by Jillian Dodd
Back in the study, I immediately find it. Engraved into a stone at the edge of the mural is the word Arcadia. Inside the C is the same indention as the ring—just like it was at the Sphere in Iraq.
I place the ring in the mark and turn the key, causing the wall next to the fireplace to slide open and reveal a passageway.
T-MINUS:18:53:11
“You found it!” Josh says.
I stand at the edge of the tunnel.
Blake hands me a flashlight. “I’m coming with you.”
“Me, too,” Josh adds.
“I need to go meet the girl myself. If her dad was murdered and she has any indication, she might be a little skittish.”
Blake nods. “I suppose you are right. And I’m a little scary.”
“You’re not scary to me,” I say, throwing my arms around him in a hug. “You are scarred. We all are. Some of ours just don’t show on the outside.”
“I’m hot,” Josh says. “I might have an easier time talking to Sophie than you.”
“No,” I reply. “I’m going alone. I know that Olivia and Terrance are good with tech stuff, but you will always be a better detective than them. You were taught how to assemble clues in a way that makes sense for the situation. I need you here, making sure I get the information I really need.”
He nods. “All right.”
“Thanks.” I turn to Blake. “Will you come down the tunnel with me, just in case?”
“Of course,” he says. “And we’d better get going. Time is of the essence.”
“It is. Ares said it’s a couple kilometers. If we jog, we could make it in ten minutes.”
Blake doesn’t say anything in reply, just turns on another flashlight and starts running.
I’m breathing hard by the time we get to the end of the tunnel. Blake pulls a pistol from a holster at his side and motions for me to stop. It’s really sweet of him to want to go inside first. But, having done something similar before when armed gunmen were in the Montrovian palace, I’m pretty sure all he’s going to find is an empty home.
And he does.
“All clear,” he yells out.
T-MINUS:18:40:31
I step into the farmhouse, careful not to close the door to the tunnel.
“Your driver is waiting outside,” Blake says. “Do you have a gun with you?”
“In my backpack along with extra magazines.”
“Good girl,” he says, grinning widely and reminding me of how, when I was little, I loved to do things that made him happy.
“Your smile hasn’t changed,” I tell him.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I honestly didn’t think you had survived. I read in the papers that you hadn’t. It wasn’t until I found Ares that I knew.”
“I know. And I appreciate it.”
“If anyone can do this,” he says, “you can, Calliope—uh, X—I mean, Huntley.”
That causes me to laugh as I head to the door. “Don’t worry; half the time, I don’t even know my own name.”
T-MINUS:18:23:16
I’m in the car on the way to the local airport when I get a call from Daniel.
“Where are you? Allie has the rash now,” he says in a panicked tone. “As does Senator Vanderbilt’s entire family—his wife, Nancy, and his kids, Nathaniel, Austin, and Beatrice. You do realize they will all be dead soon. Just like my mom.”
“Do you have the rash yet, Daniel?” I ask, praying that he doesn’t.
“No.”
“Listen to me very carefully. Whatever you do, don’t let them give you the vaccine. I don’t have concrete proof yet, but I know enough. The vaccine is going to wipe out a lot of people.”
“I heard you tell you know who that. He didn’t seem to agree. And he’s been talking to scientists, as has my father.”
“Daniel, you know how much I care about you. I wouldn’t have agreed to the whole fake engagement if I didn’t. Trust me, please.”
“Okay,” he says, but I’m not sure he’s convinced.
“Thank you.” I lower my voice. “On the way out of the hospital, I ran into Belinda Smith. Bella passed away this morning.”
“No,” Daniel says, his voice cracking. “She had just gotten well, a clean bill of health.”
“I know.”
“Come back to the hospital. Who cares about Lizzie and freaking Lorenzo’s heir to the throne?”
“He lied to me, Daniel. Swore they never slept together.”
“She lied to me, too,” he says sadly. “Where are you anyway? Did you go back to the villa?”
“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m in Spain.”
“How did you do that?” he whispers. “The borders are closed. The news is showing military from other countries patrolling it.”
“I snuck out. I’m crafty like that,” I tease, but then I get serious. “Actually, Daniel, I snuck out because I’m trying to do something your mother asked me to do before she died. She sort of sent me on a mission.”
“What?” he says, but I don’t want to say anything further, so I end the call as the words she wrote echo through my head.
Please save my son.
T-MINUS:15:28:43
The flight to London takes roughly three hours, but because of the time-zone change, I gain an hour. Unfortunately, it’s not reflected in the amount of time until the vaccines are given to all those in Montrovia.
It’s half past five when I land at the London City Airport, and then I’m shuttled via helicopter closer to town.
From there, a cab takes me to Sloane Street in Knightsbridge. This time of day, the streets should be packed with commuters, the sidewalks bustling with activity, and the pubs filled with those having a pint after their workday. Although there are people out and about and shops are still open, it’s obvious a lot of Londoners have chosen to stay in their homes.
