Unbound
Page 7
She hesitated, her expression guarded. “Separate rooms, and nothing strange, you promise?”
“I promise. Knight’s honor.”
“Elijah the Knight.” She smiled. “Okay, I’ll join you for some fresh country air as long as things go well between now and then.” No pressure! I thought, as she glanced out the window toward Patrick, Charles, and Aisha. “Come on, I’m hungry,” she said, “and those three are going to think we’re dating or something.”
“Would that be so bad?” I asked.
“Funny! Anyone dating me would know better than to keep me away from lunch.” She patted her flat stomach.
“Then what are we waiting for? Shakes await.”
And so did another date, if I could survive another encounter with Bart.
AFTER THURSDAY’S CLASSES and another simulation, I had an hour—a sweet, unscheduled hour—until I’d meet Naomi. She had roped me into dinner at some famous preacher’s house before the meeting with Bart. It seemed like a small price to pay, especially since Naomi would be there in her evening finest.
But now my mind spun around the best ways to spend my free hour. I made my way back to my hotel room and, once inside, instructed V to give her daily report. I had sixty-seven direct messages and nine news briefings. For once, I ignored them. They could wait.
“Research. President of the United Nations,” I ordered. “Report on what you find after thirty minutes.” The man’s face still gnawed at my memory. Perhaps it made sense that my dreams would include a man I’d seen before, but nothing else about the dreams made sense at all.
“Research. ISA entrance examination,” I ordered. “Summary report in forty minutes.” It still seemed odd that we had to pass the exam. Not that I’d have any trouble passing. Surely I’d get the highest score, except maybe for Naomi. But before, everyone had said it was a placement exam. Now the Captain had changed the story and said we had to pass, and he had mentioned my dad in the same breath. That was troubling, to say the least.
I plopped down into the plush leather chair in the corner of my room. I almost felt comfortable, staring at the ceiling. But my thoughts still spun. Naomi, my dad, tomorrow’s test, the UN President, my dreams. Life was simpler a week ago, when I was just a kid about to graduate from high school. I needed a break.
“Where’s my dad?” I asked.
“Turks and Caicos,” answered V, “on a beach.” She sounded awfully cheery. I guess that’s why I picked the Australian accent. Maybe I’d change that soon. V might sound nice as a Brit.
“Order me a piña colada and shift me there,” I commanded.
“Order placed,” V said. “Activating lenses.”
I blinked and held my eyes closed for several seconds. When I opened them, turquoise water and an empty white sand beach filled my vision. I could hear the gentle sound of waves. I could feel the breeze on my skin, the sand between my toes. Those nerve-endings were easy to control for the best precept on the market.
An android delivered my drink, complete with a tropical umbrella. V knew me well. I took a sip and let my mind drift to the tropics. If my dad was relaxing there, so would I.
The minutes passed in quiet, and I drank down the piña colada. I may have dozed off before V woke me with a gentle alarm in my mind. The ocean was gone. There was no more breeze. I didn’t have much time before I needed to leave to meet Naomi.
“First report,” I said.
“The President of the United Nations,” V began. The screen came on before me, showing his face. It was hard to imagine a more perfect face. “Donatello Cristo. Born in Rome in 2022. Unusual—no trace of birth details. Nothing known of his parents. Adopted and raised in a privileged home. Highest test scores of all high school graduates in Italy. EU scholar for university studies in programming. Founded security software company, then went public.” The screen streamed a video of him standing over the International Stock Exchange. “He became the youngest-ever European billionaire. Then he attended Oxford for his doctorate in religion. In 2056, at thirty-four years old, Italy designated him for the UN General Assembly. He was elected six years ago to the UN Presidency.” The screen flashed to a video that looked like an acceptance speech. “At 38, he was the youngest-ever UN President. He also has the highest approval ratings ever—currently 78%. His numbers soared after UN drones quelled the U.S.-China Cold War and repaired the rifts from the great earthquake of 2063. Re-election is expected this year.”
V stopped there. She probably expected me to follow up on one of her points. I did not. Time was too short, or at least that’s what I told myself. I tried to ignore the fear growing out of my unanswered questions—why would a man like that show up in my dreams, and why would it seem so real?
“Next report,” I said.
“ISA entrance examination. No information found.”
“What?” That was absurd. V always found something.
“No information found,” she repeated.
I started thinking of other ways to frame the request. Then someone knocked on my hotel room door.
Maybe it was Naomi, coming early to surprise me. Or another piña colada, compliments of the hotel? God knows my dad had spent enough money in this hotel over the years.
I opened the door and a blur swept past me. I spun, closing the door behind me, and saw Aisha.
“Disconnect your precept,” she demanded. She was breathing heavily.
“What?”
“Disconnect it.”
“Why?”
“I need to tell you something important.”
“About what?”
She blinked her lush lashes and glared at me impatiently. “I said disconnect it.”
“Fine, I will if you will.”
“I already did.” She tapped her temple. “Scan me.”
I ran V’s area sweep. Aisha’s precept was not showing up.
“Disconnect V and confirm,” I ordered.
“Precept disconnected,” V responded. “Reboot on command.”
