The Dauntless (Spy Girl Book 5)

by Jillian Dodd

  Lorenzo wants to turn the television off, but maybe, like Lizzie, he deserves to see this. Deserves to suffer. He could have stood up to his mother and canceled the press conference. He could have told the world that there was only one girl he loved. And he should have.

  And not doing so is the biggest regret of his life.

  “Look at this ring, people!” the announcer continues. “Don’t Huntley and Daniel look so happy? Like, I swear, they are so sweet together. It just makes my cheeks hurt. And it’s so wonderful that she found love so soon after having her heart broken by the King of Montrovia.”

  Lorenzo isn’t smiling as he takes in the photo. Daniel has one arm wrapped around Huntley’s shoulder, and he’s leaning down, kissing her forehead. Huntley is wearing a fitted yet demure ivory knit dress with red-and-navy ribbon trim and neck bow, her long tan legs showcased by a pair of ornate but sensibly-sized square-heeled shoes. Her eyes are closed, there’s a smile on her face, and her hand is resting on Daniel’s chest, showing off the ring. The tenderness in Daniel’s gesture is seemingly more powerful than a stupid kiss would have been.

  He leans back in his chair with a sigh and presses the off button.

  Peter, Viktor, and myself leave just after midnight DC time and arrive at a military base not far from Baghdad late in the evening the next day. Not surprisingly after the whirlwind of activity yesterday, the three of us slept for much of the thirteen-hour flight.

  I look down at the engagement ring on my left hand because something Daniel said last night gave me pause, but with all the congratulations, it was gone. And probably because of the guilt I feel. I shouldn’t have this ring on my finger. I’m not American royalty.

  And the ring I should be focused on right now is Dupree’s. And what message the video game was trying to give me about it.

  Like the engagement ring Daniel gave me, does this ring also seal the deal?

  Is the ring literally a key? Or is it a metaphorical key that allows you entry to some elite rule-the-world boys’ club? And does Black X know I have Dupree’s ring, or do they want me to go get it?

  Either way, this is my chance to figure out what my mother discovered when she was here. Really, it’s the missing piece of the whole puzzle.

  “All right, Huntley,” Viktor says after we land, “we don’t want to freak you out, but Iraq still isn’t a particularly safe place. Kidnapping and other crimes you want no part of. Don’t go off base for a run or anything.”

  “Are we not going to the TerraSphere now?” I ask, anxious to get there.

  “No, we’ll spend the night here,” Peter explains, “and leave first thing in the morning. When we have daylight.”

  “And a private security detail.” Viktor grins.

  “Is that really necessary?” I ask. “You’d think all that would do is prove to bad guys that we are worth protecting.”

  Viktor squishes up his face in confusion.

  Peter seems to carefully consider his response. “It’s what my dad does when he comes here, so we’re going with that.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say with a grin.

  MISSION:DAY ELEVEN

  We have a quick breakfast at the base, meet our two-man security team—Dale and Steve—and are taken to their armory.

  We’re each given a handgun with a spare clip and shown to a Toyota Land Cruiser.

  “Don’t let the cool morning air fool you,” Steve, our driver, says. “It’s going to be one hundred ten degrees, bone dry, with no chance of rain. The sun will set at nineteen hundred hours. We’ll want to be back here well before then.”

  “Are you active military?” Peter asks as we take off for the TerraSphere.

  There’s not much to see once we leave the base, mostly just a sandy dirt road with little grass or vegetation.

  “Retired civilian contractors. We provide security for corporate visits like this. Not nearly as exciting as active duty, but it’s a whole lot safer, and the pay’s better.”

  “So, we really don’t need you?” Peter asks. “It’s just to make us feel better?”

