Chapter 11: The Consortium

The memorial service for Jeremiah Tobias Whitaker III was held in a small, worn-down Baptist church on the outskirts of a quaint little village located in the heart of Jefferson Parish. Most striking to Peter wasn’t the sheer volume of attendees (the tiny chapel was filled), nor the awkward realization that he and Kathy were the whitest-skinned people present. He was taken by the utter lack of sorrow or pain during the service. He felt guilty for his sense of loss over his friend’s passing. While everyone else was singing scripture gaily, he quietly kept his peace as his emotions boiled within. His feelings of loss and sorrow were dampened by a deep smoldering anger that he harbored against the man for completely abandoning him without so much as a fare-thee-well. When he sensed the foreboding emotion, he bitterly squashed it and buried it deep down, ashamed that he could ever harbor such unjust feelings toward the man who had done nothing but good by him.

Nor was he the sole person who missed the wily black character dearly. He turned to glance at the mysterious young woman who stood opposite Kathy on his left side. He had met Magdelaine Desormeaux in person when he was escorted to a small executive jet after arriving in New Orleans, where she was awaiting him. His first impression was of a young soft-spoken, yet handsome woman of mixed race. Her African-American roots were at odds with Eastern European or Mediterranean traits that gave her features an exotic flair. Her skin was lighter than those who claimed kinship with the late financier, but darker than Kathy’s lighter mahogany tone from her native American bloodline. When he studied her face, he found her pretty youthful features at odds with a deeper sense of aged wisdom and a quiet strength of character much older than her years. For a brief instant, he felt a connection — as if his older self, recognized a kindred spirit. She greeted him with equal familiarity, clasping his hands warmly and kissing his cheek. Her accent was French Creole, similar to Jeremiah’s but with more elegance in her soft elocution.

“Why the long faces, children?”

He blinked and found a vibrant and very large black woman facing him. Her skin was dark as molasses and her eyes gleamed like chips of obsidian within her glistening round face. He instantly recalled the brief introduction outside the church when she greeted them at the entrance.

“Ms. Willoughby,” he replied dipping his head.

“Please, Cher. Call me Bianca,” she smiled revealing bright white teeth. “Or simply Bea.”

“Thank you, ma’am. We greatly appreciate your hospitality and candor during this time of...” he hesitated.

“This is a celebration of life, Cher,” she replied emphatically as she reached out, touching the arms of the women to either side of him, drawing them into an almost physical group hug. “Do not mourn over the passing of that dear man ... rejoice for what he has left behind.”

‘Yeah,” he reflected bitterly. ‘Like me.’

Even though his thoughts were unspoken he saw something flash in her eyes as she blinked at him. It was not a kind something either. He felt a chill as if she had just reprimanded his sense of self-pity, with a flying bitch-slap. Kathy glanced up at him, sensing the change through his hand which she held throughout the service.

“Tears can cleanse the soul or poison it,” the woman stated coolly. “Tears of joy shared in the celebration of life can be as precious as diamonds in the heart.” She looked at each of them with her penetrating gaze that seemed to reach deep into their minds. “But to weep tears of bitterness for the sake of one’s pitiful sense of loss — that, Cher, is simply self-serving and an ugly slight towards the memory of a man who lived only to care for those he loved.”

Peter swallowed uncomfortably and accepted her rebuke as intended. He took a deep breath and straightened his back. The women to either side of him subconsciously followed suit.

“That’s better,” Bianca said, flashing her bright teeth once more. “Now come, children.” She spun them about and pushed them toward the entrance. “Y’all ain’t experienced a true Cajun life celebration until you have filled your body and spirit with our fine fare and song!”

For the next couple of hours, they were indoctrinated into a world not shared with ‘outsiders’ in modern society. In a wide clearing surrounded by towering bald cypress, fragrant magnolia, and stately red maples, they were treated to a feast of southern creole delicacies and the lively music that resonated from three fiddles and a banjo. Peter experienced jambalaya, crawfish etouffee, gumbo, and dozens of side samplings. He fell in love with bread pudding and amused everyone with his antics when he sampled an innocent-looking and colorful dish called Maque Choux. His face turned red from the spiciness of the andouille sausage and brightly colored peppers, and he dug at his collar as he gasped for air.

