by Jillian Dodd
It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Only a few people know. And I am sure they will be discreet.”
“Is Mr. Prescott here?” I ask. I’d really like to talk to him before the board meeting.
She waves her hand. “No, he received an emergency call and had to leave town immediately on business. Of course, he left not long before Amanda called, so I was here alone to worry sick about you.”
“Didn’t Mrs. Spear tell you we were okay?” Peter asks at the same time I say, “Where did Mr. Prescott go?”
“He didn’t say now that I think about it. He was upset and in a hurry. I just know he was meeting Aleksandr at the airport.”
“Mom,” Peter says, “we are tired. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I really didn’t even think of it. I just wanted to get home.”
“It’s okay,” she says, rubbing his arm. “Are the three of you hungry?”
“Yes,” I say. I’m starved. I could have eaten on the plane but didn’t want to wake the boys, so I told the steward I wouldn’t need anything.
His mother glances at her diamond-encrusted watch, probably checking to see if her chef is still on the clock when it’s nearly eleven p.m. “I could make something,” she offers, her eyes finally resting on our disheveled appearance. “Look at you. You’re all a dusty mess.”
“Mom, please. Can we discuss this tomorrow? I just need a shower and a good night’s sleep, and then I’ll answer all your questions.”
“Me, too,” Viktor agrees, returning to the room.
Her eyes meet mine in question.
I nod in agreement.
“Very well,” she says.
Peter shows me to my room. Viktor knows his way and takes the bedroom next to mine, walking in the door and closing it behind him without a word.
Peter pulls me into a tight hug. “You should call Lorenzo and let him know you’re okay.”
“And who are you going to call?” I ask.
“I thought of her today, in the midst of all of that. Crazy, right?” he says.
“Peter, her wedding is in—”
“Ninety-seven days,” he replies and then says, “I am kind of hungry.”
“Why don’t I make us a grilled cheese sandwich?” My favorite comfort food and something my mom and I could usually make, no matter what country we were in.
“Grilled cheese sounds good.”
We go to our respective rooms to clean up. It’s not that we couldn’t have done so on the plane, as it is equipped with a beautiful shower off the bedroom as well as an additional half-bath. But the boys slept, and I closed my eyes and pretended to, working out the problem in my head.
Since arriving here, something I was worried about is hitting me right in the face.
What if we were ambushed because I accessed the vault? What if the call Malcolm got that caused him and Aleksandr to leave immediately was because they know who it was?
I grab my phone and make a call.
Amanda answers on the first ring. “What did you find out?” she asks.
“I’m in London at Peter’s house,” I say. “I’d prefer we talk about everything in person.”
She must understand because she says, “O-kay.”
“Can you tell me what time you found out, before you called Mrs. Prescott?”
“It was ten thirty. I had just sat down with Ryan for our coffee date when he got the call. On another note, we need to start making wedding plans. Have you and Daniel set a date?”
“We got engaged yesterday, and I left town right after.”
“I take it, that’s a no,” she says with a laugh. “He told me you’re not waiting. That you want to marry right after the Olympics. Doesn’t give us much time to plan.”
“The sooner, the better,” I reply, telling her I have to go, and then calling Daniel.
“After the Olympics?” I say when he answers.
“Huntley,” Daniel says, “you called my mother before me. I’m hurt. Speaking of hurt, how are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Were you scared?” he asks, just like he did when we discussed Lorenzo’s kidnapping.
I lie like I did back then. “Of course I was.”
“I’m glad you’re okay, Huntley.”
“Only because you are trying to push Lizzie.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. I would miss you if you were dead. When will you be back in DC?”
“Probably Monday morning.”
“I will let the press corps know to set up a few interviews for me and my lovely future bride. We could do the full circuit if we wanted—from morning shows to late night and everything in between. People are excited about our wedding. My dad’s approval rating has gone through the roof, although the other party is wanting to know if the taxpayers will foot the bill.”
“I’m a Von Allister, Daniel. That should answer their question,” I scoff.
“I’ll be sure to mention that. I miss you. Maybe I should fly to London tonight. Keep you company. Where are you staying? Some opulent hotel suite where we could lie around and do nothing but—” He stops.
“What?”
“That’s what Lizzie and I did on our third date. One of my endorsers set me up in this big suite, and I told her she should see it. We lay in bed, watched movies, and ate. Just spent time together. It was incredible.”
“Sounds like it,” I say, feeling irritated about having agreed to this farce when I have more important things to worry about. “The press already knows I don’t do interviews, but because I know you want something for Lizzie to see, I will do one.”
“One? As in one single interview?”
“Yes. One.”
“Fine, we’ll make it count,” he says.
I hang up, lean back in my chair, and run the timeline through my head again, coming to the same conclusion. Malcolm got his emergency phone call at about the same time I left the vault.
As I make grilled cheese sandwiches for Peter and myself, I can’t help but wonder if I’m literally sleeping in the enemy’s house.