  “Now, I wouldn’t say that,” Dale replies from the backseat where he’s sitting with me and Viktor. “Iraq as a whole is still a war zone. Some areas are safer than others, but there are threats of violence and kidnapping to both civilian and military personnel from the numerous terrorist and insurgent groups. Our job is to constantly monitor the situation. Most of the roadside and car bombs are detonated in major cities. Luckily, we’re out in the middle of nowhere with a military base close by. And it’s a short trip. Only thirty miles. Should take us about forty minutes. We haven’t had any incidents in the last couple of years between here and the Sphere.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” Viktor says, but he doesn’t look convinced. He’s quite tense.

  “But just in case,” Steve says, “this Land Cruiser is armored.”

  I’m listening to their conversation and idle chatter, but I’m also doing what I was trained to do—looking for ways in which we are vulnerable. Places we could be attacked, which, at this point, would be from the air—not likely. We could be overtaken by another vehicle—possible, if there were more than one or they were more heavily armed. From what I can tell, each of our guards has a grenade, an automatic weapon, and a pistol.

  Peter has his head on a swivel, taking in the mountains, chittering about the terrain, asking a million questions about sandstorms and combat. Viktor is quiet, like me, his eyes glued to the road but his leg bouncing up and down in nervousness.

  Dale asks if we have studied the conflict here in Iraq. Peter shakes his head.

  “It sounds like you need a little history lesson then. In January 1991, there was Operation Desert Storm. With United Nations approval, we attacked Baghdad because Saddam Hussein had invaded Kuwait. During the war, Hussein also fired missiles at Israel and Saudi Arabia, so we brought in Patriot missiles to help defend them. The war was one of the most spectacular and massive air offensives in history. To finish it off, General ‘Stormin’ Norman’ Schwarzkopf started a stunning ground campaign that lasted only four days before the war was over. From start to finish, the war lasted about six weeks.

  “While the Gulf War was a brilliant and decisive victory, both Kuwait and Iraq suffered enormous damage, and we hadn’t forced Hussein from power. I suppose, in retrospect, that was a mistake because the man was brutal to those within his own country, specifically the Kurds in the north and the Shiites in the south, who were uprising against the regime. We didn’t support those uprisings, afraid that the whole Iraqi state would fall and really destabilize the region, not that we left it stable to begin with. Even though there was a peace treaty, US and British aircraft continued to patrol the skies while Iraq continued to defy United Nation’s weapon inspectors. As an added insult, Iraqi military often exchanged fire with coalition aircraft.

  “Finally, in 2002, the United States sponsored a new UN Resolution to get weapon inspectors back in Iraq. The coalition didn’t believe that Iraq had complied with the inspections and showed their hand by amassing forces on Iraq’s border.

  “In March 2003, President Hillford issued an ultimatum to Saddam Hussein, demanding that he give up power and leave the country within forty-eight hours, under the threat of war. Hussein refused, and three days later, the second Persian Gulf War began. It’s interesting though, what Hillford did.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, suddenly more interested after the mention of Hillford’s name.

  “He issued the ultimatum without getting approval from the United Nations, and before the ultimatum, the UN chief warned the US and its allies that military action would violate the UN charter, suggesting what Hillford did was illegal. The UK and the US, however, claimed that it was legal because Hussein was in breach of earlier security council resolutions, calling for him to give up weapons of mass destruction. Up here, you will see one of the sites that was believed to house those weapons, although none were ever found there.”

>   We’re a little over halfway into our journey when we pass the ruins of a place that was bombed and abandoned. There are random bits of fabric, wood, cement, bricks, and metal creating the piles of rubble.

  “There it is,” Dale says. “One of the early targets. Supposedly one of Saddam’s palace retreats. Work began on the Sphere soon after.”

  “Amazing, what our military can do,” Peter replies patriotically.

  I realize I might be more like my father than I think. Because all I see is destruction. I wonder how many people were hurt. How many lives destroyed. And I can’t help but wonder if it was targeted simply because it was here, on the thirty-third parallel, where they wanted to build the TerraSphere.

