Thornfalcon (The ARC Legacy Book 1) Page 3

  In front of them Swanson raised his hands to quiet the audience. His voice was shaky. “There are protocols in place for this event. His death occurred only moments ago, although it was not, in the grand scheme of things, unexpected. My uncle was neither a healthy, nor a young man. There will be a proper time for mourning, but at present we require continuity. In this place, especially in this place it is important to remember that ARC has a responsibility to the past, to the future. To mankind.”

  Samantha glanced about her. Nina placed her arm about Samantha's shoulders, her head bowed. Feeling compassion for her sister, Samantha squeezed Nina's hand, not making eye contact for fear they might both break down. Instead she concentrated on Swanson as he tried to reassure everybody; he was focussed on nothing else. Nearby an elderly lady she had never met sobbed into her hands. Daniel had been a regular part of her mother's life as part of the ARC Council. A kindly man with a rebellious streak, his own appointment occurred during an emergency; a flood had hit Geneva when Nina was born and countless had died. He was a man loved by many, respected by all. Worshipped by her. Samantha's eyes welled up.

  Samantha knew the history: The Guyomards had a special claim on the rite of succession within ARC due to the organisation being formed by Swanson's ancestor Jerome.

  A face caught her eye from a few seats down the row behind her. Thorsten Guyomard winked at her and grinned. Only a few years older than her, he was added to the ARC council at the behest of the man now speaking. Cocksure, bordering on arrogant, Thorsten wrung every drop of benefit out of his position. Samantha couldn't help but like the man. With his sun-bleached blond hair and infectious nature it was hard not to. Yet now, his disregard for the sombre news ate at her.

  “…as such it is only proper that we hold a ballot for the next Chair of the council,” Swanson concluded.

  Murmurs raced through the audience. It was hard for Samantha to pick up on individual words, but 'succession' and 'dynasty' were prevalent.

  “If I may,” said John Wolverton from where he stood just inside the door, “there is a simple solution here.” He crossed to the podium, standing next to Swanson and holding the lectern on both sides with his immense hands. Samantha could feel the tension. Was this a coup?

  “Let me say on behalf of the entire Council and senior staff how sorry we are, Swanson. Your uncle was a man of many talents, and he led the organisation well.” John turned toward him. “But this is not the time for radical decisions and wholesale change. The council functions efficiently as is. The staff know their roles and there is clarity between all. Everybody in this room knows what happened when you invoked clause three of the charter of the Council of Anges de la Résurrection des Chevaliers: In time of imminent demonic threat, a member of the family Guyomard may assume the role of Council Chair, independent of the vote of the Council. There is no imminent demonic threat. The world is safe. But I insist that you now take up the role which you should have had twenty years ago. Take the chair, Swanson. Take the chair.”

  The chant began immediately. Samantha wasn't sure who started it, either Thorsten, or Gila, but both stood, repeating, “Take the chair, take the chair.”

  Moments later, her mother joined in, the faces all around her still streaked with tears, although she had not openly wept. Samantha watched, fascinated by the momentous turn of events?

  Swanson held his hands aloft, entreating the room for silence. “Is there anybody who objects to this course of action?” Strangely, he looked directly at Samantha.

  She shrugged.

  “Consider the motion carried,” John announced. “Long live the king.”

  The room chuckled.

  “Thank you for coming, Swanson continued. “It makes the hardship of losing my uncle that much more bearable that you are all behind me. Will the councilmembers please remain? We have matters to discuss.”

  With the dismissal, Samantha started to rise only to find a hand clamped above her elbow.

  “Not you,” Nina said. “You stay this time. There are things you need to hear.”

  The room emptied around her, only a dozen or so people remained.

  “If you would, please,” motioned Swanson, opening a door to the council chamber.

  One factor was consistent in the world of ARC. No matter where they had a conference room, it looked just like Geneva. 'A home away from home' is how many referred to such places with its oval glass table and pale blue lighting, all of it Spacious and airy. To Samantha, it was bland and repetitive.

