Time Trapped (19 page)

The fact that Abbie doesn't know makes me especially nervous. She's usually on top of everything happening around here.

We take seats with our recruits between us.

It's amazingly quiet in the Yard. But it's not a comfortable kind of silence. You can cut the tension with a broadsword. Everyone is waiting to see what will happen.

Suddenly the overhead lights flick off and the Yard is plunged into darkness. I sit up straight and force myself to breathe normally.

A moment later, a single beam of light illuminates the stage. It's soon joined by another and another. Someone steps from the shadows and into the spotlights. At first all I see are his shoes; soft and gold in the tradition of the great emperors of China. Then the rest of him comes into view: a dazzling orange and blue
hanfu
decorated with leaping dragons down the front and a jeweled sword tucked beneath his sash.

My eyebrows shoot up when I realize the person standing there is not Uncle.

It's Frank.

Does he know what he has just done? Doesn't he get that Uncle is the king of the hill around here and the only guy who's allowed to dress like an emperor?

As I listen to the applause greeting Frank's arrival onstage, I feel a swirl of emotions. By his actions, he is openly challenging Uncle's authority. But Frank is shrewd. He planned all of this for when he knew Uncle would be away at his castle in Scotland.

He simply stands there, basking in his own magnificence. I sink deeper into my chair.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming to this Gathering of recruits and trainers,” says Frank. “Unfortunately, Uncle can't join us this afternoon. There are pressing matters that he must take care of. He has asked me to fill in for him.”

Fill in, my foot. Uncle probably has no idea that this is even taking place.

“As you all know,” Frank continues, “Uncle's goal in this past year has been to grow Timeless Treasures. That is why there are many more of you here—both recruits and trainers—than ever before. Of course, merely being here does not guarantee your future success. Only the best will make it to the next level.”

What's he talking about? What next level? And what happens to the ones he doesn't think are the “best”?

Frank jumps around and paces the small stage as he speaks. Whoever is manning the spotlights is doing an amazing job of following him.

“We will face challenges,” Frank says. “But in order to be the best, as Uncle always says, we must meet all challenges head-on. And we will make mistakes along the way, but in order to be great, we must learn from our mistakes and carry on.”

The spotlights blink off. Something big is about to happen. I can feel it in my bones.

A moment later, the lights come on again. A young girl has joined Frank on the stage. She looks eight or nine years old.

“This is Priscilla,” says Frank. “Priscilla is the Recruit of the Day.”

There's a murmur among the audience. She looks so slight and fragile.

“Now, Priscilla,” begins Frank gently, and I swear he looks and sounds like a young Uncle, “let's talk a bit about how you came to be selected as Recruit of the Day. First, who's your team leader?”

“You are,” she says.

My only surprise is that Frank is still training recruits. I would have thought that was beneath him.

Frank smiles. “And what was your team's assigned snatch today?”

She shifts from foot to foot. “Our mission was to snatch a hat.”

“Yes,” Frank says. “But it wasn't just any hat, was it?”

She shakes her head.

“Priscilla's team's mission,” Frank says, “was to snatch the two-cornered—bicorne—hat famously worn by the great emperor of France, Napoléon Bonaparte, during the battle of Waterloo. A wartime snatch is difficult under any circumstances, but to steal something as personal as a hat from the world's most powerful man is near impossible.

“Why do you think I chose you to perform the actual snatch and not one of the other team members?” Frank asks.

Priscilla shrugs.

“She's so modest.” Frank smiles. “I'll tell you why. I picked Priscilla because she's cool under pressure. Did anyone try to stop you from completing the snatch, Priscilla?”

She nods.

“Tell us what happened, please.”

“Well,” she says, “right after I snatched the hat from Napoléon's desk and substituted a replica, his bodyguard grabbed me, and said ‘
Je t'ai attrapé!'
—I caught you.”

“Really. How rude! And what did you do then?” Frank asks.

“I tried to wriggle free, but I couldn't,” Priscilla says.