Maggy and Kathy looked on with concern, rubbing his back and fetching him drinks while several elderly attendees laughed boisterously at his panicked expression.

“Whooee! Baby Jane!” one fellow called out as he slapped his knee, displaying a wide toothless grin. “You ‘bout kilt’ dat white boy wit ya mock-shoe.”

Once he could breathe again, he smiled tearfully at the delighted group and refrained from judging any more of the dishes by their innocent looks.

“Thank you for coming,” the portly white man stated after welcoming Peter, Maggy, and Kathy into his expansive office. The man introduced himself as Stan Eldridge, an attorney and executor for Jeremiah’s estate. The office was on one of the top levels of the stately American Tower in downtown Shreveport. As he led them to comfortable seating near a huge picture window overlooking the picturesque city, he brought forth a coffee and tea service and poured them each their preferred beverage. To receive such personal attention from such an established and affluent litigator seemed odd to Peter but he kept his peace as they engaged in small talk which slowly circled back to the reason for their meeting. Stan grew solemn after a moment as he stood before his window peering down at the city below. He held a thick crystal glass with four fingers of an unknown liquor that he had decanted from a crystal flask.

When he spoke again it was as if a façade had been stripped away and he had assumed the personality of a not so distinguished southern gentleman. “If y’all look yonder, cross the river, you can see Bossier High School,” he drawled, causing Kathy and Peter to glance at each other. “S’where me an JW call our roots.”

“I ... I didn’t know that you and Jeremiah were childhood friends,” Maggy said softly from her seat. She was speaking to the man’s back. “He never mentioned you.”

The man snorted and turned back, “Course not. We hated each other!”

“So why did he choose you as the executor of his estate?” Kathy asked curiously. The reading of Jeremiah’s last will and testament had taken place two days before on Friday the 27^th of December. It was after his memorial service and Celebration of Life. The following morning he was laid to rest in an ancient stony above-ground crypt, and the doors were locked and welded shut for all eternity. It was a small simple ceremony that included only Peter, Maggy, and the minister who presided over his memorial.

Stan had presided over the reading of his will in the presence of numerous friends, clergy members, and close acquaintances, and Kathy had whispered into Peter’s ear from the back of the room, “Dude looks like Ned Beatty in ‘Deliverance’.” Peter had received the title for Jeremiah’s black Cadillac El Dorado and a simple heavy gold ring set with an obsidian stone carved with a curious symbol. Maggy was given his Renton townhouse.

The attorney snorted again and tossed back his drink in a single swallow. “S’not like he had a choice in that matter.” He grimaced and shuddered from the effects of the strong alcohol. “But them’s bygones, as they say,” he continued as he poured himself another. “We got along well enough in the end. Not such as it mattered much.”

“Why are we here, Mr. Eldridge?” Maggy asked abruptly, setting her tea cup on the thin coaster beside her. “Jeremiah’s Estate was cleared the day before yesterday.”

Stan turned and regarded her with a humorous glint in his eye. “Direct and subtle as a sore tooth,” he chuckled, “Just like he described you, Ms. Desormeaux.”

She bristled at his candor.

“Ah, if I only had his gift for choosing such trustworthy assets, I wouldn’t find myself surrounded by enemies!”

“I ... beg your pardon?” she blanched, trembling with anger at his choice of words. Peter settled her with a touch of his hand. His gesture was not lost on the shrewd man standing apart from them and he nodded subtly.

“Mr. Eldridge,” he stated in a tone far beyond his seventeen years. “I assume you brought us here for some reason other than to annoy my colleague and insult our departed friend.” He rose to his feet deliberately putting the man on notice that his next words would decide their continued presence.

The portly attorney chose to stare back at him evenly, almost smugly, before tossing back his second serving. Again, he shuddered and set the glass on a nearby table. “Very well, then. I will ask the two of you to kindly accompany me into my private office so that we may conclude Mr. Witaker’s final business.”

“I’m not following,” Peter replied irritably. “I thought his estate was settled already.”