  She took a seat next to Nina near the door, along with a tall woman she didn't recognise, and a man in a sharp black suit.

  “Alexander, how many more times do I have to remind you that your place is at the table now?” Swanson held out a hand and flicked it toward the table where there were two free seats. Her mother sat opposite her, regarding Samantha in silence. There was disapproval in that gaze, and a steely resolve.

  “I'm sorry, sir,” the sharp black suit said, standing next to the tall woman, as he rose. “I was taught never to presume.”

  “By your father, no less.” Swanson paused to smile. “We all miss him.”

  “That's Alexander Steadman?” Samantha's hushed tones reached her sister's ears.

  It is. His father was a legend in ARC, saving the archives in Geneva from destruction.

  “I remember Mom telling the story,” Samantha whispered. “He was a hero.”

  Nina nudged her. Several of the Council members were glancing their way. Just nod.

  Samantha let a small smile creep across her face.

  Swanson had turned to sign the ancient ARC charter on the council table as Steadman took his seat. “Your reasons for being here are threefold. First, we have an empty seat at this table. Are we agreed on the choice for candidate?”

  Heads turned as the council looked to each other.

  “I don't think there is any dissention this time,” said an elderly American woman with white hair.

  “Good. Bring her in.” Swanson waved at the door, which slid open.

  Samantha's mouth dropped. “Aunt Clare?”

  Clare Rosser winked at her and strode into the room, pausing only to nod to the woman seated to Nina's left. Clare was their mother's half-sister and was introduced to them only ten years ago. Apparently she was recruited into the organisation before Nina was born. She was well-loved by everybody, a consummate professional with a tenacious knack of rooting out oddities in the world. A former forensic analyst, she left nothing uncovered. Moreover she had accomplished her great feats while learning to live with type-1 diabetes.

  Taking the final seat and brushing a stray lock of hair over her ear, Clare said, “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  “You deserve it, Clare,' Swanson cooed. “You've produced results consistently and above expectations and built a formidable team. Many people in this world are safe because of you and your people. We may yet authorise a new branch of ARC - covert hunters or some such.”

  Clare smiled. “That doesn't even begin to describe us.”

  “As things stand you will be a non-sitting member of this Council. We can hardly tether you to Geneva.”

  “Fine. Charlotte Benson there will run things when you need me.”

  At mention of her name, the identity of Nina's neighbour was revealed and she stood. An imposing figure, Charlotte Benson was a woman perhaps of forty, standing a good six feet tall. “We will be fine,” she reassured the council, and took her seat.

  “I have no doubt. Now Clare it is custom for me to introduce the Council. First, the sitting members, the permanent base. Gila Byron is my new deputy and Council co-ordinator.”

  Gila flashed a welcoming smile. The two knew each other well.

  “Next, Swanson continued, “well, you know most of the council already. Tricia Pelirrojo and Gaspard Antroobus are all sitting members alongside John Wolverton and your sister “Some of our non-sitting members may be new to you. Forrest Kyle is ex-Shikari and works closely with Eva on
our technology wing. Alexander Steadman heads up Biblical Interpretation. Mohammed El-Rafi is head of Grail, our artifact research wing. Jeanette Gibson, our media relations boss, I am sure is familiar to you, and our last councilmember is my cousin Thorsten.”

  Samantha raised her hand. “Why are we here? Nina and I aren't councilmembers.”

  This interruption earned Samantha a look of venom from her mother and an amused smile from several of the other notables.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe you all know Nina Scott and her younger sister Samantha,” Swanson spoke with barely-contained amusement, which served to additionally irritate Eva.

  Swanson's face turned serious once again. This was clearly no time for levity. “We're here for several reasons, Samantha. Firstly to fill the spare council seat—”

  “But there are only supposed to be five sitting members.”

  “Sammy!” her mother warned, getting visibly angry as her eyes widened in a glare.