“Yes. And then?”

“Then he lifted me by my ear and turned me around to face Emperor Napoléon.”

“And?”

“The emperor frowned and called me
une petite voleuse
—a little thief. I cried and begged him not to tell my parents. Then I reached under my cloak and handed him the hat.”

Frank smiles. “Forgive me, Priscilla, but how is it that the snatch was successful if you had to give back the snatch object?”

“I didn't give him back the snatched hat,” she says. “I gave him back a replica.”

“A replica? I don't understand,” Frank says. “Didn't you already place a replica on the desk when you snatched the original?”

“Yes, I did. But I had two replicas with me.”

“Two replicas.” Frank nods approvingly. “And whose idea was that?”

“Mine,” Priscilla says, smiling.

“Yours,” repeats Frank, patting her on the head as if she was a good dog.

Then he turns to the audience and says, “Didn't Priscilla do well?”

There's a smattering of applause.

“Good work, Priscilla,” he says. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Priscilla smiles brightly, turns and begins to head off the stage. But Frank reaches out a hand and places it firmly on her slim shoulder. I shudder, imagining that hand landing on my own shoulder.

“Not yet,” he says. “You have one more task to perform. Please wait.”

She dutifully stands next to Frank as he turns to a burly trainer I don't recognize and says, in a voice loud enough for us all to hear, “Bring him in.”

The trainer disappears behind the curtain, and a moment later he is back, leading a short, pudgy boy recruit onto the stage.

There is a gasp from the crowd. The boy's hands have been tied behind his back.

I switch my ocular implant to full zoom.

“What's your name, recruit?” All of the sunshine is gone from Frank's voice.

“J . . . Jaimini,” the boy says.

“Jaimini,” Frank repeats, his hand stroking his chin.

“Whose snatch team are you on, Jaimini?”

“I'm on Lydia's team,” he answers.

“And what was your snatch?”

“We went to 1789 Virginia to snatch President Thomas Jefferson's waffle iron.”

A few people snicker, and if the tension in the room weren't so high, I'd be laughing along with them. But instead, I'm at the edge of my seat waiting to see what will happen next.

“And was the mission successful?” Frank asks.

Jaimini mumbles something under his breath.

“Speak up please, Jaimini. I want everyone to hear your answer. I will ask again: was the mission to snatch the waffle iron a success?”

“No.”

The boy's legs are shaking badly, which is no surprise. In fact, I'm amazed that he's still able to stand.

“And why not?” Frank asks.

“I . . . I forgot to snatch it.”

Frank turns and paces the length of the stage. The lighting guy is a little slow this time to follow, and for half a second, Frank disappears into shadow before the spotlight finds him again. He lingers near the edge of the stage for a moment before returning to stand beside Jaimini.

The audience has fallen completely silent. I bet they can hear my rapid breathing.

“You forgot,” Frank repeats, slowly. Although his voice is soft, each syllable, each word, sounds as if he's whispering in my ear. There is a great weariness in Frank's voice. It's clear he wants us to know that Jaimini has disappointed him.

“Could it be that the reason you forgot was that you were distracted?” asks Frank.

Jaimini nods and says, “Yes.”

It's clearly the wrong answer, but what else could he say?

“And what do you suppose you were doing, Jaimini, that made you distracted?”

“I was . . . eating waffles,” the boy says in a small voice.

“Louder!” commands Frank.

“I WAS EATING WAFFLES!” screams the boy, and then he collapses on the floor of the stage, a whimpering heap.

“There, there,” Frank says, bending down to help him up.

But even as he does this, he nods to the trainer, who disappears again behind the curtain.

My stomach twists in a knot.

The trainer reappears on the stage. He's wheeling a basket the size of a bathtub. It's filled to the brim with something. He angles the basket toward the audience, and I catch a glimpse of its contents.

Waffles. The tub is filled with waffles.

“It must be a bit nerve-racking to be up here in front of everyone,” Frank says.

