Chapter 1,2,3 - The Elect

                                                      The Elect









                                                      Chapter 1







         His world was a blur.

         Chaos.

          In his short twenty two years he had never been truly scared, nor had his foundation been shaken. Life was effortless. He had everything he needed or asked for. Jacob Sumner had lived in Washington D.C. his entire life. His father, William Sumner, had become a U.S. Congressman when Jacob was twelve. His mother was a high school history teacher and a part time author. Their money, mostly, came from his grandfather, William Sr., who was a very successful business man. He was a former Army Ranger who contracted out to the US military and other various enterprises. His company was called AWT – Advanced Weapons Technologies. Jacob had been hired by his grandfather last year after graduating from Cornell with a degree in general studies. He knew that his father was disappointed that he didn’t go to Georgetown, for one, and two, that he didn’t study Political Science. Jacob wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do, but he had seen what politics had done to his father, how they had changed him, made him different. Its not that his father was a bad person, he just seemed to put his job ahead of everything and everyone. However, Jacob knew that’s what made his dad a good Congressman. So Jacob decided to bide his time, and weigh his options while working at his grandfather’s company.

         The vacation in Paris was almost at an end. Jacobs’s father piloted the rental car toward the hotel and then they were off to the Roissy de Gaulle airport and back to D.C. He couldn’t be any happier this trip was almost over. His mother told him it was an opportunity to spend some time with his father, but Jacob knew better than that, and he was right. He had seen his father very little. The Congressman spent most of his time in meetings with members of the French Parliament, the French Assembly and numerous other diplomats. Jacob ended up escorting his mother to the Eiffel Tower and posing for pictures at every tourist hotspot while his father was gone to meetings.

         “Jacob!” His father yelled with no response. “Hey, Jake! Take those headphones off. We are almost to the hotel, your mom and I have to go in and take care of the bill and grab our things. Can you wait in the car?” He gave a quick nod to his dad.

         They pulled up to the Hotel de Crillon. The Hotel de Crillon was a five star hotel that sits on the north end of the Place de la Condcorde. It was built in the seventeenth century by King Louis XV. It was originally used as government offices but was converted into a luxury hotel. They had stayed in the opulent stone chateau for the last week.

         The car came to a stop and his parents hopped out. His mother poked her head in his window. “We’ll be quick honey.”

         “OK Ma.” Jacob said and stuck back in his ear buds. His parents scurried off and left Jacob in the back seat. Jacob watched the throngs of tourists taking pictures of the hotel and the seventy-five foot high, 3,300 year old Obelisk in the Place de la Condcorde. Bus after bus of tourists filed in and out, cameras and maps in hand. Jacob couldn’t wait to get on the plane and back to his apartment in D.C.. He felt like a kid again, being led around by his parents on vacation.

         The Paris heat was starting to get to Jacob, so he took off his seatbelt and reached into the front seat to flip on the A.C. When he did, he noticed that his father had left his attaché case between the seats. His dad didn’t go anywhere without the worn leather bag. “How you gonna pay for the rooms without your wallet? Old age getting to you dad?” Jacob said to himself. He decided that he better take the bag to his father. He snatched it up and scooted out of the car. As he shut his door and hopped up on the curb he was suddenly blown backward. The back of his legs collided with the front fenders and he went end over end across the rented car. He landed on the pavement in a heap. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. There was an intense ringing in his ears and his vision had been blurred from the shock. Debris and glass now covered his body. He opened his eyes and could see the crowds of people in a panic. They were scrambling around the plaza, screaming, crying.

         The Hotel Lobby had exploded.

