The Valiant

by Jillian Dodd

  "If your mother was as beautiful as you, maybe the man was just enamored with her."

  "Or maybe he was worried about what she might discover."

  He nods his head. "Ari told me privately about the time line you have been piecing together, and it's been bothering me all night. When you left mad, it hit me. Don't you think, when your mother uncovered the truth, her demeanor would have changed? I mean, can you imagine the weight of knowing about such a plan? Of wondering who you could trust to confide in? Or how you could stop it from happening? I think about that often these days. What decisions will I have to make regarding the safety of my people and the longevity of my country when we figure it all out?"

  "That's a good point. I'll think about it. But, either way, she was smart enough to not keep the evidence with her. She buried the Arcadian dollar, split the photos between two vaults, and put the rest in my locket before returning home."

  "Exactly. Now, what can I do to help?"

  "Let's not talk about it anymore tonight," I suggest.

  "Oh, that, my darling, is an easy task." He takes my hand, leading me through the suite, and opens the bathroom door, allowing me a view of the large bathtub, a vase filled with blue bath bombs, and a chilled bucket of champagne.

  "It's perfect, Lorenzo," I say dreamily. "You know, I'll be fine in the bath by myself if you want to go back and join the boys. I'm sure they will be up drinking until all hours of the night."

  "I would much rather be here with you," he says, giving me a steamy kiss. "You taste of red sauce and wine."

  "I had dinner."

  "Although you hid your anger well, I could tell you weren't happy about leaving."

  "It's just hard to believe, in this day and age, that something so sexist still exists."

  "Why don't you slip into the bath while I pour us champagne?"

  I let out a sigh and look longingly at the tub. "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  I plop down on the bed, take the note out of my jacket pocket, and tell him the truth about my evening.

  When I finish, he says, "That is incredible."

  "I know."

  He joins me on the bed and rakes his hand through his hair. "And how are you feeling?"

  "Excited because there's more. The reason I asked if all Society meetings are in Rome is because I think my mother might have spied on a meeting. I think this is a list of names of men who attended. Who possibly met in private after at the top of a cathedral."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Because she told the waiter that 'society rules.' It's obviously both a clue and the keyword to decode the cipher."

  "You know how to do that, too?"

  "Of course. Since I was young when she created it, I'm guessing it's a very simple code." I grab a notepad and pen from the bedside table and start writing.

  "Why did you get rid of the last two letters in rules?"

  "Because they are duplicates," I say, quickly deciphering her note. What I end up with is:

  ARCADIA

  LORENZO THE MAGNIFICENT

  GIULIANO MEDICI

  THE SOCIETY

  TROJAN HORSE

  HARRISON MCCLELLAN

  JOHN F HILLFORD SR

  I bite my lip, trying not to look as disappointed as I feel.

  "Doesn't seem to be much help," Lorenzo says, echoing my thoughts.

  "Well, we already know the word Arcadia keeps popping up. I saw Lorenzo the Magnificent's bedroom and tomb today, both of which bear an unusual symbol. You can either believe he started a powerful secret society that still runs to this day, or you can believe the scholars, who say it was simply his personal signet. Giuliano Medici was Lorenzo's brother. I have no idea what he or the Trojan Horse have to do with anything. We both know that the former president ordered the hit on my mother, so I guess it would make sense if he were involved, but since he's dead now--"

  "We might never know," Lorenzo states, finishing my sentence. "And then you have Harrison McClellan, billionaire and founder of the largest biotech seed company in the world."

  "As in genetically modified seed?" I ask, thinking about the GMO conspiracy theories. "How do you know him?"

  "I met him at a state dinner when I was much younger, maybe five years ago. He was in attendance to speak about the concept of storing seeds. They had set up a trust, which was funded through large charitable donations, and were building the Seed Vault in Norway, up near the Arctic Circle, and he was asking for deposits."

  "And you gave him seeds?"

