by Jenny Goebel
I’m no longer my own agent, Ian thought with sickening clarity.
“There you are,” said Cara. The hand she placed on his arm turned his insides to mush. Perhaps being alone wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, either. It hit Ian that every second mattered right now. He might not get another opportunity to tell Cara how he truly felt about her.
“Cara, I have feelings—” He wanted to say “for you,” but she cut him off before he could.
“Oh, I know that, Ian,” she said quickly. “I apologize for treating you like you don’t. It’s just that, sometimes, you act so aloof. I feel like I have to go overboard to get through to you. If I hurt your feelings about the thread count and harassing the concierge, I’m really sorry.”
“I wouldn’t say aloof!” Ian objected. “Sophisticated, perhaps? But that’s not what I’m trying to say. I want you to know—”
“Know what?” Dan asked as he joined them. “What did I miss?” He must have hit the breakfast buffet, he was carrying a piece of buttered bread with hagelslag.
Ian watched with a disapproving eye as Dan took a bite. He couldn’t very well declare himself to Cara with Dan around.
“What?” Dan said through a mouthful of food. “Can’t save the world on an empty stomach.”
“I have something to tell you both,” Ian said, changing the subject. While they were still sleeping, he’d been channeling his inner Kabra. He may have repressed most of his upbringing, but it had still left its stamp on him. And Kabras specialized in one thing: influence. Whether it was through wealth or a show of strength, or even by blackmail or terror, they bent others to their will. Which was exactly what was needed here.
“I’ve demanded a meeting with top government officials.” Ian turned to Dan. “There are important Cahills all over the world, and I never understood why you and Amy never threw your power around before. But that’s beside the point. The meeting is scheduled for nine-thirty A.M. Thirty minutes from now. And it wasn’t easy to get. It is, after all, a national holiday.” Ian puffed up. “Fortunately for us, nobody says no to a Kabra.”
Ian expected at least a small commendation for his efforts. Perhaps even a little affection mixed with wonder from Cara. He had imagined her squeezing his hand, gazing adoringly into his eyes.
But the looks on his friends’ faces were questioning at best.
“Do you really think a meeting is a good use of our time?” Cara said, and if Ian wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of accusation in her voice.
“Why do you keep asking me that? You said yourself that we’re shorthanded,” Ian shot back defensively. “How can the three of us possibly expect to stop a flood of this magnitude? We need resources.” He warmed to his theme. “We need military personnel at our disposal. We need a team of experts and emergency response units. We need people doing exactly what we tell them to, and we need them now.”
Cara and Dan shared a look that only served to fuel Ian’s indignation. They were undermining his authority. He could privately doubt his role as their leader, but they could not. They had to follow his orders without question, or everything would fall apart. How could he ever be the effective leader they needed him to be if they didn’t place their trust in his decisions?
“I just don’t know if these ‘top government officials’ are going to respond the way you want them to,” Cara said. “They may have agreed to meet with us out of some sort of obligation to the Cahill name, but most adults don’t appreciate being ordered around by a group of teenagers.”
“When Napoleon Bonaparte set up the Kingdom of Holland to extend French reign over the Netherlands, the Dutch certainly listened to what he had to say,” Ian shot back.
“Okay,” Cara said. “Random much? And I’m pretty sure Napoleon wasn’t a teenager at the time.”
Wounded by her sarcasm, Ian couldn’t help but wince.
Cara noticed and reached for his arm. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m sorry,” she said, but Ian brushed her away. “Look. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, and I’m not saying we won’t try it your way.” Cara sighed. “We just need to be prepared for handling the situation on our own if they won’t step in. That’s all.”
Ian turned his attention out the window to a new group of pedestrians, each wearing a bright orange hat and furry orange boots. “The meeting is in one half hour at the Café de Jaren. You are both free to join in, if you’d like. Otherwise, good luck finding the targeted barrier.” He gestured at the masses of people outside the window and added, “In that crowd.”