MISSION:DAY TWELVE
I wake up with a start, just as a tiny hole formed in the center of my mother’s forehead. It’s been a while since I had this dream. And I wonder what it means.
Since I’m up early, I work out in my room and then text Dr. Kate to make sure I’ll have something to wear for lunch today. She assures me a wardrobe is being delivered to the house within the hour. I also text Royston Bessemer’s assistant to find out what time and where to meet for lunch.
Then I go downstairs.
“Is Mr. Prescott back from his trip?” I ask Mrs. Prescott, sitting down next to her at the breakfast table.
“Yes, he and Aleksandr returned very early this morning.”
“Really? What time?” I ask, trying to sound polite and not like I’m interrogating her even though I totally am.
“Around five thirty.” She yawns. “He went right to sleep. I’ve been up since then.” She babbles on about what she’s already accomplished this morning while I’m doing the math. They left yesterday around fourteen thirty London time. Figure a half hour to the airport and wheels up at fifteen hundred. Six-hour flight and a two-hour time change would mean they would have landed at twenty-three hundred Baghdad time. Thirty-minute drive to the Sphere, an hour or so of checking things out, thirty-minute drive back, and a six-hour flight would put them back here at five this morning, London time. Thirty-minute drive home.
Merde.
Could Malcolm and Aleksandr have actually sent a team of mercenaries after their own sons without knowing it? Did I trigger a response when I opened the vault at the TerraSphere? Of course I did. They have to have some sort of security in place around that kind of treasure. And how long will it take them to figure out I was in my father’s quarters at the time the vault was opened?
My mind also goes to the fact that there was a team of eight mercenaries—all dressed in black military garb, their faces covered—just like there were at the att
ack on The Priest’s home in Cannes, at the bank in Zurich, and at Dupree’s home in London.
Double merde.
Or should it be ocho merde?
I almost start laughing maniacally. When I was the firestorm in training simulations at Blackwood, it was always against a team of eight.
Mrs. Prescott stops talking, scoops up the last bite of her yogurt, and then tells me she’s off to prep for her day. I sneak into Malcolm’s study and am thrilled to find a photo of the family embarking on a trip on their jet—most importantly, one which shows the plane’s tail number.
I run upstairs and pull up a flight tracking website. But when I enter the tail number, I get a message telling me that this aircraft is not available for public tracking per a request from the owner.
I guess I’ll just have to ask Malcolm myself.
A knock causes me to quickly close the app and close my laptop.
When the door opens, the butler rolls in a rack full of clothing with Dr. Kate behind him.
“Hi!” I say, actually excited to see her again.
“I have some great pieces for you,” she says as the butler wheels everything in my room and then retreats. “I heard you quit,” she whispers to me.
“Yeah, that’s why I want to hire you to shop for me.”
“While I appreciate your offer, I can’t do that.”
“I’ll pay you well.”
“You know that I’m not doing this for the money,” she states, which is apparently the end of our conversation in that regard. She immediately starts showing me what she brought.
I get a text with the name and address of the restaurant and decide it’s now or never. “I need a copy of Ares Von Allister’s will or trust documents.”
“What for?”
“Tomorrow, I’ll be attending the Von Allister Industries board meeting, and Ari and I will be expected to vote our shares. There is some question regarding how those shares are to be voted—whether individually or as a block—and the documents should add clarity to the situation.”
Dr. Kate regards me for a moment. “Let me make a call.”
She goes into my bathroom and shuts the door. Like that will help. I simply put my headphones in, pull up the eavesdropping app, and listen to her side of the conversation.
“She wants Ares Von Allister’s trust documents.”
“Something to do with voting shares at a board meeting tomorrow.”
“Um, yes. She said she was going. No, she didn’t say why. Do you want me to ask?”
“She said she quit. Tried to hire me to be her personal shopper.”
“Lunch today. Knighting ceremony at Buckingham Palace tonight. Board meeting on Friday. British Grand Prix this weekend. No, I don’t know how she’ll vote. I don’t even know what she’s voting on.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell her to expect them momentarily.”
I pull the headphones out of my ears and flip open the magazine in my lap to make it appear as if I’m ideally killing time.
“The documents are being emailed to you as we speak,” she says. “If that is all, I have to be going. Hair and makeup will arrive shortly.”
“Thanks, Kate. I really appreciate it,” I say sincerely, giving her a tight hug.
“You can’t quit,” she says. “I might not know everything, but what you’re doing is important. I know that much.”
“I know that much now, too,” I tell her.
Once I’m dressed and ready, I make my way downstairs where I’m greeted by Malcolm Prescott, who immediately pulls me into a fatherly hug.
It catches me off guard in the most surprising of ways—with tears. I really don’t want him to be a bad guy.
Malcolm lets go of me and brushes them away. “I’m so glad you kids are okay. Tell me everything.”
“We were driving back to the base—”
“Not that part. I heard all about it from my son. Tell me everything about your visit,” he says. “What did you think of your father’s TerraSphere?”
Oh boy. He knows.
