by Jillian Dodd
“I can’t think of any. What about you?”
“Nothing important.”
The massive front doors open, and Lorenzo strides out alone.
“No guards?”
“Are you going to try to kill me?” he asks, taking my hand and kissing it.
“Depends how nice you are to me,” I reply with a laugh.
We follow a stone path through a beautiful English garden, which includes a lake and sweeps of gently rolling lawn. Beyond the landscaping are groves of trees, giving the illusion that we are in the countryside as opposed to the middle of a major metropolitan city. We traverse over a stone bridge and through a heavily treed area, then a building comes into view.
“Before Ares became a recluse, numerous employees worked in this facility.” He points to an empty guard shack. “They entered from the street, there.”
When we get to the front of the building, something clicks in my memory.
“I think I’ve been here before,” I mutter.
“When?” Lorenzo simply asks.
“It’s pretty nondescript,” Ari counters. “It probably just reminds you of somewhere.”
“Yeah, probably,” I agree, even though there’s something nibbling on the corner of my thoughts. “I can’t remember certain pieces of my past.”
“Psychological trauma can cause gaps in memory,” Lorenzo says. “With what you went through, that wouldn’t be unusual.”
“I don’t know if I have gaps in my memory from that or if it’s because I purposely haven’t tried to remember.”
“You try not to remember your parents?” Lorenzo asks.
“I remember seeing them die. That’s enough.”
“But you need to replace those memories with good ones.”
“The good memories are too painful. I was counseled not to do that.”
“You were told not to think about your parents?” Ari asks.
“We all were. It was part of our training. Focusing on being self-sufficient,” I state.
Lorenzo and Ari both study me. It makes me uncomfortable, so I let go of Lorenzo’s hand and make my way to the front door, hoping they will follow. I don’t need to stand here and discuss my psychological well-being.
I’m a covert agent and an assassin. There’s obviously something about me that will never be normal.
Thankfully, they don’t press the subject.
Ari punches some numbers into a keypad, and the front door opens.
“This facility seems very secure. Keypads, cameras,” Lorenzo states.
“Ares specialized in military research and holds numerous patents on those products, which were then produced by his company and sold to governments around the world.”
“Like what kinds of things?”
Ari waves his hand around the entry, which is full of framed photos of mechanical design drawings next to their finished product.
“Intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance drones were his greatest achievement, which are now weaponized with the ability to carry multiple payloads, pull high G-forces, and hit high risk targets without jeopardizing pilots.”
“He was a war monger,” I mutter.
“He didn’t design weapons,” Ari counters, “and his drones have saved thousands of lives. His company also supplied the government with an information and communication lifeline. Secure communications, radar jamming, and disablement were just some of the things he worked on. Then there are the training and simulation games. Remote control bomb disposal robots. He also dabbled in espionage.” He walks down a hall and points to another section of wall. “Although they look big in the drawings, what you see here are tiny bugs and tracking devices.”
I think about how Terrance said our villa was wired. It’d be sort of fitting if they used my fake father’s stuff to do so.
We stroll through what was a once bustling facility, my mind clearly picturing it—the labs full of men in white coats huddled around stainless steel tables, classical music playing, and a dog. What was the dog’s name? I’m sitting on the floor, her chin across my lap, petting her long soft fur and telling her my name is Calliope and that people call me Callie sometimes, just like they do her.
“Caliper,” I mutter.
“Yes, a carbon ceramic disc for automotive applications was one of his earliest patents,” Ari replies.
“It was? Are you sure?” My eyes get huge.
I cover my face, not noticing the tears sliding down my cheeks, as I picture my parents standing in the hall. My dad dressed in a navy suit, joking about the dog shedding all over it but petting her anyway. My mom is wearing what I called her mom uniform, a striped blazer, collared shirt, and jeans. Her hair is up and recently dyed a dark chestnut color. The dog licks her face, and she laughs—
“Huntley, what’s wrong?” Lorenzo grabs my arms. “Why are you crying?”
I shake my head, pushing the memory away.
“I’ve been here before. With my parents. There was a dog named Caliper. A beautiful Golden Retriever who everyone in the office said was an attention whore. She laid her head in my lap and let me pet her.”
“When was this?” he asks, gently taking my hand.
I shake my head. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s surprising,” Ari says. “Do you remember anything else? Did you meet Ares Von Allister when you were here?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
Ari leads me into an office whose walls are covered with more photos. “This is Ares. Does he look familiar?”
“Familiar, yes. There was a photo of him in my dossier, but I don’t feel like I’ve ever met him personally. He certainly knew a lot of important people, though,” I state as I go down the line. “Presidents, heads of state, entertainers, athletes. Look, Enzo, here’s a photo of him with your dad. I remember he said they knew each other.”
Lorenzo tightens his grip on my hand. Seeing his father looking so young and healthy understandably affecting him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Alright, enough of memory lane,” Ari says after searching numerous drawers only to find them empty. “I thought there would be more here.”
“I’m sure once he sold the company, everything was cleaned out,” Lorenzo says.
