Текст книги "Lovers and Reprisals"
Автор книги: Lori Turner
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
“Fuck”
He said...because in truth, he’d done a disservice to Joplin, and his brother. There was only one clear way out of this. When the plane slowed to a stop, Morpheus felt as if he’d just wakened from a nightmare. Although he had not slept one wink during the entire flight, his thoughts had busied his mind. What to do–what to do; that had been the question that circled like a merry-go-round. Yet all the while, one word tramped through his brain. A word that would put the horde of them in their proper places if they defied him. Fuck you. That would be his response, and he gotdamn well would mean it.
“Your coat sir.”
The attendant held open his woolen coat like a valet. After flying partway across the country, at this destination, the temperature had dropped by twenty degrees. He had a mind to wave off the gesture, but he thought it best to dress for the weather. He fit his arms in the sleeves while saying...
“How many...”
He didn’t need to say more. This crew had traveled here with him on countless occasions, and they knew the drill. How many, meant, who was here, and who wasn’t.
Olga spoke in her Swedish accent...
“They are all here sir... Everyone except for one–and I am not privy to that identity.”
Of course you aren’t my dear, was his thought. This group of people were known only to those who completed the circle. Morpheus inclined his head, then he passed her while exiting the main cabin. When he passed the cockpit, he nodded at his pilot, but they didn’t exchange any words. The man was busy, and soon he would be occupied as well. He walked down the steps of the plane, then he strolled over to a much larger plane, capable of transatlantic flights.
He had landed in the middle of nowhere. Basically, this landing field wasn’t on any maps per-say, and the land had been owned by his family for as far back as he could remember. Morpheus climbed sharply ascending stairs, then he entered a large cabin that looked like a board room. Seated at a table were five people that he knew very well. And now that he was here; his presence made six. Six–but one person was missing. Morpheus took his usual seat, then he acknowledged the rooms other players. Berta Volker; billionaires and heir to the Volker Chemical Industrial Corporation. George Stockton; media magnet, and owner of Triton Global Communications. Woodrow Fist; retired Director of the CIA, owner of P.A.T. Pharmaceuticals, and Global Realties. Maxwell Evans; CEO of Global International Banking Systems with a net worth off the scales and one of the richest men on the planet. Vincent Tyne; CEO of Global Satellites Communication.
He didn’t have to ask, and his question had been answered by Vincent....
“She’s running late. She called about an hour ago, and she should arrive any minute now.”
Morpheus scanned the room, making note of their faces. These people were some of the most powerful people in the world. Collectively, they controlled over half the worlds assets and for over one hundred years their families had worked in secret, restructuring the global economy to suit their purposes. For the past fifty years this group had set their sights on politics and governments; and ways to manipulate entire countries from the inside out. Whenever decisions were made, their voices were one collective chorus; kind of an all for one, and one for all mentality. If the crap hit the fan, they didn’t point fingers because every vote must be an unanimous one. In spite of this chummy chummy mentality, people were human. Flawed in more ways than one. Morpheus knew this better than anyone else in this room because he carried a heavier burden. This secret organization had been formed by one of his ancestors and he had a duty that went far beyond himself or his desires.
He was deep in thought when Berta said...
“How much longer are we going to wait?”
“As long as it takes.” George pointedly stated. Berta had been the second to the last to join the group, and Morpheus despised her. She looked like she hadn’t been fucked a day in her life, and maybe if she had a good turn, she could dislodge the stick that wedged the hole on her backside.
"Morpheus...how can you sit there behaving so calm!"
Berta was a wildcard; always led by her emotions. He ignored her. He lifted his arm, maneuvering his wrist until his timepiece could be seen. He wasn’t ready to start the game of petty squabbles. In fact–he’d decided before coming that he wouldn’t play at all; he would resolve this problem in his own way. He’d not fully decided on a course of action, but after this meeting he would land firmly on one side of his choices, and he will have dismissed his uncertainty.
Berta cleared her throat, and before anyone could say one word, the doors to the cabin opened, and Eliza Pendleton joined them, hurrying as she made her way inside. She didn’t make eye contact with any of them. Instead, she took her seat. Her smile was tight when she said...
“Sorry for my tardiness.”
Woodrow said...
“No apologies necessary. Rest–slow down...catch your breath.”
Woodrow was well into his nineties; rest, and moving slow were probably the only speeds his body responded to.
