Chapter Twenty-Four #3
“But he didn’t touch my phone in Paris,” I say. I think back over my interaction with Allard and can’t remember any time he would have had the opportunity to take my phone, install a tracking app, and give it back. “Unless he’s a master pickpocket.”
“Did Sophie take it?”
I shake my head. “Let’s destroy the phone.”
“No.” Dane purses his lips. “Let’s leave it for now. If he knows we know he’s tracking us, it might get ugly fast. I want to think on it. I can disable it anytime.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I jump like Allard’s already here.
Dane approaches the door quietly and looks through the peephole, then relaxes and opens the door.
It’s room service. Dane brings the tray in, and we sit on the bed with our respective plates.
He’s ordered some kind of steak with fries, and I have a Bolognese. It’s hearty and warm.
His phone buzzes with a text while we eat. He checks it and says, “Luca says the 1982 hasn’t left his apartment. He’s seen him inside. At least we know where he is.”
That’s a small relief. “Oh—and I found out what the Sunshine on Leith thing is.”
I tell him about the cashier at the little market and the whole football thing; one of Edinburgh’s soccer teams, Hibernian, Hibs for short, uses the song as their anthem.
“I’m guessing we can see the stadium from the top of Arthur’s Seat,” Dane says. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”
■ ■ ■
I wake with a startle. The clock on the table next to my side of the bed says it’s just after four in the morning. My clothes are damp with sweat.
“Hey. You’re okay.” Dane runs a cool hand down my forehead, stroking my hair.
I take a few deep breaths. He pulls me against him, spooning me. It’s pure comfort. The room is dark, except for the distant lights of the castle through the filmy sheer curtains.
“I wish we could take both Allard and the 1982 out.” My voice is scratchy from sleep.
Dane runs another hand over my hair. “What if we could?”
I turn halfway toward him. “Don’t tease me with a good time, Dane.”
The soft exhale of a laugh hits my neck.
“I’ve been thinking about this. We know Allard is tracking your phone.
The 1982 is working on the puzzle, and Luca confirmed he’s still in Paris.
What if we leave a message for the 1982 when we find the fifth puzzle?
What if it says the game has changed and he should take out Allard?
Kind of like how you made that fake puzzle for the egg in Barcelona. ”
“But with a command to kill.”
“Right.” His voice is soft, serious.
“And we make it look like ProtoDark is giving this order?”
“Yes. Like the order to take out Allard is the fifth puzzle.”
I think through my interactions with Allard. The fear. The taunting. “Did I tell you he gave me a puzzle in Paris? In the wine cellar.”
“No.” His hand smooths over my hair again.
“It was an ROT3 Caesar cipher. Simple. A tease. Another way to hurt me. It decoded to DEAD FATHER.”
“Jesus.” The word is a breath against my hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“Is it realistic, telling him to kill Allard? Would ProtoDark give an order like that?”
“Yes.” The word is somber. Heavy.
“Have they given you an order like that?”
“I’m not an assassin. But I know they’ve taken people out. I was ordered to hack into a Belarusian politician’s email and place the kill order in his files.”
I consider to what degree I want to be freaked out by this. After the night I’ve had—the week I’ve had—I decide my freak-out Richter scale is low.
“What if the 1982 doesn’t solve the fourth puzzle, though?” I ask. “And he doesn’t come to Edinburgh?”
“Then there’s no harm done.”
“What if Allard were to find the puzzle and it’s to take himself out?”
“Allard is not solving these puzzles. He’s just tracking your phone.
All he knows is that we’re in Edinburgh, and based on prior experience, I know Allard can get fed up easily and will come take care of things himself if his guy doesn’t report back.
I’ll make the fifth puzzle look like it’s for the 1982 specifically—I’ll set up a website he has to log into with his PIN, which I’ll set up as a dummy login so that it takes any PIN—although I’m betting his is 1982.
And the response can be the command to take out Allard. ”
I picture the 1982’s long, thin face from the train keying in his PIN and getting the instruction to kill Allard in return.
I only saw him in flashes, but the overly wide eyes with pale skin and black attire that looked like a military uniform remain in my mind.
Because I didn’t get a good look at him, I’ve turned him into a horror-movie monster in my head over the past week.
Luca said in Paris that the 1982 can track anything.
It would mean sending Allard to his death. Is that something I can live with?
I think about Allard’s text to his associate to take me but kill Dane, and a cold certainty settles on me. Allard has hurt people before, and he definitely wants to hurt people again. I can’t allow Dane or myself to be his victim.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
In answer, he kisses the top of my head. It’s fast. A quick peck of affection, of partnership. And despite the fact that I want more, want him, I don’t push as he begins to explain the mechanics of his idea.