Revelation

Panting and on the biggest adrenaline high I’ve ever experienced, I waited until I was certain that nobody had followed us before I untied Billy. He was already banged up from before he had been brought into the back room of the church, but at least he was alive. Dried blood intermingled with sweat on his brow and ran down his face in a thin stream.

Think Milton, think. Channel Francis, what is the next step? The tape recording, of course! Somehow, I had almost forgotten about it between the realization that my professors were plotting to overthrow the government and rescuing my assistant from almost certain death. I couldn’t go back to my dorm; they would be expecting me there. Billy’s was the next logical place to stay until the storm died down … unless I could somehow capture the storm. From the previous experience of Francis’ filing system and only having one copy of anything, I made sure not to make that same mistake. Billy had copies of everything I had in addition to a hidden third copy of everything, in case of capture or death.

First thing’s first, though. This was way over my head; I had to tell someone who actually had more authority than the professors: the cops. Sure, in movies they always end up coming in at the last minute to save the victim who had originally told them about the crisis, all guns and badges blaring with justice. But this was reality. I just hoped they would listen.

***

“Officer, you’ve gotta listen to me,” I said through gritted teeth. “My professors are plotting to overthrow the current government in order to give themselves more power. I’ve got it on tape!”

“Oh yea,” he sneered. “And just how are they gonna do that? By not letting you pass your classes?”

Damned cop, they’re all the same. They tell you they want to help, but have you wait half an hour in the goddam lobby before you can even file a statement.

“I’ve been here for over an hour,” I persisted. “All I want is some justice!” I pounded my fists on the receptionist’s desk and he gives me a dark glare. His eyes turn to stone as he shakes his head slowly. A button is pushed and out come the dogs to escort me off the premises. I knew the cops weren’t going to be any help. Who else could I turn to?

The trudge back to the campus gave me time to think, but I still couldn’t wrap my head around why Donuts back there wouldn’t even take a statement from me with all the evidence I had brought. I was nearly to campus when that damned cop popped back into my head. And just how are they gonna do that? By not letting you pass your classes? That’s when it hit me, or rather made me fall over it: a sign telling me to remember to vote next Tuesday. Why didn’t I think of that! The election would be the only way to truly overthrow the government without causing a national uproar.

I never read local newspapers, too censored by the government to get a real understanding of what was going on in the world. Current events were read from the most reliable European journals I could find online, though occasionally I picked up a newspaper when the mood struck me. It struck me – like a killer whale landing on me – when I saw last week’s paper lying on Billy’s bed, all marked up in red and black pen. Good work, kid. I scoured the paper looking at the notes Billy had made, and was still pouring over it when he came into the room half an hour later. Dume. You sneaky sonofabitch. There, on the front page of the paper was a picture, and under it said John Michael Dume, current dean/chancellor at John Smith University. He was the Republican choice for Speaker of the House.

***

How I could have missed something as obvious as this was beyond me. So now what I had was a tape recording of someone’s voice admitting to murder and the kidnapping of Billy, various professors involved in a secret cult called ROYALTY, a dead roommate, and no one who would listen to me. Somehow I would have to get the word out about Dume and his minions.

Class wasn’t a concern for me anymore. I hadn’t seen Snovil since Francis’ death. Fortunately, the urban legend about being able to get a guaranteed 4.0 for the year if your roommate dies, actually applied at JSU. Luckily for me, this meant I could devote all my time to the case. But who would listen?

The radio club was a thing of the past, the cops weren’t willing to give up doughnut break to listen, and the professors … well, it was hard to discern who was turned and who was true. But what about the newspaper? I needed something provable, though. Something solid to make all I had undeniable. I put Billy on that task; I needed to concentrate on figuring out Dume’s game plan on how he planned to accomplish anything as Speaker of the House.

 

John Michael Dume, Dean and Chancellor for John Smith University, has successfully established order in the nation’s leading party school as it was known five years ago. Dume’s views on issues such as education, marriage, and health care are borderline socialistic. He gives great balance to the president- and vice president-elect who are to enter the White House in three short weeks.

Dume will be the first to be elected to the office of Speaker of the House of Representatives without having first been a U.S. Senator while being still in office. Dume held the position of Senator for his neighboring state of Maryland from 2003 to 2005 and served as President of the Senate for two years starting immediately after his term as Maryland’s senator. 

 

I had almost forgotten how useful newspapers could be. Sure, I already knew that The House could potentially overturn a veto from the President if enough votes were cast by all the other members, but how could that be what Dume was aiming for? No, he seemed to be after something much more ambitious than being able to overturn a piece of legislature every-once-in-a-while.

***

I went back to my newspaper contact who had approached me after Francis’ funeral to give his condolences and offer his services if ever I needed them. Needing him was an understatement at this point; he was my last shot at blowing this conspiracy sky high.

