by Kathy Reichs
“It’s Corcoran.” The captain leaned over the podium to instruct a reporter. “Captain Carmine Corcoran. C-O-R-C-O—”
Kit shook his head. “This guy again?”
Then Ben tugged my elbow. Nodded to his left.
“Kit?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you pull the car around? I’ll be there in a sec.”
Kit’s gaze flicked to Ben, then he nodded. “Five minutes.”
As my father strode away, Shelton and Hi both unleashed dramatic yawns.
“Welp.” Hi stretched his arms over his head. “I’d better go check on various things that aren’t right here. You coming, Shelton?”
“Oh, you know it.” Hiding a smile. “Stuff to do. No time to waste.”
They hurried off together, chuckling quietly.
Thanks, guys. This couldn’t be more awkward.
Ben was looking at me, a soft smile on his lips.
Panic.
Despite the cool night air, I started to sweat.
“Chill out, Brennan.” Ben seemed more at ease than I’d ever seen him. “I just wanted to tell you something. I think I know what was wrong with our flares.”
“What?” Completely thrown. This was not what I’d expected.
“Why the powers went haywire.” His face grew serious. “For months now, ever since we stopped talking, I’ve been holding something back. I was flaring all the time, but mostly because it made me feel connected to you. And Hi and Shelton,” he added quickly.
“Ben, I’m really sorry that—”
“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “You had every right to hate me. Lord knows I hated myself. What I did was unforgivable.”
“I never hated you. Not for a minute.”
He smiled at that. “Thanks for saying so. But the point is, while flaring, I was also walling myself off. Protecting my feelings. Distancing myself from the pack. I think I fought the connection, on some level.” He tapped his head. “At least up here.”
I considered his words. “You think that messed with our flares?”
He nodded. “I don’t understand it, either. But when we were in the woods, all five of us together, it was the first time I really let go. And look what happened.”
I thought about Ben’s theory. It made an odd kind of sense.
Could the problem have been as simple as Ben refusing our Viral connection?
“We don’t understand these abilities,” I said slowly. “Maybe accepting our place in the pack is necessary for the group to function.”
But for some reason, I was skeptical. Ben’s resistant mind-set might’ve negated the group’s ability to link minds, but why would that make my flares backfire? And what about the odd feelings I kept getting? They didn’t seem connected to Ben at all.
Ben shrugged. “All I know is, when I stopped fighting it—and lowered the barriers I’d built inside my head—the power flowed easily. Our minds merged.”
I grunted in frustration. “There’s so much we still don’t know. It makes me crazy!”
“We’ll get there. Our pack is whole again.”
I looked at Ben. Noticed the light reflecting in his brown eyes.
Whoa, boy.
“Whole,” I agreed.
Beep! Beep!
“Tory!” Kit called from behind the wheel of his 4Runner. Coop’s massive head was hanging out the back window. “Time’s up. Let’s skedaddle.”
I descended two steps.
Stopped.
Shot back up.
Wrapped Ben in a bone-crushing hug.
Startled, it took him a moment before he hugged me back.
Then, face flushed, I raced down to join my family.
Monday
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I peered down the street.
No sign of him.
“He didn’t say anything to me,” Hi repeated. “And if Shelton were sick, I’d be the first to hear about it. At length.”
“Maybe he overslept?” I suggested. “We had a pretty eventful weekend.”
Hi shot me a skeptical look. “And missed the boat to school? He’s never done that.”
Hiram and I were standing outside Bolton’s gates, uniform jackets off as we drank in the morning sunshine. The sky was a perfect azure blue, as if celebrating the end of the last week’s madness.
“Did you text Ben?” I asked. “Would Shelton be with him?”
“Shelton was home last night, and Ben went back to his mom’s place in Mount Pleasant. Neither said anything about missing school. I knew we should’ve checked on him before leaving the dock.”
“Don’t get jumpy.” Though I was starting to worry myself. “We caught the kidnapper. There must be some explanation.”
Hi was about to reply when a voice called down the block.
“Guys!” Shelton was sprinting toward us with something in his hand. “Check this out!”
“See?” Hiding my relief. It’d been a long week, and I was done with surprises.
“Where you been?” Hi demanded.
Shelton jumped to a stop before us. “I did it!”
My eyes narrowed. “Did what?”
“Cracked the encryption!”
I stepped closer. “Seriously? You opened the B-Series files?”
“Well, no. But I did figure something out.” He pushed his specs up the bridge of his nose. “You’re not going to like it.”
My patience slipped. “Shelton, what did you find?”
Shelton waved for silence as a gaggle of classmates passed through the gate. None gave us a second glance—our Gamemaster celebrity status was already old news. The whole town was talking about a crooked cop, the scheming Gable twins, and Ella’s terrifying ordeal. The new scandal had erased any interest in our tired story.
Ella was staying home for the week. I didn’t blame her. The last thing she needed was to be surrounded by stares and whispers. She needed to rest and recover.
We’d texted constantly that morning. My friend was tough as nails, and her biting sense of humor was returning. I knew she’d be okay.
After the students passed, Shelton spoke quickly. “That encryption is impossible to break, but I remembered something Chang did. How he’d been able to determine which server held Karsten’s old files.”