  Lorenzo shakes his head. "Not exactly. The Seed Vault is similar to a bank vault. It's like taking something of value and putting it in a safety deposit box until you choose to retrieve it. The seeds are our property, only there to be kept safe."

  "And why do seeds need to be kept safe?" I ask.

  "Lots of reasons, I suppose. Change in climate, disease, or a worst-case scenario like a nuclear catastrophe that decimates our plant life."

  "Are there genetically modified seeds in there, too?"

  "No. Norwegian law prohibits it."

  "So the guy whose company is modifying seeds built a vault to store the ones that are not modified?"

  "Yes."

  I lean back and close my eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. "How about that bath now?"

  "Sounds like the perfect way to end the evening." He takes my hand, leads me back into the bathroom, and turns on the faucet to fill the tub. "Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?"

  "Please do. I love watching your face when the bath bombs fizz and turn the water blue."

  Lorenzo opens the champagne while the tub fills, and then he undresses and gets in. While it is a large soaking tub, plenty big enough for two, it is much smaller than the palatial one he has at his palace, and I'm trying to determine where I should sit.

  I don't get the chance to fret about what is appropriate because he holds his hand out and helps me into the tub, having me sit between his legs and lean back against his chest. Needless to say, we are in very close proximity.

  And quite naked.

  He trails his fingers down my arms, but his actions are not sexual in nature, simply meant to relax.

  "I want to ask you something, Lorenzo, and I'd like you to answer truthfully."

  "Of course," he says, nuzzling his cheek next to mine.

  "Do women on the palace tour often stand at the reception balcony and scream out your name?"

  "No." He lets out a hearty laugh. "I am rarely in the vicinity of the palace tours. But, one time, I was walking in the rose garden with my mother. We heard someone yell my name, and when I turned, there was this girl. She was dressed in red, and her blonde hair was in a long braid, and even though we were some distance apart--"

  "You locked eyes and shared a moment. After a few seconds, you broke the connection, waved to our group, and then continued with your mother to an area of the garden that was hidden from my view."

  "That was you?" he says dreamily. "It all makes sense now."

  "What does?"

  "Why I was so drawn to you when we met at the tailor's. I had been waiting for you. It's why no other girls had ever felt right. Because you had me spellbound."

  "No." I let out a chuckle. "I think that happened after the love potion."

  "Lee, you must not make light of our attraction," he says seriously, "nor the fact that destiny felt compelled to bring us together in that way as opposed to a meet set up on your part."

  "Today, when we went on the balcony, I remembered," I tell him, my eyes filling with tears in the same way they did earlier. "For the first time, I had a memory about my mother that didn't end with her being shot because all I could think about was the way seeing you then had made my heart beat faster, just like it does now."

  He holds my gaze and then passionately kisses me, for words are not able to convey the depth of our feelings.

  MISSION:DAY THREE

  Something soft brushes against my cheek.

  "Good morning
, sleepyhead," is whispered in my ear.

  I smile at the sound of a familiar voice and roll toward it, slowly lifting my lids, until I realize it is not Lorenzo waking me but rather Daniel, who is sitting on the bed.

  "What are you doing in here? Where is Lorenzo?"

  "He had a meeting this morning with, I don't know, the Italian Minister of Global Affairs." He gives me a dismissive wave. "You know how Enzo is. Always dashing off for something of grave importance. Now, me, I would never leave a bed you were in. Especially when you are naked."

  "I am not naked, Daniel," I reply, sliding the strap of my nightgown back onto my shoulder and sitting up.

  "So, you're sleeping together, but you still haven't slept together?" I open my mouth to speak, but Daniel raises his hand up. "I know; no comment."

  "Why are you in my room again?" I ask.

  "It's Lorenzo's room. I'm in your room. And had you slept there, I guarantee you would have woken up naked."