  I think about the timing of it all. The year I was born, Hillford became president, and Ares did his presentation to the group of ten and was given the ring. Hillford was reelected four years later, and two years into that term, he issued the ultimatum and bombed this very spot, securing the Sphere’s location and getting the government to pay for its construction, just like he’d promised years before.

  “Are you saying that the construction of it started during the war?”

  “Yep. I was stationed at the base, and it was a hive of activity. Construction equipment and materials were flown in, and armed, escorted military trucks brought supplies from all over.”

  “What were they bringing in?” I ask, suddenly wondering if the treasure Daniel saw when he logged in as me to play Battleground might be real.

  I remember my visits to the museums in London and Paris, struck by how many of the priceless artifacts were “procured” during their colonization periods.

  Did this secret group use the cover of war to do the same, but instead of taking it out of the country, they buried it under the Sphere?

  “A lot of it was from Saddam’s palaces or other opulent estates of his elite party members. I heard that more than seven hundred fifty million dollars was discovered, hidden all over.”

  “And where did the money go?”

  “Back to the Iraqi people, of course,” he says.

  “Of course,” I repeat, realizing, to billionaires like Hillford and McClellan, Saddam’s hidden cash was just a drop in the bucket. Certainly not enough to start a war over. And certainly not enough to start a new world order with.

  What were they taking there?

  We arrive at the Sphere without incident and are dropped off at the front gate where we are met by a beautiful, dark-skinned woman dressed in a smart business suit.

  She introduces herself as Aziza and says, “Welcome to the TerraSphere. We’ll be closing the city gate for our protection and proceed to the inner court.”

  We follow her inside, and although nothing specific is coming back to me, I do recognize our path—from both my visit with my mom and from the video game, which was rendered in even greater detail than I realized.

  “We are a self-contained city, meaning all the food we eat is grown here and the stream that flows through the city and in the fountains is part of our water purification system,” she says as we walk toward the center of the Sphere. “Here we have our main gathering space. In the States, we’d call it the center of town, but we call this place the dome.”

  “The ceiling of the dome is beautiful,” I say, remembering lying on the floor and staring up at it with the girl I met here.

  “The designer of the Sphere made sure there would be art and tranquil spaces for our citizens,” she says.

  She gives us what I am assuming is her basic tour, showing us around but not really revealing much information. I have a feeling she doesn’t even know our names. We’re just some VIPs from some company that she has to deal with.

  After an hour, she brings us back to the dome. “That concludes our tour. We have prepared an early lunch for you, and then you can make your return trip to the base.”

  “Um,” I say, “maybe no one told you, but I’m Huntley Von Allister.”

  “As in you’re related to Ares?” she says in shock.

  “Yep. We’re attending a Von Allister Industries board meeting in London in a few days, and we need to inspect all of the facility.”

  “I see. I was under the impression that this was just a typical topside tour.”

  “No,” I say bluntly. “I have studied the plans at my father’s laboratory, and we will be seeing it all.”

  “But I’m afraid that’s not allowed. Everything here is compartmentalized for security reasons. I don’t have access—”

  “Find us someone who does,” Peter says, his eyebrow raised and looking very much like his father.

  “That won’t be necessary,” I tell her. “We don’t need a guided tour. I have the blueprints and know where I’m going. And I am pretty sure the code my father gave me will allow me access to all areas. A fail-safe code, if you will.”

  It’s just a hunch, but I know in my gut that I’m right. When we were here before, my mother had access.

  She gives me a once-over, and I can tell by the look in her eyes, she doesn’t believe me.

  “Well, let’s just do a little test,” she says with a smirk, leading us down a path, straight to Ares’s personal residence.

  I stand in front of the keypad, enter my mother’s birthdate, and wait for the doors to open.

  “Oh,” she says, backing away and bowing slightly in awe. “I’ll leave you to yourselves then.”

  Peter leads the way inside with Viktor and me following.

