Page 28 of The Dauntless (Spy Girl 5)
It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Only a few people know. And I am sure they will be discreet.”
“Is Mr. Prescott here?” I ask. I’d really like to talk to him before the board meeting.
She waves her hand. “No, he received an emergency call and had to leave town immediately on business. Of course, he left not long before Amanda called, so I was here alone to worry sick about you.”
“Didn’t Mrs. Spear tell you we were okay?” Peter asks at the same time I say, “Where did Mr. Prescott go?”
“He didn’t say now that I think about it. He was upset and in a hurry. I just know he was meeting Aleksandr at the airport.”
“Mom,” Peter says, “we are tired. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I really didn’t even think of it. I just wanted to get home.”
“It’s okay,” she says, rubbing his arm. “Are the three of you hungry?”
“Yes,” I say. I’m starved. I could have eaten on the plane but didn’t want to wake the boys, so I told the steward I wouldn’t need anything.
His mother glances at her diamond-encrusted watch, probably checking to see if her chef is still on the clock when it’s nearly eleven p.m. “I could make something,” she offers, her eyes finally resting on our disheveled appearance. “Look at you. You’re all a dusty mess.”
“Mom, please. Can we discuss this tomorrow? I just need a shower and a good night’s sleep, and then I’ll answer all your questions.”
“Me, too,” Viktor agrees, returning to the room.
Her eyes meet mine in question.
I nod in agreement.
“Very well,” she says.
Peter shows me to my room. Viktor knows his way and takes the bedroom next to mine, walking in the door and closing it behind him without a word.
Peter pulls me into a tight hug. “You should call Lorenzo and let him know you’re okay.”
“And who are you going to call?” I ask.
“I thought of her today, in the midst of all of that. Crazy, right?” he says.
“Peter, her wedding is in—”
“Ninety-seven days,” he replies and then says, “I am kind of hungry.”
“Why don’t I make us a grilled cheese sandwich?” My favorite comfort food and something my mom and I could usually make, no matter what country we were in.
“Grilled cheese sounds good.”
We go to our respective rooms to clean up. It’s not that we couldn’t have done so on the plane, as it is equipped with a beautiful shower off the bedroom as well as an additional half-bath. But the boys slept, and I closed my eyes and pretended to, working out the problem in my head.
Since arriving here, something I was worried about is hitting me right in the face.
What if we were ambushed because I accessed the vault? What if the call Malcolm got that caused him and Aleksandr to leave immediately was because they know who it was?
I grab my phone and make a call.
Amanda answers on the first ring. “What did you find out?” she asks.
“I’m in London at Peter’s house,” I say. “I’d prefer we talk about everything in person.”
She must understand because she says, “O-kay.”
“Can you tell me what time you found out, before you called Mrs. Prescott?”
“It was ten thirty. I had just sat down with Ryan for our coffee date when he got the call. On another note, we need to start making wedding plans. Have you and Daniel set a date?”
“We got engaged yesterday, and I left town right after.”
“I take it, that’s a no,” she says with a laugh. “He told me you’re not waiting. That you want to marry right after the Olympics. Doesn’t give us much time to plan.”
“The sooner, the better,” I reply, telling her I have to go, and then calling Daniel.
“After the Olympics?” I say when he answers.
“Huntley,” Daniel says, “you called my mother before me. I’m hurt. Speaking of hurt, how are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Were you scared?” he asks, just like he did when we discussed Lorenzo’s kidnapping.
I lie like I did back then. “Of course I was.”
“I’m glad you’re okay, Huntley.”
“Only because you are trying to push Lizzie.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. I would miss you if you were dead. When will you be back in DC?”
“Probably Monday morning.”
“I will let the press corps know to set up a few interviews for me and my lovely future bride. We could do the full circuit if we wanted—from morning shows to late night and everything in between. People are excited about our wedding. My dad’s approval rating has gone through the roof, although the other party is wanting to know if the taxpayers will foot the bill.”
“I’m a Von Allister, Daniel. That should answer their question,” I scoff.
“I’ll be sure to mention that. I miss you. Maybe I should fly to London tonight. Keep you company. Where are you staying? Some opulent hotel suite where we could lie around and do nothing but—” He stops.
“What?”
“That’s what Lizzie and I did on our third date. One of my endorsers set me up in this big suite, and I told her she should see it. We lay in bed, watched movies, and ate. Just spent time together. It was incredible.”
“Sounds like it,” I say, feeling irritated about having agreed to this farce when I have more important things to worry about. “The press already knows I don’t do interviews, but because I know you want something for Lizzie to see, I will do one.”
“One? As in one single interview?”
“Yes. One.”
“Fine, we’ll make it count,” he says.
I hang up, lean back in my chair, and run the timeline through my head again, coming to the same conclusion. Malcolm got his emergency phone call at about the same time I left the vault.
As I make grilled cheese sandwiches for Peter and myself, I can’t help but wonder if I’m literally sleeping in the enemy’s house.
MISSION:DAY TWELVE
I wake up with a start, just as a tiny hole formed in the center of my mother’s forehead. It’s been a while since I had this dream. And I wonder what it means.
Since I’m up early, I work out in my room and then text Dr. Kate to make sure I’ll have something to wear for lunch today. She assures me a wardrobe is being delivered to the house within the hour. I also text Royston Bessemer’s assistant to find out what time and where to meet for lunch.
Then I go downstairs.
“Is Mr. Prescott back from his trip?” I ask Mrs. Prescott, sitting down next to her at the breakfast table.
“Yes, he and Aleksandr returned very early this morning.”
“Really? What time?” I ask, trying to sound polite and not like I’m interrogating her even though I totally am.
“Around five thirty.” She yawns. “He went right to sleep. I’ve been up since then.” She babbles on about what she’s already accomplished this morning while I’m doing the math. They left yesterday around fourteen thirty London time. Figure a half hour to the airport and wheels up at fifteen hundred. Six-hour flight and a two-hour time change would mean they would have landed at twenty-three hundred Baghdad time. Thirty-minute drive to the Sphere, an hour or so of checking things out, thirty-minute drive back, and a six-hour flight would put them back here at five this morning, London time. Thirty-minute drive home.
Merde.
Could Malcolm and Aleksandr have actually sent a team of mercenaries after their own sons without knowing it? Did I trigger a response when I opened the vault at the TerraSphere? Of course I did. They have to have some sort of security in place around that kind of treasure. And how long will it take them to figure out I was in my father’s quarters at the time the vault was opened?
My mind also goes to the fact that there was a team of eight mercenaries—all dressed in black military garb, their faces covered—just like there were at the att
ack on The Priest’s home in Cannes, at the bank in Zurich, and at Dupree’s home in London.
Double merde.
Or should it be ocho merde?
I almost start laughing maniacally. When I was the firestorm in training simulations at Blackwood, it was always against a team of eight.
Mrs. Prescott stops talking, scoops up the last bite of her yogurt, and then tells me she’s off to prep for her day. I sneak into Malcolm’s study and am thrilled to find a photo of the family embarking on a trip on their jet—most importantly, one which shows the plane’s tail number.
I run upstairs and pull up a flight tracking website. But when I enter the tail number, I get a message telling me that this aircraft is not available for public tracking per a request from the owner.
I guess I’ll just have to ask Malcolm myself.
A knock causes me to quickly close the app and close my laptop.