Berta excessively sighed. Breaking with protocol, she spoke, and her English accent grated their ears so badly that Morpheus wanted her to stop talking–but she didn't.
“Tardy again. We are here for a common good. I flew halfway around the world yet, I arrived hours before you. This meeting is important–but you don’t seem to understand that.”
Morpheus could not abide self important people and neither did Woodrow. For all intense and purposes, Eliza was a nobody. She didn’t own a global anything and her financial wealth couldn’t fund a country or pay off its national debt. Eliza was here seated at this table because Morpheus had insisted. During the past two years, their political plans had been spiraling down the crapper and Eliza had been employed to plug the hole. And it had worked for a while, but their crisis manager couldn’t adequately do her job because she had not been in the know, therefore she’d been working with one free hand while her other hand had been tied behind her back. Morpheus had expressed how valuable she would be to them, mainly because even though Eliza didn’t bring a certain brand of status to the table, she did have something that most of them didn’t have. Secrets; and in this circle, that made her just as valuable as any of them.
Woodrow liked Eliza, and he smartly smiled at her, giving her a slow nod of his approval.
In a weak voice, he brought their meeting to order.
“Now that we are all in attendance, I would like to suggest that we discuss our most urgent topic without delay.”
Woodrow didn’t have to name the topic he’d been referring to because they all knew and they noticed that his eyes steered clear of Morpheus. Woodrow said...
“The floor is open for discussion of the matter concerning Tollin Pettier and Governor Andrew Wilcox. As you all know, besides those of us seated here, there are only a handful of people who are aware of the governors political goals–and even though these people are being led to believe that these aspirations are the governor’s and the governor’s alone; this is by design, and they will never know that we in fact are the embodiment of that aspiration. In due time–and after we have set the stage, the governor will reveal to the rest of the country that he is placing his bid to run in the next presidential election. Now...we all know that there are many things that must occur, here as well as abroad. The stabilization of the global market, crude oil production and then there is the European bank issue to consider. In every endeavor, secrecy is the key–and that brings me to the purpose of this meeting. Tollin Pettier’s death is gaining momentum in the Press as are the deaths of Alicia Holly Bradford and Dashiell Wrightly. At this time–we do not need nor do we want Governor Andrew Wilcox, or his family in the media. This problem has been compounded by three untimely murders and the fact that one of the victims just so happened to have mowed down the niece of Governor Wilcox. The connection is weak, but even though up to now, Andrew has not been named in the murders; his association is thinly veiled. Until now, we have done what we could using our influences to keep Andrew from becoming a suspect–but we need the media circus to die down. We need the TV news to stop repeating their names. George–where do we stand on that issue?”
The question had been put to George due to his media contacts. George shook his head while saying...
“The major networks have tried to push the story to the back burners, but the bloggers won’t let it rest. When the independent buzz gets out of hand, I don’t have many options; and believe me when I say that these bloggers are getting their message out. They’ve been relentless–and not all the buzz concerns Tollin. Some of the sites are talking about gun violence and the murder of the call girl–Holly. There’s also a little chatter about Amy’s mother and her generous donation to an inner city charity sponsored by a Samaritan woman. Not much is being said about Dash–on that front, we’ve pretty much got that covered. But I can’t say the same about Marisela Pettier; she’s talking to whomever will listen to her. And so far, that amounts to every national TV news network, cable networks and the radio outlets as well. So–at this point, suppressing the story will only make matters worse. This story has taken on a life of its own, and at this point these families and the bloggers have forced my hand.”
Woodrow looked at Vincent, the owner of Global Satellites, when he said...
“Vincent...were you able to do anything on your end?”
“Very little. When we shut down one site, within hours, they were up and running, using another IP address. This is a cat and mouse game–and right now, they seem to be winning. The only answer is to shut down the entire grid–and I can’t do that.”
“I agree” Woodrow said... “That’s sure to feed the conspiracy nuts.”
Morpheus smirked because most times the conspiracy theories weren’t theories at all; except for a few missing details, these people came close to knowing the entire truth.
Berta gesticulated, pointing her finger when she said...
“Now that she’s here–let’s ask her what she thinks, given that Morpheus insisted we invite her to join our group.”
Woodrow was the oldest of them, and whenever a member spoke out of turn, he felt that it was his duty to renew order.
