The Ascendant Read online

  Meagan Whitfield stood in front of the main house and soaked up the history. She could almost hear the great man crooning one of his famous tunes. As far as she was concerned, no one could carry a song the way Sinatra could. He was a legend.

  She could tell by the number of cars in the parking lot that quite a few of her colleagues had already arrived.

  This was the annual retreat of the reclusive and publicity-averse Aufsteigen Group.

  There were twenty-six permanent members, representing a solid cross-section of corporate America. There were also a dozen or so associate members, who hadn’t totally earned their way into the club yet—but most of them would, some day, some year. Membership wasn’t handed out eagerly. Stripes had to be earned, and usually the hard way.

  Although the workings of the group were private and behind closed doors, its very existence was a badly kept secret. Certain media were clued in, and usually trolled their meeting spots with regularity.

  The name of the group wasn’t widely known amongst the general public, but rumors persisted and it had been disclosed in news reports from to time. Not that the subject of a group of corporate titans meeting in secret was a rip-roaring story line. Most Americans would just yawn and go back to amusing themselves with something more salacious.

  Some media outlets had tried their level best to create conspiracy theories, but the Aufsteigen public relations machine deftly countered those stories by discrediting reporters. And sometimes, when deemed necessary, through outright threats.

  The media were no doubt obsessed with the meaning of the word, Aufsteigen—the German word for Ascension. No surprise that they’d be curious, because the word, indeed, at least in Meagan’s mind, spoke volumes about what the group was all about. And the fact that it was a German term most likely spurred conspiracy theories.

  The Aufsteigen Group believed in superiority and dominance. And part and parcel of that was genetic superiority. That was the basic premise. If it didn’t start there, it wouldn’t start at all. Consequently, at least half of the permanent members were shareholders in Legacy Life Ladder Inc.

  The group was dedicated to the inverse pursuits of power through money—and money through power. In Meagan’s mind, the mission statement of Aufsteigen was really quite simple.

  The leanings of the group were to the far right, and they were collectively fed up and frustrated with what they saw as the fruitcake preachings of the extreme left. Liberal immigration attitudes were killing the country and infecting it from the inside out. Permissive attitudes towards the gay and lesbian communities were reaching the boiling point, as well as the cry-baby coddling on the refugee resettlement subject.

  The Aufsteigen Group wanted a lot of things, but certain subjects brought out their passion more than others. They wanted borders closed, and gays and lesbians ostracized. And don’t even get them started on Blacks and Hispanics, which they had no hesitation in referring to as Niggers and Spics.

  Their whisperings were behind closed doors, of course. Amongst themselves. They were an astute enough group to recognize that in order to effect change, the Trojan Horse tactic needed to be employed at all times.

  Senator Lincoln Berwick was their Trojan Horse of choice at the moment. He had the pedigree, the brains, the looks, and the charisma to worm his way into the hearts and minds of fearful Americans. Although, they were also realistic enough to have more than one horse if need be.

  But for now, he’d earned his status charmingly and his messages of fear and hate were starting to register. The disaffected members of society were coming out of the woodwork in droves, gleeful that they finally had a leader who spoke their language.

  Of course, the dregs of society were not at all what the Aufsteigen Group wanted to be associated with. They were just needed to propel Lincoln to victory. “First, get elected” drove the agenda.

  Senator Berwick was the ultimate Trojan Horse. Tell them what they need to hear, engage them, enrage them, and then get them out to vote.

  The irony of it all was delicious. These people who had so little, and were so uneducated that they’d probably always have so little, were going to elect a human being who was genetically and socially superior. And that entitled person was being backed by other entitled people who possessed wealth and resources beyond the imagination of the inferior people who would be voting for Aufsteigen Group’s ascendant.

  Yes, for now, Senator Lincoln Berwick was the chosen ascendant, who would be manipulating genetically inferior people into voting for the genetically superior. Meagan chuckled at the irony of it all—and the sheer genius.

  She looked at her watch. Two hours to kill until the opening night dinner. This Sinatra complex was perfect for their annual meetings. It was the tenth time they’d held it here. Nice and private, good security, and all of the attendees had private accommodations within the compound.

  As far as she knew, no one had lived here since the Sinatras left. The Canadian billionaire rented it out now for corporate retreats and conventions only, and Meagan knew that with the amount it cost her group to secure the place for just three days, he was making a small fortune over the course of any year. Her kind of guy.

  Lincoln Berwick was the keynote speaker at tonight’s dinner, and he’d also be attending tomorrow’s morning workshop session, answering strategy questions from the membership. The group was very excited at the moment. Linc’s momentum in the polls was impressive and getting stronger by the day. The members could almost taste the Oval Office now.

  He was the first ascendant to come out of the Triple-L gene pool who had made it this far. Sure, there were plenty of other successes in the business, military and high-tech ranks, but this was the first time one of theirs was knocking on the White House door. Shareholders of Triple-L were finally seeing their investment pay off in the big leagues. The White House was the ultimate goal of the group, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that some were drooling just thinking about it.

  But Meagan needed to meet with Lincoln, just one on one. Bob Stone wasn’t able to attend this year’s session in Palm Springs, so Meagan would just wing the discussion on her own. She’d fill Bob in later.

