The Prince's Trap

by Griffith, P. D.

  Landon could feel himself shaking as he took the seat beside Ichirou. He was so afraid of messing up the mission, or forgetting to say something, that his body was trembling with nerves. He found himself incessantly bouncing his leg, and his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, drilling down his thigh like a drug addict itching for his next fix.

  The gust of wind that came through the platform when the 4 train arrived calmed Landon slightly. It somehow forced him to take a deep breath and relax, like stage lights signaling the start of a performance. The sound of the wheels clanking and banging down the tracks was deafening. It was so loud Landon would have never known if Ichirou said anything to him before he rose from the bench and stealthily weaved through the arriving passengers filing out of the train. The only communication between them was Ichirou’s slight nod through the scratched, foggy window as the doors of the 4 train to Brooklyn closed.

  “Once the train departs, grab the case and head to the 7 train to Flushing-Main Street. You both will board the train and ride it to its final stop. There you will meet another driver. He will take you back to the Pegasus One, where you two will then return to base.”

  Landon found himself staring at Ichirou as the train started up and disappeared into the tunnel, fast on its way to its next stop. It was once Ichirou was out of sight that Landon realized he still had a mission to complete. He grabbed the attaché case sitting on the bench and headed down the platform, merging into the crowd of moving passengers, hoping to blend in. Brock stayed a few paces behind him, which allowed him a good vantage point to keep watch on the case and to make sure their rendezvous remained a secret.

  The 7 train arrived a few minutes after they descended the staircase to the platform. They entered the train from separate doors of the same car. Brock wouldn’t allow the case to leave his sight, especially now that Landon carried it.

  Landon quickly took a seat on the long bench, holding the attaché case on his lap with both hands. The leather was soft and supple, and the case, which extended just over the edges of his thighs, wasn’t very heavy at all. Must just be papers, Landon thought as he shook it in his lap to see if he could hear anything rolling around inside. He didn’t hear anything. Brock stood over by the door on the opposite end of the train, holding onto the steel pole for support.

  After the doors closed, Landon was knocked back by the overwhelming scent of urine. He wished he could move over to where Brock was standing. The subway was really disappointing, and the fact that eighteen stops separated them from their destination didn’t make the situation any better.

  After disembarking at the last stop, Landon and Brock ascended the staircase at the Flushing-Main Street station, exiting the train platform and emerging onto the sidewalk in Queens. With a subtle motion of his head, Brock signaled to Landon to look over to their right. A man in a black suit leaned against a tinted black sedan parked at the curb. It had to be the driver who was waiting to escort them back to the abandoned airfield and the Pegasus One.

  “Mr. Carlyle, shouldn’t you be taking a nap?” Brock asked, initiating the verbal exchange as instructed to confirm his identity.

  “You can’t be ready if you’re sleeping on the job,” Mr. Carlyle replied as expected.

  He then turned to the sedan’s rear door and opened it for Brock and Landon, glancing up at them to let them know it was time. Suddenly, in the back of his mind, Landon had an off-putting feeling. It was like a flash, a memory, surging through his subconscious. It lasted only for a millisecond, but he instantly knew he’d seen Mr. Carlyle before. He couldn’t recall where he’d seen him, or who exactly he was, but he was certain he’d met him.

  Landon registered all the features of Mr. Carlyle’s face. He had buzzed red hair and pale skin; his face was covered in freckles. His beady, emerald green eyes focused on Landon under a pronounced brow. A short but stocky figure with broad shoulders and thick legs, he looked a lot like a competitive weightlifter.

  Brock moved toward the car, but Landon reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, holding him tightly, beckoning him to stop.

  “Don’t get in the car,” Landon said authoritatively as he kept his gaze on Mr. Carlyle.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  UNWELCOME

  VISITORS

  Landon and Mr. Carlyle’s eyes were locked, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Mr. Carlyle still held the door, but Landon could see his hand shaking slightly.

