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  • Writer's pictureMark Meier

The Brotherhood #29

By Mark W. Meier

Part 29

Act IV

Windowed The Soul

Chapter Two


Resonant Frequency

A frequency capable of exciting a resonance maximum in a given body or system.


I exited the elevator with you as Bob Schwartz opened the door on your late model Audi SUV. Anyone should be able to see the humor in having antique furnishings but only the newest model of automobile. For some reason humans found that to be a status symbol, and you were no exception.

“Thank you, Robert.”

He looked a lot like the actor who had played Robert Grantham on British television. You smiled at the thought of an earl holding a car door for you.

You climbed into the third row seat and settled in. Armored windows and door panels kept you safe from imagined enemies. Only a year earlier, however, an executive for your biggest competitor had been assassinated. You were actually innocent of that, despite theories to the contrary. Another of my Brothers had done the deed as a setup for this part of our project.

Earl Audi climbed into the driver’s seat and shifted into gear. “Where to, Mr. Grambic?”

“The Club, Robert.”

The Savannah Yacht Club on the Wilmington River is where you moored your 115’ yacht Resonant Frequency. You’d decided to stay the weekend offshore instead of at your Wilmington Island estate, despite the close proximity of six crew. You’d trained them to avoid you unless called for.

The drive to your club didn’t take long. In less than two hours you were passing Hilton Head on your way to an anchorage a mile offshore from Hunting Island State Park. The water would be calmer there than in the Savannah area.

I watched you and your crew through the night, all day Saturday, and until noon on Sunday. You spent all that time sipping expensive non-alcoholic beverages.

Mostly, though, you lounged on the upper deck, staring out from under the overhang of the sun deck. There you watched the waves in the Atlantic. Getting a “read” on you wasn’t easy, mostly because you did nothing and thought less.

Your well-trained crew knew you’d want to head back right after lunch. Two of them prepared your Sunday luncheon in the small galley, and they chattered aimlessly. Those nearer to you never spoke a word, focusing on their job of attending you and Resonant Frequency.

As one of your crew brought up your summer berry salad, fennel salmon, and a cucumber roll, the rest gathered in the galley for their own lunch of burgers and caviar. You couldn’t stand the salty treat most rich people favored and only kept it on hand in case a rare guest might want it. With your stay aboard coming to a close, someone had to eat it.

After almost an hour you finished eating and surveying the rolling ocean. You waved for a steward to take your plates away, which she did without a word. Her turn for lunch, and the pilot would get you underway in a few minutes.

As you passed Port Royal Sound another yacht moved out into the Atlantic. Yours moved along at a leisurely ten knots, and the other slowly gained on you. Ten minutes later you could make out the name Justice Given on its starboard side.

Justice was owned by one of the associate supreme court justices in Georgia. He’d been the only dissenting voice in a case you’d won the previous year. You didn’t recall many of the details. Only this: liability for an injury caused by a faulty ceiling tile falling on a child.

You climbed out of your deck chair and stretched, then meandered forward to the bridge.

“Adam.”

The pilot gave a startled look over his shoulder. You’d never spoken to Panicked Pilot, and the fact you knew his name doubled the shock. He didn’t know you associated his name with the asymmetrical Adam’s apple in his throat.

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t think we should let Justice Given overtake us, do you?”

Hilton Head passed on your starboard, and Judge Boynton came up on your port beam.

“As you wish, Mr. Grambic.” Panicked Pilot edged the throttle ahead and Resonant Frequency moved up to fourteen knots. Justice fell sternward a few feet.

A minute later the engine noise from Justice increased and the yacht gained on you a fraction. Panicked Pilot looked to you for permission first, then pushed the throttle open a bit more. With Frequency going fifteen knots the shorter and wider Justice fell further behind. Boynton’s pilot edged back to their normal cruising speed.

You smiled. “Ease us back, Adam. No sense straining things if they’ve given up.” You ambled aft and stood at the rail to watch the slower yacht fall further back.

Instead of docking at the yacht club you decided to stop at your home on Wilmington Island. The crew could take Frequency back, and one of them would tell your chauffeur to bring the car. You were too pleased at winning your race with Boynton to deal with the delay of getting home through traffic.

That’s what gave me the idea.


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