  I am immediately struck with a memory.

  “Open that long drawer and bring me what’s inside,” Mom said. She’s sitting at the worn wooden table, notes spread out in front of her.

  I do as she asked, pulling out a set of papers and taking them to her. “What’s all this?”

  “They are called blueprints and show all the rooms in the building, including the ones underground.”

  “Underground? That’s where Sophie’s dad works. He’s a scientist who works with dangerous germs.”

  “Yes, most of the people who work underground are scientists.”

  “I asked if we would find buried treasure here, and you said you wanted to find answers. Have you found them?”

  “Not yet. That’s what the blueprints are for.”

  I walk straight over to the same cabinet and open the drawer, hoping they are still there.

  “What are you doing?” Viktor asks.

  “Ares had a similar set of drawers at his office in DC. I thought maybe the full plans for the Sphere might be in here.”

  “And it appears that they are,” Peter says, taking them out and spreading them across the same table from my memory. He moves his hand across the page. “Wow, look at this. There are thirty-three laboratories here. And some of them are research facilities for companies we know. McClellan biotech, Olander technical, Von Allister military development, Dupree pharmaceuticals, Prescott water purification as well as numerous governmental agencies. What do you say? Should we shake things up around here and go take a look?”

  “I think we should.”

  We visit each of the thirty-three underground facilities. No one seems to care that we are there. No one seems to be hiding anything. Mostly, there are a lot of scientists and tech people hunched over laboratory tables or computers. Really, the whole place reminds me of Von Allister’s lab in DC.

  I ask a few extra questions when we visit McClellan’s space, trying to discover something sinister, but everyone who works there is super friendly, and honestly, they seem excited to have guests to talk to. The lead chemist there speaks to us at length about all the things they are doing to make crops drought resistant so that we can better feed the world.

  “That was pretty cool,” Viktor says after we see the last one. “Like the TerraSphere itself, most of the research here is to help better the world.”

  “Minus the military endeavors,” Peter quips.

  “No, even those are to help cut casualties and reduce conflict time,” Viktor argues. “I mean,
I want peace as much as anyone, but sometimes, wars must be waged to protect the innocent.”

  Peter rolls his eyes but doesn’t engage further, so we go back to the main drag of the Sphere. Since it’s now afternoon, the area is busier than it was earlier.

  Viktor checks his watch. “We probably want to hit the road. It’s a six-hour flight to London, and I’d like to be there at a decent hour.”

  “You have big plans?” I ask.

  “Yeah, a good night’s sleep on thousand-thread-count sheets and a firm mattress,” he says seriously.

  “Oh, you didn’t like the cots?” Peter teases. “Wuss.”

  “Before we leave,” I say, “do you mind if I have a few minutes alone in my father’s room?”

  “What for?” Peter asks. “We’ve gotten the full tour. I’m ready to get going.”

  “I just want to, I don’t know, absorb his brilliance or something. You are both lucky that you know your fathers,” I add for effect.

  “I think you should,” Viktor says, glancing at his watch. “Let’s see. It’s almost four. Why don’t we meet back here in twenty minutes? Just enough time for us to grab a snack, Peter.”

  On my way there, I’m stopped by an old scientist from one of the Von Allister labs.

  “Miss Von Allister,” he says, “may I have a word with you?”

  I don’t have time to stop and talk to him, but I don’t want to be rude. “We’re getting ready to leave, but—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.” He pulls me out of the hall we’re in and leads me down the path to Ares’s quarters. Once we’re at the door and out of sight, he pulls a flash drive out of his pocket. “I worked with your father for more than twenty years. He was here not long before he passed, working on a project. One that would affect the future of the Sphere.” I give him a confused look, so he continues, “Quantum computing runs the Sphere, and while that is wonderful for this project, it can also be used in a bad way. The TerraSphere model is about to be launched at the Olympics. Ares worried about what could happen if his technology got into the wrong hands.”