CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Legion's front gate opened inward. It stood ajar. An ambulance idled halfway up the driveway, facing the exit, its back door closed. Why?
Each step increased an urge in Alex to see the van leave before he crossed the distance. That parked vehicle housed a dead body. His friend. Roy.
He stopped, as the mystery of the inert ambulance clarified. A black Maserati Ghibli glided up the drive. He didn't need x-ray vision to know Tara relaxed in the back seat. An identical Maserati followed on its tail.
"Whoever's working that gate is fired,” Rosa said as she stepped next to Alex; their eyes glued on the invading cars. The shadow paint job and limo tint made the Maserati's resemble torpedoes closing in on a target.
Death. The Lobby. Tara's arrival. Alex hadn't considered any consequences; hadn’t thought about accountability. If a crisis or PR roadbump loomed, Tara’s strengths carried tremendous value. He exhaled, warmed to her presence.
The first Maserati parked at an angle to the right side of the drive and the second flanked to the left, effectively impeding the ambulance's exit. Many seconds lapsed before the rear door of the nearest luxury vehicle opened. A fit, tan leg stretched to the driveway tiles. Tara's cream-colored designer suit hugged her form. Her oversize sunglasses matched the outfit.
The driver and passenger also debarked the vehicle, while four physically imposing men in matching gray suits exited the second sedan.
The obvious security detail moved with proficiency. Each man surveyed a different section of the property taking in the sunny grounds in a matter of seconds.
Tara locked onto Alex and headed over, her driver trailing her.
A different suited man approached the driver's window of the ambulance. Another pair moved to the guard shack. Alex tensed when imagining those upcoming discussions.
"Alex, I'm so sorry to hear about Roy,” Tara extended her hand and they shook.
"Rosa,” Tara said with a cursory glance and nod toward her.
"What are you doing here?" Rosa asked.
"Terrible day for us all.” Tara removed her sunglasses, sighed. "Such a tragedy should never visit a home.” After a moment with her head bowed, she lifted it, squinted at the house. “We must also be mindful of how this could turn into a situation for us." She let a beat pass, locked eyes with Rosa. "Being nearby, I thought I'd stop in, give my condolences, outline some possible ramifications.”
"I'm not a reporter,” Rosa said. "So don't spin me with your crap. How did you get here so fast? What do you want? "
Tara clenched her jaw. "I'm here to help.”
Rosa scoffed.
"Thank you,” Alex quickly inserted. He adjusted his stance. "It's just, I don't understand the urgency. Someone just died in our house. "
"And two minutes later, “Rosa said. "We find ourselves under a cyber assault from Victor, initiated by you, and then you barge through our gates with cars full of mercenaries. "
"That's a bit dramatic,” Tara said. "I travel with a detail, same as you two.”
"How about you move your detail so the medics can do their jobs.” Rosa nodded to the pair of wedged Ghiblis.
The driver of the ambulance had exited and now stood next to his door, his attention on one of the suited men. Her other escorts had lured the guards from the shack, held them in similar conversations.
Tara nodded to her driver. He stalked off. To Alex, she said, "Do you mind if we head inside for a minute?”
He checked with Rosa, who only glared at Tara, which, lacking a no, he took as a yes, and turned to go inside.
"What exactly are your henchmen doing?” Rosa asked.
Tara's man at the ambulance held a briefcase open at chest level while another retrieved papers, handed a stack to each EMT.
Tara shielded her eyes. "I can explain the particulars if you like. For the most part, they're crossing T's, dotting I’s."
"Looks like they are doing mischief," Rosa said.
Tara's driver reached the nearest Maserati and drove it onto the lawn, out of the ambulance's path.
"There is no mischief,” Tara said. "And I can assure you: no one is being held against their will.”
As Alex moved toward the door, Tara laid her hand on his shoulder. "I truly am sorry about Roy. He was a pioneer at Broumgard. A very special man to me personally. I know he was a great friend to you."
Roy had been a great friend, the best. One of those rare men of action who leaped with both feet into the game of life, played it with integrity, and succeeded. Barring two failed marriages, the man's life read like an epic for achieving greatness.
"Thank you,” he said as the front door opened. Movement in his peripheral caused him to pause and glance to his right. Glen had squeezed himself between a pair of hedges, and despite the day's turmoil, resumed his normal landscaping duties. Alex considered telling him to give it a rest. Lacking a reasonable argument, he only exhaled. Perhaps the teenager dealt with sadness and trauma by staying active?
Following Alex, the trio traveled to the breakfast nook. The home’s interior had been modified during his Lobby visit. The current style, done in a majority of sky-blue and gold, resembled Stupingi, a famous hunting lodge in Italy known the world over for its European Baroque-style art. Even though the actual walls were as smooth as granite, the twenty-five foot ceilings allowed for a depth and texture imperceptible as forgery. Same as in Stupingi, sculptures and paintings decorated abundant arches and domes—many replete with winged cherubs and ornate carvings—giving the current interior of legion the feel of a centuries-old church.
Surprisingly, the religious decor greeting him upon the heels of a shocking death helped muffle his pain.
A window overlooked the rear of the property. The rest of the breakfast nook had the blue and gold, heavenly feel inspired by Stupingi. Alex and Tara sat around the iron table. Rosa hovered. Victor's voice emanated from a nearby speaker, “Would you like me to send in beverages?"
"You've done quite enough," Rosa said as she filled herself a glass of filtered water and joined them.