         He collected himself and managed to get to his knees. He surveyed the scene with a feeling of dread. It was then he realized, as if he’d forgotten, his parents were in the lobby of the hotel. He took off on a sprint across the pavement towards the collapsed lobby doors, his father’s attaché flapping at his side. As he neared the scene a gunshot rang out. He dropped to the pavement and frantically searched the sea of onlookers. Who was shooting? Another shot rang out and he realized it was coming from the second floor. There were masked men running across the second floor balcony. Jacob ignored them and decided to try and find his way into the lobby. The hotel was constructed mostly of stone so the opening where the doors once were was covered with fragments of rock and twisted metal. As he was pushing his way through the rubble the air filled with the high pitched sound of sirens approaching from the plaza. It was no use; he couldn’t find a way in. He could feel a lump developing in his throat and his eyes started to sting, but he proceeded to dig his way through the rubble anyway. Then from behind him he heard men’s voices “quittez le bâtiment!" They were screaming again and again,”quittez le bâtiment!” He turned to see police officers frantically pushing their way through the mass of spectators.

         “I don’t speak French! What are you saying?” Jacob pleaded with the officers.

         “Leave the building!” one of them shrieked in broken English.

         “My parents are in the hotel, I have to find them!” Jacob said and fought his way through the straining arms of the officers.

         “We will find them, get away. Not safe!” The officer said and finally pulled Jacob away from the rubble. He stumbled off of the curb and wandered towards the plaza with his eyes welling and his heart pounding.

He would have to wait.











                                                    Chapter 2





         The ride to the central police station was short. Hours of waiting in the sweltering sun and staring at the hotel waiting for his parents to emerge, had left Jacob exhausted. The officer kept telling him it would be ok. How could it be ok when his mother and father were just blown to pieces? What a stupid thing to say- “It’ll be ok”- he hated French people. At least he did right now.

When they reached the Central Police Station the officer escorted him through a maze of cubicles and desks to a cramped room with a wooden table and chairs. They brought in a translator to ask him questions, and there were so many. The woman translating was nice enough, but he was rude with her anyway. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted his family back.

         “We are almost done Jacob and then you can leave. OK, one last question- Is there anyone that you know who would want to kill your father?” He had had his face in his hands, but when she asked this, he looked her right in the eye.

         “Why would you ask that?” Jacobs face was twisted with confusion. ”There were a hundred people in the lobby of the hotel. What makes you think someone wanted to kill my family?” Then the officer asking the questions shuffled some papers and pulled out a file. He hesitated for a moment and handed a photo to Jacob. The photo was taken from a security camera. They were of his father talking with another man. Jacob didn’t recognize the man his father was with. The photos were black and white and taken from a distance. They seemed so irrelevant. What was the point of all this? Jacob stood up and took a closer look at the black and white images.

         “OK, so you have pictures of my dad, so what?” Jacob started to feel the anger rising up in him. “What does this mean? Who is this talking to my father?”

         Just then another officer who was observing them stepped forward. He was a tall thin man with a long skinny face and short, coal black hair. He picked up the folder and sat at the edge of the table. The man spoke to him with a thick French accent. “Hello Jacob. My name is Officer Babineaux. These were taken of your father yesterday. The man in the photo with him is Lewis Pettis, a member of the French Parliament.”

         “OK” Jacob said, studying the photo. “What does that have to do with anything? My father met with a lot of people in the last week.”

         Babineaux stood up and pulled another photo from the file. “Please, sit” the officer asked. Babineaux sat next to Jacob and held out the photo. Jacobs face went white and his stomach felt sick. It was another photo of the same man, but this time he was dead. There was a bright red seeping hole in his forehead. A bullet hole. He had been shot. The officer let it sink in a moment as he asked everyone else to leave. It was all starting to pile on. Jacob felt that he couldn’t take anymore. He was ready to just get up and leave when Babineaux put his hand on Jacobs shoulder. “Look, Jacob, I know this is a lot to digest. But we are just trying to figure out what has happened. Any help you can give us will go a long way.”

         Jacob stood up and collected himself. He played it all out in his mind. “OK” Jacob said “so this man, who met with my dad yesterday, is now dead. Murdered, right?” The officer nodded his head and crossed his arms. “So, it’s a little strange, I’ll give you that, but maybe this has nothing to do with my father at all. Maybe it’s all just a coincidence. My father just happened to meet with this guy the day before he was killed and he just happened to be in the wrong hotel at the wrong time.” Jacob stared at the man, waiting for a response.