Jaimini says nothing, but his wide eyes tell the story. He is terrified.

“Would you like a waffle to calm your nerves, Jaimini?” Frank asks in a sickly sweet voice.

The boy nods, and the corners of Frank's lips curl upward in a sympathetic smile.

He gestures to Priscilla and she steps forward. “Priscilla, would you be so kind as to give Jaimini a waffle? But I'm afraid you'll have to feed it to him . . . he doesn't have use of his hands right now.”

She plucks a waffle from the basket, walks over to Jaimini and feeds it to him, a bit at a time. As soon as he is done, Frank asks, “Would you like another?”

Jaimini shakes his head, but Frank ignores him and instructs Priscilla to bring another waffle.

She hesitates, looking from Frank to Jaimini and then back again to Frank.

“Go ahead. It's okay,” Frank says, smiling.

A shudder goes through my body.

As before, Priscilla places the waffle close to Jaimini's mouth, feeding him pieces.

But no sooner does she finish feeding him than Frank points to the basket of waffles and instructs, “Give him another.”

Priscilla's hand shakes as she takes another waffle, tears it into pieces and begins feeding them to Jaimini.

“Not like that,” Frank says. “Here, let me show you.” He reaches into the basket, grabs a waffle and stuffs the whole thing into Jaimini's mouth. The boy makes a motion to spit it out, but Frank is quicker. He clamps Jaimini's mouth closed.

“EAT IT!” he roars.

Jaimini's jaws are working furiously, chewing the waffle. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and his face is turning red. But even before he is able to finish the waffle in his mouth, Frank is shoving another in, commanding Jaimini to chew.

I can't watch anymore. But try as I might, I can't tear my eyes away either.

Frank releases his hand just long enough for Jaimini to spit out a mess of half-chewed waffle. The boy is making great rasping sounds.

“Still hungry?” Frank asks.

The boy shakes his head furiously.

“No, I suppose you're not,” Frank says. “Take him away . . . and then send him away.”

Two trainers appear on the stage and drag Jaimini away. Priscilla follows, and Frank is left alone on the stage.

“This is training camp, not summer camp,” Frank says to the audience. “And, like I said, only the best are going to make it. My advice to you is—be the best.”

The curtains close.

I sit there stunned, unable to move. I have a vague awareness of people around me starting to get up and head for the exit.

Get up and leave with everyone else,
a voice in my brain urges.

But I'm not listening. Only feeling. And the overwhelming feeling I have right now is anger, anger at Frank for thinking he can do anything to anyone he wants, including new recruits whose only “faults” are acting like the children they are. If I ever said that Frank is just a younger version of Uncle, I take it back. Uncle would never be this cruel to young kids.

The rage boiling inside me is transforming, morphing into something cold and hard. When I finally do stand, the only thing I feel is numbness. Numbness and a strong resolve to do one thing.

I have to save the recruits.

October 7, 2061, 7:43
P.M.

The Compound,
SoHo, New Beijing (formerly New York City)

I
have a snatch for your group to do tonight,” Frank says, catching me as I leave the dining room after supper. For a moment I think he must be kidding. There was only one mission scheduled for today. Besides, it's been a really long day and we're all way beyond tired.

And that's not even including my other worries. I'm far from being completely over my time fog, and if I spend more time in the past right now, it's bound to get worse.

I also badly need to speak with Abbie about what happened on Operation Coronation. There were too many things that went wrong for it to be a series of unfortunate coincidences. The only explanation is that we were deliberately fed the wrong intel for the mission. It must have been Frank.

But I have to be careful in how I answer him now. His little show of power a few minutes ago wasn't only for the recruits. It was for my benefit too.

“That may be difficult, Frank. Abbie and I need to debrief the recruits on Operation Coronation. Plus Uncle wants to meet with me this evening.”

“You can do the debriefing tomorrow,” he says. “As far as your meeting with Uncle is concerned, I've spoken with him, and he has agreed to reschedule it to another day.”