“You’re probably right. I have one more place I want to see. There’s a detached garage on the property that I’m told still houses his car collection. We may need something to drive while we are here.”
Lorenzo’s face lights up, and so does mine, but for different reasons. He wants to see the cars. I want to get out of this building.
There’s something I don’t like about it. Maybe it’s just that it’s sad. That the lifetime achievements of a brilliant man are reduced to this upon his death. All the money, fame, and power he had didn’t matter. He ended up dying alone.
I think that’s my biggest fear. A bullet. A knife. A bomb. Poof, I’m gone. And no one cares.
Which is exactly what I’m supposed to want. What I was trained to want. If there is no one at home who cares, I’m willing to take risks others wouldn’t.
Ari locks up then we follow the path back toward the house. Behind the home and off to the north is a beautiful redwood and steel garage.
Ari enters another code and the doors open, revealing what looks more like a car museum. Highly polished wood floors with not a speck of dust or tread mark. Steel beams supporting an open vault ceiling.
Rows of exotic cars, all parked at an angle, greet us.
“Holy moly. My second favorite F-word!” Ari exclaims, looking like a kid in a candy store.
Lorenzo shares his excitement. “I can’t believe all these Ferraris are just sitting here.”
I stand in the center of the room. There are two rows of cars on each side of me, eleven cars in each row for a total of forty-four, and from what I can tell, every single one of them a Ferrari.
“Did he not like any other brand?” I wonder.
“A collection l
ike this would be of more value because it’s limited to one manufacturer,” Lorenzo states.
At the side of each car is a placard noting the year and model of the car, how many of each were made, and the year Ares purchased it. The cars appear to be in order by year of purchase rather than make, the first one noted as Ares’ daily driver. It’s a black 1990 Testarossa. Next to it sits his second purchase, a 1993 Ferrari F40 Berlinetta with distinctive ‘triple black’ paintwork. And so on.
“Look at this one!” Lorenzo yells out. “It’s a 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO. I think this car alone is worth close to forty million.”
I follow the line down to Ares’ last purchase—a gorgeous 2016 red F60 America. I pop the door open, slide in, and start it. The engine springs to life with the kind of smooth, throaty sound that brings big boys to their knees. Ari and Lorenzo rush over.
“It only has twenty miles on it. I bet he never got to drive it.”
“We should fix that,” Ari says. “What do you say, Lorenzo? Shall we take her for a spin?”
“You two have fun.” I glance at my watch. “I have to get dressed for dinner. Leave it in the driveway for me. I’ll take it to the Vice President’s home.”
“Are you ditching us?” Ari asks, although with the smile plastered on his face, I highly doubt he cares.
“Yes, Daniel invited me. It’s not too often you get a chance to meet the Vice President.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes, which causes me to laugh. “Okay, maybe not for you. Anyway, I’ll meet you back here for a night cap.”
Lorenzo steps away from the car and takes me into his arms. “You’re coming home without Daniel?”
“Yes.”
A smile lights up his face. “That makes me very happy.”
“She remembered the dog’s name,” the Ghost says, replaying the recent video footage from Ares Von Allister’s former lab. “Do you think she will remember the rest? Could her memory be returning?”
“We can only hope,” the leader of Black X replies. “She could very well be the key to unlocking their ultimate plan. The psychiatrist said she had a form of dissociative amnesia that caused her to block out the time period around the traumatic event. Her case was unusual because this amnesia typically leaves the patient unable to remember any personal information. She did not have such losses and retained those memories. The man believed she was simply stubborn.”
“And you wouldn’t allow him to medicate her.”
“It would have done nothing but impede her training.”
“If we could discover where they were before her mother’s death, it could greatly help our cause.”
The man nods. “That it would, but she must remember on her own.”
When I arrive back at the house, I find not only my luggage from Montrovia unpacked and all my clothing hung, but I find new items in the closet, as well. Gotta love the Kates.
I had no idea what to wear tonight, but on each new item is a tag stating what kind of event it would be appropriate for and what to pair with it. There is everything from new bikinis to new ball gowns.
I work my way through the rack, finding a simple navy cotton shirtdress with a cute fit-and-flare profile. The tag suggests it would be perfect for a casual lunch or dinner and to pair it with the navy ‘Kiki’ fringe Jimmy Choo sandal and a red, white, and blue embroidered Gucci shoulder bag. Once I locate the proper shoes, I put everything on, spin around, and look in the mirror. Gone is the girl from Blackwood Academy who always had her hair in a bun to keep it from getting in the way of her training and who dressed in an all black uniform for years. And although I will admit that the upkeep of looking this way takes a lot of time, I kind of like this girl. She looks like she’s having fun.
And I am. I’m in my element.
Successfully completing my first mission will hopefully lead to more excitement, danger, and intrigue.
And pretending to be Huntley Von Allister is turning out to be a much better gig than sleeping in sketchy safe houses and traveling by public transportation.
It’s like the best of both worlds. The tricky part will be completing my missions without blowing my cover.
