Walter smiled and leaned in closer to Crowne. “I understand … we understand … how crucial secrecy is for a plan like this to succeed. That’s why we haven’t told anyone about you or your plans. No one. We’re just interested in joining the effort. In helping.”
“My plans?” Crowne asked. “I’m curious, who told you about these so-called plans, and what did they tell you?”
“Back in New York, at the Soho House,” Benjamin said. “In one of the private rooms on the third floor. We were entertaining some guests but they had to run to the airport unexpectedly. We ended up meeting a Swedish prince, Prince Gudmund, who had a bit too much vodka to drink. He told us that he had been part of the operation, your operation, but had since been relieved of his duties.”
“Gudmund is an idiot,” Crowne said. “You shouldn’t believe anything he tells you, drunk or sober.”
Chuckling, Benjamin agreed. “That much we figured out on our own, but the details he shared were too rich to be made up out of thin air, and we decided to look into it further. We petitioned the committee at the Bohemian Grove with no luck. We sent Caesar Black to solve the Raven puzzle and lead us to you, but we believe he broke off on his own and made his way to the inner circle before we could catch up to him.”
“And so now you’ve sent this girl?” Crowne asked.
“We made the decision to try it again with a new hacker,” Walter said, jumping in to the conversation. “But she somehow discovered the truth after the Grove.”
Crowne stood and walked over to the desk, eying the box. He flicked his fingers across the desktop, filling the office with the slight rhythmic tapping of nails on polished wood. “And this value you speak of. What is it that you can provide?”
“We are connectors and we have great resources,” Benjamin replied. “We were born on the inside circle; we know how things should work. We know the pain of catering to the masses, watering down ideas to fit the lowest common denominator.”
Shaking his head, Crowne didn’t bother to turn to face the brothers. “I have all this already. We are a small and powerful team. There’s a point with a group where adding another person, or two in this case, makes that group weaker instead of stronger,” he said, placing both hands on the desk as he leaned over, staring back towards them. “You provide no value for me.”
“The girl,” Walter said. “In the short term, we can deliver the girl.”
“The girl, it seems, is headed this way anyway,” Crowne said. “I should have her in custody, just like you two, later today. Just in time.”
“I ... we ... don’t think so. She’s too smart. She’s not just an everyday puzzle hunter,” Benjamin said. “And we think she knows about The Project.”
Crowne’s eyebrows raised as he cocked his head to the side. He walked back over to the couches and stood over the brothers. “Benjamin—you’re Benjamin, right?—as it turns out, I’m not worried about some girl with a laptop.”
“You should be,” Benjamin said.
“Why is that?”
“Your people designed the Raven puzzle to find hackers, but now she’s using it to find you.”
Crowne flashed a smile. He sat back down in the chair, pausing for a few moments while staring down the brothers. Walter gulped loudly, waiting for Crown to say something. Finally, he spoke.
“So how is it that you, the newest members of the next world order, intend to help me find this girl?” Crowne said.
Walter exhaled, relieved. “That’s simple. We’ll start by having a chat with her brother.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Timberyard Coffee House - London
March 11th, 11:13AM
The midday crowd had filtered out of the coffee shop’s basement, trudging loudly up the wooden steps as they went, leaving Haylie and Vector to themselves. Haylie slid over to Vector’s side of the table; twin laptops now edged side-to-side, screens pointed safely at the corner behind them. Their eyes flicked across each other’s screens, checking the results of the tandem research from their past few minutes of work.
“We could always just go to the press,” Vector said. “I know a few people over on that side. If we had some hard evidence, they’d run a story like this for sure.”
“We don’t have time,” Haylie said. “Even if they believed us—which is a big ‘if’—by the time they went live with the story it would be too late.”
Vector thought it over and agreed. “You’re right. Our best bet to find these guys is still Raven. Luckily, the National Gallery is just a quick walk from here. We’re only a few minutes from Trafalgar Square.”
Haylie tabbed over to her Google Map, showing a seven-minute walk straight down St. Martin’s Lane and directly to the museum’s entrance. “Is there a back way in? Something that’s not as obvious? They’re going to have people at the main entrance for sure.”
“That’s the problem,” Vector replied, “there’s only the one way. The Portico entrance that leads into the Central Hall.”
“And we don’t even know what we’re trying to find yet,” Haylie added, checking her search results. “There’s a portrait of Russell in the National Portrait Gallery, but that’s a separate museum. It’s not where the clue tells us to go, and the two museums don’t even seem to be connected.”
“The clue mentions something ‘set in stone.’ That doesn’t sound like a painting to me. It has to be a sculpture, something physical,” Vector said. “But who knows, maybe when you get in there, everything will make sense.”
“Or….” Sitting back into her chair, Haylie looked over to Vector with a spark in her eye.
“What is it?” Vector asked.
“Here’s the thing,” Haylie said. “Thanks to the whole scene at the Morgan Library, these guys probably have photos of my face from the security feeds. We have to assume that there are going to be guards, agents, whatever all over this museum waiting for me to show up.”
“But they won’t be looking for me,” Vector said with an annoyed glare.
