The Few (The Abductions of Langley Garret Book 2) (3 page)

'Why don't you just take your squeaky suitcase and fuck off out of my life,' I spat, as I looked at my living room window and contemplated, momentarily, jumping through it.

'I could Lang, I could. But while you try to deny everything, just have a little think about the two men you met this morning. The ones you ran from in fear, instinctively.' I looked across at her. 'Yes, you ran like a scared little rabbit, didn't you? And you were right to do so. But Lang, I have to tell you that without the help of a couple of my friends, they would have completed their assignment, and you'd be in very deep shit right now. You're lucky, and you can still use your right hand.'

I continued staring at her, not wanting to believe a word she said. 'Deny and hide your head in the sand Lang. Do it for as long as you want, but sooner or later you'll have to understand what's going on. Either you'll fight for who you are, or you'll be hunted down and then left to rot and die at some jailer's whim, if you're lucky. It's as simple as that.'

'I don't want any of this Chara,' I said, and realised immediately how pathetically repetitive I sounded. As we stared at each other, I even wondered if being pathetic was my last hope. Her eyes hardened as she moved her pose a little and lifted her head from her palms.

'And do you think I want all this shit either? Do you think I came here just to enjoy the fucking fondue? Lang, you are in serious danger and if you want to die very soon, kick me out. If you want to have your other hand crushed, your balls turned to dog food and your fingernails individually removed by pliers, then lock the door behind me and forget you ever met me. You have very few friends but a long list of enemies. You decide.'

'And what about you? Do you have few friends?

'I have a few friends Lang. That's a few more than you have right now.'

Not saying anything, I reached for my wallet and found the card that the man I had met at the Café du Commerce shortly after my arrival back in Switzerland had given me. I had presumed he was from the Swiss government and had given me the number to call if I felt I needed protection. I looked at Chara as I held the card in my hand. She looked back at me as if daring me. 'I have one friend.' She just nodded. I pulled my mobile phone from my pocket and rang the number. It rang twice before I got a recorded message. 'This number is no longer in service and has been disconnected.' I threw the card on the coffee table and put my phone slowly back into my pocket. Chara waited. I stared out the window.

'Who were they?' I asked after a long pause.

'The two men?'

'Yes.'

'From The Few.'

I looked at her questioningly.

'The oligarchy or oligarkhía in Greek, means The Few. It's been known as the Star Chamber, the Camera Stellata or Orwell's The Party, but it's all the same thing.'

'But that's all fiction.'

'You really are naïve Lang, you really are.'

'So what do these Few want?' I asked, ignoring her comment about my naivety.

'They want to control, but The Sons of Cleito exert control too. So it's a battle.'

'Why?'

'Because The Sons of Cleito have always fought against them. In the fourth century we overthrew The Few in Greece and installed a rudimentary form of democracy by drawing lots to decide on certain political, judicial and administrative positions and to…..'

'But that's just ancient history Chara. It's got nothing to do with what's happening today.'

'Take a look at your left hand, then tell me it's all fantasy,' she said, and stood up from leaning on the breakfast bar, apparently satisfied that she had won whatever game of words we had been playing. I looked at my left hand for a moment and probably in doing so, concluded her victory. I sat silently as she walked from behind the breakfast bar and came towards me, then curling her legs under herself; she buried her small frame into the end of the sofa, and started at me. I glanced at her, then the window, then my hand, and then back at her again.

'I suppose you'll be expecting lunch.'

Realities

There were too many questions for me. Until Chara had materialised earlier in the morning, I had taken the decision to leave all of these questions unanswered and get on with my simplistic life in my quiet little town. Putting it all down to a mistake, an accident or just some weird misunderstanding that in the end, somehow got understood, and I was released. Albeit with a dead wife, a busted hand and crooked nose. After my meeting with the mysterious gentleman at the Café du Commerce, it was the end of the story for me. Now it was clear that it wasn't.

I made lunch while Chara showered and changed. Atlantic smoked salmon, toast, sour cream, dill and finely sliced white onions with a bottle of Swiss white wine. I was just setting the table when she came back, her hair dangling wet, and her face devoid of any make up. I hadn't seen her without make up before, and with her pale complexion, it gave the impression of her being fragile and delicate. Her eyes looked deeper set, unsmiling and smaller and her cheeks puffier with just a pale hint of freckles across her nose.

'Feel better?'

'Yes, much,' she said, as she tilted her head and ran her fingers through her wet hair, finding a tangle or two to work on, as I wondered why women hid themselves behind a painted mask.

'Salmon ok?'

'Sure.'

After our morning conversation, less than four word sentences were about as far as either of us could manage now. Chara with her feminine armour lockered, and me, covered completely in my shroud of doubt – and suspicion. 'White wine ok?'

'Yes, thanks.'

I started setting the food on the dining table while Chara continued working on her tangles in the kitchen. When everything was ready, I looked across the breakfast bar at her. 'It's ready.' She came around and sat at the table, flicking her hair behind both her shoulders and giving her head a little shake. I passed her the warm toast, wrapped in a linen napkin in a bread basket. She took a slice, smiled, and returned her attention to the slice of toast. I passed her the salmon then poured the wine.

'Santé.'

'Yes, santé,' she said, as we touched glasses and took our first sips, then returned her attention to the sour cream and onions. I prepared my first serving, accompanied by bated silence. The crunch of toast under our knives, punctuating the air. It wasn't until I'd finished preparing my second serve that I looked up at her and knew what I had to say.

'I have a lot of unanswered questions.'

'I know.'

'Do you have the answers?'

