Chapter 11

Foster Nash paced the floor of his Manhattan penthouse. The vibrant sunset against the cityscape at his feet was lost on him. Too many things had happened in the last twenty-four hours to allow the brief acknowledgement of the suns burning decent.

The council had been called by the Oracle yesterday morning. This in itself was a bad omen. The last time the Oracle had called the entire council to meet they had been killed to a person, each suffering a unique and painful demise.

There was never an explanation provided.

The Oracle had simply chosen a new council of five and the work continued. Foster was not one to allow fear to hold sway over him. However, the call from the Oracle was enough to entertain thoughts of running, even though they be brief.

Grabbing his coat he turned from the windows. Noting his shadow that slid long and distorted before him he understood that there was nothing to do but go. A summons was something you never ignored, couldn't be ignored unless you were ready to step down and find out which level of hell had been picked for your eternal soul to suffer in.

The nondescript building at the corner of 50th and Waverly never attracted attention. This was due in part to it being maintained well, taxes being paid on time and all inspections being religiously monitored by a member of the council.

The other reason was not quite so mundane. The site had been used for almost three hundred years as the meeting place for the council. In the early 1700's their ancestral home in Portofino had been finally discovered and they were forced to make a hasty move to the new world.

For generations the council had used its considerable power to cloak this place in an unseen shadow. The web of spells, runes of power and wards that protected the spot made it almost impossible for any, other than the council or their chosen acolytes, to notice it.

Each generation strengthened and added to the defenses. The site was now believed to be impenetrable.

As Foster approached the unassuming door, he wondered if the defenses had been constructed with keeping those within as prisoners as well as keeping the unwanted at bay.

Foster paused at the door. His reflection stared back at him from its mirrored glass face.

At fifty-five years old, his image was that of a man 10 years younger. Close cropped gray hair, a long oval face with hard features. Deep set eyes that shifted color between hazel and green depending upon the light and his mood. The elegant black Armani suit, crisp white Savile Row shirt and red power tie covered an athletic body that men thirty years his junior would envy.

Being the leader of the council had its benefits. But then power always includes those benefits. Balanced by the burden that also always comes as its twin.

"Master."

The acolyte at the door whispered the acknowledgement.

"Have the others arrived?"

"Yes Master, Hunter arrived just a few moments ago, now that you are here the council is assembled."

"Inform them that I will convene the gathering in a half an hour, until then I do not wish to be disturbed."

"Yes Master."

The original building had been expanded upon numerous times since its original construction. The central core held the original sanctuary, now just the council chamber. As the years passed they expanded; dormitories for the acolytes, a security center, research facilities and finally in the past decade a state of the art computer center.

Today the building on the outside stood as a monument to mediocrity and served as a model for the city on how buildings should be maintained.

The utilitarian stainless steel commercial elevator was whisper quiet as it rose the five stories to the top floor. Stepping out and walking across the marble floor Foster barely acknowledged the acolyte sitting at the desk beside the double doors leading to the masters' sanctum.

Beyond the doors a vast office ringed with windows served as his private study while in residence. Off to one side was a small living area with a plush leather couch, canopy bed and bathroom facilities. In the center, an ancient desk stood, now outfitted with a holographic display and projected keyboard.

Foster sat in the overstuffed chair and keyed in his password.

From hidden speakers around the room he heard the familiar chirp informing him that he had email.

"Everyone wants to know what is behind the summons."

His voice echoed flatly through the cavernous room.

One after the next from all of the council members through most of the higher level acolytes, all had sent numerous questions about the meeting.

"Fools, as if I know anymore than they."

Browsing through them he did notice there were no such queries from Hunter.

"That boy has no concept of how tenuous our position is."

Stepping to the rack behind his bed he removed one of his ceremonial robes and slipped it over his head. His impeccable grooming and taste now hidden behind the bland red robe.

"I wish we could update these."

The passing comment to his own reflection as he passed the floor length mirror reflected his vanity better than anything he could have worn.

"Acolyte."

An instant after Foster uttered the phrase, the diminutive young woman opened the door and stood, head down awaiting his desire.

"I need to speak briefly with Lionel and then a few moments with Hunter before the meeting.

The acolyte's only response was to bow slightly and back out of the room.