He shifted in his seat, turning to face Berta.
“Friend...let us begin again. But this time, we will proceed in an orderly manner.”
While pointing at Berta, he said....
“Berta...you may have the floor.”
Without hesitating, Berta went for the jugular...
“Andrew Wilcox’s nomination is in jeopardy.” She pointed her finger at Eliza while saying... “And she is partly to blame. I may not live in this country but as you all have said...there is a bigger picture, and your next president will be in that portrait. Well...I agree, but I do not see any way out of this. Nearly everyday your newspapers or your TV news is talking about the sister of Andrew Wilcox and the mysterious way that Tollin Pettier took his life. They are talking about Andrew for all the wrong reasons and soon, they will make the connection, and where will we be then? Eliza was supposed to fix this–and she hasn’t. I’ve said my peace and now I want to change my vote. I vote no confidence.”
George sat as still as a statue, when he echoed her refrain...
“As for Andrew Wilcox–I too change my vote. I vote, no confidence.”
Vincent said...
“Are you serious? Do you know how long it took to find Andrew? Do you know how long it took to vet him and to ensure that he’d be willing to fully participate–without question?”
Woodrow said...
“Calm, calm my friends. We are evolved beings; far above any government. We see the world as it truly is. Our vantage point gives us a clearer view than most.”
He looked at the two recanters when he said...
“Now is not the time for doubt. We have chosen our man–and we will stand by him–until the decision is no longer a prudent consideration.”
“But why not consider ending our association now? How can we move forward with Andrew?” George directed his question at Woodrow.
The older man said...
“We will do it because we can.”
Berta shouted...
"But we didn’t agree to this.”
Berta had been referring to the murders. She continued.
“We all agreed that Andrew was our man, but we didn’t agree to sanction actions that we as a group did not pre-approve. We did not give him permission to pay for Tollin to be murdered. If he did that–imagine what he’ll do, when he’s in the White House.”
“He will do as he is told.” Woodrow flatly said, but Berta disagreed. She shook her head while saying...
“Andrew may not have pulled the trigger, but he is unquestionably a murderer by extension.”
Morpheus held his tongue, to avoid his usual jarring match with Berta. Typically, by now he would have cut her down, belittling her until she cowered, giving way to him and the older members belonging to the group. But that had been then, and now was now; and he couldn’t downplay the truth.
Woodrow plainly said...
“Berta, you have had your say, as well as George. Now it is time to hear from the others. Eliza–tell us what you have learned.”
Eliza trained her focus on Woodrow, more than the others. She used him as her focal point because she felt like she was still playing catchup. Not more than three hours ago, she’d been with Bolden, trying to explain that she had to leave and she didn’t know when she would return. She’d endured his hurt expression and her heart had broke a thousand ways. When she stepped out of the limo to board the plane, he had touched her and she could still feel his hands caressing her neck and shoulder. She didn’t dare look at Morpheus because she’d crossed the line and she wouldn’t turn back; not like she’d done when it came to Tollin. Their breakup had sent him spiraling out of control and his depression had caused the problem. Tollin had pushed too far and the death of her ex-lover had frustrated their plans.
Eliza spoke using a professional tone.
“Governor Andrew Wilcox understands the complexities in this situation and he is cooperating. His sister is doing her best, and she’s living on the governors ranch because its secure and she isn’t hounded by the press.”
Woodrow said...
“Are there any factors that we haven’t discussed here?”
Berta shouted...
“Why are we skirting around the obvious? What good is Andrew’s cooperation, if she isn’t telling him what to do to make this story go away! Who cares about his sister and the Press. Gloria Wilcox-Randolph isn’t important–and eventually, her name will fall into obscurity. American’s have the attention span of a gnat–and given time, they won’t remember Gloria or Amy Randolph. Woodrow–don’t you get it? Eliza either can’t or she won’t help us. You choose–but I’m betting that the answer is that she can’t help us. This problem is way above her head, and we need to move forward, instead of standing still. As it pertains to Andrew; I vote no confidence. Also...I vote that she leaves! She isn’t one of us and clearly–she doesn’t have the resources to redirect the coming storm.”
“Calm...Calm, Berta. Please...allow Eliza time to understand the topic.”
Berta spat back...