* * *
Inside the Café de Jaren, the atmosphere was every bit as bustling as it was outside on the streets of Amsterdam. But Ian, Cara, and Dan were led right to a table for six on a lovely terrace overlooking a canal. Umbrellas provided shade for all the tables. Overhead, the rising sun was bright, and the sky, clear—not a single storm cloud in sight.
Two men in ill-fitting suits with orange ties and a woman in a carrot-colored silk scarf and a bulky navy-blue blazer rose to their feet to greet them. Their fashion sense left something to be desired in Ian’s opinion, but he had to give them bonus points for their patriotism.
He shook each of their hands and the woman began speaking with a heavy Dutch accent. Her words sounded full and throaty as she said, “My name is Anki. I am the chairwoman for the city council. Our apologies that the mayor couldn’t join us—Burgemeester Aldert De Bardelben has other pressing matters to attend to. But we are happy to hear your grievances, granted that it won’t take more than ten minutes. As you can imagine, with today’s festivities, our council members are already spread quite thin.”
“I’m sorry, did you say ‘grievances’? We don’t have grievances,” Ian spat out. “This is a matter of national security!”
“Please, take a seat, Mr. Kabra, and help yourself to some tea,” the woman said soothingly. “May I recommend the apple tarts? I daresay you won’t find better in all the world.”
Ian glanced around the terrace. Other diners had dropped their spoons and put down their teacups.
People were staring. Had his outburst truly been that loud?
The only sounds now came from the buzzing traffic and the high-spirited crowds below. He sat down in a huff. When everyone else at their table joined him, the lively chatter and the clanking of silverware again picked up and wafted through the air.
Ian lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned forward to address the government officials. What he had to say would knock the smug looks off their faces. “We have reason to believe that a bomb will explode somewhere in the North Sea. Today. We also have reason to believe that the shock waves from the explosion will breach your surge barriers, causing widespread flooding. With this information, we expect you to do whatever is within your power to prevent such an occurrence.”
Take that for “grievances”! Ian thought. He’d practiced this speech on the way over and, by his own assessment, had given it with quite impactful delivery.
“Now,” he continued, “you must call in the Royal Netherlands Navy. The air force can give us an aerial view of all the dams and levees, and certainly the larger cities need to be evacuated immediately. We can wait if you’d like to start making phone calls.”
“I see,” said the woman calmly. She frowned and then turned to the man sitting beside her. “Thjis, what is the daily count for bomb threats in the Netherlands up to?”
The man she’d called Thjis glanced at something on his tablet. “This is only the fourth, but it’s still early, Anki.”
“Ah, yes, but I’d wager that this is the only threat currently placed against the sea … Well, I think we can all rest assured that our flood prevention system is the finest in the world—we Dutch learned our lesson when the 1953 flood broke through the dikes. If that is all, it was very nice meeting you, Ian. You are a credit to the Lucian branch.”
“You can’t be serious!” Ian balked, once again raising his voice. “I don’t care how great you think your system is.
It’s going to fail.”
Anki rose to her feet. “I don’t ‘think’ it’s great. I know that it was designed to withstand a ten-thousand-year storm. I know that our technology is more advanced than what is found with any other flood prevention system in the world. The Oosterscheldekering is nine kilometers long. It has sixty-five concrete pillars and sixty steel doors. The Maeslantkering, between Rotterdam and the North Sea, is one of the largest moving structures on the planet. It has two gigantic mobile gates that swing into place when a surge is likely. The Netherlands is nothing if not prepared. Now, if you’ll excuse us … ”
The two men rose. They flanked Anki as she started to walk briskly away from the table. “Wait!” Dan called after her. “Please! Do you have any kids, Anki?”
The woman paused a few feet from the table. “A boy and a girl,” she answered, turning to face Dan.
“I have a sister,” Dan said. “She’s not here today, because I have a job to do and so does she. But we’d do anything to keep each other safe. I bet you feel the same about your kids.”
Anki bristled. “Of course I do!”
