by Jillian Dodd
He’s so pumped up; he does as I said, going down the row, kissing Bella and her mother as well as every man and woman seated next to us before rushing over to receive congratulations from his coach and teammates.
“I don’t even care what the press has to say about him kissing me,” Lizzie whispers to me.
“He kissed me and everyone else, thankfully,” I whisper back.
“Because you told him to. You’re savvier with the press than you give yourself credit for.”
I turn and look at Bella, who is standing still, her hand covering her lips where Daniel kissed her. She’s looking up at the Olympic scoreboard in awe, and tears are streaming down her face.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, wrapping my arm around her neck.
“I’m so incredibly happy. I thought—well, I thought seeing this was my dying wish. Instead, it’s the start of my life after cancer. The funny thing is, I’d come to terms with dying. Even the doctors were shocked when my scan came back clean. Part of me thinks maybe they were just telling me that, so I’d enjoy my time here, but I know they’d never do that to my mom. She’s been through a lot with me being sick. Had to take off so many days that she got fired from her job. Fortunately, my school started a fundraiser that has been helping us get by. But Mom never cared when money was tight, and the medical bills were piling up. She told me that my getting better was all that mattered.”
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” I ask her.
“After the medal ceremony, we’ll watch a few diving events before going back to the hotel. I don’t want to get run down.”
“I’ll see you back here tomorrow then,” I tell her, giving her a hug and knowing the second I get home that I’m going to make a donation to her fundraiser—the kind where her mother will never have to worry about money again.
We all watch with pride as Daniel takes his place at the top of the podium and is awarded the gold medal. Our country’s anthem plays, and the American flag is slowly hoisted to the roof.
Daniel seems to go through an array of emotions. He’s very solemn as the medal is draped over his neck. When the anthem starts playing and he sings along, there’s a sense of pride, and as the song becomes more intense, tears seem to well up in his gorgeous blue eyes. But, when the crowd all sings the last line of the anthem together, a dazzling smile engulfs his face, causing both of his dimples to pop out.
And that’s when tears start leaking onto my own cheeks. I feel so blessed to be here. To share a small part of his journey with him. And, most of all, to be his friend.
I never had friends, growing up. I made friends easily, but we never stayed in one place very long, so they were short-lived. Because I knew that from the start, I never allowed myself to become attached emotionally. I simply enjoyed the fun of our time together and knew they would never be anything more than a fond memory.
But, as I stand here, tears of pride streaming down my face, I know that has all changed. Even though I was taught not to, I’ve allowed people into my heart since I left Blackwood Academy. People who have become important in my life. People who I love in different ways. People I’d do anything to protect.
I know that love has been driving me. But should it be?
The old Roman woman’s words echo in my brain. “Your heart is your most dangerous weapon as well as your greatest weakness. Wield it wisely.”
Her words have haunted me since—especially the fact that she prefaced it by saying she sees things others do not. And I wonder if she saw something in my future. Some way I will screw up my mission by following my heart.
Lorenzo and Lizzie come to the villa later in the evening, and we have a wonderful celebratory dinner with Daniel and his family, Royston and his wife, as well as Allie and Ari.
As the last bite of dessert is scraped out of the bowl, Daniel thanks everyone for coming but reminds them of his early start tomorrow and his need for sleep. He says he’s staying here tonight, mentioning the heavy traffic out to the Olympic Village.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I tell him and then wish everyone a good night.
“Would it be all right if Lorenzo and I stayed as well?” Lizzie inquires. “The palace is surrounded by reporters, and this has been such a wonderful reprieve.”
“Of course. We have extra rooms. If you’d like, you can follow me up.”
“Yes, that would be wonderful,” Lorenzo agrees. “It’s been a long day.”
“Kids these days, so responsible.” President Spear chuckles as we head toward the stairs.
But Royston’s wife giggles as we’re making our way to the top. “I remember the good old days when you couldn’t wait to get me into bed.”
As soon as we are in the hall where no one can see us, Daniel lets go of my hand and grabs Lizzie, leading her into what’s sort of become his bedroom. The one right across the hall from mine.
“Night,” they say.
Lorenzo grins at me and then opens the door to my room.
“I’m not really tired,” he says as he shuts the door behind us.
“Me either,” I say. “But it is going to feel good to lie down.”
He sweeps me up off my feet and carries me through my suite to the bedroom, gently setting me on the bed and removing my shoes.
He then wraps his arm around me and pulls me to his chest.
“We survived the first day of the Olympics,” I say. “Nothing bad happened.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking. One down, fourteen more to go. Maybe, since the general is dead, it foiled the whole plan,” he says hopefully.
A nice thought, I think. One that echoes what Royston said today. And, although I believe it to be inaccurate, I don’t want to ruin a nice evening with negativity, so I nod in agreement and press my lips against his.
