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While our destination might have been the London Palladium, the route we took to get there was the scenic one. The further we got from Weybridge Manor, the more the convoy split and fragmented, with armored cars heading in every direction.
I had tried a similar tactic when I’d fled New York with the stolen mask in my possession.
I’d not realized I was robbing the CIA until I was staring at their reports on my wife’s desk. Her division, Section 9 and its Director, had seen through my efforts, but I’d been working with next to no time or preparation and relying almost entirely on a digitally produced set of theatrics orchestrated by a cunning hacker.
It hadn’t worked but I’d always put that down to the limited time frame I’d given him to work with. This was a different affair entirely.
Where my last attempt had been digital deep fakes posted all over the internet and social media, this was an actual undertaking with dozens of real vehicles and hundreds of people.
Periodically, vehicles would stop, and security personnel emerged wearing the same jacket and hat I favored. Over the course of an hour, Lynch would be chasing no less than fifteen versions of me as they made their way all over London.
Elsewhere, decoys of my father and Lara were also traipsing all over the city.
The convoy would drop someone off and continue moving before picking another up. It was a carefully planned and executed choreography designed to boggle the minds of the most sophisticated intelligence network in the world.
I just hoped it was enough.
Andrew Lynch was the head of Clandestine Operations, and I had no doubt that at this moment every single one of his analysts were hunting us. They of course would think we were terrorists, or people of interest in some plot against the United States.
The Brotherhood didn’t truly control the world, only the narrative. If one was to dig too deep into the cover story, they might start to learn the truth.
That was what we hoped to bring to light today.
After the best part of an hour of misdirection, the security officer who had been driving me in silence turned and pointed to the black duffel resting on the seat beside me.
“Mr. Caldwell, there is a change of clothes in the pack. If you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to ensure we give you a sporting chance at making it inside undetected.”
“Fair enough,” I replied as I unzipped the bag. I wasn’t wearing my favorite hat anyway. I hadn’t exactly been planning this outing when I’d gotten up this morning.
Inside was a baseball cap. It was worn and faded, a second-hand Yankees cap that had seen better days. I pulled it down tight, keeping the brim low to obscure as much of my face as I could manage. I tossed aside the jacket I’d been wearing on the estate and pulled on a black leather duster. It was a long way from what I would usually wear, even in winter, which I supposed was the point. I pulled the jacket tight around me only to see the driver still staring at me in the mirror.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“The vest too, sir. Just in case.”
I realized there was a bullet-proof vest resting in the bottom of the bag. I hadn’t even seen it there.
I undid my seat belt again, pulled off the jacket and my shirt, and strapped on the bullet-proof vest. I put it underneath my shirt in the hope that a lazy marksman might not aim for my face. If I wore it over the top and gave away its presence, I was only encouraging them to make a more ambitious target out of my relatively unprotected skull.
I pulled my shirt over the top. It barely fit, and I looked like an over eager bodybuilder, but it was better than the alternative. The duster went over the top and I pulled it tight around me as we rolled to a stop.
I didn’t need to be told we were there. The London Palladium in the heart of West End was one of the most recognizable theaters anywhere in the world, renowned for hosting the Royal Variety Show and headline acts from every artistic discipline. I’d been here a dozen times.
My father had opted for the Palladium as the most conspicuous possible meeting place, and therefore the least likely to be the real destination. We would have been far safer with fifty journalists crammed into a warehouse somewhere. But that sort of traffic in a commercial district might also attract attention. Journalists and foot traffic passing the London Palladium, even on a day when no show was scheduled to take place, wouldn’t be noteworthy. The only problem was that the venue was massive, and securing it against unwanted entry would have been a logistics effort in and of itself.
“Thanks, gents, appreciate the ride,” I called as I pushed open the door.
“We’ll be circling the neighborhood, sir. If you need us, we’ve texted you the number. Call and we’ll be here in minutes. Godspeed.”
I tipped my baseball cap, then pulled it low over my eyes and slid out of the car. The air was bracing. but the fortunate part about my father’s choice in disguise was the duster was proof even against the cold air blowing through the city streets.
I made it all of fifteen steps before two more security personnel fell into stride beside me.
“Lara and your father are waiting We’ll take you the rest of the way, sir.”
It didn’t matter how old I got, being called sir never felt right to me. But if my father really was preparing to hand the reins over to me, I would accomplish nothing by correcting it now.
I focused on the task at hand.
We were about to walk into a den of journalists, all hunting for their next headline story. If we weren’t careful, the story they walked away with would be just as damning for us as it would be for Lynch, and our position was far more precarious.
