The Fallen Legacies

CHAPTER 13

I’m expecting Ivan to lead me to my father’s office, but instead we take the elevator down into the tunnels beneath Ashwood Estates.

“You woke up just in time for some action,” he says.

“Great,” I reply, struggling not to sound halfhearted. “What’s happening?”

“You’ll see,” he says. “Big shit going down.”

When the elevator doors hiss open, Ivan slaps me hard on the back. In my weakened state, I stumble forward a few steps. I’d probably have fallen right to the floor if not for Ivan grabbing me. He pulls me into a brotherly embrace, but in addition to an intimidating amount of strength, I feel a kind of menace in the way Ivan pats me roughly on the back. My palms begin to sweat.

“Seriously,” he whispers. “So glad you’re awake. Father’s going to be pleased that his favorite son is finally up and about.”

Ivan leads me to the briefing room. There, two dozen Mogadorian warriors sit in a semicircle before the General. My father is as big as ever, his towering presence commanding the attention of everyone assembled, none of them even noticing when Ivan and I slip into the room.

Projected on the wall behind my father is the image of a red-haired man in his early forties. The picture is grainy; it looks as if it was culled from surveillance footage.

“This man,” my father intones, midbriefing, “calls himself Conrad Hoyle. We believe, based on several tips from sources as well as extensive surveillance, that he is a member of the Loric insurgency. A Cepan.”

My father clicks a button on the remote in his meaty hand. Conrad Hoyle’s face is replaced by an image of a burned-down cottage in some rural area.

“One of our scout teams had an altercation with Hoyle at this location in the Scottish Highlands. We sustained heavy losses. Hoyle was able to escape.”

Another image appears. Conrad Hoyle, seated on a train, his face intent on a laptop screen. Whoever took this picture clearly did so with a camera-phone hidden a few rows ahead of Hoyle.

“A secondary scout team was able to pick up Hoyle’s trail and has been following him ever since. We believe he and his charge, a priority Garde target we know to be roughly thirteen years old and female, have split up. It stands to reason that Hoyle and his Garde have a safe house where they plan to reunite.”

A city appears behind my father, and I recognize it from my studies of Earth’s prime urban targets.

London.

“Conrad Hoyle is headed to London,” continues the General. “There, we believe he will reunite with his Garde and attempt to disappear.”

My gaze drifts over the warriors in the room. All of them are paying strict attention to my father, yet something is off.

“We will follow Hoyle to London and wait for him to lead us to the girl. And we will terminate or apprehend them both. Preferably terminate.”

As the General makes this pronouncement, I notice her. She’s sitting in the front row. Her blond hair stands out in this gathering of burly, dark-haired Mogadorians, but no one else notices her.

No one else can even see her.

Slowly, One turns around in her seat. She looks right at me.

“You have to stop them,” says One.