Murdoch Thinnick surveyed the ground far below the window of his office, watching workers make their way across the large open space between the buildings of the MedImplant campus. Always an interesting mix of people, some hurrying to their shifts, some gathering around the various street-food stalls, some coming into view, or leaving it, as they emerged from or entered the relative cool of shaded pergolas around the space.
If it were a cooler day, Thinnick might have gone out on the balcony beyond the other bank of windows in his office, to use the telescope installed there. It was too damn hot.
When he had time, he often used the more powerful telescope inside. With that he could see far across the Congolese basin, into the plateaus and rainforest clad mountains around it, though he preferred to train his eyepiece on the streets and buildings of Kinshasa. Just as he had in Boston and D.C. and all the other cities he had lived in. So many dramas in the lives lived below. So much to be observed through the windows of houses and apartments, their unwary occupants going about their lives. So much wickedness.
Thinnick was not the happiest of MedImplant’s senior staff. He had enjoyed a cushy position in the Washington D.C. office, where he had been a project manager with a series of implant applications in his portfolio, achieved some notable successes for the company, and then saw a new opportunity, one he was uniquely suited to exploit.[ Rewrite to match up with early conversation with A Thinn where he’s promoted and learns of covert project]
He single-handedly steered his personal project through a maze of difficulties to finally see it approved, funded, and lifted off the ground. You might think this achievement would have given him the kind of satisfaction that sustains a person through the rest of their career. This project was his own brain-child, his own initiative, and it was his particular network of contacts, and his genius for negotiation and manipulation that brought it to realization. Or so he would love to tell anyone, if he were able to. But there were two obstacles to his complete self-satisfaction, and his ability to boast about his project.
First, the Sentinel Project was conceived, developed, approved, funded and implemented, in secret. Or at least in heavy disguise.
Second, the result of his success was a multi-year tenure in Congo to oversee the realization of his project. He was not a man who could detect the beauty of a place or its people if he had already decided to be set against them. To him, Congo was simply a place with too much heat, inferior ways of thinking, teeming with deficient people, with lethal vermin everywhere, and almost no food worth eating.
His great solace was that he had managed to develop a community of like-minds while he was there, in addition to bringing Sentinel through to its final stages.
An assistant entered the room, deposited a stack of files and papers on the pristine acreage of Thinnick’s desk.
The office was expansive, expensively furnished and decorated. If a visitor turned away from the remarkable vista across Congo and looked only around the office, they would surely imagine they were in Washington, or Manhattan, or Dallas. Almost every surface was polished wood, or buttoned leather, decorated with souvenirs of alma maters, and art celebrating the mythical American West. That rich but generic style that distinguishes so many executive suites.
Thinnick broke away from the view, sat at the desk and examined the papers. A few signatures, a few documents to review, reports to digest. A thick folder of specifications and test data for the next phase of the Sentinel project.
He spread the contents out over the desk, sorting them into their categories. After a few minutes of study, he called out, “Conant.” The small comm screen on his desk chirped to signal its attention. “Get the department leads in here. Thirty minutes.”
“Yes, Mister Thinnick,” Conant responded from his station along the corridor separating Thinnick’s small kingdom from the rest of the executive floor.
Rosy sank into Biamba-Marie’s comfortable old couch. It was a true throwback to an earlier time, inherited from her grandparents, with down stuffing and a striking zebra skin draped over the back. The skin smelled of leather and dust. Together with the scents of Biamba’s cooking and lingering traces of her perfume, it was familiar and comforting.
Biamba-Marie had enjoyed many nights of blissful abandon in the ample depths of the couch, well aware of the disapproval her forebears would certainly have rained upon her for sullying their furniture with such unprincipled behavior, and completely untroubled by it.
Now she sat next to her friend, took her hand, looked into her face with concern and confusion.
“What it is Rosy?” She had seemed cheerful as she invited her into the apartment, just a minute ago. Now this. “What’s going on?”
At last the welcoming softness of the couch, and her friend’s concern, unlocked her tightly held burden. Rosy lifted her free hand to her forehead, her shoulders started to shake, and the tears flowed down her cheeks.
