The Valiant Read online

"So, who is Black X?" I wonder. "And why are they using Ares Von Allister's kids to do their dirty work?"

  "I think it's a covert military group," Terrance says. "Think about it; you go to your uncle Sam's, and he's the one who sends you to Blackwood. But what I don't understand is how, after six years, they haven't figured out the truth?"

  "Maybe it's because they still don't know what your mom did."

  "That means Uncle Sam had to know my mother really well--as Kelley Bond and Charlotte Cassleberry. And he had to know about her relationship with Ares."

  "Could he have been related to Kelley?" Ari wonders.

  "No," Terrance says, "she was an only child."

  "Did you spend much time with your uncle Sam?" Ari asks me. "Do you know his full name?"

  "I didn't meet him until I was about ten. He and my mother seemed fond of each other. She always hugged him tightly. He was nice to me. Bought me a stuffed dog that year for Christmas. I lost it, um ... when the car blew up. My dad was acting strange after my mom died. Not just in mourning, like scared, which I guess he had good reason to be."

  I'm saved from trying to remember anything else when Ellis brings us lunch. A ramekin next to my plate has two over-the-counter pain medications in it. I know they are supposed to be for my shoulder, but I'm hoping they will stop the pounding in my head.

  After Ellis goes back up the elevator, Ari studies me. "How are you feeling--really?"

  "I'm fine," I snap.

  "Good, because I got a call from Dr. Kate. I'm supposed to let her know when you are ready for our next mission."

  "I'm ready now," I say, texting Kate and telling her myself.

  "Now that that's settled," Ari says, "Terrance has the photos from the locket printed up. We have double-checked your passports and want to go over that with you to see what you remember." I nod, indicating he should continue. "You and your mom went through immigration control in Montrovia as Charlotte and Calliope Cassleberry on May thirteenth and arrived back in DC on May twenty-eighth. So, we have a fifteen-day window."

  "Wait. You said before that those passports didn't show any travel during that time frame."

  "In our earlier passport search, it didn't come up," Terrance explains, "but we found note of it in a very scant but deeply classified CIA file we hacked into. We assume they hid where she had been because they were investigating the time before her murder. Based on the rest of the file, they never discovered the reason for the hit."

  "But they didn't have the locket. We do," Ari states. "Do you feel up to looking at them?"

  Although I want to figure this all out, I don't want to remember. I know it will hurt way worse than my physical injuries. "Before we do that, Ari," I say, stalling, "have you heard anything about a board of director's meeting for Von Allister Industries?"

  "Uh, yeah. It's in a couple of weeks in London, and it happens to be the day before the British Grand Prix. Even though I plan to be in town for the race, I wasn't going to go to the meeting. We received a proxy to sign, giving the chairman of the board the ability to vote our shares."

  "I think maybe we should go. Apparently, Mike Burnes, who tried to recruit me himself, talked to Daniel. Told him that certain military contracts are expiring, and the government wants an extension. I'm under the impression that Burnes is worried the board won't approve the request."

  "How could we help with that?" Ari asks, looking confused.

  "We own the company because we own the majority of the stock. No one can outvote us, just like they couldn't outvote our father."

  "I was told Ares had sold the company before he passed. I'm sure that's what the attorney said."

  Terrance swivels around to face his computer and types. "Nope, he simply liquidated a lot of shares. He used to own eighty percent, but he didn't give up majority. He--well, you two still control the majority at fifty-one-point-nine percent."

  We're interrupted by the sounds of all three of our phones buzzing simultaneously with the same message.

  Your mission, should you choose to accept it:

  Discover what Kelley Bond learned before she was assassinated, infiltrate Marquis Dupree's organization, and continue to protect the Montrovian crown.

  I raise my hand in the air with a grin. "I volunteer to continue to protect the Montrovian crown."

  Ari and Terrance both roll their eyes at me, but I know it's my ticket out of here.

  I stuff the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth and stand up. "And I should probably get to the castle immediately."