“His estate ... yes,” the man replied as he turned toward a raised panel door between two heavy bookcases. “His other concerns are what remain to be discussed and disseminated as well as a few ... other issues.” He turned and glanced directly at Kathy. “My apologies Ms. Parsons, but I must ask you to remain out here for the time being.”

Peter and Maggy began talking over each other demanding clarification, while Kathy returned to her seat on the over-upholstered chaise.

“Sorry buddy, Kathy is very much a part of my life, even if we aren’t married...”

“Even if you were married, she would not be included in this meeting,” the man retorted. “What you choose to share with her afterward is of no concern to me.”

“Then we are done here,” the boy snapped and turned to leave.

“What do you mean ‘other concerns?” Maggy demanded.

Stan Eldridge regarded each of them with a knowing (albeit arrogant) expression. “Surely you didn’t think he would drag the two of you into that viper’s nest of greed and malignant curiosity, just to bequeath you with his home,” he nodded to her. “And you with a Cadillac and a ring?” he peered directly and Peter. “You did bring it correct?”

Peter recalled the fancy breakfast service they enjoyed in the lounge of the ritzy hotel they stayed at last night. It was then that Maggy informed him that she had been called and told of the meeting. As he was enjoying his coffee at breakfast he noticed a small folded note on the saucer – the one-line message: ‘Bring the ring’. Instead of a signature, there was a tiny rough sketch that loosely resembled the symbol carved into obsidian. Peter thought it resembled a pizza with a large wedge cut from the bottom, which was offset from the remaining circle.

He studied the man standing across the room and felt Kathy’s hand touch his. He glanced down and found her gazing at him calmly. “It’s okay, babe,” she stated softly. “I’m fine waiting right here.”

He relaxed his clenched jaw and turned, nodding for Maggy to follow the man into his office. It turned out to be little more than a lavishly appointed closet. There was an ornate desk with two plush chairs before it, a large glass-covered display case, and a solid-looking safe. Eldridge let them enter before him and shut the door with a soft click. When he flicked a wall switch nearby Peter could sense a sudden faint rushing sound around them.

“What’s that buzzing?” Maggy asked as he stepped behind the desk and gestured to the two seats.

“A sophisticated electronic countermeasure to foil any attempts at surveillance,” he replied. “There is no need to check a person for wires of cameras, once they enter this room because they become useless. Please have a seat.”

The small desk was completely clear with the single exception of a recessed cross-cut shredder that protruded out of the wall side of the top. Peter allowed her the inner chair before he took his own. The attorney across from him held out his hand expectantly. Rather than being coy the younger man simply reached into his coat pocket and produced to old ring, placing it in his outstretched palm.

“Or you could consider wearing it on your finger,” the man chided as he looked it over. “Far less chance of losing it that way.” He placed the item on the desk and then reached behind it producing a flat black metal case approximately the size of a briefcase, minus the handle. He set the case carefully onto the desk surface and grabbed the ring once more. Peter noticed a subtle inset on one edge and watched as Stan pressed the obsidian face of the ring into the concave indention. There was a click and the ring was handed back to him.

Rotating the case 90 degrees the attorney lifted the lid back so that it opened toward them.

“Welcome to the Consortium.”

Peter sat in silence for a moment before turning to look at the woman to his left. Seeing that she was equally perplexed, he turned back to the portly man across from him.

“Say, what?”

Inside the case were several odds items. Stan set the lid aside and reached within to remove a flat manilla envelope which he handed to Maggy. “For you my dear,” he stated calmly as she took it. He removed another larger and much thicker envelope and placed it on the desk before her. This uncovered a large thick bound book with worn covers that he lifted out and set before Peter. Another large manilla envelope accompanied the book and finally, the man removed a multi-page document before setting the box back on the floor by his feet.

“The Canterbury Consortium is a multinational organization that operates discreetly beyond the scrutiny or jurisdiction of any nation, government, or class,” he stated, gesturing toward the envelopes. “Before we leave here you will read the contents of those flats, and then they will be shredded.” He paused for effect. “I will read this document to you both and then it too will be destroyed. Do you understand?”

Peter snorted, “Let me guess, if we disclose any of this information we will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Do we have to sign NDAs as well?”

