The Prince's Trap Read online

“Take a seat,” Washington commanded.

  Landon walked slowly to the table, pulled a chair out, and lowered himself onto the hard metal seat. He shifted a few times, trying to find a comfortable position, but his nerves were getting the best of him. He was thinking about Celia, but selfish fears for his own safety were becoming a priority.

  Washington ambled around the room in a wide circle, staring at Landon all the while. He then pulled out the chair across the table and plopped into it, sitting slightly sideways. He threw his arm over the back of the chair and crossed his legs, appearing very casual and relaxed. The light overhead reflected off his glasses, making it difficult to see his eyes behind the lenses, but Landon felt them boring into him.

  Minutes passed, and felt like hours, as Washington maintained his silent gaze. Landon stared back, confused. What is he doing? Is he waiting for someone? Why isn’t he talking? The unbroken stare began to wear on Landon. The silence pulled in around him, making him feel increasingly claustrophobic. His heart beat with resounding thumps in his chest, and his right eye began to twitch uncontrollably. His palms moistened with sweat and his left leg restlessly bounced up and down.

  With every passing moment, the silence continued to close in on him, squeezing him in a vice of anxiety. What is he waiting for? Why isn’t he talking? Does he already know the truth? Is he just waiting for me to confess?

  Unable to cope with the silence, Landon asked vehemently, “What did you want to ask me?”

  Washington shifted forward in his chair, taking his arm off the back of the seat and resting it on the table. He joined his hands together, lacing his fingers, and leaned over slightly. He never spoke, but continued to pierce Landon with a direct, unbroken glare.

  “What do you want me to say?” Landon asked quickly. Washington remained unmoved. “What? Do you want me to say I’m the mole? That I’ve been working with Celia for months? That I’ve been sabotaging missions since May with her help?” The words spilled from Landon’s lips before he realized what he was saying.

  “So now the truth comes out.”

  “I—I—” Landon stuttered.

  “It’s always fascinated me how, with all the tactics we learn to get the truth . . . torture . . . hacking . . . silence seems to be a foolproof way of leeching it out.”

  “But—” Landon’s eyes darted around the room, searching the area and his mind for something to pull him out of this disaster. How did he do that? Landon asked himself as he berated himself for being so weak and divulging so much. What do I do now? Dr. Brighton is getting away, Celia’s captured, and I’ve now given myself up! Could it get any worse?

  An idea sprung to mind. He may have incriminated himself, falling right into Washington’s trap, but Landon had information Washington lacked. It was something he’d seen in the crime dramas his mother had liked to watch. Sometimes the criminal can get away by giving up the bigger fish—and he had a bigger fish. It was desperate, but he had to try. Perhaps it would work.

  “Washington, something big is happening right now.” Washington’s eyebrows rose over the rim of his glasses. “It’s Dr. Brighton. I may have confessed to being the mole, but imagine the praise you’d get for bringing down Zeus. He’s the one you should be worrying about. He’s up to something, something much bigger than anything I’ve done.”

  “Is he, now?” he replied in a blasé manner.

  “I swear! He planned that whole thing tonight just to steal the stuff from Project Herakles. He lured Celia into the Vault. He tripped the alarms so you would find her and not notice him. I wasn’t supposed to be here. He drugged me at his apartment. You have to believe me.”

  “Believe you? Why on Earth would I believe you? You’ve confessed to working with Celia Jackson, and I have you in custody in this room. This is just a pathetic attempt to save yourself.”

  “But I’m telling the truth!” Landon’s voice rose with conviction. “Dr. Brighton planned this whole thing! He’s the Prince! He’s been watching all of us . . . for who knows how long! He’s known Celia was Artemis for God knows how long, but he waited for today to finally catch her! He’s dangerous!”

  Landon realized he was standing up; his hands were balled into fists and pressed heavily into the table.

  “You are quite the performer, Mr. Wicker. But this isn’t going to convince me of anything.”

  “Here!” Landon reached his arm across the table, his forearm dangling in front of Washington’s interlocked hands. “See for yourself! . . . I’ll show you!” If he couldn’t convince him with words, Landon decided he’d have to let him see for himself. Washington’s head tilted to the side, which removed the glare from his glasses so Landon could see his eyes staring inquisitively into his. “I’m serious! I won’t fight you! You can see everything. Brighton is the real danger.” Landon’s arm shook in front of Washington as he tried to entice him to create a synaptic sync and see his memory from the pagoda.

  Washington stared at him for several moments before he pulled back and said while shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

  “What? I’ll let you in!” Landon’s voice shook with desperation. This was the only thing he could think of that might get him out of the interrogation room. Why wasn’t Washington interested in the synaptic sync?

  “No, that is not necessary.”

  “Why?” Landon’s mouth opened in confusion as his brow furrowed. “Were you already—”

  A sudden strangeness permeated the air and stopped Landon. He panned the room, his face crinkling, dumbfounded. He could sense something was amiss, something outside of the interrogation room, something much more important than his current predicament. It filled the air in a manner unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It clawed at him, but Landon failed to identify it. One word came to mind in explanation—Brighton.

