Page 8 of The Society (Spy Girl 3)
"Jack might have been a slacker, but he was a good man. He had ethics and was above reproach. He couldn't even be bribed because he had more money than God. His only Achilles heel was his love for his family."
"But Ares was different in that regard. He chose not to have contact with his children."
"I have to be honest. I know about your and Ari's backgrounds."
"You checked us out?"
"If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck . . ."
"Then, it probably is a duck," I finish. "Do you really believe we are Ares's children? Because, honestly, I'm not so sure sometimes. I kind of feel like I'm being punked."
"I saw your birth certificates. Ari's middle name is Allister. Your middle name is Penelope, after the wife of the hero Odysseus."
"A coincidence?"
"Doubtful," he says. "You have your father's eyes. And, if you look closely at that picture of when we were young, you can see a lot of your brother in Ares. Your father studied the Renaissance era, and idolized Odysseus. Do you know that story?"
"Of course. Odysseus set up the plan to deceive the Trojan army with the horse. The Greeks won the war because of it."
"He also went through numerous battles to get back home--because all he wanted was to see his wife. His love for her drove him."
"Are you saying, he loved my mother? Did you know her?"
"I knew of her. They were close in high school but grew apart when he went to college. I also know that you were homeschooled. Went to a boarding school part-time and received high marks. I was told you were quiet and a bit shy."
"Wow. You did a lot of checking," I say, wondering how the hell he checked into my school. The school I obviously didn't go to.
"When I heard the news, yes, I did. I was worried it was some kind of scam. Regardless of how he spent the last few years of his life, I still consider him a friend. In life and beyond."
"And now?"
He reaches out and touches my face in a fatherly gesture. "I hope you and Ari will fill the void he left. And I will give you some advice. Because of the money you have inherited along with your father's legacy, you, too, will be watched by our government."
"Does that mean I should pay the parking ticket I got in Ares's Ferrari when I double-parked?"
He chuckles again. "I think you definitely should. They will use any excuse to reach the very wealthy, and they always scrutinize us. I've been the target of numerous investigations, as has Viktor's father and your own. I'll quietly see what I can find out, okay?"
"Thank you, Mr. Prescott. I really appreciate your kindness."
"Seriously, call me Malcolm. Mr. Prescott was my father."
My mind is reeling, trying to digest everything he said about my father, as he leads me through the billiards room and to the end of an empty hall. He presses a button, and a wall slides open.
"That's pretty slick."
He grins. "Did you know the castle in Montrovia has numerous secret passageways? I used to think that was the coolest thing ever, and when I built this house, I had to put in a few."
He puts his hand out, politely gesturing for me to go first. I step in front of him and tightly close my eyes, taking a moment to allow myself to feel. Walking into an unknown place like this that no one knows about doesn't sound like the best idea. But, unlike when I went back to Blackwood, my senses are not on full alert in this situation. Malcolm Prescott is a man who I can trust.
And I'm feeling grateful for it, so I keep walking.
We move down a long hall to find a set of stairs, much like the ones that go down to Ares's gun range.
"I'm assuming this is the way? It looks a lot like Ares's."
"Mine is bigger," he says with a grin as I hit the bottom stair to find a large range spread out in front of us.
"Let me guess, he put his in first?"
Malcolm just keeps grinning, indicating that I'm correct. He had to do one better.
Ari, Peter, and Lorenzo are lined up in separate bays, all dressed in dinner jackets and shooting a variety of guns. They say the gun a man chooses conveys much about his personality.
Peter has a Taurus Colt .45 that looks like something they used back in the Wild West days.
Ari, who typically favors the Glock 30, is shooting a German Korth six-inch pistol made entirely of hardened carbon steel with a double-slide guide, fixed barrel, and a semi-rigid roller shutter. It's a serious piece of hardware--not that it matters. Ari could do damage with any gun he chooses, proven by the stack of target papers he has lying around him, all with neat rings.
"Your brother is a good shot," Malcolm says.
"His dad--well, his adopted dad--was in the military. I think Ari grew up with a gun in his hand."
"It shows."
He studies his own son, and I can easily read his disappointment.
"How about you? You any good with a gun?"
"Me?" I scoff. "The first time I ever shot a gun was at Ares's house. And that was only after Ari gave me a long safety lesson."
"Which gun would you choose to shoot?" he asks.
I look around, trying to figure out which gun a normal girl would choose, but then I realize Huntley and X share the same desire for different reasons. I point toward Lorenzo, who is holding an extremely rare titanium gold Desert Eagle .440 Cor-Bon. It was designed by Magnum Research and Israeli Military Industries and is a staple, but only a few hundred of the gold were ever manufactured.
"The one Lorenzo is shooting is by far the prettiest," I say, trying my best to sound girlie.
Malcolm laughs at me. "You are your father's daughter. He loved gold, too."
"I didn't see one of those guns in his collection."
"That's because I won it from him."
"How?"
"Funny you ask. It was actually a day just like today, about fifteen years ago. We had been at the Cartier Queen's Cup and came back here to play poker."
"You won it in a poker match?"
"Yes. But guess what I found on this rare gun after he sent it to me?"
"Um, I don't know."
He stands behind Lorenzo and taps his shoulder. All three guys were so enthralled with shooting, they didn't seem to notice us enter the room.
Lorenzo sets the gun down and takes off his earmuffs. Then he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close even though Malcolm is standing right there.
"I like the gold gun," I say, hoping to lean the conversation in that direction.
"Do you mind?" Malcolm asks him.
"Of course not," Lorenzo says, taking the clip out of the gun.
He hands it to Malcolm, who holds the butt of it in front of my face.
"See. He marred it with his damn logo."
I can't help but laugh when I see the same V over the A that was prevalent in his office.
"Do you want to shoot it?" Malcolm asks me.
"Um," I say, "isn't it about time for dinner?"
Malcolm glances at his watch. "You're right. My wife will have our hides if we're late."
All forty-two guests are mingling, waiting to be seated at a massive dining room table set with antique fine bone china. The lights are dimmed, the tall crystal candelabras providing a soft glow.
"Miss Von Allister, it's nice to finally meet you," Aleksandr Nikolaevich says to me. "We should have met in Montrovia, but my flight was grounded due to bad weather, and I missed my son's proposal." He pauses. "Horrible, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it was pretty horrible."
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry for bringing it up. I forgot you were there."
I look down, pretending to be upset. "It wasn't a very pleasant experience."
"I'm sure it was quite traumatic. How are you handling it?"
"Do you like movies?" I ask him.
"Why, yes. I love a good action film."
"Me, too. They used to be my favorite. It was like watching a movie, but the whole time, my mind was thinking, It's not real, and, It's all Hollywood, but at the movies, you can't smel
l the gunpowder or taste blood on your lips."
Malcolm Prescott comes up from behind us, giving his old friend a hug. "About time you showed up," he says. "Are things proceeding as you hoped?"
"You know, with all business, one never is sure until the ink is dry."
"Unless you have a good lawyer." Malcolm chuckles. "I see you have met Huntley. What do you think?"
"She has her father's eyes," Aleksandr says, staring into mine.
"Exactly what I said. Have you seen Ari? He looks so much like Ares."
"He does. It is like seeing a ghost from the past."
"You've never eaten a meal until you've had one at the Prescott's," Daniel says, turning to me as we are seated. "Their chef is world-class, and each course is a culinary masterpiece."
I'm seated across the table from Lorenzo with Daniel to my right and Aleksandr Nikolaevich to my left. As per etiquette, I will speak to him during the first course, which is a warm onion tart with smoked salmon.
