by Jude Watson
Much later, they stood on the pier as Atlas and the captain were loaded into a vehicle. Snow swirled in the lights. Atlas and the captain had been arrested on at least five charges having to do with bribery, violation of international law, arms trafficking … As Hannigan said, “I threw the book at them. And it’s a very large book.
“Here’s the thing,” Hannigan said, turning up his collar against the snow. “The ship wasn’t going to blow up. We know that for sure. You got that part wrong, but I’m grateful for what you got right. They were running mortars and automatic weapons to Suriname. It’s enough to put them both away for a while.” He cocked his head at Jonah. “See? We do get drama here occasionally.”
“Word,” Jonah said.
But Jonah looked as worried as the rest of them. They’d been wrong about the Aurora. But that didn’t mean the city was safe. It just meant that their best shot had fizzled.
“Atlas made a lot of threats against you,” Amy said.
“Part of the job,” Hannigan said. “And it’s in my blood. Both my father and grandfather worked on the piers. My great-grandfather was working the morning they got news that the Titanic went down. He was one of the men sent out from Halifax to search for passengers. Brought them back here to bury them.”
Dan half turned to focus on Hannigan. “Titanic passengers? Buried here?”
“Sure,” Hannigan said. “One hundred and fifty souls were brought here and buried. Most of them out in Fairview Cemetery. It’s worth a visit. It makes you really feel the tragedy of that disaster.”
“‘In the Maritimes you’ll find the crosses,’” Dan said.
“Exactly.”
Dan looked thunderstruck. He stuck out his hand and shook Hannigan’s heartily. “Thank you for believing us tonight. Best of luck!”
“Thanks,” Hannigan replied, smiling a little at Dan’s abruptness. “I’d better get back to my office. Make sure all the ships are safely berthed.”
He said his good-byes and walked off. Immediately, Amy turned to Dan.
“What did you just think of?” she demanded.
“We got it all wrong!” Dan cried. “Totally!” He recited the poem. “‘A collision caused the terrible losses / In the Maritimes you’ll find the crosses.’ He was talking about the Titanic! All of the rest of the poem fits, too. It happened in the middle of the night, so people were in their pajamas …”
“Wait a second. What about maiming and blindness?” Amy asked. “‘On Mont Blanc rests the ones to blame / Oh, to maim, blind, and kill, and have no shame!’ Nobody was maimed or blinded in the Titanic disaster.”
“That part isn’t about the Titanic,” Dan declared. “It’s about us, Amy! Where were we when the Outcast took over the mansion? On Mont Blanc — the real one, the mountain! He was letting us know that he knew exactly where we were and what we were doing.”
“But you didn’t blind or kill anyone,” Cara said.
“No.” Ian’s voice was quiet. “Amy and Dan didn’t. But Ted Starling was blinded in that explosion in Philadelphia. Ned Starling was maimed, in a way. He never really recovered. If you were a crazy lunatic, you could blame them … blame all the Madrigals, I guess. Because of what the hunt did to Cahills.”
Amy put a hand to her mouth. “He’s blaming us for everything. That’s why he took over.”
“Do you see what this means? The city is safe!” Dan exclaimed.
“But something else is going to happen,” Cara said. “And now we might be too late. We wasted so much time! Two and a half days! There’s less than three days left, and we haven’t figured out the target.”
Jonah had been busy working his phone. He drew in a breath. “I’ve got the target,” he said. “Look.”
He held out his phone. They all crowded in to scan the news report.
“That’s tomorrow,” Amy said.
Singapore
Mabel Rose Chen was a perfect daughter. She knew this because everybody said it.
Mabel is the perfect daughter. Her grades! Her music! Her sports! Her manners! Her hair! You must be so proud.
She didn’t want to be perfect. She wanted to be necessary.
Her parents had raised three sons ahead of Mabel. She was the surprise. Her brothers were all in college. She was the afterthought. For a while, her nickname had been “Tag” for “tagalong.” Until she asked them to stop.
