Authors: Michelle Gagnon
“I understand Peter is planning on attending Harvard next year,” he said casually.
Amanda looked at him sharply. “How do you know that?”
“Oh, his parents and I are old friends.” That smarmy smile again, really more of a leer.
Her heart drummed in her chest; it felt like she was running even though they’d resumed an even walking pace. The entrance to the Coalition was a hundred yards away—she was so close. All she had to do was play it cool until then. Drawing a deep breath, Amanda said, “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, we have certain business interests in common.” His tone sounded overly casual. She couldn’t repress the sense that there was a much deeper conversation underlying everything he said. “Peter seems like an intelligent young man.”
They were almost at the door. She was terrified that at any minute a van would pull alongside and she’d be shoved into it, or that Mason would jab a needle into her neck and she’d wake up in a terrible place. Her lungs felt strained, like there wasn’t enough air to breathe. “Yes,” she said, although it came out as a hiss.
“Too smart, some would say.” Without warning Mason grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. Amanda went rigid; it was like those dreams where something horrible is attacking, and you simply freeze and stare at it with awe.
“Wh-what do you mean?” she managed.
“I mean,” Mason said, leaning in, “he is once again sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m hoping you can clarify things for him.”
Amanda hesitated. Should she scream for help? Perversely, part of her didn’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing how terrified she was. Peter’s blank gaze that morning as he basically chucked her out the door flashed through her mind. Her jaw tightened, and she yanked her arm free. Coolly, she replied, “Like I said. We broke up.”
Mason’s eyebrows lifted; clearly that wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. After a beat, he said, “Well, then. I guess I’ll have to speak with him myself.”
Amanda put her hands on her hips and demanded, “About what, exactly?”
It wasn’t what she’d intended to say. She’d planned on announcing that she was late, and ducking past him. But the words had slipped out of her mouth, and it was too late to take them back.
“Interesting,” Mason said, eyeing her. “You surprise me, Amanda Berns.”
The way he said it made her shudder. It was like hands roving over her body, creepy and invasive. She stuttered, “I-I really need to get inside. My shift started ten minutes ago.”
“By all means.” Mason stepped aside and bowed with a flourish. It was a ridiculous gesture, yet somehow he made it look natural. Amanda walked past him, keeping her pace steady even though she desperately wanted to break into a run. She paused with her hand on the door and looked back.
The street was clear. Mason was gone.
“R
eady?” Zeke asked quietly.
“As I’ll ever be,” Noa muttered. Her hands ran over the tools and weapons hidden under a voluminous black jacket, checking for the hundredth time that they were all there. She had the Taser, and pepper spray for good measure. Zip ties and a box cutter. A pocket flashlight. A precious flashbang grenade, recovered during one of their earlier raids. She was dressed in black with a checkered scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, positioned so that when the time came, she could pull it up to hide her lower face.
Although chances were, everyone in that building knew exactly who she was.
“All right.” Zeke peered through the night-vision binoculars again. It was late, nearly midnight. The same three guards were outside. Two played cards on a set of camping chairs by the main door, huddled beneath the security light. The other had made a few listless tours of the perimeter.
“They’re tired and bored,” Zeke said with satisfaction. “Piece of cake.”
“Don’t jinx us,” Noa warned.
He turned and winked at her. “You and your superstitions. Chill.”
Noa shifted. She was always tense before a raid, but tonight her fears were amplified, and she was at a loss to explain why.
It’s just paranoia
, she thought. Coming on the heels of what had happened in Oakland, that was understandable.
At that moment, a set of headlights appeared on the road leading to the facility. The lights bounced as the truck rocked over uneven pavement. Loud club music spilled out the open windows, a faint bass line discernible from their position nearly a half mile away.
“Here they come!” Zeke said, an undercurrent of excitement in his voice.
Noa leaned past him. They were on the bluff overlooking the warehouse, near the spot where they’d shared that awkward moment yesterday. The others had dropped them off an hour earlier, then left with the van to execute phase one of the plan.
The headlight beams slid away from them as the truck turned up the final approach to the warehouse. The guards had gotten to their feet and were staring at it as if a UFO had just materialized out of the sky.
It was starting.
Teo sat next to Daisy in the back of the truck, trying his best to not completely freak out. Daisy was holding his hand; her palms were sweaty, slick against his.
Why hadn’t he bolted when he had the chance?
The truck abruptly braked, throwing them against each other. Their heads bumped, and Daisy yelped. Teo was about to apologize when a sharp male voice outside made him fall silent. Not that it would have mattered; the music was blasting so loud he could hardly hear himself think.
“What the hell is this?” The guard sounded like he was a foot away, separated from them by a thin metal panel.
Teo held his breath. Beside him, Daisy got very still.
“Yo, dude. Cool if I park it right here?” Remo called back from the driver’s seat.
