We had worked together for the better part of three years. While Prefect might gently needle me, might sigh and roll his eyes at my antics, might even complain occasionally about being saddled with a teenage wraith—I knew he respected my abilities. When he heard the fear in my voice, his fingers froze.
“Look at the clock,” I said.
Centurion and Prefect looked at the clock. “Augusta,” Prefect began to say, frowning.
Centurion got it first. And he took two full steps back. “That clock,” he said. “It’s going down, not up.”
It was hard to tell in the dim illumination of the flashlight, but Prefect might have paled.
“It’s not a clock,” I said. “It’s a countdown.”
FORTY-TWO MINUTES REMAINING
We were trapped on the fifth floor of an ISD office building with no lights, no escape routes, and aticking clock. We had hurried to the other side of the floor, nearest the elevators. It was as far from the kitchen as we could get.
“Forty-two minutes until what?” said Keiko. She had been trying to call the director for the better part of five minutes.
“Maybe someone set it to make their coffee,” said Leo. “Like, in forty-two minutes, it’s going to try and make a latte. You can do that through the app.”
“It has an app?” said Steve, sounding irritated. “You mean I could’ve just used my phone instead of walking across the entire floor?”
“Yeah,” said Leo. “There was a QR code on the side of the machine.”
“Why does everything have an app these days?” said Prefect, sounding about a hundred years old.
“How about we debate the pros and cons of apps after we’re not blown up by the office espresso machine,” said Keiko, her voice tight. “And don’t say I’m panicking, Steve. I know I’m panicking. We can’t even get a bomb squad up here because of the lockdown. And I’ve been calling the director’s aunt’s house but apparently there’s some kind of family reunion, so I just keep getting the catering crew.”
“The one time the director takes a weekend off,” muttered Prefect. “Of course this happens.”
“There’s got to be someone else we can call,” said Steve. “The FBI?”
Keiko gave him an offended look. “We do not need the FBI bailing us out of this.”
ISD didn’t have the greatest working relationship with the FBI. Mostly because we could waltz in and steal their cases if there was any identity theft involved. And they had to come to us if they wanted undercover agents to be given new identities. And one of usmighthave once glitter-bombed their team at an interagency training simulation.5Which didn’t foster a lot of goodwill.
“They have a bomb squad, don’t they?” said Steve.
“So does the fire department,” said Keiko. “Call them. They’re not assholes.”
As they began to squabble, I stepped away from the group and nodded at Prefect.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Come on,” I said. “I want to check something. Do you have a burner phone?”
“Of course.” He pulled the thin slip of glass from his pocket and handed it to me.
I frowned at it. “No, not your normal phone. If there’s anything valuable on it, it might be compromised.”
“All my phones are burners,” said Prefect blandly. “There is no identifiable information on that.”
Wow. And I thought I was paranoid.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Just a suspicion,” I said. “I don’t want to freak anyone out before I have confirmation.”
“I believe the presence of a potential bomb and our entrapment is reason enough to ‘freak out,’” he said dryly.
