by James Phelan
‘About who you are—’
‘I am hanging up now, goodbye Sam.’
‘No! Please, wait …’ Sam said. He could hear her on the other end of the call, hesitating for a moment. He had an idea. ‘You’re in the Louvre now, aren’t you?’
‘You’re following me?’ Her voice took on another, more urgent, tone.
‘No. No, I promise. Look, there’s a package there, in your restoration room, a postal pack, from a site in Italy.’
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
‘Zara?’
‘Yes, it’s here.’
‘It has images in it, of a lost da Vinci mural.’
More silence.
‘That package is still sealed,’ Zara said. ‘It arrived today.’
‘If you open it and see that what I say is true, you’ll believe me?’ Sam said. ‘Then you’ll meet me?’
‘I can’t open it.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ll lose my intern job. It is addressed to the head Renaissance curator, and she is not in until tomorrow.’
It had already been opened in Sam’s dream—which meant he was at least a day ahead. A day ahead of Solaris, and everyone else, time which we have to make the most of!
‘Tomorrow, when it is opened, I will see if what you say is true. I have your number now, Sam, and I will call you.’
‘OK …’
‘You can’t just tell me what this important information is?’ Zara said. ‘Is it—is it to do with the da Vinci?’
‘It is, although not that one. If I told you over the phone, you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘Then maybe we will speak tomorrow, and if it seems right, I will meet with you. In a public place.’ She hung up.
Sam paced. He wanted to maximise this small advantage he’d created.
The question came back into Sam’s mind. Why was it always easier in the dream?
I was already there, with the next Dreamer, the introduction made or at least the set-up in place.
He knew that once he changed what he’d seen in his dreams, such as being here now, contacting her, events would change—there’d be a ripple and the consequences were unknown.
Maybe there is a way …
15
Sam reasoned that if he could find the right vantage point, he’d have a chance of finding her in the crowd. He’d remembered about a student who was expelled from school after making a hoax call to police—all because he wanted to get out of a maths exam. He could still picture the kid getting marched out of class the next day by the grim-faced principal, towards his waiting parents who looked even grumpier.
Still, it did get him out of the exam.
This was no exam, and this wasn’t a school.
But it just might get Zara out of the Louvre. And if I can use Jedi’s phone tracking, I can find her.
Sam made the call to the police from a public phone in the nearby Metro station and walked back up to street level with an anxious knot in his stomach.
Well, I’m already a wanted fugitive, why stop now?
The outpouring of patrons and staff from the Louvre didn’t take long to begin. In his call, he’d claimed that there were booby traps set at the fire-escapes and other exits, loaded with stink gas that, although harmless, would make the patrons reek for days. He mumbled something about a protest against the decline of art. He hoped that it would mean that everyone in the museum would come out from within the glass pyramid.
Sam watched and waited. He stood on the stairs of the Richelieu Wing to the north, scanning the faces of the people streaming past. The fire alarm had been sounded and was a constant hum from the window behind him, soon pierced by the arrival of over a dozen emergency response vehicles.
A few heavily-armed gendarmes ran past Sam, one of them looking at him a little too long. Sam disappeared around a column and changed his Stealth Suit to match the police uniform, then walked away.
His phone chimed. Jedi.
‘Good news,’ Jedi said, his voice barely audible over the wailing of sirens and complaints of several thousand tourists. ‘Zara just made a call and the signal’s strong enough to triangulate. I’m tracking her phone now.’
‘Cool, where is she?’
‘Well, according to my screen, she’s about fifty metres to the west of you.’
Sam walked to the west, scanning the crowd as he moved, and spotted Zara walking quickly past the hastily erected security barricades.
‘Thanks, got her.’
‘OK, but listen, be careful out there,’ Jedi said. ‘I heard Zara’s call—it was to her dad and she said there was a terrorist threat against the Louvre.’
