The Echelon Page 6

  “Yes. My throat is quite sore, and my body aches something terrible.”

  Although I’m not sure if it’s from the fight in Madelyn’s loft or the disease itself.

  “That’s how it starts,” he says.

  “I know, Daniel.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but half the time, the phones aren’t working, so I wanted to call you while I still had service. The reason you left to do whatever my mom had told you to do, is it really that important? So important that you won’t be here to say good-bye to me or your brother?”

  “Give Ari the phone,” I instruct.

  “Huntley, where are you?” Ari asks, his voice sounding the same as it always does, not weak and dying like I was bracing myself for.

  “I’m still on the mission.”

  “You’re running out of time. We’re all running out of time.”

  “I know, Ari. Daniel wants me to come back to be with you while you die. What do you want?”

  “I want you to finish it,” he says. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yeah, I do. I love you, sis,” he says, which makes me cry.

  “I love you, too.”

  “I’m giving you back to Daniel.”

  “How are Lorenzo and Lizzie?” I dare ask when Daniel comes back on the line.

  “Lizzie has not developed the rash yet,” he whispers. “Lorenzo says he feels great. He’s been by her side since you left.”

  “I don’t know what went down between them, but she loves you, Daniel.”

  “I know,” he says softly. “Well, she did. Or does. I’m not really sure at this point. And, since I’m probably going to die before the vaccines arrive, it doesn’t even matter. What I want you to know, Huntley, is, if you don’t make it back, you’ll owe me a pizza and a shirt”—he gets choked up—“in heaven. I hope.”

  “Daniel, don’t say that. Stay strong. Fight it. Don’t you dare give up. I just need a little more time.”

  A deep voice can be heard speaking in the background.

  “Lorenzo would like to have a word with you,” Daniel says to me.

  I quickly end the call.

  T-MINUS:06:56:11

  I hoped to maybe catch a little shut-eye on the flight, but I’m a mess, Daniel’s words echoing in my brain. Rather than sit and watch the time ticking off my watch, I spend my time researching the area.

  I learn that Ronda is one of the most-visited cities in southern Spain. One of the must-sees on every list is the bridge that spans the El Tajo Gorge. Because the town is split in half by this hundred-meter-deep gorge, its landscape and beauty is unrivaled. It’s also known for its winemaking, which has been going on since Roman times, as well as being the birthplace of the modern Spanish bullfight.

  When the charter plane finally lands at a private airstrip outside of the city, a nondescript sedan is waiting to take me on the twenty-minute drive into Ronda.

  It’s late at night—well, technically, early in the morning—and the town is asleep, but I can tell, even in the dark, that the internet accounts were correct. This is a city of rare beauty.

  Madelyn gave me the address where Sophie is staying but begged me not to go there in case I was being followed. They had worked out what they thought was a foolproof way of communicating danger. Apparently, Sophie goes to a certain church every morning for mass.

  Stupid to be predictable when you’re on the run.

  If Madelyn needed to see her, she would go to that church at that time. The circumstances under which Madelyn was there were to be addressed by the color of her clothing. If Madelyn wore white, she was in danger, whether coerced or followed. If that were the case, Sophie would quickly flee.

  More likely, she would have been captured, trying to flee, because Madelyn had led them directly to her.

  If Madelyn wore blue, all was safe, and they would meet.

  She suggested that I do the same.

  And, while I appreciate their effort, if either girl were being followed by a true professional, they wouldn’t know it, and their codes would be worthless.

  Plus, I don’t have that kind of time.

  T-MINUS:06:22:18

  It’s hard to find Sophie’s residence in the dark, as it sits in a cluster of stone buildings with different sets of old steps leading to each entrance. And I might be getting tired, but I’d swear the steps keep rearranging themselves, like the ones at Hogwarts. Even having it all mapped out, I get turned around five times before I find the right set.

  Sophie’s little villa features a gas lantern next to the door that gently illuminates the address on the terra-cotta tiles underneath.

  Breaking into the place is easy.

  Finding Sophie is not.

  She’s not here.

  And I’m very worried that Madelyn’s message spooked her enough to run again. And, if that happened, this is over—for all of us.

  With nothing else to do, I take my time searching every square inch of the small home but find absolutely nothing relating to her father or the virus.

  I learn a lot about Sophie though.

  Based on the well-loved paperbacks next to her bed, she’s a fan of historical romances and dark poetry. Her closet features little in the way of clothing, and based on the carry-on-sized suitcase in the corner, it’s because it’s all she brought with her when she fled London.

  The freezer holds a half-empty bottle of vodka and the fridge a small assortment of farmers market fare. If I had to guess, she eats out most every meal.

  All put together, that could be good news. If she’s eating out and going to mass every morning, that means she doesn’t feel the need to hide out in the apartment like Madelyn said she did in London. If her suitcase and clothes are still here, she’s either already been kidnapped and killed or she hasn’t gone too far.

  I check the countdown on my watch.

  There’s nothing more I can do at this point but wait—for her to come home or for morning mass, whichever comes first.

