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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.”