  "Oh no, you don't," Ari says. "We've been working hard. Lorenzo pretty much threatened us with treason if we didn't wait until you were recovered to catch you up on everything."

  "There's more than just the pictures?"

  "Yes," Terrance says. "We worked with The, um ... Henri and The Bartender guy in an attempt to track the deposit they had been paid for the three hits. It was a dead end, but we're hoping to track the next wire transfer live."

  "You already told me that after the car bomb in London," I sass.

  "Fine. I'm trying to distract you." Ari takes my hand, helps me out of my seat, and leads me over to the wall with the photos. "We need you to look at this. I'll be right here with you."

  I take a deep breath as Ari pulls a picture off the wall and hands it to me.

  "This is you with the dog in Ares Von Allister's lab."

  "Caliper."

  "Try to remember the rest," he says softly.

  I close my eyes, and somehow, with my brother tightly holding my hand, I manage to relax. "There were a lot of people working in the office, the labs full of men in white coats, huddled around stainless steel tables. There was classical music playing--Beethoven, I think. I was sitting on the floor by the dog. My dad was wearing a navy suit and complained about the dog's shedding, but he was petting her anyway. My mom was dressed in a striped blazer, collared shirt, and jeans. Also, I think this is the day we left for Montrovia. She's wearing what she always wore on flights. Her hair was up and recently dyed a dark chestnut color. The dog licked her face, and she laughed. She left me and Dad in the lobby with the dog while she had a meeting. Her meeting didn't last that long, and when she came out, she was carrying a file and seemed irritated."

  Ari squeezes my hand, causing me to open my eyes.

  "I wonder what was in the file," Terrance says.

  "I would assume the stuff on the disk," I reply. "I'm not sure why, but I think we went directly to the airport from the Von Allister lab."

  "Where did you go when you got to Montrovia?" Ari fires the question at me.

  "I don't know."

  "Do you remember anything?"

  "When we got on the plane, she told me we were going on an adventure, that it was probably a wild goose chase, but that it would be fun. Like a treasure hunt."

  "Okay," Terrance says with a sigh, handing me another photo. In this one, I'm standing in front of a sign that says, No Photographs. "Do you know where this is?"

  "It's the jewelry display at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London," I say. "I remember taking the sign as a bit of a challenge. I took a photo just to see if I could get away with it."

  "What was the picture of?"

  "I don't recall. It was more about the thrill of doing it."

  "The morning the bomb went off, Terrance and I managed to hack into the museum's security tape recordings," Ari says. "We had hoped to see what your mom looked at there, but the tapes didn't go back far enough."

  "So, that's another dead end," Terrance huffs. "Let's try this one. You are in front of what appears to be an old building, but because it's a close-up of you, we haven't been able to identify it."

  "It's the Galleria Borghese in Rome," I state. "My favorite museum in the world. Of course, that might be because they made me study every work in it for my art history class."

  "You studied just that museum? Why?" Ari wonders.

  "I suppose because it's famous. Some of the greatest sculptures ever created are housed
there. And the stories of what went on back when they were created would now be called reality TV. Affairs, jealousy, corruption, and lots of conspicuous consumption and flaunting of wealth and privilege."

  "What I think your brother is getting at is, you're like Wikipedia when it comes to some of this stuff," Terrance states. "The things you studied at Blackwood all seem to have been purposeful. Like, did you study American history? Or geology?"

  "No, we didn't have the time for a full curriculum like what I suppose you had. We learned art, history, and classic literature. Chemistry and other sciences were taught only for practical reasons, like building different weapons using household products. Math was taught in order to do calculations relating to time, like how to count distance if you were kidnapped or how to figure the last moment you could pop a parachute and survive."

  "I just find it interesting. Why that museum?" Ari studies the photos on the wall. "What if they were trying to get you to remember through your lessons?"

  "Because they didn't know where my mom had been. I'm sure it's just a coincidence."

  "Okay, whatever." Ari starts pacing again. "Huntley, based only on your vast knowledge of this particular museum, can you think of any reason you were there that relates to this case?"

