Unknown 9, Layton Green [good books to read for 12 year olds txt] 📗

I did this research. It was just a note in the margins, followed by more of that gibberish code. I’d almost forgotten about it. Something else I learned about Ashoka’s secret society: they were said to have communicated in a language unintelligible to anyone outside the order.”

“Like the code in the journal?”

“I don’t know what it all means at this point.”

What she still hadn’t mentioned, because it sounded too far-fetched, was that the Unknown Nine were said to have mastery over a wide range of subjects, including human physiology, and that according to one wild myth, one of the nine could manipulate pressure points and kill human beings with a single touch. She couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of how the Archon had rendered her unconscious so easily.

Stop it, Andie. Plenty of martial art masters could execute the same maneuver. The Ascendants are trying to creep you out and control you, with their masks and their secrets and their buried myths, just like they’ve done to Mom.

“I’d like to say all this is wild speculation,” Cal said, “but there are too many parallels. And that drawing in Dr. Corwin’s journal of the nine steps from the Star Phone to the Enneagon, a device which has nine sides . . .”

Andie gripped the phone in frustration. “My eyes need a break.” She offered the device to Cal. “Have at it for a while.”

Before conducting a little research of his own, Cal cracked another beer in support of his gluten-rich diet. Whether it was nine yogis in ancient India, or nine Silicon Valley tech giants in modern-day America, the story of a group of people hoarding knowledge for the betterment of a few was hardly a novel one.

Despite the danger they were in, he was optimistic—though weirded-out—by what they had uncovered. He could almost feel the threads starting to unravel, and he wanted to bury these people more than ever.

How deep did the conspiracy go, how far back in history did it reach?

How big was this story?

Andie was slumped in a chair, deep in thought, her tired green eyes streaked with red from lack of sleep and worry. Over the last few days, he had found himself watching her with increasing frequency. He wasn’t quite sure if it was attraction or some male protector instinct he was sure she would mock him for. Despite her lack of makeup and disheveled appearance—maybe these were a product of their fugitive lifestyle, though he kinda gathered they were the norm—she was very attractive in a nerdy-science-girl/badass-spunky-loner kind of way.

A description he fully admitted made no sense.

He had never met a woman who was just as likely to expound on some esoteric mathematical theory as she was to jump on the back of a hydroboard and ride it through a Venetian canal with her life on the line. It was obvious Andie didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about her, formed her own opinions on everything, and could be as stubborn as an Indiana winter. It was also obvious she had no idea how attractive all of that made her, especially to someone used to the women in LA, who were pretty much the polar opposite of her.

Not that any of it mattered. Cal was quite sure she wasn’t the type to fall for his corny humor and roguish smile and three-dollar charm. On the inside, he knew he was a complicated person—weren’t we all? But when it came to women, he preferred not to work too hard. He had never had a problem scoring a date, and that had made him lazy. But it was hard to be around someone twenty-four hours a day—especially someone who looked as good in jeans and a ball cap as Andie did—and not wish things were a little different.

But most of all, he had grown to care about her welfare. He knew how torn-up she was about her mother and Dr. Corwin. Cal had his doubts as to how much these people actually cared about her—but he didn’t really know any of them.

What he knew was that their interests were aligned. Andie badly needed a friend, and he was feeling pretty damn protective toward her. He knew she would hate that, so he didn’t plan on mentioning it.

With a yawn, he gave all of those thoughts a good stiff-arm and focused on the task at hand. Before he left LA, Dane had given him a dark web onion address to log in to in case they needed to talk.

Man, did they ever.

He went to the web address, which routed him to a black screen with a blinking red cursor. Cal typed in the password Dane had given him: Lakers99Clips0!*OMG*.

A white chat box materialized around the red cursor. Cal assumed that meant success, and he typed an exploratory message.

Anyone home?

A response arrived in less than a minute. The priest just so happens to be in the chapel.

The speedy reply came as no surprise. Dane was always online, and Cal guessed he had set up an auto-alert routing the onion address to his email. Inside LA’s hacker community, Dane was also known as Priest—short for “the high priest of technology.”

Good timing, Cal responded.

Are you in need of absolution?

I’m too far gone for that. More like salvation from my enemies. Are we safe to talk?

If your friends can find us here, then they’ve broken the internet.

Maybe they have, Cal thought. You still interested in helping me track down some bad guys?

The bad guys?

You got it.

I’m ready and willing. Your dramatic send-off on Twitch caused quite a stir online, you know.

I thought it might. How long before the Ascendants deleted it?

Oh, about 10 minutes. But that was long enough for a few people to repost it on Reddit, and it took off from there. Someone—I assume it was the hornets who own the nest you poked—worked hard to erase them all. I was following along, and for a while it was like watching a high-tech game of Whac-A-Mole.

Did they