by James Ponti
“I seem to remember a phone call during which you told me she was a true natural like you’d never seen,” said Tru. “I believe the phrase was ‘already better than the other four.’ ”
This stung the others and put Mother on the defensive, which was exactly what Tru wanted. She wasn’t concerned with niceties, only the mission.
“Perhaps we can discuss this in private,” said Mother.
“Why? Because you’re worried about their feelings?” asked Mother. “Stop treating them like children.”
“They are children,” he replied.
“No, they’re agents,” she said curtly. “As are you. I’m your superior officer, and this is your new directive.”
“It’s okay,” Brooklyn said, trying to calm the situation. “I should be able to do this, no worries.”
Tru smiled. “Excellent. Although, I assume the difficulty won’t be hacking the computer so much as it will be getting into the room.”
“Why’s that?” asked Brooklyn.
“Because, in order reach it, you’ll need to climb up two stories on the outside of the building.”
Brooklyn tried to mask her reaction to this development. She hated heights. Especially after the night she’d spent locked on the roof of her foster home. At one point she’d decided to climb to the ground, but when she saw the view over the edge, she instantly got dizzy and backed away.
* * *
That same feeling of vertigo was in full force two days later as she dangled in a climbing harness from the ceiling of the soundstage. The set designers had painstakingly re-created a portion of the exterior wall of the Sinclair Scientifica building and Brooklyn was trying to make it from one spot to another using nothing more than the mortar joints between bricks, a rain gutter, and some windowsills.
In all, she had to cover a distance of twenty-two feet, but after two twelve-hour days the farthest she’d made it was nine.
“I’m sorry,” she said as her hand slipped and she fell for the umpteenth time.
“That’s enough for today,” said her climbing coach, a female commando from the Special Air Service. “We’ll pick up again first thing tomorrow.”
Brooklyn hung in the air with sweat dripping down her face and pain radiating from every fingertip. Her body was happy for the break, but her heart and mind understood some harsh realities. She had only five more days to get ready, and when she made the actual climb, she’d be outside in the dark without a harness.
Two hours later, she came back to practice by herself. Or at least she thought she was alone. She was about five feet off the ground when a noise from behind startled her, causing her to slip and slam her face against the wall.
“Owww!” she wailed as she reached up to hold her quickly swelling lip. She twisted around in the harness to see Rio.
“Oh, that’s just perfect. Of course it’s you.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Let me guess,” she said, her frustration rising. “You’re here to gloat. To make fun of the American who can’t get anything right. Well, go ahead. Hit me with your best shot.” She spread open her arms and swayed in the air.
“That’s not why I’m here,” he said defensively.
“No? Then why?”
“I came here to help you. You shouldn’t climb by yourself. You can get hurt.”
“Right,” she said. “Because that’s what you like to do, help me,” she scoffed. “The only thing you want to help me do is look foolish so you can get your revenge.”
“It’s not like that,” he said. “You’ve got me all wrong.”
“Really?” she replied. “Have you done one nice thing for me since I arrived? Have you done anything to make me feel welcome?”
“Yes,” he said.
“What?”
“I came here tonight,” he answered. “Right now. This is me helping you. Welcoming you.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “And frankly, I don’t have any time to waste. I’ve got to practice this. So, why don’t you do one of your little magic tricks and make yourself disappear?”
Rio stormed out of the room, while Brooklyn turned back to face the wall and started all over again. As she did, a fleeting thought occurred to her. What if he had been trying to help?
18. Le Fantôme
THERE WERE MANY IN THE international law enforcement and intelligence communities who were convinced Le Fantôme was not a real person. They believed he was a creation of Umbra designed to distract anyone trying to unravel the intricate layers of the criminal organization.
They believed this because they’d failed so miserably to capture him. In fact, he was very real, and unlike the evil masterminds in spy movies who lived in island fortresses protected by giant death rays, he spent most of his time in an apartment located in the Montmartre neighborhood of Paris.
He had other residences around the globe but considered this one home. He’d chosen it not for any strategic value but because it once belonged to Pierre-Auguste Renoir, his favorite artist. An original Renoir portrait of a young girl in a dark blue coat now hung in the study above his desk. The painting was worth more than twenty million dollars, but its value to Le Fantôme was sentimental, not financial. The girl in the picture reminded him of his twin sister, who’d passed away when they were only eleven years old.
Amazingly, the Renoir wasn’t the most expensive item in the apartment. That honor belonged to a silver case that held a deadly virus with no known antidote.
French authorities believed it was impossible for someone to steal the case and open it without destroying the contents. But that’s because they hadn’t considered the possibility that the person who stole it might also own the company that manufactured it.
Opening the case was easy for Le Fantôme, just as it had been simple to disable its hidden tracking mechanism. Once he confirmed that the virus was inside, he placed everything in a wall safe that had also been manufactured by one of his many companies.
