AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Hello, kids, here's a new one. I love the UK, and the British system of government, and I thought, what if...
Triple punch today. Look for a new Culture Karma and LGNH chapter that ties in with some of the characters and events here.
Much thanks to Lady Pauline for the never ending education she provides me on all things British.
All characters herein are Human. There is no magic. There is nothing supernatural.
For those who read and like my other work, an original about Tony and Dane will be finished someday. If anyone would be interested in Milan and his fellow hunky waiters as they encounter a pair of thirsty zombies, that short is finished and available now on Amazon ~dot~ com. Search for Spunk Craving Zombies, or for me, John T. Liz has also included a link on her blog. A full length sequel to that is nearly ready as well.
The usuals-
Much love as always to my girls, Maureen, Rebecca, Kate and Miss Pauline.
Somehow I seem to have survived the FF witch hunt. It may or may not be over. I will continue to post here and move to AO3 as and when I have to. When/if I am forced to complete the relocation you can find me at - archiveofourown ~dot~ org. Then just do a search for Jtrue.
Anyone who has not read the incredible Equal & Opposite, Errors & Omissions, or Enticements & Obstructions, all by OhJasperMyJasper, should go do so right now. Here is how you find them since the FF witch hunt removed Liz from this site - ohjaspermyjasper ~dot~ blogspot ~dot~ com.
WARNING:
This story is intended for an adult audience! There is crude speech, hate speech and adult sexual subject matter of a homosexual nature. There is violence. If you are under 18 stop reading now!
AU/AH/OC
All character names from Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer. All character names from Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. Any similarities end there.
Chapter 1: The Players
Once the medieval palace of the Bishops of Godalming, purchased by a Malfoy ancestor who had made his fortune in shipping, it was now one of the central halls of power. Partially hidden by a thick copse of ash, and beyond an expanse of manicured lawn, a new house had been built on the foundations of the dilapidated old palace, and expanded into the great Bath stone encased Jacobethan manor that stood proudly on the hill today. The two hundred plus room, hundred and seventy five thousand square foot palace of a home was a great, square, three story building with four story square towers at the corners.
The dark, vaulted entry hall had sets of rich, solid mahogany doors on the right and left ends of the room that gave onto the vast dining room and the even larger library. Straight on the front doors at set of doors twelve feet tall opened into the salon.
The cathedral salon had a grouping of comfortable upholstered chairs around a giant, round, tufted ottoman, arranged before a fireplace large enough that an adult could walk right into it. A table stood nearby with fresh flowers from the gardens and family photos in standing frames. It might almost have looked and felt cozy, if the Bath stone ceiling were not four storeys above their heads. The walls on the first floor were covered in tapestries. The room was open to the floors above and the ceiling high above was set with long, slender glass panes to make an atrium. On the upper floors a gallery went around the salon with beautifully carved stone arches. On the ground floor, opposite the giant fireplace, through similar, but wider and taller arches, was the grand stairs.
Beyond the salon was the drawing room. Not quite so large as the salon, it rivaled anything in the Palace of Versailles with its gold leaf, Louis XIV furniture and magnificent chandelier. At the extreme left end of the room, the double doors stood open to what the family called the Fabergé room. This slightly smaller room was still grand in scale and contained enough pieces from the House of Fabergé to make a Czar green with envy. Also French in style the walls of the room that occupied the northwest corner of the mansion, were covered in ornate gold and olive toile.
The Fabergé room was the personal space of the lady of the house and she sat at her antique writing desk tucked into a corner. Narcissa Malfoy wore the dark hair on top of her head in feathery fringe on her forehead and the blonde hair at the sides pulled back into a jeweled clip at the back of her head. The dark hair in back hung straight down. She wore a skirt and a long sleeved silk blouse with a jeweled brooch at the closure of her collar at her neck.
"Pardon the intrusion, Madam," the household majordomo appeared in the open doors to the drawing room, "but the car has been pulled round."
"Thank you, Dobby," Narcissa paused to slip her feet into her Jimmy Choos and rose from her desk.
The morning coat bedecked butler gave a bow and withdrew. Narcissa glanced at the closed doors to the vast library that took up the remaining space on the west side of the manor and snatched up her Cartier handbag as she strode past the French settee where she usually left it. Her heels clicked on the gleaming marble as she made her way through the drawing room and salon. Narcissa headed through to the entry hall where Dobby waited for her.
Without a word, the butler took her purse and held her long Chanel coat for her. Once Narcissa put her arms in the sleeves, Dobby settled it about her shoulders and returned her purse to her.
"I might suggest an umbrella, Madam. The weather looks disagreeable," Dobby offered.
"We won't be outside long enough," Narcissa dismissed as she moved toward the front doors.
Dobby took the hint and moved quickly to open the right of the big double front doors for her. The lady of the house should certainly not ever have to open a door for herself.
Narcissa stepped outside into an overcast midday that was so close to raining that the air was filled with mist. Her husband's black over silver Rolls Royce Phantom Coupe sat in the drive. Narcissa stepped down the two steps to the drive and waited.
And waited. It was but a mist, but she was getting wet. And annoyed. Narcissa checked her Cartier watch. Time was against them if they were to arrive at their destination when expected. Narcissa contemplated waiting in the car, but she was done waiting. Dobby opened the door for her as she marched back into the house and headed straight for the library.
The library was vast and took up all of that end of the mansion save for Narcissa's Fabergé room. The walls were lined in tall dark wood bookcases interrupted only by the windows and fireplaces. The first part of the library was arranged as a spacious sitting room with tapestry upholstered furniture. Through a set of Corinthian columns, the much larger section of the library served as Lucius Malfoy's study. A grand and ornately carved table served as his desk and was set at an angle near the main fireplace. The furniture in this section was grouped into two conversation areas and upholstered entirely in red velvet.
The man himself was attired in a black velvet suit. He sat at his desk with his long, platinum blonde hair draped about his shoulders. Lucius scribbled notes in the margin of pages in a binder and didn't even look up when he heard the double doors to the entry hall open.
"What is it?" Lucius made no attempt to mask his annoyance at the intrusion.
"Have you the slightest idea of the time?" Narcissa called from across the room.
"Alright. I'm coming," Lucius threw down his pen as he rose from his desk. He closed the binder and placed it within his ostrich skin briefcase. Lucius picked up the briefcase and snatched up his heirloom, ornamental cane with glimmering ruby eyes set in the solid, gleamingly polished silver snake head.
Narcissa waited with a hand on her hip. Lucius walked right by her and she took up behind him. Without bothering with an overcoat or to engage Dobby in any way, Lucius walked out of the house and took the wheel of his car. Narcissa followed and got into the passenger seat. Lucius started the car, put it in gear and drove off without a further word.
The mist turned into a slight drizzle before they reached the end of their driveway. By the time they made it to the A3 and headed south, it was genuinely raining, and only continued to get worse.
The flat was decorated in a plain, but modern style. Every piece of furniture was black leather, chrome, or both. Coffee, end and dining tables were all glass. A few plants were placed in the rooms and a painting of a sailing boat hung on one wall. There were men's fitness, fashion and home decor magazines arrayed on the coffee table. A decorative bowl sat in the center of the dining room table. The flat was curiously devoid of photographs or mementos. It was staged like someone lived there.
And someone did. Adam Colley was lucky enough to have a view of the river from his one bedroom flat. An excellent view in fact. His building was directly on the Thames and his first floor flat had floor to ceiling windows overlooking the river to maximize the view from every room.
Adam was a tall and strikingly handsome man. He was 6 foot two, broad shouldered and well muscled. Even in his shower he had a view of the Thames, though he closed his eyes as he rinsed shampoo out of his short, sandy brown hair. He rinsed the rest of his body and his hand lingered on his generous uncut cock that swelled in anticipation of his duties tonight.
