He didn’t hesitate. He rolled off the board, into the icy water.
Immediately, he felt the fury of the wave, and he struggled to keep his head above the swirling foam. He was like a stick bobbing in its propulsive force. The wave was like an animal, something alive that could easily snap his body in two.
He tensed his body, holding it straight, picking up the pulse of the great wave. He would drown if he got caught in the roiling sea. He had to keep going, find Amy somewhere in the wave.
Ahead, he caught a glimpse of brown — seaweed? No, Amy’s hair, streaming out behind her! She, too, was trying to bodysurf the wave. Declan was trying to slow his board, trying to keep Amy in sight.
The minutes seemed forever. The salt stung Dan’s eyes and he could no longer feel his fingers. He could see the beach ahead, and he reached out for Amy, trying to grab her foot, or her clothing. . . .
The wave exploded around him, roaring, crashing, and he felt the drag of the receding wave pulling him backward, but he fought to stay up, stay ahead, swimming now for his life, swimming toward Amy. . . .
Who was now flailing, her arms in her heavy wool sweater dragging her down under the wave. Dan dove straight down. The pull of the wave receded, and he could just make out the pale form of Amy’s fluttering hand.
He swam deeper, reaching out, reaching for that hand. And grasped it.
He tugged her forward, swimming until he thought his heart would burst in his chest. He hooked his arm around her and pushed up, up toward the faint light.
He broke through the surface, gasping, and Declan was there, astride his board, his face anguished. He reached down and dragged Dan and Amy over his board. Then he paddled to shore.
The other surfers and Ian came running. Together, they got Dan and Amy on the beach. Amy doubled over, coughing.
Declan sat, his head between his knees, his whole body shuddering. His cocky attitude was wiped away by near disaster.
Dan lay on the beach, trying to catch his breath.
Amy looked up through her tangle of wet hair. “Saved my life again, bro,” she said raggedly. “I owe you two.”
Up above, Sean and Fiona ran down the cliff’s switchback trail, their arms full of blankets. Amy tried to struggle to her feet. No doubt her knees were just as liquid as Dan’s. Ian shook sand out of his trouser pockets.
“Declan, we’ve got to move,” Patrick said. “We’ve only got a few minutes before they call to shore and tell them we’ll be coming up the cliffs.”
“Right.” Declan stood, tossing his dark hair out of his eyes.
The black boat was just a dot in the distance, heading back the way it came.
Dan realized he was freezing, shaking so badly he was having trouble walking. Fiona ran down the beach and threw a blanket around Amy, then Dan. “Come on,” she urged. “There’s no time.”
They followed the surfers up the path to a caravan of vehicles. Declan led the way to his truck. He opened the doors for them. “I’ll be back in a tick,” he said, and then disappeared into the van parked next to them.
They fell into the truck, shivering. Fiona passed in a thermos and cups. “This is nice and hot; it will warm you up. Declan will drive you to the airport. There’s a private plane there. Here’s the number of the pilot. He’ll take you anywhere you need to go.” Her blue eyes were fierce. “You’ll be safe, I promise you. Declan can drive like the devil and he knows these back roads like nobody else.”
“He surfs like the devil, too,” Dan said. The shaking was coming under control.
Declan reappeared, now dressed in jeans and a thick wool sweater, his hair slicked back. He slid behind the wheel.
“Good-bye, Fiona,” Amy said. “Thank you for everything. That’s not nearly enough to say, but . . .”
“Don’t worry,” Fiona said. “We’ll meet again. I’m sure of it.” She shut the door, then gave the truck a pat. Declan hit the gas and they took off, spraying dirt as they peeled out of the lot.
It wasn’t until they were halfway to the Dublin airport that they warmed up completely and Amy felt her brain beginning to work again.
“How did they find us?” she wondered. “We haven’t used our phones for e-mail. We hardly left the house in the past two days. . . .”
“Except for Ian,” Dan said. “Did you notice anything suspicious when you went for your walk?”