  It was an important discussion she had to have with Linc. Things were going so well, but, in another sense, they weren’t. She was worried. Something was nagging her, in addition to the disturbing things that had happened. She hated thinking that defeat could possibly be snatched from the jaws of victory.

  The closer they got to their ultimate goal, the more stressed she became.

  It was like the underdog in the Super Bowl. No pressure going into the game, but all that would change if the underdog actually started winning. By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, and victory seemed actually possible, nerves became fried. Because, to taste power and victory, and then to lose it, was, in Meagan’s mind, the worst torture possible.

  She entered the foyer of Sinatra’s main house, picked up the internal house phone, and dialed Linc’s room number.

  “Meet me down in the lounge. We need to talk.”

  *****

  “Sandford rushed out of his house with a rifle,” Meagan told Linc. “Right towards the vehicle, gun extended. Our driver—who was just a driver, not an operative—panicked and drove off. In other words, Sandford Beech survived. I don’t know how, but he did.”

  Linc scratched his chin. “Hmm...didn’t you have your best people on this?”

  “Yes, we did. Two former Green Berets. Should have been easy.”

  “Well, that would be naïve, don’t you think? Sandy was West Point, in the Honor Guild. The training in self-defence and killing techniques was extreme at that school. When you graduated from there, you were a lethal weapon.”

  Meagan scoffed. “That was a couple of decades ago! There’s no way he’d still be a killing machine today.”

  “Clearly, he is. Did you hear fro
m the two operatives?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Then, he killed them. He’s still a killing machine.”

  “What is it with this guy? He harassed our stooge Christopher Clark—who has now just disappeared. Probably dead, but chances are he spilled the beans before he died.” Meagan stirred some sugar into her coffee. “Sandford then impersonated a client at our Triple-L lab, and escaped within inches of his life with some help from a few of his friends. Two of our men died at Triple-L as well.”

  She shook her head. “And you admitted that the sketch of that man at the cathedral—the guy who fucked everything up and just vanished into thin air—looked a lot like your friend Sandy. Now, we try to kill the bastard, but he seems to have turned the tables on us—and two more of our men have disappeared. People just tend to die around Dr. Beech—and the man seems to have nine lives!”

  Linc frowned. “He’s brilliant, and resourceful. As well, he may feel he has nothing to lose now after the deaths of his family in the Quincy attack.”

  Meagan stood up and stretched her arms, from side to side, and across her chest.

  “I’m feeling stressed, Linc. I feel like certain things are out of our control now. We don’t know whether Clark is dead or alive. If dead, he may have talked before he died. If alive and stashed away by Sandford somewhere, he may be talking still. Either way, we have to assume that Sandford knows that your campaign engineered the Quincy Market terror attack, and, if that indeed was Sandford at the cathedral, then that was no coincidence. Clark must have told him that the church was our next target. Connect the dots.”

  Linc nodded. “Yes. And if he knows all those things, particularly the Quincy thing, then he blames me for the deaths of his wife and kids. As I said, he has nothing to lose now. Which makes him dangerous as hell.”

  Meagan chewed on one of her fingernails and then pointed it at Linc as she asked her next important question. “Does he have anyone else in his life that he cares about?”

  Linc went silent for a few seconds. “The only one I can think of, and it’s really ancient history, is a lady by the name of Judy Nichols. He dated her during our university years. I dated her too. She was his first love. He might turn to her now that his wife is gone. Her ex-husband, John Nichols, also from West Point, committed…suicide…a few months ago, so they’re both free as birds.”

  Meagan uttered an “Ah-hah,” as she wrote the name down in her notebook.

  “Where does she live?”

  “New York City. Queens, I think.”

  “Okay. Leave that with me.”

  She paused for a few seconds and stared unblinkingly into Linc’s eyes. “Is there anything you haven’t told me? Anything that happened between you and Sandy back in your West Point days that I don’t know about? Something else that might have caused him to have such a hard-on for you?”

  Meagan noticed that Linc gulped hard before he answered.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Nothing.”

  “Are you sure? No skeletons in your closet that you’re afraid to tell us about?”

  Linc raised his voice. “No! I just told you that. Stop talking to me like I’m some kind of child. I’m the next President of the United States, for God’s sake!”

  Meagan furrowed her brow into the schoolmarmiest look she could muster. “I hope so. And, for both our sakes, I hope you’re not lying to me. We’d rather know up front about a problem than have it sprung on us by surprise. If the media or some other source, splashed it out in the open and we had to react, we’d sound defensive and you’d be crucified in the court of public opinion.”

  Linc jumped to his feet and glared down at her. “I’m weary of your preaching and lecturing, so just leave me the fuck alone. I’m racing to the finish line. You take care of Sandy; stop him from getting in my way.”

  Meagan smiled to herself as he stomped off. He was clearly wrapped around her little finger. Fearful of his old West Point rival and reliant on Meagan to protect him from Sandy’s intrusions. Yes, she loved theater. Manipulation was child’s play when paired with good acting.

