Golden Gate

by James Ponti

  Why are there two TV trucks at Kinloch? she asked herself. She wondered if something newsworthy had happened while she was away on the Sylvia Earle.

  And that’s when it dawned on her.

  What if she hadn’t missed the story? What if she was the story? Her and Brooklyn.

  Over the weekend they’d been so focused on Clementine, Parker Rutledge, and trying to figure out what happened in San Francisco that they’d lost sight of the fact that for the rest of Britain, the biggest news was the botched hijacking of the Sylvia Earle.

  It had everything the tabloids and cable news craved: high-stakes drama, a rumored connection to Parliament and the royal family, and evil villains who were still on the loose. But most of all, it had mystery.

  For three days, the media had been running reports with far more questions than answers. That was largely due to the fact that the crime had taken place in such a remote location. Unst didn’t have a commercial airport—just a landing strip controlled by the government. By the time the press had managed to arrange for boats to take them there, most of the passengers and crew were gone. As a result, news outlets had virtually no firsthand information. There was no video of the aftermath. No interviews with traumatized victims. More importantly, because those passengers were minors, their identities had been kept secret.

  Or at least, they were supposed to be secret. Was it possible that they somehow found out that the two of them were on board? If so, that would be very dangerous. Spies were supposed to blend into the background, not be on the news or have their pictures on the front page. Not to mention the fact that it wouldn’t be a good thing for Emil Blix to know where they lived and went to school.

  “Brooklyn!” Sydney shouted to no avail, her voice drowned out by distance and traffic. “Brooklyn!”

  She raced after them but missed the light at the crosswalk, which put her farther behind. By the time she finally caught up, they were just around the corner from school.

  “Brooklyn,” she yelled, breathing a bit heavily. “Wait for me!”

  Brooklyn finally stopped and turned to face her. “When I said I needed a little time, I meant more than three minutes.” She said it as a joke, but there was more than a hint of seriousness in it.

  “I know,” Sydney replied. “And you can be mad at me again in a little bit. But right now, you’ve got to come with me. We need to get out of here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You can’t see it yet,” Sydney said. “But there’s trouble right around the corner. I noticed it from the footbridge.”

  “What type of trouble?”

  “Paps.”

  “Paps?” asked Brooklyn. “What are paps?”

  “Paparazzi.”

  “Waiting for us?”

  “Yes,” said Sydney. Then she thought for a second. “At least, I think so.”

  “You think there are paparazzi waiting to take our pictures like we’re celebrities?” Brooklyn said with a laugh. “You really have gone full mental, haven’t you? Relax, Sydney. You and I are good. Apology’s accepted. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.” She nodded toward the school. “And you don’t have to make up insane situations in order to rescue me.”

  Sydney wondered if she’d done just that. If she’d caught a glimpse of one thing and manufactured it into some high drama that wasn’t really there. That would be in keeping with her recent non-Sydney-like behavior. Her face flushed red with embarrassment.

  “Sorry.”

  “Come on,” Brooklyn said to her. “Walk with us.”

  Sydney remained embarrassed about overreacting up until the moment they turned the corner and realized she’d been absolutely right. Standing there just outside the school’s property line were a dozen reporters and three television camera operators.

  “There they are,” one reporter said to her cameraman. “Start rolling.”

  Within seconds a chain reaction spread through them, and they all moved toward Sydney and Brooklyn.

  “You guys block for us,” Sydney said to the others. “Try to buy us some time.” She yanked on Brooklyn’s arm and started sprinting down the street. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “They’re running,” another reporter called out, and soon the press started chasing after them. It was somewhat comical as camera operators lugged heavy gear, on-air reporters tried to run in uncomfortable shoes while not mussing their makeup or clothes, and newspaper and tabloid journalists sprinted into the lead.

  “What’s this about?” Brooklyn asked Sydney as they ran.

  “The Sylvia Earle,” explained Sydney. “It’s a huge story and we’re part of it.”

  “Yes, but how do they know that?”

  “We can ask them if they catch us.”

  As they turned the corner, both girls looked back and saw that the first wave of reporters was gaining. The two of them started racing along High Street, sprinting past all the restaurants and shops.

  “Shouldn’t we go to the train station,” Brooklyn said, “so we can get out of town?”

  “There won’t be another train for half an hour,” Sydney said. “They’d have us cornered on the platform.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  “Chip shop,” said Sydney.

  “Seriously?” replied Brooklyn, panting as they ran. “We just had breakfast. We’re being chased by the paparazzi, and you want to stop for fish and chips?”

  “Just trust me,” said Sydney.

  In the middle of the block stood Scrod Save the Queen, the best chip shop in town and a popular hangout for Kinloch students. But Sydney wasn’t interested in their deep-fried deliciousness. She was headed there because of its basement.

  “Morning, Calvin,” Sydney said to the man behind the counter as she and Brooklyn scurried into the shop.

  “Morning, Sydney,” he replied. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “On my way,” she answered. “Mind if we lock up for a sec? We’re trying to avoid some paparazzi.”

