The weather, which had been crisp and sunny, turned hot. A front shifted in from the north and mingled with the warm air hovering above Camp Valor and brewed into a violent, almost tropical storm. With pouring rain, high winds, and lightning, preparations ceased and all the staff ran to the lodge to wait it out.
Given the enormous expenditure of energy—the average camper burning in excess of seven thousand calories a day—one of the rules of Valor was that everyone ate well and as much as they could shove down their throats. So Eldon stoked the fire in the huge stone fireplace, and Wyatt and Mum boiled water for coffee and busily whipped up a late-night snack.
When the storm started, Wyatt ran to his empty cabin, but the drafty old structure seemed to quiver with every clatter and thunderbolt, so he donned his rain gear and hustled across the exercise field along a path that was a variable river of mud. He climbed the steps and, sopping wet, entered the lodge, where Cody sat by the fire with a snack.
Once Wyatt had shed his wet layers, he took a seat next to his brother. “What you got?”
Cody raised his mug. “Hot chocolate … and Mum made scones.”
“Ah.” Wyatt nodded. “Good day today?”
“Sure.” Cody blew across the surface of the cocoa. “Dad’s been busy. I’m kinda ready for the other campers to get here. Ready to do some shit.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Sorry … so I got a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Why are you up there?” Cody pointed to the line of photographs hanging just inside the entrance of the lodge. Each portrait had no name, but there was an inscription.
Wyatt turned and saw his own image high on the wall—tousled hair, chin up, the look of someone who thought he could never be burned. It was a bittersweet victory, knowing what he knew now and what he had lost. “Camper Wall,” he said softly.
“Top Camper Wall,” Mum corrected as she whisked through the lodge behind them. “For each year, there’s a portrait of a Top Camper, going all the way back to 1941. Your brother was last year’s,” she said, pushing through the kitchen doors.
“That’s pretty awesome.” Cody beamed, unable to hide his own naïve desire to prove himself.
“Yeah, well,” Wyatt said. “Doesn’t mean much.”
“That’s not true.” Cody began reading the inscription under Wyatt’s name, “The truest form of bravery is selfless—”
“Stop,” Wyatt said firmly.
“What? Why?”
“Just don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Fine … Oh my god.” Cody turned his attention to another photo from years earlier. “That’s gotta be Dad. Look at his hair. He was so young.” Cody laughed and began reading the inscription from three and a half decades ago: “Some men are built strong, some men imbued with courage, daring, and grit. Some men are simply built for glory … Cool.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “Dad was a hero. Still is.”
“I think I know another one,” Mum said, putting her hand on Wyatt’s shoulder.
Wyatt’s face instantly scowled. “Don’t waste a word like that.”
Wyatt hated being on the Top Camper wall and he wanted to get away from the faces, from Mum and her insinuation that he was a hero. He looked at the scone and no longer had an appetite. He started putting his rain gear back on.
“Well, I hope there’s room up there for me,” Cody said.
Mum studied Cody’s freckled baby face—blue eyes innocent and hopeful. “Sure there is.” She pointed at the hot cocoa. “Need a refill?”
Wyatt had his head down and nearly barreled into Avi, who burst into the lodge, water from his rain gear pooling on the floor.
“Wyatt!” Avi called out. “We need some help. There’s a shipment of supplies on the dock on the mainland. It couldn’t get transferred in the weather, and it’s gonna spoil if we don’t get it.”
“In this?” Wyatt looked out the windows blurred with rain.
“Just a little drizzle.” Avi pulled his hood back up. “This camp has gone soft.”
“Let me check with the boss.” Wyatt nodded at his father, who sat by the fire, a letter in his hand, eyes staring out. Wyatt caught the embossed seal of the Department of Defense—an eagle with wings spread—before his father slipped the letter back in a manila envelope and tossed it into the fire.
“Hey, son.” Eldon looked up over his reading glasses. “What’s up?”
“Uhh,” Wyatt said, watching the documents burn. “Avi needs my help on the Sea Goat for a few hours, but if you need me, I could stay…”
“No, that’s fine.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah. Go on.”
“Okay. Don’t think we’ll be late.” Wyatt turned, then he stopped. “Dad, what was that letter?”
“Just a little junk mail.”
“From the DoD?”
“Well,” Eldon sighed. “From the man you call Mr. Yellow, about the secretary of defense.”
“Not McCray. You mean the new SecDef?” Wyatt asked. “Elaine Becker?”
“Yes,” Eldon said, keeping his eyes on the fire. “She wants to come … evaluate us.”
“When does she get here?”
“It didn’t say. My guess is they’d like to surprise us. Could be any day.”
“So what do we do?”
“Go about our business, and in the meantime”—Eldon rubbed his creased forehead—“I need to make some friends. Valor has survived nearly eighty years because the Old Man had powerful allies. And political instincts. I have neither.”
“What about Mr. Yellow?”
“He’s helpful and connected, but the Old Man always had a direct line to the White House. I know Admiral McCray, but he’s out and this new SecDef is clearing out all the old guards. Not sure who will silently take our back.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Mr. Yellow, obviously. Avi … and now you.” Eldon’s damp eyes twinkled with firelight. “Avi’s waiting. We’ll talk about this later.”
