators hoping to get to his office before she had time to call someone to get there first, go through his stuff and discover Simon's laptop. Happy to find his office vacant and the laptop looking like no one had disturbed it, he looked around before hurriedly tucking it into his briefcase. He then wasted no time in exiting his office.
As he turned the corridor, towards the bank of elevators, he uncharacteristically yelled, "Hold the door open," when he saw the doors sliding closed on one of the elevators. As a hand reached out to prevent the doors from closing, Andrew slid right in. "Thanks," he said to the middle-aged businessman who regarded Andrew with a mix of bewilderment and scorn.
Miffed that the elevator ended in the foyer and had not gone all of the way down to the underground parking lot, Andrew hoped that it would take a straight shot down right afterward and not stop at every other floor on its way down. Realizing that his phone was vibrating in his pocket, a cold wave of fear went through his body at the thought that Abigail was on to him. Would she send someone after him, to detain him in some way? His fear increased when he looked at the screen on his phone and didn't recognize the incoming phone number.
Deciding that it was better to answer, than to be surprised in a different way, maybe someone stopping him in the foyer, for instance, he answered the phone. He knew that he could always claim bad reception in the elevator, if it was a call he shouldn't have answered. "Hello?"
"Andrew," a familiar voice said, although he couldn't place it at first. "It's Simon."
"Simon?" he repeated with surprise though he soon regretted mentioning Simon's name aloud, with the other gent within earshot. "Oh, Simone," he said, like he didn't hear properly the first time.
"How are you, sweetie?" he asked like they knew each other from some wild time they had shared in Paris together, “I’ve missed you.” He glanced at the other man in the elevator and was happy to see that the man in question was pointedly ignoring him.
"I assume you can't talk," Simon said casually, "Can you come meet me?"
"Of, course, darling. You’re on my calendar. I’ll see you at the usual time," Andrew answered, assuming that Simon meant to visit him at the prison.
"I mean now," Simon said with a grin that he couldn't prevent. "I had a hearing this morning. I'm on out bail."
Andrew’s mind raced and a huge sense of relief filled his body and being. Simon would know what to do about everything and everyone, including Fiona.
"Splendid!" Andrew said, and found that he really meant it, as the elevator finally landed in the foyer. "Yeah, I can meet, perfect timing, actually," Andrew said in a hushed whisper as he exited the elevator. "Where are you?"
Chapter 13
Andrew wasted little time driving to Simon's favorite restaurant. Rather than circle the block a few times looking for street parking he decided to leave his car with the valet. Grabbing his briefcase, once more he checked all around to see if he had been followed. Once satisfied that he wasn't, he hurried inside the eatery.
Simon sat at a table, deep inside the restaurant, one hidden away at the back wall. With a fresh gin and tonic sitting before him, Fiona’s father perused the menu with relish. "Andrew, you old goat," the man said in his genteel British accent, with a warm grin on his face, as he stood up to greet the younger man, his hand extended. "Sit yourself down, order yourself a cocktail, and choose something quickly from the menu, I'm famished."
"I can't believe you're out so quickly," Andrew said, placing the briefcase between his feet and the wall.
"Yes, amazing how quickly the wheels turn when an obscene amount of money is involved. What do you think of my new suit?" Simon asked, extending his arms and pushing out his chest. "They made some minor adjustments. It's off the rack, unfortunately, but I needed something new and I needed something fast. I don't suppose you stopped off to get some copies made of my house keys?"
"Oh, uh, no, not yet," Andrew answered, still trying to get his head around things.
"No worries. We'll find somewhere nearby, I'm sure. I will need the keys to my car, however. What car are you driving today? The Merc?"
"Oh, uh, yes, the Mercedes."
"Are you ready to order?" Simon asked, looking around for their server and lifting a finger to catch the waiter's attention. "No surprise that I'm going to order the best, juiciest steak that they have on offer."
"Maybe just a salad, for me," Andrew said as he quickly ran his eyes up and down the menu. "I'm not that hungry, actually."
"I never thought that I'd ever say this, but it's quite good to see you, old son. I think you may have grown on me this past while." Simon grinned sardonically at the younger man.
