“Dr. Brighton would like to see you in his office.”
“Now? I have Tactometry with Professor Tzu in less than a half hour.” Landon turned to Cortland, hoping he might help him understand what was going on, but he just looked at him with an excited smile on his face.
“You have been cleared of all training for the day,” Professor Clemens replied in an professional, disconnected manner. “Dr. Brighton is in his office on the fifth floor, 568, between the Student and Administrative Towers. He’s waiting for you.”
“Go on,” Cortland urged. It was obvious to Landon that he knew what Dr. Brighton wanted to speak with him about, but he wasn’t giving him any hints.
Landon headed straight for Dr. Brighton’s office. As he left the cafeteria, he tried to avoid the watchful faces of the students who’d just witnessed his cryptic conversation with Professor Clemens. While taking the stairs, his mind reeled with theories about the imminent meeting. Something in his gut told him it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation, but Cortland seemed excited, so perhaps it was something good. However, that morning was the first time he’d ever spoken to Cortland and he did hang out with Brock, so Cortland might have been just as excited for something bad happening to him, like being expelled. But if Landon was about to be kicked out of the Gymnasium, why did Cortland show a sudden interest in getting to know him? Nothing made sense, so the quicker he got to Dr. Brighton’s office the sooner he’d have answers.
Upon turning into the fifth floor hallway, he found Dr. Brighton leaning against the wall outside his office with his arms crossed, waiting. Dr. Brighton glared at Landon strangely and ushered him into his office without even a word of welcome.
Somehow the office felt more congested than before, as if Dr. Brighton’s papers and books were viral and quickly growing into an epidemic. Landon lowered himself into the stiff chair across from the desk; he could feel a layer of sweat covering his body. His hands were clammy, and it was hard for him to catch his breath. It felt like someone was standing on his chest. As Dr. Brighton greeted him with a stiff demeanor and a serious scowl, Landon could sense a level of detachment between his favorite professor and himself. It was worrisome, and his nerves were getting to him.
Dr. Brighton shut the door and took a seat behind his desk.
“Landon, I have a question for you. What did you think our private sessions were about?”
“Helping me with my abilities,” Landon answered, almost as a question. He wasn’t getting a good feeling about this meeting. He was second-guessing everything, worrying that at any moment he’d be expelled from the one place that could help him. He had just started to feel like he was making progress.
“At the most basic level . . . yes,” Dr. Brighton replied coldly. “The sessions were intended to help you with your abilities, but there was more to them than that.”
“What do you mean?” a confused Landon asked.
Dr. Brighton clasped his hands together, set his arms on his desktop and leaned forward in his seat. He looked at Landon with a serious scowl.
“When we found you, we discovered that you had an uncharted amount of raw power. There hasn’t been a student before you with such potential. As such, we expected you to progress quickly . . . but that wasn’t the case. You proved to be one of the least adept students we’ve ever brought to the Gymnasium.”
“But I’ve been getting better,” Landon interrupted. He couldn’t help but try and defend himself. Dr. Brighton was speaking to him in a strange tone of voice. It was distant and formal, much like how Professor Clemens had spoken to him in the cafeteria. Landon had grown used to a more informal, quirky rapport with his professor. This was strange and foreign, but Dr. Brighton appeared to be having difficulty keeping up the façade. He was struggling to keep his emotions in check, but what scared Landon most was the emotion Dr. Brighton seemed to be fighting back. What Landon read on Dr. Brighton’s face was disappointment.
“What we failed to take into account was that when you arrived here, you weren’t just a massive source of untapped talent—you were broken. Something was halting your progress, and you only seemed to be able to use your abilities when you were angry or frustrated. Your powers were fundamentally linked to your emotions. I thought if I worked with you one on one, figured out what was holding you back, you might be rehabilitated into the exceptional student we all expected you to be.
“Initially, the sessions appeared to be working. You were improving and gaining control, but you were still far behind the other students. As I told you during our first session, your abilities are supposed to be instinctual, but you still had to concentrate and actively engage your abilities to use them. It was a serious issue. Drastic measures had to be taken.”
“Our last session,” Landon accidentally said aloud. His body trembled as he watched Dr. Brighton’s lip form every word. Why was Dr. Brighton telling him all this?
“Yes, our last session,” Dr. Brighton confirmed. “With every week that went by, you improved . . . some . . . but with every session, I slowly realized something. It wasn’t through our lessons, but through our conversations that I saw it. You would start to tell me stories from your past, stories about your mother, but just as you would start, you’d fall silent. You’d change the subject, even though I knew what had happened. I’ve experienced it, too. It’s the moment you realize you’ve lost something . . . forever.”
Landon’s mouth went dry and a lump formed in his throat. He fought to maintain his composure, but water welled up in his eyes. His world was crashing in around him, and he had no way of stopping it.
“I don’t think anyone had the faintest idea how much you were affected by your apocratusis. In hindsight, it seems obvious. Everyone’s apocratusis is tied to a moment of increased emotion, but few are as violent and tragic as yours. It makes sense that an event like that would block you off. Anger and frustration were strong enough feelings to break through the barriers your pain and guilt had built around your abilities. You needed closure, a chance to confront those feelings and free yourself of those barriers.”
