Thirty-One
Camp Peary, Virginia
The explosion made Giselle’s ears ring. For a moment, it blocked out everything else. Time seemed to slow around them in a
blur of arrested motion. She only saw Klaudia’s mouth moving, her words inaudible.
And then, like the snap of a slingshot, her senses returned. The world spun on again. Her eyes burned; she smelled smoke and
heard Klaudia’s voice, urgent and sharp.
“Come on,” she said. “Before Deckard closes the hatch.”
Giselle could hardly fathom how quickly Klaudia’s mind worked, how she could so adeptly solve Deckard’s riddle, but she was
more than glad to have her alliance. Where she had once felt intimidated by Klaudia, Giselle now felt admiration and fondness.
The air was hazy with the lingering remnants of the explosion and all around them were smoldering bits of plaster. She and
Klaudia picked their way through the wreckage.
They came to what little remained of the statue: just the base of it, shattered and smoking. Klaudia used a gloved hand to
carefully shift the rubble.
Beneath it was a dark chute, like a hole in the earth itself. Their flashlights revealed the rusted rungs of a ladder. Giselle’s
heartbeat quickened.
Klaudia descended first; Giselle heard the soft thud as she reached solid ground. The beam of her flashlight carved a path out of the darkness and Giselle followed her down.
She had expected the tunnel to have a dank quality, like a sewer, but instead the air felt stiff and chill.
The tenor of their footsteps told Giselle they were walking on metal, smooth and flat.
The flashlight jumped across the walls, illuminating stretches of steel with stamped letters in Russian and coiling lengths of unsheathed wire. Giselle shivered.
After a few moments, the ground began to tilt upward. And then, farther down the tunnel, she glimpsed another ladder.
As they approached it, she and Klaudia shared a glance. Klaudia’s stare, her icy gray eyes that had once so cowed Giselle,
now filled her with determination. Klaudia’s resolve became her resolve; Klaudia’s certainty her certainty.
Giselle aimed her flashlight up the ladder as Klaudia climbed. As soon as Klaudia reached the top, she beamed her own flashlight
down, guiding Giselle’s way.
They emerged into a corridor of sleek gray metal, fluorescent lights humming and flickering along the walls.
“Where do you think they are?” Giselle asked in a whisper. Her whole body was quivering with the adrenaline of desperation.
If Nadiya was close, she needed to get to her; it didn’t matter if Nadiya only regarded her with disdain—Giselle couldn’t
bear the thought of never seeing her again. Not after everything. Not after how Giselle had left her, alone in the deepening
snow. . . . And she couldn’t allow herself to think of what Deckard might be forcing her to endure.
“I don’t know.” Klaudia’s voice was low and tense. Was she as worried about Julian? Giselle had certainly seen the way Julian
looked at her, and the more subtle way Klaudia regarded him in return. “But let’s be careful. We—”
The double doors at the end of the hall opened. Two black-clad men charged them, pistols drawn. Giselle was too shocked to
feel afraid. Once they had both Giselle and Klaudia frozen at gunpoint, they parted to let Deckard through.
“Nice to see you girls,” he said. His tone was infuriatingly casual. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “Forty-six minutes. I underestimated you, Klaudia. The typical clandestine officer-in-training clocks in at seven hours for equivalent challenges.”
“I’m glad you’re impressed,” Klaudia said coldly.
Giselle stared down the barrel of the man’s pistol. It stirred up a memory of her mother’s boyfriend, his face leering and
wolfish. She swallowed hard and said, “Where are they?”
“Right this way,” said Deckard. He gestured to his men and they holstered their guns, allowing Giselle a momentary flash of
relief. “I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed to see you.”
Anger burned in her throat. Deckard led them through the double doors and down another corridor. There had to be an intricate
web of tunnels beneath Traumstadt that allowed his employees to duck in and out of the simulation easily, vanishing and reappearing
as if by magic. It would explain the man in the bowler hat and his seemingly impossible solidity.
Finally they came to a floor-to-ceiling glass cell, divided in two. It reminded Giselle horribly of a cage at the zoo. In
one cell Julian was hunched on the floor, head buried in the crook of his knees.
In the other cell was Nadiya. Giselle’s heart leaped.
Upon seeing her, Nadiya got unsteadily to her feet. She approached the glass, her face streaked with the dried salt of tears.
Her eyes were wide, terrified. She brought one hand up to the glass, fingers trembling, and pressed her palm flat against
it.
Giselle mirrored her movement, pressing her hand to the other side of the glass and splaying her fingers to match Nadiya’s.
A moment passed, their eyes locked wearily and without words. Her chest felt both wonderfully light and unbearably heavy.