Adam shut off the water and snatched up his towel as he stepped out of the shower. He rubbed the towel over his head to dry his hair and then continued down his body. He didn't wrap the towel around himself when he was finished for the same reason he hadn't bothered to shut the bathroom door. Adam lived alone.
The steamed up mirror needed a wipe with the towel so that Adam could see himself. He ran his fingers through his short hair, content to just let it finish drying as it was. Adam ran a hand over his scruffy face. It wasn't yet to the point where he needed a trim to keep it neat. He brushed his teeth and strode naked out of his bathroom.
Adam studied himself for a moment in the full length mirror of the wardrobe door. He was a fine specimen of the male species, long, lean, trim and muscular. His developed pecs were covered in fur, which he kept trimmed. Hair trailed down his abdomen to pubes that he also kept neatly trimmed. His thick, sheathed cock hung over jumbo sized eggs in his smoothly shaved scrotum. His furry legs were muscular as well, but not overly so. Adam's physique had been finely honed in the gym and he was proud of it. His skin was a healthy tone maintained by the tanning beds at his gym. At twenty seven, he was in the best shape of his life.
Adam pulled on a pair of tiny, white ES Collection briefs and stuffed himself into them. He ran a hand over the small and packed to bursting pouch that never failed to please his employer's customers. Over them he put on snug jeans, and a thin, clinging maroon sweater.
Adam walked out of his bedroom and snatched his keys and wallet up off the dining table on the way to the front door. He pulled the door closed behind him and locked it. There was an elevator in the four story building, but Adam never bothered with it. He took the stairs down the one flight to the ground floor and exited through the small building lobby.
"Evening, Mrs. Chambers," Adam greeted the old lady who lived in an even smaller flat on the ground floor.
"Evening, Adam," she waved with the mail in her hand. "Don't you be out carousing all night, young man!" she admonished with a crooked finger.
"Not all night," Adam laughed as he gave a wave back. He pushed out the glass building door and up the walk to the pedestrian gate to the street. The building had a gated drive as well, and half of the ground floor was a parking garage with space for ten cars, one for each flat.
The sun was just setting on the overcast evening as Adam headed up Grosvenor Road in the direction of Westminster. He cut through St. George's Square to Lupus Street and just two short blocks further, he descended into the Underground at the Pimlico Station. The Victoria Tube line took him deeper into the heart of the city. Only two stops along, he exited at the Green Park Station and made his way up to the street. Adam crossed busy Piccadilly and headed the back way into the posh and exclusive St. James section of the city, so named for the Senior Palace of the British Monarch.
At the end of Ball Yard, in the center of St. James and just two short blocks from the palace itself, was the tiny and doubly exclusive enclave of Rutherford Place. Only three townhouse mansions ringed the gated central motor court. The largest and grandest of these, the townhouse across the back of Rutherford Place and had a commanding view of Green Park and Buckingham Palace beyond, belonged to Simon Lyle, the Viscount Blackraven, an hereditary Member of the House of Peers. This was Adam's destination, but he didn't enter through Rutherford Place. Adam entered through the Mews and the servant's entrance like any other employee.
The kitchen in the historic mansion had many original touches in the marble floor and yellow tiles, but was filled with stainless steel and almost industrial grade surfaces, and appliances. The spacious room was silent and empty, without a hint of the activity to come. Adam made his way deeper into the house and took the back stairs down to the garden level. This narrow set of stairs let out onto a corridor of small, private rooms furnished nicely, if simply, with a leather upholstered wing chair, a table with a lamp and supplies, and a well appointed daybed.
The corridor opened at the far end into a spacious and comfortable lounge. There were multiple seating areas all with black leather furniture and all arranged around huge, square coffee tables. There was a bar in a near corner with six barstools and a polished metal bar top. The ceilings were high, even down on this level, and deeply arched to give the appearance of a subterranean vault.
Five men stood at the bar.
Micah Jones was a very well built man with a buzz cut and wore only his jeans. A large tattoo of elaborate scrollwork in black and red covered his left shoulder, shoulder blade, smooth pec, and went down his arm to his elbow. While not as tall as Adam, Micah was much more muscular. The American looked like he could bench press a Bentley.
Yuri Dragunov was especially handsome in a pretty boy way. He was five foot ten and had muscles not unlike Adam. The dusting of hair on Yuri's chest was completely natural. He had short cropped, dark hair and a most inviting smile. He wore only squarecut underwear made of white cotton so remarkably thin that they did little to contain or conceal his tackle. Yuri was a couple of years younger than Adam and unquestionably the cutest guy here. Just the sight of him never failed to make Adam's mouth water and his jeans grow tighter.
Adam's equal in stature and musculature, Garreth Wilton had beautiful mocha skin as smooth as silk, the result of his mixed parentage. He wore only a pair of white lycra bicycle shorts in which his resting manhood was obvious.
Seamus Finnigan was a short man and dwarfed by the tall men around him. The furry little Scot wore only a red jock which left his inviting and hairy arse bare.
The fifth man was in his fifties and wore dress pants and shirt, an ascot tied around his neck in the open collar of the shirt, and velvet smoking jacket. Simon Lyle wasn't much taller than Seamus and had a full head of steel gray hair. He held a snifter of brandy as he addressed his stable.
"Ah, Adam, there you are. Where's Danny?" Simon asked.
"Was it my turn to watch him?" Adam joked.
"Very droll," Simon rolled his eyes. "Well, if he gets stopped and questioned by the police again, he's on his own. If he doesn't have the sense to look like he belongs in this neighborhood, then he can go right back to Croydon. Now then, where was I?"
"Important guests," Seamus answered.
"Don't interrupt, Seamus," Simon admonished. "Right. Important guests tonight. I expect we'll see some of the usual faces and we have two new, prospective members. One I'm sure you'll never have heard of, but the other you might. Does the name William Sampson mean anything to any of you?"
The men all looked at each other with questioning expressions.
"That's probably a good thing," Simon concluded. "His politics are loathsome, but all that stays outside the door. In here we're just men who enjoy men. Show him an especially good time."
"You know we will, Simon," Adam whipped his sweater off over his head, kicked off his shoes and opened his jeans. In a flash he was down to his tiny, well packed briefs.
"Now that's what I like to see," Simon ever so lightly ran his fingers over Adam's bulge. "Lovely," he patted Adam's abdomen.
No one heard him coming as he didn't make a sound. Simon's last sex worker burst suddenly from the corridor that led to the rear of the house. The youngest man in Simon's stable at only nineteen, he wore the typical chav uniform of trainers, trackies, and hoodie with the hood up over his baseball cap clad, shaved head.
"Nice of you to join us, Daniel," Simon began. "Are you running because you're late, or because the police are after you again?"
"No Jake's ever gonna catch me," Danny gave a crooked smile as he didn't answer the question.
"Is 'jake' a colorful euphemism for bobby?" Simon enquired.
"Rudeboi," Danny answered with a nod.
"Understand this, young man," Simon lectured with a finger, "should the police ever track you to this house, I shall say I've never met you and have you arrested for breaking and entering. Am I understood?"
Danny dropped his gaze and hid his face behind the bill of his cap as he looked away.
"I said, am I understood?" Simon demanded an answer with fists on his hips.
"Yeah, I got it!" Danny glared at his employer.
"Just see you remember it," Simon pointed a finger in Danny's face. "Now then, boys, relax until our members and special guests arrive. I shall be upstairs," he directed and headed for the stairs.
"Some new geezahs tonight then?" Danny asked as he began to shed his clothes.
"Guess so," Adam gave a shrug. It was a matter of complete indifference to him.
Danny stripped down to a plain white jock that had been a gift from Micah. "We gonna get a drink then?" he gestured to the bar.
"I don't think one before our guests arrive could hurt," Adam agreed.
"I know what you like," Yuri gave Adam a smirk as he walked behind the bar.
