The Prince's Trap Read online

  “All right, let’s get started.” Katie Leigh spoke determinedly, like a commander giving her troops the go-ahead.

  Landon and Riley both followed her orders, starting to telekinetically raise books off of the stacks and begin their foundations for a house of . . . books.

  Landon worked meticulously, initially taking the time to create risers of books that were of like sizes to maybe give him the edge on his friends. He saved the wide, thinner books for the cross supports, thinking that their extra area and lighter weight would keep the house a bit more stable. He disregarded any thick or warped books, considering their girth or inconsistent shape to be a liability. After a bit, he thought he was doing really well, but when he looked at Katie Leigh, he realized he was far behind.

  They had only been working for around fifteen minutes, and she already had a house of books that was three stories high and seven risers across at the base. Its roof was already taller than she was. Landon wondered if she had made a lot of these before the Gymnasium. He knew Katie Leigh was just as competitive as he was, and perhaps she had purposefully selected an exercise she knew she could win.

  Riley was not faring as well. He was managing the telekinetic movement of the books well enough, but not spending the time to really construct a sound building. To Landon, it appeared as if he were just trying to force the house to cooperate, stacking book after book to no avail. He hadn’t even built a first story when Landon went back to working on his own house.

  After thirty minutes, Katie Leigh still seemed to be unstoppable; her house was now six stories high and expanding across the length of the table. Landon was catching up but still had a ways to go. Then a devious thought came to his mind. This is just for fun, he rationalized to himself. It’s not like it means anything. So as inconspicuously as possible, he flicked his finger, sliding the book at the end of Katie Leigh’s first floor back just a few centimeters. It was all that was needed to send her entire structure down. The books rained down on the table. As they continued to domino, the table trembled. Landon held his breath in fear that his action would end up collapsing his house, too.

  Katie Leigh had a look of horror on her face as she looked at her literary rubble, but not even a minute later, her expression turned sour and she glared at Landon.

  “What?” he asked, attempting innocence.

  “You know what,” she said as she shook her finger at him with vigor.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Landon swore as he fought back a smile. Katie Leigh’s reaction was hilarious to him, but he didn’t want to give himself away.

  “Gosh, you’re just like Riley,” she spouted, exasperated. “You’re so childish!”

  “Hey, how did I get dragged into this?” Riley interrupted, sounding mildly hurt by Katie Leigh’s words.

  Suddenly, Landon’s house of books collapsed, raining another torrent of bound paper onto the table. Books spilled onto the floor. The flapping of pages and sonorous thuds as the books fell echoed through the alcove.

  “Now who’s being childish?” Landon asked sarcastically, looking directly at Katie Leigh with an exaggerated scowl.

  “Maybe it’s what you deserved,” she retorted. “It’s not like you didn’t deserve it.”

  “Well—”

  Before Landon could finish his thought, the door to the study alcove swung open. Standing in the doorway was Brock, and he looked less than enthused to be there.

  “Weirdo, Dr. Wells wants to see us,” he said, cold but stern. “Leave these dweebs and meet me there.”

  Brock was gone just as quickly as he’d appeared, the door left ajar as if he couldn’t be bothered to shut it behind him. Landon turned back to his friends. Books were scattered everywhere. He looked at them both apologetically as he stood up from the table, hoping they’d forgive him for leaving them to clean up the mess.

  Riley didn’t seem to care, though; he had the lively expression of a four-year-old boy who had just learned he was going to Disney World for the first time. Excitement and wonder radiated from his face. “I can’t believe we were here when you got called to a mission,” he said ecstatically. “That’s so cool!” Katie Leigh slapped Riley on the arm, but he missed her intention. “Ouch!” he said to her before returning his attention to Landon. “It is a mission, right? That’s why Dr. Wells wants to see you?” He was so desperate for validation.

  “Keep it down,” Landon replied quietly as he motioned for Riley to temper his volume. “And I’m not sure, but that’s probably the reason. You can’t talk about it though, okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Riley answered as he tried to suppress his excitement. Landon wished he was as excited. He hadn’t been on a mission for nearly a month, so rather than feeling anxious and eager, he was curious why all of a sudden he was needed. He was concerned it might not be a mission at all. Perhaps his time with Sykes had come at last.

  “I’ll talk to you guys later,” Landon said to them just before turning to leave. “And sorry for leaving you guys with this mess. I’ll make it up sometime.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Katie Leigh replied, sentimentally. “Just make it back safely. Good luck.”

  “Yeah! Good luck,” Riley added as Landon turned and headed off to the Olympic Tower.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE 3:23 TO

  BROOKLYN

  Landon stood beside the Pegasus One in his tactical uniform, waiting on Brock to join him in the Stable—the top floor of the Olympic Tower and the transport hangar—and head off on their mission. This was the first time he would ever be seated in the Pegasus One jet, and he was a bit anxious. He had learned about it, seen it many times, and yearned for the day he would enjoy the thrill of riding in it, but the reality wasn’t what he’d envisioned, particularly the fact that Brock was the pilot and his only teammate for their mission.

  Brock rose up on the lift to meet Landon on the hangar bay a few minutes later, looking less than enthused to be working with him.