Aisha gave me a satisfied look.
“So?” I asked. “This better be fast. I’m meeting Naomi in ten minutes.”
“That’s why I came,” she whispered, stepping closer to me. “You can’t trust her.”
That didn’t make any sense. Aisha and Naomi were friends, weren’t they? “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Did she do something to you?”
“No, I trust her, but you can’t. Her loyalties lie elsewhere.” There was desperation in Aisha’s voice. She sounded serious.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
She hesitated. “Charles wanted me to.”
“Then why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“He’s on a mission tonight. I can’t say more.”
“But we haven’t finished training or passed the entrance exam.”
“I can’t say more. Charles said you wouldn’t believe me, so he told me to tell you, ‘pick tigers at lunch, over tomato soup.’”
Only Charles would know to say that. He and I had talked together about Princeton, the Tigers, over lunch at school one day. We had been eating tomato soup.
“You satisfied?” Aisha asked. She must have seen the familiar memory pass across my face. I had to work on that.
I was satisfied she had heard something from Charles, but I wasn’t going to say as much. “I hear your warning,” I said, “and I will think about it.”
“Yes, you must.” She put her hands on my shoulders and stared up into my eyes. Man, she was pretty. “Be careful tonight and good luck on the test.”
“Thanks,” I smiled, “but I don’t think I’ll need luck.”
She did not smile back. “We all need luck in this game. Luck, God, or both.” Then she left, gone as soon as she had come.
“Reboot V,” I said.
“Awaiting command.”
“Research. Connections between Aisha Mahdi, Charles Chang, and Naomi Parish. Exhaustive report.”
I rushed out the door, late for my date.
Naomi laughed. The sound was becoming addictive.
“Preacher?” she asked. “Last I checked, you’re Jewish, and you don’t need the money.”
“Guilty.” I pretended to plea with my hands. “But won’t they make an exception for me if you ask nicely? I’ve always wanted to be on the big screen.”
“Only the brightest preachers make it that far.”
“So what’s holding you up?” I asked.
Her face was suddenly serious. “I have a different calling.”
“Sorry, didn’t know it was a touchy subject.” What did she think her calling was? I thought of Aisha’s warning.
“No worries. It’s just that preaching is no joke.” She turned up the mansion’s front stairs. “Let’s head in, you’re going to like Chris and his family.”
“Family?” I asked, but she had already stepped onto the guest register.
A beam of light peeked out of the ivy-covered stone wall and scanned our faces. The door swung open a moment later.
“Just an hour, right?” I asked.
“Just an hour,” she confirmed. “But I bet you’ll want to come back. You and Chris have more in common than you think.”
“We’ll see.” I doubted it, but surely this guy would be better than Bart.
We walked down a hall with parquet floors. Paintings of stoic-looking men in robes lined the walls. The sound of kids yelling and laughing bounded toward us.
“You didn’t mention children,” I said. “I’m allergic to them.”
“I told you we’d be eating with his family.”
“I’m an only child. Family means one kid and a nanny.”
“How sad!” she said. “Chris and Bree have seven kids.”
“Seven. Wow.” I’d never seen such a big family in person. They were nearly extinct in the developed world.
The hall’s lights suddenly blinked off. I dropped to the floor by instinct. Out of nowhere, I heard a dog’s fierce growling just a few feet behind me. I could not see anything. I tensed to defend myself.
“Peter!” a man shouted.
The lights blinked on again. What I thought was a dog was a toe-headed boy, maybe four years old. He was tapping something on his wrist—the source of the growling sound.
“I’m so sorry.” A man rushed up and helped Naomi and me to our feet. He was the same man who had been leading the underground study at the Cathedral the night before.
“Welcome!” he said. “I’m Chris, and this is Peter.” He pointed to the kid. “He is a bright boy, but his latest game is surprising our guests.” He bent down and whispered to his son. “Peter, remember what we said about guests?”
“Sorry Daddy,” the boy drawled out. “We have to love them and be nice.” His big, round blue eyes fixed on me, then wandered past me. His face lit up. “Naomi!” he shouted as he ran to her.
“Hi Peter!” she greeted, bending down to hug him.
“Let’s go, Peter,” said a young girl’s voice. “We need to finish setting the table.” The girl walked past me and scooped up the boy in her arms. She looked eight or nine—I could never tell—but she was dressed like a doll. “I’m Sarah,” she said to me. She had the same open innocence as Naomi.
“I’m Elijah. Nice to meet you.”
Both the girl and the boy suddenly looked at me with surprise.
“Daddy, is this the Elijah?” the boy asked, while the girl whispered “shush” into his ear.
“I don’t know yet,” the father said. He winked at the boy. “Maybe we’ll find out tonight. Run along now. We’ll be right behind you.”
“It is wonderful to be here,” Naomi said, as the girl walked off with the boy. “Thank you so much for having us.”
“Of course, it is my pleasure.” The man looked to me. “As I was saying, I’m Christopher Max. Please call me Chris. And sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last night.”
I shook his hand. “I’m Elijah Goldsmith.” Standing this close, I was sure I’d seen his face before last night. “Have I seen you on the news?”
