Authors: Michelle Gagnon
Peter hit Send, mailing the blueprints of the Phoenix warehouse to Noa’s secret account. It was nearly ten o’clock, and he had to get home soon. He’d told his parents that he was studying at a friend’s house. Taking time off to see a movie that afternoon probably hadn’t been the best idea, especially since encoding the blueprints had taken longer than expected. Now he’d have to wait until tomorrow to program his data sniffing filters.
He glanced around. He was parked in his neighbor’s driveway again, along the curve leading up to the house so that he was hidden from both the street and the front door. It was risky using the same spot to log on every time, even with all the precautions he took to cover his tracks. But he’d grown weary of driving to remote parking lots and shivering in the cold, then packing up and moving every time a random car drove by. This was an acceptable risk, he told himself. And it would take a hacker on the level of him and Noa to access his laptop, even if they were parked right beside him.
Peter sighed. This was starting to feel like a real job. On top of everything else, there were three other PA cells out there, and he was supposed to keep track of all of them. He logged on to The Quad, and entered their official PERSEF0NE ARMY forum. There wasn’t much posted. The Northeast chapter reported that no kids had disappeared in a few weeks. Same with the Southeast. The Northwest was working on outreach, making sure street kids knew what to watch for. But none of the other chapters had a real operation on the horizon.
All quiet, in other words—which made Peter uneasy. Over the past four months, Project Persephone activity appeared to have decreased markedly. He liked to think that they’d forced the company to curtail the experiments, but he suspected they’d just succeeded in driving them further underground. Which was exactly why he had to get that sniffer program up and running.
Tomorrow
, he told himself. Tonight, he had other things to worry about.
He hopped the P&D firewall and started digging through personnel files. He was searching for one in particular, a man he knew only as Mason. They’d had several run-ins months ago when he first stumbled across Project Persephone. Mason and his operatives had chased Noa and Peter through Boston for days. He’d threatened Peter’s parents. And Peter suspected he’d arranged the fire that killed his best friend, Cody, too.
Plus he’d kidnapped Amanda, leaving her drugged on a park bench with a message scrawled across her back in black Sharpie:
TELL PETER HE WAS WARNED
.
At first, Peter had assumed that was just another threat: Mason boasting that he could get to anyone Peter cared about.
But maybe it had been a declaration, not a threat. Mason could have infected Amanda with PEMA during the abduction.
Peter’s vision blurred with rage as he recalled Amanda shambling around the parking lot. Stage Two of the disease frequently involved repetitive patterns: walking in circles, avoiding other people, lapsing into sleep midsentence. And there were only four stages.
Peter breathed out hard, trying to calm down. He could be wrong—what he’d seen wasn’t definitive. He was tempted to talk to her about it, but Amanda had been so touchy and defensive lately, she probably wouldn’t handle it well.
Better to wait until he was sure. If something else happened, then he’d say something.
Regardless, it couldn’t hurt to check in on Mason; knowing about his recent activities would be valuable for PA, if nothing else. But previous searches of P&D’s database had been fruitless.
Peter cracked his knuckles, fleetingly wishing that Noa was with him. She was good at coming up with different angles on a problem. How would she go about finding Mason?
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. There was always a money trail, right? After all, Mason wouldn’t work for free. So how was P&D paying him?
He sucked in a breath sharply. Of course Mason wouldn’t be an official employee; he must be working as an independent contractor. Which meant that certain forms would have to be filed for taxes.
It took him all of five minutes to access the IRS database. Peter searched for every 1099 form filed by Pike & Dolan. His heart sank when the computer returned more than 5,000 records. He narrowed the search to anyone making over six figures from the company; Mason liked nice suits, after all, and he couldn’t afford those on chicken feed.
That cut it down to a few hundred names. Peter scanned them quickly; he could eliminate the women immediately, along with anyone too old or too young. He just had to write a program that would filter the results down to a manageable number.
Feeling fried, he closed his laptop and turned the key in the ignition. He could write the program at home in the comfort of his bedroom, then run the results through the filter tomorrow. If he got lucky, he’d find Mason hidden somewhere in there, along with all his personal information: real name, address, social security number. Everything Peter needed to destroy him.