“Can you just get it over with,” Landon interrupted, forcefully. He couldn’t handle it any longer. “If you’re going to expel me, just do it already.”
“Oh, we’re not expelling you,” Dr. Brighton dismissively returned. “We’re here to help you. Expulsion is counterproductive.”
“What is it then?”
“I’ve been asked to make you an offer”—Landon cocked his head to the side in confusion—“but before I ask you, I need you to understand something. What we’re getting ready to discuss is extremely confidential, meaning you cannot disclose it to anyone.”
Landon nodded. What is going on? he thought. What’s happening?
“This is very important, Landon. It’s imperative that you say nothing about what I’m about to tell you,” he reiterated.
“I understand,” Landon affirmed.
“We will hold you to that promise.” Dr. Brighton took a poignant pause before continuing. “While still training at the Gymnasium, select students are recruited to become members of an elite tactical team. They are tasked to carry out covert missions around the world, to collect information and eliminate threats to the safety of the United States. They’re called the Pantheon. On any occasion, they’re asked to use their gifts and risk their lives to do what’s necessary to keep the country safe, and we’d like you to join the team.”
Landon was speechless, but his mind was reeling. What? The Pantheon? How could there be a team of spies working out of the Gymnasium? How did I not see this coming? What else don’t I know about? And they want me to join up?
Landon looked down at his lap, weighing the decision in his mind. He could hear his last promise to his mother—I’m going to make this right. I will make you proud. Was this his chance to hold true to that promise? L
andon also felt a pang of selfish motivation rise from the back of his mind. He couldn’t help but assume that by joining up he’d be given more access, which could lead to finding out the answers that had been looming in his mind since he’d come to the Gymnasium.
“I’ll do it,” he replied. “I’ll join the Pantheon.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Dr. Brighton didn’t seem excited.
Landon feigned a smile. It was all he could think to do as he was unsure how to react, especially since Dr. Brighton still maintained his detached demeanor.
Dr. Brighton stood up out of his chair. Landon followed suit, jumping to his feet.
“Please come with me. We have somewhere to be,” Dr. Brighton said as he extended his arm toward the door.
Landon moved toward the exit with caution. Where did they have to be? Judging by Dr. Brighton’s stern demeanor, he wasn’t sure it was somewhere he wanted to go, but he knew he no longer had a choice. He joined Dr. Brighton at the door and followed behind him down the hallway.
He escorted Landon to the first floor of the Gymnasium and soon came up to the secure steel door leading into the Restricted Tower. Landon’s mouth went dry. For months he’d wondered what was behind the large steel door. The thief’s question had plagued his thoughts and forced a plethora of theories to conjure themselves in his mind, but now he was going to learn the truth.
Save for that hint of anticipation, Landon felt nothing. As he stood in front of the door, Landon was numb. He had run the gamut of emotions within a short period of time and was exhausted. Concurrently, Dr. Brighton hadn’t done anything to even hint at what to expect beyond the secured enclosure. Dr. Brighton turned to him, grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, and bent down to look Landon in the eyes.
Landon jumped slightly, but Dr. Brighton’s forceful grip kept him in place. Dr. Brighton’s gaze was so piercing that it felt as if he was peering deep into Landon’s soul. But as Landon looked back into the professor’s deep green eyes, Landon noticed his mentor, not the hardened man from before, staring back at him. His eyes were strong, deep and compassionate—those of the man he’d grown to admire. For the first time in the day, Dr. Brighton’s face had broken from its cold expression.
“Landon, this is your last chance,” Dr. Brighton said, breaking the silence. His voice trembled slightly. Landon looked uncertainly back at his teacher. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes looked at Landon with a sense of concern. What had suddenly drawn out the true nature of the teacher he’d grown to look up to? “It’s not too late. You can turn around and return to your studies . . . no questions asked. All you’ll have to do is hold true to your promise and not tell anyone about the Pantheon. Right now, I’m the only one who knows you accepted our offer, but the second you walk through this door, it’s final. There’s no turning back.”
“I understand,” Landon replied. He diverted his eyes from his professor, turning them down as he weighed the decision in his mind. What had prompted Dr. Brighton to suddenly shift into the concerned teacher? Why did he appear so worried? Landon asked himself, What am I getting into? What could be wrong about joining a group of students who dedicated themselves to helping people? What was really locked away in the Restricted Tower? What was Dr. Brighton not telling him? What’s behind that door?
Before he could find answers to his many questions, Dr. Brighton continued hurriedly, emphasizing his concerns before some unknown deadline had passed. “Landon, what the Pantheon does is dangerous. You’d be risking your life! Are you sure you want that kind of responsibility? Just think about it. I have to open the door at nine o’clock on the second, so you must choose now. There’s no looking back after that. Whatever you decide, I will respect your decision, but I would not feel right without giving you a second chance.”