  It’s hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago, I woke up after crying myself to sleep over the loss of Daniel’s mother. My eyes feel heavy, my throat hurts, and I’m pretty sure I have a fever.

  I pull my shirt up, examining my torso for signs of a rash.

  When I don’t find any, I close my eyes, my mind conjuring up a conversation I had with Lorenzo.

  “‘Beauty awakens the soul to act,’” he said. “Dante said that. And I find love to be the most beautiful thing in the world.”

  “Well, Peter is hoping that his love will react with Blair’s soul in a way that will make her break the engagement.”

  “I used to be like Peter. They used to call me the Playboy Prince.”

  “Oh, that I am well aware of,” I said with a laugh.

  “But I realized that it wasn’t me just wanting to be the playboy. It was that I hadn’t met anyone who made me not want to be one until I met you. Now, when I look at other women, I see simple beauty. An interesting feature. But all women pale in comparison to you. You are the only one I desire.”

  “You know I’m not supposed to love anyone. I can’t have emotional attachments with my mission right now,” I argued, trying to convince him as much as myself.

  He took my hand and held it to his heart. “Huntley, you were trained not to have emotional attachments, but I see evidence of you going against that. From a purely scientific perspective, you can see it, too. When I am near, your heartbeat speeds up.”

  “That just means, I’m attracted to you,” I scoffed.

  “No, it doesn’t because, other times, I have a calming effect. I see emotion in your eyes when you look at Chauncey. And I know, based on the fact that you didn’t kill his father, that you’re not a killing machine.”

  “I just killed a bunch of men in Iraq. Thank goodness Peter and Viktor haven’t even asked me how I managed to do that. They are convinced it was from my video game–playing and that I w
as able to sneak up on them because I’m a girl, you know. But, still, I killed.”

  “You are a warrior for good. Plain and simple.”

  “Thank you,” I told him, moving closer and placing my lips on his.

  He was right. “Beauty awakens the soul to act,” and I acted by unbuttoning his shirt.

  Of course, Dante also said, “The path to paradise begins in hell.”

  And I’m pretty sure that’s where Montrovia is at right now—or will soon be if I don’t find Sophie.

  T-MINUS:02:58:32

  Two things awaken me simultaneously—the sound of the door of the villa opening along with the pungent smell of gas.

  They’ve found me, is the first thought that goes through my head.

  The second is, I’m going to die a horrible death in a fiery explosion.

  Sophie has barely entered the flat with a young man, who pushes her against the open door and kisses her furiously.

  “Let’s have a smoke, and then I’ll take you back to bed,” he murmurs to her. “If we’re all going to die from some plague, we might as well have fun doing so.”

  “No!” I yell out.

  Sophie turns toward me, her eyes full of fear. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

  “Because you’re in danger. Someone is trying to kill you, Sophie. Can you smell the gas?”

  Her eyes get huge.

  The young man appears to be a bit intoxicated and isn’t taking the situation seriously. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket.

  Sophie quickly bats it away. “Don’t be so daft,” she says to him.

  “Sophie, this is important,” I tell her. “Is there anything hidden here, in your flat, that relates to your father, his death, or the virus?”

  “No,” she says, so I grab her hand and run, leading her to what I hope will be a safe distance away. “Call the authorities to report the gas—” I start to say.

  WHOOSH.

  Air surges, blowing me backward and then causing me to crash into the ground.

  Debris rains down, and the dusty air feels like it might suffocate me.

  My ears ring, and my sense of balance is off-kilter, but I can’t let it stop me. I have to get Sophie away from here. Whoever made this happen is going to want to make sure she’s dead.

  I immediately spot him.

  One thing about the bad guys who work for The Echelon, they are pretty easy to detect in their all-black military-looking attire. Maybe they are all so confident in their skills that they don’t care about blending into their surroundings.

  The man in question has come out of a coffee shop located between us and the now-destroyed villa. I assume, since he isn’t coming in our direction, that he wasn’t watching out the window for Sophie. He must have simply been waiting for the sound of the explosion. Now, if questioned by the authorities, he can say he was trying to help rescue survivors, not that he’s verifying death. He might even tell them he’s a friend of Sophie’s and very worried.

  The street fills with people coming out of their homes and places of business to see what just happened. They are milling about, so it’s not like I can just go over and kill the man, especially when I know I’m not operating at full capacity.

  I need to do something that is subtler.

  I stagger behind him, trying to catch up, my vision still clouded.

  As we get closer to Sophie’s flat, the man slows down upon seeing a woman’s foot sticking out from underneath a large chunk of stone.

  It’s then that I’m able to get close enough to shoot him with a dart from my watch. The tranquilizer works quickly, causing him to collapse.

  Sure, he’ll wake up fairly shortly, but hopefully, by then, Sophie and I will be long gone.

  I go back to where I landed and find Sophie lying nearby, momentarily dazed. She’s got a pretty good gash on her arm, but it’s not life-threatening, so I hoist her off the ground and take advantage of the chaos around us to pull her behind an undamaged villa.

  “They found me, didn’t they?” she says, coughing from the dust in the air.

