“Let’s go,” I said.
Pilar and I sprinted down the hall. Like usual, most of the other students had hunkered down in their rooms to study, so the building was quiet and the hallways were mostly empty. No one who saw us paid us any mind and before long we’d made it to Mr. Kim’s office and were on our way down the stairs. I have to admit, I was getting a little tired of the stairs. Couldn’t someone build an elevator already? But Mr. Kim said that an elevator wasn’t feasible from an engineering standpoint for some reason. Whatever. He had enough super-complicated spy stuff in his cave to launch an exploratory probe into the Milky Way and he couldn’t get an elevator built? Jeez.
A few minutes later, Brent and Alex joined us. Mr. Kim had been in the room when we arrived and we’d filled him in on what had happened. He had a look of supreme disappointment on his face. He had taken Rinteau in and given him a home and now he felt betrayed. He wasn’t the only one.
Alex surprised me. I was certain he’d take the opportunity to give me a big old I-told-you-so. I know I would have. But he didn’t say anything. Not even a smirk. Or a smilirk. Not so much as a facial tick. He asked me if I was okay, then asked Mr. Kim what our next move was.
“How can we be sure he had the Firehorn?” Pilar asked.
“What else would he have? I don’t think he was taking Mithras a batch of Mrs. Clausen’s butterscotch-oatmeal cookies. Although they are delicious. It all makes sense,” I said.
And it did. So I laid out my theory. It all started at the Devereaux mansion.
Somehow, Rinteau had managed to sabotage the cable motor, which caused me to snag halfway between the door and the pedestal. It wouldn’t have taken much, just a little chip to one of the gears or an almost severed wire on one of the switches. He must have been very smart about it, because so far, Brent hadn’t been able to figure it out. It might even have been a case where he was able to restore it to working order after he’d rigged it, hoping that Brent would never discover what went wrong.
When Rinteau had shown up at the doorway, he was carrying his duffle. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Maybe he’d been planning ahead, thinking we’d have to move fast, and he didn’t want to leave anything behind. When I was hung up on the cable and after the alarm went off, I’m betting he switched duffle bags as he and Pilar were racing out of the mansion. Maybe when we got to the airport, whatever. It didn’t really matter so much when, just how and why.
Mithras had been one step ahead of us the whole way. He’d created his own duplicate of the Firehorn and Rinteau had switched his fake with the real one we had rightfully stolen. What a dirty trick.
Now it was time for some personal growth.
“Guys, I’m sorry. I was wrong about Rinteau. You were right all along. Especially you, Alex,” I said. He still didn’t say anything. The pressure must have been killing him.
“I’m afraid I’m as much at fault as anyone, Rachel,” Mr. Kim said. “I had hoped that Michael would find a place here. A home. But it appears that I reached him too late and Simon found him first.” There was sadness and resignation in Mr. Kim’s tone.
“There is something I wanted to tell you, Rachel. It’s about Rinteau,” Pilar said.
She shoved her pad that she’d been doodling on across the table. I looked at it as she explained.
“I’m not sure why, but something about the name Rinteau was bothering me from the beginning. It sounds French, but I looked up the name on some genealogy websites and couldn’t find a reference for a name like that anywhere. Then I figured it out. It has to be a fake name. Rinteau is an anagram for Taurine,” she said.
“So? What does that mean?” I asked.
“Taurine refers to the zodiac sign Taurus. The bull,” Mr. Kim said.
It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach all over again. Mithras had been laughing at us the whole time while he sent one of his little minions right into the nest.
“So now what?” Alex inquired.
None of us had noticed Brent wasn’t sitting with us at the table. He’d wandered over to one of the consoles at the computer banks.
“How about we go catch him?” Brent said. Good old Brent. Always chiming in with the positive thinking.
