He didn’t have to ask, and his question had been answered by Vincent....

“She’s running late.  She called about an hour ago, and she should arrive any minute now.”

Morpheus scanned the room, making note of their faces.  These people were some of the most powerful people in the world.  Collectively, they controlled over half the worlds assets and for over one hundred years their families had worked in secret, restructuring the global economy to suit their purposes.  For the past fifty years this group had set their sights on politics and governments; and ways to manipulate entire countries from the inside out.  Whenever decisions were made, their voices were one collective chorus; kind of an all for one, and one for all mentality.  If the crap hit the fan, they didn’t point fingers because every vote must be an unanimous one.  In spite of this chummy chummy mentality, people were human.  Flawed in more ways than one.  Morpheus knew this better than anyone else in this room because he carried a heavier burden.  This secret organization had been formed by one of his ancestors and he had a duty that went far beyond himself or his desires.

He was deep in thought when Berta said...

“How much longer are we going to wait?”

“As long as it takes.”  George pointedly stated.  Berta had been the second to the last to join the group, and Morpheus despised her.  She looked like she hadn’t been fucked a day in her life, and maybe if she had a good turn, she could dislodge the stick that wedged the hole on her backside.

"Morpheus...how can you sit there behaving so calm!"

Berta was a wildcard; always led by her emotions.  He ignored her.  He lifted his arm, maneuvering his wrist until his timepiece could be seen.  He wasn’t ready to start the game of petty squabbles.  In fact--he’d decided before coming that he wouldn’t play at all; he would resolve this problem in his own way.  He’d not fully decided on a course of action, but after this meeting he would land firmly on one side of his choices, and he will have dismissed his uncertainty.

Berta cleared her throat, and before anyone could say one word, the doors to the cabin opened, and Eliza Pendleton joined them, hurrying as she made her way inside.  She didn’t make eye contact with any of them.  Instead, she took her seat.  Her smile was tight when she said...

“Sorry for my tardiness.”

Woodrow said...

“No apologies necessary.  Rest--slow down...catch your breath.”

Woodrow was well into his nineties; rest, and moving slow were probably the only speeds his body responded to.

Berta excessively sighed.  Breaking with protocol, she spoke, and her English accent grated their ears so badly that Morpheus wanted her to stop talking--but she didn't.

“Tardy again.  We are here for a common good.  I flew halfway around the world yet, I arrived hours before you.  This meeting is important--but you don’t seem to understand that.”

Morpheus could not abide self important people and neither did Woodrow.  For all intense and purposes, Eliza was a nobody.  She didn’t own a global anything and her financial wealth couldn’t fund a country or pay off its national debt.  Eliza was here seated at this table because Morpheus had insisted.  During the past two years, their political plans had been spiraling down the crapper and Eliza had been employed to plug the hole.  And it had worked for a while, but their crisis manager couldn’t adequately do her job because she had not been in the know, therefore she’d been working with one free hand while her other hand had been tied behind her back.  Morpheus had expressed how valuable she would be to them, mainly because even though Eliza didn’t bring a certain brand of status to the table, she did have something that most of them didn’t have.  Secrets; and in this circle, that made her just as valuable as any of them.

Woodrow liked Eliza, and he smartly smiled at her, giving her a slow nod of his approval.

In a weak voice, he brought their meeting to order.

“Now that we are all in attendance, I would like to suggest that we discuss our most urgent topic without delay.”

Woodrow didn’t have to name the topic he’d been referring to because they all knew and they noticed that his eyes steered clear of Morpheus.  Woodrow said...

“The floor is open for discussion of the matter concerning Tollin Pettier and Governor Andrew Wilcox.  As you all know, besides those of us seated here, there are only a handful of people who are aware of the governors political goals--and even though these people are being led to believe that these aspirations are the governor’s and the governor’s alone; this is by design, and they will never know that we in fact are the embodiment of that aspiration.  In due time--and after we have set the stage, the governor will reveal to the rest of the country that he is placing his bid to run in the next presidential election.  Now...we all know that there are many things that must occur, here as well as abroad.  The stabilization of the global market, crude oil production and then there is the European bank issue to consider.  In every endeavor, secrecy is the key--and that brings me to the purpose of this meeting.  Tollin Pettier’s death is gaining momentum in the Press as are the deaths of Alicia Holly Bradford and Dashiell Wrightly.  At this time--we do not need nor do we want Governor Andrew Wilcox, or his family in the media.  This problem has been compounded by three untimely murders and the fact that one of the victims just so happened to have mowed down the niece of Governor Wilcox.  The connection is weak, but even though up to now, Andrew has not been named in the murders; his association is thinly veiled.  Until now, we have done what we could using our influences to keep Andrew from becoming a suspect--but we need the media circus to die down.  We need the TV news to stop repeating their names.  George--where do we stand on that issue?”

The question had been put to George due to his media contacts.  George shook his head while saying...

“The major networks have tried to push the story to the back burners, but the bloggers won’t let it rest.  When the independent buzz gets out of hand, I don’t have many options; and believe me when I say that these bloggers are getting their message out.  They’ve been relentless--and not all the buzz concerns Tollin.  Some of the sites are talking about gun violence and the murder of the call girl--Holly.  There’s also a little chatter about Amy’s mother and her generous donation to an inner city charity sponsored by a Samaritan woman.  Not much is being said about Dash--on that front, we’ve pretty much got that covered.  But I can’t say the same about Marisela Pettier; she’s talking to whomever will listen to her.  And so far, that amounts to every national TV news network, cable networks and the radio outlets as well.  So--at this point, suppressing the story will only make matters worse.  This story has taken on a life of its own, and at this point these families and the bloggers have forced my hand.”

Woodrow looked at Vincent, the owner of Global Satellites, when he said...

“Vincent...were you able to do anything on your end?”

“Very little.  When we shut down one site, within hours, they were up and running, using another IP address.  This is a cat and mouse game--and right now, they seem to be winning.  The only answer is to shut down the entire grid--and I can’t do that.”

“I agree”  Woodrow said... “That’s sure to feed the conspiracy nuts.”

Morpheus smirked because most times the conspiracy theories weren’t theories at all; except for a few missing details, these people came close to knowing the entire truth.

Berta gesticulated, pointing her finger when she said...

“Now that she’s here--let’s ask her what she thinks, given that Morpheus insisted we invite her to join our group.”