“Yes.” He flashed his broadcast smile. “Tonight you can see me without my makeup on. My wife says it’s quite the change.”
Naomi laughed, but I wasn’t sure what was funny. He looked pretty much the same. Perfect brown hair, chiseled face, and bright blue eyes. The only difference I could see was he had taken off his white robe.
“Alright, dinner time,” Chris said, turning to lead us down the hall. “I understand you can stay only an hour tonight?”
“Unfortunately,” Naomi answered. “We need to visit Bart again.”
“Another dream?” Chris asked.
I nodded and opened my mouth to say something dismissive, but the words floated away as we entered the kitchen. It was as luxurious as any I’d seen—sleek counters, rich wooden floors, and all the best technology. That was nothing new for me, but the flurry of action was. Dashing around the room were more kids than I could count. I guessed there were seven, but it looked like seventy. They were running and laughing and playing. At the center of the chaos was one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen.
“Welcome to our family nerve center,” Chris announced. “This is my wife, Brianne.”
She had flaxen blonde hair and a model’s face and body. Her white apron was covered in lace and lacked any sign of cooking. It covered a short black dress revealing her long legs and high heels.
“Welcome, and please, call me Bree.” she greeted us with a smile that matched Chris’s. “I hear one of the twins gave you quite a scare.” She embraced Naomi and then turned to me.
“This is Elijah,” Chris said from beside us. I held out my hand, but she stepped past it and engulfed me in a hug. She smelled like sweet cinnamon.
“Only hugs in our family,” Bree laughed, “and under our roof, you’re family. Now, let’s have some food!”
The little blond boy, Peter, and a girl about his age caught Bree as we walked through the kitchen.
“Can we come, Mommy?” the girl asked. She had blonde ringlets and her mother’s blue eyes.
“This is an adult dinner, my darlings.” Bree bent and kissed them, then led us into another hall.
“They’re all yours?” I asked. It seemed impossible. She was too young, too attractive. Naomi looked at me as if it were a rude question.
“Sure are,” Bree said proudly. “Seven kids under seven! Of course, I didn’t give birth to any of them, but we’ve been blessed with good surrogates.”
Chris opened a door before us to an ornate dining room. A table the size of a whale stretched the length of the marble floor. Four places were set with silver and crystal at the nearest end.
“Here we are,” Chris said. He turned to me with a grin. “You like scotch?”
“I guess so.” I’d never expected a preacher to offer scotch, even if it had been legal for me since last year. Maybe it was his way to show respect, treating me like an adult. My dad would have done the same thing, but my dad was always trying to enthrall people. This guy was starting to remind me of him.
“Good, let’s go have a drink. We’ll join the ladies for dinner shortly.”
Naomi and I shared a look. She nodded for me to go, with the enthusiasm of a mother urging her son to walk into school on his first day. And so I went, with Aisha’s words in mind. At least I’d set V’s security settings on high.
I was ready for anything, except what came next.
CHRIS LED ME to a library with books covering every wall but one. Two deep leather chairs sat before a thick oak desk. Behind the desk was a twenty-foot-high wall of glass, framing a view of trees over Rock Creek Park far below. There were no screens to be seen.
“This is my study,” Chris said. His casual tone did not match the room’s grandeur. “Like my collection?” he asked, as he began to pour scot
ch into crystal tumblers. “You know, over half of these books have not been digitized. They are rare and priceless works of the faith, entrusted to my keeping.”
I reached to pull out a particularly old book nearby. My hand hit an invisible wall, like a forcefield.
“Sorry, no touching.” Chris handed me a glass. “These are shielded from anyone and anything that doesn’t have my DNA. Being a bishop has its perks.”
“Bishop?” I asked. “Isn’t that only for Catholics?”
“Not up on your church history, eh?” He effortlessly retrieved the book I had reached for and held it out to me. “For years now, the international protestant church—at least the one recognized by the UN—has followed the structure of the Catholic church. It makes us easier to monitor.”
I took the book from his hand. Its cover was an ancient-looking, dust-covered leather.
“Speaking of the Catholic church,” Chris said, “this is an encyclical of Pope Alexander II. Few know of its existence. He was the pope who blessed William the Conqueror before he invaded England in 1066. He also had poignant visions and dreams, much like yours.”
“You heard about those?” I asked.
“I did. Bart and I are leaders in the same order. We have been expecting you.” He held up his glass. “Cheers to your mysteries.”
My mysteries were none of his business, but I would drink to it nonetheless. “Cheers.”
We clinked glasses and drank. I coughed as the drink burned down my throat.
“This is my best scotch,” Chris said, “aged forty years.”
“My dad drinks this stuff. Not bad. Is it older than you?”
“We’re the same vintage.” Chris smiled. Actually, he never stopped smiling. “Look, I know this all seems strange, and you’re just here because you like Naomi.” He winked at me. “ She casts quite a spell.”
I did not answer. I took another drink. It was smoother this time.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he continued, sounding serious for once. “We are very interested in your dreams. Bart will tell you more, but you should know it is very important. We believe the fate of the world may turn on…what?”