My love,
If you’re reading this, the worst has happened. I had hoped you’d never need this—hoped that my colleagues and I were being ridiculously cautious. Unfortunately our instincts must have been right.
I’m sorry I’ve had to be so secretive all these years, and that this letter is cryptic—it was necessary in case it fell into the wrong hands. In the event that something tragic has befallen me, this should help.
Andy and Charlie looked sidelong at each other with troubled expressions. What was their father talking about? It had to be about his top secret work at Talos Global—that was the only thing that made sense. But what had he been so worried about back then to make him write such a letter and have some sort of conversation with their mom about it?
Charlie pressed her lips together, wanting desperately to ask questions but knowing now wasn’t the right time. She continued reading.
Instead, I need you to contact someone who will help you—someone you can trust completely. You have the information at your fingertips. I know you can find it. And . . . apologies for the extra precautions.
“What does he mean?” asked Andy. “This letter makes no sense.”
“Shh,” said Charlie.
I love you and Charlotte and the baby with all my heart. You’re the strongest, smartest person I know, and you will get through this.
Yours qlways,
Charles
“I’m the baby, right?” whispered Andy.
“Shh,” said Charlie again, poking her brother with her elbow and nodding once sharply in their mother’s direction.
Charlie’s mom was studying the letter. “I have the information?” she muttered. She dropped her hand with the note and closed her eyes in despair. “An entire decade has passed since then, Charles. I barely remember the conversation. If something was going to happen, we expected it to be years ago.”
“You were right about the ‘safe’ clue,” said Charlie, trying to be encouraging.
“Yes. I just had the most unusual feeling when he said it like that, which is why . . .” She got to her feet and began looking around the room. “This clue is so random. I have the information? Where?”
“Didn’t he say it was at your fingertips?” asked Charlie. “Maybe that’s the clue.”
“Yeah,” said Andy. “Maybe he means it’s on your computer. Because, you know. Typing. Fingertips. Get it?”
Mrs. Wilde nodded thoughtfully, then her eyes widened. “I hope that didn’t get stolen too.” She darted out of the office and went to the living room, where she kept her laptop. The kids followed.
The laptop was gone.
“Oh no!” cried Mrs. Wilde. “All my stuff!” She looked around the living room in case she’d only misplaced it, but it wasn’t anywhere. “Now what?”
They thought for a moment, trying not to despair, but Andy struggled to hold back his tears. Charlie wondered if her brother fully understood what was happening. She doubted it. He could see how upset their mom was, and he was probably taking his cues from her.
Charlie went over all the information again in her head. “It’s weird that Dad would put a clue on your laptop when he knows you don’t carry it with you to work and stuff. But you also use your fingertips for your phone, and you never go anywhere without that.”
Mom studied Charlie thoughtfully. “Good point. You might be onto something, Charlie.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and placed the letter from Charles on the coffee table, then sat down on the couch and began looking through her apps. Andy’s tears dried up, and he and Charlie sat around her, watching and offering suggestions on which apps could hold a clue.
“Wait a minute,” said Charlie, her heart sinking. “You didn’t have this phone ten years ago when Dad wrote the note. Maybe he put a clue in the phone you had back then, and it’s gone for good.”
Mrs. Wilde’s shoulders sagged, and she closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them again. “Okay, you’re right in that I’ve upgraded phones several times since then. But I think they’ve all been smartphones for at least that long. The information transfers—contacts do, anyway. And he’s smart enough to put it somewhere that would back up to my computer, too.” She abruptly went to her contacts list and checked her husband’s information, but there was nothing unusual about the entry.
After several minutes of fruitless scrolling Mrs. Wilde set the phone in her lap and returned to the letter, muttering as she reread the key phrases.
Charlie and Andy read it over again, too. At your fingertips. Smartest person. Were any of these words supposed to be a code for something else?
“He spelled ‘always’ wrong,” Andy pointed out.