  "No. And it's weird because you would think, if you were investigating Ares Von Allister, you would go to Florence where the Medici family ruled during roughly the same time period as the Borghese family did in Rome. The Medici family was powerful and provided the church with four popes. It was from that bloodline that Lorenzo the Magnificent was sent to Montrovia. And according to Malcolm Prescott, our father was obsessed with all of that. Malcolm Prescott even has a book that once belonged to Ares about the Medici family and their echelon--or upper level of society."

  "There are no photos of Florence," Ari says, handing me another photo.

  "This photo. Was it on the locket?"

  "Yes," Terrance says.

  "But's the same one that was in the safety deposit box in Zurich, which means--"

  "She had the pictures developed and left a trail for someone just in case. That means she knew she was in danger," Ari finishes. "At least at the end."

  A scene pops into my head.

  I'm in a small, windowless room at Blackwood Academy. A room I'd grown to hate in the short time I had been here. It was always the same drill. I'm asked for what seemed like the millionth time where my mom and I had been before she died--make that, before she was shot in front of me.

  Blackwood Academy is nice enough, and I liked my classes because they kept me busy. I just wished they would have lasted all night, so I wouldn't have had to relive her death every time I went to sleep.

  My counselor, the man who was supposed to help me deal with my grief, entered the room. He looked perpetually stressed, and I had a feeling I was the cause of his stress. I closed my eyes, waiting for him to start in. But he didn't. Instead, he asked if I had ever been to Rome. Maybe he'd finally gotten the hint that I didn't want to talk about the stupid vacation. And no amount of talking was ever going to change the fact that I had failed my mother. I should have gone out there with her. I should have killed the assassin. I should have saved her.

  "Yes, many times. My parents were sent there for work often."

  "And what did you see at the Galleria Borghese?"

  "I've never been there," I replied, working hard to keep my breath even when I wanted to scream out loud.

  "You're lying! Tell me the truth!" He wagged a photo in front of my face. "This is you standing in front of it. What did you see when you were there?"

  "Art, I would assume," I replied in a smart-ass tone.

  "Which art specifically?"

  "I don't remember," I said as tears filled my eyes. I knew I had been there, but I didn't want to remember. I can't. I won't.

  "I'm sick of your lies."

  "And I'm sick of you asking the same stupid questions," I fired back.

  The man jumped out of his chair with a menacing look in his eye, and came after me.

  I reacted in a way that seemed second nature now--by punching him in the throat.

  "Did you just remember something?" Ari asks, closely watching me.

  "Sort of," I admit. "At Blackwood, I was sent to therapy sessions, which basically involved a doctor questioning me in different ways about where my mother and I had been on our trip. On our last visit, he showed me the photo from the museum in Rome. My mother must have given it to someone or left it at our house."

  "What did you tell him?" Ari asks.

  "Nothing." I roll my eyes and let out a sigh. "I frustrated him. When I told him I didn't remember being there, he got mad and came at me. I reacted by punching him in the throat. I guess Blackwood gave up because, after that, I never saw him again."

  Terrance hands me another photo. I'm standing in front of the placard of a bank in Zurich. "There's this one. But you've already been there."

  "Blackwood must have known, after Montrovia, you traveled with the Huntley Bond passport, but anywhere you went in Europe that didn't require customs wouldn't have been noted. Without these photos or your memories, they'd have had no way of figuring out what your mom discovered."

  "We can assume our first stop was to Ares Von Allister's lab. That indicates that she was either working for him or investigating him," I reason.

  "What if it had nothing to do with your trip?" Terrance questions. "What if she was there to introduce you to your biological dad?"

  "Because she knew she might not survive this mission?"

  "The mission that wasn't a mission."

  "Maybe. Look, guys, this has been loads of fun, but I have a date with Lorenzo tonight, and I need to get ready. Besides, this is like a tangled ball of yarn; once you undo one knot, somehow, you've managed to create another."