"I know you do!" Adam laughed. Neither of them were talking about beverages.
Simon left them to it and climbed the curving staircase up to the parlor floor of his London home.
The men in suits that bulged with concealed gun holsters under their arms each wore a white ghutra on their heads secured with a black igal. The men were Arabs and looked it with their olive skin and trim, black beards.
They stood sentry in the gleaming marble lobby of the Embassy of the United Arab Emirates. Their attention was caught by the man who descended the grand front stairs and headed straight for them.
Khalid bin Ahmed al Maktoum was a handsome man in his early thirties and wore an expensive bespoke suit. He had short, black hair and, like his fellow Arabs, a full, trim beard to match.
"Sheikh Khalid," the guards greeted him respectfully as they held open the front doors for him.
Khalid just nodded at them as he passed outside. He descended the steps to the waiting chauffeur driven Maybach 62. Khalid was good at his job, though he had not earned it. His uncle, the Emir of Dubai, was also Vice-President and Prime Minister of the UAE. As such, Khalid had the pick of any post he wanted in all the world and this Western city suited him perfectly.
Khalid seated himself in the spacious rear of the especially luxurious vehicle and waited for his driver to retake the wheel. The flags that normally adorned the hood of this car had been removed for this excursion. This was the Ambassador's car, but when Khalid wanted to use it, His Excellency made no objection. The Ambassador was a skilled and seasoned diplomat, but he wasn't a member of any ruling family.
The driver circled out of Prince's Gate and headed east on Kensington Road along Hyde Park. Kensington gave onto Knightsbridge and that onto Piccadilly. It was one mile exactly to the Japanese Embassy. The driver got out and waited by the rear door. He didn't open it for his passenger as he knew they were only here to pick someone up.
Someone to whom the armed guards at the door of the Embassy bowed deeply as he passed. Tonohito of the House of Mikasa carried himself with an obviously aristocratic bearing. He had a full head of raven hair and, fairly rare for his race, a full, though thin and feathery, beard. In his early forties, Tonohito was older than his Arab friend by ten years, but didn't look a day of it. He emerged alone, to the great consternation of his staff, into the night and got into the rear of the unknown car.
The driver retook the wheel and a mere few blocks further down Piccadilly, turned into St. James on St. James Street. He turned again onto Ball Yard and drove straight through the gates of Rutherford Place. The car pulled up to the entrance of the mansion townhouse at the rear and the chauffeur quickly got out to open the rear door for his passengers.
"Here we are," Tonohito paused to pat Khalid's hand before he got out of the car. "You will be pleased, my friend."
The men exited the car and stepped up to the front door of the townhouse which swung open before they even reached it. An elderly Chinese man in a black suit squinted out at them and then silently stepped aside as he gestured for them to enter. Tonohito and Khalid walked past the butler and into the entry hall.
The wide and spacious room had a large round table in the center that bore an enormous flower arrangement in an antique vase. Open doorways to the left and right opened onto much larger rooms. At the rear was a grand staircase that went up to a landing large enough to have its own seating area two thirds of the way up, and branched from there to the two wings of the house. Corridors on either side of the staircase on the main floor led back to other rooms of the house.
"Tonohito, my lovely boy," Simon emerged from the room on the right as his butler shut the front door. Simon was only fifteen years the Japanese man's senior, but looked like he could be his grandfather.
"Simon," Tonohito smiled and returned the older man's embrace.
"And who have you brought me?" Simon turned his smile on the Arab.
"This is Sheikh Khalid, First Secretary of the UAE Delegation," Tonohito introduced.
"Simon Lyle," Simon took Khalid's hand and just held it, "Viscount Blackraven, at your service."
"A pleasure to meet you, Simon," Khalid smiled. "Especially if the charms of your home are everything Prince Tonohito has said they are."
"Then do, please, come in," Simon hooked his arm through Khalid's as he led both men deeper into his house.
Tucked into an alcove behind the main stairs to the upper floors, was the stairway down to the garden level. The rich wood paneling gave way to gleaming tile as they descended and the stairs opened onto a spacious and comfortable lounge.
Garreth in bicycle shorts, Seamus and Danny in jocks, Adam and Yuri in underwear, and Micah in jeans, all stood near the bar. They looked up and warm smiles painted their faces when Simon returned with two other men, one of whom was known to them.
"Boys," Simon called as they reached the tiled floor, "you remember the Prince."
A chorus of "yes" and "of course we do" rang out with enthusiasm.
"And this is a prospective member," Simon put a hand on Khalid's arm. "Sheikh," he introduced, "this is Micah. He's a US Marine. Can you imagine anything so delicious? From the American Southwest, no less. He has a cock like a battering ram. And he's circumcised. I have no idea why the Americans do that, but it's lovely, I can tell you. This is Danny," he gestured to the youngest man. "A scally from Croydon. He has a beautiful cock and he'll stay hard for hours. This pretty boy is Yuri. Just look at this sweet smile," he reached up to run a thumb across Yuri's chin. "He's curved like a big banana. It's lovely. My sweet little Seamus here, from the land of the Scots, has a very hungry arse. He's delightfully furry all over. These big boys are Adam and Garreth. And I'm not talking about their stature," Simon ran light fingers over Adam's bulge. "They're both hung like horses. Especially this one. Eleven inches in these shorts. I measured myself," he ran a finger along the length of Garreth's resting snake. "Do enjoy them."
"But not this one," Tonohito moved to the Marine. "He's mine," he declared as he pressed himself against Micah's side.
Micah gave the Prince a proud, lopsided grin that told him the appreciative hands that roved over the muscles of his bare back, chest and stomach were welcome.
"Boys, do get our guests something to drink and make them comfortable," Simon bid. "I shall be upstairs if anyone requires me," he gave them all a smile and headed for the stairs.
"I don't know whatcha wanna drink right now, but before you leave here tonight, you'll be drinkin' from this," Micah moved Tonohito's hand from his abdomen to his crotch.
"Promise?" Tonohito gripped the substantial contents of the Marine's jeans. He loved that the American gave no deference to his Imperial Princely status.
"Cocktails before cocks," Adam orchestrated. "Yuri?"
"Irish Mist for His Highness," Yuri strode behind the bar and put ice in a tumbler. He poured the dark liquor over the ice and placed the glass on the bar. "For you, Sir?"
"I would like some champagne," Khalid stated.
"I'll get it," Danny was happy to make himself of some use that didn't involve sex. Unique among Simon's staff, Danny was here not because he wanted to be, but because he needed to be. He was gay, but he didn't like to get fucked. This was the result of some singularly unpleasant encounters with men who were bigger and stronger than him. He had been fucked more than once in Simon's employ, but never enjoyed it and gave a grunting convincing performance each time he did.
Danny obtained a bottle of Ponsardin from the champagne cooler and carried it to the bar. He worked at the foil until it was all picked away and started in on the wire cage. This proved only slightly less difficult and then he was faced with a cork that didn't budge.
"Here," Yuri took the bottle from Danny and twisted the cork as he pulled it. The cork gave way with an audible pop and Yuri poured into a flute for their prospective member.
"Magnificent," Khalid paid the flute no mind as he ran his hands over Adam's furry pecs. The taller man smiled at him warmly.
"Can we make you more comfortable?" Adam attempted to push the Arab's suit jacket off of his shoulders.
Khalid made no objection as his suit jacket was removed from him. Unseen hands behind him took it while Adam set about unknotting his necktie. Khalid put his head back as Adam worked the button at his neck. Adam unbuttoned Khalid's shirt to his waist.
"Nice," Adam ran his hands over the darkly furry pecs within Khalid's shirt.