“I… don’t…” Rosy was appalled at herself, she had no idea where these sobs came from. “I don’t know why… I’m crying like this…”
“Just breathe honey…”
Biamba’s soothing tones helped. Rosy’s breaths grew deeper, she wiped her cheeks and looked at her friend’s worried face.
“I’m here, take your time.”
“I feel like my… treatments aren’t working… I don’t know why.”
Biamba cocked her head to one side. “That’s not what I was expecting,” She very nearly smiled with relief but stifled it. “What treatments do you mean?”
Rosy winced and raised her hand to her forehead again. “I’m coming apart…” She took a deep breath and looked up again. “All of them. My mood is up and down all over, like it used to be before I started. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’ve been keeping up with it right? Any changes? Different dose or anything?”
“No,” Rosy closed her eyes, fought for composure. “And my contraception didn’t work. I’m pregnant.”
“Oh Rosy!” Biamba-Marie did consider, for a fleeting moment, that this might be good news mixed into whatever was upsetting her so much. No. This isn’t what she wants. “Tell me about it, sweetheart,” that would
Rosy kept her eyes tightly closed, she didn’t speak.
“Maybe pregnancy would explain your moods… new hormones and all that…” Biamba-Marie regretted the words as soon as she uttered them. Oh, not the right thing to say…
“No… no that’s not it,” Rosy’s face was distorted by anguish. “This is like when I came here… before MedImplant. It’s all starting again.”
“Have you checked in with your tech?”
“No.” She was panting with short breaths and the sobs returning.
“That’s where to start,” Biamba-Marie tried to hide her alarm and sound sympathetic. This was a side of her friend she had never seen. “Oh Rosy, you’re not thinking straight are you?”
“I can’t think…” Rosy was pulling the hair above her brow, hard. “I used to get panic attacks… it’s like that now…”
“Breathe, honey…”
Biamba-Marie pulled a screen over on the low table beside the couch. “Let’s do a quick look-up. Rosy, what were your treatments for?”
“Aah,” she held her head in her hands. “Anxiety… and depression.”
“Okay.”
“And OCDT.”
“I don’t know what that is honey.”
“You know OCD?” Rosy looked up, her face still in a grimace.
Biamba-Marie nodded.
“Like that… but thoughts.”
“Okay.” Biamba-Marie spoke softly into the screen and after a few seconds read the highlights of the results. She turned back to Rosy, took her hand again.
“Rosy, I want you to keep breathing… deep breaths. I’ll be back in a minute…” Biamba-Marie fetched a glass of water from her tiny kitchen area. “Drink this for me honey.”
Rosy obeyed.
“I just learned drinking wakes up your vagus nerve. Makes you feel safer.” Biamba-Marie placed a gentle hand on Rosy’s back and rubbed softly. She moved herself closer, wrapped her arm around Rosy’s shoulder, matched her breathing, and patiently waited.
—
It was like meditation. Breathing together, no words, waiting. Biamba-Marie fought off an urge to yawn and lie down. Rosy at last breathed easily, her face shed its tightness, her shoulders and arms dropped heavily. She leaned toward Biamba-Marie, laid her head on the nurturing shoulder.
“I’m so sorry Biammie…” Rosy spoke quietly, her voice soft with fatigue.
“Nonsense, sweetheart.” Biamba-Marie lifted a hand to stroke Rosy’s cheek. “You know I’m always here, anytime you need me.”
Rosy let out a long, deep sigh. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Don’t worry Rosy… I’m glad you’re here.”
“None of it makes any sense.”
—
“Then let’s try to figure it out. You’ve been on treatment for a long time, right?”
“For years.”
“And you said your last MedImplant treatments all went okay, you’ve done your check-ins, everything was working for you, right?”
“Until a week or two ago.”
“What happened?”
“I noticed my mood was off. Like I needed it adjusted again. At first with DK it was a bit harder… my anxiety was up… but then we… you know, we clicked. It felt so good, and right. It made everything better. But then I was getting anxious again.. I thought maybe I needed less treatment to get stable, but it kept getting worse. And then the pregnancy alert… and now it’s like I’m right back to my worst days…”
“Where’s DK with this?
“He doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“You haven’t told him any of it?”