“Right. Look, I know you have a lot to do and you don’t think this threat is legit. But we do. And we’re going to do everything we can to keep your boy and girl, and everyone else in the Netherlands, safe. Maybe you can’t call in the navy or the air force, but if you give us a few more minutes of your time, it could make all the difference. Please,” Dan pleaded again.
Anki glanced at her watch. “I’ve just enough time for one more question.”
“Thank you,” Dan said, sounding sincere. “Now, those two barriers you mentioned—the Oyster King and the Meister King—”
“The Oosterscheldekering and the Maeslantkering,” Anki corrected.
“Uh, what you said,” Dan replied, and Ian rolled his eyes.
What is Dan doing? Granted, that bit about “Do you have any kids?” had regained the idiot woman’s attention, but now Dan needed to be swift and exacting instead of making them all seem like fools.
“Yeah,” Dan continued. “The steel doors and the giant gates, you said they close when ‘a surge is likely.’ But how does that happen, exactly? I mean, who makes that call? Is it put to a vote, or is it a single person who does all the deciding—like he or she is operating independently or something?”
Ian flinched. Autonomy fails. Perhaps Dan knew what he was doing after all.
“By my count, that was three questions wrapped into one,” Anki said, her lips twitching, but she answered him anyway. “People more qualified than I decide when the steel gates of the Oosterscheldekering close. As for the Maeslantkering, the decision is made by a computer. Perhaps you can request a meeting with it. A computer is likely to have far more time available than we do on an important national holiday.”
“This computer, it acts independently, then?” Ian blurted.
“You children don’t give up, do you?” Anki said, obviously exasperated.
Taking a cue from Dan, Ian forced himself to swallow his pride. “Please. I know I was brash before. I’m … I’m … sorry.” The apology nearly choked him. “But this is important. We need to know if the word autonomy can be applied to any other dike, dam, or barrier within the Netherlands’ flood prevention system. Or if it’s only the Maeslantkering that, with its computer, is self-governing, so to speak.”
Anki searched his face as she considered, and Ian kept it straight, successfully resisting the urge to shout, “Think, woman! We haven’t got all day!”
“It’s a strange question.” Anki’s answer came slowly pouring out. “But, yes, I would say that the Maeslantkering is the only barrier that operates that way—without any human interference. I suppose you might describe that as autonomy. Now, we really must go. Good day.”
With that, Anki spun on her heel and she and the other council members were gone, disappearing through the double doors that led back inside the café.
Cara quickly drew out her phone and began scanning something on the screen. Her face paled. “I don’t know how we missed this before. The Maeslantkering’s computer monitors the weather and sea data. Then, based on an algorithm that predicts how much the sea level is going to rise, the computer triggers the closer. The massive steel arms swing shut whenever the algorithm says a storm surge is likely.”
“The Gateway floods when autonomy fails—a computer won’t be able to anticipate a surge caused by a nuclear explosion,” Ian said. “The Maeslantkering will fail! Without storm data, the computer won’t know that a surge is coming, and the gates will be left wide open. The shock waves caused by the explosion will pummel through.”
Ian was in such agony, he almost couldn’t bear to ask the next question. “Where exactly is this computer-operated barrier?”
Cara frowned into her phone. “The Maeslantkering protects Rotterdam—which is about an hour’s drive from here. Over half a million lives will be at risk—probably more, considering the holiday. With Rotterdam being the second-largest city in the Netherlands, people are most likely swarming there as well. Oh, and get this, Rotterdam’s nickname is ‘Gateway to Europe.’ ”
“I knew that capital G was important,” Dan said, smacking his fist on the table, rattling all the china.
But Ian barely heard him. His head was pounding. His heart was racing. Over half a million lives at risk, and it fell on him to save them.
* * *
Dan couldn’t move without slamming into another body. Horns blew in his ear and streamers flew overhead as Team A scrambled to find a taxi. But the streets were totally gridlocked. Even if they found an open cab, it would take forever to get out of Amsterdam. And it would take nearly as long to make it to a bus station or train depot with all the traffic.