"You two," Khalid picked up his flute and gestured with it to Adam and Yuri, "come here." He downed his champagne and set the flute back on the bar before he moved toward the nearest seating area. Khalid had no interest in dark skinned men and so ignored Garreth completely. White men were his fancy, but they had to be at least his height or taller. Men shorter than himself were of no interest. Khalid paid Danny and Seamus the same attention that he gave the mulatto. The American was a stud to be sure, but he bulged with muscles and Khalid didn't find that as attractive as what he thought of as natural male musculature. He was happy to leave the Marine to his friend. Adam and Yuri were, in Khalid's eyes, just exactly right, and particularly the taller Adam.
Yuri walked out from behind the bar and joined Adam in the first seating area.
"Stand up here," Khalid pointed to the sturdy platform of a coffee table.
Adam and Yuri didn't hesitate. It wouldn't be the first time they had performed on one of these tables and it wouldn't be the last.
Khalid let his eyes drink in the masculine beauty of the men who loomed above him. He put a hand on the inside of Adam's furry thigh and did the same with Yuri. Khalid ran his hands up until his fingers met the fabric of their underwear. As his fingers brushed their contained balls, Khalid's cock grew to full hardness in his own underwear and dress pants. "Magnificent," Khalid whispered to himself.
Adam looked at Yuri and smiled. He moved a hand to cup a fine Russian glute as the Arab's exploring fingers curled around the growing bulges in their underwear. Yuri returned Adam's smile. If he was going to get fucked tonight, he hoped it was by the tall Brit. As far as Yuri was concerned, the key to heaven was Adam's dick.
Nearby, Tonohito continued to grope the Marine through his denim. "Your jeans are very nice."
"Yeah?" Micah smirked.
"On the floor," Tonohito finished his thought.
"Then that's where they belong," Micah unbuttoned, unzipped and shoved his jeans down his legs. His big cock, thick and heavy though not yet even half hard, flopped into the Prince's grasping hand. "There ya go. That's better," Micah pulled his feet out of his jeans and kicked them away.
"So very nice. So big," Tonohito's mouth watered as he fondled the growing American organ.
"It's gettin' there. C'mere," Micah took hold of the Prince by his necktie and pulled him toward the nearest sofa. "Get this off and lay down right here," he pulled at Tonohito's suit jacket. Danny came forward to take the jacket as the Prince shed it to hang it up for the gentleman.
Tonohito rushed to comply with the Marine's command and laid himself out on his back on the black leather sofa.
"That's better," Micah repeated as he knelt by the Prince's head. He stuck the head of his heavy cock in Tonohito's mouth as he set about stripping the smaller man's clothes off of him.
Adam and Yuri grew to full hardness in their underwear under Khalid's massaging fingers.
"Yeah, that's nice," Adam encouraged as the Arab gripped his big cock.
"Umm," Yuri gave a soft groan. Both men thrust their hips toward Khalid, their aching cocks more than ready to be released from their confinement.
"Take us out. You want a taste?" Adam teased.
Khalid let go of both dicks and ran his hands up to their pecs. He stepped fully in front of Yuri, slipped his fingers into the waistband of Yuri's underwear and slowly peeled them down. Yuri's dark pubes were trimmed very short and his bone sprang up as it was freed of the fabric. Simon's assessment proved true in that Yuri's cock curved upward, not at all unlike a banana. Fully erect his head was completely free of his foreskin and precum glistened in his eye from Khalid's teasing.
Khalid wrapped his hand around Yuri's prick and gave him a slow stroke. More syrup welled in the snake's eye and Khalid leaned in. He wrapped his lips around Yuri's head and drew his tongue through Yuri's slit to taste him.
"Daaa," Yuri endorsed as he felt Khalid's tongue.
Khalid slowly drew his lips off Yuri and moved to Adam. Repeating the procedure, Khalid slowly freed Adam's big dick of its confinement. Twin Arab eyebrows rose and Khalid licked his lips as he feasted his eyes on Adam at last. He had already discovered as he fondled both men to erection that Adam was a bigger boy all over. Adam was thicker, longer, not curved and too heavy to stand up proudly the way Yuri's cock did. Adam's head pulled free of his foreskin while hard as well, but he had more and it easily rolled up onto his head when Khalid gave him a stroke. Adam was leaking as well and just started to drip when Khalid's lips closed around him.
"Yeah," Adam ran his fingers through Khalid's short black hair as the Arab tongue licked through his slit. His nine plus inches ached to slide down the Arab's throat, but Khalid slowly slipped his lips off Adam's big, round head just as he had done to Yuri. Adam looked to Yuri and grabbed what he considered to be the most perfect dick on the planet.
"Hoo," Yuri began to thrust into Adam's fist.
"Yes, stroke each other," Khalid directed as he stepped back.
Yuri didn't hesitate to take hold of what to him was the most perfect penis on the planet as well.
"Yeah," Adam smiled at Yuri as the Russian stroked his length.
Khalid sat down on a sofa facing Adam and Yuri and leaned back, content to watch his personal porn stars for a moment. He unbuckled his belt and opened his dress pants. He worked his hard cock and his balls out the fly of his boxers. Khalid did not know when he had ever seen such specimens of caucasian male perfection. They made his dick ache and he gave himself a squeezing stroke as he pondered what to do with them next.
Simon descended from above again at that moment. A well dressed man in his mid forties followed him down. The white man had a slightly weathered, but still handsome face and salt and pepper hair.
"Oh," the man's eyebrows shot up when he caught sight of five men engaged in various forms of sexual intimacy around the room.
"Boys," Simon approached the men not already engaged with other members, "this is William."
"Call me Bill," Bill directed.
"So familiar? Perhaps Billy?" Simon asked.
"Bill," Bill reiterated.
"Bill, this little Chav is Danny. He has a beautiful cock and he'll stay hard for hours," Simon began. "My little Seamus has a delightfully hungry arse if you fancy a good long shag. This big boy is Garreth. Big all over," he ran a finger along the sleeping serpent in Garreth's bicycle shorts again. "Beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Adam, Yuri and Micah, an American Marine," Simon pointed around the room. "You can see their charms."
"Right," Bill nodded and returned his attention to the scantily clad mulatto. "I recognize you, of course."
Even without his kit, the Chelsea Striker was easily recognizable.
"I recognize you as well," Garreth made every effort to keep the malice from his face and voice.
The BNP mouthpiece railed for an end to any and all immigration, and the pollution of 'ethnic' Britons. Bill Sampson repeatedly and often in any public forum called for mixed race people, exactly like Garreth, to be deported, along with their unclean parents, to their 'lands of ethnic origin.' Their party was steadfastly against anything kosher and especially halal. They railed against the 'islamification' of Great Britain and regularly fostered discontent between Muslim and Hindu communities. And they missed no opportunity to rail against equality and homosexuals as well.
William Sampson was the worst type of hypocrite.
"The boys will get you something to drink and make you comfortable," Simon gestured. "I shall be upstairs if anyone needs me. Enjoy," he patted Bill on the shoulder and headed back for the stairs.
"What'll it be, Guvnah?" Danny asked as he walked behind the bar. He didn't like the look of this man at all, but it was clear Bill only had eyes for Garreth.
"Whisky, neat," Bill ordered.
Danny didn't know a fine whisky from an American bourbon, but he knew which bottles were which at Simon's. And he deliberately didn't pour from the bottle he had been told was the best.
"I'll bet you can throw a mean and angry shag," Bill assessed Garreth as he accepted his tumbler from Danny and took a gulp.
"Think you're up for it?" Garreth puffed up his chest as he issued the challenge.
Bill cast a glance to sofas where the Marine was choking a Asian man with his big dick, and two white men were on their knees kissing each other as they worked their tongues up and down a writhing Arab man's cock. Bill's features darkened with a look of contempt as he watched the two white men servicing an Arab. In that act, the BNP leader saw everything that was wrong with this country. His complete and utter hypocrisy was completely lost on him as he contemplated doing the exact same thing to Garreth.
"Is there someplace private we can go?" Bill asked as he raised his glass to his lips again.