The attorney regarded him with a deadpan expression. “My dear boy, what you do when you leave this room is entirely your concern and none of mine. But you will soon learn that if you should ever violate any of the consortium statutes ... well, we define the term, ‘prosecute’ rather loosely.” He set his document flat on the desk before him. “Do you have any questions before we begin?”

“One,” Peter retorted. “Just what the fuck is this Canterbury Consortium? Some secret organization like the Illuminati or Skull and Bones?”

His tone didn’t seem to faze the man across from him as he picked up the papers once more and tapped them onto the desk to even them out. “When it comes to our organization, there is ‘secret’ and then there is ‘non-existent’. Now ask yourselves this, how do you know of ... say, the Illuminati? Or the Knights Templar?”

“Because people talk about them,” Maggy replied softly, holding the small envelope in her hand delicately.

“Precisely,” he nodded approvingly. “Have you ever, before entering this room, heard of the Consortium?”

“Touche,” Peter replied. “Doesn’t answer my question though.”

With a sigh, the man held up his papers and leaned over the desk. “For the sake of expediency, I propose that each of you open the larger envelopes before you, and read the contents while I go over my instructions for you. Since you are both innately gifted with keen intellect and the ability to partition your minds — as well as speed-read — this should not be an issue. Shall we proceed?”

Peter and Maggy glanced at each other and then each picked up their tan envelope, pulling a small wire that slit the package across its edge.

“Each of those was handwritten by Jeremiah himself, specifically for you. Even I do not know the contents, nor do I want to,” he grumbled, “as I have enough on my plate.” He watched as they both took out their letters and began reading. “Very good,” he nodded. “Now, to answer the question, yes, we are a secret organization, and yes, we have been around for centuries. We have existed since before the Bible was written and it is speculated that we may have had a hand in that too.

“We operate in the shadows, mostly to affect outcomes directed toward the betterment of society. We do this by indirect means; we influence, suggest, or manipulate processes, taking direct action only as a last resort. We were the voice whispered into the ears of jesters and passed to the ears of kings. And if the ruling class failed to fulfill the outcome we desired — then we were the hand that supplied the poison to the drudge who unwittingly prepared the king’s last draft.” He paused and looked up when Peter straightened and turned his head toward the woman beside him. They both gazed at her incredulously as she suddenly kicked her chair back onto its rear legs, propped her black suede boot heels onto the desk, and began rocking back and forth. She hummed and muttered softly to herself as she twirled a lock of her hair with her free hand. It was clear that she was fully engrossed in her letter.

She paused and looked up at them unapologetically. “What? This is my schtick, I’m listening to you ... voice of the fool, sarin in the banquet hall, yada yada ... carry on.”

For a second Peter thought the executor’s eyes were going to pop as they bulged in their sockets, “How on Earth did you...?”

A sick feeling clenched Peter’s gut. “Wait a minute? That nerve-gas attack in Paris?” he blurted recalling the incident on the news in 86. Twenty people died including a high-ranking parliamentary figure. “You are telling me that we go around killing innocent people?” He started getting to his feet when Eldridge smacked his hand sharply on the desk.

“Just stop!” he ordered. He sighed and held up the ring so the obsidian stone was facing them. “See that symbol?” he growled. “That represents one part of a whole.” He slapped the ring back onto the desk. “We are not that part and that had nothing to do with us!”

Peter sat back and regarded him suspiciously, “But it was the Consortium?”

“I’m sure they had some part in it, yes,” the man replied bluntly. “And for what it’s worth, they achieved the desired outcome, two-fold,” he held up two fingers, “They eliminated a group of ... evil men. And they brought to the attention of the French government, just how lax their security measures were in the safeguarding of their chemical weapons.”

“But innocent people were harmed and even died.”

“Show me any conflict in history where that has not been the case?” Stan demanded as he shuffled his papers.

Peter bit his tongue and quickly scanned through the letter before tossing it back on the desk while the lawyer finished going through his manifesto.

Maggy whistled softly, “I had no idea,” she whispered. “Not a single clue that he was sitting on this kind of money.” She glanced at Peter, “He left me $13 million. How much did he give you?”

“$125 million with clear instructions on how he wanted me to use it,” he frowned. “He mentioned the Scottish Castle with a familiarity of the negotiations that took place just last week...” He picked up the letter to look for a date but found none.

