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“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.”
