Page 34 of Antihero

“You’re promoted. You and Rawlings take over once I leave. The only way it’ll work is if you’re both in charge. Rawlings is smarter and more open than you think. And Rawlings? She’s smarter and tougher than you think.”

“I can’t be in charge,” Rawlings said, “of him.”

“You can. I’m investing you both with that authority. If there’s a problem you answer to me. And I will answer to him.”

Evan shook the black box.

At the same time Joey and Rawlings reached for it. At the same time, they withdrew their hands, as if scalded.

Evan repressed a grin, set the black box down on the desk. They could fight over it later. He shot Joey a watch-your-ass look.

And walked out.

17Fucking Dumb Move

Within channels of concrete, steel, and glass, Devine’s helicopter carved through Manhattan. From his lofty perch, Evan surveyed the unearthly panorama through ancient eyes. Piloted on a man-made bird, he felt his bones thrum with the machinery encasing him. As the airborne dreamscape scrolled past at eye level, his gaze took in the denizens laboring within it, pallid faces at science-fiction cubicles, insects tending the hive. It seemed impossible that the crowded island hadn’t sunk under the sheer mass of the towering habitats.

Joey’s voice memo, routed through his RoamZone, poured into his earpiece, jarring him back into the present.

Hey, hey, that was so badass today, how you read, like, everything and backed the guards down. And when you told him to get me the Aperol spritz I thought you were being all, “Lemme order for the little lady here.” And I was secretly pissed off, I was, but you had a plan after all and that was so cool to watch you operate, like, firsthand. And you totally did it, X. You totally got to Devine.

He texted: On the bird. Limit comms.

And how ’bout when I stepped in and was all like, “Say it, motherfucker.” And that was totally the right timing, right? Like, serious movie moment.

Evan texted: We’re in the middle of the mission. Let’s not play our favorite hits.

…

Okay, but damn. And also? The whole cigar thing—

Evan swiped and tapped.

Notifications silenced.

The rotors beat the air, straining against shoulder bolts and load-bearing screws holding them improbably aloft. He closed his eyes, did several rounds of four-square breathing. Then swiped again.

Notifications allowed.

He texted: Update.

Rawlings is pretty cool, like you said. We’re figuring out how to work with each other but the vibe is good, and I’m pretty sure he respects me. And they’ve given me unfettered access to this beast of an NAS in Devine’s secret lair, which is, like, insanely incredible. No one should have this much access and this much power. The Brain can see everything. Which means, right now, I can see everything, so it’s like, Orphan J at the helm of the free world. I’m really appreciative you gave me this opp—

Pause.

No, he texted. Update on the young woman who was taken from the subway.

…

Oh. Right. Sorry. Thought you wanted color commentary.

Never.

Fine. The surveillance cameras in the subway cars were blacked out. Not a coincidence. And whoever did it—it was spray-painted—knew how to not be seen. The cameras at 125th are glitchy as fuck—thanks, city budget—but I picked up a crew of guys flashing past an ATM camera on Saint Nicholas Avenue. And they’re half carrying a girl, her arms over their shoulders, like she’s super drunk. And no one really notices. They’re just, like, carrying her off in the middle of a crowded city. It’s super fucked up, X. Hard to watch.

Facial ID?

Too hard to see her. Visuals are grainy af. And they’re, like, mobbed all around her. Smart fuckers, they have baseball caps pulled down low so I can’t grab features, nothing. Sending you screen grabs now.