  “No, Eva, that's a justified question. One that shows young Samantha has as good a claim to be here as anybody. In answer I would say to you that due to the age and role of many here, we need a larger permanent council body in place. The time has come for expansion.”

  Samantha ground her teeth at being referred to as 'young'. She was about to retort when Swanson got there first.

  “Secondly, as the Sky Sling has been successful in placing our satellite in orbit, the time has come to unveil it to the world. We shall get to that in due course. What is a more pressing matter is your behaviour, young lady. The time has come for you to account for your actions.”

  “And just what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Samantha stood, coming to the edge of the table between Gaspard Antroobus and Tricia Pelirrojo.

  “It means the days of you attempting to raise demons are at an end,” her mother said from the far end of the table. “It means that one way or another, your rebellious streak is about to be curbed. ARC has need of you.”

  This wasn't a reprimand. Her mother's tone was in earnest. Eyes wide and pleading, she was serious. “I don't want any part of this,” Samantha replied, defiant. “I didn't want to know when I was growing up and my life was being decided for me. Nothing's changed.”

  “Sammy, there's much more at stake than you know.” Nina stood, crossing the conference room to stand behind their mother.

  Samantha felt completely alone facing all the silent accusations from across the glass table. She had committed her fair share of misdemeanours. Daniel's death put it all into perspective. There was no longer any excuse to fall back on. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, willing her heart to slow. “Nothing's changed,” she repeated. “What do you demand of me that the all-powerful ARC cannot accomplish? You have the foremost experts in the world, governments at your beck and call. You don't need me.”

  Her response caused raised eyebrows among some. Eva sighed, her face drawn. Samantha felt the same impasse she always had.

  Nina turned to Swanson, who picked up a remote from the lectern. One click of a button locked the door, sealing them in. A second click turned off the lighting. A screen came into view. A picture of bloody carnage filled the screen, dozens of rats missing parts of their heads.

  “Rats with their faces chewed off,” Swanson emphasised.

  “So?” Samantha challenged, still ready to question, unwilling to bend to their will.

  “They chewed off each-other's heads. The natural order of things has been upset. That's not all. Since the incursion twenty years ago, we've monitored and ended any number of threats.” The screen changed to a dust-covered farm. Rickety fences were held together by rusting nails, steel drums cut in half to make food troughs and a very perplexed farmer looking on.

  “Here in Africa we have a case of a cow feasting on sheep. Nothing could tempt the cow. Normal feed, water had no effect. The animal wouldn't touch it. But it was left alone in a pen with a sheep and the following morning the sheep was dead with the cow feeding from its corpse.”

  “What has any of this to do with me?” Samantha asked. “Oddly behaving animals? Doesn't that warrant your attention?”

  Her Aunt Clare stood, brandishing a handful of documents. She began to toss them across the table toward her. “Goats eating chickens. People claiming dinosaurs are clawing their way out of the ground. Look at these, Sammy.”

  Samantha rose and crossed to the table. She opened the covers as the documents slid to her. “Jellyfish slime coating rocks?”

  “Not just rocks, an entire fjord in Norway went purple with this stuff. And not just in Norway. Across the planet, at exactly the same time. Thailand, Darwin, Krestovaya in Russia, and there are reports of this happening in Lake Victoria in Uganda.”

  “And they don't get jellyfish there?”

  “Sammy, the species is saltwater, and it's filling a landlocked freshwater lake in the middle of a continent. This is only the natural phenomena. I came here straight from hunting Voydanoy.”

  This meant nothing to Samantha.

  Clare threw another folder at her. This contained a photo of a humanoid creature with a wide, froglike mouth and pale green skin covered in warts. “People don't want to believe in this stuff, and so we keep it quiet. That's why we seldom reveal the real purpose behind this organisation. Do you understand? It's also why we don't go around raising images of demons—Voydanoy, Viruñas, Imps, Sprites, and Nuns that can absorb people's sins from their bodies. We have been dealing with a global catastrophe in the making for the last twenty years. You're here because, like it or not, you and your sister are deeply involved in the cause and consequence of one immutable fact.”

