“That’s correct,” said his syn-app.
Will picked up his tablet and hurried to Ajay’s room. Ajay was standing over something at his desk. Nick was on the phone.
“Brooke and Elise still haven’t checked in,” said Nick, hanging up. “Elise is on the equestrian team. She usually rides on Saturday afternoon.”
“In this weather?” asked Will.
“There’s an indoor ring near the stables,” said Nick.
“She probably isn’t wearing her pager,” said Ajay. “I had time for a closer look at your bird, Will.” The dismantled pieces were spread out on his desk. “Check out the eyes.” Ajay picked up the eyes, twin buttons connected by strands of gold wire to a silver box. He held the intricate apparatus underneath a framed magnifier.
“Two sophisticated lenses,” said Ajay, pointing with a stylus, “that, properly synchronized, deliver three-dimensional optics to here.” Ajay pointed to the silver box. “A central processor equipped with advanced facial recognition software and a high-powered wireless transmitter. The real mystery is there’s no power source. I can’t figure out what was driving it, and I’ve never seen robotics this advanced.”
“Aphotic technology,” said Will softly.
“What’s that?” asked Ajay.
“The name for this, and that gear we saw in Ronnie’s video; the Carver and the glowing metal sheet,” said Will. “You’d better sit down for a second, guys.”
Looking apprehensive, Ajay and Nick sat down. Will took a deep breath.
Make it as simple as possible, and don’t mention Dave or the Hierarchy.…
“The Black Caps and Knights work for a race of beings called the Other Team,” Will said. “The Other Team is originally from here, but they’ve been trapped in the Never-Was since before humans were on the planet. And they want back in. They created all the monsters we’ve seen as part of their plan to break out.”
Ajay and Nick looked at each other. “Uh, okay,” said Nick.
“Speaking of which,” said Will, “did you check out the bug from my computer?”
Ajay blinked, then picked up the Altoids tin from his desk and opened it, revealing a thin layer of black goo inside. “I’m afraid it’s decomposed,” Ajay said. “I’ve examined what’s left and can’t find anything that resembles biological DNA.”
“That’s because these creatures from the Never-Was have a different biology,” said Will. “The Other Team needs help from people here, using technology that they gave them to bring them over.”
“That’s where the Caps and Knights come in,” said Nick.
“Yes,” said Will. “And the truth is, while we’ve uncovered a lot, in some ways we’re only at the beginning of what we need to know.”
Ajay’s eyes were wide. “So this Other Team wants to break out of the Never-Was … in order to do what?”
“To, uh, take over the world,” said Will, mumbling slightly. “And in so doing, capture, enslave, and destroy all of humanity.”
Ajay and Nick looked at each other again. “How do you know this, Will?” asked Ajay cautiously.
“I have a source on the inside,” said Will. “That I can’t talk about.”
“Although your end-of-the-world scenario strains credulity,” said Ajay, swallowing hard, “our faith in you to date has not been misplaced. So I think I speak for both of us—”
“Dude,” said Nick firmly, holding out his fist. “Whatever it takes.”
Feeling greatly relieved, Will gave them both a fist bump.
Will’s syn-app announced, “You have a message from Brooke, Will.”
“There she is,” said Will. “Ajay, put her on the big screen.”
Ajay merged their tablets to his wall screen, and Will told his syn-app to play the message. Brooke appeared in the library, whispering to her tablet camera. “Will, I ran a global search through school histories, yearbooks, and newspapers for anything on the Knights of Charlemagne. I got several hits.”
Brooke read from the articles as she browsed through them on her screen.
“The earliest mention of the Knights is in the 1928 yearbook. It was a newly formed social club limited to twelve members per year, all seniors. Their motto was ‘Making Better Men for the Benefit of Man.’ It doesn’t seem that they were involved in anything more sinister than croquet tournaments and amateur productions of Gilbert and Sullivan. In 1937, the Knights appear in a photo with a distinguished visitor, Henry Wallace, then secretary of agriculture under President Franklin Roosevelt. Take a look.”
A black-and-white photo came up on-screen, showing that year’s twelve-man Knights of Charlemagne group and their guest of honor, Henry Wallace, around a long table in an ornately decorated dining room, raising glasses in a toast to the camera.
“Pause,” said Will, and the image froze. Will pointed at one of the students. “I could swear I’ve seen that kid before.”
“How is that possible?” asked Nick. “It’s from over seventy years ago.”
“I don’t know,” said Will. “Maybe I saw his picture somewhere. Where was this taken?”
“It looks like the formal dining room,” said Ajay. “Strange. A big shot like the secretary of agriculture visits the Center, and no school officials, not even the headmaster, get invited to this dinner?”
“Continue,” said Will.
Brooke’s message resumed. “This event seems to have been the Knights’ high-water mark. There are only a few more mentions of them; by 1941, they disappear completely. It seems that they were disbanded, some kind of disciplinary action, but I can’t find any explanation.”
“What happened in 1941?” asked Nick.
Ajay paused Brooke’s message again. “America entered World War Two,” he said. “It also happens to be the year that former secretary of agriculture Henry Wallace became vice president of the United States.”
“The guy in the photo became the vice president?” said Nick, wide-eyed. “That’s big. I have no idea what it means, but that’s huge.”
“It’s not nothing,” said Will.
“Search for Henry Wallace and the Knights together,” said Ajay to his syn-app.
“That information is not available online,” said Ajay’s syn-app.
“Which means there is some,” said Will. “Where do we find it?”
“Probably the Rare Book Archive,” Ajay said. “You need a signed request from a teacher to get in.” He continued Brooke’s message.
“I also found this about the Crag,” said Brooke; then she read from a book: “ ‘The castle on the island was built by Ian Lemuel Cornish, a New England munitions manufacturer, who made his fortune during the Civil War … and it was later bought by Franklin Greenwood, the second headmaster of the Center, who used it as his personal residence.’ ”
“Franklin Greenwood,” said Ajay. “Son of Thomas, the founder.”
“And it’s currently owned by Stan Haxley, an alum who’s on the board of the Greenwood Foundation. That’s all for now. Later,” Brooke said, then winked at the camera. The message ended, the screen went blank, and their syn-apps reappeared.
“Get me what you can find on Lyle Ogilvy,” Will said to his syn-app.
In seconds, Will’s syn-app showed them a color yearbook photo of Lyle Ogilvy as a freshman. He was sallow, pimply, and unattractive but hardly the dark-visaged troll they knew. In his school blazer and tie he looked almost innocent. Vital statistics scrolled alongside the image.
“Ogilvy, Lyle,” said Ajay. “Born in Boston, October fourteenth, 1992. The only child of a senior oil company exec and a prominent dermatologist.”
“Which one of them went to the Center?” asked Will.
“Dad, class of seventy-four, then Princeton, class of seventy-eight,” said Ajay.
Lyle’s sophomore picture replaced the last one. He wore a fake smile and the same outfit but looked older and heavier, a year deeper into a perilous adolescence. The dark circles under his eyes had started to blossom.