“What?” The guard sounded puzzled, and annoyed.
Remo continued, “I could swing around back instead. Depends on where the rig is gonna set up.”
“Rig? Christ, I can barely hear you. Turn that music down!”
The volume faded by a few decibels. In spite of everything, Teo repressed a smile.
“What the hell is going on?” a deeper voice demanded; the guard in charge, maybe? “Why is there a taco truck here?”
“Dunno,” the first guard replied sullenly. “He’s asking where he can park.”
“Park?” Boss Man sounded incredulous. “Listen, son, this is private property. No trespassing, like it says on the signs. So turn around and get out of here.”
“No can do, man. I got a contract to fill.” Teo couldn’t get over how calm Remo sounded—in his position, facing off against surly armed guards, he would’ve been crapping himself. But Remo was convincingly playing the stoned driver of a taco truck. “I gotta get it all set up before the party, you know?”
“What party?” the first guard asked, at the same instant that Boss Man barked, “Aw, hell. What now?”
Teo pictured what they were seeing: a long line of cars streaming down the road toward the warehouse. If everything was going as planned, there should be dozens of them.
One of the guards swore—Boss Man again, from the sound of it. The click of a walkie-talkie, then he barked, “Control, we got a problem out here. Gonna need backup.”
In the dark depths of the truck, Daisy squeezed his hand. Teo caught the glint of light off her teeth—she was smiling.
He wished he could share her confidence.
Footsteps moved away from the truck as more music drifted through the open front windows, an eclectic mix, all blaring equally loudly.
In the front seat, Remo tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, keeping time with the bass line. “All right back there?” he asked without turning around.
“Yeah,” Daisy said. “We’re cool.”
Teo didn’t say anything. He felt as far from cool as he’d ever been.
“Good.” Remo’s hands fell still as he announced, “Time for phase two.”
Noa scurried along behind Zeke, bent double as she ran. The moon was a narrow sliver overhead; it was so dark she wished they’d invested in night-vision goggles. She tripped and nearly went sprawling a dozen times, just barely managing to stay on her feet as they crossed the half mile of desert in a little over ten minutes.
They stopped behind a saguaro cactus that tilted sideways, as if engaged in a slow free fall. Together, they took in the chaotic scene.
“Bet they’re wishing they’d rented a place with a fence right about now,” Zeke chuckled.
The lack of a fence was precisely what had given Noa the idea for the raid. And on his end, Peter had come through spectacularly. At least three dozen cars and trucks were parked at all angles around the facility, most with their headlights on and music blasting. Kids scantily clad in club gear were milling around; five overwhelmed security guards wove between them, yelling for them to leave. A few of the kids were openly mocking the guards. A cluster had gathered around the taco truck, where Daisy and Teo were frenetically passing out free tacos and beer to the gathering crowd. Still others were circling the building, looking for a way in.
Noa couldn’t help but smile. So far, so good—everything was going according to plan. Peter had posted a message on every Phoenix party board he could find, claiming a squatter party—an underground techno music festival—would be happening after midnight at the warehouse. To sweeten the pot, he’d hinted that a famous LA DJ would be spinning.
Noa had worried that not enough people would show up. But a few hundred kids thronged the grounds already, and a steady stream of headlights approached from the highway. The response was better than she’d dared hope.
“Perfect,” Noa breathed.
“Yup,” Zeke said. Still, he eyed the guards warily. “Think they’ll pull their guns? We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“No chance.” Noa shook her head. “The guards won’t risk an incident—P&D would flip out.”
“And they can’t call the cops either, obviously.” Zeke tapped her shoulder. “I ever tell you you’re a genius, Torson?”
“Not lately, no,” she said, flushing at the praise. Even better, the awkwardness between them seemed to have completely dissipated.
“So what’re we waiting for?” he asked. “Let’s get in there.”
They slipped into the parking lot and were quickly immersed by the mob. Noa could see the taco truck parked about twenty feet from the front door. Zeke nodded at her, and they made their way to the entrance.
“Open the door!” someone called out. The cry was picked up and repeated, until hundreds of voices were chanting, “Open up!” A few girls screamed the name of the DJ.
As if on cue, a pulsing bass line started throbbing from inside the building. The crowd roared its approval.
“Right on time,” Zeke shouted in her ear.
Noa grinned.
Way to go, Peter
. One of the things he’d discovered in the building blueprints was an intercom system that could be hijacked wirelessly. Using it, he was able to blast club music from every speaker in the building. It was tinny, and wouldn’t fool the crowd for long—they’d be expecting a real sound system, the kind a professional DJ employed. But this seemed to be working just as well. The crowd was quickly being whipped into a frenzy.
She checked her watch. The music had been playing for two minutes. They were banking on the fact that the guards would react slowly, with no clue how to handle a mob of unruly teenagers. Still, she’d told Peter that once the music started, they’d have to get inside quickly.
