by Jillian Dodd
"I'm glad you found your way," Lorenzo says, looking up from a stack of printouts. "Your palm and that passcode will get you into any private Montrovian installation in the world."
"Good to know. Have you been up all night?"
"Yes, I couldn't sleep. We've been sifting through everything you told us. Trying to figure out what it all means."
He points to a large whiteboard on the wall. Every fact I told them is written on it in diagram form with headings like Charlotte Cassleberry, Blackwood Academy, Black X, Montrovia, and Von Allister.
"Have you figured out anything?"
"We went through the discovery process with you and then pulled every file we have on all the major players in your story. Everyone you've come in contact with, we've gone through. What we have been doing this morning is eliminating those things we deem unimportant to the case."
"Like what?"
"Well, Ares Von Allister, for one. We have file after file about him. With his brilliant mind, my country watched him closely," Gabriel states, "meaning we knew everything."
"With all due respect, are you telling me your files state that he had children? You knew about Kelley?"
The Mossad agent lets out a little cough. "No, we did not."
"Then you didn't know everything."
"You have a point," the admiral says. "But let him keep going."
"Okay."
"Notice, by Black X, the only information we have is what you told us and what the British agent had told you. No one in my agency has ever heard of it."
"But they did know of Blake and Charlotte Cassleberry and their daughter, Calliope," Lorenzo adds.
"They were in and out of many countries and hit our radar," Gabriel clarifies.
"Then you knew they were spies?"
"Actually, no. They were not suspected of being operatives. And we pride ourselves on knowing every agent from every country. Because of that, I was going to suggest they might have worked for a more covert agency--possibly this Black X--from the start," Gabriel says.
"But I remembered what you said about the director of the CIA," Lorenzo interjects. "We believe it's too much of a coincidence for the director of the CIA not to have been talking about you. Therefore, we have discarded that theory."
"And then we looked into Malcolm Prescott," the admiral says. "From every indication that we have--and there are many. On occasion, he's actually helped Mossad with covers for their agents through his company. He's one of the good guys." He points to the board. "Aleksandr is a little more borderline, but the man makes weapons--and fine ones at that. While there are some people in the world we would prefer he not sell to, to our knowledge, he stays away from straight-up terrorists, if for no other reason than to not hurt contracts with larger military operations."
"We consider the chatter about Montrovia to be true," Gabriel states. "Something is going to happen in Montrovia. It's been verified by multiple sources. No one has any indication, however, of what it might be."
"That leads us to the chatter about Terra," Lorenzo says. "That word continues to resurface--from Clarice's interest in something similar to the photo on your mother's disk to Ares's TerraSphere."
"But, regardless of everything else, we keep coming back to one thing," Gabriel says. "What did your mother know that got her killed? She seems to have been the catalyst in all this."
"I just spoke to the dean of Blackwood Academy. He confirmed a few things for me. And, while he told me not to trust anyone, including him, my gut says he is telling the truth about these items."
The admiral gets up, marker in hand, ready to add more to the board. "Go ahead," he says.
"The dean of my school was formerly at the CIA and was my mother's handler. When she was killed, Black X hid both of us at Blackwood--supposedly, for our own safety. The CIA thinks we are both dead. He also confirmed a few important facts--that Kelley and Charlotte were one in the same and that she and Ares were our biological parents, and that Ares used Ari to bribe General Bradford. Kelley truly believed Ari was dead."
"Men do crazy things when passion rules," Gabriel says.
"And, apparently, Ares was very passionate about the TerraSphere," I agree. "Just a random thought here, but what if the reason my mother didn't tell the CIA about what she was investigating is because it was personal? What if she was investigating Ares himself? We know she took a picture of the TerraSphere that he'd built. What if she found out he was bad? What if he wanted to use that brilliant mind of his to drastically change the world?"
"By conserving energy with the TerraSphere?" Gabriel asks, trying to understand what I'm getting at.
