CHAPTER 4
“Thank you for taking my call, sir,” Mike said over the video link. He hadn’t set up a proper video call spot in their rental apartment yet, so he was sitting at the kitchen table against a wall with a New York night cityscape picture behind him.
“We don’t get many calls from thirteen-year-olds who stand to inherit a billion dollars,” Dr. Brian Walker, president of Osseo College, replied. He was in his private office in front of a wall of bookshelves.
“I know that there are a lot of kids who want to go to Osseo,” Mike said. “And I’m aware that I filed after the deadline. I’m hoping that you can handle fifteen hundred and one in September.”
“And I certainly would prefer to do that,” Walker said. “But, silly as most college presidents would find this to say, we cannot accept you for the September semester, Mr. Truesdale. I’m sorry.”
“No, I got my application in late,” Mike said, shrugging. “I get it.”
“That is the entire reason,” Walker said with a sigh. “You would be a tremendous student. Just your published papers put you in the top of the category we would like to see as students here at Osseo. I’m more interested in that than the billionaire part.”
Mike had gotten his Harvard paper “The Three Goat Problem” published in The Octagonal, a leading journal of intersectionality, under the pseudonym Adrian Kornbluth, a nine-year-old pansexual goatherd from a polyamorous commune in Vermont. At age ten and under the pseudonym Thomas Phillips, he’d written “The Effects of Hawking Radiation on Nucleosynthesis” for a class he’d audited at Stanford. It was subsequently published in the American Journal of Astrophysics. Finally, under the name Phillip Crawford III, he’d been lead author of “International Trafficking of Minors: An Economic Model” for the London School of Economics, which had been published in The Economist. However, the world had eventually learned all three were published by one Michael Edwards, his previous legal name, and Michael Edwards had been canceled once the world learned he’d refused to be murdered by poor, disadvantaged minorities.
“But in the category you’d fall into, notably fourteen-year-old freshmen, all of the slots were filled by the time we received your application. And all the incoming class has already been informed that they were accepted.”
“I can understand that,” Mike said. “That’s just fair. It’s being honest, which is something I find refreshing.”
“I do hope you’ll consider applying for next year,” Walker said. “We might even have slots for next winter-spring semester. We do experience a few dropouts.”
“What about if I do some of the basics remote in the interim?” Mike said. “Try to apply as a sophomore or junior?”
“That should be doable,” Walker said. “We really would like to see you here as a student.”
“Just ain’t room,” Mike said, smiling. “Get that. Everyone with any sense wants to go to Osseo to get an education not an indoctrination.”
“That is part of the problem, yes,” Walker admitted. “We have to turn away more students than Harvard these days.”
“Problem is there aren’t enough Osseos,” Mike said. “Wonder if a billionaire could do something about that . . .”
“What do you have for us, Mr. Kindred?” Conn asked. He, Dion Bafundo, and the mysterious Mr. Kindred were in a small, lower-level hotel conference room the Society kept eternally reserved for just this sort of discreet meeting.
He’d never dealt with Mr. Kindred—if that was his real name. But he’d heard of him. He was the Mr. Fix-It for serious problems with the Society in the US. So at least they were taking this heir business seriously.
“Mostly an update on who you’re really facing,” Mr. Kindred said. He had a quiet, grim demeanor and gaunt, pale appearance. In short, he looked the way Conn had always imagined Death would look if you ever met him in person. “First of all, the proclaimed heir. Michael Truesdale was born Mike Edwards in Baltimore, Maryland, on July fifth, 2011.”
“So, he’s using a fake name?” Dion asked, making a note. Counter to Kindred’s potential lack of a pulse, Dion had an annoying nervous energy. “That’s falsification of court documents.”
“As far as we can determine, it is a legal name change,” Mr. Kindred said. “And I would appreciate if you would wait for me to finish, Mr. Bafundo.”
He paused and considered the attorney with dark eyes for a moment.
“Mike Edwards was raised in foster care in East Baltimore,” Kindred continued. “Do either of you recognize the name?”
“No,” Conn said, relaxing back in his chair.
Dion shook his head.
“Severely abused,” Kindred said. “We have his social services file and there’s a think tank of psychologists going over it right now to pick out his weaknesses. According to his therapist notes, he was reading at two, doing calculus and advanced programming by six, definitely started auditing college courses through an online university when he was eight. Published his first paper in the field of queer and transgender theory when he was nine, astrophysics at ten, economics just last year. He has an untestable IQ, ADHD, PTSD, and probably OCD.”
“Published papers?” Conn said. “In economics?”
“Team paper at the London School of Economics,” Kindred said. “Cover paper in The Economist. ‘International Trafficking of Minors: An Economic Model.’”
“I thought we had that one done,” Conn said with a slight frown.
“One of our assets was on the team,” Kindred said. “Mike Truesdale, aka Phillip Crawford the Third, was the lead author.”
Dion shot Conn a nervous, concerned glance, but Conn dismissively waved him off. So the kid was smart. It still wasn’t any cause for concern.
“Was recruited to top schools and turned them down,” Kindred said. “Starting from at least ten when he was recruited to Stanford for the Astrophysics paper. Canceled when he was eleven. He was attacked by a drug gang, defended himself and survived. We . . . had some things we didn’t want to turn up in the news so BLM got involved. There was a riot, then it sort of fizzled out when they realized the white supremacist was an eleven-year-old child. But it got a little issue off the front page.
“Attacked again when he was thirteen, this time by MS-13. Which was when he Acquired Earther superpowers, killing his last three attackers with them.”