  41

  Lloyd’s frown made its appearance only seconds after Sandy began his story, and he still couldn’t wipe it off his face even though the story had now come to an end.

  “That’s one hell of a weapon. Is it legal?”

  “Of course, it isn’t—not for the common man, anyway. It’s never been tested on a battlefield yet, either, but there are really no legalities as far as military weaponry anyway. Some types of weapons are banned by the UN, or through treaties, but those stipulations are all, by and large, ignored.

  “What I have in my basement is a miniature prototype of what I’ve been developing at the Lincoln Lab. And, as you know, the Lincoln Lab, while being a division of MIT, is really a secret division of the Pentagon. I’ve told you that, but the general public really doesn’t know it. I even carry Pentagon credentials in addition to my university identification.”

  Bill chuckled. “Forgive me for laughing, but that’s quite the world you run in, Sandy.”

  Sandy grimaced. “Sometimes I laugh too, Bill. It’s pathetically funny, isn’t it?”

  Judy had remained silent throughout Sandy’s story, with her hands masking her mouth in shock. But, now she jumped into the conversation. “That darn PEP thing saved your life, that’s all we should care about. If you hadn’t had that machine in your basement, you would have been dead.”

  Sandy nodded. “Yes, that’s a fact.”

  She inched herself along the couch until her leg was brushing against his. Judy took his hand in hers and kissed it. “Thank God you’re safe. But they won’t stop, you know that. You’ve been a thorn in their side, and with Linc running away with the presidential race, they can’t let you screw things up.”

  “I know. Trust me, I’m worried too.”

  Bill stood and started pacing. “We need to go public.”

  Lloyd rested his feet on the coffee table and folded his arms across his chest. “C’mon, Bill. With what? What the hell do we have that we can prove?”

  “We have a tape recording.”

  “That was from twenty-five years ago, when John and Linc’s voices were barely outside puberty. Linc’s voice might not even be recognizable. The only thing close to proof on that tape is John sneakily using Linc’s name, and mentioning Monica Hartwell’s name, but that could have been recorded today. Using his name isn’t proof, and John isn’t even alive to testify that he recorded the damn thing. So, it’s useless.”

  Sandy shook his head. “It’s not useless, Lloyd, but I agree that it has limited legal use. Consider this, though—a lie detector test also has limited legal value, and it can’t generally be used in a court of law. But what it does do is send investigators in a certain direction, towards a target. Puts the pressure on. A tape recording would achieve the same purpose—would allow an investigation to focus on a target. And that target in this case is Linc. And the murder victim, Monica Hartwell—well, her name is mentioned in the recording. So, this recording is kind of explosive in a couple of ways. Which is why they killed John and made it look like suicide. They can’t take a chance on that tape reaching public ears and creating some level of reasonable doubt about Linc’s character. They’ll do anything to get Linc elected, and they’ll sweep away anything in their path.”

  Lloyd nodded agreement. “Consider this, though. If Linc and his campaign have this kind of power now, able to fabricate two terror attacks and carry out a brazen attempt on your life, can you imagine how impossible this will be once he’s elected president? He’ll have ultimate power at his fingertips. If you somehow manage to survive during this campaign, your life will be short indeed after inauguration. A loose end that they’ll eliminate for sure once Linc is the most powerful man on the planet.”

  Judy ran her fingers through her hair. “You and Bill are
also loose ends, Lloyd. They’ve already killed John and Hank, they tried to kill both of you, and now they’ve tried with Sandy. The only reason they haven’t tried again with you two is probably because they don’t know where you are.”

  Bill replied in a whisper. “You’re right, Judy. And when they killed John, they thought they got the only copy of the recording. If they conclude that you have a copy, you and your daughter are also in danger.”

  Sandy stood and started pacing the room, rubbing his chin as he thought about all that had been said by his friends.

  Then he spoke, slowly, using his professorial style. “There’s something out of order with all of this. John was killed because of the tape recording and because he tried to blackmail Linc. They don’t know there’s a copy, and they haven’t bothered Judy—probably because they know that Judy and John had been divorced for several years and that John was a hopeless alcoholic,” he said.

  “We then connected the dots from that recording and from the death of Monica Hartwell. There were five people in the van that night. Two of them are now dead, and Bill and Lloyd had attempts made on their lives. The fifth, Linc, was the one responsible for Monica’s death, and to our knowledge, no attempt has been made on his life. If it had, it would have hit the news headlines. So, our conclusion has to be that Linc is behind the murders of John and Hank and the attempts on Lloyd and Bill. Follow me so far?”

  All heads nodded.

  Sandy continued. “As for me, I’m in a different category. I wasn’t in the van that night, and as far as Linc is concerned, I know nothing about the rape and death of that girl. So, I’m not a loose end for that skeleton in his closet like you guys are. And, even if he suspects that John or one of you guys had eventually told me about it, I wasn’t in the van that night. I’m not a direct witness, so I’m not really a threat about that incident. The attempt on my life was the other night, not at all close on the heels of the attempts on you two and the deaths of the other two. You were all in the van that night. If he’d thought that I was a loose end on that, an attempt on me would have been made earlier, probably around the time you guys almost died.”