Wyatt secured the waterproof wide-brimmed hat over his ears, checked the buttons on his raincoat, and stepped out onto the porch, where Avi was impatiently waiting.
“Took long enough?” Avi said, charging off into the storm, and Wyatt fell in step behind him.
Down by the beach, the Sea Goat bucked in the water off the end of the dock. Waves sprayed over its bow as its engines whined.
“Really want to do this now?” Wyatt yelled.
“Yes,” Avi replied in his matter-of-fact Israeli accent. “This cannot wait.”
They hustled down to the end of the dock. Mackenzie eased the boat up, and Wyatt and Avi jumped onto its slippery deck.
“Hell of a night for a grocery run, eh?” Mackenzie said as they eased out into the thickening storm.
“No kidding. You guys are just crazy.”
“Gotta make sure our Wheaties don’t get wet.” Mackenzie winked at Avi.
The ferry, sturdy as she was, pitched in the black surf, which was lit only by the occasional flash of white lightning. The lights from the camp receded in the distance and then disappeared as they wound their way through the archipelago toward the mainland dock and depot. About halfway to the depot, Mackenzie glanced out into the darkness through the foggy pilothouse windshield. On one side of the glass, a small heater, on the other, a wall of solid rain. Mackenzie squinted, studying the black water, and then suddenly, he idled the motor.
“There it is,” Mackenzie said. Through the transmogrifying lens, an apparition appeared. A human form seemingly riding a wave.
Wyatt leaned in and saw the outline of a black Jet Ski, its rider easing to the side of the Sea Goat. Mackenzie leaned over and grabbed her bow, steadying her as she came along the port side.
“What’s going on?” Wyatt asked.
“All right, Wyatt,” Avi said. “Remember when I told you about the gamer Hi Kyto, the Darsie Fellow?”
“This is related to Encyte?” Wyatt said slowly.
“Yes. Well, I reached out to Mr. Darsie. Of course, I didn’t speak to him directly. I didn’t hear anything until this afternoon when I received instructions for you.”
“Me?” Wyatt asked incredulously. “How does he know who I am? Isn’t my identity secret outside of Valor?”
“Supposed to be. But he’s a former Valorian and has access to people who give him information. And,” Avi sighed, “he’s a billionaire many times over and his businesses are enmeshed in U.S. security.”
“So what does he want?”
“You, Wyatt, are to be at the following coordinates.” Avi pressed a phone into Wyatt’s hand. “They’re loaded into the GPS. You need to be there in exactly one hour and forty-five minutes.”
“I don’t understand the mission. What am I supposed to do?”
“Move quickly,” Avi said, then gestured to the helmeted Jet Ski rider. “Mary Alice is going to pretend to be you for the next three hours while we make this run.”
Wyatt turned to a young woman wearing the same exact rain gear. “A girl? Pretending to be me?”
“With the rain and her attire, it won’t matter. To anyone watching, it’ll just be a body on the boat. They’ll assume it’s you,” Avi said.
“My only worry is I might actually make you look tough,” Mary Alice said. “You got a problem with that?”
“Nope.” Wyatt steadied the Jet Ski in the pitching surf.
“Take the Jet Ski to Logan’s Point,” Avi continued. “In the brush, just up the hill, you’ll find a motorcycle. If you move quickly, you should be able to make it to the coordinates in time.”
“So wait, I’m going to meet John Darsie or—”
“I don’t know who’s going to be there,” Avi cut him off. “All I have is a location … for you—and only you.”
“What if it’s a setup? Could even be Encyte.”
“Could be,” Avi conceded. “Which is why I brought this.” He handed Wyatt a 45.
Wyatt waved it away. “Cass already gave me this.” He showed Avi his Sig Sauer P229 Compact and waterproof, clippable holster.
“Well, take this too.” Mackenzie held out a switchblade. Wyatt secured the gun to his belt under his rain gear, and feeling around his midsection, tucked the switchblade in place.
“Can I trust Darsie?”
“No,” Avi said with an exasperated shake of his head. “You can’t trust anyone. But you should go for one reason.”
“What’s that?”
“You told me to find someone to help us move on Hallsy. Well, I did. If you do a favor for Darsie, he’s the kind of guy who will pay it back tenfold. Plus he’s the only person outside the U.S. government who could find him. In fact, he owns the company the U.S. would contract to track him digitally.”
Wyatt thought, the sideways rain pelting him.
“Are you going or not?” Avi called out.
Wyatt snatched the phone with the GPS coordinates.
“You are set to arrive at 11:38 p.m.,” Avi added. “You have exactly a two-minute window. If you are even a few seconds outside that timeframe, you will miss it entirely.”
“Got it.” Wyatt pocketed the phone and hustled out onto the deck. “I can take this from here.” He nodded to Mary Alice, who dismounted the Jet Ski. Wyatt grabbed the handles and climbed on.
“Good luck,” Mary Alice said.
“Roger.” Wyatt squeezed the accelerator, and the Jet Ski rocketed away from the Sea Goat into the night.