Stan gathered the letters with his own and fed them into the shredder. It hummed and crunched quietly as the papers disappeared into its mechanical maw. Then he regarded the reclining woman directly, nodding at the smaller envelope beneath her foot.

She leaned forward, grabbed it, and slit the crease open with a nail. She removed a single folded page and read it quickly. There was no outward change to her expression but Peter could sense that the contents had rocked her emotionally as she let the chair clack back down to the floor. She reached over and fed the letter and envelope into the shredder before sitting back. “What else?” she asked tacitly.

The lawyer steepled his hands on the desk. “That’s it. We’re done. I’m sure you two have much to discuss. I just want you to do it somewhere else.”

“What’s this?” Peter asked tapping the black bound book.

“Jeremiah’s ledger. Everything he was working on, monitoring, fixing, etc.” Stan slid it towards him, “It’s yours now.”

Peter opened it and frowned at the handwritten contents. “What is this? It looks like gibberish. Some foreign language?”

Eldridge shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m just an executor for the Consortium. It’s his code that only he knew.”

“Isn’t there a key or legend?”

The man shook his head, “He gave it to you for a reason. Just like he picked the two of you.”

Peter balked as he felt his older self ‘shift’ inside him. He felt a chill go down his spine. “You mean ... it wasn’t Scott Bales who contacted him to be my court-appointed financial advisor?”

Stan shook his head, “Not very likely. He had his eye on you for some time.”

“Did he have anything to do with my accident?” Peter demanded.

“Whoa boy!” the attorney scoffed, rising to his feet. “You’re reaching for answers that aren’t there. But no. Your accident was nothing more than an unfortunate circumstance that pulled you together probably sooner than he had planned.”

Peter remained sitting as his mind raced through his thoughts and memories like a slide projector operating at warp speed. Suddenly he looked up intently. “The IQ batteries.”

The attorney winked at him with a click of his tongue.

Maggy gasped as she put it together half a second after Peter. “He’s been watching me since I was ... nine?”

“Well, as I said, I’m sure you two have much to discuss,” the attorney stated offhandedly as he gestured toward the door, “Allow me to escort you out.”

If Kathy found it odd that neither of them spoke about their secretive meeting, she kept her thoughts to herself. She trusted Peter without fault and knew that he would share his thoughts when he could. They rode back to the Excelsior Hotel and checked out before taking a limousine back to the private field where they flew in.

“I will instruct the pilot to drop you off at Phoenix before I return to Seattle,” Maggy stated as they rode in the back of the comfortable ride.

“Wait,” Kathy replied anxiously. “I thought we were going back to New Orleans.”

“We don’t need to, apparently,” Peter mused with a shake of his head.

“But...” she blew out her air, frustrated.

“What is the matter, babe?”

She looked at him with a crestfallen expression. “I didn’t get a chance to do any shopping.”

He blinked at her in amazement. “What?”

She gave him the stink eye. “I wanted to go shopping for everyone back home!” she blurted. “I got a list in my head, too. A Mardi Gras mobile for Abigail’s crib, hot sauces for Bradly, a harmonica for Char, Len needs a new set of placemats and coasters, and there’s clothing and gifts, maybe a onesie for Jac...” she kept on chatting while Peter and Maggy stared at each other in silent communication.

“I could really go for a coffee,” he suggested.

“It’s been a minute since I’ve had beignets from Café Du Mond,” she replied.

“And I’ve heard that there is some amazing shopping in the French Quarter,” Kathy added dreamily.

“Oh, Cher,” Maggy smiled, “I’m taking you to the Market District.”

Kathy grew impatient awaiting the other two to finish their coffee and powdery sweets, so she left them sitting in the world-famous café and eatery that had been serving the same fare since 1862 — while she continued exploring the shops along the boulevard. Peter had powdered sugar all over his mouth and fingers as he smacked his lips and consumed a second plate of the sugary beignets. Maggy sat across from him smiling as she savored her chicory coffee. There was a respectable pile of bags and sacks full of gifts around them, and the look in Kathy’s eye as she bolted, suggested that the pile would quickly grow.

