Page 118 of Eternal Surrender

The doors opened to a cherry paneled office. A little way in, Ingrid was sitting at a desk opposite a forty-something smartly dressed man. They both rose to greet me.

“He was parking the car,” Ingrid explained, then discreetly threw me a look of surprise that I’d actually followed her in here.

The man, wearing a pinstripe suit, proffered his hand. “Alistair Smith.”

I had no choice but to shake it and reply, “William.”

Behind the desk, there was a walnut bookshelf stacked high with leather-bound books, their bindings marked with numbers, not titles. The incandescent lighting was so natural, it made me want to step back into the elevator.

“Do take a seat,” Alistair offered with an upper-class accent, gesturing.

I sat next to Ingrid.

“Members will be arriving soon,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch.

“Men only?” asked Ingrid.

He gave a long sigh. “Our culture is being decimated by a society that sees no value in our heritage. We merely desire to preserve our unique history.”

“Women were part of history too,” she said.

“Ah, a feminist.”

“You misunderstand⁠—”

“Ever enjoy a night out with the girls?” he asked casually. “That’s all we chaps want. Just a chance to smoke our cigars and keep the conversation on a steady course.” Alistair leaned back and then turned to me. “Isn’t that so?”

I offered a smile though it hurt to hold it, and Ingrid’s head snapped round to look at me.

Unable to pick up on any of his thoughts, my reason for not wanting to enter here was being realized. Mind closing was only practiced by certain kind of men, the kind who wielded wooden stakes.

Or worse.

Ingrid seemed oblivious. “May I have a list of your members?”

“Quite out of the question.” His heavy-browed focus slid my way. “Would you like an application? Our stipulation is merely an acceptable profession. A reasonable income.”

“And what would that be?” Ingrid asked.

He ignored her. “If you have a friend who’s already a member, a good recommendation goes a long way.”

I played out in my mind how it would go down. The way in which I’d grab Ingrid and fly back into the lift, quickly ascending, making our escape and living long enough to argue about it later.

Ingrid sat up straight. “There’s evidence to suggest that one or more of your members are involved in a crime.”

“Probably hooligans.” He rested his elbows on the desk. “Did they vandalize something?”

“These weren’t hooligans,” she said.

“We conduct thorough background searches to ensure our members are of the finest caliber. Our political members are ensured their reputations will never be tainted.”

“What’s the name of your club?” She sat back.

“We don’t have a gym. We don’t have a pool. We don’t call it a club.”

“I’d love to have a look around,” Ingrid said. “We have time.”

“I’m afraid that’s not up to me.”