Ian shook his head. “No surveillance. I would have seen it. Just me and my bike. Of course, I almost got run over, but that was an accident.”
“Accident?” Amy asked sharply.
“My bike met the fender of a Range Rover,” Ian said. “Lucky for me I wasn’t on it at the time. The driver gave me a ride as far as Ballycreel.”
Amy was instantly suspicious. “What was her name?”
“How do you know it was a girl?”
“Because if I was going to try to put a track on us through you, I’d use a girl to do it,” Amy answered.
“Her name was Maura, and she wasn’t some spy, she was a very lovely and very rich young woman in her daddy’s expensive car, and she gave me a very short ride over some very bumpy fields to the nearest village,” Ian said huffily. “End of story.”
“How did the accident happen?” Dan asked.
“I don’t appreciate being cross-examined,” Ian said. “I’m a Lucian. I know what I’m doing. I didn’t tell the girl my real name. I made sure she was gone before I walked back to Bhaile Anois.”
“Did this girl ask to use your phone?” Amy asked.
“No. It was never out of my possession. Except . . .” Ian suddenly stopped. His face went red. “Except when she hit the bicycle, I dove for cover, and the phone flew out of my hands. . . .”
“And she picked it up.” Amy held out her hand. “Let me see your phone.”
“This is ridiculous!” Nevertheless, Ian sighed and dug in his leather backpack. He handed his phone to Amy. The words KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON mocked him from the cover.
Amy turned on the phone. She looked at it, then handed it back. “You have to input your code.”
With a roll of his eyes, Ian typed in his number code.
WRONG PASSCODE
Try Again
Ian typed it in again.
WRONG PASSCODE
Try Again
He turned the phone around in his hands. “This isn’t my phone! It’s all scuffed and scratched.” He looked up. “Jake must have taken my phone by mistake.”
Thoughts tumbled in Amy’s head. It all made sense. “She put a tracker on your phone,” she said. “That’s how they tracked us to the area. But Jake took your phone by mistake this morning. That means they’re now tracking him.”
Amy quickly dialed Ian’s cell number. Ian’s voice came on the line. “You’ve reached me. Leave a message. Don’t make it tedious. Good-bye.”
“He’s not picking up,” Amy said frantically. “If there’s a tracker on his phone, Pierce and his men know where he is. They’ll go after him and Atticus!”
Chapter 25
Attleboro, Massachusetts
Nellie had discovered something about Pony: He was more docile if he was fed.
She could easily whip up a five-course French meal, but Pony preferred the basics. Her grilled cheese made him swoon. Especially when she made him her homemade potato chips, roasted with olive oil and sea salt.
“Much healthier for you, dude,” she told him.
She’d fed him dinner and snacks for days now. He didn’t seem much closer to giving her what she wanted: a secure digital network. Still, he was a genius. And it was hard to get completely annoyed at someone who had nicknamed her “goddess.”
Pony groaned as he scooped up the last bite of spaghetti carbonara. He picked up the rest of his crumbs of garlic bread with a moistened index finger. Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and belched.<
br />
Still with his eyes closed, he said, “In some cultures, that is a compliment. Though I’m not certain that’s actually true.”
“If I had Internet access, I could look it up,” Nellie said pointedly, clearing his plate.
“Whoa. I am operating at full maximum,” he protested. “This hackitude is off the charts. It’s April May we’re talking about,” he added, lowering his voice the way he always did when he spoke of the hacker. “She — or he — is the supreme ghostnetting empress of all time. She’s hacked into AT&T, federal agencies, the government of Bulgaria . . . even Disney World! I can’t clear your network until I know it’s totally protected. You understand? It has to be a fortress of impregnability.”
She set out a bowl of homemade butterscotch ice cream, his favorite, but she held the spoon in the air. “I can’t keep running to random Internet cafés, and neither can Amy and Dan. We need phones!”