  He turned to Washington, intent on saying anything necessary to convince him Dr. Brighton was the greater threat to the Gymnasium; however, Washington was also looking off in the distance, with the faintest of grins. Landon’s ears buzzed at the realization.

  “Oh my God, you don’t only know about him, . . . you’re working with him.” Landon staggered backward, pushing the chair out from behind him, but before he could get too much distance, Washington shot up from his chair with unbelievable speed and latched onto Landon’s arm.

  Landon’s body froze mid-step. Then, against his wishes, his body reached back, grabbed the chair and pulled it forward. He had no control of his own body. As he unwillingly sat back down, Washington said, “Judging by your face, I imagine they didn’t tell you about this little trick. It’s one thing to hack into someone’s mind, but it’s far easier to overpower someone’s motor functions.”

  Landon felt like he was back in the pagoda. He could sense little difference between Morphium-12’s slow suppression of his body and mind and Washington Sykes taking control of his muscles. He tried with all his might to pull away, but his body did nothing. He was helpless to fight him. He was helpless—again.

  Washington continued to reach across the table to maintain his grip on Landon’s arm and control of his body. Now a full menacing grin stretched across his face. “He told me you were naïve, but I never realized how dense one person could be. It really is a tragedy that someone like you was given so much power.”

  “What?” Landon was surprised to hear his voice; apparently, Washington wasn’t controlling everything.

  “You’re the most powerful one of us to ever exist, and yet you squander your potential with such a miniscule brain. He says you have potential, but I’m hard-pressed to see it.” Washington looked dead into Landon’s eyes. “He knew you were the answer the instant he saw the photos of your apocratusis . . . the one who’d give us the power we rightfully deserve.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You still don’t understand?�
� Washington chuckled with pleasure. “He’s singlehandedly brought this day into being. He saw every player; he predicted every possible deviation; he planned for every conceivable contingency . . . and he did it all without detection.

  “I don’t know how he does it, but he has a divine ability to understand precisely how people will behave and use that to his advantage. He’s like a god! He sees the future and brings it to pass.” Washington’s zealous admiration scared Landon.

  “Do you think this was an accident? Think about all the events in your life, all the things that have happened to you since you came to the Gymnasium. Do you think they happened by fate or coincidence?” His huge grin made him look slightly unhinged. “Since the moment you stepped into the Gymnasium, every decision you’ve made, every event, every step has been masterfully made for you through his influence. It wasn’t because of fate that you were recruited for the Pantheon. It wasn’t coincidence that put you on the forty-seventh floor of Metis Labs to discover that Artemis was none other than your friend, Celia Jackson. He understood your need to know the truth and knew if you found out Celia’s secret identity, your natural inclination would force you to work with her. People like you are the easiest to influence . . . so hell-bent on doing the right thing . . . so blinded by loyalty and a pointless need to find the good in everyone. It’s just too easy.” Washington stared off, reveling in the skillful manipulations of Dr. Brighton.

  Landon was dumbstruck. Could this really be true? Did Dr. Brighton orchestrate everything that had happened to him? The idea sent a chill through Landon’s body. He replayed his life since coming to the Gymnasium. He thought of meeting Celia in orientation and his training. He relived the First Frost Frenzy and the day he learned of the Pantheon and the Olympic Tower. He visualized standing in the lobby of Metis Labs, security forces flowing out from the doors, and Dr. Brighton commanding him and Cortland to go up to the forty-seventh floor to complete the mission. Landon had wondered many times why he, the untrained newbie of the team, was chosen for the task. It was his first mission. Everyone else in the Metis Labs lobby was more qualified than he was to carry out the mission.

  But he wanted me to find Celia. He knew if I discovered her, I’d work with her. Landon felt ashamed as he ran through the events of the past year. He realized if he hadn’t been on the forty-seventh floor, he would have never known about Celia or learned the nefarious truth of the Gymnasium and the Pallas Corporation. Landon then thought about what Dr. Brighton had said to him in the pagoda. He had planned the future sequence of events with utmost accuracy: Katie Leigh did panic when she couldn’t find Landon; Celia rushed into the Vault when Katie Leigh told her about Project Herakles; and finding Celia in the Vault served as sufficient distraction for Dr. Brighton to steal what he wanted. Landon felt nauseated as he wondered if there was anything that had happened where he wasn’t being unknowingly guided.

  “Everything that’s happened . . . everything I’ve done . . . it was all planned before I ever did it.” Landon’s voice was soft and introspective as he gazed down at the table.

  “That’s not entirely true,” Washington interjected. “Some unforeseen circumstances have arisen, but in his genius, Dr. Brighton managed to see the deviation and adapt his plan accordingly.

  “Take my presence here. An inquiry into the mole situation was never in his plans, but the moment he learned of it, he knew how important it was to have the right Sentry head up the investigation. They would usually only entrust such tasks to Maureen, which would have fit nicely into Dr. Brighton’s plans since she’s the one that brought me into Dr. Brighton’s fold. But she was unfortunately otherwise engaged at the time.

  “With that, the task had to be delegated to someone else within the Sentries, but if anyone other than I had been assigned the job, the consequences would have been catastrophic. So with just the slightest nudge to the right person, I was given the task.”