  Irritated and confused, Brock looked at Landon for an explanation, but when he saw where his teammate’s stare was fixed, Brock quickly turned his attention to the driver, too. He then attempted to work through what was going on.

  Mr. Carlyle’s expression slowly changed. His eyes narrowed into a menacing glare, and Landon could see the muscles in his jaw constrict as he clenched his teeth. A moment earlier, just as Brock had stepped toward the car, Landon remembered where he’d seen Mr. Carlyle before, and he knew his name wasn’t Carlyle. The buzzed red hair, the green eyes, the freckles—it was Aaron Hopkins, the boy from the Academy who had bullied Celia and forced her apocratusis. The memories of him were clearer than ever. Landon saw him blocking the path in the cafeteria at the Academy, not bothering to move when Celia asked him to let her by, and the word he called her that triggered her apocratusis—“orphan.” Landon suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to hurt him.

  Aaron looked to be in his mid- to late-twenties now, but apart from being older, his appearance was relatively unchanged.

  “He works for Metis Labs.” It was the only possibility. As the Gymnasium was run by the Pallas Corporation, so was the Academy run by Metis Labs. If Aaron trained at the Academy, like Celia, he was bound to be working for Metis Labs as an agent now. Landon still didn’t avert his gaze from Mr. Carlyle—Aaron Hopkins.

  Landon watched as Aaron became noticeably more agitated and nervous. A drop of sweat tracked down the side of his face as he balled his fist. Landon imagined he was trying to figure out what to do next. If he had been in that situation, he’d be fighting an internal battle: Can I talk myself out of this, or do I fight them off? Looking at him, Landon imagined he wasn’t very effective when it came to words.

  “What?” Brock spoke loudly as he tried to piece together how Landon could know this.

  Before Landon could answer, he noticed Aaron begin to raise his hand. Without a moment’s hesitation, Landon dropped the attaché case that he held in his right hand, and pushed forward with his abilities, slamming Aaron against the side of the car with his telekinetic force. Holding his hand out, he kept Aaron pinned to the car as he stepped closer. Landon could feel him attempting to overpower his hold on him and turn the tide of their psychokinetic engagement, but Aaron was unable to gain any ground.

  “What are you doing?” Brock asked.

  “Ares, grab the case and get in the car,” Landon said firmly.

  “What are you doing?” Brock repeated, agitated. He wasn’t going to let up until he got an answer.

  “Please, trust me,” Landon pleaded to Brock without diverting his attention from Aaron. “Grab the case and start the car. We need to get out of here.”

  Brock shot him a contemptuous glare before reluctantly grabbing the case off the sidewalk and proceeding around to the driver’s side of the car.

  Through the reflection off the tinted glass, Landon could see that some people around him were staring. Their sudden altercation was drawing unwanted attention. He didn’t need another photograph of him using his abilities to find its way on the Internet.

  “You’re crazy,” Aaron said in a panic. “I’m Carlyle . . . your driver! Let me go!”

  Landon took another step forward until he stood inches away from Aaron, who was frozen in place against the side of the sedan and looking more panicked with every passing second.

  “Seriously, Apollo! I’m your driver!”<
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  Landon leaned forward and positioned his mouth beside Aaron’s ear. In a cold whisper he said, “Don’t play dumb with me, Aaron.” Aaron’s eyes widened at the words; terror coursed through him. “I know what you did to her, and trust me, you will pay for it.” Rage and resentment surged through him as if it was Landon, and not Celia, who Aaron had tormented years before. Landon could see the fear in his eyes. He then heard the sound, like a conveyor, of the passenger window rolling down, quickly followed by Brock yelling for him to get in the car. “But right now, I have somewhere to be.”

  Following his final words into Aaron’s ear, Landon flicked his hand backward, launching Aaron off the car, as if shot from a cannon. He crashed through a storefront window. Glass rained down on the cement as numerous people screamed in surprise. Landon paid them no mind, opened the passenger door, and got inside the sedan.