There was no outing the Brotherhood without confessing the role my family had played in it. That admission gave our evidence credibility, yet it also tarred us with the same brush. I might have never joined them, but the smell of what the Brotherhood was would no doubt rub off on me too.
Even if we managed to take care of Lynch, there would still be a price to be paid. What we were about to do could never be undone.
But I couldn’t let that stop me. Not now that I had my father on board. We were about to light a fire and set it at the base of the Brotherhood’s very existence.
I was acutely aware that this would have ramifications not only for us, but for those whose names were on my father’s list.
Some of them would inevitably die when their true loyalties were revealed. That was the thing about loyalty. You can’t serve two masters, and once your loyalty is in question you become expendable.
I wasn’t particularly comfortable with sentencing people I’d never met to death, but the Brotherhood’s hierarchy was like a vast fortress. Removing a single brick wouldn’t be enough to bring it down. We had to shatter its walls, destroy its framework, and erode the very foundations on which it was built.
The security force guided me through the Palladium, empty but for our personnel. I took a deep breath as we reached the stage.
There was no turning back now.
Security personnel flanked the stairs. I slipped between them and made my way up onto a stage I had no business being on.
The first five rows of the center section were full of journalists. They sat, recording devices in hand, notepads and laptops at the ready. Throughout the hall, Caldwell security forces were stationed at entrances and exits. Several snipers perched in the alcoves of the highest level.
My father and fiancée sat on the stage. Not the royals the journalists had been expecting but their curiosity piqued, nonetheless. Frank Caldwell might not have spent much time in public in recent years, but he was still a London elite.
The journalists had no idea of the import of what they were about to discover. The scope of it was going to blow their collective minds.
My father and Lara sat in two leather chairs facing the audience. A third empty chair sat between them.
I made my way over and sank into it. Lara leaned back and let out a sigh of relief at my presence. I rested a hand on her knee.
I’d never enjoyed the limelight, but after today, I would be lucky to ever enjoy peace again. I supposed being hounded by reporters and conspiracy theorists was better than the alternative: certain death at the hands of Andrew Lynch.
My father rose to his feet.
“I’m sure most of you know who I am. But for those who don’t, I’m Frank Caldwell. I have not spent a great deal of time in the public eye of late. Doubtless you have all heard the rumors. As you can see from my countenance, there is some substance to them. I am dying.”
Hands shot up as the reporters readied questions.
My father shook his head. “I have not brought you here to discuss my health, or other societal nonsense. The reason you’re all here is a matter of greater import. Call it a confession if you will.”
He glanced sideways at me. I nodded for him to go on.
“Before we proceed, I must warn you. The things I am about to tell you will put your lives in danger. From the moment you hear them, until you publish them widely, you will be in danger. If you wish to leave, that is your prerogative. But if you wish to learn the greatest secret ever kept in modern times, stick around. I’ll make it worth your while.”
The reporters were silent, waiting on his every word. I had to give it to dad; he knew how to work a room.
“You must swear you will spend every waking breath trying to bring to light that which I am about to share with you.”
“Enough with the drama, Frank. Out with it already.”
My father peered down into the mass of journalists. “Ellis Kitchener. Glad to see you are still breathing. Steady on, old man, this one will be a darn sight more interesting than the nonsense the BBC has had you covering the last six months.”
My father drew a deep breath and held up a remote. He clicked a button and an overhead projector whirred to life. A massive white static filled the screen behind the stage.
“All of you believe you understand the world order. Countries and governments vying for control, as they compromise to share scarce resources for the betterment of their citizens. Economies, ofttimes fragile and easily threatened, are brought into balance through careful collaboration.
“Well, I have brought you here to tell you that behind it all, there is a single overarching agenda. An organization you’ve never heard of other than in whispers and rumors. They manipulate and control the affairs of the world.”
My father paused, letting the journalists teeter on the edge of their chairs.
“Do not fear. I’m not a conspiracy theorist or tin foil hat wearing lunatic. I’m just merely pointing out they weren’t wrong. I know. I have been a part of painting them as delusional for decades, to conceal the truth. Which is, for four hundred years, one society has controlled the course of humankind’s progress.”
There was a smattering of laughter through the Palladium. Several of the journalists started to stand.
“If we’d known we were coming here to listen to the deranged rambling of an old recluse, we would have stayed home,” one journalist called.
“You’ve seen better days, Frank,” another said.
