by Jillian Dodd
“What could happen?”
“Impossible problems could be solved.”
“I don’t understand.”
“In securing the Sphere, he had to make the data impossible to hack, impossible to decrypt, which he did. Governments around the world are afraid that quantum computing could be used by hackers to decrypt everything. I’m talking banking, military installations, even nuclear launch codes. Securing data in the age of quantum computing will require techniques that don’t exist.” He hands me the drive. “Until now.”
“And that’s on this drive?”
“Oh no, of course not. It’s basic information for you to use as you wish since you now own the company I work for. My task was to test the project Ares called The Shield. Before he passed, he had figured out how to encrypt the Sphere’s data so that it couldn’t be decrypted. My job over these past six months has been to test and retest. The Shield is solid. Any Spheres sold will be done so with The Shield technology built in. The flip side of this is something Ares called The Sword. It allows the decryption of any encryption.”
“Let me understand this correctly. The biggest threat of quantum computing isn’t that it’s unstable. It’s that it could destroy our economy and possibly our world because it could decrypt all the encryption that keeps that data safe now. And you have figured out a way to stop it from doing so?”
“Yes.”
“That’s huge.”
He gives me a proud grin. “Fortunately, over the years, your father has gifted me with a lot of VA stock. My portfolio is worth well over twenty million dollars, but with Ares, it was never about the money. That’s why I’m still here, working underground. Your father was a good man, Huntley. I wish you could have known him. You should also know that governments would kill to be the first ones to use The Sword. That’s why I was told to only give it to you.”
“To me?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes, Ares called me on December twelfth of last year. I could tell by his voice that he was upset. When I asked what was wrong, he simply said he was coming to the Sphere the next day. When he got here, he told me that he had received a letter from your mother—a woman he obviously knew—on your eighteenth-and-a-half birthday.” He pauses, seeming to consider his words and what my reaction might be.
“He didn’t know until he got that letter that you were his daughter even though he said he knew of you. He was pretty torn up about it and quite regretful. His initial reaction was to tell you right away, but I advised him to wrap his head around the shock of it all first.
“He’d been somewhat of a recluse for the past six years. He’d closed the DC lab, so he was the only one working there. He came to the Sphere, of course, but usually undercover and only to see me about the progress in testing The Shield and The Sword. He was obsessed with this place, as I suppose he should have been, considering it was his life’s work.
“I’m sorry he died before he got to tell you in person. I guess I shouldn’t have given him the advice that I did. Anyway, he told me that day that, if something were to happen to him, you were the only one I should trust with this. If you didn’t come here yourself, I was instructed to get it to you before the Sphere debuted in Montrovia.”
I’m bewildered. Nothing this man says fits what I believed to be true. If he hadn’t known I was his daughter, he couldn’t have given Ari to the general as a bribe.
And it would also mean that my mother had lied.
To me.
In her letter.
And, really, for my whole life.
I swallow the lump that seems to have formed in my throat.
The scientist looks at his phone and frowns. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get back to the lab for a meeting.”
I slip the drive in my pocket, glancing at my own watch and noting that I have only fourteen minutes left.
Once I’m in Ares’s quarters, I don’t waste any time. I go exactly where I did in the video game, scanning the wall and finding the indention. I put the ring on my finger and press it into place. Just like in the game, a door slides open, and a set of stairs appears.
I rush down them.
When I get to the bottom, it’s like the video game has come to life. The room is filled with painted murals of meadows set in rolling hills with sheep and goats grazing in the distance. Lorenzo the Magnificent’s swirling mark is prevalent in the design, and the scenes give the feeling of being in Utopia, except for the large, round table with ten chairs in the center of the room, a nearly exact replica of the ones at the Basilica di San Lorenzo in Florence.
I glide my hand across the worn wood, playing the video game through my head. Ares couldn’t have been in this exact room since the Sphere hadn’t been built yet, meaning this was brought here for the purpose of their secret meetings. I glance around the room, looking for another door and am kicking myself for letting Daniel know my login. I should have been there to play with him, so I would know where to find—
My eyes land on the word Arcadia engraved into a stone at the edge of one of the murals. Inside the C is the same indention as the ring.
I check my watch, seeing that I have only eleven more uninterrupted minutes before the boys come looking for me.
It’s now or never.
When I place the ring in the mark, I half-expect an alarm to blare and men to rush down here and kill me. Daniel didn’t mention anything like that happening in the video game, so I turn the key, causing one of the stone walls to slide out of place, revealing a massive steel door. It reminds me of the entrance to NORAD, a military installation and defensive bunker built into a mountain. NORAD has twenty-five-ton blast doors built to deflect a nuclear explosion, and the complex has its own power and water supply.
I stop in my tracks. Aziza’s words from the tour replaying in my head.
“It’s self-sustaining. Simply by harvesting solar and wind power and converting it to energy, we have our own power and water supply.”
The steel door rolls open.