  Looking up at Washington, Landon said, baffled, “You knew I was the mole the whole time.”

  Washington started to laugh heartily. “Of course I knew you were the mole. Even if I hadn’t known before I arrived, I would have by the time our interrogation was over. You put up quite a fight that day, but I managed to access your mind in the end. I think it’s funny you actually believed you kept me out, but I saw everything you’d been up to. I, however, had to give the acting performance of my life that day. Dr. Wells was watching every interrogation—yours with particular interest. It was my job to convince him that you were not the mole.”

  “But Dr. Brighton said he needed me out of the way. If that’s true, why did you let me go that day?”

  “It was necessary to let you go. You’ve always been a part of the plan until the end. We couldn’t have gotten to this point without you. You were integral to bringing Katie Leigh and Celia together. The minute he discovered you enlisted Katie Leigh’s help after Celia unexpectedly fell into her coma, he devised the events of the past day. Even when a curveball is thrown into the mix, he always has a contingency.”

  The way he said that last phrase sounded eerily pertinent to Landon, but the rage that had slowly built up inside him made it difficult for him to see why. He couldn’t believe he’d been so easily manipulated, so completely used by someone he thought was his friend. I trusted him. I defended him!

  “But why? Why do all of this?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? ‘There is nothing more weak and unstable as power not based on one’s own strength.’ He saw that from the beginning. He saw how ridiculous it was that we take orders from them . . . ordinary people. We are far superior to them in every way. He showed us that we have a greater purpose and told us how we could take our rightful place. And today is the day that happens. Operation Crowned Prince has finally been activated.

  “Be happy, Landon. You have given us the ability to rectify what nature failed to provide. Dr. Brighton has a league of people whose intellect is great but who, for whatever reason, were denied the psychokinetic abilities to match their potential. We were denied the power you somehow received. But we will not make the same mistake the Triumvirate did and have our power based on others: Our reign will be wholly based on our own strength. We will be untouchable. And we can finally put the right leader and visionary at the top of the Triumvirate of Titans.

  “For years, they’ve been nothing more than a directionless club of imbeciles. They were too blind to see the strength and power they could have if only their resources were harnessed. But once Dr. Brighton has seized control with his acolytes at his side, he will shape the new course of the human race.” Washington paused, and his eyes gleamed with unspoken knowledge.

  Landon’s anger swelled inside him as Washington spoke, but the reality of his own ignorance and blind faith ignited him with renewed purpose. He may have been skillfully manipulated into his current situation, but he couldn’t allow it to continue. Through gritted teeth, he said, “I’m not going to let you do this.”

  Laughter burst from Washington at Landon’s comment. “It’s too late. It’s already begun. Alea iacta est. The die has been cast. How do you think you can stop it now?”

  Landon’s newfound resolve kindled his abilities, stoking the dormant strength inside him that his fear and nerves unintentionally suppressed. “You said it yourself . . . I’m the most powerful one of us.”

  A surge of energy coursed through Landon’s body, which, when it reached Washington, forced his hand to jump off Landon’s arm as if jolted by electricity. Washington’s eyes bulged with surprise. Feeling control of his body return, Landon rose from the chair and with his hand extended, grabbed Washington in a telekinetic field and threw him from his chair, slamming him into the wall.

  With the swipe of his other hand, the table and chairs flew out of Landon’s path. The sound of clashing metal reverberated through the room as the table and chairs clanged against the cement wall. Landon,
however, never broke his gaze. Stepping forward, he kept his eyes on Washington and held him against the wall as his fingers tightened like he was gripping an invisible softball.

  “You can’t stop him. There’s no way to abort Operation Crowned Prince. It’s too late.”

  Landon pulled Washington off the wall, floating him a foot off the ground, held up only by Landon’s power. Then he threw him back with excessive force. Washington winced with pain as his body collided with the hard cement. Dust streamed from the ceiling as the walls trembled. Landon moved closer to him; his jaw was clenched and his lips pressed together with pointed determination.

  “Yes, show me what I will have.” Washington seemed unfazed by Landon’s powerful grip on him. In truth, he sounded pleased. He actually appeared to be enjoying Landon’s display of force. “He will be the first to gain your power, but we will soon follow. The transformation’s already begun!”

  Authority and strength resonated in Landon’s voice as he took deliberate steps toward Washington. “Where is he?”

  Washington sealed his lips shut and took a long gulp as if swallowing the key to his locked mouth. His Adam’s apple moved noticeably up and down in his strained throat. Landon tensed as he grew irritated with Washington’s sudden silence. He liked to talk, which Landon had recognized during their first interrogation, and which was only confirmed by his actions this night, so silence was not acceptable.

  Landon tightened his grip on Washington’s body and effortlessly launched him across the room. He collided with the opposite wall and crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. His arms were dangling like they were boneless, and his legs jutted in awkward angles behind him. Landon marched toward him with short, purposeful steps. Overcome with rage and impatience, he reached out with his telekinetic strength and wrapped it around Washington again, hoisting him off the ground. Washington slowly rose off the floor until he hovered in the air. The veins in his neck, face and arms bulged as his body took on a deep purple color.