My father cleared his throat. “Leave if you will, cowards. You’ll note I mentioned this was a confession. I was a part of it. Those who remain and hear me out will be party to reshaping the world. These moments don’t even come around once in a lifetime, so squander it if you will.”
The standing journalists paused, and my father continued. “We immortalized the men who signed the Declaration of Independence and history remembers every one of their names. What do you think will happen to those who brought down a shadow government that ruled the world for centuries? You will be heroes.”
“Give us something concrete, Frank,” Ellis called from the front row. “Or let us go home to our families.”
The reporters started to sit down, though I noted those who hadn’t moved. Thomas was sitting patiently at the end of the first row. Another in the third row was young, and he watched my father intently.
Skeptical as the others might have been, the younger participants seemed more inclined to give my father the benefit of the doubt.
Thomas had been looking for these answers for most of his life. I knew what it was like to search for something only to have it dance just outside your grip.
My father clicked the remote and Andrew Lynch’s face filled the screen.
“Let us start at the top then,” my father said. “Andrew Lynch, head of Clandestine Operations for the United States of America. And still, that’s only the second most powerful title he holds. The other is Chairman of the Inner Circle of the Brotherhood. He and a handful of other men preside over an organization that has infiltrated every government of consequence, significant industrial interest, and military power structure in the world. They draw their greatest strength from the fact no one knows they exist, and no one is looking for them.”
The room was quiet, so my father plowed on. “Some instances of their most recent activities include that mess in the South China Sea last year, the Suez Canal being blocked to bring global shipping to a halt. These were not simple accidents, but were carefully choreographed maneuvers to consolidate power.”
The journalists were taking notes now. Even Ellis Kitchener had his pad out once more.
“I know I can’t possibly hope to persuade you with words alone. But if you connect to the wireless network in this room, you’ll find an open archive. It’s unencrypted and it contains a wealth of evidence for your reference. Among the files is a listing of every operative on the Brotherhood’s payroll, including but not limited to their entire command hierarchy and the grievous acts they’ve perpetrated to garner their influence. There are mountains of evidence I’ve gathered over a lifetime. You might ask how I come to be in possession of it.”
My father swallowed. This was it. He was about to undo a lifetime’s worth of effort in a heartbeat.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, until this morning, I was a member of the Inner Circle myself. In fact, my family funded many of their operations. Our intentions had been to improve life for mankind, but when we refused to be a party to the increasingly erratic agenda, they tried to kill my son, and then murdered my wife.”
I noted his lie. If Lynch learned of this meeting, at least he would continue to think he’d succeeded.
“So do all the digging you wish. You will find the events I’ve documented transpired precisely as I have indicated. The modus operandi was always that the ends justified the means, but such excuses play well behind closed doors. I’ll let the public be the judge, when the facts are known. You will find complete paper trails, documentation proving the funding of these events, and irrefutable evidence that Andrew Lynch’s intention is to rule the world from the safety of obscurity. A tyrant whose name is barely known by those whose lives he spends without remorse.”
Thomas raised his voice. “Did they kill my parents?”
My father fixed him with a stare. “Son, I don’t even know who your parents were. Be specific.”
“They were FBI agents who discovered the existence of this Brotherhood you’re talking about.”
“I don’t know the names of everyone whose lives were taken to preserve their secrets, but I can tell you they’d have killed them without hesitation, FBI agents or not.
“Young man, around this world are countless victims just like you. Victims of decisions made by a group of men the world might never have known. Lives cast aside in the pursuit of a greater good. That’s the lie we told ourselves.”
“What changed?” Kitchener called. “Are we to believe that the greatest conspiracy of our time has only been bought to light out of petty revenge?”
My father shook his head. “No. Lynch has changed things. He acts to accumulate power and influence. It is not the benevolent and guiding mandate the organization was founded on. It has lost its way and so must be dispersed to the four corners of the earth. The only way that happens is if you publish every detail you have found here. Mind you, the organizations you’re a part of will do everything to suppress this story. The Brotherhood’s influence is that great.”
“You paint a grim picture,” Kitchener said.
“That’s why you must work together. Corroborate each other’s stories, push them out on social media, dump it on the dark web, and shout it into every camera and microphone you can find. Only if this evidence finds its way into the public eye will their anonymity be shattered and the power structure of this monolithic evil be undermined forever.”
There was a grinding rumble, and the Palladium shook gently. My chair shifted slightly as the entire building trembled.
It had to be an earthquake.
“Lord Byron is on this list,” an older journalist near the front called.