  I roll my tired eyes in his direction and then slide back under the covers, snuggling my face into the pillow that smells of Lorenzo. Last night, our physical relationship progressed, but Lorenzo showed an incredible amount of restraint and managed to fend me off before we crossed that line.

  I close my eyes as a broad smile spreads across my face.

  "Oh, come on. Stop with the dreamy look," Daniel complains. "Enzo stopped by and asked us to make sure you were up in time for your museum tour."

  "What time is it?"

  "Nine."

  "I suppose I'd better get up then. My tour is at ten."

  "And then you and Ari are going to Florence, right?"

  "Yes, as soon as your meeting is over."

  "Why don't I come to Florence with you, and then you can come to Omaha with me?"

  "Because I'm going to London next."

  "As long as you don't go back to Montrovia," he states.

  "Give it a rest, Daniel. Please."

  "Look, I couldn't get into it on the phone, but our government believes a terrorist attack is imminent."

  "In London?"

  "No, silly. In Montrovia."

  "Does Lorenzo know about this?" I ask, suddenly feeling very worried. "When is it supposed to take place?" What if I don't figure this all out before it's too late?

  "You're not supposed to know this. Hell, I'm not even supposed to know this, but during the Cold War, Russia created a series of suitcase nukes."

  "Everyone knows about them," I say, rolling my eyes. "Jack Bauer hunted them for most of a TV season."

  "Well, what you might not know is that the United States and their NATO allies were seriously worried about the threats. If the other side had launched nukes at us, our government would have had to choose between defeat or launching a counterattack, which would have killed hundreds of millions of people. They needed something a little less devastating. So, Special Forces from each branch of the military started carrying backpack nukes that would allow them to parachute or scuba dive into areas behind enemy lines to take out smaller strategic targets. Fortunately, they were never needed."

  "Okay?" I say, wanting him to just get to the point already. "How does that affect us now?"

  "A cache of those weapons in Eastern Europe has gone missing."

  "How many is in a cache?"

  "In this case, there are eight. Enough to devastate a country such as Montrovia."

  "Do you really think that's the plan? Seems like a terrorist group would want to hit a bigger country."

  "Control Montrovia, and you can control the world," Daniel says flippantly.

  "What do you mean?" I say, unable to hide my reaction.

  "I have no idea really. It's just what I was told. My father must believe the source is reliable because he's been threatening not to let me attend the Olympics."

  "But you must!"

  "I know!" Daniel says, grinning at me. "But promise me, if I don't go, you don't go."

  "Daniel, if your dad is worried enough not to let you go, no one should be going."

  "At least we agree on something." He flashes a dimple at me and then looks at his clock. "You'd better get out of bed. You don't have much time left."

  "Hand me my robe, will you?"

  "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before."

  "I'm not naked," I repeat as I get up with a sigh, grabbing the robe as I make my way into the bathroom.

  Daniel follows me.

  "Do I at least get a kiss for luck?"

  I lean in and give him a peck on the cheek.

  "You're wicked," he says, smacking me on the butt and then taking off. "I'd better see you in the stands in Omaha, cheering for me, or I will be utterly devastated and fail to make the cut. I wouldn't want the guilt of that hanging over your head."

  I hurry to get ready, purposefully choosing to dress more touristy than Huntley Von Allister would. I pull my hair back into a ponytail, rush to get a taxi, and tell the driver that I'm late.

  Along the way, I decide covert agencies should hire Roman taxi drivers to teach their aggressive driving classes because the man is brilliant, getting me there with six and a half minutes to spare.

  I give him a generous tip and then take a moment to enjoy the beauty surrounding me. Set amid an immense park, the Galleria Borghese's exterior consists of symmetrical jutting structures connected by a portico. It is decorated with both reliefs and sculptures and features a grandiose staircase.

  As I make my way up it, I find Intrepid waiting for me.

  "When you're around, it's never good news," I tease as he greets me with air kisses.

  "We'll talk about that when we are through with the tour. How are you feeling?"