“We had a fight… well, more like I blew up at him. I haven’t seen him since then.” Rosy leaned forward and pressed her fingertips against her forehead, rubbing her hairline in agitation. “I doubt he wants anything to do with me after that.”
Biamba-Marie let out a sigh, with sympathy in her face.
“Oh Biammie, I really lost it. I don’t even know what I said. And the pregnancy alert came right after that.”
“I’m so sorry honey. It’s a lot…” She rubbed her back again. “Poor thing… we’ll get you back on track. Do you have your screen with you?”
Rosy hadn’t been conscious of her bag. She looked around for it, retrieved the screen, woke it up and handed it to Biamba-Marie.
“There’s about a hundred calls from DK you know,” Biamba-Marie smirked at Rosy.
Rosy managed a hint of a smile.
“You have to give him a chance, honey.” Biamba-Marie stood and headed to the kitchen area. “I could use a cup of tea, how about you? My aunty’s recipe… really relaxing.”
“That sounds good.”
Rosy curled up on the couch, and drifted close to sleep.
Biamba-Marie returned with the steaming cups, and the screen. “How far along are you?”
“I dont know, not far.”
“Did you get an alert on your band? If you’re on contraception treatment you should get alerts if it fails.”
“A few days ago.”
“Okay, so we’re in plenty of time to end it with a home-pack… if that’s what you want. I have a spare. Talk to DK first, make sure it’s what you both want. At least be sure he knows what’s going on.“
“Why do you have one? Did your contra fail too?”
“No. I got it for another girl. It’s not a happy story.” Biamba-Marie hesitated, searching for the right words. “She’s a quiet one. Not like you and me at the club you know. She was not on contra… she didn’t need to be…” She stopped herself. “I can’t tell you… not now. I’ll just say she didn’t know where to turn, but thought I could help. I did what I could for her.”
Rosy sat in thought for a moment, her expression clouded again. “She was raped?”
“Let’s not talk about it. I’m sorry I brought it up. The point is I have a pack for you if you need it. If your contra isn’t working, that’s the next best thing.”
“Okay. Yeah, I should do that.”
“Just take it with you. Talk to DK. Make sure it’s what you want… think about it. There isn’t a big hurry, but you’ve got about a week from now. It stops the implantation, only in the first two weeks though.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Oh, you know I’m the queen of contra, baby. I’ve done my research, you can rely on it. Yes I have had to know this stuff. Someday I’ll tell you the stories from before I came here. I don’t think today’s the right day for that though.”
They sat quietly, close together, and sipped the tea.
“You know, it’s really strange for your contra not to work… I never heard of that. The MedImplant contra always works.”
[Conversation – what info the screen had, some details of contraception tech]“Let me look at this again.” Biamba-Marie opened Rosy’s screen, spoke a few requests, and paged through the various results for a few minutes.
“All these apps show responses from your contra bots. They’re still there… they’re active, they respond to the screen, but your levels are completely off. They aren’t putting out the hormones they’re supposed to.”
Her brow creased in confusion. “Why is that?” She asked herself quietly. “Your pregnancy hormones are where you’d expect… I just don’t get why the contra didn’t happen.”
Rosy sipped the last of her tea as she listened to her friend think on her behalf.
“Hey can you believe in the old days women wouldn’t even know ’til they were a month or even two along some times. Crazy right? Now we get an alert same day.”
Biamba-Marie’s quick smile gave way to her previous look of concern.
“It’s the same with your mental health treatments. The bugs are in place, they’re responding, but they are not producing anything… like the delivery is offline.”
“Why would they stop?” Rosy’s mystified expression matched her friend’s. “I’ve never had any problem with it.”
“The history shows all the levels where they should be until, like you said, a week ago. Then they fall off. It’s so strange. I never saw this before.”
Biamba-Marie handed the screen back to Rosy. “You have to get a full check-up with your MedImplant tech. Make the appointment. It might take a while to get in, but you have to do it.”
Rosy nodded, though her unhappy expression hinted at how little she relished the prospect.
Biamba-Marie looked up with a sudden intake of breath, as a new thought crossed her mind. She reached for her own screen, sharply repeated the requests for recent treatment stats, and quickly paged through the results.