“Indeed, he is,” my father replied. “One of the inner circle, he’s had his hand in most of the matters we’ve already discussed. And dozens that we haven’t. Further down the hierarchy you will find a handful of other lords. There are also senators and members of the House of Representatives from both sides of the aisle in the United States government.
“It doesn’t end there. There are leaders of industry, political activists, super PACs and more. Influence is the currency of the Brotherhood. Many of you work for organizations that are controlled, influenced, or funded by assets of the Brotherhood and don’t even know it.”
My father drew a deep breath.
“But to be clear, there are those who are members of the Brotherhood, and there are those who have served its interests unwittingly. If we are to bring down this evil, it must all be dragged into the light.
“That is the part you must play. I’ve given you all the evidence you could ever need. All you need to do is find the courage to print it. Shout it from the rooftops and spread it any way you can.”
“What of your son?” Kitchener called. “What part does he play in all this?”
“He’s here to support me,” my father replied. “He’s never been willing to join their cause. That’s why they tried to have him killed.”
“If they will kill him, they’ll certainly kill us,” a blonde woman called from the second row.
“Almost certainly,” my father said “Why do you think I warned you? The sooner and wider you spread the message, the safer you all are.
“The Brotherhood strives for secrecy over overt action. Once the message is everywhere, killing you gains nothing and only serves to stir sentiment against them.”
A second rumble stirred the Palladium and the journalists looked at each other, their uncertainty growing by the moment.
“Relax, it’s just the tube,” my father called. “Sometimes these old buildings shake a little.”
I shifted uneasily in my chair. I’d been here enough to know it shouldn’t be that loud. What was my father thinking? Perhaps he wasn’t. It was possible that he was so hellbent on unmasking Andrew Lynch that he was overlooking the fact that something was very wrong.
My father changed the slides until Lynch’s face filled the screen again. “But the piece you must all print is that this man, Andrew Lynch, is at the head of it all. He won’t surrender his influence easily. You will feel the weight of it as you unmask him. His resources are immense and in the coming days you will likely see him attempt to wipe my family off the face of the earth for betraying their identities to the public. Let our deaths stand as a witness against them.
“My ancestor founded this organisation four centuries ago to try and lead the world to peace and prosperity. Now all we built is being used to accumulate power at the expense of others. It’s not what we wanted. It’s not what I spent my life building, and I won’t have its existence be my legacy.”
A grinding rumble shook the Palladium. The twisting sensation in my gut told me we were out of time. After all these years, I knew to trust it.
Rising to my feet, I grabbed dad’s arm. “It’s time to leave. I don’t know how, but they’ve found us.”
“Leave? We’ve got questions,” one of the journalists shouted.
“Thousands of them, I’m sure,” I called back. “Take the data and run. You might just live to print it. Go now!”
The journalists bolted for the exits.
As they filed out of the rows, one didn’t move. He simply stood still, staring us down. He was the same young man who hadn’t moved earlier. He couldn’t have been any older than thirty and had a dark complexion. His eyes were fixed on my father.
“Frank Caldwell, you are a traitor and your forsaken vows call down the punishment of the brethren upon you.” His thickly accented voice rang with power.
The Palladium shook harder.
Several journalists were thrown off their feet. I barely managed to keep mine beneath me. Thomas reached into his pocket as he moved closer to the stage. The Seeker looked like he was spoiling for a fight.
“You have what you want, Thomas. Now run while you still can. Spread the message far and wide. Ensure the Seekers bring the Brotherhood into the light.”
“What about you?” Thomas called.
“I’m going to try and survive the week,” I replied.
The rumbling intensified as the man in the third row began to chant.
The security forces opened fire on the man in the third row. The bullets rebounded harmlessly off a transparent arcane barrier that surrounded him.
“Lara, off the stage now,” I shouted, as I turned to look for her.
Thomas was already running for the exit, as Lara leaped off the stage. My father and I raced down the stairs.
From the front row, Lara emptied her magazine at the wizard.
The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the shield as the man reached beneath his robes. He pulled out an amulet that was made of bronze. It glowed an angry amber hue as he resumed his chanting.
We hit the carpeted floor as the stage was obliterated. A massive dark shape surging up through it.
The form splintered right through the center stage with an almighty crash. Timber was cast aside as a jet-black serpentine mass rose from the destroyed stage of the London Palladium.
The sixth and final installment of Urban Arcanology starts here. Packed with monsters, magic, and mythological beings, it will keep you turning pages until the very end. Visit – https://www.samuelcstokes.com/halfbloodsbetrayal