“It was truly amazing,” I say honestly. “Hotter than Hades outside but cool and comfortable inside. And the water, oh my gosh, it tasted so good. Our tour guide told us they purify it themselves.” I look down, acting like a naughty child. “We did something though that I’m not sure we should have.”
“And what was that?” he asks, leaning closer.
“We toured all of the underground facilities.” When I say this, I look up to gauge his reaction, finding nothing other than surprise.
Maybe he doesn’t know.
“They let you in?”
“Um, not exactly. I sort of knew the code.”
“What code?”
“Ares’s code. It opens all the things in the DC home. It worked there, too.”
“I see,” he says. “That is a little concerning.”
“Why?”
“Well, who else knows this code? It could cause a major security breach, which would be bad for business.”
“So would your son being dead,” I say harshly, wanting to remind him that, if he had sicced the men on us, he would have been responsible for his son’s death.
Although, when I think about it, maybe, to the men with the rings, that isn’t a big deal. If Hillford ordered the hit on my mother, it’s probable he hired him again to take out his own son.
“I wasn’t implying—I heard it was a team of mercenaries who were probably looking to kidnap and ransom you.”
“I don’t know what Peter told you, but I don’t think that was the plan. They had two vehicles. We had one. They could have boxed us in. Shot out our tires. Instead, they fired at us. Round after round. Even threw a grenade at us. I know everyone assumes they wanted to kidnap us, but I don’t believe it. They wanted us dead. Was it because we were at the TerraSphere? I mean, we toured the whole thing, and I didn’t see an indication of anything sinister going on there,” I say, being very deliberate in how I phrase my words.
“Nothing sinister that I’m aware of either,” Malcolm says, “but definitely top-secret research. You went in each facility?”
“Yep. All thirty-three of them. We talked to the people who worked in each one, too. I felt like I needed to understand everything in order to cast a vote at the board meeting.”
“That’s against their security protocol. They shouldn’t have allowed you access.”
“They didn’t. The code opened each one.”
“But each facility sets their own code.” He chuckles. “Ares must have installed some kind of fail-safe. Although I don’t know why that would surprise me. Then what happened?”
“Peter and Viktor got some food, and I spent some time alone in what I was told were Ares’s quarters.” Might as well let the cat out of the bag. See if a team of eight comes after me on my way to lunch.
He tilts his head, looking at me in question. “Why?”
“I didn’t know him. I’m at this amazing place that he designed. A way of life that is different than what we are used to. Everyone I meet tells me that Ares had a brilliant mind, and I saw that on full display at the Sphere. It was a little … overwhelming. I wanted to lie under the dome for days and just stare up at the ceiling. I wanted to spend more time looking at the art. I wanted to interview every single person who lived there and understand what their daily life was like. Even though you and everyone who knew him have been so wonderful and welcoming, it’s the first time I sort of felt like I was a part of his world, if that makes sense.”
“It almost sounds like you don’t hate him anymore,” Malcolm says gently.
“I have a lot of mixed emotions. It’s really hard to see all evil in someone who created something so beautiful.”
“Your father wasn’t evil, Huntley. He was a good man. And the more I’ve thought about it, I don’t think there is any way he would have given up his son. There has to be another reason for your brother’s adoption.”
I’ve been thinking that, too. If what the man in the lab s
aid was true, he didn’t discover we were his children until recently. It’s hard to know what to believe.
“Maybe,” I reply tentatively. “I understand you are on the board of directors for Von Allister Industries, and there is a big vote coming up.”
“What big vote is that?” he asks, looking confused.
“Um, I was told there is a contract up for renewal.”
“Not just one. Lots of them. We vote on renewals and new contracts at every meeting. I wasn’t aware of anything out of the ordinary, and I chair the board committee that deals with the governmental contracts. Where did you get your information from?”
“Mike Burnes,” I say with a sigh. A really big, frustrated sigh, wondering if Malcolm will tell me the truth.
“The CIA has no business in our business,” Malcolm replies. “Don’t listen to what he says. He’s a spy and a liar.”
“Are you telling me that there won’t be a vote on renewing the exclusive contract on the TerraSphere?”
“Yes, there will be, and my committee will not be endorsing the renewal.”
“Why not?”
“Because we have fulfilled our contract. And the design will be highlighted at the upcoming Olympics for all the world to see. We stand to make billions when we sell the model to the countries of the world. Although the US government has been threatening to pull other outstanding contracts from us, we have no recourse. We couldn’t renew if we wanted to. Everything has already been set in motion in Montrovia.”
I freeze at his wording.
“Burnes said that it’s a matter of national security,” I counter.
“Trust me, Huntley. They toss that word around whenever they want to get their way.”
“Once he explained the situation to me, I told him that, as a stockholder, I understood why the company wouldn’t want to renew. They’ve put years of money and resources into the project, and to be the first to sell the technology would probably mean a windfall of revenue for the company.”
“You’re very astute in that regard. That is exactly why the committee won’t recommend the renewal.”