“You’re our best chance here.”
As the concept soaked in, Vector shook his head in disbelief. “You want me to walk into a trap? Surrounded by guards that are watching me like a hawk? You’re out of your mind.”
“You need to decide what you’re doing here,” Haylie said, jabbing a finger in Vector’s face. “You said it yourself: this is bigger than Caesar now. This is about a group of people that are trying to take control of the world. Do you want to help me stop them? Because if you don’t, I don’t need you around.”
Vector thought for a moment, leaning over his laptop.
“So what are you thinking? How is this going to work?” he said.
“Don’t worry,” Haylie said. “I’ve got it all figured out.”
He listened closely as Haylie walked through the plan. Shutting his computer, he stood from the table. “Wait here, I’ll be back in half an hour. I’ve got something that can help.”
> > > > >
A few minutes later, as Haylie treaded down the stairs with a fresh coffee cradled in her hands, her pocket buzzed. That was quick, Vector. She increased her pace to reach the table, setting down her cup and saucer before grabbing for her phone.
As she read the incoming message, she gasped.
CAESAR:> Are you there, Haylie?
Oh my god. Oh my god.
Sinking into her chair, she grasped her phone with two hands and typed back a message.
CRASH:> Yes, it’s me. Where are you? Are you ok?
She gently placed her phone on the table, watching the glow of the screen for a response, anything, as she wiped tears from both eyes. Please tell me you’re all right. Please tell me something that makes this whole thing make sense. Her phone vibrated across the table as Haylie snatched it up, bringing the screen close to her face.
CAESAR:> I’m ok. I know what you’re doing. I know that you’re trying to solve Raven to find me. I want you to stop.
Haylie’s face scrunched into a questio
n mark as she breathed an audible “What?” from her lips. She focused back on the screen.
If they are holding him against his will, they could be telling him what to say. Be careful.
CRASH:> I’ll stop once I see you. Once I know you’re safe.
The room filled with the pounding bass of two loud sets of footsteps on the stairs above her head. Haylie clutched the phone to her body and turned her back to the wall. She watched and waited as the steps grew louder, approaching the basement. As two young girls walked around the corner, giggling and whispering, Haylie felt another buzz from the phone against her chest. She checked the message.
CAESAR:> We should meet. Right now. I know you’re in London, I’m here too. These guys I met after solving Raven, they are pretty great. They want to meet you. Where are you now?
Heart racing, Haylie clutched the phone with both hands and typed furiously with her thumbs. He can’t mean any of this … none of this makes any sense.
CRASH:> I know what they are trying to do. We can stop them.
Rubbing her eyes, Haylie reached for her coffee and took a long sip. She tried to calm herself, breathing in deep as the cup shook in her hands. She stared into the screen, waiting. A new message indicator lit up, and she scrambled to expand the message, bringing up the full text.
CAESAR:> It’s not like that. It’s more like a startup over here - hard to explain. They are working on some big things. You have to see it for yourself. It’s not what you think.
Haylie scowled at the response. A startup? Are you kidding me? She typed a quick response and then tossed the phone down on the wooden table. It slid across the tabletop, spinning like a hockey puck, until it crashed into the wall.
On the screen, her final message was still highlighted:
CRASH:> I’m going to find you. And I’m going to get you out of there.
> > > > >
Titanhurst - London
March 11th, 12:03PM
Huddled at a table in a windowless room, deep in the bowels of the mansion, Caesar placed the phone down with a click. He closed his eyes and whispered a few words to himself. A voice from behind him broke the silence.
“That wasn’t the script we had agreed on,” Martin said.
“I didn’t expect her to push back,” Caesar said. “I had to improvise.”
Martin picked up the phone, scrolling the conversation line by line, inspecting each word. “Tell me, did you mean what you said? About what we are doing here?”
Caesar looked up at Martin with a solemn face. “Of course I did. I meant every word of it.”
Smiling, Martin sat down next to Caesar. “Don’t worry, my friend. You did the right thing. We just want to bring her in to talk. She can help us, just like you are helping us, but we need to be able to talk to her. With all the upcoming events, she’ll be safer in here, wouldn’t you agree?”
Caesar nodded, saying nothing.
“I want to do something for you, Caesar,” Martin continued. “I want you to meet our leader. He’s very excited to meet you, that’s for sure.”
“I’d like that.”
“There will be a few things that happen in the next few hours that may confuse you. I need you to know that no matter how things might appear in the short term, it’s all for the greater good of The Project,” Martin said. “We’re running out of time. We’re going to have to—how do you say it in Texas?—up the ante.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The National Gallery - London
March 11th, 3:52PM
The boats rolled dangerously to their starboard sides as they cut deep wakes in the sea; their sails plump and full of wind, pulling them towards the foam-tipped waves. The frantic sailors littered across both decks hung on for dear life with a front-row view of the black water awaiting them below. Storm clouds moved in above, dark and full of life, sending the two vessels on an unavoidable collision course.
