Gunner’s phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. He jumped off the couch. “Anybody else need a beer?”
“Yeah,” replied Cam.
“Me too,” added Bear.
Gunner retrieved three bottles of Sammy’s Suds. As he popped the top on the beers, he read the text message from Jackal.
Jackal: You have an appointment tomorrow morning at 9. See Dr. Kala Bale, professor of Nazi history. William & Mary in Williamsburg. Ghost said don’t be late or hungover.
Gunner: Roger that. BTW, thanks for the update yesterday. I’ll be patient.
Gunner returned with the beers. “Well, we may not be going to Germany, yet, anyway. We do have a meeting with a Nazi expert. A professor at William & Mary.”
“When?” asked Cam.
“Oh nine hundred. Ghost wants us on time and sober.”
Bear tipped his bottle up and consumed half the beer in one gulp.
Cam took a swat at him. “Slow down. He said sober, moron.”
“No, that’s not the way you do it. Ya drink faster so you can get your six-pack in faster. Then you’ll have more time to sober up before morning.”
Cam shook her head and rolled her eyes. She looked to Gunner. “Where do you think he comes up with this convoluted logic?”
Gunner shrugged and followed Bear’s lead, pouring half the bottle down his throat at once. He let out a loud belch. “I dunno, but it works for me.”
Chapter Eleven
Home of Sophia Weber
The Bryant
Midtown Manhattan
New York, New York
The Bryant was Sophia Weber’s first major real estate project in Manhattan. Her husband, Remy, President Taylor’s chief of staff, had made a name for himself developing the Upper East Side with residential and commercial projects overlooking Roosevelt Island. They’d met at a cocktail party fundraising event of another local real estate developer turned politician decades ago. While the couple didn’t always see eye to eye politically, they had a common goal—power.
Sophia, as Inge Jorgensen’s oldest granddaughter, had an aptitude for investments and financial matters. In addition to overseeing the banking empire her grandmother created, she learned that New York City real estate would never lose its value. Through judicious management of the family’s fortune, she gained her power over others through political donations, lending favors, and strategic charitable donations.
Her husband was more politically inclined and quickly found himself rising up the ranks of the most highly sought-after political operatives after he successfully managed multiple New York gubernatorial campaigns. When one of his clients, New York Governor Jon Taylor, was tapped to be the vice-presidential nominee years ago, Remy was encouraged to run for Congress, representing the 10th Congressional District in Manhattan.
Both men were victorious during that election cycle, and during their first years in office, they became inseparable. When Taylor ran for the highest office in the land, Remy was his only choice to become his chief of staff once he was elected. After much discussion, Sophia and Remy agreed he could wield far greater influence over Washington as the president’s chief of staff than he could as a second- or third-term congressman.
Presidents were known for wearing out their chiefs of staff during their time in office. Not so for Remy. He could endure any amount of pressure to remain in a position of power that he’d helped create. President Taylor was known to flip-flop on policy positions, typically because Remy was in his ear. Over time, very few decisions were made by the president that didn’t benefit Odessa.
For her part, Sophia wasn’t relegated to an unimportant role within die Zwölf. New York City was the center of the banking and investment universe. It was also the hub of media operations for most major print and electronic news sources. Her influence, along with other members of die Zwölf, had the ability to shape world events and the message they wanted the general public to receive.
The thirty-four-story condominium complex housed fifty-seven luxury units with stunning views of Bryant Park below. The Webers occupied the entire thirty-fourth floor of the Bryant, with two triplex penthouses combined into a single residence.
Sophia strolled in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the elevator. Her security team had just buzzed to advise her that her guests had arrived. This meeting needed to be held in private and out of the normal restaurant settings, where snoops and gossips were abundant.
The smell of a light lunch reached her nostrils as she passed by the kitchen designed with white lacquered millwork and Italian Carrara marble countertops. As soon as her guests arrived, they’d be seated for lunch, and the staff would retreat to another floor of the residence until summoned. The matters to be discussed could never leave the dining room and the minds of the three participants.
The elevator opened, and Sophia beamed at the sight of her best friend, Jillian Kruger, the executive editor of the New York Times, who emerged first.
“Jilly!” exclaimed Sophia as she traded kisses on each cheek with her socialite pal. The two were known to attend high-class soirees together when their husbands were unavailable. Kruger’s husband was the ambassador to Norway.
“I feel like a third wheel with such beautiful ladies,” quipped Gordon Cyrus, president of Bankers Trust, a large New York investment firm created by Sophia’s grandmother in the late 1940s.
“Oh hush, Gordon. For many years, I’ve seen you attend parties with some of the most glamorous Broadway stars on each arm that any man could dream of.”
Cyrus laughed. “They were expensive escorts, my dear. After my second marriage, I found it was far less expensive to pay for such pleasures than allow a New York Supreme Court judge divide my estate while spewing venom about my marital indiscretions.”
Jilly Kruger gave Cyrus a gentle peck on the cheek. “I was proud to be one of your conquests.”
Cyrus grabbed her hands and sized her up. Kruger had aged remarkably well with the assistance of her plastic surgeon and a Botox needle.
“I would do you the honor of a one-night stand if I didn’t like your husband so much.”
“Enough, you two.” Sophia finally interrupted