  Before the door was even closed all the way, Brock was peeling out into the street. The tires squealed against the asphalt.

  “What the hell was that about?” Brock yelled over the honking of a truck that barely missed colliding with them.

  Landon didn’t answer. With some steady breathing, he tried to calm his heart rate. It beat stronger than the bass of a house music track, and he needed to steady it. He didn’t know what had possessed him to threaten Aaron before tossing him off the car and making their getaway. It was so unlike him. He would never dream of getting violent with someone, especially when it was unprovoked, and although Aaron was a Metis Labs agent, there were ways to incapacitate him other than throwing him through a window. He couldn’t explain why, but after recognizing Aaron, it all felt so personal, and his reaction was spontaneous. He’d gotten swept away by the situation, and the primal urge to display his dominance over Aaron was too much for him to resist.

  “Seriously, Apollo! Why did we just steal our driver’s car? He checked out.”

  “He works for Metis Labs!” Landon replied, indignantly.

  Brock turned his attention from the road, looking at Landon questioningly. “And how do you know that?”

  “I saw him—” Landon stopped himself. He realized he had almost told Brock the truth—a truth that would implicate him as the mole and add suspicion that he knew more than he was letting on about Artemis and the Academy. The work that went into being a double agent was exhausting. Landon had to always be on his game. If he slipped up for even a moment, not only his life, but Celia’s as well, would be in jeopardy. He had to think quickly. He had to figure out something believable that would satisfy Brock. He really didn’t need his biggest rival believing he was a traitor. Landon wracked his brain, searching for a plausible explanation.

  “Saw him what?” Brock goaded Landon for a real answer.

  “I remember him from our Metis Labs mission,” Landon blurted out.

  “Really?” Brock sounded unconvinced.

  “Yeah.” Landon worked through the details as he spoke. “When Hector and I came down with the research, he was knocked out on the floor. I remember him because he looked dead. He was unconscious, but his eyes were still open . . . those eyes.” Landon tried to persuade Brock that he’d been haunted by his contrived image of Aaron in the Metis Labs lobby since the night of that mission. “You don’t forget an image like that.”

  “God, you are such a girl.” Brock shook his head in disappointment at Landon’s lack of manliness and turned back to the road. Landon felt himself relax in the seat, relieved at Brock’s reaction to his story. He hadn’t realized how tense he was.

  They proceeded to the abandoned airfield without any more conversation, but as he stared out the window, watching the neighborhoods pass by, Landon’s mind focused on what he’d done to Aaron. He really was upset with himself. He had felt so genuinely angry at Aaron even though he’d never done anything specifically to Landon. But he hated bullies and people who behaved like they were superior. And now he felt in his core that he was one of them. The thought sickened him. His mother had always told him, “No matter what, remember that people are people. Big, small, fat, skinny, smart or stupid, we are all the same species. It isn’t anyone’s place to say they’re any better or worse than anyone else.” Noticing Brock pull off the highway and drive into the airfield lot, Landon asked himself, What am I becoming?

  “Hold onto this,” Brock commanded, tossing the attaché at Landon before he stripped off the city outfit that was over his tactical uniform and opened the Pegasus One canopy.

  Landon removed his flannel shirt and jeans, leaving the garments scattered on the cracked tarmac, and went over to secure the case in the secure storage compartment located toward the back of the jet.

  “No,” Brock interrupted just as Landon lifted the case into the storage unit. “After what happened back there, I want one of our eyes on that case at all times until it’s safely delivered to Dr. Wells.”

  Landon didn’t argue. With the attaché case still in hand, he closed the compartment, went to up to the front of the plane, and climbed into his seat. However, holding the case of documents on his lap didn’t do anything for his claustrophobia; the cockpit felt even more cramped and suffocating than before. As the canopy slid closed and the engines fired up, Landon came to a sudden realization.