“Rosy,” Biamba looked at her screen with wide eyes. “My treatments stopped a week ago too.”
Others in the organization accepted the apparent isolation of Kinnick’s wing from the flow of MedImplant’s general executive business without questioning it. His branch of the company was designated as the Strategic Partnerships Division. It was known to explore applications of MedImplant technology in new arenas, often working with other organizations to develop alliances and markets. It made sense to preserve a kind of corporate firewall to prevent the leak of sensitive information or intellectual property, and for personnel to work separately.
The version of truth known generally was that the SPD had been occupied almost exclusively with projects adapting MedImplant resources to combat the climate crisis. It was hard to argue with the urgency. A regular flow of public announcements made the division’s activities clear enough to earn a great deal of goodwill for the company. The leaders put forward to be visible were not quite seen as saints, but something close. Heroes. Angels.
A deception that had been remarkably effective for a surprising amount of time.
The true arrangements and activities were shared on a strictly need-to-know basis, which is to say they were not shared at all, outside a small number of people: the chief executive officer, chief operating officer, and two board members, including the chair.
Also known to very few was the existence of a separate staircase and elevator serving the wing, with no access to any other floors of the building.
Thinnick’s team gathered punctually, escorted into the office by Conant.
A server offered drinks in sparkling crystal ware, a clue that this spontaneous meeting was not going to be some kind of trial. There was relief in the small talk and laughter, until they followed their leader’s gesture to take seats on the leather couches surrounding a low table.
A comm screen sat on the table, overwhelmed by a bronze of a buffalo in mid-buck, a bare chested rider in a war bonnet triumphantly hanging on to the beast.
Thinnick joined them, and all eyes turned toward him.
“We’re celebrating a significant milestone in the Sentinel Project today. Thanks to your efforts, gentlemen, we now have 100% seeding coverage in all phase one target regions. Preliminary testing on the ground shows that the units are communicating to specification.”
The team nodded and smiled dutifully.
“The data aggregation centers in our high priority regions are well under way, testing should begin in the next few months. There is a lot of development work ahead of us, particularly with our AI systems. And of course you know that our pilot programs started here in Congo, and we are entering a new phase here. This work will guide us in all the other regions. I will be speaking with each of you individually to go over progress and priorities on your initiatives.”
Thinnick was taller than most, lightly tanned, always well-groomed in business suit and tie. He carried a look of comfortable averageness about him. Steel rimmed glasses, losing some hair but not yet a full comb-over. It was easy to imagine him sliding into upper middle management anywhere, but not at the top of the org chart. Not an inspiring man.
Instead of being commanding, he was affable in a serious way, rather formal. He made everyone feel welcomed into his warm circle of corporate camaraderie, but with the subtle suggestion of a condition. Hard to put a finger on how he did it, exactly, but he managed to set an expectation of compliance as he spoke to his people. His questions contained an unspoken test.
Thinnick’s subordinates knew there was a standard to uphold, and a mission that united them. They needed to embrace these, and show it, also with subtlety.
Some of the team had been with him long enough that they had figured out their survival strategies. A couple of others were never sure they were getting it right. Still working harder and longer than really necessary, feeling like an arc light was on them whenever it was their turn to speak.
And then there was DK, with everything to learn.
“We are also welcoming a new member of the team, Dikembe Kanya.” Thinnick smiled around the group. “Dikembe has distinguished himself in the seeding monitoring program, and I am delighted he has accepted his new role as team lead in the new Data Syncretics Group.”
The others turned to DK and offered their congratulations and welcomes.
DK felt the moment called for him to acknowledge it. “I’m certainly very grateful for this opportunity…” a moment of hesitation as he considered if it was correct to call Thinnick by his first name. “Thank you, Murdoch. I look forward to working with all of you.”
“To your success!” Certainly a special occasion for Thinnick to offer a toast.
He turned to DK, “You have one of the most interesting and challenging roles in our division, Dikembe. Of course every piece of this puzzle is vital to the overall mission, but Syncretics will be the key to our outcome.”
“No pressure, Dikembe,” Timmons, one of the secure ones, patted his shoulder, almost playful.