“Damn! These things are better than frybread,” he mumbled as he licked the powdered sugar off his fingers.

“And just as bad for you, Cher. They aren’t intended as a meal.”

“I can still eat lunch,” he retorted as he rinsed his mouth out with coffee. “Damn, I like it here. It’s warm too.”

“I miss it sometimes,” she replied wistfully with a distant look in her eye. “But I could no longer live here. Not now.”

“Why not?” he asked as he held up his cup to a passing server. “I don’t see why you have to stay in Seattle?”

“I don’t,” she replied absently as she stared at her cup. “I’ll be relocating to Phoenix in a month or so. I have to put Jeremiah’s house up for sale and tie up some loose ends first.”

Peter suddenly looked at the woman intently and realized that he had no idea just how old she was. She had a youthful body and exhibited mannerisms that could only be categorized as immature. He reflected on her rocking back in her chair and twirling her hair as she read. But there was something about her distant gaze that made her seem far older. On the phone, he suspected she was in her thirties. But sitting across from the mulatto woman with her chiseled Mediterranean cheeks and nose — he suspected she was barely older than himself, but he knew better than to ask. Something else bothered him and he cleared his throat softly, causing her to look at him.

“What did he say to you in the other letter?”

He could see the soft lines behind her eyes tighten an instant before she glanced away.

She took a breath and started to lift her shoulders.

“Mags?”

She paused and looked back up finding his crisp blue eyes penetrating her very soul.

“Remember what Geronimo said,” he stated calmly in a low voice.

She grew pale and shivered for a moment, suddenly looking much younger and vulnerable. He could tell she was having an inner battle with her emotions as she chewed her lip. “I ... he told me,” she whispered emotionally, Finally, she shook it off with a sigh and waited for the server to set down his coffee and depart. “It was nothing I didn’t already know,” she answered. “It was just a reminder of my continued commitment to him.” Her voice broke suddenly and her eyes grew moist. “And now that he’s gone...” she sniffed.

“What did he tell you?” he repeated.

She sniffed and flicked a stray lock of hair out of her face. “That I work for you now,” she replied firmly, meeting his gaze again. “And that you are my sole commitment from now on.”

He wondered just how devoted she was to the old man. “So why are you coming to Phoenix?” he asked, already suspecting the truth.

“To be closer to you,” she said promptly. “My job is solely to take care of you from now on, Cher,” she added. “You are my only priority. I am to forsake everything and everyone, toward that focus...” she looked away from him and back at her empty cup. “Even myself.”

Once they had taken their seats aboard the Executive jet, it immediately began taxiing. Once the single attendant checked their seatbelts she took their refreshment requests.

Maggy twisted her lip before eyeing the uniformed woman. “You still keep a bottle of absinthe aboard?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Maggy nodded and sat back.

“What is absinthe?” Peter asked.

“I thought that stuff was illegal?” Kathy added, turning to Peter to explain, “It’s a green liquor made from some shrub...”

“Artemisia absinthium,” Maggy supplied. “It’s potent and thought to have hallucinogenic properties though I’ve never felt such,” she added. “Jeremiah said it helped him to focus.”

“I’ll have one too,” he told the attendant.

“Me three,” Kathy added eagerly.

The woman nodded agreeably and returned a moment later carrying a silver tray with three crystal glasses half full of a vibrant green liquor. Maggy thanked her and held her glass up, “À la vôtre!” she called and tossed the entire volume back in one slug.

Peter and Kathy each sniffed theirs and shrugged over the black licorice fragrance. They dubiously tapped their glasses together and copied the Creole woman’s actions.

Suddenly neither could breathe and their faces turned red in response to the 100-proof liquor as it clung to the esophagus and burned the entire way down to the gut.

Kathy lurched forward gasping while Peter’s eyes teared up from the fire in his throat. “Oh God!” he wheezed frantically as he tried to suck in a breath.

The skillful attendant managed to take both of their glasses before they dropped them, and returned to her station as the pilot announced their pending take-off.

“Okay there, Cher?” Maggy smirked as she watched the two lovers.

“No!” he wheezed as he shook and twisted his body and neck. Kathy began coughing harshly beside him as tears flowed down her cheeks.