Page 10 of The Echelon (Spy Girl 7)
“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.