‘Thanks for the heads-up, but I think I’ll be fine,’ Sam said, ending the call. Once he’d rounded the corner, his Stealth Suit changed back to the casual jeans and hoodie that he preferred. Zara was a block ahead and he kept her within easy view, but staying back enough to blend in with the crowd.
Zara stopped outside the Sorbonne. Sam hung back and looked in a nearby window, watching her sideways through his sunglasses.
So this is where the Professor, Dr Dark and the Enterprise guy met. Huh.
Thankfully, she didn’t go inside. Instead, she was met out on the street by a man that Sam presumed must be her father.
He doesn’t look like an Agent. Not at all like one of Stella’s goons. Then again, it’s those ones who are the best at the deception—living a fake life, never revealing their real intentions.
Sam forced the bitter thoughts from his mind and kept to the shady side of the street as he followed the two of them as they began walking together. They seemed happy.
Well, I’d been happy with my parents too, hadn’t I?
All those birthdays, family holidays and movie nights. And the times his parents had taken him to jujitsu and football practice.
Where are they now? Are they part of the Enterprise effort to track me down?
He checked his phone—thankfully there were no calls or messages from the Professor, which meant he was still at his meeting with the Council, or at least he’d not returned to the hotel to find Sam missing. No doubt when that happened, the Professor would ask Jedi to track Sam’s location and would zoom in on him at once.
For my own protection, of course.
He’d only been with the Academy for a short time, but they already felt like his family now. The Professor, Lora, Eva, Gabriella and Pi, and hopefully even Alex, even if he was at the Enterprise—they were what mattered now. He had to push away the lie that his proxies had sold him his whole life.
Sam stopped and looked around. He’d been absent-mindedly thinking while walking and lost track of his targets … there, across the road, in a dark doorway. The street-lamps blinked into life and he saw them clearly then. The Agent kissed Zara’s cheek and they parted ways. The Agent went up into the apartment building and Zara continued down the street. Sam followed.
At the intersection she looked around, then turned a corner. Another street, another corner—
Zara was gone.
16
Sam doubled back along the Parisian street, looking at the passing faces in the fading light, searching for Zara. Fat drops of rain begin to fall and he took shelter under an awning for a moment.
He looked along the road and peered inside the cars passing by.
Where is she? Was she taken? Am I too late?
Sam was so lost in the terrifying possibilities of his failure that he almost missed her right in front of him.
Zara was just inside a bookshop, directly across the street.
He crossed over and watched her from the edge of the large brass window that wrapped around the corner of the bookshop. Zara had her back to him, browsing between shelves crammed with books. He walked through the open doorway.
Inside the shop it was cheery, with music playing and people drinking wine at some soon-to-begin event where seats were arranged facing a table. Sam watched as Zara took a water and went about
studying the shelves in the Young Adult section.
Sam took a glass of juice offered by a staffer and went to the next aisle, where he could see Zara between the open shelves. She had long eyelashes which flickered as she cast her eyes over the books. Her long, light-brown hair wisped across her face. As they both came to the end of the aisle, she suddenly looked up and stared directly at Sam, meeting his gaze with a steady look. Sam felt himself blush and turned away in a hurry. He picked up a book from the shelf next to him, How to Win Friends and Influence People, furiously trying to pretend he just happened to be there.
‘Bonjour.’
‘Ah!’ Sam dropped the book.
Zara picked it up, studied the cover, handed it back. She spoke quickly in French and Sam could only manage to catch a few words.
‘I—ah …’ Sam put the book back, upside down and back-to front, and several books next to it fell to the floor as he leaned his elbow on the shelf. ‘I … ah, sorry, I don’t speak much French. But if you hold on a moment, I have this.’
He retrieved his phone and brought up the language translation app.
‘Then it’s lucky I speak fluent English,’ Zara said. She tilted her head slightly, studying him. ‘I’m Zara. But then, you may already know that?’
‘I’m Sam.’ He put the phone away and picked up the dropped books.