  “Get in the jet, Apollo,” he said, as he strutted toward the jet, blowing by Landon without so much as a glance, his demeanor as spiky as his light brown hair. “I’d like to get this over with sooner rather than later.”

  Landon walked over the hull of the Pegasus One and pushed a small metal button that looked like just another rivet holding the jet together. Out of the jet a set of footholds rotated out of the side of the plane. Using the holds, Landon climbed the up the side of the jet to his station and awkwardly slid down into the back seat of the Pegasus One’s tandem cockpit. Once inside, he immediately felt claustrophobic. There was barely enough space to move his arms, the walls of the cockpit pressed against the seat, and a console covered in dials, buttons and monitors pressed against his knees. With a touch of the yellow button on the chair, a five-point harness activated and snugly strapped Landon into his seat.

  Brock descended into his station at the helm and initiated the controls. He wondered how Brock managed the constrained space. Standing over six feet tall with shoulders much broader and muscles much larger than his, Landon couldn’t figure out how Brock would fit into the pilot’s seat at all. If he moves an inch, he must accidentally push all sorts of buttons, Landon thought.

  While Landon secured his aviation headset, buttons ignited on the console in an array of colors as the monitors revealed radars, maps and sensor readings. Landon began to reach out, curious what each of the buttons and switches would do, but just before his hand touched one glowing blue, Brock yelled over the divider.

  “You touch anything,” he shouted, “and I will eject you from this plane.” His agitated tone didn’t make Landon feel any more comfortable about their mission. He wasn’t convinced they were going to handle this team dynamic well.

  Landon sat back in his seat, resting his hands on his lap. He shut his eyes and said a little prayer that he and Brock could
complete the mission without killing one another in the process.

  The subtle hum of the ship’s engines rose in volume as Brock activated the thrusters. As it lifted off the ground, a glass dome slid over Landon’s head and encased him for the flight. It hissed as a pressure seal was created.

  As if lifted up by a string, the Pegasus One ascended effortlessly up the shaft of the Stable. Landon was dumbfounded by how smoothly the aircraft moved; if he hadn’t been able to see the walls and pipes as they passed by, he wouldn’t have realized they were in motion.

  “All right, here we go,” Brock said to Landon through the headset as they dangled in the air and watched the steel doors of the Stable retract. “And try not to piss yourself.”

  “Why would I—” Landon started. Then the jet propulsion activated, propelling them forward and forcing Landon to swallow his words.

  Landon could barely breathe as the g-force squished him into his chair and pulled his body back. He had learned in training how fast the Pegasus One could travel, but seeing the number in a training document was totally different from feeling it. He was sure they were seconds away from breaking the sound barrier! Landon looked out the side of the aircraft through the corner of his eyes, watching the clouds speed past in a blur of blue and white. He couldn’t even see the ground from his vantage point, and he didn’t want to turn his head to look down for fear of spraining his neck. Realizing they’d be in New York City much quicker than he’d imagined, Landon closed his eyes and took a long, steady breath. The Pegasus One could be piloted singlehandedly, and as Brock would certainly not allow him to do anything, Landon had nothing technical to do during the flight. Trying to relax, he mentally ran through the mission, visualizing their objectives.

  “Ares and Apollo, I’ve requested you both personally for a mission of grave importance. One of our most valuable assets has been collecting some intel we need extracted.

  “The asset is Ichirou Fujimaki.”

  Landon recalled the holographic bust of the Japanese man who was their target. He had smooth, tanned skin and jet black hair cut close to his head. He wore a grave expression and had an air of inherent pride. He didn’t appear very friendly or pleasant in the image Dr. Wells displayed.

  “He works for a Japanese conglomerate, Susano-o Industries, and he’s been feeding us updates of their dealings for years.”

  Susano-o Industries. Landon catalogued the name in his memory, making it a point to ask Katie Leigh about it once he returned from the mission. Dr. Wells had proved time and again his inability to ever tell the Pantheon the full truth, and Landon imagined these “dealings” with Ichirou Fujimaki, and his employer Susano-o Industries, were more complicated than he let on.

  “As such, we need you two in New York City for the handoff.”

  Landon had a sickening feeling when the Pegasus One descended for its landing. Looking out the window, he watched as they touched down on a derelict airstrip. The asphalt of the tarmac was cracked and faded from the sun and prolonged neglect. Tall, unkempt grass blew back and forth as the thrusters blasted them with warm air from the engines. A short distance down the runway, Landon noticed a sedan with blacked-out windows and a man dressed in a navy suit standing beside it.

  As the engines powered off, the glass canopy lifted up and the footholds rotated out of the side of the plane. Landon and Brock disengaged their harnesses, climbed out of the jet, and started toward the sedan.

  “You will land at an abandoned air field on Long Island, just outside of the city. A driver will be waiting for you there. He will identify himself as Mr. Andrews and to confirm his identity, will ask . . .”

  “Hello, I’m Mr. Andrews,” the man in the suit began as Landon and Brock approached. “When do you think this heat will let up?” he proceeded to ask.