  “Do you know somewhere safe we can go?” I ask her, focusing on our immediate need—which is to get out of here. “Madelyn mentioned a church.”

  “Yes,” she says, checking her watch. “Morning mass will be starting soon.”

  She leads me through a maze of whitewashed villas, tiny alleyways, and stone steps. Even though I thoroughly studied the area on the flight here, I am all turned around.

  Five minutes later, the sound of bells ringing fills the air, and we step into a more populated area set around an ancient church.

  I follow Sophie into the foyer where she turns right and heads down a set of worn steps, instead of going into the chapel for mass. I’m half-expecting to find a room with a round table and ten chairs at the bottom, but instead, we go inside a nun’s office.

  “Sister Maria,” she says to an elderly woman sitting behind the desk.

  We must look pretty disheveled because the nun stands up and rushes toward Sophie. “What happened to you?”

  Sophie bursts into tears, blubbering and not saying anything.

  “There was a gas explosion. Her villa is destroyed,” I reply. “Do you happen to have a first aid kit?”

  Sister Maria nods, leaves the room, and then returns with gauze and ointments. She cleans Sophie’s larger gash first and wraps it up. Then works on the rest of her smaller cuts. Sophie has way more than I do. I just have an angry red scratch across my shoulder and a few nicks on my hands from covering my head.

  “Sophie,” I say, “we really need to talk about your father. Now.”

  “He was murdered,” she says flatly.

  “I know he was. Do you remember me? I’m Lee. We met in Iraq at the TerraSphere about six years ago. You played with me while my mother spoke to your father.”

  She studies my face more closely. “I’ve tried to forget my time in the sand. But, yes, I do remember you. Why are you here?”

  “Because they killed my mother, too. Just a few days after our visit.”

  “I’m really sorry,” she replies, her tone soft with understanding. “Do you know why she was killed? Why my father was killed? Because I don’t understand at all what is going on.”

  “What do you know?”

  “Only that my father was scared for his life. He told me that some powerful men stole one of his discoveries and wanted to use it for evil. But he didn’t say who they were, what they were going to do, or when.”

  “I’m assuming you’ve heard the news about the disease that is currently spreading around the globe?”

  She nods her head in shame. “Is that it? Is it his discovery that is killing people?”

  “Yes,” I say even though I’m still not one hundred percent certain. I’m operating purely on instinct right now, and this is the very last breadcrumb on the meager trail left by my mother.

  “Revenge won’t change anything,” she says to me. “There’s nothing I can do against these men.”

  “Yeah, there is. You’re going to help me stop this. You have to do it for your father. He was a good man and a brilliant scientist.”

  “I know he was! But I can’t! These people, whoever they are, just tried to kill me. For the third freaking time in the last two weeks!”

  “I know who is trying to kill you, and I know why they want you dead. Because your father had proof,” I lie. Well, not exactly lie. It’s more of a hunch that, like my mother, her father left her clues. “If you help me stop this disease, I’ll take care of them myself, and you will never have to be scared again.”

  She stubbornly shakes her head. “I’m sorry, really, but I can’t help you.”

  T-MINUS:02:08:39

  I’m done playing nice. I stand up in front of her, my chest puffed out, and speak in a harsh tone, “Sophie, wake up. Your father died at the hands of these people. Do you want them to get away with it? Do you want your father’s legacy—your legacy—to be that you stood by and watched milli
ons of people die when you could have done something? I agree that revenge won’t change anything, but in this case, it can affect our future. It will affect all our futures. I believe they killed him because he was the only one who knew how to stop this.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say. No one will believe you,” she cries. “My dad tried to tell someone about it, and it got him killed. And, right before he died, he told me specifically to trust no one!”

  “Well, you need to trust me. And you should, being as I just saved your life—twice. First, from the explosion, and then again from the mercenary who caused the explosion and was looking for you after it.”

  She’s crying and shaking her head, so I sit in the seat next to her and take her hand, realizing she might need a softer approach.

  “Look, Sophie, I know you’re scared, but we can do this. When we met, you told me that your father was like a superhero. That he fought germs with the vaccines he made. You believed it then. You need to believe it now. You need to be the girl who thought her father was invincible.”

  She’s quiet for a few minutes, seemingly lost in thought, but I’m watching various emotions cross her face as she tries to make a decision.

  “Tell me their plan,” she says.

  “A deadly disease was spread at the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, for which there is no known cure. Everyone who attended, including numerous world leaders, are sick and will die. It will throw the world into chaos, even more than it already is. The symptoms are similar to the flu—sore throat, fever, body aches, and an un—”

  “Unusual rash?” she says. “I heard all of that on the news. You’re not telling me anything the rest of the world doesn’t know.”

  “I wasn’t sure how off grid you’d been. But I need to tell you everything. A company called PureGen—owned by Marquis Dupree, the man whom your father ultimately worked for—has come to the rescue. They have vaccines. Countries around the world will be forcing their citizens to take it. I believe the vaccine is what is deadly. I believe it contains the same virus from the opening ceremonies and will kill off over ninety percent of the population.”