‘Sam? So, you phone me at work, then, what—then you follow me here?’
‘Me?’ Sam looked over his shoulder. ‘No. Of course not. Follow … why would I? It’s just a coincidence is all.’
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, sipping her water, her gaze steady. ‘I thought you would know.’
‘Know? Ah, know what?’
‘I thought you would know the reason for following me.’
Sam swallowed and he was sure there was an audible little click in his throat. He drained his juice.
‘I might just get a refill,’ he said, and headed down the aisle to get another glass, using the moment’s distraction to gather his thoughts.
I’ve got to get it together. She thinks I’m some kind of stalker.
Zara continued to exude an air of calm, appearing not so much frightened as intrigued.
‘So, what’s going on here?’ Sam motioned around—it seemed to be the time other shops around were shutting up for the day but this place was half-full and getting busier.
‘They do this every Friday, a little book soirée,’ Zara said flatly, unimpressed at his attempt at deflection and small talk. ‘Sam, it feels like I’ve seen you before.’
‘I have one of those familiar faces,’ he said.
Has she seen the news reports from Berlin too?
‘Yes, very familiar …’ she said. ‘Didn’t I see you outside the Louvre just before?’
‘Um, the Louvre … that’s the museum, yeah?’
Zara nodded, not buying his dumb act.
‘Hmm. Yeah, you know what,’ Sam nodded with feigned realisation, ‘I was there today.’
‘Well, that is a coincidence,’ Zara said with a mock smile. ‘So was I.’
‘Oh, nice,’ Sam said, sipping his juice and hoping to hide behind his glass.
I’m not cut out for this kind of thing, I should just say it. “You’re not who you think you are and this life isn’t what you know it to be. Zara, you’re a Dreamer, one of thirteen people who must save the world.”
Instead he said, ‘So, come here often?’
‘Oh, là là! Please!’
‘I mean, it’s a nice idea, a book soirée,’ Sam said, looking at the crowd. ‘That’s like a party, right?’
Zara didn’t answer. She gave him a final measuring stare and promptly walked away.
Sam caught up with her outside.
‘Zara, wait.’
She turned around.
‘What do you want with me, Sam?’ she said.
‘That’s a long story. But it’s important—vital—that you hear it.’
She looked at her watch.
‘Please, give me half an hour,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s sit and talk someplace, I’ll explain everything.’
She paused, weighing up the situation.
‘I promise you,’ Sam said, ‘that what I have to tell you will change your life.’
She laughed despite herself. ‘Sam, you are either romantic, or crazy, or a schemer. Maybe all three.’
‘Just give me a chance to explain.’
She looked up and down the street.
‘OK, one chance,’ Zara said. ‘My favourite cafe is around the corner.’
17
Ten minutes. Ten minutes of Sam talking non-stop and Zara had heard enough.
‘OK, Sam,’ she said, finishing her espresso. ‘At least I now know what you are.’
‘A lonely hero trying to save the world?’ Sam said, eating some of the almond cake he’d ordered while Zara’s remained untouched.
‘Non—you are a crazy!’
‘A crazy?’ Sam said, chewing. ‘Or, or, am I making so much sense that you can’t handle it as the truth?’
‘OK, listen carefully, Sam.’
‘Yes?’ he said, giving her his full attention.
‘You. Are. Absolutely. Nuts.’
‘We’ll see …’ Sam finished his cake and sipped his coffee. ‘You not hungry?’
Zara shook her head, silent for a while as they sat next to each other, looking out the window to the street outside.
‘You really think you’re telling the truth, don’t you?’ Zara said. Sam nodded. ‘A long-lost machine built by da Vinci, and a—a dreaming gene?’
Sam nodded.
