City Spies

by James Ponti

  “Solar radiation heats the wrought iron, making it expand, which causes the tower to move slightly,” Monty explained. “Just about seven inches a day.”

  Brooklyn reflexively reached for the railing and gripped it tightly.

  “You think that’s scary, consider this,” Paris said. “In a few days this whole area will be packed with people.” He turned to Sydney and added, “And they’ll all be listening to your speech.”

  “That’s not funny,” said Sydney.

  “Really?” he replied, unable to contain his laughter. “Because to me it’s hilarious.”

  The others joined in laughing, and eventually Sydney did too. The moment was interrupted when Brooklyn’s phone pinged. She pulled it out of her pocket, looked at the screen, and smiled.

  “What is it?” said Sydney.

  “What was the first thing we did when we checked into our room?” she asked.

  “Argued about who was going to get the nice bed,” answered Sydney.

  “After that,” said Brooklyn.

  “We checked out our weather models on the laptop to make sure we were ready for tomorrow,” said Kat.

  “That’s right,” answered Brooklyn. “And that’s exactly what Charlotte and the team from Kinloch Abbey just did.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Rio.

  “Because my hack worked,” she said. “I set it up to alert me if it was activated, and it just sent me a text.” She held up the phone so they could see the screen. “I can now remotely access their computer whenever I want.”

  And just like that, they were back to being spies.

  21. Olympus

  BROOKLYN WAS ANXIOUS THE NEXT morning as they made the short walk from the Three Lions to the headquarters of Sinclair Scientifica. Despite Mother’s “get out of jail free” card, she was still determined to climb the wall and hack into the company’s mainframe. She didn’t know how she’d pull it off, but the first step was convincing herself that it was possible. To help, she relied on a Motherism: You cannot achieve what you cannot believe.

  She repeated it like a mantra, and it helped until they reached the headquarters and were escorted through a gated entrance to the building’s courtyard. There she saw the actual wall, and the doubts returned in full force. It was almost identical to the one back at the movie studio but with two big differences: It was outside, and it started twenty feet off the ground. Suddenly the climb seemed more terrifying than ever.

  You cannot achieve what you cannot believe, she told herself again, though this time she was much less convincing.

  While she was focused on the wall, everyone else was scanning the faces of the other competitors waiting in the courtyard. The thirty teams selected to compete for the Stavros Prize represented nineteen countries on six continents and spoke twelve different languages. But the group from FARM was focused on one: Kinloch Abbey.

  “I see Abir and Catriona,” said Sydney. “They look confident.”

  Paris nodded toward someone and said, “Rachel Henderson’s over there.”

  “And that’s Henry Haddix with Charlotte,” added Rio.

  “I’ve got to be honest,” said Paris. “Those are probably the four smartest students in the entire school.”

  “And with Charlotte on the computer they’ll be difficult to beat,” said Kat.

  “Luckily, we’ve got an ace up our sleeve,” Sydney said as she gave Brooklyn a friendly nudge. “Isn’t that right, Brook?”

  At first Brooklyn was still too focused on the wall to respond, but then her mind caught up with the conversation. “Right,” she said.

  “I mean it,” said Sydney. “We can’t let them win. The media attention could open up all kinds of trouble for us.”

  “They’re not going to win,” Brooklyn said confidently. “I’ve got it covered.”

  A young woman in a blue blazer introduced herself as Juliette, their Sinclair ambassador. It was her job to escort them around the building and answer any questions. First, though, they had to pass through security.

  Because they were going into the Research and Development section, security was intense and included photographs, retinal imaging, and a full-body scanner. They also had to empty their pockets, take off their shoes, and place all electronics, including phones and computer tablets, into small lockers for the day. The only exception was that each team was permitted one laptop for work on the project, but it had to be handed over to be scanned, debugged, and approved for use.

  “It will be waiting for you when you reach the lab,” Juliette informed them.

  With security this tight, Brooklyn wondered how the Purple Thumb could get close enough to Stavros Sinclair to cause any trouble.

  “I’m not sure they need our help protecting him,” she whispered to Sydney as they sat on a bench putting their shoes back on.

  It took a while for thirty teams and their chaperones to make it through the screening process, so while the team waited, Juliette gave them a brief tour of the ground floor. The architecture was modern with ivory walls and big windows that looked out on the courtyard. The main lobby was impressive, and featured giant black-and-white photos of different Sinclair projects around the world. Brooklyn was drawn to one of African children laughing and splashing each other with water from a newly installed well.

  “Welcome to Olympus,” Juliette said as they walked through the lobby. “We believe this is the most intelligent office building in the world.”

  “How can a building be intelligent?” Monty asked, both intrigued and skeptical.

  “For one, it keeps track of every person who comes through the door,” said Juliette. “There is a magnetic strip in your visitor’s badge that allows it to monitor your location. If you walk into an empty space, it turns on the lights. It knows how many people are in any room at any moment and adjusts the temperature accordingly. In the afternoon, when people naturally tire, it directs extra oxygen into rooms to boost energy levels.”

