Caleb had been taking a backseat to the duplicate’s rant—he’d already lost control and caused a scene, might as well let it play out—but Melanie’s sharp voice brought him back to himself. In an instant, he had absorbed the duplicate and was peering down at the scraps on his plate, cheeks flushed red.
“I’m—uh, I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
Daniela patted his back, trying to defuse the situation. “Too much sun for this guy.”
“It’s all good,” Sydal said. His smile had never faltered. “Passionate discussion is the backbone of intellectual progress, son. I heard what you said and I’m definitely going to think about it, I promise you.”
Sydal dusted off his hands like the matter was closed. Caleb felt immense relief—he even liked Sydal a little bit for how easily he’d let Caleb off the hook. Melanie was still glaring at him, of course, but he could live with that.
“I have some bad news, by the way,” Sydal began. “An investment of mine is finally bearing fruit and I need to go to Switzerland to inspect the results. I know you guys were planning to stay for a few more days, but I’m afraid I have to cut this visit short.”
Melanie glowered at Caleb, like this was all his fault. He sank deeper into his chair, avoiding eye contact.
“Well,” Daniela said. “It was fun while it lasted.”
After dinner, Sydal and his gang of assistants retired to his home theater to watch an advance screening of a new space opera that was set to be released in a couple of months. Sydal had been the technical consultant. Melanie and Daniela joined them, but Caleb decided it was best if he kept his distance.
He sighed. It was just like those first months at the Academy. He was the weirdo again.
Caleb wandered around the massive house. He soaked his feet in the pool for a bit, but January in Florida could be chilly, so eventually he went inside. He drifted by the screening room—he could hear Sydal crack some joke at which all the assistants laughed.
With a frown, he wandered to his room. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would do like Daniela said. Blend in. Be like the crab. Be normal.
“You’re right to be suspicious of him.”
Caleb turned at the sound of Lucinda’s voice. She stepped out of the shadowy hallway that led down to Sydal’s workshop. She had a backpack slung over her shoulder, stuffed full of what, Caleb couldn’t tell. She had a mischievous twinkle in her eye, like she’d just been up to something and was challenging Caleb to call her on it.
“Uh, who?” That was the most articulate response Caleb could manage.
“Sydal, dummy,” Lucinda replied, smirking at him in a way Caleb found oddly familiar. “He talks and talks and talks—yes? Only evil men talk so much.”
“Are you . . . ?” Caleb glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Are you sure you should be talking about your boss that way?”
“That handsy little toad is not my boss. I have no boss.” Lucinda stepped closer. “He has a deal with the Foundation, you know. That’s what he’s going to Switzerland for. To pick up some alien thingy they’ve got for him. You need to find a way to go with him, Caleb.”
“How do you—?”
As Lucinda drew near, her features changed. Her hair turned dark, her eyes sharp and knowing, her skin a flawless tan.
Isabela.
“Hello, handsome,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “I’ve come to destroy the bad guys. Are you going to help or what?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
THE FUGITIVE SIX
ENGELBERG, SWITZERLAND, AND POINTS IN BETWEEN
NIGEL’S IPOD BLASTED THE CLASH AS HE PUSHED his shopping cart through the aisles of the grocery store. He bopped his head along with the music, happy to be out from under his mother’s watchful eye, if only for a little while. He’d been cooped up in this little town for weeks now, a prisoner of sorts, though he had free reign to do anything he wanted in the sleepy, windswept hamlet. Mostly, that limited his choices to browsing at the bookstore, gazing at the Alps, or aimlessly wandering the streets with his headphones warming his ears.
There were Blackstone mercenaries stationed throughout the town, keeping an eye on him. Still, he could’ve given them the slip if he really wanted.
His mom had bet that he would stay. And she was right.
Something was going to happen here. He wanted to see how it played out.
Chips, a sausage, cookies, and a couple boxes of the most marshmallow-filled cereal he could find. These things Nigel dumped into his cart.