"Likewise," Andrew said, and really meant it, as he put down the menu. "Strange the way things go."
"Indeed," Simon said, looking around the restaurant as if for the first time. "Captivity does something to the psyche, doesn't it? I know it's a cliché but I do appreciate things more; even little things, or maybe especially the little things. The stuff I use to take for granted, I suppose."
"Listen," Andrew said, looking over his shoulder nervously. "Things are getting crazy at work; well I should say that Abigail is going crazy to be more precise. She wants your laptop."
"I'm surprised that it's not already in her possession. Why now?"
"I guess she trusted me to work on it or maybe she didn't take it seriously that there'd be anything on there worth caring about, with the names, I don't know."
"Or maybe she just can't handle the truth," Simon said with mock exaggeration which Andrew didn't find amusing.
"I didn't want to hand it over to her just like that. What should I do?"
"You have it with you now?"
"Yes. In the briefcase."
"Excellent. We can plant some more juicy explosive material for her to discover."
"We have like two hours, maybe three at most," Andrew said, checking the time. "She thinks I've gone back to the Palisades to get it and bring it back."
"Aren't you the devious one," Simon teased.
"Yeah, I learned from the master," Andrew teased back. "She also said something else I don't quite understand."
"What's that?"
"Something about calling a general assembly. She wants me to organize it."
"A general assembly of who or what?"
"I don't know," Andrew said, hoping Simon would have had some knowledge.
"A general assembly of employees?"
"A conclave," Andrew remembered. "First she said general assembly and then she said a conclave. Thought you'd know."
"I do now," Simon said thoughtfully.
"What's a conclave? What does it mean?"
"It means, my friend, that Abigail and her powerful organization have suddenly found themselves up against the ropes and fighting for their very survival. Calling a conclave of serpent members is rare and usually only considered in extraordinary circumstances, when all else fails. It's an attempt to rally the organization and use the group energy in sacred ritual to bolster their crumbling structure. She probably felt that she had no choice. She must have put each of those named individuals on some kind of notice or suspension—an unheard of, shocking, and embarrassing turn of events for her—in which case the very fabric of the organization has been weakened, as we initially surmised," he said with a devilish grin.
"I don't understand. Use the group energy… in ritual?"
"A conclave simply means holding your usual weekly meeting on a much grander scale. Instead of small groups scattered all around
, meeting at different times, different agendas, you have one big gathering. Group energy is like group prayer, one of the most potent forces on earth. The power of laser-focused intent. Get a group of people all intending the same thing, it's like a powerful laser that shines into the unseen realms and like the domino effect… it will cause things to happen, stir things up, so to speak. The results as they come back into this world, can be amazing or catastrophic, it all depends on what you pray for and to whom you address your prayers and, of course, the unforeseen nature of the chaos effect."
"Wow," Andrew said as he let the answer sink in. "Who do the Order of the Wise Serpents pray to?"
"But enough of that,” Simon said briskly as he spied a food-laden waiter heading their way. "All in good time, but first things first. Let us eat and be merry and then we can make further mischief with the contents of the laptop."
After a tasty luncheon that Simon thoroughly enjoyed, they ensconced themselves in a pair of cozy over-sized armchairs in the upscale coffee shop next door. Open laptop before him, Simon deleted what he didn't want Abigail to find, added new files and embellished existing ones, all designed to cause panic to Abigail and the back-pedaling organization.
"So, tell me about Fiona," Simon said as he remained focused on his task. "She's staying in the hotel with Abigail?"
"Yes, I think so."
"You think so? You too are still?" he asked and his voice trailed off without finishing the question.
"Yeah, we're still not talking," Andrew answered dourly. "We were getting on great until I told her what you said about being in danger with Abigail. She freaked out, acted like I was completely crazy, and told me-and you-never to call her again. If you're still up to your old tricks, it worked a treat," he said, only half in jest.
"Don't worry. I plan on talking with her, set her straight. I'll put in a good word for you," he said and took his eyes away from the laptop screen to give Andrew a wink. "Oh, I love being back in the game, my boy," he said, as he stopped typing to admire his computer handiwork.