The Three Secret Cities

by Matthew Reilly

  Jack also thought: He’s also as loyal as the day is long and would step in front of a bus for you, kiddo. But he didn’t say that. That was for her to figure out.

  A few days later, Alby himself came up from L.A. to join Jack and Lily for a while. One night, the three of them dined at a funky Mexican place called Sixto’s Cantina.

  They discussed a wide range of things: Lily’s language studies at Stanford, Alby’s studies in history at USC and astrophysics at Caltech, their previous missions and the changing world.

  Lily complained about one subject she was doing on indigenous South American linguistics. She hated it, but she had to do it, since once she finished the subject, she would have completed the requirements of her undergraduate degree.

  Jack smiled kindly. ‘Come on now. You know what I always say. You didn’t come this far just to come this far. You gotta finish and finish strongly. The world doesn’t care for half-finished undergrad degrees.’

  They also chatted about a recent trip Alby had taken during summer break: a solo vacation to Europe.

  It had been a classic rite-of-passage trip. Travelling alone with a backpack and a Eurail pass, Alby had visited all the classic museums of Europe—in Florence, Rome and Paris—plus a few more idiosyncratic venues that he just found intriguing: like Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany—the famous ‘fairytale castle’—the Jungfrau mountain in Switzerland with its hollowed-out core and the mighty Rock of Gibraltar hanging off the southern tip of Spain.

  During his many train rides, he’d also read a bunch of books, the kind every student reads, from Kerouac to Salinger, but also some more esoteric stuff about mythic heroes, like Beowulf and Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces. It had got him thinking.

  ‘Jack,’ Alby asked, ‘why do you do what you do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Step up. Be a hero. Save the world. The people of the world don’t know who you are. They don’t know what you’ve done for them, what you’ve sacrificed: friends and loved ones you’ve lost, like Wizard, for example.’

  By then, they were pretty much the last people in the restaurant.

  Jack looked at Alby and Lily and smiled sadly.

  They were no longer the two boisterous kids scampering in the dust around his farm.

  Lily was tall, beautiful and smart. And Alby—once small and bespectacled, with a Cochlear implant, thick glasses and slightly inflected speech—was now fit and lean, with contact lenses instead of glasses. His speech still had an ever-so-slight fuzz to it, which Jack thought gave him character.

  They had grown so much.

  It was time.

  ‘Lily, Alby, there’s something I need to get from both of you.’

  That got their attention.

  ‘It’s something I’ve asked of every person who’s joined me on my previous missions. You were too young to do it before, but now I think you’re old enough.’

  Lily and Alby said nothing.

  Jack said, ‘From Wizard to Zoe, Pooh Bear and Stretch, I’ve asked everyone who has joined my team to write an email and send it to me, a special email, one to be read upon their death, should it happen during a mission.’

  Lily and Alby remained silent.

  Jack said, ‘Death is sudden. None of us knows when it will come. And when it occurs in the chaos of a mission, there’s no opportunity to say goodbye. In our very first mission, when we went after the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, we lost Doris and Noddy, two wonderful people. When that happened, I realised that we needed to be able to say goodbye. The emails do just that. I call them Messages from the Other Side.’

  He bowed his head for a moment, biting his lip sadly.

  ‘I keep copies of everyone’s emails in a special file on my phone and as hard copies in a locked drawer in my desk back home. I don’t read them when I receive them, so I don’t know what they contain. I just file them away for opening when the time comes. Sometimes a member of the team comes to me and says they’ve written a new message or wants to update their old one and I replace it.

  ‘In some cases, I’ve also given copies of messages to certain members of our group with special relationships: deep bonds of friendship that go beyond me. For instance, Julius and Lachlan have copies of each other’s messages; Pooh Bear and Stretch; Zoe and me.’

  He pulled out his phone, tapped it a few times and passed it to Lily and Alby. ‘Here is an example of one.’

  They both leaned close and read the email on the screen:

  Dear Jack,

  It was the honour of my life to accompany you on your travels around the world, discovering so many wondrous places and things.

