Exposure

by Kathy Reichs

  I needn’t have bothered.

  “Your daddy already left for work.” Whitney was wrapped in a floral bathrobe, blending a smoothie. “He said your attendance at dinner is required.”

  “Thanks.” Execution deferred.

  “We can talk then about tomorrow’s block party. I’m going to need your help setting up, and getting the food all squared away.”

  “Sure.” Grabbing a banana. “Just let me know.”

  Twenty minutes later, I was down at the dock.

  Hi and Shelton were waiting, Bolton jackets slung over their shoulders. The temperature was already eighty degrees, with the humidity on full blast, putting my deodorant to the test.

  “You still wanna go this morning?” Hi asked.

  I nodded. “The aquarium opens at nine. If we get there early, we can avoid the tourist rush.”

  “There won’t be any tourists in the off-limits areas,” Shelton grumbled. “Just security guards, killer fish, and a maze of rooms we don’t know how to navigate.”

  “We’ll manage,” I said simply. “We always do.”

  “You missed two classes yesterday, chasing Ben.” Hi waggled a finger. “Another absence might catch Headmaster Paugh’s attention.”

  My mood soured. “I know. And Kit’s on my case about our stunt at LIRI.” Not to mention Whitney. Or Chance. “But Chang has me spooked about those B-Series files. Candela being involved really freaks me out. I don’t think we can risk waiting.”

  Tom Blue appeared from inside Hugo’s cabin and waived us aboard.

  “Actually, I agree.” Hi led us toward seats in the bow. “We’re gonna go eventually, so why not today? The crowd should be small. No one visits the aquarium on a Friday morning in April.”

  “Ben’s picking us up at eight forty-five,” I reminded unnecessarily. “A block from school, on Gadsden. We go to first period, then ditch second. Hopeful we’re back by lunch. Maybe sooner.”

  Hugo rounded Morris Island and slipped into Charleston Harbor. The downtown peninsula appeared, grew larger as we chugged for the city marina. Seabirds filled the air, calling and circling the stern. The breeze carried the twin perfumes of salt and seafoam.

  Another beautiful morning in the Lowcountry.

  I rose. Stretched. Tried to shake away my lethargy.

  Get ready. Today is make or break.

  • • •

  “That’s just stupid, Tory! Quit being so damn stubborn!”

  “Not a chance! You’ve got some kind of death wish! We can’t even trust our powers lately. They’re too erratic for a public heist.”

  Ben thumped the steering wheel in frustration. “Maybe for you.”

  I glowered at Ben from the backseat. I’d given Hi shotgun, having sensed this argument was inevitable. I didn’t want to be close. The urge to slap might become overpowering.

  “Why don’t we all use our friendly words?” Hi suggested. “Let’s take five, and everyone can say something we like about each other. I’ll start. Shelton, you’re super at—”

  “Shut up, Hi!” Ben and I shouted, the first thing we’d agreed upon all morning.

  “In any case,” I continued, “we’re not flaring downtown, in broad daylight, inside a packed aquarium,” I repeated. “The risk is way too high. I can’t believe we’re even discussing this!”

  “You want us to find the server room,” Ben shot back. “That means sneaking around where we’re not supposed to be, dodging guards, and generally trying to be invisible. You don’t think that our particular set of skills might come in handy?”

  “Like Liam Neeson,” Hi offered to no one in particular. “He did find his daughter.”

  “Tory’s right,” Shelton said from the seat beside me. “I love the edge that flaring give us, but it’s not something we can use everywhere. Never has been. What happens if we run smack into somebody, eyes glowing like a pack of werewolves?”

  “We won’t run into anyone if we use our powers,” Ben insisted. “That’s the point.”

  “No.” I crossed my arms. “Either we agree on this, or I’m walking back to Bolton Prep.”

  Ben tensed. I could practically feel his exasperation. Then he took a deep breath. When he spoke again, the heat was gone from his voice.