Charlie rolled her eyes. Now was not the time to criticize their father’s typing abilities. “It’s just a typo,” Charlie said. “The ‘q’ is right above the ‘a’ on the keyboard. Simple mistake.”
Mrs. Wilde paused in her search. “That’s odd, though, isn’t it? Spell-check would have picked that up.”
“Did you even have spell-check back in the old days?” asked Andy.
Mrs. Wilde almost smiled. “Yes, son. Amazingly we did, even way back then.” She studied the typo and mused, “Your father hates typos. He would never print such an important letter with a mistake like that in it.”
“Do you think he spelled it ‘qlways’ on purpose?” asked Charlie.
“Maybe.” Mom scratched her head. “But what’s the significance? Is the absence of the ‘a’ or the presence of the ‘q’ the important part?”
“I think the ‘q’ is the clue,” said Charlie. “He could have just left the ‘a’ off if he didn’t want it there.”
“You’re right,” said Mrs. Wilde. “So what does it mean?”
Andy inched closer. “Search your contacts under the letter Q!”
Mrs. Wilde was already going back to her list of contacts. “I’ve had a lot of friends and colleagues over the years, but I don’t think I know anybody whose name starts with Q,” she said. She entered the letter and hit the search button.
There was one entry—a very mysterious one, at that. First name Q, last name S. And in place of a phone number, there was a jumbled mess of numbers and letters.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Charlie, staring at the string of letters and numbers. “That’s not a phone number. Who is QS?”
Charlie’s mother examined the contact entry. “I don’t know. I certainly didn’t add this.”
“So you think we found the clue?” asked Andy.
“I really hope so,” Mrs. Wilde said. She studied the strange code as a feeling of hopelessness settled over them. What were they supposed to do with this nonsensical clue? She swallowed hard and her eyes pooled.
Charlie watched her. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Just . . . worried.” She sniffed and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “All right, kids,” she said, shaking off the tears. “We have to be brave. Let’s figure out this clue so we can find your father. Andy, can you get me a notepad and pencil?”
Andy hopped off the couch and made his way around the mess to the kitchen near the landline phone, where they kept such things. He brought the items back to his mother.
“There are ten characters,” said Mrs. Wilde, “which is good. It means this is probably a coded phone number. I’m trying to figure out how to decipher it.”
“I’ve worked with ciphers in school,” said Charlie, eager to do something to help.
“Me too,” said Andy. “First you write the alphabet in a line.”
Their mother was already scribbling the entire alphabet on the paper in a long row. Below that she wrote a row of numbers, one through twenty-six, a number under each letter.
Then the three of them looked back at the contact information and studied the strange phone number for QS. There were five letters alternating with five numbers. The first character in the string was a letter.
“He gave you five of the numbers,” Andy pointed out.
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“I don’t think those are the right ones, though,” murmured Mrs. Wilde. “That would be too easy. But we’ll get to that. Let’s start with the letters.” She matched all five letters from the code on her phone screen to the numbers they corresponded with on the paper in front of her. She wrote those numbers down, keeping them in the same order as in the code. “How am I doing so far?”
“Looks good to me,” said Charlie, and Andy nodded.
“Here’s the tricky part.” Mrs. Wilde thought for a moment, then looked at her phone again to check the code. She took all the numbers Mr. Wilde had given her and matched them up with their corresponding letters in the alphabet cipher. She wrote those letters down too and plugged them into the empty spaces. Now all the letters in the original code were numbers, and the numbers were letters.
“I don’t see how that gives you a phone number,” said Charlie, who was watching intently. “You just have the opposite of the jumbled mess you had before.”
“Just hang on,” said her mother. She hesitated, thinking hard. “Your father always knew how much I despised his little coded puzzles,” she said with a sardonic laugh. “But he adores them. What do I do now?”
