Series Novel

The Boli Society

Book One

A Shot in Providence

July 15, 10:30 AM EST

Providence, RHODE ISLAND

Judith Baker glanced nervously through her pink ruffled curtains. Greg was supposed to have been back twenty minutes ago. She had only sent him down to Logan's Cornerstore to get some milk because James had cried this morning when he discovered that he couldn't eat his Cocoa Puffs and had to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead. Judith sighed. It was tough having to bring up a three year old and a sixteen year old on minimum wage. Heck, they weren't even her own kids.She had adopted them after her best friend had died in a freak accident.

Judith worked at a fertilizer processing plant three miles away from her house on Seagate Drive. Next year Greg would apply for college and James would start going to the only school for miles- one with a hefty fee. It was all too much for Judith to handle. So she came up with a plan. She was risking everything in this plan, but it was the only way.

Right on cue, the garage door opened. James was already upstairs, his eyes glazed with the tears from his last tantrum. Greg was next. Judith grabbed the gun of the side table and threw open the kitchen door.

There was Greg, one arm weighed down by the bag of milk. Judith raised the gun. There was no expression on his face.

"This is it?" he asked.

Judith didn't answer, but her hand trembled ever so slightly on the trigger.

"Where's James?"

"Upstairs. I took care of him already," Judith replied with a malicious smile.All traces of hesitation had disappeared. She raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

As Judith Baker left Seagate Drive, Greg Alto raised himself up from the blood - stained kitchen floor. A bullet had skewered itself into his abdomen, but it didn't hurt him as much as the loss of his brother did. Suddenly the tears disappeared and his face twisted into a visage of despair and boiling rage. He let out a blood curdling scream.

Judith Baker would pay.

DOCUMENT NO. ONE

THE BOLI SOCIETY

THE Boli Society was created by Muhammad Vaadin [MV] Boli in 2003. After being apprehended in LAX Int’l Airport in 2002 under suspicions that he was an alleged terrorist, he decided to abolish all forms of terrorism, domestic or international, “I didn’t want any other falsely accused people to go through the same experiences that [he] had. There is confirmed evidence that the CIA used methods such as waterboarding when he claimed to be innocent.

Boli began the group with adults, but realized they were all affiliated with other security agencies like the CIA, FBI, NSA, etc. Boli “Realized that children were the most unbiased agents I could get,” Boli recruited ten children from several parts of the world, ages 10 - 16.

THE BOLI SOCIETY [AS OF TODAY]

TWOFOLD, ALBERT: SAN FRANCISCO, CA, UNITED STATES: AGE 10

CHRISTOPHER-HERNANDEZ, SKYLAR: MEXICO CITY, MEXICO: AGE 11

FRANCOIS, JACQUES: COGNAC, FRANCE: AGE 13

LAHN, KIM: DALAT, VIETNAM: AGE 13

WANG,ROCHESTER [ROCKY]: WU’AN, HANDAN, CHINA: AGE 14

EBERLE,JULIAN LEON:BERN, SWITZERLAND: AGE 15

TANNETSKY, NATASHA: LENSK, RUSSIA: AGE 15

QING,CLARE:SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, UNITED STATES: AGE 16

SALAHOV,ABI: FUZULI, AZERBAIJAN: AGE 16

KHAN, SAHAR: FREMONT, CALIFORNIA, UNITED STATES: AGE 16

July 16,9:00 AM

Tokyo, JAPAN

Ten children sat around the conference table in one of the plethora of high rise office buildings located in Tokyo. A medium size white screen was on the front wall. The window gave a magnificent view of the Tokyo Tower, but the location was not chosen because of the beauty. It was chosen for the security. The building’s owner had run into a scuffle with the Yakuza many years ago, and lived in constant fear of being killed. Each and every one of the building’s occupants were thoroughly checked, as well as anybody who booked any of the conference rooms. This is why MV had chosen this location.

With a small beep noise, the screen turned on. A man’s face appeared on it. He was middle aged, about thirty or so, and clean shaven. He wore tinted sunglasses and an earpiece. The children, who had done as all children do while waiting (slouching and yawning) suddenly sat up with a start.The man on the screen nodded.

“Good morning, children,” he said. “Or as they would say in Japan, Ohayo,”

No one said anything. The man continued.

“We have received intelligence about terrorist activity in the United States. Not in a major city like New York or even Seattle, but in a little city called Providence, Rhode Island. If you are not from the States,then you may not be familiar with it.”

Silence.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

A girl stood up. She was tall and slender. Her face held a worried expression. “Sir, Sahar...” she began, then paused. “Sahar’s missing,” she declared.

The man didn’t even look remotely surprised. “I am well aware of that fact, Clare, but that’s not the reason everyone is like this... is it?”

And indeed it was.

Sahar Khan was one of the oldest agents at the Society, along with Clare. To all the younger kids, he was the height of ‘cool’. He never left a single mission incomplete. When he was assigned a job, he did it with single minded dedication and returned home to various awards and citations.He was the youngest person to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom. (But the public didn’t know that.) Next year, he would retire from the Society and go back to Fremont for his Senior year of High School, then college.

But now he was missing.

Clare gave MV the dirtiest look she could possibly muster and sat down next to Natasha. She gave Clare a sympathetic look. Though she would never replace Sahar, Natasha was the only girl closest to her age that she could talk to about ‘girl’ things; things she could never tell Sahar.Like recently, she was noticing that she may have feelings for him.Natasha was the only person who knew.She swore she would never tell a single soul.

Apart from that, they shared a lot of interests. In whatever free time MV gave them, they explored the ‘world around them’. At least that’s what it was called. It encompassed just about everything. Every single little detail they noticed that was out of the ordinary, they investigated. This is how they came to look into MV’s past. First they noticed he seemed happier than usual, then realized they knew nothing about him, not even what MV stood for! They began secretly digging up confidential documents and hacking into secure websites, trying to find something, anything, about Muhammad Vaadin Boli.

Oh yeah, they knew that already.

DECEMBER 15, 1987

KABUL,AFGHANISTAN

Amina watched the two men talk from the kitchen window. Her dark green hijab let her camouflage with the plants outside. One of the men was white, and the other, her own husband, Musharraf. The white man only knew Russian,which was okay because Musharraf was well versed in it.

“The war is coming to an end,” said the Russian.

“After after seven years of fighting?” exclaimed Musharraf.“You have scarred Afghanistan. There are troubled times ahead for this country, I can sense it,”

The Russian snorted. “Well, it takes no prophet for that revelation,”

This made Musharraf angry. “You do not speak ill of the prophet, Mr.Vladimir. Besides, it is all the Soviet's fault. There are more KGB checkpoints than starving children on these streets.” he said.

Now it was Mr. Vladimir’s turn to get angry.Except he didn’t retort.Instead, he pulled out a gun and shot Musharraf three times in the chest.

Amira screamed. She ran into the back room and grabbed her three year old son. Then she raced out the door. She must be quiet.

It didn’t work. She was spotted by Mr. Vladimir and was shot once, twice, three times, then a fourth.

Amira stumbled into the grass and tossed her son into the garden shrubbery. The little boy didn’t understand and came back out to his mother.

“Please go,” she said. “Please go, Muhammad,”

The boy looked at her,then crawled back into the shrubbery.