Landon looked back at his teacher. He’d never seen him appear so worried and shaken. Dr. Brighton always seemed so strong and rational; what was it about this organization that made him so unnerved? Landon didn’t know what to do. He’d agreed to become a member of the Pantheon, to fight to protect the United States. His brain kept telling him to turn back, that there was no reason to risk his life, but his heart kept reminding him that he needed redemption, a way to assuage his guilt. To make matters worse, Dr. Brighton’s shift in attitude had spiked Landon’s curiosities, which had been piqued the moment they’d headed toward the Restricted Tower. He knew he would finally get to know what was going on inside, and he always had a difficult time resisting his need to know.
“Dr. Brighton, I appreciate the concern,” Landon started, “but I told you in your office I would do it. Growing up, my mom always told me to trust my gut. I’m supposed to do this. She would want me to do this, and now that I know it exists, there’s no way I can go back to the way things were before. I need this.”
Dr. Brighton dropped his gaze and lowered his head. His grip on Landon’s shoulders slacked, and then his arms fell to his sides. After an extended moment, Dr. Brighton stood upright, and with a quick breath through his nose, shook himself back into the stoic professional Landon had interacted with throughout the morning.
He stepped up to the large steel door and placed his hand on a black panel to the right of it. A thin, glowing blue line oscillated up and down the screen a few times, scanning Dr. Brighton’s hand, and left a luminescent blue residual print on the screen as it processed. After a moment, a vibrant green bar stretched across the center of the scanner with the words “ACCESS GRANTED” visible in black type. Then, a loud metallic sound resonated from the steel door, followed by a high-pitched hiss as the airlock depressurized.
Landon felt like he had walked into the Pentagon. The entire tower seemed to be a single room. Desks were scattered with papers, and people worked diligently on computers. The walls were lined in massive concave screens. Some appeared to be performing some sort of complex search as images flashed at an incomprehensible speed. Others were broken up into a series of squares, each playing a different news station from around the world. The room was massive; the ceilings must have reached to the second, if not the third, floor, and the sound of typing fingers and multiple news anchors mixed with the bright video images, causing Landon to go into sensory overload. He didn’t know where to look. He never expected anything like this to be hidden within the tower.
He followed behind Dr. Brighton as he walked down a path toward the center of the room. Scanning the people at the desks, he recognized people he’d seen for the first time at Thanksgiving and in the First Frost Frenzy stands.
They reached a massive circular console at the center of the room. Landon paused beside Dr. Brighton, but he failed to notice why they’d stopped. He was too preoccupied scanning the room, attempting to soak in every last bit of stimuli that his brain hadn’t synced up with his body.
“Landon Wicker!” a voice exclaimed that jolted Landon back into reality. He spun his head around and found Dr. Wells standing before him with an excited look on his face and his arms outstretched like he was preparing to pull Landon into an uncomfortable hug. Luckily, a second later, he dropped his arms and turned his face up, as if he’d realized he needed to be a bit more professional in their current setting. “Welcome to the Olympic Tower. I’m pleased to find out that you’ve decided to accept our invitation to become a tactical agent in the Pantheon.” Without pausing, he turned his attention to Dr. Brighton, who was standing silently beside Landon, and said in a stern, authoritative manner, “Zeus, the others are awaiting your arrival at the Palaestra. You’re dismissed.”
Landon looked curiously at Dr. Brighton. Zeus? Is that why Sofia called him king of the gods. He was surprised when Dr. Brighton nodded and headed toward a staircase along the back wall. He couldn’t believe he accepted being dismissed.
“Well, Landon, shall we get started?” Dr. Wells asked, but before Landon even had time to give any gesture of affirmation, he continued. �
�This room is the Temple. It’s the command center of the Pantheon—the base of operations. Here we have analysts working around the clock to gather information, process it, then use it to develop and organize missions that the operatives will carry out.
“Right now, we have people scouring all forms of communications, both encrypted and open frequencies, for any potential threats to our national security. If something is flagged, it’s brought to logistics, which will work the case and determine if it requires action. They will work through the basics of the operation.” Dr. Wells circled around the room, pointing out the areas where these functions took place. “Now, if a mission is approved, the operatives will be brought to where we’re standing. We call it the Altar.”
Dr. Wells turned to the console and pressed a series of buttons. Suddenly, frosted glass walls rose out of a wide ring in the floor, secluding Dr. Wells and Landon. The glass made it impossible to discern anything outside of the Altar except for the dark silhouettes of people who passed near the glass. It also cut off all sounds, leaving them in a silent tube amidst the chaos on the other side.
Once sealed, Dr. Wells proceeded to enter a series of numbers into a keypad. As he input the appropriate commands, a large holographic image of an eagle holding an arrow projected up out of the console. He pushed a final button and a holographic map replaced the eagle, but Landon couldn’t determine what the map was of. It showed a building resting on a cliff side, and the details were astounding. It called out variations in elevation, foliage and roads, as well as a detailed schematic of the compound. Landon was entranced by it. He’d only ever seen things like this in movies. He never thought it could actually exist. Before he realized it, he was pressed up against the cylindrical console, his gaze never breaking from the projection.
The Search for Artemis (The Chronicles of Landon Wicker) Page 20