Foster walked to the window, looking out over the now darkening city. The view was nothing special, being surrounded by buildings three to four times its height there was merely the miscellany of life to watch. The passing taxis on the street below, the lights coming on and going off in the surrounding offices, the occasional shadowed form behind back lit glass. It was calming, solitary, giving the impression of viewing a fishbowl, but not having a clear grasp on exactly which side he was on.

A brief knock at the door pulled Foster from the improbable urban vista.

"Come."

Lionel, the chief of security strode into the office. Tall at 6'6" he cut an imposing silhouette, which only enhanced his ability to do his job.

"Master."

Foster let the silence draw out, enjoying the growing sense of dread this simple act elicited from the other man.

"Has there been any odd traffic over the last week or so?"

Foster knew that as Master should have been better briefed, it had been over two weeks since the last security briefing but he had simply not been in the mood, and they had been the same for so long, what really was the point?

Lionel bit his tongue from saying the first thing that popped into his head. Taking an instant to compose himself before answering.

"Eight days ago we saw an increase in traffic both in and out of the Vatican. I sent acolytes to do some on-the-ground surveillance. As of an hour ago all but one have been out of contact for more than three days."

"Why was I not immediately informed of this?"

Foster's tone was smooth, measured. His body language suggested nothing more stressful than the slow circle he was now walking in would elicit.

"I sent you several emails a day for the last eight days Master. I assumed when there was no reply that the situation was being handled to your liking. It was only 3 days ago that we started losing contact with the acolytes in the field..."

Lionel took a few steps forward, dropping a thick folder on Foster's desk.

"I was going to request a conference to give you this full report today, when the call for a meeting came, I knew you would be here anyway."

Lionel moved away from Foster toward the window, sure that his position in this was secure.

He never heard Foster move from his place behind his desk.

Never heard the 20" blade slip from its silk lined sheath.

Never knew that his life was immediately forfeit until he looked down to see 9 inches of gleaming crimson stained steel protruding from his chest.

Foster's whispered curse was the last thing Lionel ever heard.

"You have failed me acolyte, may you reap that which you have sown, for eternity."

Foster withdrew the blade in one quick motion, with the tension against gravity released Lionel's body crumpled to the floor.

"Fools, I am surrounded by fools. Acolyte!"

"Yes Master."

"Is Hunter waiting."

"He has just arrived."

"Show him in and clean up this mess."

Again the acolyte merely nodded and withdrew.

Foster, grabbing a towel from the bathroom wiped the blade down and was just replacing it in it's scabbard at his back when Hunter entered the room.

He watched the boy closely, looking for signs of fear at the sight of Lionel's dead body in the center of an ever growing pool of blood.

He was not rewarded with anything aside from Hunter's normal, dead eyed stare.

"Are you prepared for the meeting?"

"Yes Master, everyone is assembled, we await your presence."

"Have you been in contact with Lionel over the last few days, have any of the other council members?"

Again Foster scrutinized the young man, looking for the telltale signs of guilt. He found none.

"I have talked with Lionel briefly over the past two days, but only in passing and regarding nothing in particular. None the less I saw him escorting Mistress Carlotta yesterday afternoon, but I do not know of what they spoke."

Foster regarded Hunter for a long moment. The reasons he had hand picked Hunter just over a decade ago were now the same reasons he had a growing fear of the man.

"Very well. Tell the council I will be there directly and we shall see what the Oracle wishes of us."

With a deep expressionless bow Hunter swiftly left the room.

Foster watched him go, his purposeful strides and stern demeanor not that much different from the ten year old he had found those many years ago.

-vVv-

"Hunter you're full of shit, there is no way you can boost a Mercedes."

Hunter turned on Kyle, his sometimes partner in crime, giving him a baneful glare.

"When was the last fuckin time I couldn't make a score? What was your last boost, that old Omni, oh wait, no it was that piece of shit Hyundai. Fifty bucks says I'm back here in a half an hour with a Benz, current model year."

Hunter was confident in his skills. Having three years of experience living on the street provided the means behind is braggadocios response.

"You're on, time starts ... Now!"

Hunter shook his head at Kyle as he pumped hard on the pedals of the bike he had procured a few hours earlier.

'Shifty will pay me at least five hundred for a Benz, enough for another few months.' Hunter thought as he made his way through the ever increasing traffic toward downtown.