Thinnick continued, “You may know we coined the name of this department to highlight the essence of that challenge. We will soon have at our disposal more data than has ever been collected and processed before, by orders of magnitude. We have spent a long time preparing, and our collection infrastructure will be up to the task. Thomas here, and Anders Wray in New Jersey, deserve the credit there.“
Nods and smiles again.
“What has evolved along with our project is the need to turn the insights the data reveals into action, on the ground. Syncretics will merge data insights gathered from all the accumulators in each region, analyze and prioritize them here at Kinshasa Station, then return action initiatives to endpoints in each sector, where implementation teams will respond.”
“Excuse me, Murdoch, that’s a change from our current strategy then?” Thomas Carter was a little taken aback. “We built systems to accumulate and process in the sectors, and only pass the aggregated and filtered data upstream.”
“Yes, as I suggested, our priorities have evolved. We see strong advantages in centralized processing.”
“That will be an enormous amount of additional bandwidth, we’re okay with that?” Carter sensed he might be pushing his boat out a little too far, but this was astonishing.
“Indeed, and yes, there will be some adjustments for all of us.” Thinnick was being patient. “We will go over details in our individual meetings. Now Dikembe, you can rely on your colleagues for complete cooperation as you move your initiatives forward. This is a new step for you. I know we are all eager to see you succeed, so do not hesitate to reach out to any of us for information or assistance. With that, let’s return to our work, gentlemen.”
As they rose, Thinnick pulled Carter aside, along with Greg Timmons. “I have some additional matters to discuss with you both, if you can spare a few minutes?”
—
Both men fought to conceal their alarm when Thinnick asked them to stay. For once, they needn’t have worried. When the others had left, he invited them to sit again. They eyed one another, trying not to be obvious about it.
“Gentlemen, as you know, some of the activities in our organization are of a sensitive nature, so we operate with some sleight of hand. I say this to remind you of the need for keeping your inside knowledge closely guarded, and of your commitment to our mission.” Thinnick’s pause and steady gaze into each man’s face in turn underlined his words.
“Of course, Murdoch,” they both nodded gravely. “Certainly.”
“The time has come to share with you some details of the next phase of our work. As Sentinel moves into its completion stage, we are beginning a new project. Twoedged Sword.”
Murdoch called up the comm screen and gave commands to display a summary.
”Where Sentinel involved creating an infrastructure for gathering data, the Twoedged Sword Project will focus on infrastructure and processes for delivering actions, using the data surfaced from Sentinel. You can see here the most important details. You will find new documents in your portfolios with complete information. ”
“Murdoch, looking at this it seems most of it would fall into Kanya’s lap, in the new Syncretics group. At least as I understand the role so far.” Timmons ventured. “What would our involvement be here?”
“Most of what is prioritized here does fall in his purview, yes.” Murdoch nodded. “But there are two considerations. Firstly, the later part of action delivery will involve our hardware again. Or to be precise, new additional hardware still being developed that will be deployed as mesh components. That means your expertise will be crucial, Greg.”
Timmons’ back straightened a little, the corners of his mouth rose slightly in spite of his attempt to control them.
“And how will I contribute?” Carter tried not to sound as though he was playing catch-up.
“Your work in seeding will be changing now, Tom. I would like you to take more of a role in coordinating with the medical side, where there will be some overlap with this new hardware.”
Now Carter breathed more easily too.
“And that brings me to the second point. Dikembe will be brought into these aspects of our work at the proper time. Since he’s a new member we will make sure he is reliable before adding to his responsibilities. I will rely on both of you to help ensure Dikembe meets all expectations in that respect.” Thinnick paused and made purposeful eye contact again. “I have every confidence in you both.”
—
[Some definition of scope for TES – a way to have DK leading his group but parts of it still out of his view for now, some parts run by GT & TC in their areas, DK to be brought in at the proper time, since he’s a new member we will make sure he is reliable before adding to his responsibilities.] [2e sword plan – collect data, find patterns identifying targets, gather all points in mesh with contact with target, surface cases where target contravenes normed behaviors, set action severity from scale of contravention, pass action with priority to nodes with target presence. In nodes, pass action requests back through mesh to ]We will meet individually as I mentioned, use those sessions to ask any questions that arise.