A few minutes earlier, Vector had stopped to take a seat on the corner of a leather viewing bench, trying to blend in with the crowd of tourists all around him. But this painting, tucked in the corner behind a small chain fence, had pulled him in.
He stood, gave the painting one last look, and shuffled to the next gallery. Patting the side of his jacket, Vector checked to make sure the device in his interior pocket wasn’t making too obvious of a bulge on his side. It was roughly the size of a brick, and felt about that heavy crammed in his pocket.
The small box in his possession was a hobby project he had finished last year, one he had found crammed in the corner of his apartment’s hallway closet following a brief, frantic search. After Haylie had shared the plan back in the coffee shop, Vector was excited at the thought of finally having an excuse to use it.
It was a cell tower spoofing device called an IMSI catcher—otherwise known as a “stingray”—that allowed a hacker to connect to mobile phones in the immediate area. Once he flipped the power on, all devices in the museum would start connecting to his stingray instead of their regular cell tower, and he could access all data going to and from every phone within its range. That is, if the bloody thing actually worked. He had never used it beyond it’s initial tests. It was something he had really just wanted to build, not use.
“You see anything yet?” Haylie’s voice almost blew out his eardrum, causing Vector to flinch violently in the middle of the gallery. He retrieved his phone and edged down the volume to his Bluetooth earpiece by a few clicks.
“Nothing that we care about,” he whispered back.
“Ok, well, you know … go find it,” Haylie said into her headset. “And remember to blend in.”
Vector shook his head, whispering “Cheers, I’ll get right on that,” under his breath.
He searched through rooms and alcoves adorned with paintings, sculptures, and other artifacts. He saw scenes of angels reaching down from the heavens to rain salvation upon the poor souls below, a painting of a man crawling on his knees to see the baby Jesus, and landscape scenes with smudges of burnt oranges and browns across the hillsides.
But nothing about Bertrand Russell, anywhere.
The hallways brought back memories of school field trips from Vector’s youth. His class would return every few years to see the newest exhibit or explore a new wing. He remembered how each visit had grown more familiar, a few paintings had been changed out here and there, but the place stayed mostly the same. He remembered the lunches his mom would pack, eating apples in the cool sunlight, sitting on the stairs in the Square with his classmates all around.
“Give me a status,” Haylie crackled over the channel. “Anything new?”
Pacing back towards the Central Hall, Vector shook his head in response. Realizing that wasn’t very helpful, he whispered, “Nothing yet.”
“Ok. Maybe try another wing?” Haylie said. “I’m going to run some tests on the stingray while you’re looking.”
Vector made his way back into the Portico entrance, searching for a map or signage, any guidance that might help him. “All the stuff I’ve seen has been too old for what we want. If there’s a Bertrand Russell sculpture in here, it’s going to look really out of place. I still think the clue is talking about the Portrait Gallery; this can’t be right.”
“No, all the clues up to this point have been dead on,” Haylie replied. “It’s got to be somewhere around you, you’re just looking in the wrong place.”
“Just make sure you’re ready when I give you the word,” he said. Vector could hear typing and frustrated sighs on the other side of the line. “What’s going on over there?”
“Something’s wrong, dude. Your Python script is throwing an import error. It says ‘no module named config,’” Haylie said.
“That’s impossible. I tested that code an hour ago. It works fine, try it again.”
There were a few seconds of silence on the other end. “It really doesn’t. It’s your code. I’m going to have to rewrite this unless you can show me how it’s running on your machine.”
“Well, I’m kind of busy right now, could you just see if you can fix it?” Vector whispered, checking the corners of the room.
A few tourists formed silhouettes near the sunlit front doors. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, scanning the rest of the room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted two figures down at the base of the stairs. Turning away, Vector bent his head down towards his chest.
“I’m seeing two men in the Portico. They don’t seem like tourists. They are staring at me right now,” he said.
“Like, right now?” Haylie asked. “Keep your head low and get out of there. Move to another area.”
Vector began pacing towards the set of large, wooden double doors leading to the west wing of the museum. Keeping his head down, with his eyes focused on the mosaics decorating the floor, he moved across the gallery, breathing in and out, trying to blend in with the crowd. Each mosaic showed a scene, framed with lines of text: ‘Rest and Be Thankful,’ ‘Open Mind,’ ‘Leisure.’
He paced the floor, walking slowly. You’re just another tourist, just act normal and get to another room. Suddenly, as a new image came into view under his feet, he stopped in his tracks. He felt his pulse race.
“We’ve got a problem,” Vector breathed. He closed his eyes for a moment and made a silent wish, hoping that the two agents hadn’t noticed him yet.
The mosaic at his feet stretched five feet across and outlined a caricature, in muted colored tiles, of a white-haired man. It looked exactly like the Wikipedia photo of Bertrand Russell, one Vector had studied earlier that afternoon. It showed Russell with an outstretched hand, peeling a mask off the eyes of a nude woman next to a set of scales; the classic image of Truth. A block of blood-red text, printed in a yellow ring around the circular scene, labeled the piece with its title, ‘Lucidity.’
Crash Alive (The Haylie Black Series Book 1) Page 23