by Jillian Dodd
"About what?"
"You know I'm not supposed to tell you this stuff."
"Okay, that's fine," I say, grabbing the phone out of his backpack, powering it off, and then removing the SIM card.
"You do realize that they could be eavesdropping on every conversation you have. If you continue with the phone, we'll have to start traveling apart for our missions. I prefer not to have my every move tracked by The Society."
"They aren't listening to us," he scoffs, but then he purses his lips, and I can tell he's finally thinking it all through. "They told us that it's their emergency response system. If something dangerous happens in the world, say a terror attack, they will notify everyone and check on the safety of their members. It goes the other way, too. Like, if you ever need help, they will be there for you."
"Do they know about the backpacks?"
"If they do, they haven't told the group. Do you really think The Society is bad?"
"Our mother was looking into the history of the group before she was killed. I'd say that's a pretty good indication that things aren't all on the up and up. When you were at the meeting, did you notice anyone special? Like, in other secret societies, there's a hierarchical system. You have to earn their trust and work your way to the upper echelon. Has anyone mentioned it to you? There's got to be a governing body of some sort, elected or chosen."
"The trustees," he says. "They are the elders in the group. Their role is imparting wisdom, choosing the relevant topics for each meeting, group organization--things like that."
"And who controls the phones?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
"I don't know the answer to that. I assume the trustees."
"How many of them are there? Did you meet any? Did they meet privately while you were there?"
"Malcolm Prescott is a trustee. They were getting together later today to discuss topics for our next meeting."
"Ari! Why didn't you stay and spy on them? You're supposed to find stuff out. Our father was part of the group, and everyone goes on about how brilliant he was and how he questioned everything. You won't get in trouble by asking. They will find it endearing; they won't think you are interrogating them."
"Look, you're just going to have to trust me on this. There is nothing sinister going on in this group."
"When is the next meeting?"
"That's the other thing the phone is for," he says. "If I don't keep the phone on, we won't know where it is or anything else they know."
"It could blow our cover," I argue.
"We don't have a cover!" he yells back. "We are Huntley and Ari Von Allister. Period. You need to start acting like it."
"Oh, that's it? You find out you really are the heir to billions and get invited to some ritzy all-boys' club, and now, you're too good for the rest of it? Fine. I'll let Black X know you're out and that I can't work with you anymore. I'd appreciate your discretion regarding the matter. I'd hate to have to kill my own brother."
"You'd kill me?" he asks, getting in my face.
"There are bigger things at stake here than just you and me."
"Right, it's all about you and Lorenzo now."
"My feelings for him have nothing to do with what's going on in the world. And he is in fact my mission."
"I met with Intrepid this morning," he says, "and before you ask, I did not take The Society phone with me. He told me about your visit to the museum. How it was as much of a dead end as the rest of the photos your mother sent you. He has real intel on this nuclear situation that we have to act on. You need to get your head in the game now and out of the past. Who gives a shit right now about the Trojan War?"
"It's not the Trojan War," I mumble. "It's what led to it." I hold my hand up, so he won't speak, and I close my eyes.
"What's the big deal about this statue other than it was very brave of him to rescue his dad and son?" I asked our tour guide.
"It's not just about the statue. It's what happened before that's so incredible--how they won."
"How they won?" I asked, intrigued.
"The Greeks and the Trojans had been waging war for quite some time. Even with the help of the gods, the Greeks couldn't overtake the Trojans. Legend says that Odysseus came up with the idea of building a great wooden horse, hiding their elite force inside it, and then fooling the Trojans into bringing it into the city as a trophy--proof that they had defeated the Greeks. The Greeks dropped off the horse, which was the emblem of the city of Troy, and then pretended to desert the war. They left behind one man, who persuaded the Trojans that the horse was an offering to the goddess of war, Athena, and should be accepted. Once the horse was inside the gates, the soldiers waited until nightfall, emerged from the horse, opened the gates, and let in the Greek army."
"So, they tricked them," my mom said, smiling at me.
"Yes," the tour guide said.
"So, when they talk about a Trojan horse virus on the computer--" my mom added.
"It comes from this?" I said.
"Exactly. Trojan horse now refers to subversion introduced from the outside."
"I'm the Trojan horse," I stutter, realization hitting me.
"What do you mean?"
"Black X built the perfect Trojan horse. Me. Well, us. We're intended to undermine The Society and destroy it from within."
"I think you're wrong about that. Trojan horse was one of the words on your mom's list. We weren't there then."
I sigh, knowing he's right. Merde.
He pats my back. "I'm in this with you. Don't ever question that, okay?"
"What do you think the Trojan horse on my mom's list means?" I ask, nodding in agreement.
"By process of elimination, we know that Lorenzo the Magnificent and his brother, Giuliano, created The Society and dreamed of Arcadia. It's possible that the goal of the original Society was to create a perfect world. Their idea of Arcadia, now that I think about it, is sort of what The Society still thinks today. They want to guide the world to keep it great."
"Great is different than perfect and idyllic."