  “Fine by me,” he answered as though this was an everyday request.

  She turned the lock on the door and flipped the plastic sign so that it read CLOSED.

  “Just give us a few, will ya?” she continued.

  “Sure thing,” Calvin replied.

  Sydney led Brooklyn to the back of the store and down a flight of stairs.

  “Okay, that was surreal,” said Brooklyn. “You know him?”

  “Calvin? For years. He’s great and his chippy’s to die for.”

  “Why are we coming down here?” Brooklyn asked. “Is this where we’re going to hide?”

  “It’ll be easier to explain when you see it,” Sydney replied.

  They reached what appeared to be a dead end when they came to the rear wall of the basement. But Sydney moved with lightning efficiency as she quickly pushed some boxes out of the way and slid a cabinet to the side to reveal a metal panel with a bolt and latch. She opened it to reveal a set of stone stairs that descended into the darkness.

  “Whoa,” said Brooklyn.

  “Come on,” Sydney said as she flipped a light switch and illuminated a long brick tunnel. “Let’s get you to that algebra test.”

  “What is this?” asked Brooklyn.

  “Over the past five centuries, Kinloch Abbey has been a castle, a fort, a monastery, and a school,” Sydney explained. “And no matter what it was, there have always been people desperate to sneak in or escape. There are various ways to do that, but this is my personal favorite. Legend has it that it was built in 1568 by Sir William Douglas as a way to smuggle Mary, Queen of Scots, whose cousin Queen Elizabeth wanted her dead. There’s no way the paps will find their way down here.”

  Even though it was dark and damp, Brooklyn enjoyed the tunnel. Just the thought of it was exotic and exciting. It was narrow enough that she could touch both sides at once, and anyone taller would’ve had to duck to keep from bumping into the ceiling. It took them about ten minutes, just enough
time to unwind from the unexpected adrenaline jolt of the morning.

  They were about halfway when Sydney said, “I meant what I said on the train. I really am very sorry.”

  “I know,” answered Brooklyn. She was quiet for a moment before she asked, “Did you also mean the part about being jealous of me?”

  “Yes,” Sydney said emphatically. “I know that’s daft, but it’s true.”

  “Why? How could I possibly make you jealous?”

  Sydney stopped and turned back, half her face illuminated by a light bulb in a wire basket that hung from the ceiling.

  “You’re great at everything,” she said. “Even without training.”

  “I wasn’t great at figuring out that picture of Annie and Robert,” Brooklyn replied. “In twenty minutes, Kat solved something that had baffled me for two months.”

  Even in the low light, Brooklyn could see a smile creep across Sydney’s face.

  “I quite liked that,” Sydney admitted as she tried to stifle a laugh.

  “Oh, you did?” Brooklyn replied, embarrassed and amused. “You enjoyed me failing miserably?”

  “No,” Sydney said. “You didn’t fail at all. No one can think like Kat. But it was a good reminder to me that I’m not the only one who makes mistakes.”

  Minutes later, they reached an aged oak door and entered the school’s boiler room. It was cramped and not unlike the school’s version of the stern thruster machine room. There were old water tanks, hissing steam pipes, and an electric generator, among other machinery. Conspicuously out of place was the dapper man in a tweed houndstooth suit leaning against a wall, reading a book.

  “Dr. Graham?”

  Dr. Christopher Graham was the headmaster at Kinloch, and he closed the book and looked up at them. “Ah, Eleanor, Christina, so nice to see you,” he said, calling them by the MI6 cover names they used at school. “Welcome back to Kinloch. I trust you had an… eventful… time on the Sylvia Earle.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sydney asked.

  “Waiting for you, of course,” he said. “First off, I’m terribly sorry about the horde that greeted you this morning. We did not see that coming, but trust me that we have lawyers in high places dealing with those media organizations as we speak. I was headed toward the train station to greet you personally when I saw the scrum and watched you run away. I knew I’d never catch up, so I decided to wait for you here instead.”

  Sydney looked around, trying to make sense of it all. “And you knew we’d be here because…”

  “Because long before I was headmaster at Kinloch, I was a student at Kinloch,” he said. “I too have snuck in and out through the secret passageway of Mary, Queen of Scots. I don’t officially approve of doing so, but in this instance I’ll look the other way.”

  Sydney and Brooklyn laughed. Dr. Graham was an unusual character but one students adored. Sydney had done some digging into his past and had an even greater appreciation for him than most. Before he was an educator, he was an army intelligence officer with the Royal Scots. She often wondered if his intelligence background had anything to do with why MI6 had placed them all at Kinloch.

  “Now, on to more pressing matters,” he said. “We have never talked about our”—he searched for the right word—“peculiar arrangement. You and your friends from FARM often disappear with little notice, and I know just enough to know that I shouldn’t ask any questions. This time, however, I must force myself to violate that unspoken rule.”

  Sydney and Brooklyn braced themselves for whatever question he might ask.

  “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  The question was obviously heartfelt, and both girls were touched.