  “Fine. No flares. Happy?”

  “Thank you.” I exited the vehicle before the argument could rekindle.

  The South Carolina Aquarium is on the opposite side of downtown from police HQ, on the peninsula’s eastern edge. Opened in 2000, the building has approximately ninety thousand square feet of floor space, and is home to over ten thousand animals.

  Not just tropical fish, either—the aquarium houses a vast array of aquatic-based wildlife. Alligators. Pythons. Hawks. All told, sixty exhibits are organized into five groups, each representing a region of the Appalachian watershed—Mountains, Piedmont, Coastal Plain, Coast, and Ocean.

  The main draw is the Great Ocean tank, a 385,000-gallon, two-story behemoth that holds nearly a thousand sharks, sting rays, sea turtles, and other saltwater creatures. I’d seen it twice, and was amazed both times.

  “Can we check out the dolphins before breaking and entering?” Hi asked as we crossed the nearly empty parking lot.

  “None inside.” Shelton consulted a handout he’d printed. “It’s illegal to keep a dolphin or whale in captivity in this state. But there’s a viewing deck that overlooks the harbor. You can see a ton of dolphins from there.”

  “Does that have a map?” I asked. The entrance was a few yards ahead.

  Shelton nodded. “There are two floors, and a trail you’re supposed to follow.”

  “I guess it makes sense to just go with the flow. Until we see a likely entry point.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Hi unbuttoned his collar and rolled up his sleeves.

  We’d ditched jackets and ties in the SUV, but our matching outfits marked us as truants to anyone paying attention. Nothing to be done. If hassled, we’d make something up—I was confident Hi had an outlandish cover story prepped and waiting.

  We bought four student tickets and stepped into the main lobby.

  “According to this flyer, you start upstairs,” Shelton said. “Then you snake through the exhibits, working your way around the second floor and then back down.”

  “Lead on,” I said.

  We ascended a level, found ourselves in the Mountain Forest. A family of river otters welcomed us to their domain. Moving as quickly as possible without drawing notice, we passed through the Piedmont with no more than a few glances. At the Coastal Plain, however, we were forced to stop a full ten minutes while Hi ogled the albino alligator.

  “You’re the coolest thing alive,” Hi breathed, as close to the bone-white reptile as he dared. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  Crossing the building, we buzzed past the Salt Marsh’s birds and the Coast’s sea turtles. At each exhibit we searched for service doors and non-public areas, but found nothing promising.

  “Let’s go back downstairs,” I suggested.

  “Head for the Great Ocean tank.” Shelton pointed to the center of the building. “There’s a staircase beside it that spans both levels.”

  The massive enclosure rose from the ground floor up through the second level—the aquarium’s central spoke—with viewing nooks at intervals around the glass.

  “That’s one huge honking fishbowl,” Hi said as we descended. “Must be hell keeping the pH balance correct. I know how it is. I owned a goldfish once.”

  “Once?” Shelton asked.

  “It died. Almost immediately.”

  “Nice work.”

  “Guys.” Ben had reached the lower landing. He nodded to a black door in the corner. “First one I’ve seen.”

  Shelton’s head whipped this way and that. “Coast’s clear.”

 
“The Coast is upstairs,” Hi quipped. “Where the octopus was.”

  Ben smacked the back of his head. “Stop being funny.”

  “You’ll regret that,” Hi hissed. “A Stolowitski always pays his debts.”

  We scurried to the door, and, with a last scan for observers, barged through.

  Thankfully, nothing began flashing or gonging. This portal wasn’t alarmed.

  We found ourselves in a chilly hallway lined with doors on both sides. The walls were white cinder block, the concrete floor a dull hospital gray. Fifty feet ahead, the corridor ended with a flight of steps going upward.

  “What now?” Shelton asked.

  “Start trying doors,” Ben suggested.

  Hiram and I took the left side, Shelton and Ben the right. Our first two rooms were locked. The third was a bathroom supply closet. I glanced at Shelton, who shook his head. They’d had no luck either.

