The House of Grey- Volume 3 (9 page)

Casey considered this. “I think I told you everything I know. But Gossip Guy might have more. Let’s see.”

Monson rolled his eyes. Why didn’t he think of that?

Casey stood up, indicating that the others should follow him. Monson, Artorius and even Brian walked the length of the apartment and settled themselves around Monson’s desk. Casey pushed the button under the lip of the desk, and the cover slid back and out of sight, revealing Monson’s computer, which sprang to life the second Casey tapped the keyboard. He brought up a browser, cleared the address bar, and typed in the blank space:

gossipguysblog.blogspot.com

The browser quickly loaded the website. They found the tag marked “Cyann Harrison,” and Casey clicked it.

The page reloaded,  a photograph of a younger Cyann filling the screen. She stood with a silver-haired man on a red carpet, surrounded by people. Monson had to wonder about this particular image as he noticed that the carpet was outside. He did not dwell on it
-
or rather, he was not given the opportunity to dwell on it
-
as many other pictures of Cyann loaded and Casey began to scroll through them. Images of Cyann in every setting imaginable dashed across the screen.  Black-tie events, forest settings, meetings resembling political rallies, and much, much more gave the boys a unique perspective into the life of their classmate. Below this instructive scrapbook was an article with the title,
Cyann Harrison:
A Gossip Guy Exclusive
.

Casey pointed at the article. “I’ve read it. I’ve been trying to figure out who her fencing master was. She’s so talented and yet I had never heard of her. It was a lot harder to find information on her than I thought. Luckily Gossip Guy came through.”

Monson rubbed at his chin contemplatively; “I don’t understand how that’s possible. If she’s as high-profile as you’ve told me, how could you not have heard of her? You’re from a family of high rollers, aren’t you?” 

Casey sounded distinctly uncomfortable. “Cyann came on the scene just a couple of years back  it was
-
”

“Right around the time that he and Kylie had their falling out,” interrupted Artorius. “He was pretty much useless after that.”

Monson’s curiosity flared again at the mention of Kylie’s name. He and Casey had seen her skulking around the back halls of the Yard, and Casey had tried to follow her. Or was that part of Monson’s dream? He wasn’t sure.

“What about you, Artorius?” asked Monson. “Did you hear anything about Cyann before this year?”

Artorius shook his head. “No. Though that’s more from me being inattentive than anything. I know that her adoptive mother is quite a bit younger than her dad. She’s his second wife; the first passed away a long time ago. Cyann’s adoptive mom was actually a pretty famous fashion model. She works with my mom quite a bit. Small world, huh?”

“Yeah, small world,” echoed Monson.

“Master Grey.” The three boys turned their attention to Brian.

“Yeah, Brian?”

“What is it about Ms. Harrison’s early past that has you so intrigued?”

“That’s a good question.” Monson watched intently as Casey moved to the second page of the Cyann article.  “I don’t know. I’d like to know where she came from and see what made her….”

Monson trailed off, not finishing his thought.

“Master Grey?”

Monson did not hear Brian’s voice.  Monson
could
not hear Brian’s voice.  The information that was now flowing from the high-definition flat screen to his eyes, up his optical nerves, and into his brain caused his mental functions to sputter, cough and eventually stall.  His eyes followed a small streaming banner across the bottom of the page.  The tiny scrolling title read, “Marques Grey and the Horror of Baroty Bridge.”

“Who’s Marques Grey?” asked Artorius quietly, noticing Monson’s reaction to the text.

Monson kept his eyes on the screen, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Marques Grey is my grandfather.”

Monson did his best to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Casey, click on that link.”

Casey’s apprehension came through clearly as he spoke. “Grey, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Monson considered the question. “No, but I think it’s something that needs to be done.”

He smiled. “Besides, it’s on the Internet. I’ll probably hear about it anyway. Might as well get it from the source.”

Casey reluctantly clicked the link. The high-speed connection picked up the feed, loading a second browsing tab and a video player. The video started after a few seconds with the title, “Gossip Guy Presents,” fading in from the black background., The screen changed and new words appeared: “Marques Grey and the Horror of Baroty Bridge.”

An anchorperson sat behind a desk in a massive newsroom. Monson instantly recognized him; it was Derek Dayton.

The camera zoomed in sharply on Derek. A furious expression blazed from his face. He smiled devilishly.

“The one responsible for the attack on Baroty Bridge is none other than Marques Grey.”

Monson cringed as anger and shock bubbled within him. Artorius, Casey and Brian all looked at him with concern.

“Good morning, Coren University, and welcome to Coren’s All Access.” The rest of Derek’s words were drowned out by Monson’s strengthening voice.

“What’s Coren’s All Access?”

Casey chuckled slightly, though it sounded forced.  “Grey, I swear you purposely remain ignorant sometimes.”

“Actually, it’s not surprising, Casey
-
Grey doesn’t have the same floor responsibilities that we do,” interjected Artorius.

“The All Access is a news channel that plays in the morning on each floor.  It’s been around for a couple of years. Derek is the anchorman and president of the club that runs the station. Most people don’t pay much attention to it
-
they consider it kind of a joke.”

Derek’s scornful voice drew their attention. They turned back towards the monitor. 

“Our special topic is a sad and tragic one. An event that broke the heart of a nation and her citizens as it affected them in the most brutal of manners. This story is one of righteous anger directed at those who dare call themselves human after causing this horrific event.”