It was all so utterly mundane. In fact, after those first few days, his entire visit with Bea had been that way. Most of the time, when she wasn’t video-chatting with one of her evil comrades, the two of them just chilled out. They played cards, watched movies, ate frozen pizzas.
His mom wasn’t so bad, if you could forget she was a megalomaniacal killer.
There were times when she conducted Foundation business in front of him, trying to make him feel like a part of it. He’d seen Taylor on video chat. So she’d finally managed to infiltrate after all their setting up. Some proper secret agent shit, that.
He wondered about the story she told Bea. Ran and Kopano, abducted by Earth Garde as punishment for the tiff with the Harvesters. Was that true? A cover story?
Clearly, Bea thought knowing that would sway him to her side. She thought she could wear him down during this protracted vacation.
It wouldn’t work. He would stop Einar from killing her. Couldn’t very well let that prick win, could he?
And once that was done, he would bring his mother and all her cronies to justice.
His cart full, Nigel wheeled his way to the checkout counter. There, he dumped all the groceries on the conveyor belt and bagged them himself. He did a rough tally of how much he’d taken, then took some of his mom’s money out of his wallet and stuck it alongside the unattended cash register.
There wasn’t another soul in the grocery store. In fact, most of Engelberg had been evacuated due to a phony avalanche warning. He still wasn’t sure how old Bea had pulled that one off.
The only people left in town were Nigel, his mom, and a dozen Blackstone mercenaries.
Whatever was going down, it was happening soon.
Taylor snapped awake as their chartered plane hit some turbulence over Romania. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. She’d been drooling.
The exhaustion was real. She’d seen herself in the bathroom mirror a couple of hours ago. There were dark circles around her eyes and she swore she could see some strands of gray in her hair. She’d really pushed herself that night at the warship and was still recovering.
It’d been worth it, though. She was getting close. Close to the center of the Foundation.
She was carrying a beacon right to them.
There were dark clouds outside her window. She sat up in her seat, blinking groggily. The XO sat directly across from her, an amused smile on his freckled face.
“Was starting to think you could sleep through anything,” he said. “Been bumpy for the last hour.”
As if on cue, the plane vibrated once again. Taylor’s stomach did a loop, but she kept her face stoic. She flashed the XO a cocky grin.
“Little turbulence is nothing after you’ve fought Mogadorians.”
He laughed. “You’re a piece of work, Cook.”
She really was. God, how had it been less than a year since she first developed her Legacies? What would the Taylor of last winter think of Taylor now? She’d been a farm girl with a simple life that made her happy. Now? She was on a plane flying across Europe with a mercenary captain.
Life came at you fast.
“Speaking of those things, I’ve got a question for you,” Taylor said. Now that she was fully awake, it was time to get back to pumping the XO for information. “When I was hiding inside the warship, I heard a voice . . .”
The XO snorted. “Oh, you heard her, eh? Our nutty Mog lost in outer space.”
“What’s
the deal with her?”
“She’s always making those broadcasts,” the XO said. “Doesn’t seem like anyone much cares, so long as she stays behind the moon.”
The XO shifted in his seat and his suitcase banged against his knee. He winced and readjusted himself. The reinforced-steel briefcase was radiation-proofed, but even so Taylor could tell the XO was uncomfortable having it handcuffed to his wrist. Inside were a dozen vials of the viscous Mogadorian ooze, ready for delivery.
Taylor nodded at the briefcase. “Doesn’t that stuff freak you out?”
The XO eyed her. “A job is a job.”
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “But that crap is like poison and you’re just . . . carrying it around.”
“Kid, has anyone ever told you that it isn’t your place to ask questions?”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Sure. I get that a lot.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not my place either. Young people think that they’re the only ones getting bossed around, living in the dark. Shit, that’s adult life, too, unless you’re further up the food chain than me.” He patted the briefcase. “So, we take this where it’s going. That’s our lot. But hell yeah, Cook, I’ll be happy when this thing is off me.”