Her parents were probably tired of raising kids. Tired of overseeing and reminding and prodding. That must be why they were sending her away to boarding school in Switzerland for the summer. They said it was to perfect her French. Mabel knew they wanted to get rid of her.
Something was wrong in the house. Mabel had always been the youngest one in the room, and that had taught her how to listen. How to become invisible in a room full of people talking.
Her father had been up since four A.M. Her mother had taken three aspirins and snapped at Mabel when she asked what was for dinner. Now they were in the study with the door closed.
One of the unbreakable rules of the household was this: The Chen children had to stay out of Cahill business until they were twenty-one.
The thing about being a perfect daughter was that nobody suspected that you might not be so perfect. That maybe you were fascinated by the fact that you belonged to this powerful family, and maybe you weren’t so great at violin or tennis or French, but you were very, very good at spying.
Mabel tiptoed to her mother’s office. She had guessed her password long ago. What would it hurt if she went back and looked at the Ekat chatter from the past few weeks? And had a peek at some e-mails? She’d already done her homework.
She booted up and started to read.
After a few minutes, her heart began to pound.
She had to get up and walk around the room to get calm.
Then she went back to reading.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sammy said as they left the alley and headed to the main road. “The Chens gave that dinner, and sure, it looks suspicious. But it was a welcome dinner for a fellow Ekat, so of course they invited Patricia. It doesn’t mean they know the Outcast.”
“I’m not thinking anything,” Nellie answered. “We’re just gathering information.” But a tiny tendril of suspicion had taken root.
“We have a more immediate problem,” Sammy said. “I think we’re being followed.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. It’s a feeling on the back of my neck. I keep looking in shop windows and just missing something out of the corner of my eye. Just now I turned and someone quickly stepped into a food stall. Let’s keep moving.”
Nellie knew better than to look back. It was now close to six in the evening, and the street was crowded. She’d been walking without noticing anything, her head still focused on the scant information Sinead had given them, trying to extract a lead from the tangle. Now her nerves jumped to high alert.
Sammy picked up the pace. “You see that bus ahead? Let’s jump on.”
“Let’s just get in line,” Nellie said. “I want to flush whoever it is out.”
People pressed against them as they approached the bus stop. Nellie took her sunglasses off and pretended to polish them. She looked around her, keeping her face down.
It was impossible to tell if someone was really on their trail. Food stalls had opened, and people were spilling out of buildings, heading to cafés before going home, or lining up for buses. It was a warm, lovely evening, and people were strolling, enjoying the air.
The bus lumbered to a stop. People shuffled forward. The bus was completely jammed, and some tried to press themselves aboard.
The doors slammed shut, the aisles full. The bus took off smoothly, leaving several people on the sidewalk.
“Rush hour in Singapore,” a man said next to her. He shrugged. “What can you do? Now I’m going to miss meeting my friend.” He gave them an easygoing smile. “He’ll just have to start without me. Unless … you know, taxis are expensive, but we could split
the fare. Where are you going? I’m in the Colonial District.”
There was no way Nellie was getting into a car with a random guy. He looked like any normal person, a little tired after a long day, dressed casually in shorts and sandals. But all her senses were on alert. She fanned herself with her hand, but all the while she studied him carefully.
“Thanks, but we’re not too far. I think we’ll walk,” she said. “Such a beautiful day. Nice meeting you.”
They started to walk off. “I don’t trust him,” Nellie murmured. “Let’s see if he follows us.”
“Isn’t the idea to get away from the guy?” Sammy asked.
“I want to see if I can get a photo,” she said. “Cara can run it through her ID software.”
As they turned at the next corner, she glanced in a shop window. Was he back there? She saw the flash of a white shirt, a tanned arm.
They hurried down the road and crossed into a green park. Sammy checked his phone. “If we walk straight through here, we’ll come to an MRT station. We can catch a train back. I don’t know if we’re being followed, but I know how strict mealtimes are at the Chens’.”