I expect to find a military command center. Instead, I find what Daniel did—a massive vault filled with gold.
Lots and lots and lots of gold.
As far as the eye can see.
I’m talking world-treasure amounts of gold. Rooms and more rooms stacked high with it as well as art, marble sculptures, and ancient scrolls. It’s like taking the Louvre, the Vatican, the Smithsonian, and Versailles and then rolling them all into one.
This isn’t Ares’s vault.
This stuff is too old. Like a treasure that has been hidden for years, centuries.
Is this treasure why Lorenzo the Magnificent was so powerful? While his brother was spending money supporting the arts of the Renaissance and building elaborate homes to house it in, was Lorenzo in Montrovia amassing gold?
I move quickly through stacks of gold bricks, find gold sarcophagi lining the walls, and look for the rest of it. I need to know if this is a Society-approved vault for hiding out—one filled with seeds, food, and supplies.
Four minutes left.
I run through the massive space as fast as I can.
But I discover this is simply a treasure.
The kind of treasure that could start a new world.
Is this why Hillford really started the war—so he could bring the riches here from wherever they had been before and bury them under Ares’s soon-to-be constructed TerraSphere? How else would he get numerous shipments into the country, unnoticed?
I rush back through the vault, use the ring to close it all up, and then return to our meeting place.
“We have a situation at location Alpha,” an elite says, making a frantic call to their leader.
“What kind of situation?” the leader asks after picking up a specialized phone.
“The vault was recently accessed.”
“What? How is that even possible? I thought it was completely secure.”
“It was accessed by one of the rings, as is allowed.”
“Oh.” The leade
r is stunned into silence, wondering who would have dared such a feat. “What did they take?”
“I don’t have any answers. We don’t have surveillance there, for good reason, but I do have men in the area.”
The leader feels like his head is about to explode. “Tell your men they must find the perpetrators and secure whatever they stole. Let them know there is a very big reward.”
“Dead or alive?”
“Alive! We need to find out who did this, how they got the ring, and more importantly, how they knew where to access it. We are mere weeks away from our plan coming to fruition!”
“I am aware of that,” the man says grimly.
The leader lets out a stream of expletives as he slams the phone on his desk with enough force to scatter the documents he was reviewing. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
Think.
His man on the scene during the investigation of Dupree’s death was not able to discover the whereabouts of Dupree’s ring, which is strange, considering that Dupree had been wearing it earlier in the day when they met for lunch. Although he would not have allowed any nuclear explosions during their quest for Arcadia, he was aware of Dupree’s backup plan and the eight strategic locations. He had a list of the men Dupree had employed as a fail-safe, should one of them decide to go rogue. And all of those men have been accounted for. Easy since they are all dead.
Or so he was told.
Did his informant in British intelligence lie to him? Is Dupree really alive? Did they interrogate him? Did Dupree cave under pressure and tell them about the rings, the Alpha vault, and their plan?
The leader squints his eyes. No. They would have asked how he came to possess the bombs, not asked about some old ring.
That leaves two possibilities.
Dupree faked his death and changed his alliance, or there is a traitor in his midst.
Three long strides across the room bring him to a bar cart where he pours himself a scotch while considering his options. He takes a fortifying sip and then grabs the phone, sending out a secure text in code, asking each member to verify via time-stamped photo that they are in possession of their ring.
The men quickly respond as he opens a secret compartment in his desk. Ares Von Allister’s ring is still resting in the fraying velvet box, waiting to be presented to his son. He considered inviting Ari to their table in Rome during the last Society meeting, so he could witness the perfection of his father’s brilliant plan but ultimately voted to wait to invite both Ari and Lorenzo Vallenta to take their rightful places at the table after the culling event. The youth of today tend to be too liberal, and they can’t risk strife in the organization. They will, however, be presenting Hillford’s ring to another political powerhouse later this week. As the Speaker of the House, he’s next in line for the US presidency after the vice president—something they might need to make happen.
The leader sits in his chair, leaning back and remembering when Ares came to him six years ago, worried about being under government surveillance. Of course, he wasn’t the leader at that point. Just a member, like Ares. And a friend.
“Don’t do anything illegal,” he joked. “In fact, bore them with your life. They’ll stop caring.”
But he must not have been convincing because, a few days later, Ares gave him the ring for safekeeping and then became a recluse. He wishes the man were here now because he was brilliant at seeing all sides of an equation and predicting the correct outcome. He would have known what to do.
After confirming that all rings but Dupree’s are accounted for, including making a call to his paid informant at the Royal Montrovian Vault, the leader makes a quick trip to the Victoria and Albert Museum, just to be sure.
It’s upon leaving the museum that he’s struck with another possibility—that McClellan, his sergeant at arms who reported the breach, is lying, using the missing ring to place blame on the deceased Dupree and stealing the vault’s contents for himself.
He quickly calls another member, his second-in-command, one he trusts as much as he did Ares. “I need you to meet me at the airport immediately. We’re going to Iraq.”