“What’s there to understand? We all know what has to be done. We need to pull back...tighten our reins and that includes expelling Eliza. Morpheus made promises and I have yet to see the results. Months have passed, and she is no closer to ending this, than she’d been when she’d first joined us. I vote, no confidence and I vote for the expulsion of Eliza. Who else supports my vote?” George stood, directing his attention on Woodrow–his mouth had been poised to open when Morpheus gained his notice and he said.
“Sit the fuck down George...and shut your fucking mouth. That goes for you too Berta.”
The room fell quiet when Morpheus continued.
“Excuse my outburst.” He'd directed his eyes on Woodrow, then he inclined his head.
“Thank you for restoring order Morpheus. And now that the floor is clear...I will ask If Eliza has more to add.”
Eliza shook her head...
“No...I’m sorry but I don’t. The sources that are fueling this story aren’t directly connected to the governor and if we allow this time to play itself out; in the end, I feel certain that the Governor will remain in the clear.”
Woodrow said...
“The aim is to introduce a candidate with a past that will not distract from his objective”
Woodrow leaned into his words when he said...
“How close are we Eliza? Have you dealt with Andrew’s mistress and that woman who claims that he fathered her child.”
Eliza sighed when she said...
“I’ve located Merna Blanch, she’s the woman with the son–and sir, he’s the spitting image of Andrew. We’re still working on that...but the outlook is promising. As for Patricia DeMonte’...I’ve got a promising lead on her current location. I should have something by the time we meet again.”
“Time people....” Woodrow scanned their faces. “Time. That is a commodity that we need...but we aren’t solvent in that area.”
Woodrow looked at Eliza when he said...
“Do you think that you can clear this up in two weeks?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’ve got a feeling that Patricia is out of the country. I’m working on that.”
Woodrow said...
“People...Andrew must appear squeaky clean when he steps before the cameras announcing his bid for the presidency...and we’re running out of time. We must sure up this ship...because these leaks are slowing our progress.”
Maxwell said...
“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. The mistress and Andrews illegitimate kid aren’t the real problems...and I believe that in time, Eliza will work out a deal that will ensure their silence. As I see it, Joplin is the linchpin. If we get rid of him...”
Morpheus interrupted him saying...
“No...killing Joplin isn’t the answer. However, I do have a list of people that we might consider as potential targets. Currently, there are two families supporting Marisela Pettier in her pursuit of the truth. Eliza has been helpful in this area, and she reports that the Delors and Prescott’s have helped in a variety of ways”
Berta’s eyes grew wide when she said...
“Really! Are you serious? Are you suggesting that we remove them from the equation? We can't kill our way out of this problem! We all aren't murderers like you. If your sister were here...she would agree with me."
He glared at her, expressing his warning. They all knew not to mention his sister, yet Berta had chosen to cross that line. He reined in his anger, deciding to focus on the problem and not the bane of his existence. Amateurs he thought to himself and he regretted the day that he'd agreed to grandfather Berta in after her father died unexpectedly due to a skiing accident. Morpheus bit back his remark because in his sentence he’d planned to call her a sanctimonious cunt; but he didn’t want to offend Eliza. He’d save that insult for another time.
Instead, his tone elicited the same fear one would experience when stumbling unexpectedly upon a venomous snake.
"Berta...cut that shit out. You know as well as any of us–there is only one way out of this group. Death. So as a reminder; don’t ever let me hear the word Eliza and expulsion spoken in the same sentence. This warning also extends to the mentioning of any member of my family... Don’t fucking reference them; not by their names, or by referring to them in general terms. Don’t allude to them. Leave them out of your wisecracks or any other bullshit dreamt up in that peanut of an organ you so lovingly call your brain. Just don’t do it again...and if you forget–I can promise you...you won’t like the consequences of an unwise lapse in your memory.”
Berta recoiled, but her bravery restored itself mainly because she wasn’t alone. There were others in the room; those who’d known Morpheus far longer than her. She’d banked on their experiences and their sense of justice. She imagined that she’d not been the only bug squashed by his enormous boots. She wouldn’t accept that she alone had been the victim of his unpredictable outburst. Berta had wagered that someone else in this room felt as she did, and any minute now, they would figuratively back her up.
Berta spoke with a haughty air.
"You will not speak to me using that tone. I will not be calm." Her eyes addressed the other members seated at the table
"Don't tell me that you agree with him. He is suggesting that we murder socialites and aristocracy; people belonging to some of the riches families in this country. Well...I won't agree with that."