'Some, but not all I'm afraid.'

'After lunch.'

'Yes, after lunch,' she said, she sipped her wine, and her face matured in front of my eyes, as I had trouble deciding if she was sixteen or sixty. The only surety I had was that she was an enigma – as was everything that came with her. My knife and toast crunched and punctuated the silence again as Chara sipped her wine once more and studied me.

'Have I got sour cream on my nose?'

She shook her head, smiled a little, and returned to concentrating on her plate of salmon. I focused back on my food as well, but was having the thought that it was just a little coincidental that after so many quiet, uneventful months since my return to Switzerland that the two men in bad suits and Chara appearing on the exact same Tuesday morning was more than I could put down to pure chance. My decision now though was to decide who scared me the most. It was line ball as I set about my third serve and topped up our glasses.

I went to make coffee when we finished lunch, while Chara continued to work on her tangles. The sound of the coffee machine's grinder and then its hissing breaking the silence that continued between us, as it felt as if we were preparing for an afternoon duel by mutually agreed flintlock pistols. I knew what the questions were that I wanted to fire at her, but I wasn't so sure of what her riposte would be; or worse, what she wanted with me. Clearly though, she wanted something otherwise she wouldn't be here, sitting at my dining table as she was, preening her hair. I took the coffee to the living room and Chara moved quietly to join me on the sofa. She made herself comfortable, sipped her coffee, then looked at me.

'Ready when you are,' she said, without a smile.

I sipped my coffee for a moment. 'Can we start with why I was taken to Decem Filios?'

'Very well,' she said, and moved a little to sit up a little straighter. 'The first thing you need to know is that you are, whether you like it or not, the designated Strategos of the Sons of Cleito.'

'The what?'

'It roughly means military leader, general, military governor or highest-ranking officer. You were brought to our island to begin your education in preparation to ascend to the position, as the health of Kratos, the current Strategos of the Sons of Cleito has been deteriorating during the past year. After your education, you were to be groomed to take over from Kratos at the time of his choosing, or death. Unfortunately, no one knew that Leda, who was charged with managing your relocation and assimilation, had informed someone in The Few of the plan, so hence the problems that followed.'

'Hold on! What? I'm supposed to be the leader of well, as someone put it to me, an international terrorist organisation?'

'One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter.'

'That's a hackneyed phrase.'

'Yes, but true none the less. Look Lang, the Sons of Cleito are the only counter-balance against The Few. Without us, the world would be a dictature. Well, more of one than it is now. Without us, every leader in the world would be under the control of The Few. We make a small difference by ensuring that there are other balancing voices and ideas.'

'And candidates?'

'Yes, both democratic and dictatorial. While we can achieve this, there is balance.'

'You're not trying to tell me that US presidential candidates are….'

'Chosen? Yes. And then supported with money, propaganda and all the necessary tools to succeed. The same with dictatorships. Do you think dictators just pop out of thin air? We have the means to influence and sometimes possibly manipulate political circumstances, even if The Few
are stronger than us and seeking to do the same.'

'Look, let's go back a bit. So why did Leda inform The Few, and what did that mean for Helen and me? And I should add that Leda showed me a less than flattering video of Helen while I was there. It convinced me that Helen was against me.'

'I've seen the video. It was a fake Lang. Not hard to do, but it was effective I gather.'

'Very.'

'No one knew what Leda was doing but once you arrived, or probably before, she must have alerted her contacts in The Few and that's why the attack happened and why you were taken. For them you presented the possibility to derail the leadership of the Sons of Cleito and therefore destabilise and weaken us. The only thing Leda seemed to have underestimated was that you really knew so little.'

'And the reason I was eventually released? Because no one believed I was who I was supposed to be?'

'Maybe. But unfortunately it wasn't enough to save Helen.'

'I got a message from Helen when I got back home. She sent it only a day or so after I was taken from here. She warned me to get out of the apartment and go to the UK or somewhere. She sounded panicked. I couldn't make sense of it.'

'Leda again as far as I know. Helen was your guardian for a very long time. Her role was to make sure you were protected, or at least kept in low profile from The Few until the time for your ascension to the Strategos neared. But as Helen had been working in posts aligned and often controlled by The Few, which was part of her job, it was an easy task for Leda to plant the seeds of suspicion against Helen. At the time you were taken, Leda informed The Few that Helen had been working under cover with them, and passing information back to us. The Few acted quickly to solve the problem. There is also the possibility that Helen may have stumbled on information about Leda's plan, and tried to warn you. I'm only guessing on that though.'

'So what about Leda now?'

'Enjoying her money somewhere I suppose, but watching her back every minute.'

'Ok. So if I believe all this, why then were those who grabbed me from the island so interested in my mother's letter? Surely they knew all about this Strategos ascension stuff and me, but all they kept asking me about was the bloody letter. What was the big deal about my mother and the damn letter?'

'Your mother, Melinoë, was the lover, well, mistress of Kratos.'

'The current Strategos.'

'Yes. And you are their son.'

'Oh shit!'

'Got it in one,' she said with a smile. 'The problems started when your mother wanted out of everything and told Kratos as much. As he had no children with his wife; although she did have children from a previous relationship, he agreed that Melinoë could leave, but that you, their son and only child, would be returned on his whim, when you came of age. Anyway, much later on, Helen sent him a copy of your mother's letter when she discovered it and it became a kind of manifesto for Kratos. I've never met him, but I'm told he quoted from it quite often.'

'Um, just back up a minute here. This all seems to be about lineage and sons, so what about Helen? Was she also supposed to extend the lineage? And failed.'