The Power Broker Read Online Free

the Order for the last seven years, sat at the head of the table, his trademark black Stetson lying in front of him. Chairman of U.S. Oil, the largest industrial company in the world, Hewitt was a tough Texan from a long line of wildcatters. He was a man who always played to win. Whether it was the world energy markets or a game of poker with acquaintances at his sprawling ranch outside Dallas, he was as competitive as they came. He called most people acquaintances because he didn’t feel he had friends, not as other men defined the term. Which was fine with him. He’d always been a loner, and he’d always liked working that way because then it was easier to lead—there weren’t any emotions holding you back. He wasn’t even that close to his wife and children. In fact, the only person in the world who really mattered to Hewitt was his fourteen-year-old grandson, Samuel Prescott Hewitt III—Three Sticks, as Hewitt affectionately called the boy. If Hewitt’s confession tapes ever got out, it would destroy the boy—and him.
    “The Order will now come into session,” announced Hewitt in a voice that silenced the room, a sharp edge wrapped in a Texas drawl. A natural tone that silenced an auditorium full of ten thousand shareholders as effortlessly as it did a small group of important men. “Proceed.”
    The men bowed their heads and in unison recited a brief prayer in Latin, then picked up their glasses of port.
    Hewitt stared each man straight in the eyes, thinking of how similar they all were, how they even looked alike. White, male, tall, silver haired, strong chinned, handsome. Like most of the United States Senate, he thought to himself—at least, as long as the Order maintained its influence. He leaned forward and thrust his glass higher into the air. “To Hugues de Payens,” he said fiercely.
    “Hugues de Payens,” the other seven echoed solemnly, then drank.
    When Hewitt finished his glass, he pointed at Mace Kohler, then at Franklin Laird. Kohler was CEO of Networks Systems International, a large telecom company, and Laird was an ex-chairman of the Federal Reserve. “Please, Mr. Kohler.” The men addressed each other formally once meetings began. “If you would.”
    Kohler rose and moved deliberately to a sideboard centered beneath the large, antlered elk head. He picked up a glass and a bottle of Chivas Regal from atop the sideboard, returned to the table, placed the glass and the Scotch down in front of Laird, then retook his seat. Since Laird had missed the last meeting he was in the hot seat tonight, the one who had to confess. Generally, when a member missed a meeting he was the confessor at the next meeting. It was a tradition that kept attendance very high.
    After staring at the honey-hued liquid for a few moments, Laird set his thin lips, poured, and swallowed, gasping as he threw back the first gulp.
    The other men remained silent while Laird continued to drink straight Scotch. The confessor wasn’t allowed ice.
    When he was satisfied that Laird had swallowed enough, Hewitt nodded. “That’s enough, Franklin.”
    “Thank you,” Laird answered hoarsely, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin as he put the glass down.
    “It’s your turn tonight, Mr. Laird. You know how it works.”
    “Yes.”
    Hewitt gestured toward Richard Dahl, an active five-star Army general who was with the Joint Chiefs. “Please, General Dahl.”
    Dahl reached for a tape recorder on the table in front of him and switched it on. “This is Mr. Laird’s confession,” he began, “as documented during meeting forty-seven of the twenty-ninth Order.”
    “Twenty-ninth” referred to this being the twenty-ninth distinct group of nine men to comprise the Order. One of the members had died four years ago, ending the twenty-eighth Order. That individual had been replaced by Kohler, marking the beginning of the twenty-ninth.
    “Proceed, Mr. Laird,” said Hewitt.
    Laird hesitated, allowing the alcohol a few more moments