  When Doris was killed in Kenya, I was lost. Your friendship saved me: you hugged me, you listened to me, but most of all, you brought me back to the world by giving me purpose. Many will call you a hero for leaping onto speeding planes or running into danger, but I think you are a hero for carrying me through that time.

  If you’re reading this, then I am gone, gone to the undiscovered country from which no adventurer, however brave, returns. Know that I died content, content that my life meant something to the world, even if the world didn’t know it.

  And don’t cry for me, because I’m with Doris now.

  We will be watching over you, together, from above.

  Your friend forever,

  Max T. Epper

  The Wizard

  A tear trickled down Lily’s cheek.

  Alby swallowed.

  Jack said, ‘I don’t know if there will be any other missions, but if there are and you’re willing to join me on them, you both should write me an email, just in case. And given your special friendship, I’d suggest you also give each other your messages for safekeeping.

  ‘To answer your question, Alby, a hero is someone who stands by their friends in their hour of need. That’s it. That’s all. And that’s why I do it. I don’t save the world for glory or power. I have neither and I don’t care for them. In fact, I quite like it that the world doesn’t know my name. I just do what I do for the people I love.’

  Both Lily and Alby sent Jack emails of their own a few days later.

  Without reading them, Jack filed them away.

  On that same trip to San Francisco, while Lily had reluctantly gone to an evening lecture on South American linguistics, Jack had dined alone with Alby.

  ‘Hey, Jack,’ Alby said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, ‘can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you think . . .’ Alby hesitated. ‘Do you think, if I asked her, Lily would ever, you know, go out on a date with me?’

  Jack smiled inwardly again.

  ‘To find that out, I think you have to ask her,’ Jack said.

  Alby bowed his head, uncertain.

  ‘But for what it’s worth,’ Jack added, ‘I think you’d have a better-than-average chance of her saying yes.’

  There was another reason for Jack’s trip to the west coast of the United States at that time.

  He had wanted to catch up with his good friend, Professor David Black, the renowned oceanographer and wreck hunter. Black—known as Nobody—worked out of a marine lab not far from the Port of San Francisco.

  One day, Jack, Lily and Alby went to Nobody’s lab to check out his deep-sea submersibles.

  It was a seriously cool place and, wearing his trademark flip-flops, torn shorts and ratty t-shirt, Nobody guided them around it.

  One of the things he was working on was a modified submarine that could act as a mothership for four smaller submersibles. For that purpose, Nobody had bought an old submarine from the Norwegian Navy with his own money.

  He also gave Jack a special black case for his iPhone. ‘Here, I thought you’d like one of these. It’s the latest Navy tech,’ Nobody said. ‘Lightweight carbon fibre she
ll. All but indestructible and waterproof down to four hundred feet. I love it. I can check file photos and other research while I’m diving round a wreck.’

  Jack examined the sturdy phone casing, showed it to Lily. ‘What do you think?’

  She screwed up her nose. ‘It’s too chunky. It’d never fit in the back pocket of my skinny jeans.’

  ‘Lucky I don’t wear skinny jeans,’ Jack said, inserting his iPhone into the casing. ‘I think it’s great. Thanks, Nobody.’

  The two old friends grinned.

  Lily just shook her head.

  As they left Nobody’s lab, Alby said, ‘He bought a submarine with his own money? How?’

  Jack said, ‘You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but Nobody’s superwealthy thanks to all the treasures he’s found in sunken galleons around the world. He started out as a submarine engineer in the U.S. Navy. Now he has homes and dive boats all around the world, including here, Sardinia and Barbados.’

  Alby frowned. ‘I have another question. Nobody is tanned, fit and good-looking; fifty-seven years old, humble, single and rich. He’s smart, funny and women practically melt in front of him. He served in the Navy and now he’s a world-class oceanographer. Given all those achievements, can you please tell me why his nickname is Nobody?’