The three of them stared at the code. It didn’t offer anything to let them know they were on the right track. Andy started searching common ciphers on his phone, while Charlie wondered aloud if the letters were supposed to spell something. But if they did, then what? They needed numbers. After a while she gave up and looked over Andy’s shoulder as he continued to search different options. They tried a few, but none of them seemed to be right.
“Sometimes people use numbers to mean letters,” Charlie said. “Like three for E, or one for I.”
“Yeah,” said Andy, looking hopeful.
“Wait,” said Mrs. Wilde, suddenly inspired. She opened the keypad on her phone and pointed to the numbers. “That reminds me of a code Charles used before, when he made me figure out a clue in order to open a present he’d bought me. See how each number on the keypad has three letters that go with it?”
The kids nodded.
“I’ll bet that’s our secret. For each of the letters we have here, we match them up to the number they correspond with on the keypad.” Mrs. Wilde took each letter, found the number it went with on the phone, and wrote those numbers in place of the letters in her new code.
“That’s so cool,” said Andy. “I always wondered what those letters were good for.”
“Tricky,” said Charlie. She nibbled on her thumbnail anxiously, thinking of her father. “I hope it’s right.”
By the time Mrs. Wilde was done, she had a ten-digit phone number scrawled on the paper. “Okay,” she said, cautious confidence growing in her voice. “It’s a Chicago area code, which makes me think we did something right. Here goes. Cross your fingers that we’ve got this.” Her hand shook as she dialed. After she finished entering the numbers, she pressed the speaker button.
The phone rang. Four times. Five. Six. It didn’t go to voice mail. Charlie and Andy exchanged a glance. Finally, on the seventh ring, someone picked up but didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then a woman asked guardedly, “Who are you trying to reach?”
Mrs. Wilde swallowed hard, her eyes darting to her children.
“Say something,” Charlie whispered.
Their mom leaned over the phone and spoke clearly and distinctly, “Q. S.” She paused, then added, “Please.”
“Who’s calling?”
“It’s . . . I’m Diana. Diana Wilde.”
There was silence on the other end. For a moment the three Wildes thought the person had hung up. Mrs. Wilde put a finger to her lips to ensure her children wouldn’t say anything. They remained quiet. Charlie thought she could hear a faint sound of clicking on the other end, like someone was typing.
The three looked at one another, confused. And then the woman spoke again. “Hello, Diana,” she said. “I’m very sorry to hear from you. This is Dr. Quinn Sharma. Is anyone forcing you to make this call?”
CHAPTER 4
Top Secret Stuff
Dr. Quinn Sharma? The name sounded vaguely familiar to Charlie, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Charlie’s mother hesitated. “No. I’m here with my children. You’re on speakerphone.”
“How can I help you?” Dr. Sharma asked guardedly.
“I—we found a note that led us to . . . you.”
“Has . . . has something happened to Dr. Wilde?”
“He’s been abducted.”
Charlie could hear a small intake of breath on the other end and a momentary silence.
Mrs. Wilde continued. “How do you know him?”
“I worked with him at . . . in the past.”
Charlie sat up, her eyes widening as she realized why Dr. Sharma’s name sounded familiar. It was one of the names listed on a cover sheet inside the envelope she’d taken from the warehouse. But did that mean she was on their side? Or on the side of the soldiers?
Mrs. Wilde paused and narrowed her eyes. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t.” The words landed hard. “But your husband left you my number, so it seems he trusts me.”
“That was ten years ago.”
“True. And I understand your hesitation. Maybe I can tell you a few things that might help.”
“Okay,” said Mrs. Wilde, her voice guarded.
The woman continued. “I’m a genetic biologist. I worked with Charlie at Talos Global ten years ago.”
Charlie could hear more typing, and then Dr. Sharma said, “You have two children, Charlotte Paige and Andrew Finn, ages twelve and ten. Your husband’s middle name is Alexander, and yours, Diana, is Rae. You lived at 15538 Balder Street in Chicago until recently.”
“Whoa,” whispered Andy and Charlie together.