  Lorenzo and Lady Elizabeth Palomar meet in a private suite at the Royal Casino, each of them breathless from having to sneak separately to the hotel's seventh floor.

  Lorenzo takes Lizzie's hand as she enters the room, kissing it with affection. "How are you?"

  "I'm fine," she says. "Did you have any luck with Huntley?"

  "She agreed to formally court me." Lorenzo grins.

  "Oh, thank goodness." Lizzie lets out a sigh of relief. "What did your mother say?"

  "I have yet to tell her. We are keeping the news to ourselves for a short time. She's still recovering from the injuries she sustained in the car bombing, and she doesn't need the media pressure our announcement will entail."

  "I read she was experiencing dizzy spells due to carrying your heir. Is it true? Is that why you don't want to announce it straightaway?"

  "It is not. She was suffering from a concussion. She hit her head when the bomb went off."

  "I'm not sure it's enough," Lizzie says, walking to the window and looking longingly out to the harbor, almost like she's planning to escape.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Our parents have signed the agreement. We are legally bound now."

  Lorenzo's stomach drops. Or maybe it's his heart. Although Lizzie is a dear friend and he initially agreed to marry her if he hadn't taken a bride by the time he was twenty-six, he never imagined his father would move up the time line or that he would fall helplessly in love with someone else.

  "How do you feel about that?" he asks, walking to the window to offer some comfort.

  "I wept. Then, I was angry. Then, I thought I must be crazy. What woman in her right mind would turn down the opportunity to be queen? I made a list in my head of all the positives. And there were many. The jewels, the power, the wealth. The only downside to the arrangement is that I am not in love with you.

  "But, in the end, I decided, if it was meant to be my destiny, I would fulfill the agreement. We've known each other since childhood. You are my friend and I love you. I feel a duty to both my family and our country. I understand the importance of heirs, but I feel, if there were passionate love for each other in us, we would have explor
ed that facet of our friendship by now."

  Lorenzo raises his eyebrow at her and smiles. "You know I had a crush on you when we were young, but you liked older boys."

  "And look at where that got me." She laughs. "I'm twenty-three and single--practically a disgrace to my family."

  "I want to marry for reasons of love and passion," Lorenzo agrees, thinking of waking every morning with Huntley in his arms. What would he do if he was forced to marry someone he did not love? Would he abdicate his crown to be with her? Would he be willing to let his royal bloodline die?

  "So do I," Lizzie says, bringing him back to the present, "but the reality is, you are facing a ticking clock. Our wedding date is set for December seventeenth--just six months' time." Lorenzo rubs his hand across his face, trying to control his stress level, as she continues, "I was planning a trip out of town, and my father forbade me."

  "Why?"

  "Because I wanted to go to the Olympic Swim Trials."

  A smile spreads across Lorenzo's face as the realization of what she's not saying hits him. "To see Daniel?"

  "It's a very recent development," Lizzie replies, blushing slightly. "We danced at the Queen's Ball and became friends. With the tabloids pitting you and Daniel against each other for Huntley's affection, it means we've been able to see each other occasionally without notice. It's one thing for you to be seen in the company of other women. It's expected. Completely chauvinistic double standard, if you ask me, but I am not supposed to have dalliances before I am announced as your future queen. Enzo, I'm told an announcement is imminent. Don't wait too long to talk to your mother, or there might be no turning back for us."

  "Are you saying you would go through with it?"

  "I think it would be a great injustice to our country if you did not continue to rule. But, as you know, the sole purpose of the arrangement is to continue the Vallenta bloodline. The contract states that I'm to produce a minimum of three heirs. Once I fulfill that duty, my requirements ease--a minimum time spent in the country, fewer public appearances, and the ability to take on a lover or even divorce. Of course, there are financial arrangements in place for all possible outcomes, but the most important is that our children are to be raised in Montrovia."

  "All that is spelled out in the marriage contract?"

  "Yes, and trust me, I've read all one hundred thirty-eight pages."