Because who knows how much time we have left.
MISSION:DAY NINE
Daniel wakes up the next morning with a sore throat, still feeling like he might be coming down with a cold. He shakes his head, willing his body to fight it. He can’t get sick now. Too much is at stake.
But, as he rolls over and looks at Lizzie lying next to him, he realizes that, while he strives to become the most highly decorated Olympic athlete in history, he only truly desires her. He remembers the video game—gold surrounding him—and all he could think about was her.
He pushes her hair off her face, revealing a delicate jaw and high cheekbones. He knows he’d give it all up for her but is thrilled that she would never ask it of him. She’s as excited about his victories as he is.
But then Huntley’s face flashes in front of him as he remembers swimming toward her for a new world record in Omaha. He never thought it possible to love two women at the same time. His love for Lizzie is different, of course. He desires her greatly. He wants to spend his life with her. But there’s just something about Huntley Von Allister.
They share a bond that is equally important. For he knows all too well that love can be fickle.
Friendships like theirs, however, last forever.
And he hopes Huntley will be in his life for however long he has left in this world.
Lorenzo is up early as well, having left Huntley’s villa long before the sun rose. He’s in his study, going over the day’s packed schedule when Admiral Lamonte, dressed in full military uniform, marches into the room, followed closely by Juan and Montrovia’s secretary of health and human services.
“Your Highness, we have a potential situation,” the secretary says. “Doctors in both the Olympic Village and our local hospitals are reporting patients becoming ill with what appears to be the same virus. There are a total of one hundred and four cases currently, sixty-seven of which are athletes. Doctors weren’t too concerned at first. Most patients were reporting typical flu-like symptoms—a sore throat, fatigue, and low-grade fever, but some have since developed a strange and similar lacy rash.”
“What are they ill with?”
“That’s just it, sir. They have
n’t been able to identify the virus. And we’ve had our first casualty.”
“Are you telling me that someone died from a sore throat?”
“Yes, an athlete from Latvia. Our doctors are nervous. They’ve quietly called in our center for infectious diseases to run tests. We should know more of what we are facing within the next twenty-four hours.”
The phone on his desk rings. “May I?”
“Of course,” the secretary says.
Lorenzo answers, and as he listens to the call, his face goes pale. He hangs up and says, “Three more have died. Two completely healthy athletes—one from Romania, another from Jamaica. The other is a spectator from the Ukraine, and in the last two hours, there have been over two hundred more cases reported. What should we do?”
Admiral Lamonte speaks up, “Protocol says we need to report this to the World Health Committee.”
“Yes,” the secretary agrees. “We could be looking at a new strain of influenza. The concerning thing is, when there is a flu outbreak, we typically see it affect the weak—the elderly, the very young, or those with compromised immune systems. This seems to be affecting the very healthy. Very quickly. We were trying to keep a lid on it until we could identify the strain, but with these deaths, word will leak out. We won’t be able to contain it.”
“Could they have been poisoned?” Lorenzo asks, wondering if what Huntley predicted is coming true.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have any answers for you yet. But know we are working on it.”
“Thank you for your report and for following protocol,” Lorenzo says, dismissing the men.
Lorenzo tells Juan to wake his staff and have them report to the castle immediately.
Then, he picks up the phone and calls Huntley.
The sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand wakes me.
Sort of.
I groggily reach over for it and squint my eyes, trying to see who is calling at this early hour.
I can’t make out the words, so I answer it, closing my eyes against the light. “Hello?”
“I think it’s starting,” Lorenzo says cryptically.
“Okay,” I mutter before going back to sleep, but then my brain seems to process two things simultaneously—that I’m not dreaming and that the worst has happened.
My eyes shoot open, and I’m wide awake as adrenaline floods my system.
I grab the phone, checking to see if it was a bad dream or if I actually received a call.
I did.
When I call Lorenzo back, it goes straight to voice mail. I throw on a robe and quietly race down to the basement of the villa, entering the secret area.
Ares is awake. “It’s starting,” he says.
“How do you know?” I ask.
He points a remote at the television, turning up the volume. A local reporter is outside a hospital, telling about a virus with a strange rash and one casualty—an Olympic athlete.
“So, they did it? They managed to poison the food, and people are getting sick?”
“I’m not sure,” Ares says, rolling in his chair back to his computer desk. “I’ve hacked into the hospital network, and I have been reading through case reports. They haven’t discovered a common thread yet, but it’s early. What the reporter doesn’t know is that three more have passed this morning.”
“What are we going to do to stop it?” I say in a panic.
Ares shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know. This isn’t my area of expertise. But we’ll be looking at it from a different perspective than the doctors will.”
“Because we know the virus’s end game?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “We know it is meant to be a pandemic event.”
