The House of Grey- Volume 4 Read Online Free Page B

his buddy Jim?”
    More voices from the main pathway answered the question. “HQ, we have men down. I repeat. We have men down. Send all extra units! Location: the student dormitory.”
    “I think it’s about time we make our exit, fellas,” Artorius said in a conversational tone that hardly hid his apprehension. “We don’t want to be here when the CIA and the rest of Baroty’s men get here.”
    “CIA?” Monson asked, unsure that he had heard right. 
    “The Coren Intervention Agency.”
    Monson started to giggle. “Now that’s a terrible rip - off. The Central Intelligence Agency should sue for trademark infringement.”
    Additional voices and footsteps indicated the arrival of more of Baroty’s men along with some of Coren’s special CIA security force.
    “We should split up.” Casey popped his head just above the hedge. “Grey, are you still going to see Baroty?”
    Monson nodded. “Yeah, but hold on, back up a second. Why are we splitting— ”
    “Shhh you two!” Artorius pulled both Monson and Casey to the ground. “You guys have to work on your indoor voices.”
    Casey whispered derisively. “Arthur, we’re outside. Using an indoor voice outdoors is a fundamental mistake of voice usage. And here I thought you were cultured.”
    Monson could actually feel Artorius rolling his eyes. “Anyway, Casey you go that way. I’ll take Grey to meet Baroty.”
    “Got it. I’ll meet you two back at Grey’s place. Be careful.”
    Under the cover of night, Cassius Kay disappeared, making no sound as he slipped into the shadows.
    Artorius and Monson crouched and moved slowly away from their hiding place along the border of the brushwall. Monson followed Artorius in silence until the echoes of gathering foot soldiers faded.
    Monson tapped Artorius on his lower back. “Arthur.”
    “Yeah, Grey.”
    “Why did we need to split up?”
    “Think about it, Grey. It’s Casey we’re talking about here.”
    “Drama King. I know I know.”
    “You good then?”
    “Yeah, I’m good.” 
    Artorius turned and gave Monson a little pat on the shoulder. “Come on, Grey. You have a date with CEO of the Baroty Conglomerate.”
     
    ***
     
    “You’re late, Mr. Grey.”
    Christopher Baroty sat in a refined manner sipping on wine and sampling an assortment of cheese and crackers. Monson walked slowly up the steps of the main gazebo in The GM’s inner courtyard.  Baroty’s goons patrolled the space, pacing in an assertive way. They looked like machines moving in countless repetitions from one checkpoint to another. The MIB had run through their routine once, twice, then three times when Monson started to see and memorize a pattern. He tried to ignore them and focus on Baroty.
    Baroty continued to sip his wine, his masked face portraying nothing of his feelings or intentions. Aaron Gibson was a great deal easier to read. He remained completely rigid just behind Baroty, watching the approaching Monson. At the sight of the assistant, Monson felt an intense desire to throw him a vulgar gesture. The feeling caught him by surprise.
    “It’s good to see you, Mr. Grey. Why were you late?” Baroty offered him a seat pointing to it with his wine-free hand.
    Monson pulled out the chair and sat. “It’s past curfew, Mr. Baroty. I had to sneak out to meet you. If you were concerned with timeliness, you should have set the meeting during regular school hours. Then again, you already knew that, didn’t you?”
    Baroty let out one of his infectious laughs.  “You are certainly correct Mr . ... Monson—do you mind if I call you Monson?”
    “Not at all,” replied Monson, helping himself to the tray of cheese and crackers. “But back to my question, Mr. Baro—”
    “Please call me Chris. All the Mr. Baroty this, Mr. Baroty that, is very tiresome.”
    Monson popped the cracker and cheese into his mouth and gagged almost immediately, spitting out the food. “Ho—ho—holy freakin’ crap! What was that?”
    “ Vieux