In answer, Garreth took the tumbler from Bill before he had a chance to take a drink. He grabbed the vile politician's necktie and pulled him toward the back corridor. One of the private rooms in the back would do perfectly. Garreth didn't want his coworkers to see what he planned to do to this potential member. He wasn't above using his cock to punish this man for his transgressions.
They took the A3 south and the weather grew ever more inclement with each passing kilometer. The summer storm that grew in the Channel engulfed the southern coast of England. By the time night fell and they passed through Waterlooville, it was pouring rain.
"You might as well slow down," Narcissa complained. "We've already missed the four o'clock ferry."
"Shall we miss the five as well?" Lucius didn't let up on the gas at all.
"And shall we arrive in one piece, I wonder," Narcissa antagonized. "If we had left when I suggested, we wouldn't have hit this dreadful weather and we'd be there by now."
"You know, the whole world manages somehow to get on without you telling each and every one, what to do and when to do it. It quite simply boggles the mind," Lucius was caustic.
Narcissa ignored him and Lucius was glad of it for the remainder of the drive down into Portsmouth. They were able to catch the five PM ferry, though the normally forty five minute cruise to Fishbourne took well over an hour in the inclement weather. The ferry pitched and rolled in the storm churned waters of the Solent. The prospect of her husband's gloating over it was the only thing that kept Narcissa's stomach from turning.
Once they got past the town of Ryde, the country lanes of the island became ever more treacherous in the dark of night and the pouring rain. There were no streetlights past Ryde and only the flashes of lightning provided any illumination beyond the car's headlights. Finally Lucius did slow down and Narcissa didn't say a word. Another fifteen kilometers, and Lucius carefully turned into the tall, old iron gates that stood open.
And there it was. Perched on the cliff overlooking the churning ocean on the southeast coast of the island, was Slytherin Priory. Here in this remote place, was the very center of the web. Slytherin was not as large or grand as Malfoy Manor. The priory was far older and not as well maintained. The grounds especially were in a state of dilapidation. Vegetation had overgrown the edges of the old gravel drive and vines climbed up the facade of the dark, old, stone, Gothic mansion. Slytherin was dark and imposing in a most unpleasant way. Uninviting in the light of day, it was even less so in the dark of night and especially in the storm.
The cars in the drive made it clear they were the last to arrive. Narcissa's sister's vintage and pristine dark green 1937 Lagonda LG45 Rapide Touring Drophead Coupe was parked behind Dolores Umbridge's blue Audi wagon. Peter Pettigrew's rattletrap 1950 green over black Riley was as unkempt as he was and sat behind Tom Riddle's black over garnet Daimler DS420 limousine. Lucius parked behind Severus Snape's black Mercedes Benz S550. The only vehicle they didn't recognize was the black Range Rover parked behind Peter's Riley.
Lucius retrieved his cane and briefcase from the backseat while Narcissa slipped on her shoes. They both ran for the front door of the priory as fast as they could through the cold, wind driven rain.
The double doors swung open just as they reached them.
"Sissa!" Bellatrix was there to greet them. "Lucius," she had a kiss for her both older sister and brother-in-law. Bellatrix wore a long, frilly black dress with a form fitting vest over it. Her hair was a great curly mass atop her head.
"What a dreadful night it's become," Narcissa tried to brush herself off.
"Come in out of the cold. The fire will warm you," Bellatrix took Lucius' briefcase from him. "Come, come," she urged and led the way.
Lucius and Narcissa followed Bellatrix through the vestibule and down the five steps into the cathedral Great Hall. Though the structure was not as large as Malfoy Manor, the Great Hall was sprawling. Seating areas in two different vignettes of antique furniture were arranged to the right side of the Great Hall. To the left was a long, several hundred year old table with tall, ornately carved chairs, in front of a massive fireplace. The table was set for a formal dinner and the rest of the guests stood away from the table. A fire the size of a car roared in the fireplace and made the whole cavernous space toasty warm.
There was, of course, an actual dining room, but in keeping with the original mission of the order who built the priory, it was a large, plain, stone room with a small fireplace.
Portraits of the Riddle family were hung high on the walls. Tom himself hung above the fireplace. Intricately carved hooded king cobras of white carrara marble as big as a man stood on each side of the huge fireplace.
The back of the Great Hall opened, up another five steps, into the two opposing wings of the priory. The rear of this space was a magnificently carved staircase as wide as a two lane street. It went up an entire story to an arched wall of leaded stained glass panels that illuminated beautifully every time the lightning flashed. From this landing, stairs went up another story from either side.
The rest of the guests sat in the further seating area. Severus Snape wore a black three piece suit complete with black dress shirt and necktie. He wore long, full barrister's robes over his suit was was his habit. Dolores Umbridge wore her favorite Chanel skirt suit in pepto bismol pink and had a hat on her head meant to look like a big cluster of pink roses. The hat was perfectly hideous and no one had the decency or even the inclination to tell her so. Peter Pettigrew wore a suit and still managed to look sloppy.
The owner of the Range Rover was immediately identified by the presence of the big bear of a man who stood behind Dolores' chair. He held a drink in one hand and leaned heavily on a gnarled beechwood walking stick, the top of which was carved in the form of a ram's head, and the bottom in the shape of a cloven hoof. The inner circle barely tolerated Alastair Moody. The big man's orange hair was long, unkempt and rarely clean. He had a patch over the eye he had lost some years ago on a caper he never would explain. Not dressed properly at all, Alastair wore a field jacket over a plaid shirt and loose, not overly clean jeans.
"Severus, Dolores, Peter," Lucius made a point to greet only the people he actually liked.
"Good evening, everyone," Narcissa made more of an attempt to be pleasant.
"Malfoys," Dolores smiled sweetly. Severus gave a slight sneer of a smile. Peter raised his glass.
"Ah, are we all here at last?" Tom Riddle's voice made everyone turn toward the grand stairs. His soft, gentle voice was at complete odds with the palpable aire of malevolence he exuded. Tom was comfortable in a slate gray dishdasha with a full length matching robe worn open over it. Bald headed and barefoot, he descended the steps slowly.
"Tom. Tom," the chorus of greetings went up and those seated stood.
"I do hope everyone is hungry," Tom gestured to the well appointed table as he walked toward it. All of his guests moved across the hall to join him. Alastair walked with a pronounced limp. Unlike Lucius, he actually needed his walking stick. Tom took the head of his table as was his custom. Lucius, Narcissa and Bellatrix sat on Tom's right. Alastair, Severus, Peter and Dolores sat on his left.
At that moment the Riddle household butler appeared for the first time. Fenrir Greyback was a hulking, intense man whom no one had ever seen crack a smile. He had shaggy mutton chops on his face and was at least dressed in proper butler attire of morning coat complete with cravat and gloves. Fenrir poured a white wine into one of the many crystal glasses set on the table while two more servants in valet jackets served bowls of rich mushroom soup.
"I should like to discuss the incident during the olympics," Tom initiated the conversation at his table and took a sip of his wine.
"Such a frightful business. Those poor, dear athletes," Dolores shook her head.
"Yes!" Peter laughed at that sentiment.
"Government awarded the no bid contract for security at olympic venues, hotels, and olympic village, to Security Services International," Lucius recited.
"Owned by Emily and Peter Langdon, the PM's sister and brother-in-law," Bellatrix stated.
"A company that had been incorporated only five months previous and had not a single contract for security prior to this one, worth a whopping forty six million pounds," Peter added.
"And failed to produce anything like the numbers they promised," Snape pointed out.
"The Home Secretary prevailed upon Metropolitan Police to provide such numbers as they did not have. Greater Manchester Police sent half their force to London, but still we had not the personnel we needed," Lucius took up again. "Towers was forced to call the Chief of the Defence Staff for help. The army provided thirteen hundred soldiers, in uniform."