Nellie gave a quick look back, but she didn’t spot the man who had spoken to them at the bus stop. What if he’d just been a normal, friendly guy?
Near a fountain with squealing children, she saw a different man enter the park. He looked like every other tourist, in a white shirt and a Panama hat that shadowed his features. Had she noticed him before on the street? Something in the way he moved made her take a second look. She flashed back to the busy street. He’d been the pedestrian munching on a sweet from the vendor. Now as he walked, she noted a coiled energy about him that he was trying to disguise with an ambling stride.
Too far away to get a photo, and the hat shadowed his face. Nellie suddenly felt a prick of foreboding. She’d learned to trust her instincts.
“Let’s go this way.” She pulled Sammy off the path. If they cut through this grove of trees, it should bring them closer to the train station.
Within a few steps, it was as though they’d plunged into a deep tropical forest. The trees were planted thickly here, and the branches shut out the last of the light and cut off the sounds of the park. Nellie could hear some children playing a game, but the sound seemed far away. They were alone. It seemed as though nobody in Singapore ever strayed off the neat pathways.
Except …
Nellie stopped.
“Sammy, did you hear that? Footsteps?”
“No.” Sammy cocked his head. “Nothing.”
They walked again. This time, when she heard the rustle she stopped and whirled around.
Nothing.
She reached for Sammy’s hand. She suddenly regretted striking off the path. They continued to walk, faster this time. The rustling continued.
“Hey there,” someone crooned.
But there was no one there.
Sammy squeezed her hand, pulling her along.
“Nel-lie …” The voice sent a chill of fear through her. Sammy gave her a startled glance.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said in a low voice.
They were walking fast now, almost running. Nellie could hear the footsteps, but she couldn’t tell where they were, or where the voice was coming from. The trees cast deep green shadows. Was that rustling a bird in the leaves, or their pursuer?
She didn’t want to be scared. She’d been in tough situations before. This was just a voice.
A voice that knew her.
Then suddenly, the man in the hat was ahead of them, only yards away.
“Nosy girls should be careful.”
Nellie was about to fling out a reply when she was distracted by a flash of silver. The man was spinning a steel rod around and around in his hand, so fast she only saw a blur. The rod was attached to a thick metal ring on his third finger. His pinkie finger was missing a joint.
She had time to notice those things, but no time to react before his hand flicked, and the rod turned out to be a foot-long spear hurtling cleanly through the air. It passed between her and Sammy and thwacked into a tree. It had been so close she’d felt it tickle the hair near her ear. If she had turned, had even flinched …
“Relax. If I’d wanted to hit you, I would have.”
Sammy surged toward the man.
“SAMMY, NO!” Nellie shouted. She leaped forward and grabbed him with both hands. “No,” she whispered. “No.” She saw the second weapon in the man’s hand, twirling.
“Don’t even think of it, boyfriend. Next time I won’t miss.”
Sammy went still, but she heard his harsh breathing.
“Just a warning, this time,” he said softly. “Go home, kiddos. I mean, all the way home. Back to the States. Or next time, it will be in your back.”
Ushuaia, Argentina
“Ushuaia is the southernmost city on the globe,” Cara said. She’d done a ton of research on the plane. “It’s the main jumping-off point for Antarctica, even though that means you have to go through Drake Passage, the most treacherous water in the world. It’s this bottleneck at the tip of South America, around Cape Horn. Ships used to founder and sink there, and it’s still notoriously dangerous.”
“Look at it this way — it can’t be worse than Halifax Harbor in a dinghy,” Dan said.
Hamilton nudged Dan. “Good one.”
Cara hadn’t known Hamilton Holt for as long as the others, but she was always grateful for his cheerfulness. They had flown to the bottom of the world, and they all felt like zombies with duffel bags. Their bags were stuffed with fleece, boots, and waterproof gear they’d purchased locally in hopes they’d be able to get aboard.
