Free The Judas Line by Mark Everett Stone Page A

ornate desk, sat Julian. The light from the window erased the details and outlined his form in stark relief; he was darkness personified.
    “Hello Julian,” I responded, drawing near and standing at attention in front of the desk.
    The shadow’s head cocked slightly to the right. “The Professor has told me you only know one Word. Is this true?”
    “No sir, I know them all.” Lying to Julian was just another way to commit suicide … or worse.
    If that confession caught him by surprise, his body language didn’t show it, but I could hear the pleasure in his voice as he asked, “And why didn’t you tell the Professor?”
    “I didn’t want the others to know.”
    A deep chuckle. “I always knew you were the smart one, Olivier.”
    The silhouette turned and the light from the window dimmed. Julian came into view, a starkly handsome man, skin a little lighter than mine, gray at the temples, taller by four inches and broader across the chest. Where my smile was wide and even, his had a sardonic twist.
    I looked past him. “The window is new.” A window might allow an ambitious son to remove his father from the Sicarii using a sniper rifle.
    This time his smile held no scorn. “Not a window, but the latest in high-definition technology. Miniature cameras on the outside of the building record the actual view,” he said. “Then they send it here, a near-perfect simulation.”
    I nodded. “Very nice.”
    “Not one for chitchat, are you, son?”
    One of my eyebrows crept upward. “I am understandably curious as to the reason for your summons, sir.”
    His laughter held a note of genuine amusement. A surprise, considering that the last time I heard genuine humor from him was when the American shuttle Challenger exploded shortly after takeoff in 1981.
    “The twins have no backbone, and Henri has no brains. The only ones with any hope of matching my standards are you and Burke.” Boris appeared with a small snifter of brandy between his massive fingers. Julian nodded to the Russian and waved him off, inhaling deeply from the glass. “Want one, son?”
    “No thank you, sir.”
    “Yes, you are the smart one,” he mused quietly. “Just the perfect degree of paranoia. Like I said, it’s down to you and Burke, and I prefer you because he favors the Harcourt side of the Family. However, when I heard from the Professor that you had only one Word, well …” his voice trailed off and he took a small sip. “I almost despaired.
    “Imagine how I felt when I heard that the most promising fruit of my loins had turned out to be a magical dunce. Then, just this morning in fact, I said to myself, ‘Julian, why is your most gifted son such a beggar with Words when he showed such promising, even amazing, talent at Elemental and Botanical Magics?’ ”
    Julian drained half the snifter and swirled the brandy in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “The answer, son, is that you are not a beggar with Words, that you were hiding your light under a bushel to keep a low profile from your bloodthirsty relatives, encouraging them to underestimate you.”
    “Got it in one, sir,” I murmured.
    “I twigged onto the truth in less than a week, son; it will take Burke less than two. So, if you think you can take the plunge, he should be your first order of business.”
    “Not too worried about Burke right now, sir.”
    Julian’s pitch-black eyebrows shot up. “Why not?”
    “He’ll save me for last.”
    He pursed his lips. “Yes, I do believe you—as the Americans would say it—have his number, son. Very well.” With that he reached for the phone (at this time, as you know, almost all phones were landline) and hit SPEAKER, then dialed a three-digit number.
    “When I told the Patron about your marvelous duplicity, he asked to speak to you.”
    The Patron? My blood chilled to the point where the cells must have crystallized. No one but Julian talked to our mysterious Patron, the person who had guided the Family to the