Mrs. Wilde blinked, her face still betraying a hint of uncertainty. The woman seemed trustworthy enough to Charlie—after all, her dad had said this person could help them. Still, it felt a little weird talking to a complete stranger.
It appeared that Mrs. Wilde had similar doubts. She proceeded cautiously. “Do you know anything about a . . . a package?”
“Ah,” said Dr. Sharma. “Yes. I had a package delivered to Charlie. And a note. Right before you moved.”
“But I’m Charlie now,” Charlie blurted out before she could stop herself. “He’s Charles.”
Mrs. Wilde silenced Charlie with a look. “And the package contained . . . ?” she prompted.
Dr. Sharma hesitated. “A wrist device that he created. One that alters . . . things. Wait. Charlie, did you open it?”
“I thought it was for me!” she cried.
Mrs. Wilde placed a comforting hand on Charlie’s. Charlie swallowed hard and fought the urge to say anything more. She knew her mother had to handle things right now, but she had a lot of questions for Dr. Sharma.
“I’m sorry—I never thought—” Dr. Sharma’s distress was evident in her voice. She stopped abruptly and then whispered, “Oh dear,” like she was imagining all the things that could have happened with the bracelet finding its way into a twelve-year-old’s hands. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “Let’s figure our way through this mess.”
Mrs. Wilde closed her eyes and sighed. “Thanks, Doctor.”
“Please—you can call me Quinn. I’m just a lowly biologist.”
Charlie almost smiled despite the dire circumstances. Dr. Sharma talked like her father. That “lowly biologist” line—it was something her father had said frequently about himself in the same manner. Somehow it made her trust the woman completely. She caught her mother’s eye and nodded. This person was safe. It was such a relief to find someone who could help them fill in the blanks. Mrs. Wilde squeezed Charlie’s hand and gave Andy a reassuring smile. They were getting closer.
Charlie’s mom finished telling Dr. Sharma everything she knew. Charlie chimed in to answer some of the more specific questions about the soldiers and the bracelet.
They could hear the biologist typing occasionally on the other end of the phone. “You did the right thing in calling me,” she told them. “The project was a top secret government contract. When it was shuttered, Victor Gray was acting suspicious, so we set up this emergency system. I’m glad we did, because Victor’s obviously up to something. I suspect he’s the one who called you.”
Charlie, Andy, and their mother looked at one another, confused. “Who is Victor Gray?” asked Charlie.
Dr. Sharma paused. “Our fellow scientist on the project. Dr. Victor Gray—wasn’t he there with the soldiers you fought?”
“I don’t think so,” said Charlie, “but nobody exactly took the time to introduce themselves before attacking me.”
“Of course not,” the woman murmured thoughtfully. She hesitated, as if weighing her options. “I feel like I need to let you in on some of this intel now that you three and Charles are facing danger. But I’m not comfortable doing this on the phone after what happened to your house.”
“Can you at least tell us why you think Dr. Gray would do this to Charles?”
Dr. Sharma was silent for a moment. “If he abducted your husband, it’s because he needs him to help further whatever his cause is.”
“So you don’t think he’s going to hurt my dad?” asked Andy.
“I don’t think so. As long as you keep the police out of it like he said, he should be fine. But,” Dr. Sharma went on, her voice worried, “if Gray has moved his lab and all his soldiers across the country in pursuit of your device or someone who can re-create it, I worry he’s doing something . . . big.”
Charlie, Andy, and their mom waited, expecting Dr. Sharma to explain. But the woman was quiet for a long moment as she typed something. After a while she spoke decisively. “I’m looking at flights for first thing tomorrow. I’ll text you my details once I have them. I think it would be better to discuss all of this in person.”
While Mrs. Wilde and Dr. Sharma firmed up details, Charlie snuck a peek at her phone screen for the first time since her mother had told her and Andy not to text their friends or go online. There was a text message from Maria.