“There has to be another way,” Dan said, eyeing the only slightly less crowded canal flowing beneath a nearby bridge. “If we could, er, commandeer a boat … These canals, they lead out to the open ocean, don’t they?” He pushed forward, blazing a trail between the throngs of people. Ian and Cara followed in his wake.
“That one?” Cara asked, pointing to a small aluminum boat moored against the side of the canal.
“Don’t think that one’s gonna cut it,” Dan replied. “That one, on the other hand … ” He cut close to the waterfront, pointing to a powerboat cruising downstream, not far from where they were walking. The powerboat had a narrow beam and a large outboard motor. “That one was built for speed.”
The only problem was the driver. He was steering the high-performance vessel along at tortoise pace as he took in the sights and sounds of the celebration. “For the good of all,” Dan said, “I just hope he can swim.”
Catching an opening in the crowd, he sprinted forward, narrowing the distance between himself and the boat. Once he was right alongside it, he catapulted off the lip of the canal, over open water, and landed in the stern. Startled, the driver turned to face Dan as he charged the helm.
“Hey! This is a hijack. My friends and I need your boat!” Dan yelled over the cacophony of their surroundings.
The driver pushed back the sun flap on his hat and raised his fists, welcoming a fight.
“Dang,” Dan said. “And I was hoping to do this the easy way.” He wasn’t far outsized—just a few inches shorter—but he was slightly out-footed by the driver. When the driver took a swing at Dan, his stance remained solid. When Dan ducked, he wobbled to the side and nearly fell overboard before regaining his balance.
I’ve got to go for the feet, he thought, realizing he knew how to fight.
Launching himself forward like a missile, he dove for the man’s canvas loafers. The driver jumped to avoid the projectile headed straight for him, and when he did, Dan reached out and gave the man a little shove. That was all it took.
Dan watched over the side and was rewarded with a large splash. “Huh, that was easy. Thanks!” he called when the man’s head popped back above the surface.
Then he whipped the boat around next to the wooden dock
where Ian and Cara stood, wide-eyed and waiting.
“Jump!” Dan screamed. His friends took the plunge together. Dan hit the throttle as soon as their feet connected with the stern. The boat careened down the canal as Dan swerved to avoid the water taxis and catamarans trickling into the city through the webs of channels.
The last few years had trained Dan to be aware of his surroundings at all times—to always expect an ambush. So even though he was occupied with navigating the speeding boat, he didn’t miss the lone figure standing on the bridge before them, drawing a small, shiny object from the pocket of his Windbreaker.
That the object was a weapon immediately registered in Dan’s mind.
“Gunman!” Dan yelled to warn the others. “Dead ahead. We’re going to pass right under him.” There wasn’t much cover to be found inside the boat, but Ian and Cara hit the deck and Dan practically hugged the dash panel as he ducked low and kept one hand on the wheel. His heart drummed in his chest as he steered the boat erratically.
A moving target is always harder to hit.
The boat veered left, then right, then left again as they approached the underpass.
As the boat neared the bridge, Dan couldn’t stop himself from gazing up. He found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He heard a pop and instantly his vision clouded with rainbow-colored particles. This is it, he thought. I’m really dead this time. There’s a tunnel with a light at the end and …
Glitter?
The rainbow-colored particles shifting through the air were merely tiny pieces of shiny glitter. The gun had been a gag item, a not-so-funny joke, in Dan’s opinion. The man who had shot at them wasn’t some henchman sent by the Outcast. He was just some wise guy celebrating King’s Day with a rainbow glitter gun.
As they exited the tunnel beneath the bridge and light assaulted his eyes, Dan glanced back at Cara and Ian sprawled across the bottom of the boat. Ian was shielding Cara with his body, and his back was blanketed by a thin film of glitter that glistened like minuscule gems in the sunlight.
“Um, guys?” Dan said.