  To Monty, this sounded an awful lot like Olympus was spying on them, but she decided not to say anything about that. Instead she just replied, “Fascinating.”

  Once everyone was finished with security, they headed up to “the Workshop” on the second level. A cross between an auditorium and a classroom, the Workshop was designed for lectures and presentations. There was a small stage with a video camera and seating for about two hundred people. It was one of the rooms that had been re-created on the soundstage, and the team was impressed by how well the set designers had duplicated it.

  “This looks familiar,” Rio whispered as they took seats in the back row.

  Stavros Sinclair was scheduled to open the summit with a brief speech broadcast from here to giant video screens inside the Stade de France, a soccer stadium just north of the city where thousands of young people were gathered for a concert and rally.

  The different teams from the Stavros Prize were here as part of the summit but also as human props so that Sinclair was actually face-to-face with people.

  “All right, team,” Monty said. “You know your assignments.”

  Of the three times Sinclair was scheduled to appear, this was considered the least likely for the Purple Thumb to attack. That’s because it was at the start of the summit and he was only going to talk briefly. Still, they’d practiced scenarios at Pinewood and knew what they were supposed to do.

  Brooklyn and Sydney kept their eyes on the exits to make sure no one suspicious entered the room. Paris and Rio watched the crowd, looking for any sudden movements. And Kat did her Kat thing, looking to see if there were any patterns that didn’t make sense.

  At precisely ten o’clock, Stavros Sinclair entered through a door by the stage. He was dressed in his signature look of black jeans, black boots, and a gray T-shirt. Brooklyn had read more of his biography the night before, and it said he dressed this way so he didn’t have to waste time every morning deciding what to wear.

  He stepped up to the podium, ran his fingers through his stylis
hly long hair, and as soon as a light on top of the camera turned red, he started speaking. “Hello, my name is Stavros Sinclair, and I’m a scientist,” he said with a slight accent that Brooklyn couldn’t quite place. “More important, I’m a citizen of this planet who is committed to protecting the environment that all of us share.”

  He paused for a moment, and there were cheers in the stadium, which they could see on monitors in the room.

  “I am personally dedicating the vast resources of Sinclair Scientifica to that fight,” he continued.

  Sydney and Brooklyn continued to watch the doors in case anyone rushed in while he was talking.

  “And now it gives me great pleasure to announce the start of the fourth Global Youth Summit on the Environment,” Sinclair said. “May what we do these next few days spread across the globe.”

  Now there were huge cheers, and he had to wait before adding his closing.

  “Green is good! Green is good! Green is good!”

  The chant began to spread throughout the stadium and among the people in the Workshop. Sinclair smiled and pumped his fist enthusiastically until the red light went off. The instant it did, he turned and exited through the same door through which he’d entered less than a minute earlier.

  The room was silent for a moment, and then people started to get up and leave.

  “Is that it?” asked Sydney. “He didn’t even talk to us.”

  “I think that’s all we’re going to get,” said Monty.

  Paris turned to Juliette, who was at the end of their aisle. “Is he coming back?”

  “Monsieur Sinclair?” she asked. “No. That is it for today. He will talk to you tomorrow in the lab.”

  Kat leaned over and whispered to Sydney, “Your speech is better than his by a factor of ten.”

  Brooklyn tried to compare the person in the book with the man she’d just seen. He seemed younger in real life than he did on the page, but he also came across as more cautious. The dynamic pioneer she’d read about took risks, but the real Stavros appeared … scripted. He stepped out exactly on cue. He delivered his lines and was gone forty-seven seconds after he’d entered the room. Maybe, like picking out clothes, he couldn’t waste time on the mundane things that ordinary people did.

  Next, the contestants were broken into two groups of fifteen teams, with each group going to a separate location. Half went to a conference room to present their proposals to a panel of judges, while the others went to a computer lab to test their weather models in different scenarios.

  Brooklyn was pleased they were starting in the lab. The nervousness she’d felt earlier in the morning had been replaced by something hard to define. Maybe it was the fact that she was prepared for excitement, and the speech was boring and brief. However, working on a computer the next few hours would help her feel on top of things.

  As they walked down the hall toward the lab, they were beside the team from Kinloch. The two groups struck up conversations, but since Brooklyn hadn’t started school yet, she dropped back.

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about computers.”

  Brooklyn turned to see that Charlotte had come from behind her.

  “What?” asked Brooklyn.

  “When we met, you said you didn’t know anything about computers,” said Charlotte. “But now I see you’re listed as the team’s computer specialist.”

  “That’s funny,” Brooklyn said with a smile. “I guess that means I do know something about computers.”

  They entered the lab, and it looked a lot like the set that had been built at Pinewood, although there were some subtle differences, like the color of the walls and the arrangement of the workstations.

  As promised, their laptop was waiting for them, and when she sat down, Brooklyn felt a blast of cool air from a nearby vent. Just as Juliette had told them, the temperature of the room was adjusting to the sudden arrival of people. Olympus was indeed an intelligent building.

