by James Ponti
Paris moved forward, pushing Juliette out of the way in the process.
The man was bald with a beard and wire-framed glasses. Something about him triggered an alarm in Paris, who picked up speed. He was about to jump into action when Sinclair acknowledged the man and they had a brief conversation.
Paris stood and stared at them, his heart racing.
“What’s wrong?” Sydney asked, coming up behind him.
Sinclair left the room, and just before he followed, the man turned to face the room.
That’s when Paris recognized him. That’s when everything came together.
“What’s wrong?” Sydney repeated.
“That man,” Paris said, nodding at him. “I’ve seen him before.”
“Yesterday or today?” she asked.
Paris shook his head. “Five years ago.”
“What?”
“Five years ago that man and those two bodyguards were outside the candy factory as it burned,” he said, remembering the moment vividly. “I saw them from underneath the truck.”
“Wait,” said Sydney. “They’re the ones who tried to kill Mother?”
“Yes,” he said. “Which means that they’re part of Umbra.”
27. Palais de Justice
THE TEAM ARRIVED TO FIND Mother already waiting in front of the ornate black-and-gold gates of the Palais de Justice. Brooklyn had texted him the code “pancake,” and rather than a time, simply wrote, “NOW!” The first thing he noticed was that one team member was missing.
“Where’s Kat?” he asked urgently. “Did something happen?”
“She’s fine,” Paris assured him. “Everyone’s fine. She said she had to take care of something and disappeared right after Sinclair announced the ten finalists.”
“Did you make it?” Mother asked.
“Of course we did,” Sydney said confidently. “But so did Kinloch Abbey.”
“That’s fine, just make sure neither one of you finishes in the top five,” he said. “So, what’s the emergency?”
“Let’s mix in with the tourists,” suggested Paris. “We’ll explain it all.”
The Palais de Justice was located on the Île de la Cité, an island in the middle of the Seine in the heart of the city. It was popular with tourists, and the five of them blended in with the endless stream of visitors.
Paris told him about the men in the computer lab whom he recognized from the scene of the fire. This information brought Mother to a sudden halt.
“It’s been five years,” he said. “Are you certain it’s them?”
“One hundred percent,” replied Paris. “It’s not something you forget.”
“Did you get any pictures?” he asked. “I’d recognize the ones who tied me up.”
“No pictures,” Sydney said. “They confiscate our phones while we’re in the building.”
“Well, if you’re certain, then I’m certain,” Mother said. “So what do we know?”
“We know that at least three members of Umbra have infiltrated the security force at Sinclair Scientifica,” said Rio. “And not just any positions. We’re talking Stavros Sinclair’s personal bodyguards and someone high up—maybe even the head of security.”
“What if Umbra is the Purple Thumb?” asked Sydney. “And every year they attack Sinclair Scientifica to send a message.”
“And now?” asked Paris.
“Now, when they want to send the ultimate message, their own people are responsible for ‘protecting’ Stavros,” she said.
“It’s possible,” said Mother. “But I learned something I didn’t have a chance to tell you yet.”
“What?” asked Brooklyn.
“The paintings I used five years ago to lure Le Fantôme … the Monets.”
“What about them?” asked Sydney.
“I saw them yesterday in Stavros Sinclair’s private collection,” answered Mother.
“Didn’t they burn in the fire?” asked Brooklyn.
“Not necessarily,” said Paris. “Two of the men loaded boxes into one of the cars right before the fire started. Those might have held the paintings.”
“And now they belong to Stavros Sinclair,” said Sydney. “How?”
“Umbra could have sold them to him,” said Mother.
“Tru said Umbra and Sinclair were doing business together,” said Rio.
“But there’s a simpler explanation,” Mother said. “One that would also explain why Umbra is providing Sinclair’s security.”
Brooklyn looked up, amazed when she realized what he was suggesting. “Stavros Sinclair is Le Fantôme.”
“If I had to bet,” Mother replied, “I’d bet on that.”
“Which means Sinclair Scientifica is just a massive corporate cover for Umbra,” Sydney reasoned. “They’re both giant multinational operations. They can use the legitimate businesses to launder money from the criminal enterprises. And they can use illegal intimidation to eliminate competitors for the business.”
“There are a lot of maybes,” said Mother, “but the pieces fit.”
“What do we do next?” asked Brooklyn.
“I was on my way to revisit Sinclair’s private collection when I got your text,” he said. “If I hurry, I can still make my appointment. Maybe I can learn something new.”
Just then everyone’s phones vibrated, signaling the arrival of a group text from Kat. It was a selfie of her in front of an Indian restaurant with the message, If you want to hack into the mainframe, meet me here as fast as you can. AND MAKE SURE TO BRING RIO!!
“Finally, someone recognizes my value,” Rio said.
“I’ll go with you,” Mother said to them.
“No,” answered Paris. “You should go to your appointment. Getting you close to Sinclair’s collection gets you close to Sinclair, which means getting you close to Le Fantôme. We can handle the hack.”
