Closed Hearts (13 page)

I took a deep breath, not sure how we would get anyone out. But I had no doubt that Julian meant what he said, and that included getting my dad and Raf out. “So what’s your plan?”

He leaned against the hallway doorframe. “I thought you had the plan.”

“What?” I pointed at the closed front door. “All that, and you’ve got no plan?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He smirked. “Vellus’s new Detention Center likely has all the latest anti-jacker technology built into it, and it’s probably even harder to break into than it is to break out of. But I’m sure there’s a weakness. We just have to find it.”

I had a whole lot less confidence we could find a way into the Detention Center, much less out. I edged into the sitting room and mentally flipped the tru-cast on again, making it rewind to the program where the tru-caster was interviewing Senator Vellus. Ignoring the scrolling words at the bottom, Julian and I stepped closer to examine the structure of the building itself.

“Look there.” I froze the shot while it panned the Center. “It looks like a guard station.” In front of the twelve-foot-high concrete wall sat a smaller concrete box with a guard. It was stationed next to heavy metallic doors that looked like they could sustain a blast from a ton of explosives.

“He must be behind an anti-jacker field,” Julian said. “Otherwise any jacker could stroll in. Vellus isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t leave so obvious a flaw in a detention center carrying his name.”

“You mean an anti-jacker field like what they hid behind back at the factory?” I asked. “Fantastic. That will make things easy.”

Julian ignored my sarcasm. “I’ve seen a shield like that before, but only on a building. It repulses a jacker’s mental reach, so it must be tuned to jackers the way the butterflies are. Maybe it operates on a frequency that interferes with our mind-field. They would need something like that at the Detention Center to prevent us from jacking the guards to get in, even if all the jackers inside were under sedation. It’s unlikely we will be able to simply walk in.”

“Do you know of a way to defeat the shield?”

“Not from the outside,” said Julian. “The shield is relatively new technology. I’ve got some people working on the concept, but we haven’t captured one to reverse engineer it. The shield probably requires a major power source, and I thought it had to be physically attached to a structure to anchor the field, but it had to be portable to bring it into Jackertown and set it up outside our door.”

I didn’t know where Julian got all his fancy technology, but apparently he had “people” working on it. Since the world discovered we existed—since I told the world we existed—the government and private industry both had been spending billions in research to develop anti-jacker technology. The government was ahead, probably because they already knew jackers existed.

“The shield technology can’t be too portable,” I said. “Otherwise, the rifle squad that shot butterflies at us would have been shielded.”

He nodded. “To my knowledge, they haven’t developed any personal anti-jacker technology yet. But it’s coming.”

Julian was right about that. It was only a matter of time before personal protection fields were developed. Readers were clamoring for it. Whoever invented one would make a zillion unos, since everyone would want one.

“So we can’t get through the shield,” I said.

“Short of bombing the front gate? No.” He stroked his cheek. “Although that has merit in showmanship. Still, I’d rather not start a full-scale war at the moment. Not while my sister is wasting away in Kestrel’s lair.”

“It makes sense that they would expect jackers to break in,” I said. “But what about a reader who was jacked to sneak in and turn off the power to the shield from the inside?”

“Anyone we jack won’t make it past the gate without the jack being cut off.”

“What if they were jacked with a longer-term command?” I asked. “The jack might hold until they were inside.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But once in, their thoughts would be clear to everyone. I doubt they would get far enough to cut the power or disable the shield without the other readers realizing what they were doing. The only way the staff won’t hear their true thoughts is if the person walking in is a jacker.”

“So we’re stuck.”

Julian crossed his arms, examining the screen. “With their anti-jacker technology, they probably think they’re impervious to a jacker assault. They won’t expect readers to work willingly with us. With the proper ID from a respected reader, they shouldn’t suspect us. We might be able to get in with that.”

“A respected reader?” I asked. “You have one of those handy?” My thoughts flitted to Mr. Trullite, but I wasn’t sure if I could call on him again. Or should. Maybe he had ordered the raid in the first place.

“Not at the moment.”

A snippet that had scrolled by earlier on the tru-cast jogged my brain. I knew a respected reader, one who I trusted quite literally with my life. I flicked the tru-cast to roll again and the words scrolled along the bottom.
Senator Vellus will be holding a press conference tomorrow morning, where he promises to demonstrate a few of the security measures that will make his detention center the envy of other major cities around the U.S.

I flicked the mindware to pause the tru-cast midstream.

“That,” I said, pointing to the words, “could be our ticket inside.”

I figured Maria would be up late—she was always working a story for the
Chicago Tribune
—but I was surprised she was the breaking tru-cast reporter for the roundup in Jackertown. I knew there was a reason I loved her.

“Are you okay, Kira?” The worry in her voice quickly morphed into anger. “And what the hell are you doing in Jackertown?”

I held the phone slightly away from my ear. The
Mindjackers Among Us
story had propelled Maria to journalistic superstardom—she would be on a national tru-cast by now if people didn’t suspect her of being too friendly with jackers—but I knew she also felt responsible for the fallout my family endured.

I brought the phone back. “I didn’t plan on being here.” Which made me think I should have made better plans. If we had moved farther away, my dad and I wouldn’t have been able to work for Mr. Trullite, but maybe Molloy wouldn’t have found us either. Julian leaned against the entryway doorframe, listening to our conversation with high interest.

“I wouldn’t bother you, Maria, if I didn’t really need your help. My dad and Raf got caught up in the sweep. I think they’re on their way to Vellus’s new detention center.” I cleared my throat to cover the cracking of my voice. “I need to get them out, Maria. Raf won’t last five seconds in there.”

