The gangster leader turned to Stupenagel and Murrow. "You will forget that you saw that, no?"
"No," Murrow said, and was nudged in the ribs by Stupenagel. "I mean yes. Never saw a thing. Besides, I believe these are New Jersey waters. No jurisdiction."
"Honey bunny," Stupenagel said. "Now would be a good time to be quiet."
"Right."
Ivgeny Karchovski smiled and shook his head. He would never understand these Americans and their sense of humor. "You have nothing to fear from me," he said. "But so you know, he was the man who betrayed you and all the other people at the Black Sea Cafe."
"Good riddance to bad trash, then," Stupenagel said.
"Ditto," Murrow agreed.
"Then please, climb down," Karchovski said.
A few minutes later, Murrow and Stupenagel were standing on the dock at Battery Park, watching Karchovski's speedboat roar into the darkness. Murrow sighed. "Well, that was exciting," he said. "I guess you'll have another story on the front page."
Ariadne tousled his hair. "You are one cool cookie, Gilbert my love. Let's go home…I've a deadline to make."
17
While Ivgeny Karchovski was drowning a traitor in New York Harbor, V. T. Newbury's uncle led him down the hall, past the still smiling receptionist and through a pair of frosted glass doors. Now they were standing in a vestibule outside another elevator and a set of stainless steel doors that looked like the entrance to a bank vault.
His uncle noticed him look at the elevator and said, "VIP. Goes straight to a private area in the parking garage. Sometimes our clients are trying to avoid the intrusions by the overzealous press. They like their privacy, even those who otherwise must lead public lives, and we respect that."
Dean Newbury turned to the steel doors and paused. "As a matter of fact, I hope you will honor my request to keep the identities of my associates confidential. You may recognize some of them, but all are important men who have to be careful about how their lives are reported, as well as where they go from a security standpoint."
"You may count on it," V.T. promised. He saw no reason to want to discuss his uncle's cronies, and he had to admit that all the buildup was making him curious.
"Good lad, knew I could count on the old Newbury discretion," Dean said, smiling, and pressed the palm of his right hand against a pad next to the door. There was a slight click and the door slid open, revealing a large meeting room dominated by a round wooden table around which sat eleven men.
Most of the men rose when they entered, except for those who appeared too elderly to rise without assistance. They were all white and ranged in age, he guessed, from forties to nineties.
"Gentlemen, may I introduce you to my nephew, Vinson Talcott Newbury," Dean said. "The son of my late brother and the last male member of this line of Newburys."
Eleven pairs of eyes focused on V.T., who felt like a crown prince being presented at court for a throne he wanted no part of.
Dean walked V.T. around the table to introduce him to each man. As they moved from one to the next, V.T. was increasingly impressed by the credentials of this set of "cronies": a U.S. senator from Tennessee, a congressman from Utah, a general at the Pentagon, the assistant director of an unnamed intelligence agency, a commentator from a television network, two federal judges, two bank presidents, a wealthy entrepreneur, and another prominent attorney, who'd been a recent past president of the American Bar Association-and, of course, his uncle.
V.T. knew several of the men on sight, and a couple more by reputation. But it was safe to assume, as his uncle had pointed out, that this was a council of equals. He thought he recognized several of the older men from his grandfather's and Quilliam's funerals.
And now gathered here to meet little ol' me, V.T. thought. I don't know whether to be flattered or to try to make a run for it. Looking down at the table, he noted the symbol on Quilliam's ring-the tre cassyn-was also embossed in gold in the wooden top. He glanced around and noticed that all of the others were, indeed, wearing rings like the one he'd just been given. The thought suddenly made the ring seem very heavy and he longed to take it off, but didn't out of deference to his uncle.
The members took their seats and V.T.'s uncle continued with the introduction. "Gentlemen, I've taken the liberty of explaining that we are members of a sort of ancient fraternity with ties back to Old Europe," he said. "But I was just thinking that a more apt description might be a 'think tank' that meets from time to time to discuss, and perhaps take some action to deal with, issues that confront this country. You will never hear about us in the news, Vinson, but you might be surprised at what we have accomplished behind the scenes for a great many years. But we'll leave the discussion of history for another day. Am I right, gentlemen?"
The gentlemen nodded their assents, and he continued. "As you all know, I'm trying to persuade my nephew to return to the family fold and possibly take up the mantle of his family's law firm. I would like nothing better than knowing that when I pass from this world, the firm of Newbury, White amp; Newbury will be left in the good hands of someone who understands the great responsibility of this charge."
"Hear, hear," the others replied, though V.T. thought the "vote" was less than fully enthusiastic.
"To that end, I wanted him to meet you, my most trusted associates and advisors, and perhaps in the company of such an august group, he may also come to understand that there is much he could accomplish at the helm of this law firm and as part of this 'fraternity.'"
Another round of "Hear, hear"s ended the introduction, and the rest of the meeting was spent chatting while dinner was served. While this was less formal, with one-on-one and small-group conversations, V.T. got the impression that it was actually the more important phase of the "examination."
Most of the questions seemed aimed at finding out where he stood on the political spectrum. He considered himself somewhat conservative, though with definite liberal tendencies when it came to social issues.
He answered honestly, including what he thought of the Patriot Act, which was that in times of war, a country's government sometimes needed extraordinary powers. "Especially against such a difficult enemy as global terrorism," he said. "However, it's a balancing act between giving government enough tools to protect us from enemies without, and protecting us from the government overstep-ping its bounds in regard to intrusions into private lives."
After dinner, his uncle escorted him back out of the room and to the elevators that would take him to the lobby. "Well done," Dean said, shaking V.T.'s hand. "I think that went rather well for a start. Please remember what we agreed regarding our little meeting. Mum's the word."
"I promise," V.T. replied. "Not a peep. So the others are staying?"
Dean looked back toward the stainless steel doors. "Yes, we have a number of business items and housekeeping matters to attend to," he said. "A regular Rotary club meeting with minutes and reports. It's boring stuff and, unfortunately, likely to take up the rest of the night. Due to the distances involved, and busy schedules, we don't get the opportunity to meet face-to-face very often and have to seize the opportunity when it presents itself."
Placing a hand on V.T.'s arm, he looked his nephew in the eye. "This is an important trust you've been offered. Our aspirations for you go beyond this law firm, such as eventually a seat on the U.S. Supreme Court. And why not, there are kingmakers in this room who might be able to help."