“We were focused on the Blackstone mercenaries tonight,” Caleb said. “Put a timeline together of their last few years of operations.”
“And?”
“I grew up around the military, but that stuff?” Caleb shuddered. “They’ve basically been one step ahead of international-war-crimes charges for years.”
“They seemed like such nice guys when they were trying to shoot us,” Taylor said.
Caleb smiled in her direction and started to say something else, but then Kopano flopped down in the seat next to Taylor. “I may be a mechanical genius,” he declared, cleaning his hands off on a rag.
Taylor turned in Kopano’s direction and wiped a smudge of grease off his cheek. “Aren’t you the same guy who needed my help printing his literature essay earlier?”
“They never covered paper jams in our training,” Kopano said.
Nigel couldn’t help but notice the way Kopano looked at Taylor. It was the same way Caleb looked at Taylor. Both of them staring at her with those smitten googly eyes. Straight guys. So obvious.
“All right,” Professor Nine said. He clapped his hands, which sounded vaguely cymbal-like on account of his metallic arm. “We all here? Let’s get started.”
Dr. Goode returned with his tea, pushing over the whiteboard with his free hand. All the information they’d managed to gather about the Foundation was taped up there. Nigel had seen it all before—had practically memorized it—and still his eyes devoured the mystery, seeking something he might have missed.
There was a grainy picture of Einar—the mind-controlling Garde who nearly murdered Nigel—taken by a red-light camera in Los Angeles just days before he orchestrated an attack by the Harvesters to kidnap Taylor. Written on a Post-it note next to Einar’s head: Emotional manipulation. Gone rogue? Douchebag.
Einar wasn’t alone in the photo. Next to him in the car was Rabiya. She’d been ditched by Einar, abducted and beaten by those Harvester loons and then taken by Einar again. Written next to her: Teleporter. Location unknown. Brother = Prince?
Attached to that last note was a picture of a handsome young Arab prince and a news story about his miraculous recovery from leukemia. Taylor was pretty sure that was the guy she’d helped heal in Abu Dhabi.
There was a photo of Vincent Iabruzzi, the healer who the Foundation had kidnapped while he was on a mission with Earth Garde in the Philippines.
Some players they didn’t have images of, so those names went on the board as index cards. Taylor had identified two other healers working for the Foundation—Jiao, a Chinese girl who seemed to be a willing asset, and a nameless disabled boy who the Foundation appeared to have tortured into compliance. And then there was the mysterious “B” who had reprimanded Einar via video chat and, in all probability, sent Taylor the thank-you note she received after she escaped from Iceland. The note was pinned to the board, too. According to Taylor, who had heard her voice, she sounded British.
Figured. Most of the Brits Nigel knew were total wankers.
“We’ve actually got good news for once,” Professor Nine said. “Well, if you consider us having a Foundation rat living close by good news. Lexa? You want to tell them?”
Lexa looked up from her laptops. “At the most recent meeting of the Academy administrators, I mentioned how because of a recent hack attempt we were relocating all of our student data to a new secure server.”
“Thrilling,” Isabela said, shuffling her flash cards.
“This hack—did they get anything?” Kopano asked.
“There wasn’t actually a hack,” Lexa said. “Not a new one, anyway. I only gave the info about the new server out to the other administrators.”
Nigel could see where this was going. He grinned. “Bloody cookie jar. Tell me that worked.”
Lexa winked at him. “Oh, it worked.”
Malcolm set down his tea and began to tape a new set of pictures to the board.
“Sorry,” Caleb said, raising his hand. “I’m lost.”
“It was a test,” Lexa said. “A trap. We wanted to see if someone would try to hack this new server—which didn’t contain any actual info. They didn’t even wait twenty-four hours.”
“The mole is an administrator,” Ran said.
Taylor looked at Nine. “I thought you said this was good news? You think it’s good that the Foundation corrupted someone so high up at the Academy?”
Nine shrugged. “It’s good that now we can bust their dumb ass.”
Malcolm had finished taping four images to the board. All mug shot–style photos from Academy staff IDs.
DR. SUSAN CHEN. DEAN OF ACADEMICS.
COLONEL RAY ARCHIBALD. HEAD OF SECURITY.
DR. LINDA MATHESON. HEAD OF HEALTH AND WELL-BEING.
GREGER KARLSSON. EARTH GARDE LIAISON.
“One of those people,” Lexa said, “is working for the Foundation.”
“We just need to find out which one,” Nine said. He glanced at Taylor. “And then we spring our trap.”
Nigel rubbed his hands together. “Hell yes,” he said. “Let’s go hunting.”
Chapter Three
RAN TAKEDA
THE TRAINING CENTER
THE HUMAN GARDE ACADEMY—POINT REYES, CALIFORNIA
SWEAT BEADED ON RAN’S FOREHEAD AS SHE LET the energy pour out from her palms and into the slab of concrete. She had probably used her Legacy more than a thousand times and yet the sensation still surprised her. It tickled. How was it possible that something so potentially destructive could tickle?
Charged up with her energy, the stone gave off a crimson glow, its molecules vibrating. Ran sometimes wondered where the energy came from. It was a destabilizing force and, apparently, she possessed an unending font of that deep within her.
What did that say about her?
She had spent time with some of the other kinetics—the students whose Legacies allowed them to produce energies and elements from nowhere. There was Omar Azoulay, who could breathe fire. There was Lisbette Zabala, who could create and manipulate ice. These Legacies made sense to Ran. They weren’t inherently violent. Fire could keep someone warm in the winter, and ice could keep them cool in the summer. The chaotic energy that Ran produced simply blew up, no matter the season.
It came from nowhere. And it produced nothing.
Ran could feel it under her fingertips. The charge in the concrete was growing and growing. If she took her hands away now, Ran would have about five seconds to get cover. Then, the stone’s destabilized molecules would become permanently repulsed from one another and fly violently apart. The stone would explode, shards would go everywhere, and bystanders would be hurt.
But that didn’t have to happen.
“That’s good, Ran,” Dr. Goode’s voice issued over a loudspeaker. “I’ve got my reading. You can stop.”
The scientist watched from an adjoining room, protected by a window of blastproof glass. He monitored her activity through a powerful set of lenses that recorded data on a variety of spectrums. Next to Malcolm sat Lexa. As usual, she had a laptop open in front of her, although her eyes were currently locked on Ran’s glowing block. Lexa didn’t normally come to these sessions, but she’d been sticking close since the midnight meeting a couple of days ago.