“Well, since I cannot disappoint my lady, I will give you a present.” Pony reached into one of his enormous pockets and brought out a pile of smartphones. “Your own personal fortress of Cahill impregnability. And, if all goes well, I’ll have a laptop for you later on tonight. Now that I know who I’m dealing with, I’ve been able to ensure that these are safe. And I’ll be totally monitoring at all times. Now can I have the spoon?”
Nellie handed it to him, then hugged the phone. “Where have you been all my life?” she crooned to it.
Pony snickered. “I’ve been playing a cat-and-mouse game with April May. Except it’s invisible cat, invisible mouse. She doesn’t know that I’ve managed a way in. I am spying on her, too. I found her back door and used it. A small breach she will never discover, but enough to tell me things. I am closer than close to making us a fortress indeed.” Pony eyed the pitcher of hot fudge sauce Nellie had placed on the table. “And if you pass that pitcher, I will reveal a nugget of information that will please you and instantly return me to your good goddess graces.”
Nellie pushed the pitcher forward. “Spill. Not the fudge sauce. The info.”
“While I have been diligently working on fortressing up your network, I have had a few minutes of downtime in which I trolled around for your other request.”
Nellie leaned forward. “You found out something about Pierce.”
“Indeed.” Pony took a heaping spoonful of ice cream. “In addition to snatching up media companies right and left, our Malevolent Malefactor, J. Rutherford Pierce, has, under a variety of shell companies, bought a pharmaceutical research lab right outside of Wilmington, Delaware —”
“Delaware!” Nellie exclaimed.
“— and fired its employees.” With the spoon in his mouth, he fished into his pocket and extracted a piece of paper. He pushed it across the table to Nellie. “Here’s the address.”
“Why would he buy . . .” Dread invaded Nellie, a slow realization that took her breath. “How big is the lab, Pony?”
“Big outfit. They used to manufacture lots of drugs. Cold remedies. And everybody gets colds!”
“So the infrastructure is there. . . .” Nellie swallowed. She chewed on her lip. “It could be . . . it really could. It makes sense.”
“Waiting for you to download on me, goddess.”
“Amy was right. Those thugs who came after them . . . their strength. Their power. It’s not just Pierce who took the serum! He took Sammy’s work and he . . . he used it to create those hyperstrong henchmen. There’s a reason he bought that lab.”
Pony stared at her, uncomprehending.
“He’s going to manufacture the serum! He’s planning on mass-producing it! Why else would he buy a lab?”
“And that would be bad?”
Nellie stood up and paced. “It would be catastrophic. He could do anything! Create an army of supermen. Squads of tactical leaders. All under his control. Because he’d be controlling the serum. Don’t you see? He can make the most powerful army in the world! If he’s the one to decide, if he’s the one to control who gets it . . . he could create a whole network of Piercers. People strong enough and clever enough to do anything. With no scruples. People who would kill kids without even blinking an eye. Terror would be part of daily life. The rest of us would just be . . .”
“His sock puppets,” Pony finished.
“Sammy is there,” Nellie declared. “I know it. Pierce wouldn’t get rid of him. He’d use him. Sammy is the one who laid the groundwork. Now he has to finish what he started.”
Nellie whirled around. “I’ve got to pack . . . find surveillance equipment . . .”
“Nellie? One more thing.” Pony stood up. “In the course of tricking April May, I made a discovery. WALDO has hacked into the CCTV system in London. You know, the closed-circuit TV system that Scotland Yard uses? And Amy and Dan are on their way there.”
“London? Are you saying that Pierce could track them through the CCTV?”
“It’s tough, but possibly doable, with the right program. But basically? Yeah.”
She looked down at the new smartphones on the table, thinking hard. “We have to get these to them,” she declared. “But I can’t ship them. I don’t trust anything anymore.”
“You could hop a flight, get them to the kids personally,” Pony said with a shrug.
She looked up at Pony. “Or you could.”
“Me?”
“You. I can’t leave now, Pony. And you could check out the Rosenbloom brothers’ phones, too. You have to make sure the whole system is secure.”