“One that is supposed to wipe out a large portion of the world’s population,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s hard to comprehend. Have Society members been notified yet?”
“Good catch,” he says proudly. “And, no. Honestly, that’s sort of what I’m waiting for. The Society members will survive, and we desperately need to know how.”
“They will take to their vaults, right? Ride it out? Although I find it hard to believe five million people have vaults like yours.”
“They probably don’t, but most will at least have a safe room filled with supplies.” He pauses for a moment. “There are Society members here at the Olympics. They must have a way to protect them.”
“Like a special antibiotic or something?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” he says.
“But how would they get it to everyone? How many members are there again?”
“About five million worldwide, but they do an exercise when you first join. They call it the hundred.”
“The hundred?”
“Yes, it’s something typically done in relationship to sales. Say you decide to sell insurance or nutritional supplements through a multilevel marketing company, one of the keys to success is you writing down your first one hundred prospects. These lists tend to start with family and move to close friends. The Society’s list is a little different. You write down the one hundred people most important to you.”
“As in the hundred you’d want to survive something like this?” I ask incredulously.
He closes his eyes and nods. “It’s a list that is updated yearly, when you pay your dues. It includes names and addresses. And, if you do the math, five million worldwide members—”
“Times one hundred …”
“Is five hundred million.”
“The amount listed on the Georgia Guidestones,” I say in awe.
“When I first joined The Echelon, there were only five hundred thousand in The Society. Hillford wanted there to be five million. It was a lofty goal, but he met it before I left the group. And, now, I understand the reasoning behind that number. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”
“How can you not know what they planned?” I ask, feeling frustrated. “You designed the idea.”
He stands up, pushing his chair back in anger. “I designed a perfect world. I never considered killing people to do so.”
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that.”
“But I should’ve stayed,” he says with a sigh. “If I had, I would have been able to learn their plan. A grave miscalculation on my part.”
“What if you contacted one of the members now? Told them you faked your death, say you want your ring back.”
“They’d kill me. Immediately. You don’t leave The Echelon. In fact, I was shocked when Hillford let me.”
“But I could protect you,” I argue. “What if I just go kill them?”
He slowly sits back in his chair, regaining his composure. “I never should have involved you and your brother in this.”
“Ari is talented, but my training was much more intense than his. I’m going to figure it out. And I’m going to stop it. Somehow,” I say.
“I don’t know how,” he says, looking defeated. “You were trained to fight, to kill—”
“The dean used to tell me—”
“Your grandfather used to tell you,” he corrects.
“He used to tell me being a firestorm wasn’t my only great asset.”
Ares squints his eyes at me. “What did he say was?”
“My mind. My ability to solve complex problems. To quickly process scenarios and determine the correct response. He said it was something I did intuitively yet creatively. He said it was something rare. Something hardwired in my DNA.” I grin. “And, from what I’ve heard, it runs in the family.”
Ares shakes his head. “Your mother used to tease me, saying that, for someone so creative, I was predictable. She was brilliant at seeing outcomes and analyzing them. I suspect it was something she learned from a young age, something she had to do to survive in her household.”
“Yet she almost didn’t,” I say.
“I am responsible for her death. And I live with that every single day of my life.”
“And here, all this
time, I thought I was the one responsible for her death. That I was the one who should have saved her,” I say seriously.
He places his hand on the desk and takes the kind of breath that seems to fortify him. “My old man says I need to let the guilt go.”
“We both do,” I say. “But, before that, we must finish the mission you sent her on. If we can do that, if we stop this, then we can let it all go.”
He stands up and gives me a fatherly hug, although I’m not sure if it’s for his benefit or mine. “You can’t just go kill them,” he says. “Otherwise, I would have done that a long time ago. Besides, we desperately need to know what they know. But, once they tell The Society how to survive, all bets are off.”
“I can go kill them then?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” he says.
I leave the vault, go up to Daniel’s room, and gently knock on his door. He immediately opens it, fully dressed and ready to go.
“Have you seen the news this morning?” I ask him.
“No. Why?”
“There’s been an outbreak of some sort of flu. Three Olympic athletes have died from it.”
“What? When?”
“It’s just happened in the last twenty-four hours. I need to talk to your father about it. And I don’t think you should compete today. You and Lizzie should stay here.”
“I have to compete. It’s the Olympics! I’ve been training for four years! My whole life really.”
“Is it worth dying for?” I ask.
“I’m healthy. I’m not going to get sick,” he says, stubbornly ignoring the fact that he might already be.
“The athletes who died were also healthy.”
He shakes his head. “I’m going. If you want to talk to my parents, call them. But they can’t stop me either.”
I peek into the room, seeing Lizzie coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy robe. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
“What’s she talking about?” Lizzie asks Daniel as I retreat to my room and call his mother.