Now that got Conn’s attention. He sat up a little.
“He’s a super?” Dion said, leaning so far forward he was almost up on the table.
“That would tend to be the meaning of what I just said, Mr. Bafundo,” Kindred said. “Which was when, as far as we can determine, the US Marshals changed his name. Which makes it quite legal.
“Thus, Michael Truesdale is Mike Edwards, aka Thomas Phillips, aka Phillip Crawford III, aka Adrian Kornbluth, aka Boogie Knight, aka Stone Tactical, and who knows how many other aka’s.”
“Boogie Knight?” Conn asked.
“One of his street names,” Kindred said. “Any serious questions at this time?”
“So, we can’t use the fake-name thing,” Dion said.
“Not unless you want to also piss off the US Marshals,” Kindred said. “Because you’ve never heard that name and know none of this.”
There was a pause in the conversation as Dion gave Conn a glance that seemed to ask, Just who in the hell is this kid? With a low growl, Conn settled himself.
“What else do you have?” Conn asked.
“Then we get to the issue of his father, Counselor Derrick Sterrenhunt,” Kindred said. “Also known as Hunter. Fortunately, only one known aka.
“Career operator in Combat Activities Group—you would know that as Delta Force. Multiple languages. Should have noted that about the son as well. Took his bachelor’s in International Affairs, University of Maryland extension service, in two years while serving as a junior enlisted in the 10th Mountain Division. Made sergeant in about the same time. Passed Ranger School as a Distinguished Honor Graduate. Also, two tours in-country, Iraq and Afghanistan, picking up his first Bronze Star on his second tour.”
Conn almost interrupted with “Blah blah blah war hero,” but refrained. It was probably best that he listened to everything Kindred had to say.
“After reenlisting, went through full Special Forces qualification as a special operations engineer. That’s . . . hard to explain precisely but among other things it’s a world-class expert at explosives. As part of Special Forces training attended Defense Language Institute to learn Dari. Was switched to Arabic shortly after joining. Graduated qualified fluent in written and spoken Dari, Arabic, Spanish, and German. Later picked up multiple other languages either at subsequent visits to DLI or from just picking them up in-country.
“Was assigned to his unit and went to the next scheduled Combat Activities Group qualification phase. Passed. Passed OCT with the closest you can get to a perfect score and became an operator in CAG. Quickly rose to master sergeant. Along the way he attended Georgetown Law and passed it in a year. Was if not the youngest group sergeant major, then very close. Group sergeant major, squadron sergeant major, and retired as command sergeant major of Joint Special Operations Command.
“IQ of one fifty-two, speaks twenty-two languages, fourteen Bronze Stars, two Silver Stars, Distinguished Service Cross, and has killed more people than you’ve had hot breakfasts.”
Conn had to admit that was worth knowing. So, the score was now one baby superhero and one aging super soldier. It still wasn’t that much of a threat next to the endless resources of the Society, but it couldn’t be so easily discounted.
“You will, of course, insist on a DNA test taking place here in New York,” Kindred said. “The FBI will pick up the DNA before it can be shipped here. It’s important to the ongoing investigation of Annabelle Follett. And it will be lost in evidence.”
“Good,” Conn said, nodding. “That’s the sort of thing we’re looking for.”
“And do you assume that that will end it?” Kindred asked. “That the problem just goes away? The agents who are picking it up won’t know who they’re really working for. It’s just an errand. We cannot, therefore, insist that the FBI ensure that the entire sample is gone. There’s no reason for such an order. It’s a vial of blood and you need less than a drop to establish DNA.
“Counselor Sterrenhunt has previously worked with the establishment in Washington. If you don’t think he’s anticipated the DNA disappearing, think again. He will have a backup plan and a backup plan for that plan.
“One thing to keep firmly in mind about Delta,” Mr. Kindred said. “Delta is not SEALs. SEALs train in HUMINT—human intelligence. What you’d call spying. Delta comes from the Special Forces background. They are half soldier, half spy, and very good at both. You’re going to be dealing with a person who not only has killed more people than you’ve had hot breakfasts but is the sort of person you only normally see in an action movie. He has a unique skill set.”
This was the first time Mr. Kindred had gotten excited in any noticeable way. Try as he might, Conn didn’t really have it in him to be impressed. The Society had some truly scary people in its ranks, and many of them were at Conn’s disposal. Still, there didn’t seem any point to interrupting the man’s diatribe.
“Deltas tend to be invisible. They like to be invisible. They are the silent warriors. They don’t go around hunting movie options. Counselor Sterrenhunt’s LinkedIn notes that he was career Army Special Operations. Though being a former Delta would be a cachet and possibly get him more work, it isn’t on his public profile because he does not want anyone to know.
“You cannot conceive of someone not promoting themselves to the utmost degree. Because you do not understand the silent-warrior ethos.
“You’re going to be sitting across the table from someone who has more brains than you do, vastly more experience of the world, and who probably knows more about you than you’d imagine he could. Someone who can read you like a book. Another part of their training. And who will appear on the surface as just some yokel lawyer from Podunk. Because he is the silent warrior.
“My people have prepared dossiers on both of them and it is probably pointless. As I have told others, you are going to be sitting across from both of them, totally outclassed and unable to comprehend that. How could some former soldier and small-town lawyer be smarter and more capable than a person who sits in a corner office in Manhattan? You will also totally dismiss the actual heir because he’s just some kid. Another mistake I guarantee you make.
“While there are perks to working with this organization, dealing with people such as yourself, Mr. Conn, is why I wonder if the money’s really worth it.”