         The officer walked to a window in the back of the room and shoved his hands in his suit pockets. He rattled around his keys a moment and sighed. He then turned to Jacob and smiled. “You may be right. This could all just be happenstance. But the French Police do not think so. Look, I am going to get you a room for the night. Not in the Crillon, of course. Go get some sleep. We will talk in the morning. You have had a day haven’t you? If you can think of anything, anything at all, please call me.” Then Officer Babineaux handed him his card and left Jacob alone in the room.

As the door shut Jacob broke down.





         The French Police had gotten Jacob a room at the Normandy Hotel. It was only a few blocks from the station, but it was definitely a step down from the Crillon. At least it was still in one piece. Babineaux had sent an officer with him to help get him checked in. When they arrived on the third floor and found his room, Jacob offered the officer the extent of his French- “Merci”- and shut the door behind him.

         It was after he had plopped down on the bed that he realized he didn’t have his bags which carried his passport. He would have to go to the Embassy tomorrow and sort everything out. He dropped his father’s attaché on the floor next to the bed and walked towards the balcony to get some fresh air.

         Jacobs’s dark brown hair fluttered in the late evening breeze as he rubbed his aching brown eyes. His body throbbed from being thrown over the car and from shear fatigue. He surveyed the near empty street and checked his watch – 10:53 pm. He thought about the events of the day and how his life would change from here on out. He thought about his father and his mother. What would his grandfa - he suddenly remembered his Grandfather. He hadn’t even thought about him until now. He needed to tell him what had happened. He pulled out his cell phone and began to dial the number when a wave of exhaustion came over him.

Tomorrow.

For now, he needed sleep.

         Jacob meandered back into the hotel room and collapsed on the bed. He was asleep instantly.











                                                          Chapter 3





                                                      Oxford, England



         Arthur Walter, member of the Junta of Three, strides across Radcliffe Square. The massive Corinthian Columns on the Radcliffe Camera tower over him, watching him, following his every step. Arthur was an older man, in his sixties. His hair was silver with age and the lines on his face only helped to confirm the years. He pushes up the sleeve of his Armani suit jacket and checked his watch -10:53 pm. He hoped that he wasn’t too late. He began to lengthen his strides to pick up time. St. Mary’s church sat on the south end of the square.

He was almost there.

He could only hope he hadn’t missed the General. He hated to disappoint the General.

         As Arthur stepped through the eccentric baroque porch and revealed the dimly lit interior of the 13th century church, he was pleased to see the General still praying in one of the forward pews. He scanned the chapel and discovered it to be otherwise vacant. Arthur marched up the isle past the bayed arcades and shafted piers. He glanced upward at the ceiling, as the candlelight danced off of the archangels in their niches.

He hoped the General would be pleased.

         He approached the man praying. He was wearing a black overcoat and carried an old leather bound bible in his hands. As Arthur slipped between the pews, the General held up a hand as to interrupt his progress. “When I am finished with the Lord.” And he continued to pray.

         Arthur quietly took a seat across the isle and waited for his General. Their plan was so close. A century of preparation had led them to these events. Soon the Society would be what they were meant to be.

Soon they would have their say.          

         Recently, there had been some “holes” that needed to be patched. That was the Junta’s duty. That was Arthur’s duty. This “hole” needed to be fixed before The Society could accomplish their objective, their design, their fate. And today Arthur; the Junta, had succeeded. Today, the plan could move forward.

         As Arthur patiently waited, he heard a faint but deep “Amen” echo through the tabernacle. He glanced to his right and saw the giant of a man cross himself, and head in his direction. The General stood in the isle and peered over at him through his pale blue eyes. “So, Mr. Walter” he said in a low graveled voice “did you confirm the death?”

         “Yes sir. It is done.” Arthur said with a half smile that quickly faded. Then the general turned towards the pulpit and a flicker of light revealed his stiff white clerical collar. “I thank you my son. The Lord thanks you. The Society will meet tomorrow. We will move forward with our plan.”

         Then the General disappeared at the back of the chapel as Arthur heard the church doors shut with a reverberating rumble.



copyright 2009 Coby Coonradt