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

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