  The first thing she did was run a few tests of her own to make sure the people from Sinclair Scientifica hadn’t planted any software on the laptop to spy on them. That was the problem with being a hacker; you automatically assumed the worst in others. She also checked to make sure they hadn’t uncovered the program she’d installed that was tracking Kinloch’s computer. She clicked it open, and on her screen she saw exactly what Charlotte saw on hers across the room. She was in total control of both.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Juliette.

  “Perfect,” answered Brooklyn. “Absolutely perfect.”

  It was then that Brooklyn decided to risk a long shot and asked, “Is there any chance we can visit the server room? I’m fascinated by computers, and I can only imagine that in a building as advanced as this, the servers must be on a whole new level.”

  “They are,” said Juliette. “They’re also an entirely different level of security. No one outside of our Information Technology department goes in there.”

  Brooklyn sighed. “That’s what I figured. Still, it can’t hurt to ask.”

  She went back to her screen, but then Juliette added, “Besides, the servers aren’t even in this building.”

  Brooklyn looked at her. “How’s that possible? Certainly this much technology needs significant server support.”

  “A huge amount,” answered Juliette. “That’s the problem. Space is too limited here. There just wasn’t enough room, so they were put in Asgard.”

  “Asgard?”

  “Our sister building on the other side of town,” she said. “That’s the one drawback of Paris. There are virtually no skyscrapers. So rather than one large headquarters, we have two buildings kilometers apart.”

  This changed everything. Brooklyn no longer had to worry about climbing the wall. Instead, she had to find the other building and figure out how to break into it.

  22. The Three Sisters

  WHILE THE TEAM WAS AT Olympus competing for the Stavros Prize, Mother was working on his own plan to get closer to Sinclair Scientifica. Through his art contacts in Paris, he’d arranged to tour a few private exhibitions, claiming he was looking for some pieces for an upcoming show at the Scottish National Gallery.

  The most prized was the Sinclair Collection, which consisted of art purchased by the company as investments as well as works personally owned by Stavros Sinclair.

  It was housed in a highly secure but otherwise unmarked and unremarkable building in the Montmartre neighborhood of the city. The building was so plain, Mother thought he’d come to the wrong place until a slender man in a black suit approached him on the sidewalk.

  “Monsieur Archer?” he asked, calling Mother by his cover name.

  “You must be Gilles.”

  Gilles was the collection’s curator. He was in his early forties and had a bald spot, which he tried to cover with a comb-over. It didn’t work. They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and Mother followed him to a doorway with a security camera. Moments later there was a clicking sound, and the door opened.

  “Allons-y,” said Gilles, using the French term for “Let’s go.”

  The entryway was as plain as the building’s exterior, simple white walls in a small square room with a silver elevator door. There was a security guard who looked like he’d recently been a Special Forces soldier. He had a thick, muscular build, carried a pistol in a holster, and gazed at Mother with an unblinking stare.

  “Bonjour,” Mother said, only to have the guard reply with a grunt.

  Two levels down, the elevator opened onto an exquisite gallery. On the first wall alone were paintings by Van Gogh, Monet, and Renoir.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Gilles said upon seeing Mother’s stunned reaction.

  “More than,” Mother said in awe.

  Unlike most private collections, which were located in grand homes and centered on a few signature paintings, this seemed more like a secret museum, with multiple galleries and an array of masterpieces.

  “Monsieur Sinclair oversees the collection
himself,” explained Gilles. “He selects the art and negotiates the purchases. He even arranges their placement on the walls.”

  In other words, Mother thought, he does everything you’re supposed to do as the curator. Instead of saying that, he smiled and replied, “He has exceptional taste.”

  “He may be a scientist by training, but he has an artist’s eye,” answered Gilles. “He favors the Impressionists, especially Renoir.”

  “One of my favorites as well,” said Mother.

  They walked through the gallery, discussing the artwork and the possibility of an exhibition in Scotland. Mother noticed there were red dots on many of the identification labels and asked why.

  “They signify works from Monsieur Sinclair’s personal collection,” explained Gilles. “The others are owned by the Sinclair Foundation.”

  Mother looked back and saw that all the best works had red dots.

  “Like I said. He has exceptional taste.”

  Mother noticed a machine in the corner of the room that monitored humidity levels. It had a sticker with an Asset Inventory Code that was sixteen characters long beginning with SS2K. It fit perfectly with Kat’s analysis that all the companies were part of Sinclair Scientifica.

  “Is something wrong?” Gilles asked when he noticed Mother looking at it.

  “No,” he said, shaking it off. “Quite the contrary. Everything’s just right.”

  They entered the final room, and Mother could not believe his eyes. Ahead of him were three paintings side by side on a wall.

  “Are those Monets?” he asked.

  “Good eye,” said the man. “They’re not his normal style. He painted them during an earlier period when he was still developing. They’re quite remarkable, though. I don’t believe they’ve ever been exhibited. We call them the Three Sisters.”

  It took everything Mother had not to react. Instead, he coolly approached the paintings and said, “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  This was a lie. Not only had Mother seen them, he once had them in his possession. They were the forgeries that he’d borrowed from Scotland Yard five years earlier in his attempt to lure Le Fantôme. These were the paintings that were in the abandoned factory where he’d been left to die.