They’d taken off from Halifax in a snowstorm and flown all night, with a blurred stopover in Chile. Hamilton had woken up momentarily, heard the word Chile, and mumbled, “I like mine with onions.” The gang hadn’t let him forget it.
“Thanks, Onions,” Dan said.
“We have two and a half days before disaster strikes,” Cara said.
“Must you keep repeating the deadline?” Ian asked.
“Yes,” Cara said. Ian had been cool and distant since last night. Cara had concluded that he was an idiot. Even though he’d been incredibly brave, he’d also brushed her off when she’d been concerned about him. Just when she tried to show him she cared, he got all stiff and Brit-fuff-fuff.
So, she was going to play it cool with Ian Kabra, keep her head, and wait for her heart to catch up.
“Well, we’re finally pointed in the right direction,” Amy said. “As far south as you can get.”
“This wasn’t what I thought Argentina would look like,” Hamilton said. “I was hoping to see horses galloping across the pampas. Even though I’m not sure what pampas even are.”
“Grasslands,” Cara said. “And they’re a bit farther north.”
Cara liked this bustling small city that curled around a deep blue harbor. The city was cupped by snowy mountain peaks. It was chilly and sunny, with colorful flowers blooming in windowsills and planted in grassy squares.
It was an upside-down world. It was March first, but that meant autumn in Antarctica. The summer research stations would be closing down, the scientists heading back to their home countries. The long Antarctic winter was around the corner. She’d learned that March was at the very tail end of Antarctic cruises — the season ran from November to March, with most cruises taking place during December and January, during the Antarctic summer. The Titanic II was an icebreaker, however, and was going to forge into the harbors of Antarctica and catch the very last of the good weather.
At least that was the plan.
They walked toward the harbor, crossing a plaza underneath a snapping light blue Argentine flag. The harbor was crowded with expedition ships alongside fishing boats and one gigantic cruise liner.
They stood on the sidewalk, duffels in their hands, scanning the pier. It was clear which boat was the Titanic II, even without reading the gilt le
tters on the stern. It was bright white and navy, with polished mahogany railings, and had attracted a crowd on the pier who stared up at its magnificence. People were pulling up in hired cars and SUVs, and crew members in snappy white uniforms were hurrying down to escort them and handle the luggage.
Hamilton gave a low whistle. “She’s a beauty,” he said.
“The ship has been booked solid for a year,” Amy said. “Peter Zimmer is a Titanic fanatic, but he also runs a nonprofit foundation, and so he merged his two interests into this one ship to raise awareness. There’s a mix of billionaires, scientists, a movie star who calls herself an environmentalist, and a very lucky group of seventeen high school science students from La Jolla, California, who Zimmer invited on the cruise.”
“Zimmer says the ship combines the opulence of the first Titanic along with cutting-edge green technology,” Cara added. “It’s running on biofuels, and he’s aiming for zero impact on the environment. Plus, he’s replicating the meals of the first Titanic voyage and he’s copied all the silver and plates and tablecloths.”
Ian glanced over at the photographers clustered at the foot of the gangway. “No journalists once they get under way,” he noted, “but they’re to be given a tour of the ship while in port. That might give us a chance to sneak aboard, but they’ll most likely be checking credentials very closely.”
“So we don’t have a plan,” Dan said.
“Not until we scope it out,” Amy answered. “How many passengers?” she asked Cara.
“About a hundred,” Cara said. “Plus crew. Considerably less than the Titanic. It was the largest ship in the world at the time. There were about two thousand passengers and crew, I think. Less than half survived.”
“Seven hundred and thirteen survivors,” Dan said, because he was cursed with having random facts embedded in his brain forever. “That means about thirty percent survived. They had enough lifeboats for only half, and many of them didn’t make it on. Some lifeboats weren’t even full! At first they were afraid to lower them and thought they might split if they were at capacity. It was just stupid.”