—
Thinnick made a priority of visiting local churches when he first arrived in Kinshasa, meeting the various pastors and ministers to find someone he would feel comfortable with. Only a few were affiliated with denominations close to his preference, and of those, only a couple offered services in English, so it didn’t take him long to settle on the Eglise de la Roche, a small Methodist church, tucked into a quiet neighborhood a little out of the way.
Along with attending regularly, he was a generous supporter, which gave him a status he certainly enjoyed, and the additional benefit of use of the church’s various halls and rooms more or less as he pleased.
One evening each month he hosted a discussion group for men, organized around the idea that a group focused on mutual support could live closer to the christian ideal and improve life for themselves and their communities.
The group had the full blessing of the church’s pastor, Joseph Kabengele, who would often join in. The group had grown to a healthy size, welcoming those of other Christian traditions, and its members valued Thinnick’s efforts to help them apply biblical wisdom to their everyday lives.
In fact, Thinnick went out of his way to encourage individual members with personal attention.
When he found a man whose outlook and intent appeared to be in line with his own, he would invite him to meet one-on-one over a meal. Sometimes it would take a few meetings to decide whether a man might be ready to embrace the calling to a higher purpose, but when Thinnick was confident in his assessment, he would extend another invitation, to join a second group.
The Brotherhood of the Tower.
—
By the time these members were invited to attend the weekly meetings, Thinnick was quite sure they measured up. They would already have a good idea of the commitment involved, that they were chosen as the vanguard of a growing army of righteous men around the world. There were chapters in several cities in [XXXXXXXX], and could never shrink from their duty to uphold the Lord’s request of man. They understood that their work required some secrecy, or discretion. Not every Christian was made of strong enough stuff. Not
The weekly meetings in the basement of the small hall separated by a small garden from the church itself ,
The name the Brotherhood was inspired by a verse from the bible
He had named his community the Brotherhood of the Tower, inspired by a verse from the bible. Each of the members bore a tattoo that signaled their commitment: Hbkkk 2:1, in simple bookish lettering, quite small and discreet, high on the forearm.
—
After almost a year of men’s group meetings, Thinnick had recruited twelve members for the Brotherhood. By the time he was certain of each man and ready to invite him to join the Brotherhood’s weekly meetings, he would have given him a very good idea of the commitment involved.
There were plenty of others who failed to make the grade, but never knew they were being assessed, never heard about the Brotherhood. They just slipped back into the men’s group, grateful for Thinnick’s efforts to help them, none the wiser.
The select few knew they had been chosen as the vanguard of a growing army of righteous men, growing day by day and preparing for the time when their service would be required. They knew there were chapters in major cities around the world, waiting for the call. Although this chapter was small in number, they burned brightly with fervor.
Thinnick liked to remind them they were like God’s diamonds. Hardened by pressure, shining brilliantly, a rare and precious treasure, incomparably valuable in the fight against the world’s iniquity. They always ate that up.
In the evening of the day marking his team’s milestone on the Sentinel project, the Brotherhood’s members gathered for their weekly meeting. They made their way quietly into the basement of the small hall next to the Eglise de la Roche, separated from it by a patch of garden. The men assembled in a sparsely furnished room, with glossy green walls made more vivid by the brightness of the lighting.
—
There was little chat and less laughter as the group took their seats, drawing the chairs into a small circle. Thinnick entered the room, took the remaining seat, and looked into the faces of his flock as he greeted them.
“I marked this day with the people in my workplace, and now do so with you.” The men recognized the significance immediately, from previous discussions of what the future would hold for the group. Their faces broke into eager smiles.
“We mark this as a blessed day, when the laying of our blanket of eyes and ears is complete.” His sentences were punctuated by a series of yesses and amens. He always encouraged their enthusiasm, even as it made him acutely aware of his tendency to take on cadences of a southern preacher in these meetings.
“In the parts of the world where most of God’s people dwell, there will be none who can escape his watchful eye. Now those among us who have forgotten God’s presence will be reminded of it.”
“Praise be!”
“Surely his word!”
“Those who have strayed from his path will be brought back into the fold. Through our work, God has given us the means to uphold his expectations of mankind.”