There wasn’t time to debate, so Mother just agreed. “Fine,” he said. “You go. But text me the instant you get out safely. No matter what time it is. Send a smiley emoji if you’re successful and a frowny one if you’re not. Either way, I’ll meet you at the North Pillar of the Eiffel Tower, and we’ll decide what we’re going to do tomorrow.”
28. The Hack
YOU CAN’T LOOK OUT IF you stand out.
That was the Motherism Kat had recalled while looking for Brooklyn in the Edinburgh Airport, and it was the one running through her head as she waited for the team outside the Kashmir Café.
Like all good spies, Kat tried to blend into the background. Anytime someone noticed you, it meant they might later recognize or remember you. Neither of these was good. The problem was that she was in an area where there were plenty of businesses but no schools or apartments. That meant there were no other kids on the street, just people grabbing a bite on their way to or from work.
If she were walking down the sidewalk, it would’ve looked like she was taking a shortcut. But she’d been sitting on the café stoop for twenty minutes. She tried burying her face in her phone to keep from making eye contact and hoped people just assumed she was related to the family who ran the café.
“There you are,” Paris said as the group approached her.
“Took you long enough,” she replied.
Paris gave her an exasperated look. “We literally ran to and from the Metro. We couldn’t have gotten here any quicker.”
“Well, try to blend in,” she said. “We’ve got one chance at this, and if he notices us, we’re doomed.”
“One chance at what?” asked Sydney.
“At any moment the key to this mission is going to pass right by this café,” said Kat. “And I mean ‘key’ as in most significant person as well as ‘key’ as in the actual key that will unlock the server room.”
“How do you know that?” Sydney asked Kat.
“I spent most of the day observing which keys opened which doors at the Olympus building,” she explained. “Each person’s key is their photo ID, which must contain a magnetic
stripe.”
“Probably the same one that keeps track of which room you’re in,” offered Paris.
“Exactly,” said Kat. “All keys open the main doors. I noticed this when Juliette entered the building through the courtyard and when one of the judges snuck outside to smoke a cigarette. But specific doors can only be opened by people who belong in those rooms. That’s why Juliette couldn’t open the lab after lunch. She had to wait for someone to let us in.”
“So what does this mean?” asked Sydney.
“It means if we can get an ID belonging to someone who works in the server room, it should unlock that door as well as the main door that connects to the catacombs,” she said. “You follow me so far?”
Everyone nodded, and Kat smiled.
“The next step was more difficult,” she continued. “I had to figure out who belongs in that room. I couldn’t just look it up, because Sinclair keeps all employee information confidential.”
“Then how’d you do it?” asked Sydney.
“I looked for the pattern,” said Kat. “First I found this café. Judging by the number of reviews posted online, it appears to be the most popular lunch spot in the area. Next I had to determine if it’s specifically popular with the people who work for Sinclair Scientifica.”
“How’d you do that?” asked Rio.
“There’s a fishbowl by the cash register where you can put your business card for a chance to win a free lunch. Half the cards are from Sinclair people.”
“So it’s popular with Sinclair people,” said Paris. “How is that helpful?”
“I’ll get to that,” she said. “Next I looked for the most popular restaurant in Noida, India. Specifically one within a half mile of the Sinclair Scientifica global data center that opened there two years ago. The restaurant’s called Mukherjee’s, by the way. According to the reviews, the kebabs are outstanding.”
“How did you know that Sinclair has a data center in Noida, India?” asked Rio.
“There’s a massive black-and-white photograph of it in the lobby,” she answered. “I saw it yesterday morning when we had our tour. According to an article I found online, every Sinclair Scientifica IT manager in the world has to go there for two weeks of training each year. Once I knew that, the rest was easy.”
“Really?” said Paris. “Because it doesn’t seem easy to us mere mortals.”
“Yeah,” said Sydney. “What’s the pattern?”
“The restaurants,” she answered. “Kashmir Café and Mukherjee’s are the pattern. I looked to see if anyone posted reviews of both restaurants, because the only person likely to be in both places would be someone who works here but had to go there for training.”
“That’s brilliant!” exclaimed Brooklyn, earning a slight smile from Kat. “Breathtakingly brilliant.”
“Did it work?” asked Rio.
“François Fournier,” she said, holding up her phone to show his picture. “He’s active on social media, which is where I found this photo. It was taken a few weeks ago, so he should look the same.”
“What makes you think he’s going to walk past here any minute?” asked Brooklyn.
“He posts reviews for most of the restaurants he visits,” she said. “The lunch places are around here, and the dinner ones are in a neighborhood called Belleville. My guess is that he lives there, and if he does, he’ll be taking Metro lines four and eleven to get home. That means when he leaves work, he should walk right by here to catch the Metro.”
“You’re amazing, Kat,” Paris said. “Absolutely amazing.”
“Maths is amazing,” Kat said. “I just know how to use it.”
“So what’s the plan for getting the ID?” asked Rio.
“You tell us,” said Kat.
He gave her a strange look. “What do you mean?”
“It’s going to take a magician to get that key,” she said. “That means you have to be the alpha.”
Rio was stunned. “But I’m not …”
“Absolutely,” Paris said, reading his uncertainty.