  “I hold crown and country in the highest regard,” he continued. “But I tell you with all sincerity that nothing matters more to me than the well-being of my students. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through.”

  “We’re fine,” said Sydney.

  “Totally fine,” added Brooklyn. “But thank you for asking.”

  He closed his eyes for a second of relief. “No more questions,” he said. “And perhaps this is just school spirit and personal pride talking, but until somebody disabuses me of the notion, I’d like to think that my two brilliant, resourceful, wonderful Kinloch students have a fair share of responsibility for the fact that the hijackers’ plan failed so miserably. That perhaps you two are, in fact, the heroes of the day.”

  Sydney and Brooklyn both smiled as they shared a look. This was as close as they’d ever get to acknowledging their secret outside the circle.

  “Well, I’m not going to disabuse you,” Sydney said.

  “Neither will I,” added Brooklyn.

  The headmaster slapped his hands together and beamed. “Deee-lightful.” He gave each a firm, enthusiastic handshake, and then, once the moment of congratulations was over, he flashed a comically severe expression and said, “Well, off to class now. Heroes or not, I will not stomach tardiness.”

  They laughed and headed off to class, and as they did, they could hear him absently whistling the school song as he walked toward his office.

  13. Feijoada

  “WERE YOU TERRIFIED?”

  “Is it true there was a royal on board?”

  “What was it like when the bombs went off?”

  “OMG, tell me everything!”

  Sydney and Brooklyn were never as popular as they were that day at school. Everyone wanted to hear about the hijacking. Even their teachers. The algebra test Brooklyn had been so worried about had to be postponed because too much of the class time was eaten up by her recounting of the events.

  Normally, they wouldn’t say a word about one of their missions, but Mother worried that not talking about it would seem more suspicious and could possibly attract deeper curiosity and inspection. Besides, Sydney and Brooklyn were sworn to secrecy. But here at Kinloch, they were Ellie and Christina, two schoolmates who just happened to get swept up in the biggest news story in ages. It was no secret that they’d taken off from school to go on the trip. In fact, both were supposed to give presentations about it to their science classes. Only now, instead of talking about marine mammals and bioluminescent phytoplankton, they were discussing hijackers and rescues at sea. Throughout the day, both girls offered watered-down versions of the events, omitting any details that might hint at their actual roles. And even though neither would admit it, both liked being the center of attention at least a little bit.

  “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “Yes, she’s a royal, but not one that you’d know.”

  “By the time the second explosion went off, I thought we were under attack.”

  After school, Dr. Graham drove them back to the FARM to ensure that there was no more trouble. Then he met with Monty, and they worked out a plan to make sure there wasn’t a repeat.

  “How did the press even know about them?” she asked.

  “Our attorney thinks the media found out which schools sent students on the trip, and then they trolled through the social media accounts of any students at those schools,” Graham explained. “Someone must have intercepted a message between two of our students who were talking about the girls being on the trip.”

  The team typically had chores around the house they had to take care of when they got home from school, but today those were postponed so they could all watch the news. With Emil Blix and his crew still at large, and so many unanswered questions about the hijacking, the Sylvia Earle still dominated coverage. The BBC had the best reporting, aided by the fact that one of their documentary filmmakers, Virginia Wescott, had been on board. She’d given an extensive interview while she was still on Unst, with the Sylvia Earle visible in the background, and she’d done a more formal one at the network’s London studio.

  “You know, I think she may have saved my life,” Brooklyn offered.

  “How so?” asked Kat.

  “At the end, when everything fell apart,
I think the head guy figured out that I might be to blame,” she said. “He made a move toward me, and she stepped between us and warned him off.”

  “That’s quite brave,” said Monty.

  “She’s tough,” said Brooklyn. “She told us some amazing stories about things that have happened while she was making documentaries.”

  During the interview Virginia explained that the government had seized all the footage she shot on the Sylvia Earle as potential evidence, although they allowed the network to show a few shots of the ship heading out to sea and of the crew with no students visible. It wasn’t much, but compared to what the other networks had, it was a treasure trove.

  They continued watching, and in the endless quest for “breaking news,” the following stories led the way:

  The hijackers were still at large, but the leader had been identified as Emil Blix, a shadowy figure from Bergen, Norway. He’d had past associations with several notorious crime syndicates, including Umbra and one whose symbol matched the wolf tattoo Brooklyn saw on his neck.

  Much was being made of the fact that Frida Hovland, the ship’s captain, was also from Norway. Although no one directly said that she was connected to the hijackers, that was the implication. This fit with a theory that someone in the crew might have helped the hijackers track the ship to such a remote location.

  There was great interest in the explosions. According to the police statements, everyone on the ship heard both of them, but nobody saw either one nor could they explain why they didn’t cause any damage. Each network had their own “expert” offer theories, the most ridiculous of which was that the Royal Navy had a top-secret program that trained dolphins and sea lions to detect and destroy underwater mines and explosives. This instantly led to the nickname Sydney the Sea Lion, to which Sydney responded by making a barking noise and moving her arms like flippers.