Despite the fact that he’d spent years planning for this very day, there was no urgency as he spread butter and jam on a fresh baguette he’d purchased from the corner bakery. His most ambitious plot was hours from being set into motion. Still he approached the day as he would any other.
He sat by an open window, sipping his coffee, and imagined how Rue Cortot had looked when Monsieur Renoir ate his breakfast here more than a century before. He took a bite and started to read Le Parisien. The front page had multiple stories about the Global Youth Summit on the Environment. One article mentioned that fifty thousand young people from around the world were coming to Paris with the belief that in three days’ time they could change the world.
Le Fantôme took another bite. They have no idea how much the world is going to change in the next three days, he thought to himself. No idea at all.
19. The Eurostar
BROOKLYN STARED OUT THE WINDOW at a landscape of green, yellow, and brown as the Eurostar raced through the French countryside, going nearly 190 miles per hour. But her mind wasn’t on the beauty of the scenery or the impressiveness of the sleek train moving through it.
She simply could not stop thinking about the wall.
During a week of training, she had only made it to the top twice. There were, however, countless times she found herself dangling in the safety harness, forearms aching, fingertips throbbing, after yet another failed attempt. What were the odds she’d be able to complete the climb with everything on the line?
Additionally, there’d been extra pressure ever since Tru said Mother had labeled her “a true natural … already better than the other four.” They never talked about it, but she saw the resentment in their eyes and felt their contempt every time she failed to live up to that standard.
Directly across from her and riding backward, Sydney was in a similar funk as she worked on the speech she was giving at the summit’s closing rally. In the past three weeks she’d written eleven different versions and hated each one. She
had a yellow legal pad in her lap, and, as she took a crack at attempt number twelve, she mumbled variations of the first line to herself trying to find the perfect words.
It is time for us to act. … The time has come for us to act. … We must act now before it is too late. … The world is in danger, and we must come together and act. She thought each one was worse than the last, and she punctuated this sentiment with a growl of frustration as she took her pen and crossed through them all.
The two of them were so distracted, neither noticed Mother take the seat next to Sydney. As he watched them, he was equally concerned and entertained. He was also a bit dismayed. Despite their extensive training, they seemed completely unaware he was there. To remedy this, he opened a small red canister of Pringles, took out a potato chip, and crunched it as loudly as he could.
This startled them both.
“How long have you been sitting there?” asked Sydney.
He finished chewing and swallowed before answering, “Long enough to know that something’s troubling you.” He looked across the table at Brooklyn. “Both of you.”
“The only thing troubling me is that my speech is total rubbish,” said Sydney. “Oh, and the fact that I have to deliver it at the base of the Eiffel Tower in front of tens of thousands of people.”
“That’s a reasonable cause for concern.” He turned to Brooklyn. “What about you?”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” she said defensively.
“Really?” he chuckled. “Then what were you thinking about as you stared out the window?”
“Um … just what I read in this book.” She held up a biography of Stavros Sinclair that she had bought in a bookstore at the train station before they left London. “I thought it might help to know more about him.”
“Which is why you’ve made it all the way to …” He took the book from her and opened it at the bookmark. “… page seven. We’ve been on the train for almost two hours, and you’ve read seven pages. Must be riveting. Which part has you deep in thought? The table of contents?”
She gave him a guilty shrug.
“I know you’re worried about the climb,” he said. “That’s also reasonable. But, lucky for both of you, I’m quite skilled at problem-solving.” He popped another chip in his mouth and chomped on it.
“How can you fix my speech?” wondered Sydney.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Read this.”
Sydney opened it and began to read aloud. “ ‘Some problems are so big they can’t be solved by adults,’ ” she said. “ ‘Luckily, there are young people like us who are ready to face the challenge.’ ” She looked up at him. “This is good. Did you write this?”
He laughed. “No. You did. That’s version three from two and a half weeks ago. It was good then, and it’s good now. Your problem isn’t your speech. You just need to have faith in yourself.”
Sydney continued to read the speech, and Mother turned his attention back to Brooklyn. “And now you.”
“I have plenty of faith in myself,” said Brooklyn. “I have total faith that I will fall off the side of that building and let everyone down.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said Mother.
“What makes you so sure?” she asked.
“The fact that I’m calling off the climb,” he said. “The mission’s busy enough. We don’t need it.”
“You can’t just call it off,” Brooklyn protested.
“I just did,” he said.
“What about Tru?” she asked. “She gave you an order. Actually, she called it a directive, which sounds even more official than an order.”
“Yes, but once we’re in the field, I’m the alpha, and that means I decide what is and what isn’t part of the mission,” Mother said. “Besides, I can handle Tru.”
“Would you be handling her if it was Sydney and not me?” asked Brooklyn. “It only took her a couple tries to get to the top.”
“Yes, but that’s because I spent years sneaking out of and back into the Wallangarra School for Girls,” said Sydney. “I got so good at climbing, some of my friends started calling me the Tree Frog.”