“Amy, I need a favor,” I approached her desk in the overly cluttered newsroom on campus that reeked of burnt coffee, stale beer, and freshly printed sheet of paper. Hot off the press.

“I’m on deadline Milton, give me five minutes. And make a fresh pot will ya?” She didn’t even glance up at me continuing to peck at the keyboard of her archaic PC that seemed to be bolted to the dilapidated desk in order to keep from toppling over. Arguing with a woman’s a bad idea, arguing with a woman who has the press on her side and is over-stressed, over-caffeinated, and will probably only give me five minutes of her time is a worse idea.

With a fresh cup of joe in her hand, she sat back ready to listen with her notebook hid from my sight, but more at the ready than a cheetah with a gazelle in its sights.

“I have some information that could lead, hopefully, to the downfall of a certain professor who is to hold a government office in the next month,” I told her with a lowered voice in case anyone else was listening, and I’m sure they were trying.

She raised her eyebrow and leaned in closer. “We know all about Dume.” Surprised, I asked just what she knew.

“We have extensive files of him meeting with other professors at various appointed places on and off campus, but nothing substantial,” she said with a grimace.

“Oh I have something better,” I told her. “Much better.” For the next twenty minutes I filled her in about the recording I had, how Billy was kidnapped, the cloaks, the acronyms. “But there’s one thing I couldn’t figure out. ROYALTY. What does it stand for? It might help to uncover what Dume is really after.”

“We don’t have anything on that, but I’ll see if I can get a team to work on it,” she said as names already flew from the tip of her pen to the pad on her lap.

***

Back at Billy’s, I found that he had been doing some intense research into finding the keystone that, if brought forward, would make the entire structure of ROYALTY topple. He stood when I came into the room and sat back down almost as quickly when he saw it was me. He slammed down a single piece of paper on the only free space of desk available and sat back with a smirk. Billy had successfully hacked into Dume’s personal e-mail account and sifted through the mud to find gold.

This was it; this is what we had been looking for: an e-mail from Dume to Snovil. Twelve words that would soon be bigger than Watergate if they became public.

“The presidency will soon be mine. Snipers briefed. Glory for the brotherhood!”

The e-mail had the watermark of the cult’s symbol, the crown, and at the bottom of the message was the answer to my final question: Reestablishing the Order Yielded to the Administrational Leadership to Trap You, or simply ROYALTY.

And just like that, everything fell into place.

 

Two weeks later, I started reading the newspaper again; this time not for information, for justice. The front page had another picture of Dume, but this time he had a slightly different expression on his face than the professional book-jacket look in the first article I had read. This time he looked as if he’d been struck by lightning and had his hands cuffed behind his back.

Sipping on my coffee, I propped my feet up on a chair. Ah, justice. How sweet it tastes.

 

 

 

ROYALTY: Reestablishing the Order Yielded to the Administrational Leadership to Trap You

ROYALTY

There was no answer to my knock. Something had to be wrong; what else could “Wait for MSTRS seven o’clock” mean in Professor Macintyre’s appointment book? Having tried picking the lock with a paperclip and the old credit card trick, both failing miserably since I didn’t actually know how they worked, I was out of ideas. Why couldn’t there be a How to Break into a Hotel Room for Dummies? I looked into the lobby window at the front desk. The only worker was a teenage boy, most likely still in high school, staring intently at a computer screen. I walked into the room and tried to be convincing, “Hey man, I stepped outside for a cigarette and locked myself out of my room. Can I get a spare key?”

He wasn’t too happy that I had interrupted his video games and told me, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to see some ID and credit card information before I can give you a key.”

“I left everything in the room; I didn’t expect to get locked out obviously. Please, it’s really raining hard out there. I’ll bring the key back in a few minutes.” After looking around, seeing no upper management, he handed me the spare key. Wow, I can’t believe that worked!

I slid the key into the slot and opened the door to find some answers. Much to my disappointment, though admittedly slightly to my relief as well, the hotel room was vacant. No mistress, no bag, barely more than a few wrinkles in the sheets, but the TV remote on the bed showed that someone had been here. I had almost given up searching, when I noticed the blinking red light on the telephone. I called the front desk for the messages. “Do you want just the new one or the old one also?” the oh-so-excited desk clerk asked. I requested both, hoping some clue would be in these messages.

The new message was left at 9:15 p.m., “Everything is in place,” a deep, scratchy voice tickled my eardrum, making every hair on my body stand on end. After this brief statement, the old message started, left at 6:58 p.m., this time a somewhat familiar voice came on the line, “Meeting starts tonight, retrace steps. St. John’s 10:45.” I looked at my watch, 10:25. I knew where St. John’s was, the Red Heart Inn was close to it, but Professor Macintyre’s car drove off in the other direction. Retrace steps? What could that mean?