  He realized he could have gone along with Aaron, and with no work of his own, sabotaged the mission—just as Celia would’ve wanted. The opportunity had been there; if he’d just entered the car, the case filled with God-knew-what secrets would be on its way to Metis Labs and not in his lap headed back to the Gymnasium and the Pallas Corporation’s scientists. I am such an idiot! Landon chided himself.

  Brock engaged the thrusters, propelling them toward the Gymnasium, but Landon continued to stare down at the case. He had “Top Secret” research sitting in his lap and nothing to occupy his time during the flight. The fact that he was certain Dr. Wells was hiding something about Susano-o Industries only gave him additional motivation to peek at the materials they extracted while Brock was focused on piloting. I may have no choice but to give them the case now, he thought. But I can at least find out what’s in it before I do!

  Landon gingerly placed his fingers on the brass clasp holding the case closed. As he opened it, handling the case like a precious antique document, Landon looked to his left and right, instinctively but unnecessarily checking to see if anyone was around him, and then craned his head as high as he could to see if there was any way for Brock to see what he was up to. Satisfied with his privacy, Landon pulled the folders of documents out of the case, making a point to manipulate the papers with silent fingers. The Pegasus One was designed for stealth in every way, including sound, but it provided a small amount of noise cover, meaning if Landon was careful, Brock should be none the wiser to his mischievous activities.

  Landon caught himself before letting out a sizeable huff of frustration. The papers acquired from Ichirou Fujimaki, like the Project Herakles papers from Metis Labs, were covered in formulas and illegible scribbles and notes, making it nearly impossible for Landon to decipher anything. The fact that the majority of the notes were in Japanese didn’t help his cause, either.

  Working quickly, knowing he only had a finite amount of time before they would be descending into the Stable, Landon thumbed through the files, searching for anything he might be able to understand. The only word he found in legible English was penned under a diagram that looked like an odd geometry project—pentagons, octagons, every kind of -gon, connected by single and double lines, filled the page. Under the drawing was the word “Stabilizer” in black ink.

  Landon scanned the pages one more time before deciding there was nothing else he was going to get from them. With meticulous care, he slid the folders back into the attaché case and reattached the clasp. He reassured himself that Brock was unaware of his quick glance at the intel as he justified it to himself: It’s what Celia would’ve wanted me to do.r />
  • • • • •

  The descent was as smooth as their takeoff. Brock masterfully touched the Pegasus One down on the hangar floor with an almost nonexistent bounce. Landon pulled himself out of the cockpit, looking at Brock with a smile. He didn’t know how, but they had managed to successfully complete their mission. Landon was kind of proud of himself and his roommate. After getting down to the hangar floor, Landon made his way around the Pegasus One and headed for the lift that would take him down to the locker rooms and back to normal life in the Gymnasium. However, just as he made it around the tail end of the jet, he found himself face-to-face with Washington Sykes.

  He was planted directly in Landon’s path; his arms were crossed over his chest, and he wore an intense look on his face, with his lips tight and his dark brown eyes seeming to bore through his glasses and into Landon’s soul. Landon immediately felt uneasy and nervous, his ears buzzing from the sudden rise in his blood pressure.

  “Welcome back, Apollo,” Washington said, grim and serious without a hint of sincerity. “You might want to pass the case to your colleague here.” He unlocked his arms and motioned to Brock, who was pulling up behind Landon after shutting down the Pegasus One. “It’s your turn.”

  Landon hesitantly passed the attaché case to Brock, who had now joined them at the tail of the Pegasus One, and Landon cautiously turned to follow Washington out of the Stable.

  “Forge!” Washington called out.

  I can’t believe this is happening right now. What am I going to do? How am I going to cheat the interrogation? Is there any way for Washington not to find out about Celia and what we’re doing? Landon was freaking out. He took one laborious gulp as he got one final glimpse of Brock while the lift descended to the lower levels of the Olympic Tower.