  Suddenly, footsteps echoed down the hallway.

  Two pairs of shoes were descending the stairs at the end of the corridor.

  “Hide!” I whispered.

  “Where?” Shelton whined.

  Without a better option, I flung open the supply closet and pointed inside. We jammed in like sardines, closing the door as voices drew near.

  I held my breath. We’d barely made it twenty feet. So far, our mission was a joke.

  “I don’t see the point,” one said irritably.

  The footsteps halted right outside the supply closet door.

  Come on. Keep moving, you two.

  “I’m not paying you to think. I’m paying you to spy.”

  “Of course,” the first speaker stammered. “I meant no disrespect. It’s just . . . the girl and her friends are hard to track. They came by yesterday, but apparently spent the whole time in the video editing suite. I have no idea—”

  “Yesterday?” the second voice interrupted. “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely. I saw them myself.”

  A bomb went off in my head.

  Girl? Video editing? Were these strangers discussing me?

  “What game is she playing?” the second speaker mused.

  The bomb became a supernova. I know that voice.

  “I’ll keep watching.” The first voice became ingratiating. “Anything you need.”

  “Just do as you’re told and you’ll get paid. But don’t get cute, or make a move without my permission. Are we clear?”

  “Yessir. Very clear.”

  The footsteps resumed, heading for the aquarium floor.

  Before the boys could stop me, I cracked the door and stuck my head out.

  I had to see if my ears were correct.

  Twenty feet away, Chance Claybourne was striding down the corridor.

  Mike Iglehart was hurrying at his side.

  Someone tugged my shirt, pulling me back into the closet. The door snapped shut.

  “Are you crazy?” Shelton had an earlobe in each hand.

  “That was Chance!”

  “Say what?” Hi carefully eased the door open a second time. “There’s no one out here.”

  Shelton eyed me strangely. “Chance is working at the aquarium?”

  “Of course not!” Then my eyes widened. “But he is working for Candela.”

  Hi pushed the door wide and we stumbled out. As one, the boys scrutinized me.

  “It was Chance!” I insisted. “And not alone, either. That creep Iglehart was with him. He must be Chance’s mole at LIRI.”

  Things started falling into place. How Chance always knew things he shouldn’t. How Candela was connected to the institute. I wondered how long their slimy arrangement had been in place. I worried what Iglehart had been able to share.

  “Chance has been suspicious of us for months,” Hi said. “Hiring a spy at LIRI is somewhat logical. If you’re a paranoid, whacked-out trust-fund baby with too much time on your hands.”

  “He knows about Karsten.” I was suddenly sure. “The lab. The parvovirus experiment. The whole deal. Chance might even have access to Karsten’s records.”

  “What? How would he know any of those things?” Ben demanded.

  “Remember. Candela was bankrolling Karsten in the first place. The whole experiment was a pet project of Hollis Claybourne, Chance’s father. It stands to reason that Chance might’ve found out about it.”

  “He’s on our trail then,” Shelton worried. “Chance could expose us!”

  “Nothing in Karsten’s files leads to us.” I spoke for my own benefit as much as theirs. “At worst, Chance learns about Parvovirus XPB-19. But that won’t tell him squat about us.”

  That was true, right?

  Yet something nagged at me.

  Karsten never wrote a word about the Virals—he never planned for us to exist. Therefore, logically, nothing in his records could connect to us. Our genetic transformation occurred completely off the grid.

  So why did I feel so anxious?

  “Hey, people! We’re still in the process of committing a crime,” Hi reminded everyone. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to debrief?”

  “Right.” Ben pointed toward the staircase. “Keep moving.”

  We tried the remaining doors, with no luck. So, hearts in our throats, we snuck up the steps Chance and Iglehart had descended.

  At the top was another hallway. This time, the left-hand doors were labeled. Nutrition. Medical. Surgical. Chemical. The doors on the right had vertical window slits. Mounds of hoses, ropes, pipes, and clear plastic tubing were visible through each one.