"Berta...." Woodrow raised a shaky hand. He was ninety-seven and one of the original members and he'd also been grandfathered in by Hans Gustafson.
Woodrow's voice was weak but his brain was as sound as a Nobelist. He said...
"Berta, listen. Please, listen." He said. "Give the man the floor. Please...let him talk. This is his area of expertise and that is the reason we defer to him on matters such as this."
Berta shifted in her seat, readying herself to pounce. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but Eliza cut her off.
"I agree with Woodrow. In this area, we must defer to Morpheus because what we do in this room–it isn’t murder. We are never to consider ourselves using those terms."
Berta's tongue nearly tripped in her mouth, and she couldn't get the words out fast enough if she spoke in English; so she didn't. Eliza understood every word when a steady stream of Germanic words spilled from her mouth.
Berta spoke in her native language...
"I will not be dismissed just because you are sleeping with his son."
The words cut Eliza like a dull knife and she wondered how Berta had learned about her an Bolden. She maintained her composure not allowing Berta to know that her jab had hit head on. She folded her arms and she was grateful that Morpheus only knew German curse words because if he’d been fluent in German, her indelicate remarked would not have been taken lightly.
Eliza leaned across the table and she responded in Berta's native German tongue
"Don't be a coward. If you want to take me on–then do it....but not here; because I'm not moved by false bravado. If you'd been listening like Woodrow had suggested, you would know that we don't have time for petty squabbles. And as for my personal life; you would do well to mind your own business “
Morpheus shot a glance in Eliza’s direction, because he admired her fire. He didn’t understand German but he’d picked up on the gist of the conversation and he only hoped that Eliza had not gotten to close too his son. Close–but not too close.
Morpheus sat silent because he’d said his peace. The group yielded the floor back to Woodrow. But when Woodrow spoke, his remark sent a jolt that rippled like an expanding wave.
“Have any of you ever lost someone close to you? And I don’t mean a person who was sick or old like me, and already near death. I’m talking about a vibrant lively little girl. A child who only seconds earlier had been playing right before your eyes–then before you could call out her name, that precious young life is whisked away on a rush of wind.”
They all stared at one another, but Morpheus didn’t share their gazes. He lowered his eyes, studying his manicured nails.
Woodrow continued.
“I’ve seen many wars–and I’ve seen death. Seeing someone close to you die–well, it does something to you. I’m not speaking metaphorically–I’m speaking from experience. You don’t know what you will do, until someone close to you is snatched away. I know how that feels and we must remember that Andrew isn’t just some name that we picked out of a hat. We chose him because he understands our mission. If we abandon him, the decision will be based on reason, and not a fit of anger. Yes–it is true, Andrew loss his temper and he made an unwise call. But you must admit one truth...if we’d known that he wanted Tollin dealt with–we would have done it, and the killing might not have occurred. And even if it did, we would have done it because the act would have furthered our purpose.”
Woodrow paused for dramatic effect and he noticed that he had their full attention. He said...
“I ask you... Who in this room wouldn’t seek revenge if they were sitting in Andrew’s seat.”
Berta uncoiled her tight shoulders, and she made a slight move, leaning forward. Her lips had been formed to talk, but Vincent held up his hand, while saying...
“Berta–do you recall your campus rape–and the mysterious disappearance involving a young white male seven months later. The same white male that you identified but he wasn’t charged because his father was the Ambassador to France. Did you really believe the story as reported by the park rangers?”
Berta closed her mouth, relaxing back in her seat because she had believed the rangers; and not for the reasons any of these people might think. She’d wanted to think well of her father and at the time she couldn’t accept that he would stoop so low as to order the murder of her rapist. She still had nightmares, and the details were always the same. The detective had sat in her fathers home office, expressing his profound apologies, after stating that Peter Boulez’s couldn’t be charged with the crime of rape. Due to his father’s ambassador status, as his son, he’d been granted diplomatic immunity and was exempt from criminal prosecution. Berta had been hand picked to participate in a fellowship program at Yale and after the rape and the humiliation enduring the rape kit; she’d returned home with the knowledge that her rapist was still out there–free to rape someone else. Berta had become a shell of herself, and she’d rarely left the comfort of her parents gated property. No amount of counseling helped and she’d refused to return to her way of life. She’d cocooned herself in her parents home but her friends refused to abandon her. Not long after she’d returned to her country, she’d been visited by one of her friends with news about Peter; the man who’d raped her. He’d been found in a National Forest outside of San Francisco, lying dead at the base of a cliff. She’d wanted to believe that he’d fallen; but now, Vincent had confirmed her suspicions. When her father had told her, not to worry, he would deal with Peter; in his eyes, she’d seen what amounted to a man filled with rage and hate. Her father had looked like a person capable of killing.