  Jack smiled knowingly. ‘Because Nobody’s perfect.’

  Nobody had also been something of surrogate uncle for Lily while she’d been studying at Stanford.

  In Jack’s absence, Nobody was always happy to join Lily for a chat or to give her some advice.

  On one occasion, he met up with her in a bar near Stanford. It was the weekend of a huge football game between Stanford and the University of Alabama, the reigning college champions, and the bar was packed with rowdy college kids wearing their teams’ colours. A proud alum of Stanford, Nobody had come down from the city to join Lily and watch the game.

  Lily saw it as an opportunity to ask for his opinion on something.

  ‘I’m thinking of taking on a second major,’ she said. ‘My language studies are fun but they’re kinda easy. I was thinking of doing pre-med over the summer. What do you think? Is it too much?’

  ‘Pre-med?’ Nobody smiled broadly. ‘Hell, I think that’s awesome. I think you’d make a wonderful doctor.’

  Lily bowed her head bashfully. ‘Yeah, but, honestly, do you really think I can do it? There’s a lot of physics and chemistry, and they’re not really my thing.’

  ‘Hey,’ Nobody said, suddenly stern. ‘Never say that. Anybody can learn anything; some of us just need more time than others do. Besides, you’ve got something beyond physics and chemistry that’ll make you a super doctor.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Your heart.’

  ‘My heart?’

  ‘Lily,’ Nobody said, ‘your dad loves you more than life itself. He’s so proud of you. But do you know what he’s most proud of?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sure, you’ve got this gift for reading that ancient language and that’s all well and good. But that’s not all there is to Lily West. Not by a long shot. Jack once told me that there’s something inside you, something sweet and tender, that he never wants to see extinguished. I mean, look at you now: talking about becoming a doctor, helping other people. I reckon he’d be thrilled to hear this.’

  Lily looked around at the students in the crowded bar, drinking and cheering and having a good time.

  ‘He was the one who made me that way,’ she said. ‘When I was young, maybe seven, living in Kenya, a local girl named Kimmy was having a birthday party. She lived on one of the neighbouring farms. She invited me but I said to Dad that I didn’t want to go because Kimmy had no friends. I didn’t want to go to an unpopular kid’s party.’

  Nobody waited for Lily to go on.

  Lily said, ‘I’ll never forget what Dad said. He said very firmly, “And that’s exactly why you’re going to go, young lady. How do you think Kimmy would feel if no-one came? Maybe this is her way of reaching out to become friends.” So I went and when I saw Kimmy’s face light up with a huge smile on my arrival, I understood. Dad made me care about how others feel.’

  ‘He’s a shrewd dude, your old man,’ Nobody said. ‘You know something? He’s got a smile that’s reserved only for you. You probably don’t see it, but the rest of us do. It’s that special smile that fathers have for their daughters—’

  ‘Hey!’ Someone smacked Nobody roughly on the back of the head, making him spill his drink.

  Lily and Nobody turned, shocked.

  An absolutely gigantic guy in an Alabama football jersey stood above them. He was a football player, for sure. Three hundred pounds, shaved head, cruel eyes.

  He kicked Nobody’s chair. ‘Hey, old man. Leave the young chicks for us young dudes, huh?’

  A gang of Alabama fans yucked and chuckled behind him.

  ‘You tell him, Travis,’ someone sniggered.

  ‘Fuckin’-A,’ another agreed.

  Nobody stood up. Slowly.

  ‘Son,’ he said. ‘Do you really want to play it this way?’

  The player towered over him, a foot taller, thirty years younger and a hundred pounds heavier.

  He jabbed Nobody in the chest with every word: ‘Fuck. You. Old. Man.’

  On the last jab, Nobody did something very fast and suddenly the massive footballer was on his knees, his head pressed down against the floor and his right arm twisted upward. Nobody was gripping his wrist with one firm hand. With his boot, Nobody pressed the kid’s head against the beer-stained floor.