"True," he says. "So, that means your mom either thought The Society had a Trojan horse plan or that one of the men listed was a Trojan horse planted in The Society to bring it down from the inside. I think we can presume now that person was not the former president since he ordered the hit on your mother."
"So, that leaves us with Harrison McClellan."
"Either he's on our side or both men were in cahoots."
"Wait! The Trojan horse could have been Alessandro, right? He was going to bring down Montrovia from the inside, just like Ophelia had planned."
Ari's expression goes from stunned to thoughtful and ends with agreement. "I think you're right. Your mom buried the dollar bill. That was the clue." He nods some more. "Yes. I think we've figured it out."
"Well, we still don't know how they will do it now. But I'd say, besides Marquis Dupree, we need to get to know everything we can about Harrison McClellan."
"Agreed. But, first, we have to go see some jewelry. Who knows? Maybe there is a clue there."
"Ari, you know there is."
He gives me a cat-ate-the-canary grin and shrugs.
Upon arrival in London, we are met by our old friend William Gallagher, otherwise known as Intrepid.
"Did you get the invite?" is the first thing out of his mouth.
"Yes, of course," I tell him, glancing down at the invitation I received while we were in the air. "Tonight. Six o'clock."
"Perfect. I have a car waiting to take us to the museum."
"We enjoyed the ride in your plane as well," I say with a grin. "Speaking of that, Ari, we're going to buy one of our own."
"What?"
"I want a plane and pilot on call twenty-four/seven. Actually, never mind. I'll set it up myself. Let's go see what I can remember."
While we're in the car, I send a text to Lorenzo.
Me: Just wanted to let you know that we've arrived in London. Question: How hard is it to purchase a plan
e and find a pilot/crew I could pay well enough to be on call twenty-four/seven?
I let out a little sigh when I see his name instantly pop up along with the little dots that indicate he's typing his reply. I know I should change his title to The King. Or Lorenzo. Or use an adorable nickname.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It's been just thirty-five days since I was sent on my first mission. Seventeen days since M was killed. Eleven days since I agreed to a formal courtship with Lorenzo. And exactly 2,218 days since my mom died. The time line is crazy when I think about it. All that time. You'd think, after the Alessandro plan didn't work, that the idea would have died along with him. He's dead, my mom and dad are dead, Ares Von Allister is dead, the former president and his son are dead along with Lorenzo's father, uncle, and two cousins; anyone who knew me at Blackwood; and Ari's family.
The Prince: I would be happy to arrange that for you. I'm well acquainted with numerous well-trained Montrovian pilots, and although most people do love my fair country, there are a few who have lost big at our Royal Casino and given us payment in forms other than cash. There is a particularly beautiful all-black Bombardier in our collection that I was considering for myself.
Me: Does that mean it could immediately fly to London and wait for me? I can wire you the money.
The Prince: The setup of this plane is highly customized, and you might not like it. It has fewer seats for travelers and features a private bedroom. Due to the modifications, it will only carry ten, but it has a most luxurious cabin and even features a solid-gold bathroom sink. Why don't I offer you a test flight? When you return, you can decide if it is the mode of transport for you.
Me: Thank you.
The Prince: Do you need a plane on standby so that you can return in time for our meeting?
Me: I promised to be there, Lorenzo. I will do everything in my power to keep my promise.
The Prince: Now, you have me worried. I was told tonight was only about surveillance.
Me: And that's exactly what it is.
The Prince: Regardless, be safe, my love.
Gallagher tries to take me in a side door upon arrival at the museum. It's obvious that he set things up in advance.
"I have someone meeting us."
"You can go in that way," Ari steps in and says, "but we need to go through the front door, like she did back then."
Intrepid looks slightly irritated but takes it in stride. "I will meet you inside."
Ari wraps his arm around my shoulders, giving me his usual pep talk. "Okay, you can do this. Open your mind."
I smile at him and walk ahead, somehow knowing which way to go without a map.
I ignore the beautiful marble entry, going straight to the stairs instead, taking them up to the third floor, crossing a catwalk featuring marble balustrades and overlooking the Medieval and Renaissance architectural displays under a beautiful barrel-vaulted ceiling supported by elaborately carved support columns. Past iron ornate ironwork, more Renaissance pieces, and down another hall.
Very quickly, I'm outside the William and Judith Bollinger Gallery, searching for the No Pictures sign, but finding it to be gone. Apparently, photos are now allowed.
"I bet I can do it," I told my mom.
"Do what?"
"Take a photo in there," I whispered.
But, when we got inside, there were so many beautiful and sparkling pieces that it was hard to know where to look first. I started at the artistic spiral display of jeweled rings, highlighting the progression of hardness in gemstones, starting with the diamond and ending with the pearl.
"There are a lot of docents in this exhibit," I whispered to my mom. "If someone tries to take a photo, they are right there, reminding them not to. Why do you think it's not allowed?"
"I would assume because of the high value of the collection."
"So, should I try or not?"
"Depends on if you see something you like enough," she teased, pulling on my braid.
I grab a brochure and read some of the highlights. There are over three thousand pieces of jewelry housed here, covering over three thousand years' worth of history, and it is one of the most comprehensive collections in existence.
