Page 41 of Peak’s Code

“I’m listening,” she grumbled, putting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re waiting for your chance to leave.” She hated that he’d read her so easily. Peak unfolded the paper. Maeve moved close enough to read it over his arm. It wasn’t an address. It was just a string of numbers, and she was sure that they were coordinates.

“Virginia?” Peak asked.

Captain nodded. “Looks like an abandoned naval communications station outside Chincoteague.”

“That’s not Virginia,” Maeve said. “Chincoteague is on the Eastern Shore.”

Captain looked irritated. “Close enough.”

Peak studied the coordinates. “Mercer says Wren is there?”

“He said she was transferred through there,” Captain said.

Maeve’s hope dropped as quickly as it had risen. “Transferred where?”

“He didn’t know,” he said. “Or wouldn’t tell you.” Captain’s mouth tightened. “Mercer likes playing games, but Warden doesn’t.”

Maeve knew exactly what that implied. “Is Mercer still alive?”

“For now,” Captain breathed.

She looked at Peak. “If Warden kills him⁠—”

“He won’t,” Peak said. The certainty in his voice stopped her. Peak refolded the paper and handed it to Captain. “What’s at the station?”

“Nothing, according to public records. It shut down more than twenty years ago,” Captain said.

“Public records don’t mean shit,” Maeve said.

Peak looked at her and nodded. “No, they don’t.” The familiar spark of shared understanding passed between them. It was the same feeling she’d had when they discussed the shipping company and the hidden crawler. The world might not make sense, but data and patterns did. The man standing beside her seemed to understand patterns as naturally as she did.

Captain reached into another pocket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag. Inside was a rectangular strip of paper stained with blood. Maeve’s stomach tightened. “What is that?”

“We found it sewn inside Mercer’s jacket.” Peak took the bag and held it beneath the motel lamp. The paper contained a handwritten sequence of letters and numbers, and Maeve leaned closer to see it. At first, the writing looked random, but then she saw it.

“Those aren’t serial numbers,” she said.

Peak nodded. “Encryption key.”

“Part of one,” she agreed.

Captain glanced between them. “How can you tell?”

“The repeating character groups,” Maeve said.

“And the spacing,” Peak added. “It’s broken into blocks of eight.”

Maeve’s mind started moving faster. “Wren used blocks of eight in her work.”

Peak looked at her. “You’re sure?”

“She built her first cipher when she was sixteen. Everything was grouped in eights because eight was her favorite number,” she said, smiling at the memory.

“Why was eight her favorite number?” Peak asked.

“She said it was balanced. Turn it sideways, and it became infinity.” Maeve’s voice cracked on the last word. Wren had drawn tiny infinity symbols on everything she owned. School notebooks, phone cases, and even the canvas sneakers Maeve bought her for her nineteenth birthday.