At seven, I step out the front door to find the Ferrari I asked for in the drive. Lorenzo and Ari are nowhere to be seen, but I can hear the sound of a throaty motor in the distance. Knowing them, they are probably going to take all the cars out for a spin.
Located on the northeast grounds of the U.S. Naval Observatory, the Vice President’s home is a beautiful, nineteenth-century Queen Anne-style house. Upon arrival, I’m greeted by Daniel and his mother, Dr. Amanda Spear, in a large traditional entry with yellow and white striped wallpaper, thick crown molding, wood floors, and oriental carpets. The house has a nautical, casual air.
Daniel’s mother is indeed dressed in scrubs, having just arrived home from the hospital. Daniel introduces us, then she excuses herself to go change.
“My father should be arriving shortly,” Daniel says, looking tired. “I’ve been in meetings regarding my safety since I left your house. If the Secret Service had its way, I would not be participating in the Olympics this year, but that’s not going to happen. Would you like to see my new training facility?”
“Sure.”
He grabs a couple water bottles out of the kitchen fridge and tosses one in my direction. Then he leads me out the back door, under an arched pergola, and to the pool. “It’s not as long as it should be, but it is what it is for now.”
“You seem upset.”
“I’m only a few weeks away from the Olympic tryouts and this is where I have to swim. It’s not an Olympic-sized pool.”
“Neither was the one on the Royal Yacht, but you managed.”
“That was different,” he says, flashing me a dimple and slipping his arms around my waist. “I was there with you. By the way, you look cute tonight.”
“That’s good. I was going for cute.”
He laughs. “Usually, you look drop-dead sexy, but this dress has a school girl quality to it. For one, it’s navy, which is the color of the uniforms from the parochial schools of my youth. For two, I think you’re trying to impress my parents because you like me.”
“I’ve been sleeping with you, Daniel. Of course I like you.”
“I think it’s more than that.”
“Maybe I’m trying to look sweet, like the kind of girl who isn’t sleeping with their son. Although, they have to know how you get around.”
“Not everything you read in the tabloids is true.” I raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Fine, in my case, most of it is true. I’m a world-class athlete and I get a lot of women. It’s one of the perks I enjoy. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“You’re young and single. Of course there’s nothing wrong with that. I know I’m certainly not ready to settle down.”
“The Montrovian press seems to think otherwise.”
“Yeah, well, they haven’t photographed me with Lorenzo since the Ball, so I’m sure that will die down.”
“And I posted a photo of us together on my social media,” he says with a smirk.
“Daniel, my feelings are not a game to be won. And if you’re doing that just to get back at the King, you’re an even shittier friend than I thought.”
He hangs his head. “I didn’t do it for that reason. I just wanted . . .”
“Wanted what?”
“You to like me more. You turned me down in the bathroom, and what you said stung.”
“Maybe I should just go.”
“I don’t bring many girls home, Huntley. I didn’t ask you here to get you away from Lorenzo, I did it because I want them to meet you.”
“I don’t want to be in a relationship, Daniel. I just found out I have a brother. I can do all the things I used to dream about as a kid. I need to do those things, just like you need to go to the Olympics. Focus on your training. Your future. You get one shot at it. I don’t want to be a distraction. But I’d love to be in the stands cheering you on when you win.”
/>
“You’ll come to the Olympics?” he asks, his eyes brightening to their brilliant blue color.
“Absolutely.”
The sound of a helicopter interrupts his leaning in to kiss me. “Sounds like Dad’s home from work.”
“Where does Marine Two land? Can we watch?”
He raises his eyebrows at me like I’m crazy.
“Although it may be an everyday occurrence to you, to most of us, it’d be a pretty cool thing to see.”
He gives me a quick kiss, then grabs my hand.
“We’ll have to hurry.” We run up the back stairs and down a long hallway to a bedroom, where we rush to the window and pull open the curtains. “They will land on the lawn right across from here.”
I watch in awe as the helicopter lands, and the Vice President gets out and walks, flanked by Secret Service, to his home.
“Come on, let’s go downstairs.”
“Nice car,” are the first words spoken to me by the Acting President of the United States.
“Thanks, it was one of my father’s,” I reply, shaking his hand. “I’m Huntley Von Allister.”
“That was his first big break, you know,” Daniel’s father, Vice President Ryan Spear, says.
“What was?”
“Ares Von Allister is best known for his military inventions, but his first big financial deal was selling a high performance braking mechanism to Ferrari.” He points at the wheel. “Take a closer look at the red caliper there.”
I kneel down to inspect it, noticing for the first time the Von Allister company logo, a V and A layered over each other in a circular monogram that was prevalent at his facility. “That’s pretty cool.”
“I heard he had quite the Ferrari collection.”
I nod. “I just saw it for the first time today. It is impressive.”
We make our way into the house as Daniel’s mother is coming down the staircase dressed in a soft teal wrap dress and sensible heels.
“You’re late,” she says to her husband and gives him a playful kiss. In one simple exchange, it’s obvious how deeply they care for each other. “Grab a drink and join us in the dining room.”