“Well, that’d be great, but we don’t even know where he’s at; he could be anywhere,” I said. “He’s almost to downtown Philly,” Brent said. “I’ve been tracking him by satellite for the last five minutes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
If It Were Easy Anyone Could Do It
WE WERE IN THE Henderson’s Dry Cleaning van driving fast toward Philly, with Mr. Kim at the wheel. He was talking into a wireless headset, trying to scramble a tactical team to move in on Blankenship’s position. The problem was that it was going to take time for a team to assemble and rendezvous with us. Right now, we didn’t know for sure where Blankenship was headed. Brent had a laptop on his knees connected via satellite uplink to an FBI recon filter that traveled in orbit attached to a US government communications satellite. His screen showed the progress of the black van carrying Mithras, Rinteau, and the Firehorn as it moved along the freeway approaching the Philly airport.
“It’s simple, really,” Brent said. “There are several satellites passing over the school and the surrounding area in almost constant rotations. The FBI, CIA, DEA, DIA, and several other As all share coverage responsibility and pass off the signal as each bird moves in orbit. It’s just a matter of locating the right one and bouncing the signal back to the FBI filter, because it has the highest frequency rotation, and with megahertz calibrated to—”
“Brent,” I interrupted. “I love it when you talk all techie, but just give us the gist, please.” He blushed. He was even cute when he blushed. Maybe I needed to go to a secret spy school where only ugly guys were allowed to attend. All this cuteness was distracting.
“Right. Sorry. Each bird records digitally, so I went back to roughly the time the van would have picked up Rinteau, found which bird had coverage, and pulled up its recordings. I fast-forwarded through them and could feed coordinates into the computer to catch up to the real-time image as the van continued to move toward the city. Piece of cake.”
Sure. … Not. Though I do like cake.
“But how do we know it’s the right van? What if we lost it temporarily and then picked it back up and Simon had switched things around? Taken another van or something? He must have known about the satellites. He’s a tricky one,” I said.
“The coverage is pretty consistent, and once I fast forwarded through the sequences I didn’t find a spot where he would have had enough time to make a switch. And yes, he would know we’d try to track him by satellite, but remember: he doesn’t know that we’re onto him. He’s going to ditch the van soon and try to get away before we even notice. Or so he thinks,” Brent said.
When he explained it that way, it sort of made sense. Except the satellite-sequencing, digital-recording, uploading-coordinates-while-rotating coverage part. I had no idea what he was talking about there. Just the part about Simon not knowing we were on to him.
Mr. Kim disconnected from his call.
“Mr. Quinn has confirmed it. The Firehorn that we thought we took from the mansion is indeed a fake. You were right, Rachel. Rinteau has duped us and switched his own counterfeit for the real one.”
“How did we let this happen?” Alex muttered.
“Such thoughts are no longer fruitful, Alex. It has happened. We must now focus our efforts on finding Simon and, at the very least, getting the Firehorn back.” Mr. Kim said.
“How did it go with the tactical team?” I asked.
“Not well. The Philadelphia-based FBI tactical team is at Quantico for a training exercise. They were still the closest team and they are scrambling now, but it will be at least an hour before they can even reach the metro area by chopper. The local PD will be willing to assist us with backup, but their team is undermanned and certainly not trained to take down someone as dangerous as Simon,”
he said.
“So it’s just us for now, huh?” I asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Kim replied. Well, that wasn’t so bad. I mean, okay, it was pretty bad. We’d managed to escape Blankenship a couple of times before. And we’d done a pretty good job of mucking up his plans. Truth be told, we had the Idol of Fury, something he needed if he was ever going to try and pull off his wacky plan, locked away safely. Even if he got away with the Firehorn, the score was tied. Except for the fact that the Book of Seraphim was also missing. We didn’t know who had that. We didn’t know a lot of stuff, come to think about it. And the not knowing was starting to cheese me off.
The fact was that our luck wasn’t going to hold forever. Simon was going to win one of these little engagements at some point. He was too smart and he had too many resources to keep letting us get away. I just hoped this wasn’t that time.
“Okay, I have a location,” said Brent.