Satisfied, Peter checked his watch; he wanted to call Amanda before it got too late. He slowly drove up to the house; with the new snowfall, there wasn’t enough room in the driveway to easily turn the car around.
As he circled in front of his neighbors’ garage bays, he noticed a light on in a downstairs window.
They must be on timers
, he told himself.
Still, it was hard to shake the sense that the light hadn’t been on the night before. Peter slowed as he passed the front door, but there was no sign of movement inside the house.
Just paranoia
, he thought, running a hand through his hair. If this kept up, he was going to give himself an ulcer.
Noa sat in the shadows, watching their prisoner. He was sleeping well, considering the circumstances. His mouth gaped open, and for such a large man, he was issuing surprisingly delicate snores.
She, on the other hand, was wide awake. After dinner Zeke and the others had crashed, still exhausted after yesterday. Noa had taken advantage of the silence to go over the blueprints Peter had emailed. It would be another couple of days before she’d need sleep again; she’d have to time the Phoenix raid so that it didn’t conflict with that.
Now it was three a.m. The only illumination came from a few camping candles scattered around the living room. They’d hacked into the local utility company to provide the house with light and heat for a few days, but Noa’s eyes had always been extraordinarily light sensitive, and seemed to be getting even worse since the operation. She preferred candlelight.
They’d moved the guy in here after dinner. There was no heat in the garage, so keeping him there made it hard on whoever was designated to keep watch. Which, since she didn’t need sleep, mainly meant her.
So far, the guy hadn’t given them any trouble. In fact, she hadn’t even had to bring out the needle again. He’d willingly provided more information than she’d ever hoped for: the names of other mercenaries, the way they received their orders, how often they were paid and how much. That sum had staggered her—these commandos made twice what she’d pulled in as a top computer security consultant.
In fact, Noa worried that he’d been a little too obliging with the information. It seemed odd that he was so rattled by the threat of a virus that might not even affect him. The P&D mercenaries should be experts on PEMA, after all.
She’d discussed it with Zeke after dinner. In his opinion, this was the lucky break they’d finally been waiting for.
Relax, Noa
, he’d said, awkwardly rubbing her shoulder.
It’s normal for us to think things are messed up when they work out. But that doesn’t mean they are.
Maybe he was right. Still, she wanted to know more about what the guy had meant, calling her the “golden goose”; this was the second time she’d heard that expression, and she wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. Why was she so important, among all of these kids? Zeke had a theory that she was their only successful experiment, and through her they’d stumbled across a cure for PEMA. She wasn’t so sure. And that, she admitted to herself, was really why she’d wanted to capture one of them: to find out once and for all what had been done to her, and if it could be reversed.
So far, though, all the guy had revealed was a nasty line of drool.
“You’re staring at me.”
Noa blinked. He was eyeing her, wide-awake. “I’m on watch.”
“Yeah, I got that.” He stretched his bound hands back and yawned. “Christ, this floor is uncomfortable. Gonna ruin my back.”
“We leave tomorrow,” Noa said. “Your back will be fine.”
“Pulling out, huh?” He grunted. “Smart. Don’t want to stay in one place too long, get comfortable. Gonna visit another lab?”
“No,” Noa said flatly, her heart in her throat. Had he overheard them?
He grinned and shook his head. “Man, I almost feel sorry for you kids.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because you’re a bunch of amateurs,” he said dismissively.
“We got you,” she pointed out.
He rolled up to sitting, pushing off the floor with his bound hands. The zip ties were starting to dig into his wrists; there was dried blood where they’d chafed. Noa bit her lip, wondering if taking them off would be a bad idea. Noticing, he chuckled and said, “See?”
“See what?”
“Softhearted. You were just thinking about cutting my zip ties.” He winked at her. “And sweetheart, I don’t recommend it.”
“I’ve got the Taser,” Noa said, holding it up.
“Ooh, scary.” He rolled his head from side to side, then said conversationally, “You’ll never get away from them, you know.”
“Yeah? Why not?”