“Won’t be long now,” Taylor said.
Nigel’s mom waited for him outside the grocery store. She stubbed out a cigarette when he emerged and smiled at him. Smoking and drinking—she’d been doing that a fair bit these last few days. For all her calm demeanor, Bea was nervous about this plan of hers.
She peeked into one of his bags. “Nigel, my goodness, this is all junk. I told you we have guests coming.”
“What? You expect me to roll out the red carpet for a sociopath with a fifty percent success rate offing Barnabys?”
Bea pinched his cheek, her fingers cold despite the unseasonable warmth at the base of the mountain.
“My dear, we’re expecting more guests than just Einar.”
Caleb rubbed his eyes, thinking back on that late-night call made on a cell phone provided by Isabela.
“Uncle Clarence?”
“Jesus, Caleb, it’s the middle of the goddamn night.”
“Wade Sydal is going to Switzerland.”
“You called me at three a.m. to tell me that?”
“I . . . I can’t tell you more for . . . for operational security reasons. But you have to make him take us with him. Say he needs Earth Garde protection or something. Pull some strings.”
“Caleb, that’s one big goddamn ask.”
“It’s important,” Caleb had said. “And if you ever want me to trust you, really trust you—this will be a good start.”
He’d barely slept after that. And now? Now, Caleb sat on a padded bench at the back of the Shepard-1, as far away from the others as he could get. He chewed his thumbnail and tried mentally to get his armpits to stop sweating.
“How great is this?” Sydal shouted from the front of the circular passenger compartment, his face pressed to the window glass that went all the way around the space, affording lucky passengers a 360-degree view of blue sky and ocean. “I’m so, so glad you guys could experience this with me!”
Of course Sydal had chosen to take his flying saucer to Switzerland.
Sydal extended his arms, showing off for the group gathered in the ship’s lounge. That included Daniela and Melanie, and a trio of Sydal’s stern-faced personal security guards. None of his assistants had been brought along. Maybe he felt like he couldn’t trust them after what went down that morning—Lucinda, apparently disappearing with a bunch of files stolen from Sydal’s workshop. And then the call from Earth Garde informing Sydal that there were credible threats being made against his life. Because of his close ties with the military, the trio of Garde had been assigned to him as bodyguards. Vacation was over.
Uncle Clarence had pulled it off.
“You guys feel that steadiness?” Sydal asked, not seeming the least bit bothered by his recent betrayal or the looming death threats. “It’s like flying on a cloud. And check out that ocean view—amazing! Tell me this isn’t going to change the future of air travel.”
“It’s so, so cool,” Melanie replied, not even looking away from her window.
Caleb glanced out his own window and his stomach turned over, but not from the heights or the ocean whipping by below. He couldn’t get what Isabela had told him last night out of his head. She’d been in a hurry to make her escape as Lucinda, but she’d found time to tell Caleb about Sydal’s dealings with the Foundation.
How had she come by this information? How long had she been Lucinda? How was she even out from the Academy? Where were the others?
“Better you don’t know yet,” she told him. “You won’t like it, Boy Scout.”
As if that information wasn’t weighing on him enough, Isabela had told him there was danger coming.
“We are going to bring him down,” she had said. “Him and these Foundation dogs. You must promise to stay out of our way. You must trust me, Caleb. We must be loyal to each other.”
Caleb felt sick. He also felt an agitated duplicate starting to pop out. He focused on keeping his feelings buried.
One of Sydal’s guards stepped over to the beaming magnate. Caleb leaned forward to hear what was said.
“Our team in Florida apprehended Lucinda,” the guard reported to Sydal.
“Oh, wonderful,” Sydal replied, making no effort to keep their conversation private. “Tell our people to prosecute as harshly as possible.”
“Thing is,” the guard continued, “she was tied up in her apartment. Claimed that someone jumped her a couple of days ago. None of the stolen property was recovered . . .”