Thanks to my recent day out with Blair Bessemer, I know that Sloane Street is one of the world’s most luxurious shopping streets. Harrods is a few blocks away, but this is where you can go direct to the designer. I pass Louis Vuitton, Jimmy Choo, Givenchy, Gucci, Versace, Bvlgari, Dolce & Gabbana, Valentino, Armani, Chanel, Prada, and Hermes—modern storefronts set in between chic brick townhouses. It’s crazy to think the girl who used to wear nothing but black workout clothing has since worn each and every designer on this street at least once—Gucci and Dolce & Gabbana being my personal favorites.
Part of me would like to pop in each store and pretend that I’m here for fun.
That lives aren’t hanging in the balance.
But they are.
There were certain words at Blackwood Academy that we weren’t allowed to say. Failure being top on the list along with words like defeat, loss, or downfall. Although some might suggest we were brainwashed, I don’t necessarily agree. We were taught the proper mindset for success. When the stakes are high, you do have to be able to bottle up your emotions. You can’t take no for an answer. You can never give up.
That is probably why I am here.
Because I refuse to give up. I refuse to let this go.
And it’s because of the things that I learned from my mother as a child, combined with lessons I was taught at Blackwood. I learned that using your head didn’t just mean brainpower; it meant listening to your body—your intuition, your senses, your gut. Those initial reactions where your body acts before you can process the information will often save your life.
They certainly saved Lorenzo’s on more than one occasion.
Lorenzo.
It’s amazing how thinking one single word, one fairly common name, can cause everything in your heart and your mind to shift.
To make you doubt the truth.
To make you doubt your feelings.
To make you doubt your love.
I shake those thoughts out of my head and keep walking.
Further down the road, I pass the Peruvian Embassy and then come to a surprisingly modern structure set in the midst of this classically Lon
don street, which I discover is the Danish Embassy.
I pause in front of it, wondering if there is anything Crown Prince Kresten of Denmark could do to help me in this situation. He and the team of Special Forces he brought were so helpful during the Olympic Ball when we feared a coup would take place.
Although I can’t think of anything I specifically need at the moment, I text him anyway. Who knows what the next few hours will hold?
Me: It’s Huntley. I’m standing in front of the Danish Embassy in London. Made me think of you.
Kresten: When did you leave the country?
Me: A few hours ago.
Kresten: And how did you get out? I have men there who even I can’t bring home.
Me: Lizzie is pregnant with the Montrovian heir.
Kresten: Despite the chaos going on in our world, that news has reached my country. I’m sure you are quite upset. Are you sick?
Me: Not yet. What about you?
Kresten: Although I was irritated about it at the time, I am now thankful that my packed schedule only afforded me time to fly in and out for the ball, so I wasn’t able to attend the opening ceremonies.
Me: Good, because I might need your help with something. Possibly. Depending.
Kresten: Why do I get the feeling you are not shopping the designer stores on Sloane Street?
Me: Is your country planning to force its citizens to take the vaccines?
Kresten: Yes. As are all countries around the world. Our death toll is small so far, but people are getting sick, and we are told they will die. Lorenzo informed me that he himself took the vaccine to test it before he gave it to his people. I understand he is feeling better than ever.
Me: That should concern him. Kresten, I am in London to track down the daughter of the scientist who I believe created this disease. There is a small but powerful group of men who want to end the world as we know it. I think the vaccines, if given, will kill off more than 90% of the world’s population.
Kresten: That sounds like some crazy conspiracy theory …
Me: One that I wholeheartedly believe to be true.
Kresten: You don’t have much time to find her then.
I don’t reply. It was silly of me to text him. Deep down, I know I was hoping Kresten would tell me that his best friend hadn’t slept with Lizzie. That he was too in love with me to do so. That he never would have betrayed me in that way. That the baby was really Daniel’s. That Lorenzo only said what he did because I’d told him and Lizzie to lie about being together.
But he didn’t.
He only noted that I was understandably upset.
Ugh. I punch a fist into my other hand in frustration.
I’m being ridiculous, I think as I march past the embassy and toward Hans Place Gardens, where the girl lives. But, just as I’m about to turn the corner onto Hans Street, a storefront catches my attention and knocks the wind right out of me.
When Blair and I were shopping for wedding dresses, we started on Sloane Street but then went over to Brompton Road and down numerous side streets. For someone who is normally acutely aware of her surroundings, I realize that, for once in my life, I didn’t really pay attention.
I smile, remembering what those few precious moments felt like and how I was nothing more than a carefree girl in love, who found a wedding dress that made her heart sing.
Tears threaten, but I shake them away. I don’t have time for them.
Not now.
T-MINUS:14:01:27
I’m now standing in front of the address where Sophie Andersen is supposed to be living. I study the building, wondering what my next move will be. I take my phone out and make a call. I need more information before I decide on how to proceed.