“I can’t just pick up and go,” Pony said. “I have a cat.”
“You can bring the cat here. I have a cat-sitter. The best in the world — my mom. She loves cats.”
“I can’t fly. I’m allergic to peanuts.”
“I made you peanut butter cookies on Monday because you said they were your favorite.”
“I don’t have a suitcase.”
“I’ll loan you one. Pony, I need you,” Nellie said. “The world needs you.”
“Me? No. You don’t understand, Nellie.” Pony’s soft brown eyes were full of a new expression — fear. “I’ve never been anywhere. I mean, aside from virtually.”
Nellie snapped her fingers. “Wait a second— I finally got through to Jonah Wizard. You can fly with him on his private plane.”
“J-Jonah Wizard?” Pony stammered. “The star?”
“He’s also a Cahill. Amy and Dan’s cousin.” Nellie finally noticed the look of absolute terror on Pony’s face at the thought of meeting a world-famous hip-hop artist. She smiled. Jonah had all the trappings of a star — the private plane, the bling, the ’tude — but underneath it all, he was a nice guy.
“Don’t worry,” she reassured Pony. “He’s nice. He’s due into Logan in” — Nellie checked her watch — “two hours. Then you can both fly to London. You can do this, Pony.”
“I guess . . .”
She put a hand on his sleeve. “Here’s the thing. If you’ve never been anywhere, isn’t it time to start?”
He gulped. “If you say so.”
Twenty minutes later, Pony arrived at her house with a paper bag full of clothes and his cat in a carrier. Nellie gave him a backpack. She had already packed him a sandwich, cookies, and an apple. Pony felt like a kindergartner, but he was grateful that Nellie had agreed to walk him through the terror.
And then he’d have to be alone with the fantastic Jonah Wizard. For hours. He was sure he’d say something idiotic.
Nellie ducked into the security room to set the code. Pony stood outside, shifting from one foot to another. Did private planes have security lines? Would he have to take off his shoes? He couldn’t remember if he had a hole in his sock. He felt like a total loser. This was exactly why he didn’t participate in real life! It was too real!
He reached over and lifted the mailbox flap. There was some junk mail, but there was also
a small manila envelope addressed to Amy Cahill. He stuffed it into his bag. He was probably going to botch everything. Whenever he participated in real life, things went wrong. But the least he could do was bring Amy Cahill her mail.
Chapter 26
London, England
The trouble with the United States of America was, it had never had a dictator. All those pesky senators, the courts, the judges, the people — by them, for them . . . It just mucked up the works.
Pierce turned, irritated, as Debi Ann came into the room. She still looked tired from jet lag. She didn’t have his stamina. Early on, he had made the decision not to give her the serum adaptations. After all, each serum was calibrated according to the desired result. He, of course, got the most powerful dose. As for Debi Ann, America needed a member of his family to identify with: someone non-fabulous, unlike himself and his kids. Debi Ann’s very ordinariness was going to help sweep him into the White House.
Still . . .
He glanced at himself in the mirror, then at her. It was undeniable that he was looking younger, and she was looking older.
She peered into the mirror behind him, adjusting the sweep of her blond hair so that it hit her chin at the right angle. “I’m going to do some shopping this morning, dear,” she said.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Sometimes I think the British appreciate teddy bears more than we do, I am sad to say. . . .”
Pierce tried to stifle his annoyance, but he couldn’t help himself. “If all goes the way it should, Debi Ann — and it will — you really have to find another cause. I mean, really. Teddy bears? Can’t you find an interest that’s more . . . first ladyish?”
Debi Ann stiffened. “They aren’t teddy bears, they are icons. Symbols of the innocence of childhood. Quality toys for quality kids,” she said, repeating the slogan of her Save the Teddies group. “It’s about conserving our cultural toy heritage. And our children’s health, dear. Don’t get me started on polyfill.”
No, he did not want to get her started on polyfill.