Journey Through the Mirrors

by T. R. Williams

  “And to have Simon benefit from that betrayal,” Logan added.

  “It is not pleasant, I can assure you,” Giovanni said, looking over at the table. “My imprisonment at Dugan almost broke me.”

  “You were imprisoned at Château Dugan?” Logan asked. He remembered the video that Valerie had taken during her trip there. “What are your initials?”

  “My full name is Giovanni Santino Rast,” he said.

  “GSR,” Logan whispered. “Those were your initials carved into the walls of the dungeon.”

  “So you’ve seen them? You’ve visited Dugan?”

  “No. Valerie has. She showed me a video she took of the dungeons. I remember seeing twelve marks on the wall, indicating the number of months you spent in the dungeon.”

  “A year is a long time,” Mr. Perrot said.

  Giovanni sneered. “No, the marks do not represent months. They represent years. I was held captive in the dungeons of Dugan for twelve long, painful years.”

  “Twelve years?” Mr. Perrot repeated in disbelief. “How could that be?”

  “I asked myself that question many times,” Giovanni said.

  “Other than Fendral, who knew you were there?” Logan asked.

  “Not many. Simon knew,” Giovanni said. “And a man named Dario, who you say is dead. There was one other, but no more knew of Fendral’s deed.”

  Mr. Perrot shook his head in awe. “A real-life Count of Monte Cristo.”

  “But without the bitterness,” Logan said. “Hard to imagine. In the story, even the noble Edmund Dantes exacted revenge. People don’t let go of the past easily.”

  Giovanni walked over to the table and handed the book back to Logan. “Simon is as crafty as his father. Do not underestimate him.”

  Logan nodded. Moments later, he received a message on his PCD from Valerie saying that she was waiting for him outside. It was time to confront Simon again.

  63

  You have been given the vessel of opportunity. What you choose to fill it with is up to you.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  WASHINGTON, D.C., 9:29 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 26, 2070

  Logan received a message on his PCD as he and Valerie turned east onto M Street from Wisconsin Avenue. “It says the door is unlocked.”

  “How do they know where we are?” Valerie took a quick glance around to see if they were being followed. “They knew exactly where our plane was, too.”

  They came to the middle of the block and watched as a man and a woman across the street walked to the M Street Creamery and appeared disappointed to find that it was closed. A handwritten sign in the window stated that it would reopen the next day. M Street, usually filled with pedestrians during the day, was quiet at night. Only a motorcycle and a small red sedan were parked on the block. Valerie looked at the windows of the upper floors of the Creamery, but she couldn’t see in, because some kind of paper or thick plastic was covering the windows. Logan tightened his backpack, as he and Valerie crossed the street.

  Valerie readied her revolver and opened the door. A small bell attached to the top of the door jingled as she entered. Logan followed her inside. An old-fashioned ice cream and soda bar with ten red stools was to the left, bolted into its red and white checkered floor. The bell jingled again as Logan closed the door. The work area behind the bar contained blenders, mixers, cups, spoons, forks, and jars of candy toppings that would delight the pickiest of patrons. The red vinyl booths along the right side of the store had small jukebox music selectors on the tables. Sitting in one of the booths with his back to the door was a man with a black hood over his head and on top of that a straw boater. Suspecting that it was Mr. Newman, the store’s owner, Logan quickly walked to the booth, and Valerie followed with her gun drawn. Logan removed the hat and then the hood. It was indeed Mr. Newman. His hands were bound behind him, and a piece of silver tape had been placed over his mouth. Logan removed the tape first and then released the binding on his hands.

  “You need to get out of here,” Logan said in a whisper, helping Mr. Newman from the booth and handing him his hat.

  “Just go outside,” Valerie added quietly, showing him her WCF badge. “Do not call the police. I will handle this.”

  Mr. Newman did as he was instructed, the bell on the door jingling as he left the Creamery.

  “Up here,” a deep voice called from the top of the stairs at the back of the shop.