A flinty glint made its way into Derek’s eyes as he paused, probably intending to increase the tension. He continued his oration.  “I’m Derek Dayton and this is a Coren University All Access News Network exclusive report on the horror of Baroty Bridge.”

Music began and a parade of credits played across the web player. When the image paused, everyone looked at Casey.

“You paused the player.” Monson’s voice sounded hollow in his throat. “Why?”

Casey fidgeted, playing with the mouse in his hand. “You sure you want to watch this? We don’t have to.”

“I know.” Monson ran a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s OK. Go ahead.”

Casey nodded reluctantly and restarted the player. Lines of moving credits scrolled quickly, then Derek started speaking again. Different images flashed in the upper right-hand corner as he did.

“This last May was supposed to be an epic time in the history of North America and the world. It was the time, the quickening hour, when the Artificial Island Project was to go live, changing the world for the better. The Artificial Island Project was a newly created landmass stabilized off the coast of the northwestern United States. Using classified technology, the Island chain, consisting of ten islands, was literally raised from the depths of the ocean, giving the people of the world a new outlet for life and discovery. These islands and the technology that created them were the result of billions of dollars of investment by the American and Canadian governments and private industry. It was to be the new center for the Canadian/American coastal power station, providing a home for the first and only cold fusion plant on the planet. Disney Universe
-
the proposed one-hundred-billion-dollar amusement park that would house the biggest shopping area in the world, twenty-seven new full-size attractions, nearly one thousand restaurants, several hundred hotels, and seven PGA-designed golf courses
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was going to be built on one of the islands. Housing, from the humble to the extravagant, was planned to accommodate a wide span of socioeconomic groups, thus creating new and exciting opportunities for the ambitious.  Fueled by the cold fusion plant, the construction of the Trans-Pacific Bullet Train was to connect Asia and America like never before, allowing Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Filipino and other Asian populations access to the growing artificial inland community. This vision of tomorrow, this hope for the future, this radical departure from accepted norms, was from its conceptualization to ratification, the brainchild of a single individual: Christopher Barotoy.”

Derek’s voice drifted out of the speakers, permeating Monson’s mind. Each word found its mark in his head. It was as if each of them formed a key to a dormant and forgotten door. With these doors unlocked, a flood of images and emotions were gripping his very core, his very self. 

“The bridge highway, that would connect the Artificial Island Project to the mainland was a gift from the state governments of Washington, Oregon and California as a gesture of appreciation towards Baroty and his conglomerate. The bridge, consisting of three parts adjoining Highway 101 as it ran along the coastlines of California, Oregon, and Washington, was a ten-year multi-billion-dollar project. Its design would allow interstate commuters the benefits of expedited travel and the opportunity to use the most advanced electromagnetic train in the world. A day of celebration, a celebration to enjoy in the ingenuity of man--the day started as a celebration to start only to be extinguished in tragedy.”

Derek shifted in his seat, cocking his head to the left as if he were referring to the graphic on the right side of the screen. The image grew quickly, taking over the entire screen. It depicted the aerial view of a massive eight-lane juncture glistening in the glare of water-reflected light.  The word “Before” sat superimposed at the bottom left of the image, which faded out, as a second image captioned “After” seemed to force its way on-screen. This shot was the same as the previous one, with one striking difference: The eight-lane roundabout was gone. The only remnants were charred and jagged chunks of jutting concrete and steel.  Derek’s narration continued.

“The U.S. and Canadian government response was swift, as detachments from the U.S. Navy, Army and Air Force, in addition to the Canadian Coast Guard, responded to the distress call of Colonel Marshon Vanderbilt, who was already on the scene. Here is footage from his initial contact with the media.”

The player changed once again, this time showing a haggard man in Army fatigues attempting to move past reporters, whom he obviously found distasteful.

“Colonel. What can you tell us? What caused this? Is the country under attack?”

“I’m sorry, I have no comment.” The Colonel attempted to part the gathering mob.

“Is it true that the North Koreans are involved? What about the Chinese? How will this affect the Artificial Island Project? Are other countries trying to steal the cold fusion technology?”

The Colonel stopped mid-stride, his back to the reporters. He visibly tensed. Abruptly, he spun on his heel, surprising the reporters as he did so.

Monson reached down to pause the player.

“Why would he answer them?”

The others seemed puzzled by his question. Brian recovered first.

“China.”

“What about China?”

“That is probably why he chose to answer. He did not want the media to instigate a call for war with China.”

“But why would people
-
”Brian put up a hand. “Tensions in that particular area of foreign policy have been strained for a while now. The relationship between the two countries is just now returning to normal, semi-cordial terms.”

He pointed at the screen. “If I were to venture a guess, the Colonel probably thought it would be expedient to dissolve any misconception of Chinese involvement to prevent any further rescission of diplomacy.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Monson scratched at his head. “Kind of.”

Casey restarted the player and it flared back to life as the Colonel responded to the reporters.

“Look, evidence is scarce, but thus far there isn’t any indication that the North Koreans or Chinese could have had anything to do with this.”

The reporters started to clamor over each other.

“Then who could it be? Iran? How can you rule out China and North Korea so quickly?”

The Colonel put up a hand.  “The technology involved is far beyond anything we’ve encountered, literally years ahead of even the theoretical platform. China and North Korea don’t have this type of capability.”

An attractive woman with short blonde hair elbowed her way to the front of the pack of reporters. “Then what are we dealing with? Who’s responsible for this devastating attack?”