“Because they want you too badly. They’ve got money, resources, guys like me. . . .” His smile reminded Noa of a hyena—it looked like someone had jammed extra teeth in his mouth.
“I still don’t know why they want me,” she mumbled, examining her hands.
“Sure you do,” he scoffed. “They changed you. Don’t try to deny it.”
“What do you know about it?”
He shrugged. “I heard things.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like you’re worth your weight in gold. Like when they find you, they’ll develop the best drug the world’s ever seen. I hear they might even be able to cure cancer with it.” He regarded her narrowly. “Funny, you don’t look so special. Kind of cute, but other than that you’re just like all the other trash we’ve been picking up.”
“Go to hell,” Noa growled.
“Oh, so you don’t want to hear everything after all? Like what’s going to happen when they find you?”
“They won’t find me,” she said obstinately.
“Sure they will. Hell, you’re making it easy for them. You could’ve just disappeared, changed your name. Gone to Canada or Mexico, maybe.” He eyed her. “But you got together this pitiful group of misfits and went after them. That was stupid.”
“Someone had to stop them,” Noa said.
“That’s what you’re not getting,” he said, leaning forward. Noa had to resist the urge to shy back. “You can’t stop them. You’re playing right into their hands. Making them look like the victims. And in the end, all of you are going to die because of it.”
“Noa?”
She turned to find Zeke framed in the doorway. Noa pushed to her feet, ignoring her stiff muscles, and went over to him.
“That’s right, little birdie. Fly away,” the guy muttered.
“What’s going on?” Zeke asked with concern, looking past her shoulder.
“Nothing,” Noa said without meeting his eyes. She hated to admit it, but the guy had gotten under her skin. The way he’d talked about all of them dying, like it was inevitable . . . She tried to shake it off. “I took over the watch, since I can’t sleep anyway.”
“You all right?” He put a hand under her chin and tilted her head up.
Noa stepped back, and his hand fell away. “I’m fine.”
“All right,” he said skeptically, his eyes still searching hers. “Why don’t you let me take over?”
“You need sleep,” she protested.
Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he smirked. “Please. Out of this whole group, I’m the only one who doesn’t need beauty sleep.”
Noa hesitated. “He might talk some more.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Zeke said in a low voice. “And I’m better at ignoring him. So go work on the Phoenix plan. I’ll handle this.”
“All right,” Noa said with a wave of relief. In truth, she didn’t want to spend another minute with the creep. “If you need a break, just come get me.”
“Sure.” Zeke made a move as if to hug her, and she stiffened. He looked wounded, but all he said was, “Night.”
“Night,” Noa said awkwardly, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she walked away. She wasn’t sure why she’d reacted so strongly—it wasn’t that she didn’t want him to touch her. More that she was afraid of what might happen next. And worse yet, how they’d act around each other tomorrow.
She didn’t have time for romance, anyway—she had work to do. Zeke of all people should understand that.
The blueprints for the Phoenix warehouse were stacked on the kitchen table, alongside a map of the Southwest. She planned on dumping the guy somewhere near Bakersfield with fifty dollars; more than they could spare, really, but they couldn’t just leave him with nothing. Hopefully he wouldn’t go running back to his cronies at Pike & Dolan.
But was Bakersfield too obvious? Noa traced her finger along the map. It made more sense to leave him outside Stockton, before they turned south. He might already suspect they were headed to Phoenix, no need to make it obvious.
Although she was starting to think the Phoenix raid was a bad idea. Peter’s messages were always coded, but with everything he’d sent in relation to Phoenix, he’d added
take care
. Noa bit her lip, wishing she could just call him.
Noa brushed the thought away, along with the strange yearning that accompanied it. He probably just shared her belief that the longer this went on, the more dangerous everything became. Plus he had things to lose that she didn’t have: parents, friends, a future.
And his normal girlfriend
, Noa reminded herself.
She pulled a chair out and sat, then started sifting through the documents. As always, Peter had come through in spades; not only were there blueprints, but he’d included outside shots of the warehouse, and a manifest from the security firm that installed the surveillance cameras. She felt a flash of appreciation for him. With all this information, getting inside would be easy. Now she just had to come up with a plan.