  Valerie and Logan slowly climbed the creaky staircase to the second floor. The space was in the process of being gutted. The walls were half demolished, and loose electrical wires hung from the ceiling. Broken pieces of drywall and molding lay on the floor.

  “There you are,” a familiar voice said from the northwest corner.

  Logan looked through the gaps in the drywall and saw Simon standing between two windows covered by paint-stained plastic sheets. Logan and Valerie headed toward him, maneuvering around the mess on the floor and ducking through a partially collapsed doorway.

  “Where are my children?”

  “What?” Simon said. “No pleasantries?”

  “No,” Logan answered with a glare.

  “I wouldn’t play games with him right now,” Valerie said. She pointed her gun at Simon, the red laser from her weapon striking his forehead. “He’s not about to let you do any more harm to his family. And that goes for me, too.”

  “More harm?” Simon repeated. “There you go again, accusing me of killing the beloved Fords.” He leaned against the wall, shaking his head as if exasperated by the suggestion. “Ms. Perrot, are you telling me you still haven’t solved the murder of Logan’s parents?”

  “Don’t deny it, Simon. We have proof that you were involved,” Valerie said. “We found the letter addressed to you, sent from someone in New Chicago in 2065. We also found the pictures of Logan’s parents that accompanied the letter. That’s all the proof I need.”

  “Ah, so you did find my little hiding place at the Château,” Simon said with a coy smile. “Now, you didn’t keep any of the jewelry for yourself, did you?”

  “Who wrote the letter?” Logan demanded.

  “I suppose I’m going to have to just come out with it, seeing as the two of you are not very good at crime solving. The person who killed your parents was the man who secretly loved your mother since their days in the forest together. He despised your father from the moment he first met Camden and put a gun to his head.” Simon waited for a response. “Does any of that help?”

  “Are you telling me that a Forgotten One killed my parents?” Logan asked.

  Simon tsked. Then he smiled. “Well, if I must spell everything out for you . . . He’s tall and lanky, has stringy hair and beady little eyes. Oh, and he thinks everyone’s sins are going to keep them from heaven’s gates.”

  Logan’s eyes widened. “You mean Randolph Fenquist? I don’t believe you.”

  “You should,” Simon said. “RJ was never to be trusted.”

  “Did you say RJ?” Logan asked.

  “Yes. Randolph Jedidiah Fenquist. But don’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t like his middle name.”

  Logan and Valerie realized that Simon was telling the truth, as outlandish as it seemed. The letter from the person who had tracked down Camden and Cassandra was signed with the initials RJ, Randolph Jedidiah Fenquist, the leader of the Sentinel Coterie.

  “Excellent!” Simon clapped his hands. “I can see by the looks on your faces that you finally believe me. See, I knew you could figure it out. In his defense, no one was supposed to get hurt that night. All Randolph was tasked to do was to get his hands on your father’s copy of the Chronicles. You’ll have to speak with him about what went wrong. All I know is that instead of receiving the books, which I was promised in exchange for a very handsome payment to the Coterie, I only received a bloodstained blue diary.”

  “My father’s missing journal,” Logan said.

  “Yes, Camden’s journal. I must admit that there are some very interesting
entries in it. And, reluctantly, I have to give your father some credit for figuring out the mystery of the blank pages. Everything else he wrote is garbage, just drab writing. I don’t care very much for his prose.” Simon stepped away from the wall and straightened his shoulders. “Much better. I feel like a great weight has been lifted from me. Now that we’ve cleared the air and I’ve been able to help you put to rest the murder of your parents—”

  “Put to rest!” Logan said, outraged. “How has anything been put to rest?”

  “Have you not been listening to anything I’ve said? I did not kill your parents. Don’t you consider that noteworthy information?”

  Valerie shook her head. “You don’t understand anything about human beings, do you?”

  Simon shrugged. “I see that the two of you are determined to live in the past. Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that. At least Nadine was willing to move on.”