“I’m at the address The Bartender gave me,” I say when Ares answers. “Has the team learned anything new?”
He lets out a deep sigh. “A little, but there’s something I need to tell you first.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“I just got word that your brother has the rash. And we’ve still heard nothing from The Society.”
I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. This isn’t how this was supposed to go down. Ari should be here, helping me. Us both solving this together.
I have a moment of self-doubt, wondering what I’m missing. Wondering if my mother was wrong. Wondering if this wasn’t caused by The Echelon.
And wondering if I should just give up and die along with everyone else.
Because, if there is no plan to save Society members, that means they weren’t behind it.
“I’m going to turn your call over to Terrance,” Ares says, his voice carrying an element of defeat. He only recently discovered his children and is coming to terms with the fact that it was all for naught. Both Ari and I will die soon. “He has a few details to discuss with you.”
“Terrance here,” Terrance says, his voice coming over the line in a businesslike tone. “The flat we believe Sophie is living in is owned by a young heiress named Madelyn Hightower. Madelyn’s father manufactured a line of acoustic protection, like earplugs and earmuffs used in noisy workplace environments—not that it matters. I was just wondering how a recent university graduate could afford a five-million-dollar flat located in a famous London crescent. Back to the particulars. The building has twenty-four-hour concierge, outstanding security, lifts, and valet parking. There is also what’s touted as a large, secure underground parking space. Flat is on the third floor, southeast corner of the building. I’m thinking you can get in by—”
“Thanks, Terrance,” I say, interrupting him. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Are you going to scale the fire escape and break in?”
“Probably not.”
Attempting a break-in during daylight hours doesn’t make much sense, particularly since many people are probably at home. Instead, I go inside the beautiful, old building, which features a posh marble floor and leather-couch-furnished foyer. To my right is the mentioned concierge desk with a sharply dressed young man on the phone behind it.
He gives my outfit a once-over, his eyes lingering on my handbag and shoes as opposed to my body. Pretty sure he’s not interested in me from a physical standpoint, but I do think he is coveting my Versace off-the-runway, boldly printed, and embellished silk-twill shorts and low-cut silk blouse. His eyes slide down to the soft black leather 4G Logo Givenchy mules that I’m wearing and then back up, clearly fancying my Dolce & Gabbana Devotion bag with its distinctive gold heart detailing and chain.
Once again, I’m thankful for Dr. Kate’s shopping and that I am clad head to toe in some of the designer brands I passed on my way here.
He holds up a finger to me, indicating he’s almost done with his call.
While he’s preoccupied, I locate each surveillance camera in the room. For a place that boasts outstanding security, I’m not very impressed. One camera is focused on the entrance to track who’s coming and going. There’s another aimed at the desk, probably making sure jobs are being done properly.
There is a couch flanked by two chairs on the wall opposite the desk. I do another quick scan just to be sure, but it is an area deemed not important enough to watch, and it appears, once you get past the entry, no additional security is in place. Although, at this point, I really don’t care what is recorded, and anything that is, more than likely, can be wiped by Olivia.
When the concierge hangs up, he says, “May I be of assistance, miss?”
“Yes, I am here to see Sophie Andersen.”
He squints his eyes.
“Three-B,” I add. “She’s staying with Maddy.”
“I see,” he says, looking down at a logbook. “Your name, please.”
“Huntley Von Allister.”
His eyes go wide in recognition. I guess, sometimes, it does pay to be in the tabloids.
“I’m afraid neither is currently home,” he states.
“Oh, I know. They said you’d let me in.”
“I’m sorry,” he
says, looking taken aback. “They didn’t leave notice of such.”
“Probably forgot to call.” I let tears well up in my eyes. “I literally just spoke to Maddy. Told her I was here in London. I didn’t plan to come, but I just”—I let the tears fall and emotion fill my voice, not that it takes much pretending on my part—“found out the guy I’m in love with got someone else pregnant after he swore he didn’t sleep with her.”
“Wait!” The concierge stutters, “Are … you … saying that the First Son knocked up someone?”
He’s practically salivating, probably wanting to call a reporter and be an anonymous source.
Might as well give it all to him.
“The truth is, even though I’m engaged to Daniel Spear, I’m still in love with King Lorenzo of Montrovia. I know it’s dumb, but Lorenzo swore to me that he wouldn’t sleep with Lizzie until after they were married. And very recently—before, you know, the disease that’s threatening to kill everyone—Lorenzo told me he still loved me and was going to break his engagement and marry me instead. When I found out Lizzie was pregnant and that he lied to me, I snuck out of the country. I’m not sick, by the way, and I wasn’t at the opening ceremonies, so you don’t have to worry, but I flew here on my jet. I called Maddy, and she told me I could crash here. And that, when she got back, we’d go out. And drink. A lot. So, if you could please just take me up there and let me in, I promise not to throw myself off the balcony before she returns.”