“Raf’s in the Detention Center?” Her voice hiked up. “How can that happen? He’s not a—”

“They’re not exactly asking questions before they start shooting.”

“Which is why this kind of thing is completely illegal!” Her voice dripped acid from the phone, and I heard her fingers drumming the desk. I wondered how many other reporters were working late to be disturbed by our spoken conversation. A wave of fatigue pulled on my eyelids.

The drumming stopped. “Well, I can lead with that in my tru-cast tonight. Make the accusation that a regular mindreader was caught up in the sweep. Vellus might be embarrassed enough to let Raf out, and they can’t hold your dad either without charges. This is still a free country!”

Not so much for jackers
, I thought, but I didn’t want to say that in front of Julian. Might give him ideas about me joining his revolution.

Maria was just getting warmed up. “I would love to prove that Vellus had wrongfully locked up innocent people—”

“Actually, I had a different idea,” I broke in, before she got too far.

“What’s that?”

“Vellus is holding a press conference tomorrow at the Detention Center. I figured you would be going, and that you might need a couple of assistants.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Well,” Maria said slowly. “I’m not attending the press conference tomorrow.” Another pause. “But I am hosting an exclusive interview with Vellus in the morning here at the Tribune Tower.”

“You’ll have Vellus in your office?” My voice rose. Could we just jack Vellus to release the prisoners? Julian pushed off the doorframe and strode over to listen in. I held the phone slightly away from my ear so that he could hear Maria’s voice.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I can make the case to Vellus that he’s made a terrible mistake. Arrested the wrong people.” She paused again. “Maybe even give him a list of people who should be released. It will all be live on the tru-cast.”

“Maria, you’re completely mesh, you know that?”

“I’m only going to try to convince him with the facts and the law,” she said. “You’re just going to be there as an assistant, to observe. Right?”

“Right.” I was sure Maria knew I planned on jacking Vellus, but we had to pretend that I wasn’t, so she wouldn’t have it on her mind and give us away. “There’s just one thing.” I peeked at Julian, his face still close. “You’re going to need two assistants.”

There was a substantially longer pause this time. “Who’s the other one?”

“Another jacker.” I wasn’t quite sure how to describe Julian. Friend? No. Hostage taker? Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. Charismatic leader of the Jacker Rebellion Movement? “He has some skills that might help me… observe.”

Julian nodded in approval of my discretion. Which only made me feel sick inside.

“Come to the Trib Tower tomorrow morning at nine thirty,” she said. “I’ll have press credentials for both of you.”

“Maria, you’re the best.” I hung up. The changelings had crept back down the stairs in their black “contractor” masks. Olivia and Dimitri were sitting on the bottom steps with Joshua standing next to the railing, all listening to my conversation.

Julian leaned away and beamed. “You certainly have a way of making things happen, keeper.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know.” I couldn’t help a yawn breaking through. “How are we going to jack Vellus without anyone realizing what we’re doing?”

“We can make plans in the morning,” Julian said. “You look like you need some rest.” He waved the changelings from the steps, and Joshua hustled them out the door, off on their mission to gather up pictures of the missing jackers. Julian tipped his head toward the stairs, beckoning me to follow. My legs dragged like fifty-pound weights were attached to my ankles. I yawned again. At the top of the stairs, Julian turned into a bedroom that wafted a scent of lilacs even stronger than the rest of the house. Tightly patterned flowery wallpaper covered every surface, including the ceiling. It peeled at the seams and warped in the middle, like it was a hundred years old. Brownstones like Myrtle’s were too expensive to rehab, so they were abandoned, left to the demens. And now the jackers.

Julian pointed to a four-poster bed heaped with pillows and a puffy pink comforter that matched the dizzying wallpaper. “You can rest here in Myrtle’s room. There are clothes in the closet—I don’t think your current disguise is the best for impersonating an intrepid young tru-cast reporter.”

My Dutch Apple apron was marred with dirt from our run through Jackertown, and a purple bruise stained my shin. Scratches ran along my legs, left bare below my shorts. Julian was probably right about needing new clothes.

He closed the door on his way out. I kicked off my running shoes and sank deep into the silky soft comforter. All the aches drained from my muscles, and my eyelids tugged themselves shut.

~*~

The next morning, Julian watched me while I stuffed a muffin in my mouth. He was stifling a laugh with his hand, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t eaten since well before my shift with Mr. Trullite, which seemed like a week ago, but was only yesterday around lunchtime. I swept the crumbs off the wooden kitchen table, worn smooth by a thousand uses, and searched for a trash bowl to flush them away. I couldn’t find one, so I dumped them in the sink. Olivia peeked in from the sitting room, watching me with wide eyes and making me wince. Here I was, taking their food.

“Have the changelings eaten?” I asked Julian.

Olivia disappeared before he could twist around. “I’m sure they can take care of themselves,” he said. “You, on the other hand, apparently need help dressing yourself.”

I’d picked the least grandma-like outfit in the closet. My running shoes didn’t exactly go with the black stretch pants that only reached halfway down my calves, but whatever. They were reasonably normal compared to the pink ruffle-collared blouse that made me look like a poodle. It wasn’t a shining moment, but my regular clothes wouldn’t work.

“I didn’t have much to choose from,” I said. “I swear Myrtle is a midget.”

Julian chuckled. The clothes would do. I was more worried about being recognized—especially standing next to Maria—so I had changed my hair color again. Jackertown was short on amenities, and coming up with a decent nano-color had been impossible, so I’d had to settle for a cheap bleach. My hair was now a brilliant shade of blond and the rough treatment had left the short strands sticking straight out. My transformation into a poodle was nearly complete, but it should distract anyone from looking too closely at my face.