The Syndicate

A
s I make my way through the back hall, I ponder two of our most important objectives. One is to be better than the target; the other, to be loyal to the Syndicate—and I don’t have a problem with either. What I do have a problem with is being called to meet privately with Henri at midnight on the eve of our next Circle.

My family’s mansion is now the center of the Syndicate’s North American operation, and though the house belongs to me by birthright, my respect for the code, and for the elders, keeps me submissively following orders. Now is no exception.

Knowing that Henri will be able to sense my irritation, I begin counting by thirteen so that, by the time I reach his study, I appear well focused.

When I arrive, the office door is open, prompting me to enter without knocking.

Behind the desk sits Henri, the oldest and most powerful of the Circle. His chair is facing the wall, but his tan, finely wrinkled hands are visible on each armrest. His left hand begins tapping softly, but, to me and my fellow Guard, the tap is a near thump to our trained hearing. Knowing he can sense my presence, I wait respectfully until he slowly turns and faces me.

“My dearest Vasile, please come—and close the door.” I do as he asks and sit across from him as he continues. “I know this meeting is very unusual, but we are approaching some of our most trying times. Our duties will be tested now more than ever.” I shift in my seat, trying to decipher the harder-than-usual lines in Henri’s face. “You are our most reliable, most efficient, and I trust you with my life. We
all
do.” This surprises me, because as far as I know we have everything under control.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “Things are in order. We are fulfilling our purpose.”

“Yes, we are. However, the Readers see a future that could not only threaten civilians, but threaten our Syndicate. I am told we will be tested like never before.”

“Why are you telling
me
this? Where are the others?” There are eight members of the American Guard, so I find it strange for Henri to be speaking to me in private. Matters regarding the Syndicate are supposed to be discussed at the Circle, in front of everyone.

My mouth opens with more questions, but Henri puts his hand up to silence me. “Because,” he says. “You are next in line to lead the Circle. I must know that you are willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill your duties.”

I lean forward, a little defensive that there would be any doubt. “Of course I will.”

After a brief moment of reflection, Henri stands and walks around the desk. Behind me, he places his palms on both of my shoulders. “Good. I knew you could be relied upon. Now, listen carefully…the Readers see one of the Guard going astray.” I move to turn around, but Henri holds me still. “Vasile. You
must
listen.”

I shake my head. “No one would do that. The Syndicate is too important.”

With a slight laugh, Henri replies, “I wish it were true, but the Readers are never wrong.”

Still fighting the urge to face him, I quickly shoot back, “But who?”

“That is unknown.”

“None of my brothers would betray the Syndicate. I know that.”

Henri gives me a pat on the shoulder and finally moves in front of me. Leaning on the desk, he sighs slowly and shakes his head equally so. “Vasi, you know nothing but what our Readers foresee.” His remarkably white hair and pale blue eyes, in contrast to his tan skin, create an intriguing look of godly wisdom. There’s no point in questioning him, so I bow my head and nod.

“Now,” Henri continues, “I brought you here because it will be your responsibility to make sure our Syndicate survives the betrayal. You must never fail us, and you must
always
protect the Syndicate. No matter what.”

What does that mean, “no matter what?”
I think about my destiny to protect the people and fulfill my father’s wishes, but hearing orders from Henri has always given me the urge to rebel. Not from the Syndicate, but from his authority. Without responding verbally, I give a slight nod, which Henri doesn’t find acceptable.

“Do you understand?” he presses.

I force myself to answer. “I understand.”

“Good. I knew you would. Now, as you know, the Readers are on their way and the Circle meets tomorrow. You will get your next assignment, and you
must
watch your back. Remember, one of the Guards will threaten our survival, but we do not know when. Trust
no one
and always be vigilant and alert.”

“Yes, sir.”

Henri silently crosses the study and opens the door, an unspoken invitation to leave. In passing, I glance into the eyes of our leader and, although I expect to see the steadfast composure that the Elders always possess, something rattles me.

The Syndicate has faced centuries of threats, but never one from our own, and I certainly expect Henri to appear a little concerned at the idea, but there is nothing unusual in his eyes.

As I make my way back to my room, it is the one time I don’t just wish my father were still around; I need him to be. With his training, my skills are unmatchable, and at eighteen I’m already the best assassin in the Guard. Not because I’m the strongest, or even the fastest, but because I possess adequate physical strength coupled with his instinct and intellect.

Unafraid to say it, I’m simply the smartest and most reliable of the Syndicate brothers, and therefore respected. It does help that my bloodline is the oldest among our kind, so carrying out my duty is natural to me. Not trusting one of my brothers is another story. Not natural. Handling a possible betrayal from the Guard was something my father didn’t teach me about. In fact, there were many things my father, once the leader of the Syndicate, didn’t get to teach me.

Not only the youngest of the appointed Guard, I’m also the only one with a deceased mother
and
father. Both killed when I was fifteen. Everything I know, I learned before my parent’s murder, and have since refused to allow anyone else to teach me, which makes my abilities stand out that much more. It also makes me feel closer to my father—unchanged, as I like to think of myself. I am, in my mind, the exact person I believe my father wanted me to be.

Some people in the Syndicate even have moments of déjà vu. They say I’m the spitting image of him. Fair skin, light brown hair, and hazel eyes that seem to change color with my clothing. It’s eerie for them to see me not only look so much like my father, but to act like him, even three years after his death.

I can’t help but ponder my memories of him as I enter my room and lie on the bed. My room is one of several in the century-old French-style mansion, but this space is simple: no photographs, no bright wall color. Just the basics. A bed, computer desk with a laptop, small reading light, and a bookcase. The walls are covered in sealed oak, stained to match the dark oak floors.

The iron bed is situated in the corner to allow the most floor space. The bed itself has been in my family for decades and is now nearly too small for me. At six feet three, it’s virtually impossible for me to stretch out completely on the old frame, but I refuse to get rid of it. To me, it’s another method of hanging onto the memories of my bloodline.

The darkness usually brings peaceful thoughts, but tonight my mind is racing.
Trust no one. One of the Guards will betray us?
Unable to shake Henri’s words, for once, I’m glad to hear the tapping of my sister’s heels as she approaches my room.

At seventeen, Rosie is the youngest appointed member. But she wasn’t appointed for her talent alone. She was given her role as my Scout because I refused to have it any other way.

In the Syndicate, it’s tradition for the boys to become part of the Guard once they turn eighteen. Our job is simply to hunt and kill when told. The girls can either be Readers or Scouts or a silent member. And since Rosie couldn’t see the future if it bit her, and she can’t stay out of the way, she’s a Scout, and I want her paired with me.

The mere fact that the elders considered appointing her a year early is a true testament to my value. They need me in the Guard, and if what the Readers predict is true, they need me now more than ever.

Her small voice sings as she approaches. “Oh, big brother, where art thou?”

I don’t bother answering, because she’ll knock twice and just come in anyway.