It took Giselle another moment to school her thoughts.
Hoarsely, she said, “Let them out.”
Deckard pressed a button on the wall. There was a low rumble and then the click of an electronic lock. Nadiya practically threw herself against the door as it opened.
Giselle caught her before she collapsed to the floor. She lifted her head weakly to meet Giselle’s gaze.
“You’re all right,” Nadiya whispered.
Giselle could only manage to nod.
“There was a speaker. It played a recording of your screams. Over and over again. I thought . . .” Nadiya glared accusingly
at Deckard, eyes darkening. “How did you get that sound?”
“My colleagues at the lab have an artificial intelligence program that can extrapolate the sound of someone’s voice at all
volumes and tones with input samples. Your compatriots were unharmed.”
Giselle hardly felt unharmed. But a bit of her anger dissipated as she held Nadiya to her chest, grateful for the brief moment of physical contact. She
knew that would likely be cut short soon—either by Deckard or by Nadiya herself.
Julian stumbled out of his cell. He braced one hand on the wall, doubled over. His face was a frightful shade of whitish green.
Klaudia stood beside him, fingers hovering shakily above his shoulder, as if she wanted to touch him, to comfort him, but
couldn’t quite close the small distance between them.
Julian retched.
Klaudia’s eyes flashed. She turned to Deckard. “What did you do to him?”
“I played another artificially generated recording in his cell. He’ll be fine.”
A recording of what? Giselle wondered. Who was Julian Joyce-Young III’s Achilles’ heel?
“And what was the purpose,” Klaudia said slowly, “of any of this?”
“I’m glad you asked,” said Deckard. “First, it was a test of ingenuity—which you passed with flying colors. You made use of limited resources to rescue your comrades. You’ve proven you have the qualities necessary to be a successful clandestine officer.”
Klaudia’s gaze narrowed.
“As for your compatriots . . .” Deckard regarded Nadiya, still huddled in Giselle’s arms, and Julian, who was wiping his chin
with the back of his hand. “It was a test of loyalty. When I first brought them in, I gave them each the same offer: Betray
the other, and walk free. You’ll be pleased to know they both courageously endured their predicaments without forsaking their
allies.”
Predicaments was certainly a quaint way of saying torture. Giselle wasn’t sure what surprised her more—that Julian had not betrayed Nadiya, or vice versa. Now she caught the two of
them sharing a glance, tired but oddly tender.
“And finally,” Deckard went on, “it was a reminder to pay attention to your surroundings, to be ever-vigilant. One of the
most crucial skills a clandestine officer has is to be able to withstand the pressure of operating under constant surveillance.
You needed to know there is no margin for error. That any small mistake”—he looked between Nadiya and Julian—“could be fatal.”
The double doors slid open once more. A familiar figure emerged.
Nadiya lurched out of Giselle’s grip. In what felt like half the length of a heartbeat she had Crispin pinned against the
wall, arm jammed under his chin.
“You,” she snarled. “You sold us out, you little—”
“Nadiya—stop!” It was Julian’s voice, raspy but urgent. “It wasn’t him.”
She turned around, eyes smoldering. “How do you know?”
“Just . . . trust me,” Julian said. A flash of something that looked like guilt crossed his face. “Let him go.”
“It wasn’t him,” Klaudia reiterated, her tone more even.
Nadiya still looked unconvinced. She glanced at Giselle.
“It’s true,” Giselle said softly. “It was . . . that man, in the bowler hat. You and Julian both bumped into him. Crispin didn’t do anything.”
Nadiya’s eyes flickered. “How do you know?” she asked again.
“ ‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,’ ” Giselle began, looking to Klaudia for reassurance. When Klaudia nodded, she
continued more emphatically, “ ‘For he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.’ ”
Julian’s face lit up with recognition. “The Saint Crispin’s day speech,” he said. “From Henry V.”
“One of the Bard’s most iconic passages,” said Deckard. “About loyalty and camaraderie.”
Slowly, Nadiya eased her grip on Crispin. Her gaze was still dark with suspicion but she eventually allowed him to slide free.
He broke away from her, rubbing his throat and gasping for breath. Julian looked mildly concerned.
“Thank you for your restraint,” Deckard said, a rare tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “Crispin has indeed been here to help
you. Had you heeded my instructions—”
“You can’t punish us for trusting you in one moment and then scold us for not trusting you in the next,” Klaudia cut in. “How
are we expected to win a game with arbitrary and ever-shifting rules?”
“Who told you this is a game?” Deckard cocked his head.
“My apologies,” Klaudia said icily. “I must have been thrown off by your smirking and riddles.”