“Besides, it doesn’t matter,” said Mother. “Sydney doesn’t have your computer skills, so she can’t hack into the mainframe.”
“Exactly,” said Brooklyn. “Only I can do that. Which means my inability to climb the wall is the reason an important part of the mission is in jeopardy.”
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” said Mother.
“It’s true,” said Sydney. “We wouldn’t have been able to go on this mission if it wasn’t for you.”
Brooklyn appreciated the sentiment but still felt like she was letting down the team. Mother was offering her a “get out of jail free” card, and, as tempting as that was, it seemed like cheating.
Just then, Kat slid into the seat next to Brooklyn and said, “I’ve discovered a fascinating anomaly.”
“There’s a sentence you don’t hear every day,” said Mother. “What is it?”
As Kat spoke, she looked directly at Mother and Sydney, almost as if Brooklyn wasn’t there. “Since this mission is about protecting Stavros Sinclair from the Purple Thumb, I thought I’d look for patterns in their past crime scenes.”
“The police have been doing that for years,” said Mother. “And they’ve gotten nowhere.”
“That’s because they’re looking for similarities in the crimes,” Kat replied. “They think that will help them figure out who’s committing them.”
“And what did you do?” asked Mother.
“I looked for patterns in the victims.”
He leaned forward, intrigued by this approach. “Go on.”
“Okay, you’ve got three of them. Victims, that is. Each is a sponsor of the summit, and each was attacked during the final rally,” Kat said. “Other than that, they have almost no commonalities. Fenix is a small Swedish software firm that writes programs to help recycling companies. Fūjin is one of the leading manufacturers of wind energy turbines in Japan. And Fulgora is a Silicon Valley tech startup that develops batteries for electric cars.”
“And the pattern is?” asked Mother.
“Their names,” said Kat.
“Fenix, Fūjin, and Fulgora,” offered Brooklyn. “They all start with F.”
“Yes, but that’s an insignificant coincidence,” Kat said, dismissing the observation. “The key is the meaning of their names. Fenix is the Swedish name for the mythological firebird that rises from the ashes. Fūjin is the Japanese god of wind. And Fulgora is the Roman goddess of lightning.”
“So you think the Purple Thumb is … anti-mythology?” Sydney asked, totally confused.
“No, ignore the Purple Thumb and focus on the victims,” said Kat. “I think Fenix, Fūjin, and Fulgora are all separate parts of the same company. One that likes to name things after gods and other mythological creatures. I think the three victims are actually one victim.”
Mother considered this for a moment. “That would mean instead of random vandalism, the Purple Thumb is targeting a single company,” he said. “Interesting if it’s true, but that’s a pretty big leap to take just based on their names.”
“It’s no leap at all,” said Kat. She opened a picture on her computer tablet and handed it across the table to Mother and Sydney. Brooklyn leaned across to get a look. “This is from the crime scene in Stockholm.”
“It’s the purple thumbprint on the CEO’s computer monitor,” said Sydney. “We’ve looked at it a hundred times.”
“True, but we never considered the Asset Inventory Code,” said Kat.
“How silly of us,” Mother joked. “What’s the Asset Inventory Code?”
“It’s the way companies keep track of the things they own, like computers, furniture, and office equipment,” Kat explained.
Mother laughed. “And you know this because …?”
“Becaus
e she’s Kat,” said Sydney. “She knows everything about codes.”
Kat smiled, a bit embarrassed, and said, “It’s the key to everything. Look at the sticker.”
The computer had a sticker on which was printed:
FENIX
SS2K FE13 A3C2 D1PK
“Okay,” Mother said, still not getting it. “What qualifies that as intriguing?”
“It’s sixteen characters long,” said Kat. “Do you know how many different combinations there are in a sixteen-character alphanumeric code?”
“I’m guessing rather a lot,” said Mother.
“Slightly less than eight septillion,” she said. “That’s eight followed by twenty-four zeros.” She let this sink in before adding, “But there are fewer than forty employees at Fenix, which makes you wonder: How many different pieces of office furniture do you think they’re planning to buy?”
“Right,” said Mother. “My interest is officially piqued. What else do you have?”
“I was able to find AIC codes from each of the crime scenes,” said Kat. “All three companies use sixteen-character coding systems, and in all three of them the first four characters are identical.”
She showed them the police photos and zoomed in so they could see what she was talking about.
“Each one starts off with S-S-2-K,” she continued. “There are nearly one million, six hundred eighty thousand different combinations of the first four characters. The chances the same combination would be at each location are astronomical.” She paused for a moment. “Unless it’s all one company with one coding system. Then it makes total sense.”
“Boom!” said Sydney.
“Once I knew that, I started deciphering more of the string,” continued Kat. “The second set of characters tells you the location. Everything at Fenix has FE13: F-E, the first two letters of ‘Fenix,’ which was founded in 2013. And no matter where they were, all of the computers have A3C at the start of the third group. That’s true of the computers in Tokyo, San Francisco, and Stockholm. It has to be one company.”