"Right before my mother was killed, she called her handler. Told him that she had discovered a conspiracy that would end the world as we know it. I think that is what is going to start in Montrovia."
"What? Like the zombie apocalypse?" Lorenzo says with a laugh.
The admiral does a little humph. I can tell he is exhausted, but Gabriel suddenly looks wide-eyed.
"Explain this theory," he says.
"I don't exactly have a theory; it's more snippets of a theory. Someone wants to control the Strait of Montrovia. In order to get that control, they wanted Lorenzo's father, Lorenzo, and his uncle dead. They achieved two out of three and then let Ophelia take control. If it weren't for me, she would have succeeded. She had big plans to change Montrovia, and I think that's because whoever is behind it told her she could do whatever she wanted; all they needed was to control the Strait. Clarice was then killed because they were worried her sister might have told her something. And, if I had to guess, their mother might end up dead, too."
"I wish," the admiral says, shaking his head. "She did major damage to Lorenzo's reputation by suggesting that her daughter was promised the crown from her father because no one believed Lorenzo was fit to rule. She insinuated that her daughters were killed on Lorenzo's orders."
"Are you kidding me? Lorenzo, you have to tell the truth about how Ophelia was behind the kidnapping!"
"Their mother just lost her two daughters," Lorenzo says. "We're taking the high road and saying that we are sorry for her losses."
"Continue with your theory, Huntley," Gabriel says.
"Okay, so I think what will happen in Montrovia is because of the Strait. Do you have any idea what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands?"
"It could devastate the European, Middle Eastern, and Russian economies," the admiral states.
"The day the president was killed, the port in Tartus was taken out of Russian control," Gabriel says, squinting his eyes. "Tartus takes out the Russians. The American president is gone. And they need Montrovia. But for what, and how does your mother and the TerraSphere fit into the equation?"
"That's the million-dollar question," Lorenzo says with a sigh.
"I keep going back to the same thing." Gabriel stands up and starts pacing. "What did your mother know that got her killed? Tell us again what was on the necklace."
"It was just junk. Weird conspiracy theories. Old vacation photos. They were just memories."
"Are you sure they were old? What if they were photos from the trip you had just been on? What if you were supposed to give them to her handler or your father, so they would know?"
"Why didn't they just hypnotize me? Maybe we should do that now? Maybe I know something."
"That's a good question and something we also researched," Lorenzo says, taking ahold of my hand. "We believe the reason they didn't is because they wanted to keep your memories pure."
"Pure?"
"Yes, there are studies that have proven, through hypnosis, a suggested memory will be believed as reality when the patient is awoken," he explains. "It's called false memory syndrome. I suspect that they were afraid someone would, even by accident, skew your memory."
"Why don't we do this?" the admiral suggests. "Let's run Kelley's and Huntley Bond's passports and see where they went on their vacation. Then let's try to see if those places match up at all wit
h the photos on the disk."
"I already have my tech guy looking into our passports, but you're welcome to do the same. He said, depending on where we were, it might be difficult to narrow it down since there would be only one point of entry and exit for all of Europe and the United States. I have to stay in London until I complete my next mission, and then I'll try to take a few days off and see if I can figure all that out. I also want to know what is in the safety deposit box in Montrovia."
"After your mission, we will go back to Montrovia together," Lorenzo says sweetly. Then he glances at his watch. "It's nearly eight. We'd probably better get ready."
As we're leaving the room, a thought hits me, and I turn around abruptly. "Gabriel, when we first met, Lorenzo told me that you saved his father's life. When was that, and what were the circumstances?"
He narrows his eyes at me. "It's classified."
"Yeah," I reply with an eye roll and a wave of the hand toward the documents and whiteboard, "so is all this."
He rubs his hand across his forehead, and then he says, "When was your mother killed?"
"May tenth. Six years ago," I say.
"Who tried to kill my father?" Lorenzo asks.
"His brother," the admiral clarifies.