Brent fed the GPS coordinates from the satellite into his laptop and brought up a street address. The van was parked in a small warehouse in an industrial park near the Airport. Mr. Kim hit the gas and the van picked up speed. We’d be there in about twenty minutes.
The van was silent as we drove, broken only by Mr. Kim speaking with the dispatcher for the FBI team that was now airborne and on its way from Quantico. We got like this sometimes. Brent, Alex, and Pilar weren’t exactly chatterboxes, by any stretch, but we usually would talk about stuff on our little trips. But when things got tense, we sometimes went quiet.
“Rinteau is mine,” I said quietly to the three of them, so Mr. Kim wouldn’t hear. Alex started to shake his head, but then saw the look on my face and changed his mind. He nodded. He mouthed “be careful” to me, but didn’t say anything else.
In a few minutes, we were there, pulling up across the street from the warehouse. Mr. Kim parked the van and we sat there for a moment studying the building. It was in a row of similar-sized buildings. It had a large door, big enough to drive a truck through, with a regular door beside it. No light came from inside and there was no one around we could see.
“Brent, did you see anything or anyone leave from the satellite imagery?” Mr. Kim asked.
“No, sir. Nothing. No activity at all,” he said, his eyes still glued to the computer screen.
“Strange,” said Mr. Kim. “All right. I’m going to take a look around the back. You are to remain here until I return. Do not leave the van or attempt to follow me. If anyone appears before I return, you will remain in the van. If a vehicle should leave you will not follow it. Brent can track it on the satellite. Am I clear?”
And of course, the whole time he was making this little speech he was looking directly at me. Like I would do anything. Me, cause trouble? Okay, good point.
He handed Alex a smartphone from his pocket.
“I will stay on an open channel. Keep this on speakerphone. If you see anything, give a shout and I’ll return quickly,” Mr. Kim said. He opened his door and left quietly. Quickly, he ran across the street and peered through the window in the door of the warehouse. Then he went around the side of the building and disappeared from sight.
“Now what do we do?” I said.
“We wait,” said Alex.
“Ha! No, seriously. Now what do we do?”
Alex let out a big sigh and rolled his eyes. He pointed to the cell phone, reminding me that Mr. Kim could hear everything. I sighed and reached over the seat to grab the phone, but Alex held it away from me. He did push the mute button on the microphone, though.
“Not this time, Rachel. We are not stepping out of this van until Mr. Kim tells us to. We’ve had enough of your hijinks,” Alex said.
He actually said hijinks. He’s the king of cool, that Alex.
I sat back in my seat, crossed my arms, and began tapping my foot. I squiggled around, trying to get comfortable, and looked at my watch. Mr. Kim had been gone for almost two and a half minutes. He could be in serious danger or captured by the bad guys. Well, probably not. But maybe. Waiting is not my thing. I am, I have discovered, a woman of action.
“Okay, I’m going to check it out,” I said.
I tried opening my door quickly, but thudded against it as the door refused to open. It was locked. I tried pushing the little button to release the lock, but nothing happened.
I looked up at the three of them, sitting there, all smug in their we-knew-you-were-going-to-try-that-and-how-dumb-do-you-think-we-are-anyway way. Cheaters.
“Hey!” I said. “Let me out!”
Pilar just shrugged her shoulders as if she had no idea what had happened. Brent suddenly got very interested in his computer screen. Alex snickered and held up a little remote control key fob.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “This controls the locks. Nobody gets out unless I say.”
“Who put you in charge?” I asked.
“Mr. Kim did when he gave me this remote,” he answered. Oh. Dang that Mr. Kim! How was I supposed to save the world from the evil tyranny of Mithras when I couldn’t even get out of the van? There I was stuck with a bunch of goody-two-shoes while an evildoer made off with our priceless artifact. I glanced at my watch again.
“You do realize he’s been gone nearly fifteen—”
Brent interrupted me. “Three and a half minutes. And see, the satellite is picking him up behind the building; he’s totally fine.” Et tu, Brent?
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I said. Alex shot me a glare.
“Nice try,” Alex laughed.