More exclamations of agreement.
“You are his foot soldiers, his brightest diamonds, and upon you falls this duty, to help others live by his law and honor him with their deeds and words. These tools that God has put in our hands will let us perform our sacred work, to fulfill our covenant, and bring the Lord’s justice to those who transgress his commandments.”
The men yessed and amened loudly, until they raised their hands following Thinnick’s example.
“Now, let us pray together. Jonathan, will you lead us?”
Jonathan was one of the earlier recruits. He had many suitable beseechments and praises to draw upon, memorized over a lifetime of strict and pious observance. He put a pleasing string of them together now, and could tell he had done justice to the occasion from Thinnick’s gratified expression at the amens.
—
“Gentlemen, another cause for celebration this day!” Just as he had in his earlier meeting, Thinnick moved on to acknowledge the group’s newest member. “Our number grows, and with it our power. Today we welcome Madiaro Adoula as our brother.”
All eyes turned to the new face in the circle. Adoula’s remained fixed on Thinnick, who looked back at him with a hint of a smile.
The others needed no prompting to begin the group’s rituals of initiation.
Robert Kibali, who had been to Adoula’s right, took him by the arm and guided him to the center of the circle. The other men stood expectantly.
Kibali began, “Brothers, let us find this man worthy of our Lord’s service.”
They raised a chorus of yesses and may-it-please-Hims.
—
Kibali led the group into a prayer, “Oh Mighty Father, We commit ourselves to the fight against the wickedness of the lost.”
The group repeated the line in unison.
“We commit ourselves to bring all straying souls back into your kingdom.”
Again together.
“We commit ourselves to obey your commands, and visit your fury upon your enemies.”
Again together.
“Amen.”
He turned back to Adoula, in the center. “By taking this oath, in His sight, you leave your sins in the past, and take on the mantle of His cause.” Kibali cleared his throat. “Repeat after me, I, Madiaro Adoula, make my oath to God, and to my brothers in God.”
Adoula repeated the line. The circle of brothers nodded their assent, and watched in silence.
“So long as I live, I shall renounce the works of Satan, and perform God’s required work.”
“So long as I breathe, I shall speak the word of God.”
“So long as my brothers live, I shall protect them with my life.”
“So long as my brothers breathe, I shall maintain this unbreakable bond.”
Adoula repeated each line, matching Kibali’s intonations.
“Amen.”
—
Thinnick left the circle to open a small cabinet against the wall, and pulled out an ornate wooden case. He returned to place it in Kibali’s hands, and raised the lid. Nestled in the velvet lining was a coil of scarlet cord attached to a small medallion, cast with a relief resembling the tower of a medieval castle, and a small device that could easily have been mistaken for a compact power tool. Thinnick took the device from the case, held it in both hands for a few moments, then nestled its handle in his palm. A turn of its end cap activated it. A light glowed a soft red.
Kibali raised Adouli’s arm and stretched it before him, the inside of his forearm raised uppermost. The soft light turned green to indicate the instrument’s readiness. Thinnick pressed its shiny metallic end against the skin, close to the crook of Adouli’s elbow. Adouli suppressed the urge to pull away, but a momentary tightening of his face revealed the unexpected pain.
“With this insignia, we shall know you as our brother, and God shall eternally know you as his devoted servant.”
After a few seconds the light changed again, to blue. Thinnick pulled the instrument away, to reveal a small inscription, tattooed precisely in dark pigment. HBKKK 2:1.
The men turned their own forearms toward the center of the circle, to display the mark of the brotherhood that each one bore.
In unison they recited, “I will stand upon my watch, and set me upon the tower, and will watch to see what he will say unto me, and what I shall answer when I am reproved.”
Thinnick replaced the device in the case, took the medallion and hung the cord around Adouli’s neck. He clasped Madiaro’s arms, raised the medallion at the end of the loop of cord to his lips, and looked him squarely in the eye, “Brother Adoula, I embrace you as a soldier of the Lord.”
Each of the group in turn, solemnly repeated the gestures and the words. At their conclusion, Adoula took his place again as a full member of the Brotherhood of the Tower.
Thinnick’s “Amen,” was echoed around the circle.