  “And that is?”

  Clare leaned forward, placing her hands on the table, one atop Eva's, and said, “Religion is dead.”

  Chapter Four

  Samantha dropped the files to the table, now further annoyed. This entire gathering seemed more and more like a set-up, an intervention to try and teach her a lesson. They didn't know a damn thing about her—not really. Was Clare suggesting somehow the fault of waning belief was at Samantha's feet?

  “You're trying to pin the fact that people don't go to church on me? Samantha's voice was low, cautious. Why don't you throw in the Holocaust and tidal waves while you're at it?”

  “Samantha, you misunderstand.” Her mother finally spoke. There was not a lot of emotion in those words. Frustration perhaps. Regret? Maybe. “Now she speaks. Why don't you enlighten me, Mother? How exactly should I interpret those words?”

  Eva remained seated, her eyes hard. “Since before you were born, there's been a gradual disregard for religion. The secular nature of the world has come to define much of what we say and do. It was always accepted that some would always consider themselves spiritual. ARC is an organisation based on the melding of religion and technology. Swanson and Gila are Coptics, for example. I, as you know, once practised aspects of psychology. We take the best of both worlds.”

  “Some might say you still practise what you preach,” Samantha accused; she noted her sister's frown.

  “The same people, were they to see your ploys, might start saying similar of you,” Eva retorted. “You have to understand why your distractions could have such dire consequences. When the darkness fell, when demons tried to colonise the earth, it was my blood—” Eva looked to Nina, taking her hand, “Our blood—that was the key. Our blood could have opened the gates of Hell, but events proved otherwise. Your blood runs the same as your sisters. Like it or not, Samantha, you're a person of religious significance.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.” Samantha realised how stupid she sounded as the words slipped past her lips. She snorted a laugh. “I'm sorry. Of course I do. I speak to the dead because the living aren't interested.”

  Her mother stood, removing her suit jacket. An angry star-shaped scar was noticeable on her forearm as she reached over to tug at her collar. A five-pointed mark, a replica of the scar, was on the skin of her neck.

 
Nina pulled up her sleeve, revealing a six-pointed star. Samantha bore an identical mark on her right thigh. “We both have these, Sammy. You know it means we are scions of the House of David.”

  “I'm not Jewish,” Samantha hissed. “I'm not anything.”

  “And therein lies the problem,” Swanson concluded.

  Samantha stepped back from the desk. She could make no sense of what they were saying to her. “This meeting's been convened because you've decided I need to get religion?”

  Mohammed El Rafi moved to speak but Alexander Steadman stood, shifting the focus in the room to himself. “If I may, Council?” He didn't wait for permission. “Samantha, what your mother and these preeminent members of the Council are trying to put into words is, in fact, quite different, yet at the same time, is exactly that. You are not being requested to don a cassock, so to speak. The rest of the world is shedding their vestments. Literally. They are losing faith.”

  El Rafi stood to join his new colleague. An old friend of her mother's, Samantha was inclined to ignore him, but Steadman's words intrigued her. “Won't you take my seat?”

  “I'm happy where I am,” she stated. “I'll have a seat here.”

  Those beside her made room as Clare brought a seat to the table for her. There was no way she was going to sit that close to her mother.

  “You understand my position within this Council, yes?”

  “Head of Biblical Interpretation,” Samantha replied. “You take what happens in the world and apply it to texts and scrolls for meaning.”

  Steadman nodded in approval. “Good. Mohammed heads up Grail, which looks for physical evidence of religion. Our departments have similar remits, although differing methods. What we tend to agree on is the current interpretation of the world. What happened twenty years ago precipitated this current state of affairs. Although we were saved from disaster, there is a lingering aftertaste, a festering sore that has not healed.”