I didn’t have time to sit and think so, after returning the hotel key, I raced to St. John’s. I carried Francis’s tape recorder with me, knowing that if he were still alive, he would have flipped out if I heard anything worth while and didn’t get it recorded. It was dark and looked deserted. The doors to the main church were locked, but a room to the side of it had a piece of tape on the knob, keeping the door slightly open. I peeked inside to see if Macintyre was getting ready for a meeting, but there was only a table and some chairs. 10:35. I was debating leaving and looking for another St. John’s when I saw headlights pass by the window. I ducked and ran for the closet, locking myself in.

I could hear the door to the room open, footsteps going towards the table, back to the door and light switches flip. There was a stream of light in the closet, and I saw an air vent a few feet away. As quietly as I could, though my heart was pounding so hard I thought it sounded like the bass of a stereo turned up all the way, I shifted towards the vent and looked into the room. 10:40. The owner of the footsteps was not my view, but the empty tables and chairs were, as well as the window. At least there was a beautiful view of the White House through the window from my position.

10:43. The footsteps moved towards the table, and I saw the owner, sort of. The back of a cloaked figure anyway, like the ones I saw that fateful night. I was low to the ground and could not see the emblem on the hood, but at least I was at the right place at the right time. Damn, I’m getting lucky tonight. Perfect timing. More footsteps became audible, this time there were multiple people. I turned my phone to silent, learning from my past mistakes.

10:45. All ten figures in matching cloaks finally stood around the table in my view. The figure’s faces were barely more than shadows with the hoods pulled over their heads. I turned on the recorder, hoping it would be strong enough to pick up the words from inside the closet. I was trying to see if I recognized any of them when the meeting started, right on time. The one I assumed was the first figure I saw came around to the front of the table, “My signal to rendezvous succeeds,” the same familiar voice from the hotel message started off. “There are serious problems at hand, which all of you know is the reason for this change of location.” Please, just pull back the hood a little bit, so I can see your face. “Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, Macintyre, have you heard from our government contact yet?”

One of the cloaked figures on the leader’s left hand side, Professor Macintyre, replied, “Not yet. He was supposed to reply by 9:00, but I have no doubt he will have everything in place.”

“This is a complex plot, Macintyre. You assured us he had the ability to set up the traps properly. They all need to go off at the same time, and be traced back to foreign terrorists groups. Do I need to remind you what will happen if you fail us?” The cloaked figure on the right hand side of the leader spoke harshly and condescendingly to Macintyre. I had no doubt this figure was Snovil. Not only was his voice familiar and his nose crooked, he was in the habit of being an ass to everyone, including his colleagues.

“We have tested his capabilities and loyalties time and time again, Snovil, I have no doubt he will succeed.” The leader calmly affirmed my suspicions.

“Yes, of course Sire.” Snovil for once was silenced into agreement.

“Back to the problems of which I was speaking earlier, we know that a student named Francis was accumulating too much information about us. He is now, thanks to our deadly little Nicola, deceased, but we do not know the information he acquired or to whom he released it. We do not know how much he heard in the meeting he infiltrated, or his follow up, but he knows about ROYALTY.” Nicola? Thanks to Nicola? They thought Francis was in the meeting. He was murdered for finding out about ROYALTY. “It seems he did release at least some of this information, because we found a spy following Macintyre.” As he said this, the door burst open and I saw Billy being dragged in by a woman. As the cloaked figures turned to look at my intern, the light hit their faces perfectly and I recognized every single one. Dean Dume sat at the head of the table, with Snovil to his right, Macintyre to his left, and every esteemed member of the faculty sitting around the table.

Everything happened so fast, as I watched my young friend. His hands were tied and he was interrogated by the same people who not only killed my roommate, but are plotting somehow against the government, all the while giving me my college education. They violently asked him over and over how long he had been working for Francis, and what he knew. They asked if anyone else knew about ROYALTY. Luckily, with all his practice of not talking in the investigation, he couldn’t get a full sentence out, which gave me a couple seconds to think. I couldn’t leave him unattended with a group of powerful murderers, but they also didn’t appear to be armed, though they could be hiding anything in those cloaks.

I had evidence against them, even if it was just the torture and interrogation of Billy, if the tape recorder worked. I knew their acronyms, not what ROYALTY stood for exactly, but I could probably figure that out. MSTRS didn’t seem to be too difficult, some sort of code. It was at the hotel at 7:00, ‘Meeting Starts Tonight, Retrace Steps’ MSTRS, and again it was the first sentence at the meeting ‘My Signal To Rendezvous Succeeds’ MSTRS. The real problem was trying to get away before they caught us both, and possibly killed us. I don’t know which was stronger, my fear of the powerful, dangerous teachers standing before me, or the anger I had towards them for murdering my friend, and apparently making some sort of assassination attempt in the near future. I looked at my perfect view of the White House and knew I could not just hide and watch them torture Billy. Before I knew what I was doing, I had unlocked the door, ran out, to the surprise of everyone in the room, grabbed Billy and made a run for it. I looked back for a brief moment, to find 20 furious eyes glaring at me.