"The brother who died in a suspicious hunting accident just six months ago?" I ask.
"Wait," Lorenzo says, looking quite shocked, "are you saying my uncle Alessandro tried to kill my father?"
"Yes. He wanted to be king."
"But that makes no sense. Why would he want to kill him? It couldn't have been to be king. I would have been next in line. Granted, I was only seventeen at the time," Lorenzo argues, "but there have been younger kings throughout Montrovian history."
"I'm pretty sure you were next on the hit list," the admiral says. "Your father and I had been friends since we were kids. And Alessandro always had a chip on his shoulder because your father was lauded as the heir to the throne while he was just a spare. He rebelled against your grandparents often and created scandals whenever he possibly could. They finally sent him to a boarding school in Switzerland. When he came back, he seemed less bitter, but he still didn't want to be paraded around town, doing what he called 'royal bullshit.' But things seemed to settle down, the longer your grandfather lived. Giovanni was thirty-two before he became king. Alessandro refused to go to the coronation with the rest of the family and left town. Ten years later, he suddenly came home, demanding to be treated like the royalty that he was. He started making appearances and was actually behaving. Your father was thrilled that he had finally grown up."
"It was about that time when we caught wind of a plot," Gabriel says. "I was sent by my country to monitor the situation. Throughout its history, the country of Montrovia has always been watched closely because of the Strait and its importance." He pauses briefly to take a drink of water from the glass in front of him. "It was race weekend. Your father was on the royal yacht, hosting a party. He and his brother were on the top deck, arguing about making Montrovia a better place. Alessandro, who kept a suite at the Casino from the time he was sixteen so that he wouldn't have to bring girls back to the palace, had decided they were setting a bad example to the world and wanted to outlaw gambling. Giovanni told him he was crazy. That it would destroy their economy. That's when Alessandro tried to push him overboard. In the process of me saving the king's life, his brother went over the railing and fell to his death."
"I never knew that," Lorenzo says, looking quite disturbed. "Everyone was told it was an accident."
"We didn't want the world to know the King's own brother had tried to kill him," the admiral says. "We had to cover it up."
"And you didn't think to bring this up when I told you about Ophelia? She wanted to do the same thing." I'm pissed. I turn to Lorenzo. "We shouldn't have trusted them."
Gabriel holds up his hands. "You're wrong. You never told me that Ophelia wanted to outlaw gambling. You said she wanted to sell the Strait and rename the country." He runs over to a notepad, flips back through the pages, and then holds it out for me to see. "I'm not lying. You can trust me. You both need to trust me."
"I'm sorry then," I say, feeling bad I yelled at him. "Let me clarify what she said. This is a direct quote. 'I want to systematically dismantle this farce of a monarchy, starting by selling the Strait of Montrovia to the highest bidder. Once that's done, we'll close down our borders to these wretched tourists, shut down our port, sink all the yachts, and abolish gambling.'"
"That's quite the coincidence," Gabriel says.
"What it sounds like is, the same person whispered those words in both Alessandro's and Ophelia's ears in an attempt to control the country."
"Now, we just need to figure out who they are and their intentions," the admiral says.
I stop in Chauncey's room to wake him up for school. The second he opens his eyes, the smile on his little face makes me happy. It gives me hope that, in all this mess, I might find some answers. And that those answers will both help me understand my past as well as maybe save all our futures. I'm having a hard time understanding why Black X--or anyone for that matter--would entrust the future of our world to a nineteen-year-old girl, regardless of how well trained she is. Why aren't they shouting all this from the rooftops?
Then I realize it's so that the bad guys, whoever they are, don't know that we know something is going to happen.
I have breakfast with Chauncey and Lorenzo, send a large wheeled table full of food down to the admiral and Gabriel, and then go to get dressed for the Royal Ascot.
Dr. Kate had clothing delivered here, and Lorenzo's staff hung and steamed them. Since the Royal Ascot is a five-day event, I also received numerous hats from Anna Remaldi, the royal milliner for the queen of Montrovia.