As he says this, he looks me straight in the eye. But I don't believe him. There's no way he could have spoken with Uncle about our meeting. When would he have had the chance?

“The data for the next mission is being uploaded to your mindpatches as we speak. You are to leave here within ten minutes.”

Is he crazy? Ten minutes is barely enough time to go to the bathroom, let alone gather up the recruits. Plus, Uncle would never force us to do an evening snatch the same day as a major mission, especially with new recruits. But Frank is not Uncle.

I glare at him, which is probably as bad as talking back, but I can't help myself.

“Do you think you're a big important guy now, Caleb? Just because Uncle appointed you as head of his new division?”

He's baiting me. I keep my mouth shut.

“Well, let me be the first to bring you back down to earth,” he says. “You're nothing. Uncle should never have brought you back. You know what they do to deserters in the army? They shoot them.”

I look away for a moment. An empty threat, that's all. He would never carry it out. But even as I think it, I hear Abbie's voice in my head pleading with me to be careful.

“And don't think for a minute,” continues Frank, “that you are the only one Uncle is confessing to about his regrets on past snatches and how they may have affected history. I know all about that too. You needn't concern yourself. I'm handling it.”

I don't dare say anything to contradict him. Much as I don't like it, there's no question that Frank holds the power around here. And as his little demonstration with Jaimini showed, he's not afraid to use it in brutal ways.

“All right,” I say. “What's the snatch?”

“Luca will brief you. He's in the Viewing Room. And Caleb,” Frank says as he walks away, “the snatch may be a bit tricky . . . so I suggest you go in first.”

I was surprised to hear Frank say that Luca was here. I thought he was with Uncle in Scotland getting things ready for the big event. Frank must have pulled him back.

The big man is sitting behind a desk when I knock and enter. A hologram of the Great Hall in Uncle's castle hovers above the desk. When he sees me he flicks off the holo.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“Frank sent me. My team has a snatch to do tonight. You're supposed to brief me.”

He looks at me for a moment as though he has no idea what I'm talking about. Then I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Yes, you are to snatch a vial from the tomb of Qín Shi Huáng, the first Emperor of China.”

I stare at him blankly.

“You've heard of the Fountain of Youth?” Luca says.

“Of course,” I say. “It's a myth. It doesn't exist.”

“No myth,” he says. “It's real.” Then he looks down at his handheld and reads, “Two thousand years ago, Emperor Qín Shi Huáng discovered the secret to eternal life; a vial containing the potion is buried with him at his tomb near Xian, China. The tomb was first discovered in 1974 by Chinese farmers digging a well. You and your team will timeleap to 1974 right after the entrance to the tomb was found.

“One more thing you should know,” says Luca, “is that the Emperor buried an army with him so that he could have a second kingdom in the afterlife. To get to his tomb, your team will need to first navigate through large burial rooms containing an army of warriors made from clay.”

A clay army? This guy was even more fruitcakes than Uncle.

“Is that all?” I say.

Luca nods, turns his back to me and flicks the holo of the Great Hall back on.

But my feet aren't moving. “Are you sure that there isn't anything else we should know about the mission?”

Luca spins around to face me. There's an angry expression on his face. “I already told you everything you need to know.” He practically spits the words.

“Yeah, well that's what you also said on the last mission,” I say. “But when we got there, we found out the intel was all wrong.”

I can't believe I said that. If he goes back to Frank with this, I'll probably be in for some major punishment for challenging Luca's authority.

Luca stands up from his chair and rises to his full height, which is a good foot taller than me. He narrows his eyes to slits and looks down at me. “Be happy I told you as much as I did.”

“Uncle would never send new recruits into an unknown situation,” I fire back.

Then, surprisingly, he begins to laugh. His laughter fills the entire room.

It's not a happy kind of laughter. It's bitter and cruel and meant to make me feel small.

As I leave the Viewing Room, my entire body is shaking. I wait until the trembling slows before mindpatching Abbie to tell her to get everyone ready.