I make my way around the room, realizing that it reminds me of the Montrovian Royal Vault. Only the exhibits are more contemporary, and the lighting is more exquisite. It's a shame really. All that beautiful jewelry hidden away for only one family to enjoy.
Soon, I find myself enthralled with a ruby-and-diamond spray that looks much like a little corsage. The placard tells me it was worn formerly in the Russian Crown Jewels, but I remember my mother telling me that it had been worn by Catherine the Great and that the profusion of precious gems she wore outdid every court in all of Europe. I also remember taking a stealth photo of this very piece and then searching for my mother amid the other tourists.
"I got it," I whispered, finding her close to the entrance. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"I did. See this green ring here?" she said, turning to face me with a grin.
But then her eyes fill with fear, and a perfectly round hole forms in her forehead.
"I'm ready to go now," I tell Ari, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the exhibit.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"Yep, I'm fine. We're looking for a green ring. It's all I can remember. What I'd like now is to check in to a luxurious hotel and take a bath before the party."
"I'm afraid you have other plans," Intrepid says, stalking up from behind us. "Your team is assembled, awaiting our arrival."
We're driven from the museum to the same house where I was prepped for my last mission, and I learn that my team is only Dr. Kate.
"How are you two?" she asks us like she hasn't see us in forever, following the question with tight hugs.
Ari and I share a glance, wondering when we all became best friends. But when Intrepid comes in behind us, and you can practically feel the sexual tension in the air.
"I have a gift for you," Intrepid says, causing Dr. Kate to look quite excited until he goes to the front door and opens it, revealing The Bartender.
"I'm so glad my instincts were right about you," The Bartender says, coming over to slap me on the back in greeting. "Thank you for what you did."
"You're welcome. I heard you've been helping out with things."
"Yes, I worked on the brief about the man you will be meeting tonight."
"You know him?" I'm surprised by this and trying to fit the pieces in the puzzle.
"Yes, we did business together. Things that weren't religious," he replies, meaning that it had nothing to do with the assassin known as The Priest. "But then he got into something big, quickly rising in the ranks of organized crime."
"Why don't we take a seat before we get into all this?" Dr. Kate offers, moving us to the dining room where food has been laid out on the table and a flat screen is hanging over the buffet.
"Will Kate be here?" I ask her.
"No, Kate's at the safe house in Montrovia, making sure they have everything they need logistically and running your social media accounts." She turns to speak to everyone, "Please grab something to eat, and then we'll get started."
Intrepid slides around her to get to the head of the table, his hands lingering a little longer on her hips than appropriate, before addressing us, "The British government knows an attack is imminent but has no indication of when or where. What we do know is that we have eight missing nuclear backpacks from a cache in Eastern Europe. We also believe that the nukes are in London as we speak. Thus, the serious concern for the safety of our citizens."
"I remember learning that Russia had similar briefcases during the Cold War and have seen them featured in movies," Ari says, "but it's my understanding that they don't do much damage."
"Compared to, say, the US Minuteman III, that is true," Dr. Kate replies, clicking a few keys on her laptop and causing a map to populate the screen. "If a warhead of that size ever hit London, we'
d be looking at half a million fatalities with over a million injuries--and that doesn't include the aftereffects of the nuclear fallout. While the backpack nukes are much smaller, each of the bombs will kill about fifteen hundred and injure another two thousand. Times that by eight, and we're looking at twelve thousand dead with another sixteen thousand injured--once again, not including fallout. To put that into perspective, around three thousand were killed in the 9/11 attacks on the United States. Aside from the environmental effects, the financial effects would be devastating. After 9/11, the New York Stock Exchange and the NASDAQ market stayed closed for six days in an attempt to stop a massive crash. In the five days that followed their reopening, it's estimated that over a trillion dollars in value was lost."
"Okay, got it," Ari concedes. "Backpack nukes equal bad news."
"What do they look like exactly?" I ask.
Dr. Kate hands the remote control to Intrepid, cooing, "Here, William."
He ignores her flirtatiousness and stays in business mode, bringing up a photo of what looks like a military duffel. "Each one weighs around a hundred pounds. If that's how they plan to detonate them."
"Is there another way?" I wonder.
"I'll be honest; I don't really understand the technicalities of this, but the nuclear material could be used to make an improvised device, which could be much larger--possibly SUV-sized."
"Which would significantly raise the death toll," Dr. Kate says somberly.
"Your target tonight, Huntley," Intrepid says, "is this man. Sebastian Worthington." He flashes a photo on the wall. "Five foot eleven, forty-nine years of age, hazel eyes, and walks with a slight limp from being shot in the knee."
"Who shot him?"
"An angry customer when a deal went bad," The Bartender says.
"So, why don't you just go raid his office and home?"
"Because we don't have the proof we need. It's a long shot really. But it's what we've been tasked with. Similar missions will take other covert teams into the lives of our top ten suspects. Those we believe to have the connection and pipeline to handle something such as this. All the missions are deemed reconnaissance only. But the reason I chose this man for us is because there is a very thin thread connecting him with Marquis Dupree."