  “Speaking of Nadine, where is she?” Valerie asked.

  “Relaxing in the lap of luxury, where any beautiful woman belongs.”

  “And Catherine?”

  Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Well, she’s not taking things as well. She had her heart set on cornering the energy market. And the two of you messed that up for her. You may want to steer clear of her for a little while.”

  “You can tell her that her island is gone, along with the energy device,” Valerie said. “And the doctors are dead, too.”

  “As I told the two of you back on the island, I didn’t care about the energy device. That was Catherine and Dario’s misguided plan. But what I do care about are the books. So how about we get down to business?” Simon’s tone turned serious. “Let’s have a look at them. I’m sure your children are anxious to be with their father again.”

  Logan swung his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it. He took out one of the three volumes of the Chronicles and held it up for Simon to see, then put it back in his backpack. “Now, where are Jordan and Jamie?”

  “Kashta,” Simon called out. From behind a wall emerged a tall, dark-skinned man. He was the one Logan and Valerie had seen in the projection at NovaCon Island and who had posed as a photographer on the beach. Logan’s PCD made that strange chirp again, and he quickly shut it down. Kashta had Jordan, Jamie, and Ms. Sally in tow by a rope tied around their waists. All three of them had black hoods over their heads, just like Mr. Newman. Their hands were bound in front of them with plastic ties.

  “You see, your children are fine and unharmed,” Simon said. “As much as I would like to stay and kibitz with the two of you, I fear that I have some urgent business to attend to. Kashta, please give Mr. Ford his children and his domestic. And you, Logan, please give Kashta the books.”

  Kashta walked over to Logan and held out the end of the rope. Logan went to grab it, but Kashta pulled it back and raised his eyebrows. “Together,” Kashta said, his voice deep and threatening. “The rope for the books.”

  Logan took out all three volumes and handed them to Kashta, who simultaneously gave Logan the rope. Almost immediately, there was an ear-splitting noise as the two windows on either side of Simon shattered, sending glass flying into the room. Two WCF agents stormed through feetfirst, rappelling from the roof. Logan grabbed his kids and Ms. Sally and pulled them close to him to protect them from the flying glass. Dressed in black jumpsuits and wearing black helmets, the WCF ghost team pointed their automatic rifles at Simon and Kashta. Three more members of the team stormed up the stairs.

  “It’s over, Simon,” Valerie said, lowering her gun. “Nowhere to go now.”

  Kashta handed Simon the books and stood next to him as if nothing had happened.

  Simon nonchalantly opened one of the volumes and flipped through the pages. “You know that I was never really a big fan of the philosophy in the Chronicles. But there are a few good quotes.” He read one out loud. “Nothing is ever what it seems to be. That is only because your expectations are anchored to your past. That is why the future is so hard to see.” Yes, I like that one a great deal—“nothing is ever what it seems to be.” Without looking up and continuing to turn the pages, he said, “Don’t you want to see how your children are doing?”

  Valerie picked up on the implication and quickly removed the black hoods from their heads. “It’s not them,” she said. Logan and Valerie were looking at the faces of a boy and girl they had never seen before.

  “Where are all the cameras?” the girl asked, pointing at Kashta. “He promised that we could sit in the director’s chair.”

  Simon laughed as he closed the book and handed it to Kashta.

  “Where are they, Simon?” Logan shouted.

  “Did you really think that I would be so stupid?” He directed his question at Valerie. “Did you think for one second that I trusted your word about coming alone? Women. Your gender always thinks you have everything under control.”

  “The children, Simon!” Logan said again.

  Valerie gently guided the kids to her right, handing them over to one of the WCF agents, who escorted them down the stairs.