She sat quiet and Woodrow wasted no time saying...
“Now that we’ve established that point–there will be no more discussion on the matter of death because Morpheus has given us our way out. And as for Andrew...we will do what we can...until we can do no more.”
Woodrow gaged the tone of the room, because this next point would come at a cost to them all. He would say this because Berta and George had exposed a crack; and there could be no pulling away. In the old days, they would each clip off a portion of their finger, vowing their allegiance to the day of their death. Soon after that, the cry for loyalty was demonstrated in more painful ways. Yes–Woodrow had known the death of someone close. He’d known because he’d arranged it.
When he spoke, his voice sounded its weakest.
He said...
“I get no satisfaction out of this but–I see no other way. There are those among us who are not sympathetic and you do not understand the cost of human life. As Eliza stated...we are not murderers. We make adjustments. When Andrew lost little Amy–he needed to make an adjustment to right a wrong. If you cannot grasp the reasoning behind his actions, then I say to you, share his pain. Let us kill someone close to you–then you tell me if you don’t hunger for the taste of vengeance.”
Woodrow stared at them, because his words were not an idle threat. Killing was a way of balancing the world and no one understood this more than Morpheus. They sat quiet until Woodrow said...
“It is agreed. Morpheus will continue on a course that will balance the scales; he will sever the connection or make the problem go away. That is the solution. Are we all in agreement?”
Six ays were heard, then Woodrow added his vote.
“Ay. Now...we have much to do but when we return, the issue concerning Tollin must be resolved. There can be no dangling strings. You have the authority to do away with whomever stands in our way. And Morpheus...if worst comes to worst”
Woodrow stared at him with knowing eyes...
“Do what you must. Do whatever you believe will balance the scales. We all understand the cost. Be well my friend.”
Of course they understood the cost because even though they had not mentioned his name, they all knew about Joplin and his connection to Raal. They knew because Morpheus had felt bound to tell them. The irony was that he valued his allegiance to this group of people more than his love for his family. He didn’t do this because of a flaw in his character. He did this because that’s the price he’d paid to be a member of this group; and that’s what his father had expressed to him on the day that he’d stepped down, offering Morpheus his seat. He’d been honored to have been chosen by his father, especially after the fiasco involving his sister. When Morpheus stood in his father’s place, he’d vowed to protect the group over anything else. That explained his reason for telling them about Joplin and Raal but this fact didn’t change his regrets and now, Raal and Joplin may never know the other. If Morpheus couldn’t fix this, someone would have to pay the price–and right now, Joplin was as good as dead. He pushed that thought aside because regardless of how he felt, nothing else mattered. Morpheus had to seal this leak, and if he didn’t, more than a few people would end up dying. He considered the names, and he didn’t give a rats ass about the Delors, the Pettier’s or any of the other nuts who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. He would cut them down himself if it came to it. When he considered Berta’s comment regarding Andrew, and her suggestion that perhaps they should reconsider being his silent backers; he’d never cared for her, and they rarely agreed on a single point; but as for dumping Andrew–on that point, he had to agree. At the time, he hadn’t shared his opinion because tradition was tradition, and the group held firm to certain beliefs. Andrew Wilcox had been chosen because he’d agreed to be a puppet president. He’d agreed to govern the country in whatever manner the group thought would be best. Most politician’s were corrupt by nature, but only a few were soulless. Andrew was a rare breed, and he’d sold his soul to the group; they owned him, and there in lied their devotion. At this late date in the game, dumping Andrew would amount to colossal failures, and two year’s worth of work, flushed down the crapper. It would mean that the governor would become one of those dangling strings that Woodrow had alluded to. One of those strings that would have to be cut, because it had frayed from the central purpose of the group. In other words; the second Andrew was no longer relevant to the furthering of their cause, there would be no need to keep him alive. To protect the secrecy of the group, Andrew Wilcox would be permanently silenced.