Just as she was starting to grow concerned, someone yelled, “The door just opened!”
“Yes!” Zeke whooped beside her.
Noa offered a silent thanks to Peter. She could picture him hunched over a keyboard in a parking lot somewhere, sifting through the building schematics until he reached the grid that controlled the electric door locks. The warehouse was outfitted with lots of bells and whistles—some starry-eyed developer must have hoped it would one day house Department of Defense contractors. All that technology had probably been what attracted Pike & Dolan to the property; on the surface, it appeared far more impenetrable than the basic building where she’d been held.
Of course, Pike & Dolan hadn’t factored in hackers when they selected it.
Too bad for them
, Noa thought. A high-tech building was a godsend, especially one with locks that could be controlled remotely.
“They’ve come for a party,” Noa muttered. “Let’s give them one.”
The crowd surged toward the open door, a bottleneck forming as kids pushed and shoved one another in their haste to get in. She and Zeke broke into a trot, swept along by the tide of partiers. What they were wearing didn’t really qualify as club gear, but no one seemed to notice.
“Everyone should be in position,” Zeke said directly into her ear, one of his arms forming a protective barrier around her to fend off the worst of the shoving.
Noa nodded. “Five minutes, in and out,” she said.
“All right.” Zeke set his jaw and swiped a hand through his lank black hair. “Let’s do this.”
Peter sat in his car with his laptop open, the monitor casting the interior in a luminous white glow. Occasionally the screen wobbled as his leg started reflexively bouncing, a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid. He had to repeatedly concentrate on stilling it.
He was parked in the neighbor’s driveway again. As a concession to the freezing temperatures, tonight he was running the heater.
The controls for the Phoenix warehouse dominated the screen. He’d created a mirror of the mainframe, so he was seeing everything the security guard in the control room was privy to.
And if he was that guy right now, Peter reflected, he’d be seriously freaking out.
He’d scoped out this system earlier, once Noa had announced that she was moving up the raid. Disseminating the party message had been the easy part; the DJ had been his idea, too. Based on everything he’d promised, the grounds should be swarming with club kids.
He was pumping techno through speakers situated throughout the building, and both the front and rear exit doors were locked in the open position. Whoever was manning the real control room kept frantically trying to close them again; every few seconds the computer would ask for approval, and he’d click the button denying it. “Sorry, dude,” he said out loud. “As the new administrator, I’m going to have to say no to your request. Loser.”
In another open window, he was monitoring the Phoenix police department’s radio transmissions, making sure the guards hadn’t called in outside help. So far, no patrols had been summoned to the area. He doubted they would be; Pike & Dolan was unlikely to allow the authorities anywhere near their illegal lab. But he kept an eye on it anyway, figuring it couldn’t hurt to cover every angle.
Aside from frustrating some jerk in a uniform two thousand miles away, Peter didn’t have much to do. He tapped his index finger beside the trackpad. He’d love to be able to see what was happening right now. The security cameras Noa had spotted on her recon must all be closed circuit, because he hadn’t been able to find any evidence of them on the mainframe. Which was a shame. It would’ve been helpful to be able to see throughout the building, so he could direct them better. His thoughts drifted back to the spy store. Maybe next time, he could persuade Noa to wear some sort of minicamera. . . .
Imagining her reaction to a helmet cam, Peter laughed. He’d have a better chance of getting her to stage a raid while wearing a prom gown. A red light flashed on-screen, and he tapped the button to deny access again. “Nope, still not happening for you, man.”
He really hoped the guy in the control room was tearing his hair out. He’d constructed a whole fantasy where it was Mason losing it, jumping up and down as he pounded at controls that refused to respond, his normally slicked-back hair sticking out in all directions.
An override button appeared on his screen, and Peter let out a low whistle. “Ooh, nice,” he said. “Trying to circumvent the main computer from a different terminal? Great idea, man. Inspired.” Peter tapped a series of buttons, then hit the return key with a flourish as he said, “Unfortunately, you are once again . . . denied.”
Teo had slipped into autopilot mode, mindlessly filling red plastic cups and passing them across the counter as fast as possible.
They’d already gone through one keg and were well on their way to emptying another. He was kind of floored by how many people had shown up. When Noa outlined her plan, he’d thought it was ridiculous. He’d never even heard of a squatter party—hell, in the past year he hadn’t been to anything that qualified as a “party.” It was a little overwhelming to face a swarm of fresh-faced kids, all smiling and laughing and teasing one another. For a minute, he felt almost normal. Like he’d slipped into an alternate version of his life, where he was the cool guy handing out free beer.
Daisy was moving just as fast, doling out the tacos they’d bought in bulk. Her cheeks were flushed, and every time he caught her eye she gave him a broad grin.