Tara's driver entered carrying a black anodized aluminum briefcase. He placed it on the floor next to Tara, stepped back, and assumed a sentry position.
"The first thing I'd like to do is apologize," Tara said. "To both of you. Adisah installed the back door for Victor to shut down communications, not me. Everything we are about to discuss comes with his authorization. I have a letter," she gestured toward the briefcase, “from Adisah, covering his motivations. Right now, this is a pivotal time for us. I know you haven't been given the opportunity to ponder the possible negative implications of a famous client dying while inside the Lobby."
"Negative implications?" Rosa said. "That's what this is all about? A very old, very ill man died of natural causes, nothing more."
"I agree," Alex said.
"Alex," Tara clasped her hands before her, "you conducted six interviews on behalf of the Broumgard Group last year—your contractual minimum. Two of those were filmed from your home. I mean no disrespect when I say no one on this property has a clue what we're facing."
Alex swallowed, fearing Rosa would snap back. After seconds ticked by, he relaxed. What Tara said hurt. Mainly because it carried the sole ingredient of discomfort: truth. He slacked on all of his duties, Broumgard, family, friends. Unfortunately, even with near full avoidance, he received tremendous press coverage.
"My only concern is the safety of the Lobby," Tara continued. "You know there are influential forces in our government, in governments and high places around the world, who dedicate every waking moment to destroying us. These are intelligent people; powerful individuals who have no concept of failure.
"And while I don't judge your lifestyle, and I don't resent Adisah's decision to hibernate in the mountains, it is me who fights. My team and I save our universe from collapse again and again. The rest of you just assume the Lobby is a given right."
Alex fidgeted in his seat. No one would ever say he rivaled Tara's drive, but facing the reality he contributed nothing but a few checks to the cause, and that he did consider the Lobby a right, added to his guilt. He bit his bottom lip, worked his jaw to the side. What should he say: you're right; I'm a failure, what’s new.
Rosa placed her hand on his back.
"I'm not trying to beat you up,” Tara continued, “I'm only qualifying my knowledge. Our adversaries are waiting for something like this. Roy Guillen has logged thousands more hours in the Lobby than anyone on the planet. These people will take their billion-dollar budgets and hammer that irrelevant fact home to every citizen, worldwide." She placed the briefcase on the table. After popping it open, she pulled out two stapled sections of paper and an envelope, placed the items on the table, and then returned the briefcase. She slid a stack of forms in front of Alex and Rosa, keeping the envelope near her.
"These are the new health and wellness standards for the Lobby. They basically state that a client must sign a medical release, allowing Broumgard to view their medical history. And that if we deem it necessary, they will submit to an on-site physical."
Alex skimmed the words, surprised that he had never considered any of this. One of his strengths involved leaving his areas of weakness in the care of others. As he perused the basic requirements, everything seemed reasonable. Those with health problems, diagnosed with cancer, anyone who had recently undergone a serious medical procedure, would be denied access. Flipping through a few pages, he came across a graph that dropped to the right like a set of stairs.
"That's the projected loss of sales if this story leaks," Tara said. "The other is the number of clients affected by the new policies."
Alex found one figure horrifying and the other almost a non-factor. He closed the stack, resolved to her leadership. "So what do you suggest?"
"The fact that Roy lived on these grounds, in your guest house, makes this an easy fix. If he were to die a normal, quiet death in his bed, it would earn him multiple thirty second spots on national media for the next few days, which is exactly what we're after. A quiet passing of one of the most instrumental men in the creation of the greatest invention in history."
"Excuse me," Rosa scooted her chair back and stormed down the hall.
Alex couldn't be sure if she struggled with their intention of lying, the possibility the Lobby posed a threat, or that they’d ban a section of people from access. For her, some guy lived in the clouds and watched every decision a person made. A man who graded those decisions in order to sentence each person to an eternity of paradise or a pit of fire. Alex gave her space in times of crisis. That, or be subjected to a lecture.
He turned back to Tara. "What about the witnesses?"
She glanced at the bodyguard, back to Alex, and grinned. "This will be one of our easier fixes." She pointed out the back wall in the direction of the guest house. "An American legend died in his sleep, at the age of eighty-nine. You allow some cameras on the grounds to get their shots of his bedroom, the world mourns and the Lobby continues, like he would have wanted. We install the new Health and Wellness policy and hope this happens no more than once a decade."
Alex understood, but the more she talked, the more he wanted to be alone; to shut out the chaos and grieve. Thinking about losing the Lobby caused him to run his hand through his hair. He stood and breathed deeply. "I guess if this is the best way..."
"It's the only way."
Alex swallowed a coal and said. "Roy would spin circles in his grave if his death hurt the Lobby."
Tara pulled an envelope from the brief case and slid it toward Alex. His name was on the front, written in Adisah's elegant penmanship. Just seeing that little reminder of the old man eased much of his concern. Wedging the letter in his back pocket, he thought of Rosa.
Now would be a perfect time to remind her of his promise to abstain from the Lobby, and to enforce the sentiment of their unity—no matter what the future might bring.
Tara came around the table and placed her hand flat against Alex's chest. "Your wife loves you, keep her consoled. This will be a rough stretch for her, and you. Get some counseling. It helps." She nodded downward, presumably toward the letter. "Adisah is like a father to me, and you're like a son to him. Stay focused on what we all want."
As she left, Alex wondered if they all wanted the same thing? If he wanted anything more than to be left alone, which, barring a miracle, seemed unlikely.