  "Shiny and new again," I lie. My shoulder is still a bit sore, but I choose to ignore the pain.

  "I've been through the photos, and I have been updated on everything so far. What do you expect the significance of this tour is?"

  "Um, I have no idea, or I wouldn't be here. But I will tell you the same thing I told Ari when we went on the castle tour. Join me, but don't talk to me. If I do remember something and you interrupt, it will be gone. And I think we both want me to remember. Also, after the tour, I have something to tell you that Ari doesn't know about."

  "Are you keeping secrets from your brother?"

  "No, just haven't had the opportunity to tell him with his super-secret meeting today."

  "You almost sound jealous."

  "I might be."

  The tour guide greets us and asks if we've ever visited before. I tell her no before Intrepid can reply. I hadn't been here before I came with my mother. I do know that much.

  The moment we enter the first gallery, we are greeted by not only a beautiful marble floor, but also interesting architecture, bas-relief, fresco ceilings, and paintings of the masters of the Renaissance, like Raphael.

  "The Galleria Borghese started as a private villa used only to hold garden parties and to impress society with Cardinal Borghese's significant art collection. The cardinal, who was the nephew of a pope, was lavished with money and power. Back then, the only way to view these masterpieces was by being invited to one of his parties."

  Our tour guide continues to regale us with the history of the time, making us feel like we are living in it. I'm enthralled with the stories of rivalries between the painters and sculptors who worked there. We see a statue of Pauline Bonaparte by Canova, busts of the cardinal, as well as works by the masters Bernini, Caravaggio, Rubens, and Cellini.

  One of my favorite parts of the tour takes place upstairs as our guide shows us the bedroom that the pope supposedly slept in when he visited, and that is filled with nude paintings. I flash back to myself giggling about that.

  Most of the pieces I recognize, but I'm not sure if it's from the studying I did at Blackwood or from my memory. I'm especially impressed with the Bernini pieces, like Apollo and Daphne and The Kidnapping of Persephone.

  When we are almost through with the tour, our guide says, "And this, Bernini sculpt
ed when he was merely twenty."

  "What's it called?" Intrepid asks.

  "Aeneas, Anchises, and Ascanius Fleeing Troy," I reply. "It's a scene from the legendary founding of Rome."

  "I thought Rome was founded by Romulus and Remus?" Intrepid asks. "And one of them killed the other or something."

  "Romulus killed Remus," I say, "so he could rule and named the country after himself. But this is a different version. Have you ever read the twelve-book-long epic poem Aeneid by Virgil?"

  "Uh, that would be a negatory," he states. "I take it, you have. Give me the condensed version."

  "The hero in this Bernini sculpture is the buff one, Aeneas, who was a Trojan prince and the son of Venus. He is depicted as fleeing Troy with his young son and elderly father. The poem is about him, and much like other literary works from this time period, the hero goes through many trials and tribulations. He escapes Troy as it is burning and then sails in search of a new place to live.

  "There are parallels between this work and the Odyssey and Iliad by Homer. The first six books are stories about Aeneas and the survivors facing trials in a style similar to what Odysseus does in the Odyssey. Supposedly, Aeneas of Troy was both the founder of Rome as well as an ancestor of Romulus and Remus.

  "But then other legends say Rome was really named after a woman, Roma, who was on the ship with Aeneas. When they ended up on the banks of the Tiber River, she led the other women in the burning of the ships to strand them there."

  "Probably sick of being stuck on a ship!" Intrepid hoots, wrapping his arm around me and causing the tour guide to study us more closely.

  "Are you father and daughter?" she asks politely.

  "He's my uncle," I say, but I can tell by the look on her face that she assumes we must be having an affair.

  Intrepid abruptly ends the tour, thanking our guide and then leading me out the garden. "Talk," he says as he takes a seat on a bench.

  "I know that sculpture particularly well. That leads me to believe it was a highlight of the tour, but I'm having a hard time figuring out what it has to do with her death."