“Seriously. I can’t hold it. If I hold it, that has dire medical consequences. Pilar, back me up here.”
“I’m staying out of this one,” she said.
Dang it. Time to try a new tactic.
“Brent, can you still see Mr. Kim on the satellite feed?” I asked.
“No, he’s entered the building and is not currently visible,” he said.
“What? Why didn’t you say something? He could be hurt or in danger! Alex, open the door! We have to go rescue Mr. Kim! Hurry!” Alex just sat there. “Come on! He could be bleeding or something!”
“Just because I can’t see him doesn’t mean he isn’t there. He’s either still inside or keeping to the shadows while he checks things out,” Brent said.
You’re not helping, Brent! What a bunch of rule-following, order-obeying, goody–two-shoes I was stuck with.
I threw myself back in the seat, thoroughly disgusted. Then I smiled as it came to me. I put my hand on the button controlling the lock on my door. It was an electrical lock. Back in Hawaii, somehow my body had channeled enough electrical energy to recharge the dead batteries in a flashlight. I had been under severe stress at the time. After we got back, Brent and Mr. Quinn ran all kinds of tests on me to see if I could replicate what had happened. I’d never been able to.
Until now.
Placing my index finger on the button and, closing my eyes, I tried to remember what my thoughts had been in Hawaii, right before my hand went all Green Lantern on me. I concentrated. For some reason I thought of the goddess Etherea. I imagined her floating in the air in a beautiful white gown.
Once again, an amazing thing happened. My hand began tingling. It felt like it had fallen asleep and I resisted the urge to remove it from the door lock and shake it. I felt a brief sense of pressure on the palm of my hand and the next thing I knew, the lock popped open.
Alex’s head snapped around at the sound. I snatched the door handle and pulled it open before he could react.
“What are you doing?” he nearly shouted.
“Leaving!” I yelled back. And I did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
This Didn’t Happen Like I Planned
I HEARD ALEX’S MUFFLED shout as I quickly slammed the car door shut. I didn’t stop to look, just sprinted toward the front of the warehouse. When I got there, I turned around, glancing at the van to see if they were going to follow me. I heard the locks click again, so I guess I had my answer. What a b
unch of chickens.
The door had a window in it and I cupped my hands around my eyes to look through the glass. There was a dimly lit office with a counter and a couple of chairs, and another door behind the counter that I bet led to the warehouse in the back. I tried the handle. It was locked. No surprise.
My motto is: always try to be prepared for any situation. Actually, that’s not true. I don’t really have a motto, and if I did, it would most likely be something like “try not to screw things up too badly” or “never, under any circumstances, wear plaid,” but I’ve gotten a lot better about trying to think a couple steps ahead in the last couple of months.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the zip gun I had brought with me from Mr. Kim’s situation room. A zip gun is a small device used to unlock doors. It looks like a tiny gun, and you put the small point or “barrel” in the keyhole and pull the trigger. Out pops a series of wires that act as lock picks. They shoot inside the lock and find all the right tumblers and tension springs and unlock the door quickly and silently. Brent had used this same device the first time we broke into the Top Floor at school. Um … I mean, Brent had used this same device when we were attempting to save Mr. Kim from a surprise attack and needed to make a quick and unauthorized entry to the Top Floor area. Yeah. That was it.
I pushed the barrel of the gun into the keyhole and pulled the trigger, hoping the place didn’t have an alarm. In a couple of seconds, the gun did its work, and I heard the lock click open. I opened the door and stepped inside quickly. There wasn’t much time. I was sure Alex had let Mr. Kim know what I was doing, and he’d be coming after me any second.
There were no buzzing or beeping sounds to greet me. I looked around the doorway and didn’t see any cables or keypads or anything indicating the door was wired to an alarm. I didn’t waste much time searching around the office. It was mostly deserted, anyway. I rounded the counter and went to the door that led to the warehouse. That was what I was interested in.
The Spy Who Totally Had a Crush on Me Page 13