  “Your children are safe for now,” Simon told Logan, as Kashta took out his PCD. “We are going to do this my way. Ms. Perrot, you are first going to dismiss all of your henchmen, starting with these four. You will then clear the street outside of any other agents you brought with you. Then Kashta and I are going to leave. If I see any agents following us, the children are going to die. If Kashta sees any agents, the children are going to die. If I believe that we are being followed for any reason whatsoever, the children are going to die. Do you remember the neuro devices that were attached to their heads?” Kashta activated his PCD and displayed an image of Jordan, Jamie, and Ms. Sally. They were all sitting on a mattress on the floor of a nondescript room, the same one they’d been in when Logan had last seen a projection of them on NovaCon Island. The neuro devices were still attached to their temples. “The next move is yours, Ms. Perrot.”

  Valerie motioned for the remaining agents to exit. She placed a call on her PCD. “Luke, get everyone to stand down and back away. This operation is over.”

  “Very good. Your mother would have been very proud of you.” Simon gloated. “You know, Andrea bedded a lot of men in her day. Robert was not the only one. In fact, I think my father had a few tumbles in the hay with her during their time on the Council. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “Enough, Simon,” Logan said. “You have what you came for; now, tell me where my children are.”

  “Do you still have that mosaic your mother made?” Simon asked him. “You know, the abstract one that is really wide and only about yay tall?” Simon used his hands to describe the dimensions.

  “What does that have to do with any of this?” Logan asked.

  “It has everything to do with this,” Simon said. “Now that your mother and father are gone, I might be the only person alive who knows what that mosaic means.”

  “How could you know?” Logan asked. “There is no way my mother would have told you. She didn’t even complete the mosaic until years after the Council splintered and you and Fendral were long gone.”

  “But your father figured it out,” Simon said. “And as we both know, Camden wrote everything down.”

  “His journal,” Logan said in a low voice.

  The sound of screeching car wheels came from outside. Simon smiled. “Ah, my ride has arrived.” He took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and started past Logan and Valerie toward the stairs. “I know you’re fond of riddles, so here’s one I know your children will want you to solve.” He tossed the paper onto the floor by Logan’s feet. “By the time you do, we will be long gone.”

  * * *

  Simon hopped into the backseat of the black vehicle that had pulled up in front of the M Street Creamery. Kashta took a seat in the front, and the car sped away. A small red sedan, which had been parked across the street, pulled out of its spot and followed the black SUV as it turned left onto Wisconsin Avenue.

&nb
sp; 64

  Success and failure walk down the same garden path inextricably entwined. One cannot exist without the other.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  WASHINGTON, D.C., 10:26 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 26, 2070

  “I think you would enjoy coming with us,” Simon said. Kashta stood next to him, carrying a briefcase.

  “Simon’s right,” Catherine added. “We could use a person of your prowess.”

  “You mean someone who knows how to deceive?” Nadine asked.

  “No,” Simon said. “Someone who knows how to deceive convincingly.”

  Nadine smiled.

  After getting the books from Logan, Simon and Kashta had arrived at a private jet terminal at Dulles International Airport. Inside hangar 10A, they had joined Catherine and Nadine. Two jets, fueled and ready for takeoff, were parked outside the brightly lit hangar.

  Simon took the briefcase from Kashta and handed it to Nadine. “Payment for helping me get the books,” he said. “I could not have done it without Logan’s kids.”

  “Have the children been returned to Logan?” Nadine asked.

  “I needed to ensure our safe departure,” Simon answered indirectly. “The fact that the WCF is not here tells me that he is still looking for them.”

  “You’ve made a king’s ransom off of us,” Catherine said to Nadine. “What are you going to do with all those EBBs?”

  “Live,” Nadine said. “Something that Madu didn’t know how to do.”

  “If you change your mind about joining us,” Simon said, “you know how to contact us.”

  Just then, a small red sedan sped into the hangar and came to a screeching halt. Kashta stepped in front of Simon and drew a polished silver weapon. The door to the car opened. It was Madu.

  “Nadine!” he called. “What have you done?”

  “The only thing I could,” Nadine replied.

  Kashta pointed his gun at him. Madu did not stop. He continued until he stood just before Nadine.