"Talk about the Ibis," Tom bid.
"The Ibis London Stratford housed the olympic delegations from Egypt, Syria, Lebanon and Morocco," Lucius informed. "SSI was assigned security for the Ibis, among other hotels. On thirtieth July, the SSI detail failed to show up entirely."
"Hmph," Alastair grunted a smile.
"Terrorists arrived instead," Severus stated.
"Who were they again?" Tom asked.
"They call themselves the November Committee," Lucius answered. "Very much against a two state solution in Palestine and dedicated to the removal of all Arabs from Greater Israel. It began as, what appeared to be, a protest, but soon moved inside the hotel. The protesters turned out to be quite heavily armed."
"So tragic when they threw that athlete from the roof," Dolores actually sounded like she meant it.
"That prompted MI Five to call in CO Nineteen," Lucius stated. "They cleared the building and, regrettably, not a single terrorist survived."
"And one other olympic athlete was killed, don't forget," Dolores pointed out with her spoon.
"Yes, the first Lebanese, and the second Syrian," Lucius listed.
"Most unfortunate business," Tom shook his head.
"The UK certainly didn't put forth a good foot on the world stage," Bellatrix added her point of view.
"I daresay not," Tom agreed. "I look forward to the report from the Parliamentary Committee appointed to investigate the matter. The most important thing in the meantime is to keep this in the public eye. We need to talk about it, on the air, on every show, every chance we get. This needs to be painted not as a failure of our security services, but the government. The British people need to be made aware of it, and reminded of it, every single day."
The servants appeared again and replaced their now empty soup bowls with salads of mixed greens with watercress, slices of baked beets, crumbles of stilton, and an orange vinaigrette. Greyback poured another wine.
"Have a look at this," Alastair slipped a folded up picture out of the inside pocket of his field jacket. He unfolded it and hand the picture to Tom.
"What a pretty young woman," Tom evaluated and passed it on to Lucius.
"Her name is Jubilee Abbott. She's Afro-Caribbean and seen quite frequently in the company of the Minister for the European Union," Alastair informed.
Narcissa examined the photo of the young black woman in an expensive dress, coat and designer purse on her arm, with her hair expensively done, and passed it on without comment.
"Rufus is married and has two children this girl's age," Peter observed when the picture came to him.
"His children are a bit older," Alastair hinted.
"Oh?" Dolores picked up on it.
"She's sharing his hotel room in Brussels right now," Alastair revealed. "This is her fourth trip to Brussels with him. She's been seen in his company at Portcullis House and even in the Foreign Office. And she turns fifteen thursday next."
"She's fourteen?!" Narcissa spoke for the first time.
"Looks mature for her tender years," Severus passed the photo back finally to Alastair.
"I assume the Minister doesn't know that," Tom mused with a smile.
"He'll find out when an anonymous tip is called into the BBC," Alastair took a big bite of his salad and crunched away.
"As she's sharing a hotel room with him now, it seems the perfect time," Tom decided. "I also think," he paused to take a bite of his salad and chew it, "that the British people need a reminder of how soft this government is on terrorism."
"Don't be in town Tuesday evening," Alastair warned cryptically.
And just like that, the inner circle suddenly became aware of why Alastair Moody was at this table with them.
"I think the Prime Minister is starting his holiday on tuesday," Tom recalled.
"Then the timing couldn't be better," Severus spoke at his slow, calculated pace.
Greyback and the other servants returned again. Salad plates were cleared away and the main course of lamb chops, fingerling potatoes and broccoli rabe was served.
"Lamb!" Alastair rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Are you not having any, Tom?" he asked their leader when a plate of vegetables was placed before him.
"I cannot bring myself to consume flesh," Tom told Alastair what everyone else at this table had known for years.
Alastair might well have known that for as long as well, but he was the sort spoken to in hushed whispers in a back alley. This was the first time he had been invited to the table.
"Nagini enjoyed the rest of the sheep," Tom referred to his monstrous pet anaconda.
Narcissa ever so delicately, so as not to draw attention, set her utensils down and reached for her wine. She couldn't eat another bite and hoped she could keep down what she had eaten.
Adam and Yuri ran their lips and tongues in concert over Khalid's leaking, throbbing cock until he shot off all over their faces. Adam grabbed Yuri's head in his hand and licked a thick streak of cum along Yuri's cheek into his mouth and shared it with him. They continued their kiss as they knelt by Khalid's head and wanked off on Khalid's face. They moaned and panted into each other's mouths as they came and let the Arab beneath them lick and suckle them through their orgasms. Any time Adam could spend the evening giving Yuri his attentions he counted as a win.
No other members showed up that evening. Seamus and Danny wouldn't be paid as much for their presence this night as they hadn't been engaged with a member. Danny didn't mind that at all, but Seamus considered it a loss.
Simon was waiting in the front hall when Tonohito and Khalid made their way upstairs. Both men were showered and fresh, and that wasn't the only reason they were glowing.
"I trust you gentlemen had a pleasant evening," Simon took one of Tonohito's hands in both of his.
"As always, Simon. Domo arigato," Tonohito gave the older man a slight bow.
"Sheikh?" Simon enquired.
"The offerings of your house are truly magnificent, Viscount. Shukran jazeelan," Khalid thanked him in his native tongue just as the Japanese man had. "What is the fee for joining?"
"The annual membership fee is one hundred thousand pounds," Simon answered. "Absolute discretion guaranteed. Ah," he put a restraining hand to Khalid's arm as the Arab reached into his suit jacket for his wallet. "Cash only, I'm afraid."
"I shall have a courier deliver it to you first thing tomorrow," Khalid nodded.
"I look very forward to seeing you again soon," Simon beamed.
"As do I," Khalid agreed.
"Goodnight, gentlemen," Simon smiled. "Chang, the door?"
The old Chinese man shuffled forward and opened the front door for the two men to make their exit to their waiting car outside.
"Ah, Bill," Simon turned to find the politician had come upstairs as well. His hair was disheveled and he looked to have run a marathon.
"Simon," Bill grabbed the older man's hand and shook it vigorously.
"You look to have had a grand time," Simon smiled.
"Extraordinary, I would say," Bill evaluated.
"You'll consider joining, then?" Simon asked.
"Absolutely. How much?" Bill enquired.
"One hundred thousand pounds, annually," Simon answered.
"A hundred thousand pounds!" Simon was wide eyed.
"A bargain at twice the price for the discretion we offer to a man in your position," Simon pointed out cooly.
"I'll get it to you. Somehow, I'll get it to you," Bill assured as he stepped around Simon and headed for the door.
"You know, you can take a shower and freshen up before you go," Simon called after him.
Bill just waved the offer away as he walked out Simon's front door.
"Well!" Simon huffed. "Chang, we'll let the boys freshen up and then we'll have breakfast."
The elderly man just nodded and shuffled in the direction of the kitchen.
The facilities, also tucked at the back of the garden level of the mansion townhouse, were not unlike what might be found at a small school. Entirely in fine marble, there were two water closets, two urinals, and a vanity with four sinks beneath a long gilt mirror. The tiled shower room had six individual showerheads. There was even a changing room with six cubbies like might be found in any professional football stadium around the city.
Danny and Seamus simply dressed themselves, while Adam, Yuri, Micah and Garreth headed into the showers. Micah and Garreth kept to themselves and ignored everyone else, while Adam and Yuri shared a showerhead and washed each other.
Very late night breakfast in the formal dining room with a bounty of food on the sideboard was a tradition at Simon's. The Viscount paid them and saw them off with full bellies for their work.
The men all exited the house through the back entrance like the employees they were.
"I forgot somethin," Danny lied. "I'll catch up with you fams," he turned back only a few feet from Simon's door.
"Yeah, see ya, Danny," Adam gave a wave. They all knew Danny intended to duck back in and spend the night in one of the small private rooms.
