William Tyree - The Fellowship

The three went to the trunk and looked down upon a treasure trove of weaponry, ammunition, satphones and assorted devices.

“Time for a yard sale,” Carver said. He reached in and plucked out one of many stun grenades that were still in the original factory box. “Could have used a couple of these last night.”

“Was there some trouble?”

“You could say that.”

“You remember Antonio Tesla?” Callahan said. “The detective from the city morgue?”

“Sure.”

“He left several voicemails saying he was looking for you. He wants you to come down to the morgue to look at three more bodies.”

Seven swore and broke away, stomping down the aisle of parked cars.

“What’s with her?” the priest asked.

“One of those cadavers was her partner.”

The priest shook his head. “Bloody shame. This thing’s getting out of control fast.”

Carver opened a rifle case containing a disassembled Heckler amp; Koch assault rifle. He picked up the butt stock and tested it against his shoulder. “It was nice of you to bring toys,” he said, “but I was hoping for information.”

“I did some snooping around, all right. You were right about Lang. I’m afraid he’s gotten himself mixed up with the Black Order.”

Carver nodded, having suspected all along. “I need you to take me to him.”

Callahan laughed. “I’m afraid my access to the Apostolic Palace has been revoked.”

“That won’t be a problem. I found another way in.”

“What in heavens are you talking about?”

“That little Vatican break-in you told me about? The one they spun as art theft? They didn’t come for the Garofalo. And they sure as hell didn’t come through the front door.”

The White House

Washington D.C.

At Eva’s request, Mary brought the rest of the fudge brownies into her private study. After wave upon wave of interns had hit the plate, just nine cut squares had survived.

Mary set the tray down on the table. “Rough day?”

“And about to get rougher,” the president said. “Thanks.”

She waited until Mary had left the room to pick up one of the decadently fudgy brownies. She forced herself to chew slowly. Lunch was usually a blur of quick micro snacks afforded by her caveman diet. A handful of nuts, a few berries, an olive or two.

“Madam President,” Speers asked, “You ever regret declaring war on the vending machines?”

In an effort to boost the overall health of the staff, she had ordered vending machines removed from all White House areas. In their place, she had added refrigerators and shelves stocked with a variety of organic snacks. The move had inspired a variety of anonymous notes decrying the presence of items such as kale chips and unsweetened green tea, and demanding an immediate return of Cheetos and Diet Coke. To stave off complete mutiny, Eva had decided to pay for the new fare with her own money for one year.

“If the staff saw me eating like this, they’d hate me.”

“I think you should have left just one machine,” Speers said. “Chocolate only, with the prices jacked up so high that the staff would only use it in times of serious emotional crises.”

“Like the one I’m having right now?”

“You don’t seem emotional.”

“The fact is, I have something difficult to share with you, and I wanted something sweet to kill the bad taste in my mouth.”

The two intelligence directors set their treats down and braced themselves for bad news. Speers dabbed a napkin at the corner of his mouth.

“Given the misdirection tactics we employed in our public information efforts around the deaths of Senator Preston and Sir Gish,” she said, “I asked you to give me clear options, but also to keep me ignorant from the details. It seems now that my directive wasn’t so smart.”

Speers folded his arms across his chest. “How so?”

“Today was the first time you’ve mentioned the name Sebastian Wolf in my presence,” she said. “I have to disclose to you that Sebastian Wolf is an acquaintance of mine.”

Speers swore, and then apologized for his language. His stomach felt as if he were freefalling. How could this happen? He knew the president was an Episcopalian. Was she also in the Fellowship?

Fordham slumped back in his chair, as if he had been slugged. “And how is it that you two know each other?”

Eva leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. “We were introduced by Senator Preston at the Council on Faith luncheon. He invited me to Eden for dinner. I began with my standard line about having someone look into my schedule, which means it’ll never happen. Then the Senator told me that Wolf had helped create NASA, and that he was a major source of funding for genetic research, and that every president since LBJ had been a guest at his home at least once.”

“Did Preston also tell you that he was a former Nazi?” Speers said.

“Julian, please shut up and let me finish.”

“I’m sorry, Madam President.”

“I suppose I felt unduly obligated. So I asked my scheduler to make it happen.”

Speers was awestruck. “And?”

“And I enjoyed his company. After that, I invited him to the White House on two occasions.”

Speers felt that his head would explode. The president of the United States had ties with a cult leader that had made himself the archenemy of the Catholic Church. And Senator Preston had facilitated the introduction.

“What was the nature of your conversations?” Speers asked.

“Truth be told, I found him to be an excellent sounding board on spiritual matters.”

“Did you two discuss the Fellowship?” Fordham said. “Did you discuss anything related to these weird science projects he was funding?”

“No. Our conversations were very personal in nature. There was no business involved whatsoever. And he never mentioned this ossuary business. That is a complete shock to me, I swear to you.”

Speers sighed. “We’re going to need to ask you to fully document every conversation between the two of you.”

Eva sipped her coffee slowly, and then set it down on the table. “No. That’s not going to happen.”

“Come again?”

“This will go no further than this room. I’m telling you this in complete confidence so that we can pivot our tactical situation as needed. I have no intention of having these details unearthed in a declassified document decades from now.”

The two intelligence chiefs eyed each other. “Madam President,” Speers said, “This has the potential to compromise our strategy.”

“As I understand the situation,” Eva said, “The outcome of the war between these two secret societies could adversely impact more than just national security. That’s why I’m asking you to solve the situation in the shadows, without the need for us to retract our public statements or otherwise undermine our authority.”

Speers leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Madam President, but the solution may require eliminating Mr. Wolf.”

“Then I need to remind you that he’s an American citizen who is permitted to practice freedom of religion.”

“Yes ma’am. But — ”

“Has Mr. Wolf been formally accused of a crime?”

“Not formally, Madam President. But we strongly suspect — ”

“My understanding is that the Black Order, not the Fellowship, has been responsible for the violent aggression, as well as the crimes against Americans.”

Speers wanted to tell her about the Nathan Drucker murder, but it was purely speculation at this point. They still had no leads on who had operated the nanobot that had killed him just blocks from the West Wing.

“That’s largely true,” Speers consented, “but there are dead on both sides of this. I can’t tell you more without getting into a lot of detail.”