Hunter didn't like the city proper. Too many people, too many eyes, too many questions for a ten year old alone on the streets. But this was where you went to score, part of the risk and the reason for the big payoffs.

Hunter preferred the rundown industrial areas that ringed the city. Mostly forgotten by the ham and egger's, a twenty for an old security guard could buy you an entire factory for a month. Being careful and quiet kept you out of sight of anyone who may be looking for you, or someone simply ... like you.

As Hunter mechanically traversed the miles, the urban blight slowly giving way to the better kept areas of the city he glanced for no apparent reason at a mother holding hands with a small child as they turned a corner toward a small park. The vision thrust him into his own past, when such a scene would have played out daily for him.

Hunter Thorsen was born nine weeks prematurely. The doctors had given him little chance at survival. This did not hold any sway with his mother Alice who, after being the victim of a vicious rape 7 months earlier had made the difficult decision to have and love the child born from that brutal moment in time.

She had stayed by his incubator, talking with him, gently rubbing his ill-formed body, letting him know that she was there and that he was a necessary addition to her life. Slowly, Hunter grew, finally being released to his mother after 11 long frantic weeks.

Hunters first memories were of his mother, her golden blond hair, the light musical quality of her voice, the warm tender touch of her fingers on his forehead. The little everyday things that no one thinks of when given, but that last, burned into the memories of others, leaving an indelible mark.

They had lived simply, his first years spent in almost constant sight of his mother. At the age of four she sent him to preschool three times a week. Hunter had always been a quiet child but he withdrew even further when confronted with others his own age. His lack of desire for interaction with his peers worried his mother and the teachers. They did tests, IQ, learning disabilities, hearing, site, just to see what physical issues they may have to deal with when school began in the fall.

The results were startling.

"Ms. Thorsen, it seems that Hunter may be a bit of a prodigy, both physically and mentally."

Kristy, the young teacher at the preschool could barely contain her enthusiasm as she continued.

"Hunter scored 183 on the IQ test, his motor and reflex responses were all well above normal. We think his socialization issues may be that he simply can't relate to people his own age. We believe he would be best served by attending a school for the gifted."

Alice was standing before the young teacher finished her sentence.

"I appreciate the information, I'll let you know what my decision is."

Alice's brusque exit shocked Kristy, it was the last time she would ever see her or Hunter.

Hunter never knew what his mother did for money, she was always at home with him, they lived spartan but well, never wanting for anything but never having anything extravagant either.

After the testing, Alice had begun taking Hunter to the library everyday. Within 2 weeks he had surpassed the children's section. With-in two months she had to take him to the local community college's library as the local community library held no more challenges. Hunter sucked up knowledge like a sponge.

He always remained detached though. While he would tell his mother that he loved her, give her the required hugs and kisses, he was never a child that required coddling, never reached out first.

Hunter remembered vividly the day his mother was hit by the car. They were returning from the library discussing Plato when his mother had stepped ahead of him to look down the street before crossing and in that instant disappeared in a flash of red mist and squealing tires.

Hunter looked at his mothers broken body lying on the pavement, he felt in that moment an aching sorrow. The moment passed and he stepped around the corner, understanding that he was now on his own.

Hunter shook his head to clear his mind from the image of that day three years ago. The beeping horns of drivers trying to avoid him helped him regain his focus.

Hunter dropped the bike near a side entrance to the large eight story parking garage on the corner of 121st and Crofton. He hadn't boosted from here in months so there should be no worries from curious security guards. Just to be sure he took off the hoody which was his normal uniform, tied it around his waist and pulled his fingers through his close cropped blond hair.

Unlike other children forgotten to the world, Hunter made it a point to cut his hair twice a month. It was the solitary hold out of his former life, evoking the memory once again of the blond haired woman who would make sure his hair was always so neat and tidy.

The simple act of taking off the coat and adjusting how he looked at the world turned him from a world weary waif to a startled child just looking for his families car.

Catching the door as a rushed commuter scampered off to whatever glass encased vertical tomb they were bound for, Hunter enter the garage with the practiced confident gait of a Masai warrior tracking his next lion.

At the same moment Hunter crossed the threshold of the garage, Foster Nash felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.