  The kid howled. ‘Owww! Fuck! Lemme go! Owww!’

  Nobody was unperturbed.

  ‘Young man,’ he said. ‘You just interrupted a very pleasant dinner I was having with my good friend’s daughter. Are you going to apologise?’

  ‘I’m s-s-sorry . . .’ the football player squeaked.

  ‘I gave you a chance to walk away,’ Nobody said. ‘And you didn’t.’

  The football player grunted in pain.

  ‘Big boy like you has got a lot of strength,’ Nobody said. ‘But with great strength comes a responsibility to use it wisely, not selfishly. Isn’t that so?’

  The player grunted in the affirmative.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Travis. Travis Johnson.’

  ‘Are you playing tomorrow, Travis?’ Nobody asked.

  The big football player nodded vigorously.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Nobody said, and gave the kid’s wrist a sharp jerk, just enough to hyperextend the ligament. ‘When I played football at college, we were taught to treat everyone with courtesy. Be a little more courteous in the future, Travis.’

  Then, to the shock of Travis Johnson and his friends, Nobody calmly guided Lily out of the entirely silent bar.

  London, England

  26 November, 0600 hours

  Twenty-five hours after their wild chase in Venice, Jack, Lily and Sky Monster rendezvoused with Zoe, Mae and Julius in London.

  It had taken Jack a little longer than usual to make the trip: patching up Sky Monster’s wounds had made getting out of Venice unseen much slower.

  They met in the little flat in Vauxhall that Jack kept as a safehouse. It was entirely unremarkable, one of a thousand such flats on the south bank of the Thames about a mile from Big Ben and Parliament: the kind of place you went to disappear and regroup.

  Like now.

  When Jack arrived in the early hours of the morning, Iolanthe was fast asleep in the second bedroom, knocked out.

  With the others standing behind him, Jack gazed at the British princess as she slept.

  By any reckoning, with her flowing auburn hair and flawless skin, Iolanthe had been a beautiful woman. Now, with her head shaved, her faced battered and with a large hole in the central cartilage of her nose,
she was practically unrecognisable.

  ‘This is what her own brother does to her . . .’ Jack said softly.

  He gently shook her shoulder, rousing her. ‘Iolanthe, wake up.’

  Her eyes opened and she squinted weakly up at him. ‘Jack . . . Jack West?’

  ‘Sorry to wake you, but we need your help right away.’

  Ten minutes later, Iolanthe was sitting gingerly in the living room of the flat, wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown, with a cup of warm tea held in both hands, surrounded by Jack and his team.

  She glared hard at one of the photos Zoe had taken at St Michael’s Mount: of the four people leaving the island by helicopter; Orlando, Cardinal Mendoza, Sunny Malik and the pretty young woman in tight riding clothes and with the proud nose.

  ‘The woman is Chloe Carnarvon,’ Iolanthe said. ‘My assistant. Lily, you met her in the Underworld, during the Games. She helped with your clothes and make-up before the gala dinner.’

  Lily nodded. ‘I remember her.’

  ‘Ambitious slut,’ Iolanthe growled. ‘I’ll bet you a thousand pounds she’s sleeping with my brother. If she’s working for him, that’s a problem.’

  ‘Why?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Because for the last two years, Chloe has been more than just my assistant. She’s been my shadow, my second brain. She’s very clever and she knows everything I know: about the Omega Event, the three weapons and the three cities. If she’s helping Orlando, he has a very competent guide. And don’t discount Sunny Malik. He may not be classically educated, but he’s street-smart and unusually adept at finding lost treasures.’

  Jack quickly told Iolanthe about what had happened in New York and Venice, about Orlando’s actions there and the appearance of two sets of hunters pursuing him: Yago, the royal jailer, and the Knights of the Golden Eight.

  ‘Right now,’ he said, ‘I need to know a few things. The Knights of the Golden Eight have captured our friend, Alby Calvin. They also have contracts out on me and Lily: me dead, her alive. I want to know where their headquarters are.’