  “When the gods allow,” Brock responded, making it a point not to distort a single word. Their response was just as important to Mr. Andrews as his question was to them. If the exchange of words was off in the least, it could mean someone had been compromised.

  Satisfied with Brock’s response, Mr. Andrews opened up the sedan’s trunk and pulled out two duffle bags. Inside was a set of clothes for each of them. “He will have outfits prepared for you that should be relatively inconspicuous. It will be beneficial for you both to draw as little attention to yourselves as possible. Put them on over your tactical uniforms, and then get in the car. Mr. Andrews will drive you both to Grand Central Terminal.”

  Landon pulled out a pair of dark-washed jeans, a snap-up flannel shirt, and a pair of white sneakers. He pulled them on over his tactical uniform and then climbed into the back seat of the sedan behind Brock, who was wearing a form-fitting dress shirt and a pair of grey slacks.

  The trip to Grand Central Terminal was one of the most awkward times Landon had ever experienced in a car in his life. Brock did not say a word to him, and Mr. Andrews was behind a soundproof, bulletproof pane of glass. Fortunately, the New York City skyline emerged after a short time, capturing his interest and making him forget his teammate sitting beside him.

  He couldn’t believe how big it looked. He was from a big city, one not too far from New York, but there was something about New York that made it seem grander and more important than where he grew up. Seeing it in movies and reading about it in books and magazines still couldn’t prepare him for the astounding size of the city. It was like seeing the high-peaked mountains of the Adirondacks appear after watching nothing but flat land for hours. The island of Manhattan was saturated with massive buildings that managed to cross the East and Hudson rivers, leaking their tall structures of development and industry into the surrounding lands of New York and New Jersey. The skyscrapers extended up to the cloud line, and Landon could already feel the roar of activity as they approached.

  “Can you focus?” Brock asked, still sounding agitated. “We’re almost there, and this isn’t a vacation.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Landon replied meekly as he pulled his head back from the window and stared straight ahead at the tinted glass divider.

  After about twenty more minutes, the driver startled Landon when he banged on the glass with his fist. They had arrived. The car stopped, and Brock pushed the door open and quickly alighted. Landon followed suit, joining him on the sidewalk in front of Grand Central Terminal. The sounds of the city seemed to magnify ten-fold once they were out of the car.

  The building mesmerized Landon. He had seen the railroad station so many times in movies and television shows, but it was much more impressive in person; it appeared to cover a whole city block, and the beautiful façade, with friezes and statues, and its iconic golden clock crowned by an ornate statue of Hermes, made Landon smile to finally see it in person. The number of people streaming in and out of its numerous doors was astounding. In just the few seconds Landon had spent admiring the station, he imagined more than a hundred people had come and gone.

  “Seriously?” Brock let out a huff of frustration as he looked up at the sky, seeming to ask God what he could have done to deserve this. “What the hell was Hector doing that he couldn’t be on this mission like he was supposed to?”

  Landon found himself staring at the sidewalk, embarrassed by his inability to stay focused on the mission. Brock was right. He was behaving too casually when there was serious business to do. When he looked at the clock at the top of the building, his heart nearly stopped. It was already 3:20, and they had somewhere to be at 3:23.

  “Once you’ve arrived at Grand Central Terminal, you are to enter the building from the main entrance on 42nd Street. From there you will cross the concourse and head down to the train platforms, which are on the lower levels. You must get to the platform for the Lexington Avenue Line to Brooklyn in time for the 4 train arriving at 3:23. Remember that—the 3:23.”

  Entering Grand Central Terminal, Landon was again taken aback by the gr
andeur of the building and the nonstop activity. People moved in and out of shops and restaurants while others sped across the open concourse and headed down to the platforms for their trains.

  Brock navigated across the concourse as quickly as he could, not even looking back to ensure Landon was following him. The crowds made it difficult to maneuver, but Brock, with his broad shoulders and his height, managed to force a number of people to slide out of his way upon seeing him bounding towards them. Without pausing, Brock and Landon absorbed the information on the signs and noted which staircase would lead them to the correct platform.

  The stale air and muggy heat from the trapped humidity made the dirty platform even worse than Landon could have imagined. He quickly wished he was back above ground. Taking the New York City subway always seemed like it would be a lot of fun, but after just a second on the platform, his entire perception of the famed public transit system shifted. Brock seemed to pay the atmosphere no mind but determinedly hunted for Ichirou. They had less than a minute before the train was scheduled to arrive.

  “Ichirou will be sitting on a bench toward the front of the platform. Landon, you are to sit beside him while Brock, you keep watch. He will have a brown attaché case with him. When the 3:23 arrives, he will board the train. He should leave the case behind for you to collect.

  Landon was the first to spot Ichirou. He was wearing a pale grey suit with a white shirt and purple tie, and he looked even more rigid in person than he did in the hologram. His back was perfectly straight and his feet rested side-by-side on the grimy floor in complete alignment. Beside him on the bench was his brown attaché case, which he held tightly with his right hand.

  Landon tried to approach casually, per his directive, as they were supposed to look like total strangers. Brock hung back against a pillar appearing completely disinterested while he surreptitiously scanned the platform for any suspicious activity.