“Because,” says Edgar, “I overheard the others speaking about it. From the sound of things, they were sent in before Vale.”
A chill goes through me. “So someone arrives early this morning,” I say quietly, “to prepare the way. Maybe they were even the one to implement the hack, to have it ready.”
“That is logical,” Edgar agrees.
Six terrorists. And one of me.
“We’re going to the main floor,” I say. “I need you to stay overhead and warn me if you see anyone.”
“Acknowledged.” Edgar flutters toward the stairs.
The hallway floor is linoleum, scuffed by shoes and gleaming with red emergency lights. Those lights are supposed to guide people toward safety… and there is some irony in the fact I’m following them into danger. I take the stairs two at a time until I’m on the first floor.
Nerves squirm through my stomach as I step into the lobby. The pool laps quietly, water eddying around some invisible filter. I lower myself to a crouch, shuffling from shadow to shadow. The garden of potted succulents provides cover. I feel a little like a lizard, darting from rock to rock and hoping no hawks will spot me.
As I creep toward the security office, I hear voices. I lean around one of the plants and flick my fingers to zoom in.
There are two people in the office. One of them is a man—pale, with his long hair pulled into a bun. Bud. Standing at the door is the woman with the red-orange hair. It’s smart-dye; it has to be. I recognize the light sheen that accompanies the color. She has several white bracelets loosely looped around each wrist and her golf bag rests against the doorframe.
“You done in there yet?” asks the woman.
Bud waves one hand. “Genius takes time, Anasova.”
At least I have a name for her now.
“Genius is going to get himself shot the moment SWAT arrives,” says Anasova. “This office has far too many windows. One sniper and—” She curls her hand into a mock-gun and pulls an invisible trigger.
“Come on,” says Bud. “No one’s coming. Not yet.” He continues typing. “All right, I’ve routed all outside security cameras to the basement mainframe.” He speaks with the air of a pianist showing off a particularly complicated bit of music. His fingers are a graceful blur across the mechanical keyboard. “Downloaded all the resident info. And…” He hits a button, then leans back in the squeaky office chair. “If anyone tries to tamper with their doors or windows, we’ll get an alert. Admit it, you’re impressed.”
Anasova does not look impressed. “You better know what you’re doing. If you accidentally cut power to those generators, we lose everything. Including the fire-suppression system. If that goes, we lose our only real leverage.”
“I still say we should just start backing up people’s toilets,” says Bud. “Much more cruel than just suffocating them.”
Anasova makes a sharp gesture—a conductor silencing an orchestra. “I need to set up on the roof. You finish up your computer stuff, then meet Vale in the basement.”
“You’re not my boss,” says Bud. “Sign my paychecks, then you can give me orders.”
Anasova makes another disgusted sound. Then she picks up her golf bag and walks out of the office. She steps over the security guy’s corpse without giving him a second glance.
She has to pass by me to reach the stairs. As she approaches, I realize that she isn’t wearing white bracelets as I assumed. They’re plastic zip ties, loosely dangling from her wrists, just waiting to be used on a hostage.
I squeeze my eyes shut—a childish impulse. If I can’t see her, she can’t see me.Let her not see me, let her just walk on by and not notice me—
Her footsteps grow louder.
I draw in a breath and hold it. I will myself to stillness and silence, to become as invisible as a real wraith.
And then Anasova passes me. She doesn’t glance my way as she strides up the stairs. I watch as she vanishes.
From the security office comes a loud sigh. “Thank you, Bud,” says Bud, in a breathy imitation of Anasova. “You’re a genius, Bud. You gave up a million-dollar career in cybersecurity, Bud, and we appreciate it.” He bends over the computer and continues to type, his attention absorbed.
I touch a finger to my ringware. Then I create a newtext file and save it in my visor. I’ll leave Prefect all the information I can find. If I die, at least he’ll have a lead on the killers.
Morbid? A little. But also proactively morbid.
Six deadly criminals.
One teenage hacker.
