Page 13 of The Echelon (Spy Girl 7)
Deliver it to where it started.
My heart soars with hope. “Sophie! He left you more than just this. We have to go find it.”
“Sure,” she says, rolling her eyes. She speaks in a frustrated tone, “All we have to do is figure out where the fight changed, find some box, and then take it to where something starts. That makes no sense!”
“Part of it does,” I counter. “It started in Montrovia. Whatever is in the box, your father wants it taken there. And Asclepius was the Greek god of medicine, doctors, and healing, so—”
“Do you think there could be something that would heal the people of Montrovia, the people of the world?”
“Yes,” I say with confidence. I mean, it has to be, right?
I wipe the back of my hand across my brow. The morning air is cool, particularly up here, but I’m all sweaty even though I feel chilled.
I look down at my hands, pull my sleeves back, and exhale.
“You have it, don’t you?” Sophie says, astutely watching me.
“I was at the opening ceremonies, but I feel fine so far.”
“No, you don’t. Your cheeks are flushed.” She puts her palm against the side of my neck. “You have a fever. Open your mouth.”
I do as she asked.
“And your throat is red. Probably pretty sore.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “But no rash yet.”
“You’re not just trying to save Montrovia; you need to save yourself.”
I shake my head. “I don’t care if I die, Sophie,” I say even though I know I’m only telling her the way I used to feel. Now, I have lots of reasons to live, and one in particular. “In case you can’t tell, I’m not just some girl. I was hidden away after my mother was killed, and I was trained to be a spy and an assassin. I’m supposed to be on a mission. But, when the people I love got sick—”
“It got personal?”
“Yes. Very. And we’re on borrowed time here. The vaccines are set to be given to everyone in Montrovia starting at ten this morning.”
“And in other places in the world starting this afternoon,” she adds somberly. “That means, we don’t have much time.”
T-MINUS:01:16:16
Maximillian Olivier has been watching news reports about a communications outage in Montrovia. Although the reporters are all speculating on the situation, he knows exactly what happened and exactly who caused it. This part of the plan fully rested on Sergey Olander’s shoulders. What most people don’t know is that, before Sergey sold his tech security products to governments and corporations for big bucks, he was a criminal who hacked into financial institutions and made money disappear.
It was Ares Von Allister who found a trace of code that allowed the government to track down and arrest Sergey.
And it was former president John F. Hillford who saw his potential. With the help of The Echelon and contacts within The Society, Sergey Olander quickly became one of the richest men in the world.
One who owed his life to Hillford.
They all did really, one way or another. Max had voiced his concerns over Hillford’s intent to reduce the world’s population years ago. He understood the lure of the great treasure and stupidly assumed that Hillford was greedy.
What he learned was that all the money in the world couldn’t protect you from someone with power.
Whoever said, “With great power comes great responsibility,” had it wrong. With great power comes great control.
The kind of control that could crush your family with a flick of a wrist, even from the grave.
And that is the kind of control The Echelon fortune represents.
Hillford once told him that power was best described as the ability to create chaos, to effect change. And that the people who would be remembered in history were those who had the greatest impact.
The world is about to see just exactly how powerful John F. Hillford truly was.
Maximillian’s phone rings, startling him.
He looks down, seeing the call is from Rutherford Elingston.
“We might have a problem,” Rut says. “The two-man team sent to London was killed in duty.”
“How?”
“We assume the authorities,” Rut replies. “The roommate got away, but we had her phone bugged. She made a call to Ronda, Spain, and left a message for Sophie. It wasn’t long enough for pinpoint accuracy, but we got her general vicinity and already have a man there.”
“Do you think she knows anything?” he asks.
“Probably not, but I’d feel better if she couldn’t talk just the same.”
“When can we expect results?”
“The man has already discovered where she lives,” Rut says. “He looked through the window of her villa, saw her sleeping on the couch, broke the gas line, went to a nearby coffee shop, and patiently waited for her to die in a horrific accident, just like her father.”
“So, she’s dead?”
“He hasn’t been able to confirm it with the authorities, and honestly, his story regarding this is a little, um, fantastical.”
“Tell me.”
“He came out of the coffee shop and was walking toward where the explosion happened, pretending to be looking to help the victims. But he was shot along the way.”
“Shot?” Max exclaims.
“Yes, with the same kind of tranquilizer dart one of his now-dead teammates used when they helped Princess Ophelia kidnap Prince Lorenzo.”
“Does he have a traitor in his midst?”
“I’m not done yet,” Rut says. “He remembers feeling something sting his neck, and when he turned around, he swears that he saw—get this—Huntley Von Allister.”
“But she’s in Montrovia. Reporters have mentioned seeing her at the hospital. She was helping Chef Pierre Dassi hand out baguettes to those in need, and if I recall correctly, they even mentioned the outfit she was wearing, which included—and I quote—‘adorable floral Versace shorts.’”
“I heard that, too,” Rut replies. “And, while I’d like to think our man had a nice daydream about a pretty girl while he was knocked out, I’m just not convinced—”
“I think we both know you should never underestimate a Von Allister. Can you imagine the damage Huntley could do if she found the scientist’s daughter and figured everything out?” Maximillian shudders.
“It would only matter if his daughter had proof of anything,” Rut argues.
“If she did, she would have told someone already.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Rut agrees.
“Regardless,” Maximillian says, “I want her and anyone she’s with?
??especially if it’s Huntley Von Allister—dead. And I mean, now!” he says, getting worked up. “We’re too close to risk anything else!”
T-MINUS:01:12:43
“Let’s go through this again,” I say to Sophie. “Where did the fight change? Could it be Iraq? At the TerraSphere? Is that when your dad went from fighting diseases to fighting something else?”
Sophie shakes her head. “I suppose it could be but, if that were the case, why send me here first? It’s a long way to Iraq and not a particularly safe place to send your daughter alone. It doesn’t feel right.”
I smile at her. “You’re trusting your instincts. That’s good. That’s what he would have wanted. Talk to me about Ronda. Did your dad ever get in a fight here?”
“No.”
I read through both clues again and point to a section. “This part here. Is it odd that your father would mention that many a man found inspiration here?”
“I mean, not really because they did, and it’s something the town is known for.”
“Maybe the fight changed means, when you die. But how would any of that relate to your father? Did Orson Welles and Ernest Hemingway know each other?”
“I don’t know if they knew each other,” Sophie says, “but I think I mentioned earlier that Welles’s ashes are buried in the countryside on the property of a bullfighter he knew. And both men were really into it. That’s why there are statues of them outside the Plaza de Toros bullring.”
“Wait. Could the fight have something to do with bullfighting?”
Sophie’s eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh! That’s it! The fight definitely changed here, in Ronda. It happened when the fighters stopped riding on horseback and faced the bull on foot. I think that’s where we need to go. The bullfighting ring. There’s a museum that is open to the public.”