Danny needed to take the Jubilee Underground line to Canada Water to catch the Overground down to Central Croydon, and the Overground didn't operate this late.
Yuri lived down in West Croydon where there was an old established Russian community. He could take the Thameslink from Blackfriars down to Sutton, but that didn't run this late either. His only choice at this hour was the Jubilee line as well, but only two stops to Waterloo. There he switched to the Northern line and took that to its southern terminus at Morden.
Garreth took the Underground as well. He took the Piccadilly line to Earl's Court and switched there to the District line. Only one stop further took him home to West Brompton. It was an easy walk from there to his flat across and overlooking the picturesque Brompton Cemetery, from Stamford Bridge.
Seamus took the Victoria line in the opposite direction from Adam. He changed at Euston Station to the Northern line and took that only two stops further to Angel.
Micah had the easiest commute of all. Simon's in St. James was an easy walk to the twenty one bedroom home that was the barracks of the US Marine Corps Embassy Security Group Detachment on Grosvenor Square.
"Night, y'all," Micah gave a wave as he continued on foot.
"Night, Micah," Adam answered as they all waved back.
As the group walked into the Underground, they separated to head for their respective lines. Adam grabbed Yuri's hand and leaned in to give the cute Russian a gentle kiss on his lips. Yuri gave a smile back that made Adam's heart soar before he headed alone down to the Jubilee platform.
Adam followed Seamus toward the Victoria line and, as he rode the descending stairs to the platforms, he cursed himself for not inviting Yuri back to his home.
"You two would make a cute couple," Seamus offered as if he could read minds.
"You recon?" Adam very much thought so too.
"Anyone can see you fancy each other," Seamus added.
"Can they now," Adam folded his arms across his chest and nodded to himself. Was Yuri as into him as he was into Yuri? Were they both so transparent? And did anyone care if they were?
Midland Road between Euston Station and Saint Pancras was as congested as ever midafternoon that Tuesday. The British Rail Central Maintenance lorry that parked on the side of the road and set out orange cones didn't help. Five workers, all in hard hats and bright orange safety vests, piled out of the lorry. It took them a good twenty minutes to get their rolling power lift unloaded from the back. Four of them walked with full and heavy carryalls while the fifth drove the rolling lift into the station.
No one challenged or questioned the workers as they penetrated station security and went through to the tracks. Platforms 1 and 4 were dedicated to Eurostar trains. The maintenance crew went out to the platform between those tracks and once the wide stabilizers were deployed, three of them went up in the industrial lift to the impossibly high ceiling above. They took all of their bags up with them. The two who remained on the ground made sure the platform stayed clear. After working for close to an hour at various intervals along the platform, the workers above came back down. Four of them strolled casually behind the lift as the fifth drove it back outside to their waiting lorry. The empty carryalls laid in a heap in the corner of the lift.
The lift was loaded back up into the lorry and the man who had driven it in, and back out, walked with a pronounced limp back to the cab to take the wheel.
When the Ambassador from the United States of America to the Court of St. James wanted to really impress, he took a small contingent of his US Marines with him. Especially smart and distinctive in their dress uniforms, the Marines drew attention in their US Military jeeps. Between the jeeps, the Ambassador rode in the back of his black Cadillac XTS with US flags flying from the front fenders.
The three vehicles pulled up to the front entrance of the historic Great Northern Hotel attached to Kings Cross Railway Station. Marines in their striking dress blues swarmed out of the jeeps. Four headed into the hotel while the rest took up around the Ambassador's car.
"Sir," a Marine opened the rear door of the car for the Ambassador.
"Thank you, Marine," Richmond Kane stood up out of his car and buttoned his suit jacket. He was a tall man with close cropped steel gray hair and a trim beard to match. He wore his usual black suit with a warm slate gray turtleneck sweater in place of a dress shirt. Glasses with thick black round rims adorned his face.
Two Marines remained with the vehicles while the others moved with the Ambassador into the hotel. Speaking engagements like this were routine.
It was ten minutes after eight in the evening.
When the building directly across the street exploded.
"What was that?!" Richmond didn't know if anyone heard him over the sound of the explosions. He didn't even have time to turn around and look before his Marines pulled his head down and shoved him back in the direction of his car.
Chaos erupted instantly. People screamed and ran in every direction in their blind panic. The Marines rushed the Ambassador back into the rear of his car.
"Jones, take the wheel!" the Staff Sergeant in charge of the contingent ordered. He wasn't about to leave the piloting of the most important vehicle to a civilian under these unclear and dangerous circumstances.
"You got it, Sarge," Micah ran round to the driver's side of the car and whipped open the door. The driver scrambled to the other side as the Marine shoved in.
Within seconds the Cadillac and its two jeep escorts raced away.
Sir Harry Pearce was a distinguished gentleman in his late forties. He had thinning light brown hair and was his usual impeccable self in a bespoke two piece dark blue suit. He sat comfortably in the rear of his chauffeur driven Audi A8 as the car rolled down Horseferry Road.
His mobile rang and he pulled it out of his suit pocket. Few had this number and when a Section Chief called, he answered.
"Pearce," Harry spoke into his cell.
"Sir Harry, Roz," she identified herself. "A bomb has just been detonated in Saint Pancras."
"Turn around," Harry commanded as he hung up.
In keeping with the theme of simple, innocuous sounding names, the Counter Terrorism Unit of MI5 was called simply Section D. The nerve center was located in the super secure subterranean vaults beneath Thames House.
Roz Myers wore her naturally blonde hair in a bob. The Chief of Section D had an office that overlooked where her analysts worked at their state-of-the-art stations through a glass wall. Roz wore tight jeans with her customary high heeled black leather boots and a simple white blouse under her black leather blazer. She stood out on the floor among her people and that was where her boss found her.
Roz turned when she heard the door slide aside on one of the clear glass security scanner capsules that isolated the Grid from the rest of the underground bunker beneath the building.
"Roz?" Harry asked as he strode into the room.
"This way," Roz led her superior to the corner desk where the wizkid of Section D worked.
Tariq had long black hair that was ever in disarray. The nineteen year old man was sloppy in a button down shirt with half the tail out of his khakis. His corner station had seven computer screens arranged three above four and the young man of Pakistani descent was easily able to pay close attention to all of them.
"Tariq," Roz prompted as she walked up behind him.
Tariq looked over his shoulder and found his boss with the boss of all bosses. "Ah," he got it and queued up the footage again.
From this nerve center they had access to every CCTV camera in the country.
"This was the view from Pancras Square Library," Tariq informed as one of his upper screens displayed a clear view of the roof of the station. They watched as a series of detonations tore the steel and glass dome to shreds and sent it raining down on the platforms below.
"How many people were on those platforms?" Harry was visibly pale.
"The Eurostars from Paris and Brussels had just arrived," Roz informed.
"It's the only time of day when two trains arrive together," Tariq had checked the station schedules without anyone needing to ask.
"This was a carefully planned attack," Harry concluded.
"To maximize casualties," Roz followed his thought. "How many people on those platforms, Tariq?"
"I can call up footage from within the station," Tariq typed on his keyboard.
They watched together as the platforms were swarmed with people when the debris of the roof came crashing down. There was no question that hundreds of people had died instantly.
Sir Harry's mobile rang again and he pulled it from his pocket. "Home Secretary," he turned away as he greeted his boss, "by now you will have heard that a bomb has been detonated in Saint Pancras Station. It was a series of detonations designed to bring the roof down above the platforms. What we don't know yet is if this is an isolated incident, or part of a co-ordinated attack across the city. I recommend you convene COBRA immediately and I will join you at the Cabinet Office shortly. I will initiate Fortress the moment there is a second detonation, or any intelligence suggests a widespread attack in the capital. The government and the Royal Family should be prepared to enter their deep shelters. You will receive a call from me or one of my officers, if I am not already with you," Harry instructed and hung up. "How did this happen?" he demanded. "Have we no intelligence at all? Liaise with GCHQ. Was there any unusual chatter? How did this blindside us?"