We’re about halfway back to the base when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. “What’s that—” is all I get out of my mouth before our vehicle starts taking on fire from a high-power rifle.
“Get down!” driver Steve yells as a bullet pierces the back window.
“I thought you said this car was armored!” Viktor yells back, ducking down as Steve swerves, smartly doing evasive maneuvers to give the shooters a more difficult-to-hit target.
“It is,” Dale says, pulling his gun out but not returning fire, “but only to a B5 level. It can handle automatic weapon fire, like the AK-47, but not the higher calibers.”
“That’s not good,” Peter yells as two of our tires are hit.
I assume they are run flat, but at this rate, the vehicle will be disabled in no time.
“The old palace ruins!” I say, seeing them ahead. “Can you make it there, so we can get some cover?”
“You read my mind,” Steve says. “You kids, keep your heads down. I’m going to drive behind one of the walls. We’ll quickly get out, access the weapons we have in the back, and call for help.”
“I’m already on that.” Dale puts a phone up to his ear just as he’s shot in the neck. Blood arcs out of the artery, pumping with each beat of the man’s heart.
Viktor curses as he leans over and tries to stop the bleeding. “You’ll be okay, man,” he says, but I know he won’t be leaving this vehicle.
Steve hits the brakes, pulling behind what’s left of a thick stone outer wall.
Knowing I have only a few moments, I roll over the seat to the cargo hold, kick out what’s left of the window, and climb out. Steve hits the lock, causing the back door to swing open. I pull up a dark blanket to reveal an assortment of weapons.
“Thank goodness we have more than a pistol each,” I mutter.
“Did you really think I’d come to Iraq and not be prepared?” Viktor runs up next to me with Peter and Steve. “My dad sells this shit.”
I toss an automatic weapon, complete with battle sling, to each guy and then put the strap over my head.
“The shooting has stopped,” I whisper.
“That’s bad,” Steve says, sticking his head out around the wall, only to have it blown off.
“Oh my God,” Peter says, “I think I’m going to puke.”
“You can puke, just don’t pass out,” Viktor says and then turns to me. “My security is dead, and I’m in a shoot-out with a girl who has fired a gun only once and a guy who doesn’t like getting dirt under his nails. We’re screwed.”
“And the enemy knows our exact position. We need to move,” I say. “Follow me.”
Surprisingly, they listen.
I lead them deeper into the ruins, through what were probably once large, opulent rooms. We move carefully over scattered piles of rubble, including boulder-sized pieces of walls.
We’ve just gotten to our destination, what is left of a fireplace and the thickest remnant I could find, when automatic fire skitters around us.
“They know where we are!” Peter yells. “It’s time to return their fire! Take some of those bogeys out!”
I laugh in the midst of it all. “I think bogeys are supposed to refer to an enemy warplane.”
“Whatever,” he says. “They’re the bad guys in this situation.”
He nudges the barrel of his gun outside the edge of the wall and starts firing. Viktor does the same from the other side, yelling at me to stay put in the middle.
I’ve done thousands of online simulations, many involving ambush scenarios, but this is different. It’s not just me. Peter and Viktor could get killed. While they both know how to shoot, they don’t seem to understand the subtle difference between shooting and firing with purpose.
I take my phone out, praying it can find a satellite to make the connection.
This time, there is no weird voice and no question about who answers.
“Are you near the TerraSphere? In Iraq?” he asks incredulously, obviously tracking me.
“Yes. I’m with Peter Prescott and Viktor Nikolaevich. We were ambushed and are taking fire. They’ve killed our two-man security team, and our car doesn’t provide enough protection to keep driving. Our odds are bad. We’re up against eight fully loaded men, two armored vehicles, and bigger weaponry.”
He quickly recovers from his shock. “I can scramble a team from the nearby military base, but you know as well as I do, it will be over before they get there.” His voice becomes calm, reassuring, monotone. “X, do you remember what I used to tell you in situations like these?”
“That I’m the spark?”
“Yes,” he says. “That starts the firestorm.”
I nod, close my eyes, and slip the phone into my pocket so that I can continue to be tracked. I imagine Lorenzo seeing my bullet-riddled body. I don’t want that, so while the boys continue to volley fire, I back up and assess my options.
We are pinned down.
Our enemies know it won’t take us long to run out of ammo, especially with the way in which Peter and Viktor are going through theirs.
Our flanks are exposed, and when the men surround us, which they might already be doing, we’ll be dead.
Or worse.
I lean over and give each boy a kiss on the cheek, which startles them. “Stop shooting at air. You’ll run out of ammo. Shoot only to kill. I have a secret to tell you.”
“Now?” Viktor yells. “It’s not really the time for—”
“I’m X. On Battleground.”
“What?” both boys say, their eyes getting big.
“I know this isn’t a video game, but—”
“Huntley, you can’t!” Peter exclaims.
“I’d rather die than be captured. Men like that do horrible things to women.”