I read the note Dr. Kate included and learn that, since we will be in what's called the Royal Enclosure, we have to follow a strict dress code that includes morning attire for the gentlemen and modest formal day dresses and hats for the ladies.
She also goes on to explain that hats are allowed, as are headpieces with a four-inch base, but that fascinators are against the dress code--unless they have the proper base size. I didn't really understand before what the difference between them was, but now, I do.
I carefully open each hatbox and look at Anna's beautiful creations. Since I don't know when I will be pulled away to go after the money man, I decide to wear my favorite today. The bell-shaped black hat with a large bow is classic in an Audrey Hepburn sort of way and not quite as crazy as some of the statement hats I saw when I looked them up online. It will pair beautifully with the fun Dolce & Gabbana gelato print dress I'm wearing.
I check the clock and see it's time to leave. I grab the coordinating raffia heels and handbag I'm supposed to wear with it and run out to the kitchen.
Chauncey looks freaking adorable. He's wearing his school uniform, which consists of a gray blazer outlined in burgundy, gray slacks, white shirt, and a striped tie. The big, expressive eyes and darling grin don't hurt either.
Lorenzo spins me around to look at my dress, causing Chauncey to giggle and my breath to catch. Lorenzo is wearing a traditional English morning suit with a black morning coat, deep blue waistcoat, and subtle gray-and-black-striped slacks. His shirt is white, and his tie is a deep gray. He looks utterly scrumptious.
"Let's drop Chauncey off at school today," I suggest quietly while he goes to get his backpack from his room. "If we are in the limo, no one will see us with him, and he'll love it."
"He is quite precocious."
"And those eyes."
"And his perfected pout. He has the staff wrapped around his little finger," Lorenzo says. "Let's do it."
We get loaded into the limo and drop Chauncey off at school.
Then Lorenzo pulls me as close as my hat will allow and says, "You know, every man at the Royal Ascot is going to be thinking the same thing I did when I first saw you in that dress."
"And what's that?" I ask, suddenly feelin
g self-conscious and wondering if my dress is appropriate for the occasion.
"That they would like to attempt to lick all that gelato straight off you," he says with a sexy smirk.
My eyes get big, and I find myself blushing. "Lorenzo," I chastise.
He runs a finger under my jawline, pushing my chin up and bringing me face-to-face with him. He leans in for the kind of kiss that tells me he means it.
Once at the race, we're led to a private box with a bar and full wait staff. Although the box is quite big and would probably hold nearly a hundred people, there is simply a table set for two.
"Are we not meeting up with anyone?" I ask.
"We have been invited to numerous private parties over the course of the event, and I'd love to show you off, but I thought we could come back here and dine in private. As much as I enjoy events like these, now that I am king, I must constantly consider my actions and my words. Sometimes, that can be tiresome."
"I think you are brilliant." I give him a kiss on the cheek. "Plus, I love spending time alone with you."
He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it. "I am not going to be able to stall my mother for much longer. She plans on announcing my betrothment to Lizzie next week."
I lower my eyes, the thought of him marrying someone else deeply disturbing me.
"But, if you would agree to a courtship, I think I could hold her off for a bit."
"What does a courtship mean in your country?"
"It's a more formal and serious form of dating."
"And just how many women have you had courtships with in the past?"
He chuckles. "None. As I mentioned, it is considered serious. And, for someone in my position, it means that the courtship is approved by the royal family, which basically means my mother."
"But she wants you to marry Lizzie, so why would she approve?"
"She wants me to marry someone, so I can keep my crown."
"And what does it mean for me? Like what would I have to do?"
He pulls me into his arms. "During our courtship, you will have to decide if you love me enough."
"And, if at some time, I decide I don't want to be courted?"
"We have a more public breakup than we would if we were simply dating--as in a formal announcement would be made."