"I've spoken with GCHQ," Roz stated. "They've picked up nothing to suggest this was coming. We have no intelligence at all."
"I am going to have to answer to the PM for this failure," Harry nodded to himself. "Make sure we have tabs on the Cabinet and the Shadow Cabinet in case we have to secure them underground on short notice. I'll be at the Cabinet Office. Do call me if you come up with something to stop me getting my arse kicked," he strode back toward the security tubes to make his exit.
The most of the Shadow Cabinet was safely sequestered out of the city, down in Surrey that chaotic evening.
The library of Malfoy Manor was vast and took up all of this end of the mansion apart from Narcissa's Fabergé room. The walls were lined in tall dark wood bookcases interrupted only by the windows and fireplaces. The first part of the library was arranged as a spacious sitting room with tapestry upholstered furniture. Through a set of Corinthian columns, the much larger section of the library served as Lucius Malfoy's study. A grand and ornately carved table served as his desk and was set at an angle near the main fireplace. The furniture in this section was grouped into two conservation areas and upholstered entirely in red velvet.
Tom Riddle stood amongst Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus Snape, Peter Pettigrew and Dolores Umbridge in the sprawling library. Peter was the first of Tom's inner circle to dash forward when the man they were all waiting for arrived.
"Is this him?! Harry Potter?" Peter got right in H's face as Lucius escorted the shorter and younger man into the library.
"Yes, Sir. And you are?" H leaned back from the shorter, round man who invaded his personal space. The extremely attractive younger man wore an expensive bespoke suit and his dark hair in bangs to cover the scar on his forehead.
"Step aside, Wormtail, so that I might greet our guest properly," Tom Riddle used the derogatory term for the Shadow Chancellor that only he dared use as he put a hand on Peter's shoulder.
The inquisitive look on Peter's face gave way to a frown as he stepped aside. Peter wore a dark and frumpy suit while his leader was perfectly put together in a black three piece suit.
"Harry Potter," Tom smiled as he took H's hand and just held it in both of his. "We meet again at last."
"Do I know you, Sir?" H furrowed his brow. He couldn't recall ever having met the tall, bald, Leader of the Opposition before this moment.
"We met just the once before, though you wouldn't at all remember it," Tom finally let go of H's hand. "You were only a few weeks old. I knew your parents, you see. James was a dear friend. A terrible loss, both your parents."
"I don't think you called me here tonight to talk about my parents, Sir," H didn't care to talk about two people he had never known.
"Indeed. Let's do then get right to the point," Tom nodded.
"Spot of sherry, Harry?" Lucius picked up a crystal decanter and poured without waiting for a response.
"Let's sit down," Tom gestured. "Sit here next to me, Harry."
"Call me H. Thank you, Sir," H accepted his crystal cordial from Lucius. "What was it you wanted to see me about?" he asked as he seated himself in the chair nearest Tom.
"Service to your country and the British people," Tom revealed.
"How would I do something like that?" H furrowed his brow. "Are you suggesting I should stand for election? I'm not doing that. If that's what you're looking for then I'm afraid we've all wasted our time."
Tom Riddle laughed. "No, no. Nothing like that, Harry."
"Nothing so common," Lucius took a sip of his own sherry.
"Leave the campaigning to us," Severus spoke in his slow manner.
"Did you know my dear friend, your father, sat in the House of Peers?" Tom asked.
"I did know that, Sir," H affirmed. "Sirius told me."
"Your Godfather," Tom nodded.
"Yes," H confirmed.
"He won't have told you how closely James and I worked together," Tom spun his lie. "I have missed your father for far more than just being a dear friend. I need, the party needs, nay, the whole of the British people need someone we can trust like that in the House of Peers."
"Are you suggesting that should be me?!" H was completely taken aback.
"I need a Lord Berkeley in the House again," Tom smiled. "I need someone I can trust."
"You must have Peers who are loyal," H reasoned.
"They're not you," Peter spoke up.
"I need someone who can be more than just loyal," Tom stated.
"Someone to govern that House," Lucius added.
"Someone to speak for us," Dolores gave her sickly sweet smile.
"You can't mean that you want me to be your Leader in Lords?!" H was shocked by such a suggestion. "You must have dozens of better qualified people than me! People who are actually in the House. I don't know anything about politics or government."
"And that's exactly why I need you," Tom smiled.
H wondered why Tom Riddle's smile made him so terribly uncomfortable. There was something decidedly predatory about the man.
"You're an outsider," Severus added.
"I will teach you all you need to know," Tom assured.
"You must have someone now...," H gestured.
"The Baroness is," Dolores paused, "aged and unwell."
"Baroness Minerva of Pontefract is in declining health, but will be available to advise and assist as you transition," Tom stated.
"I haven't agreed," H pointed out.
"Your country needs you, Harry," Lucius appealed.
"The party needs you," Severus added.
"I need you," Tom finished.
To H, it sounded like a fate worse than death. He wanted nothing to do with government and even less with politics. Working in the House of Peers would be pure torture. It would be even worse than moving to Berkeley. Of course, if he were the party spokesperson in Lords, his wife couldn't make him move to Berkeley, as was her plan for them. Certainly not full time. Ginny had made it very clear that H was to quit his job as a forensic accountant. She made him give his notice only yesterday. His family didn't need him to work. The only reason H did it, apart from actually liking his job, was to get himself out of the house. He had already confirmed Seamus Finnigan for an intimate interlude on Thursday afternoon at his secret house. Without his job to account for his time, H would never get out of the house for the occasional and much needed male intimacy his very soul craved, ever again. And the move to Berkeley made that outlook even more bleak.
But, if he were summoned to the House of Peers, especially as party spokesman, Ginny could hardly refuse. She was already a Countess by virtue of their marriage. It would thrill her no end to be able to refer to her husband as, not just the Earl, but the Lord Berkeley MP. H was certain that she would eat that up, given the chance. And far more importantly, once the family moved to Berkeley, he would have to remain in London. By himself. Rick, the man he truly loved and had forsaken, repeatedly, was lost to him now, and Seamus was nothing more than a plaything. But he could have all the time to play that he wanted. If he just took what Tom Riddle was offering him.
"I accept," H stated with a firm nod.
"Harry, my dear boy," Tom was up out of his seat and everyone rose. "Welcome aboard," he took H's hand and just held it again.
"Call me H," H tried again.
"Delighted to have you with us, Harry," Lucius put a hand on H's shoulder.
"We'll do great things!" Peter enthused.
"The next step is to wait for the summons, of course," Tom explained. "But it will come, I assure you. Until then, Harry, my dear fellow," he took H's hand yet again.
"Until then," H agreed as the Leader of the Opposition held his hand. "And please call me H."
"Harry," Lucius ignored this request yet again as he put his arm around the shorter man's shoulders to steer him away from Tom and toward the doors. "Thank you so much for coming out this evening. Our best to your family," he opened the right library door. "Dobby will show you out."
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Good night," H gave a small wave.
"This way, Sir," Dobby, who stood by obediently, gestured toward the front doors.
"And Dobby, let my son know that I shan't be able to see him tonight after all, and have Cleeve drive them home," Lucius directed.
"Very good, Sir," Dobby spoke to the closing library door.
Within, Dolores stepped closer to the windows. "What is the fascination with that man? There's nothing special about him."
"James Potter did everything in his power to work against me," Tom explained. "He blocked me at every turn. He delayed my rise to power by decades."
"Who could have predicted the boy would survive?" Peter wondered absently, hands in his pockets.
"Who indeed?" Tom smiled. "I find it only that much sweeter that now James' own son will advance my cause in the very House James himself held so dear."