“No question,” said Sydney.
Rio scanned their faces, amazed that they’d trust something so important to him. He stopped on Brooklyn, and she smiled.
“We need you,” she said. “Tell us what to do.”
“But tell us quickly,” added Kat. “He’s going to be here any second.”
Rio grinned, his confidence growing. “It’s going to take two of us, and everyone else needs to scatter,” he said as he began to explain his plan.
When he was done, Kat gave him a look. “You still have to say it.”
He smiled at her and replied, “This operation is hot. We are a go.”
Seven minutes later François Fournier walked past the Kashmir Café. Rio and Sydney followed him to the Metro where he boarded line four headed into the city. Just as Kat had predicted.
The train was packed with rush hour commuters. With no seats available, Fournier had to stand and hold on to a strap. Rio was right next to him and spied the photo ID clipped to his jacket pocket. He waited for the movement of the train to jostle them, and when it did, he used his magician’s dexterity to snatch the ID.
He palmed it like a playing card, but only for a few seconds until Sydney moved by as if preparing to exit. Then he slipped it into her pocket using a perfectly executed brush pass. The use of two people was vital in case Fournier noticed it was missing before he got off the train. Sydney never came close to him, so he wouldn’t suspect her, and Rio stood next to him for a few more stations, which made him seem completely innocent.
Sydney got off at the next station and doubled back to meet up with Paris and Brooklyn at the Gate of Hell.
“Did it work?” Brooklyn asked as Sydney walked up to them.
“Pleased to meet you,” Sydney joked, flashing the ID like a badge. “My name’s François Fournier, Information Technology.”
The second trip through the catacombs was much easier for Sydney and Brooklyn. They knew what to expect and were able to move faster. Brooklyn even prepared herself for the “Great Wall of Bones,” as she called it. Like she’d done the day before, she kept her eyes focused on Paris in front of her.
The main difference this time was that they encountered three groups as they went along. Two looked to be young adventurers out for fun while the third was a tour led by an underground guide.
Normally spies didn’t want to be seen on the way to a black bag job, but they weren’t particularly worried. Anyone down here was already breaking the law, so they were far less likely to volunteer information to the police if anything happened.
Still, the trio waited and made sure no one was around when they reached the hidden door leading to Asgard.
“You ready?” Paris asked Brooklyn before he pried it open.
“Yes,” she said. “We’ve got this.”
He smiled at her. “That’s what I like to hear.”
They climbed the spiral staircase silently and came to the security door. Everything hinged on whether Kat was right about the electronic keys. If François Fournier’s ID didn’t open this door, the mission would be over before it even started.
Sydney took a deep breath and pressed the ID against the electronic card reader. There was silence for a moment and then a click.
“Abracadabra,” Sydney whispered as she pulled the door open. “Welcome to Asgard.”
They entered through the basement and moved cautiously down the darkened hall.
“This way,” Brooklyn said, motioning toward a corridor.
“How do you know?” Paris asked in a whisper.
She pointed to the blue-and-yellow data wires that ran in a clear tube along the ceiling. “All roads lead to Rome, and all wires lead to the server.”
The hallways and offices were empty, and the building was dark except for the occasional security light.
“Good thing no one’s working late,” said Brooklyn.
“It’s because of the summit,” said Sydney. “J
uliette mentioned that Sinclair employees are helping out at the evening events.”
They followed the data wires to a room one level up. Once again Sydney held her breath as she pressed the ID against the card reader, and once again they were rewarded with the click of a door unlocking.
“Gotta love Kat,” said Brooklyn.
Sydney handed the ID to Paris and whispered, “You stand lookout and let us know if anyone’s coming.”
He nodded, and they went into the server room.
“This room is huge,” Brooklyn said. “It’s at least twice as big as the one we had for practice at Pinewood.”
“Cold, too,” Sydney added with a shiver.
The room was dimly lit except for the glow of blue, red, and green lights on computers that whizzed and whirred with activity. They filled nine rows of black metal cabinets arranged like the aisles of a grocery store.
“We need a crash cart,” said Brooklyn.
“What’s that?” asked Sydney.
“It looks like one of those things you see in a hospital that holds IV bags,” she said. “It should have wheels at the bottom with a keyboard in the middle and a monitor up top.”
They found it in the third aisle. Brooklyn quickly studied the tangle of wires that ran to the back of one of the computers and patched in the crash cart. Her fingers danced on the keyboard as code streamed across the monitor. Sydney had no idea what Brooklyn was doing, but she could tell she was doing it well.
Once Brooklyn accessed the system, she pulled out a flash drive containing the virus created by the computer techs at MI6. She plugged it into a USB port, copied the program, and activated it.
“Done,” Brooklyn said with a smile. “We did it.”
“No,” Sydney said. “You did it. We just got you here.”
“Well, now let’s get out.”
They put the cart back the way it was and were headed toward the door when Paris rushed in.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said.
“How big a problem?” Sydney asked, unsure she really wanted to know.
“Two guards headed this way,” he replied. “And I heard one of them mention François Fournier.”