  “This must be a veterinary area,” I said. “And exhibit maintenance. Not what we want.”

  Hi spotted a set of steel double doors. “That way, maybe?”

  I nodded, gesturing for him to lead.

  The hallway beyond was carpeted and wallpapered, with large square windows allowing view inside several offices, a conference center, and a copy room. Rounding a corner, the next door down contained what we sought.

  “Jackpot,” Shelton whispered. “I see a dozen blade systems. This must be the place.”

  The door was unlocked. Once inside we paused, uncertain what to do next.

  “We’re looking for a Candela server, right?” I shrugged. “Start hunting for the logo.”

  We fanned out to scan the rows of equipment. I found our target nestled in a corner.

  “Bingo.” I tapped the trademarked cursive letter on the unit’s side. “C marks the spot.”

  Fired up, I started barking orders. “Hi and Ben—guard the door. Shelton, find an access panel and get to work.”

  Spotting a mobile interface, Shelton flipped down its keyboard to reveal a small monitor. “I love technology.” He inserted Karsten’s flash drive.

  An icon appeared onscreen. Shelton double-clicked.

  “I’m not sure how to . . .” Shelton trailed off as the file tree flashed onscreen. “Excellent. The program works automatically.”

  Shelton cracked his knuckles. Then his fingers danced across the keys.

  “I’ll try copying everything back to the data stick,” he said. “Hopefully, the files won’t disappear when we disconnect, but we can’t sit here and read them.”

  “Sounds good.” In this realm, I had no advice to give.

  “B-Series files,” Shelton mumbled. “Gotcha. And if I disable this setting . . . we should be able to actually store them on the drive . . .”

  There was a series of whirrs and clicks.

  “Damn,” Shelton murmured. “Come on, now.”

  “What is it?”

  “I got the B-Series files downloaded, but they’re encrypted, too. We’ll need Chang again.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t trust that guy. We’ll figure something else out. Are you connected to the Internet?”

  �
�Yeah. Got a strong wireless signal.”

  “Mail everything to your dummy account, just to be safe. Then close up shop.”

  “Roger that.” Shelton mashed a few more keys, then removed the drive from the server. He was folding up the keyboard when Hi pounded over.

  “Someone’s at the door.” Eyes wide. “There’s no other way out.”

  Ben looked my way, his expression a thunderhead. “Two security guards. They snuck up on us, because you didn’t think sonic hearing would be useful.”

  I was about to respond when the door opened.

  Bright halogens flashed to life.

  My eyes darted left, then right. Then squeezed shut.

  Cornered like rats.

  There was no place to run.

  “Don’t move!”

  I didn’t. There was no point.

  A twitchy senior edged into the room, one hand clamped to his utility belt, a tan security uniform hanging loosely on his skinny frame.

  Hi raised both hands in the air. “Don’t taze me, bro.”

  The rest of us followed suit. The elderly guard was joined by a second, a muscular black man with a wispy mustache.

  The younger guard barked into a shoulder radio. “HQ, this is Hines. Spencer and I have located the intruders. Just some punk kids. Over.”

  Beside me, Ben seethed, furious we’d allowed ourselves to be trapped. I ignored him.

  Flaring might’ve made a difference, but we’d never know.

  And if we’d been caught with glowing irises? Yikes. No thanks.

  “Anyone else in on this prank?” the guard named Hines demanded. His partner watched in silence, equal parts terrified and elated. No doubt this was usually a slow gig.

  “No, sir.” I replied. “We got lost. Which way is the Madagascar Journey?”

  Hines snorted. “About four plausible wrong turns back. Let’s go. And nobody even think about making a break for it. I live for the idea of running someone down.”

  “Let me flare and try your chances,” Ben snapped.

  “What was that?” Hines got right in Ben’s face. “We got a problem, Bono?”

  Ben looked away. “No, sir.”