‘Which has been implanted in babies, hoping one day they can take part in a “race” between good and evil, like a comic book …’
‘The ultimate race,’ Sam said, half jokingly, but his smile faded as he saw her expression. She’s mocking me, but then again, maybe she’s starting to believe, just a little …
Zara said, ‘Right.’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes—that’s what I believe,’ Sam said. ‘And you’ll come to believe it too.’
‘You understand that it sounds crazy?’ Zara said. ‘That you sound crazy. I mean, what, you’re sixteen?’
‘About that. Almost, nearly.’
‘Almost nearly sixteen. And you are the world’s only hope?’
Sam nodded.
‘You make this sound like some bad American movie, full of computer explosions.’
‘Exploding computers?’ Sam said.
‘No—with the computer-made explosions and fire and—’
‘CGI, right. Anyway, look, Zara, I know I’m not very good at explaining this, and I know it sounds weird at first, but it’s true.’ Sam pushed away his empty plate. ‘There will be thirteen Dreamers and like it or not, you’re one of them. I do know it sounds like I’m nuts. I was in your shoes just a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t believe it either and it took me a while to change my mind, to believe.’
‘And what made you believe?’
‘Things I’ve seen,’ Sam replied. ‘Things I’ve done.’
‘Like?’
Sam didn’t quite know where to begin, so he reached under the neckline of his t-shirt and produced the golden key.
‘What’s that?’ Zara asked, frown lines dimpling her forehead as she leaned forward for a better look.
‘A very special key,’ Sam said. He passed it over. ‘It was inside a crystal sphere known as the Star of Egypt.’
‘This mark …’ she looked up at him, her eyes wide-open in uncomprehending awe.
‘Yes?’ Sam said, smiling.
‘I mean, it can’t be … you know who this mark is by?’
‘Da Vinci,’ Sam said. He fought the urge to say ‘ta-da!’.
‘You have his key … da Vinci’s key. A key to what?’
‘So far it has unlocked a secret box and it could also be the first part of his Bakhu machine. It points to a place—’
‘It is for na
vigation?’ Zara’s eyes narrowed at this.
‘Yes,’ Sam said.
She nodded.
Sam said, ‘It looks like that makes sense to you.’
‘It might …’ she said, looking at the fine teeth at the end of the key. ‘My father would know. He’s an expert on da Vinci, he could authenticate this. Maybe he knows of it.’
‘And then you’d believe me?’
It took her a while, but finally she nodded again.
‘My father’s not home,’ Zara said as she came back down from her family’s upstairs apartment. ‘He must be out with my mother. They don’t answer their phones.’
Lucky break for me.
Sam couldn’t work out how to tell her that her parents were Enterprise Agents.
Earn her trust first, then tell her that.
Outside Zara’s apartment, they stood in the street, rain coming down in a fine mist. Zara shivered under an impossibly small umbrella. Sam felt dry in his waterproof Stealth Suit but the rain dripped from the edges of his Eiffel Tower cap and found its way down his exposed neck.
‘That is a terrible hat,’ Zara said. ‘It makes you look even more American.’
‘I’m Canadian,’ he protested, adjusting his cap. ‘Well, technically a dual citizen.’
‘N’importe quoi … whatever. Come with me, I want to see if my papa is at his office.’
‘Ah, I’m not sure about that,’ Sam said, checking the time. The Professor had messaged Sam to advise he was coming back to the hotel. He was scheduled to return within half an hour. ‘How about we go via my hotel, and speak to the Professor first?’ Then in answer to Zara’s questioning look, he added, ‘He’s the head of the Academy that I told you about.’
And talking to ‘Papa’ right now is not a good idea.
‘Right, I see,’ Zara said.
‘So you’ll come?’
She shook her head, but Sam could tell that there was something there which had definitely shifted. She believed at least some of his story.
‘I will meet you,’ Zara said. ‘You bring your Professor, and I’ll talk to my papa about this key, about all this.’
‘Sure,’ Sam said looking around, scrambling for a way to delay Zara, or somehow convince her to keep a secret from her parents.