“Well.” For the first time, Caleb saw a glimmer of annoyance on Sydal’s smooth face. “That’s certainly curious.”
Caleb missed the rest of the conversation as Daniela sidled up next to him.
“Yo, quiet guy,” she said. “Everything okay?”
Caleb itched around his collar. “Yeah, I’m just . . . feeling off.”
“If you’re still brooding about dinner last night, you should stop. No one even remembers you going off on Sydal,” she said with a grin. “Or maybe you’re down because hot-ass Lucinda ended up being a cat burglar or something?”
“I . . .” Caleb touched Daniela’s arm and lowered his voice. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”
“You’re nothing but bad feelings, man. You . . .” Daniela trailed off, noticing the seriousness on Caleb’s face. “You know something, C?”
“Just . . . stay on your toes, okay?”
“Are you aware that this tiny landlocked nation is one of the world’s wealthiest and most stable, with one of the highest standards of living?”
Nigel responded with a bored groan. The two of them walked through the abandoned village, heading towards the mountains. Nigel was still lugging the groceries and now regretted getting that extra tub of pretzels. His hands were cold and tired.
But then . . . there was no one around. So, he used his telekinesis to carry the bags and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. The display of power didn’t even register with Bea.
“Do you know how Switzerland came to that status?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me, Mum.”
“Nazi gold,” Bea continued. “The Swiss remained neutral during the war and the Nazis needed a place to hide the ill-gotten gains they’d looted from their victims. The Swiss banks were happy to oblige and, when the Third Reich collapsed, the Swiss just happened to be holding all their profits. They were rich.”
“What’re you telling me this for?”
“There are fortunes to be made from chaos,” Bea said. “The carefully neutral survive unscathed and prosper.”
“Oh, right, so you’re the bloody Swiss in this metaphor. Because you seem more like—”
“Yes, I’m a Nazi,” Bea interrupted sarcastically. “Please. Don’t be so predictable in your insults, dear.”
Nigel f
umed silently as they reached a large clearing near the base of the Alps. There were stone benches there and a marble fountain frozen solid for the winter. To the north was a large cabin—the Welcome Center for those skiing the Alps—its windows dark and abandoned. Attached to the cabin was a cable car that connected to the mountainous peak.
Bea did a full 360, gazing around the field.
“We’ll do it here,” she declared. Bea grabbed a walkie-talkie from her hip and spoke into it, waving her hand back and forth. “Do you see me, Captain?”
“We see you,” a man’s voice crackled over the walkie. “Setting up now.”
Silva, Isabela. São Paulo, Brazil. Shape-shifter. Silva exhibits excellent control of her Legacy and adequate telekinesis. She displays tremendous situational intelligence that would recommend her for all manner of espionage activity. However, Silva suffered severe burns prior to becoming Garde and thus is constantly shape-shifting to maintain her appearance. She exhibits textbook narcissism and a disregard for authority verging on the pathological. Earth Garde has assessed her as a potential RTH and we are inclined to agree. Contact is not recommended.
“Pah!” Isabela spat, and tossed the tablet through her open door and out into the Skimmer’s hallway. “Pathological, my ass! Bastards!”
Her rage was barely contained by the narrow supply closet that she’d declared her sleeping quarters. There wasn’t a lot of private space aboard the Skimmer, so she’d dumped the crap that was in here and moved in a sleeping bag. She’d enjoyed her few days posing as Lucinda. The woman had a very comfortable bed.
Isabela’s hands shook. She touched her cheek—smooth, unblemished. They knew about her. The tablet had belonged to one of the Foundation people Einar killed. She’d been scrolling through it, nosing through their files. And oh, were there files. Every Garde that was enrolled in the Academy and some that weren’t—the Foundation knew about them.
They knew about her.
“Please don’t go hurling around our evidence,” Einar said, appearing in the hall outside Isabela’s closet. He picked up the tablet and dusted it off. “We may actually need this.”