“Okay.” Waving for him to continue.
Shelton smiled like a Keebler elf. “Well, the same type of info was hidden in the metadata on the files we downloaded at the aquarium. I was able to track down which server can access them.”
I could never follow his computer-speak. “So you can access the B-Series files?”
“No.” His head shook impatiently. “But I know where we could. Just like with Karsten’s data stick. It’s the same technology.”
“You’d better not say the aquarium again.” Hi ran a finger across his throat. “If we go back there, they’ll feed us to the orcas.”
“Nope. Different place.” Shelton caught my eye. “Got a guess, Brennan?”
Something in his expression told me the answer.
Naturally.
“Chance.”
“Candela Pharmaceuticals,” Shelton confirmed. “User name: Chance Claybourne. The B-Series files are stored on a hard drive somewhere at their corporate headquarters.”
My head dropped. Then shot back just as quickly.
“Screw it.” Voice grim. “Let’s go. Now. Text Ben.”
“Seriously?” Shelton glanced at Hi, who shrugged. “We’re gonna skip class again?”
“I’m done tap-dancing with Chance Claybourne,” I vowed. “We’re gonna solve this mystery, once and for all.”
• • •
Candela’s main office is located on Bee Street, in Charleston’s busy medical district. The gleaming black monolith rise
s thirty stories, towering over the surrounding neighborhood.
We huddled in the shadow of a building across the street.
“I thought Candela was headquartered on Cole Island,” Ben said.
“That’s a production facility.” I pointed at the skyscraper before us. “This is the corporate headquarters.” A glance at Shelton. “That’s what we want, right?”
“I think so. At least, this is where Chance’s office should be. Candela’s website lists this address for upper management in research and development.”
“There’s nothing on Cole but that factory,” Hi added. “Security out there is probably through the roof. No chance we bluff our way into that setup. Our only shot is here, where they don’t actually make drugs.”
I nodded my agreement. “We have to sneak into Chance’s office. From his computer, I’m sure we can access any files he controls.”
“So what’s the plan?” Ben asked.
“Go inside. Look around. Improvise.”
“Brilliant.” Hi stroked his chin. “Quick question: Is having no plan the same as having a terrible plan, or are those different categories?”
“Just follow my lead.” Nervously smoothing my uniform. “Unless you think of something better.”
The lobby was spacious and cold, with marble floors and twenty-foot ceilings lit by white globes. A half-dozen elevators stood across from the entrance.
Striding purposely, I headed directly for them.
A pair of security guards eyed us curiously, but made no move to intercept.
One elevator was standing open. We hurried inside.
I pressed a button at random. Floor 20. Why not?
The doors closed. No one spoke as we ascended. What was there to say?
I watched the illumination move from floor to floor, without stopping. 14. 15. 16.
The car slowed. Stopped. The doors opened.
Beyond them stood a mousy grandmother carrying a giant stack of files. Thick glasses hung unused against her lilac sweater.
“Oh!” She started. “My goodness! I didn’t see you there.”
“No problem at all.” Hi smoothly took the lead. “Could you point us toward Chance Claybourne’s office?”
“Claybourne?” The woman blinked. “The young one? Isn’t he with special projects?”
Hi nodded, smiling patiently. “That’s our man. To the left, or right?”
The woman cocked her head like a parakeet. “I’m sorry, sir, but that department is on the twenty-seventh floor. Not down here in accounting.”
“Of course, my mistake.” Hi stepped back into the elevator and pressed 27.
The old woman moved to join us, but Hi held up a hand. “Terribly sorry, but this car is full. Have a nice day!”
The doors closed on the befuddled senior.
Ben chuckled. “Not bad, Stolowitski.”
“I do my best.”
Reaching 27, I stepped from the elevator and started down the hall. This floor was nicer, with plush carpet underfoot and gleaming oak doors lining the walls. I tried to look confident while striding the corridor, scanning nameplates from the corner of my eye.
We’d nearly completed a full circuit before I finally spied Chance’s office.
A corner suite, of course.
I stopped, then poked my head inside. Was immensely relieved to find the room empty.
We all scurried in, closing the door behind us. Hi shut the blinds.
The office was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows composing the two outer walls. Bookshelves and file cabinets lined a third. Near the door, a black couch and chair combination surrounded a glass coffee table. Farther in, a polished wooden desk held a single LCD monitor.
“Get to work,” I whispered to Shelton. “Chance could be here any second.”
Shelton moved to the computer and inserted his flash drive. “Excellent. He’s already logged in, and the putz didn’t password protect his screen saver.”
As Shelton began tapping keys, Ben, Hi, and I moved behind him to watch the monitor.
I couldn’t follow the commands, but he navigated the system with ease.
“They’re using Windows Eight, so I’m familiar with the OS. And this computer is accepting my flash drive as native. And look here.” Shelton tapped the screen. “Under the heading ‘Special Project—PX.’ Voilà.”
A folder labeled “B-Series.”
My pulse quickened. “Can you access the files now?”
Shelton clicked. The folder opened, revealing at least two hundred subfiles.
I chewed my lip, scanning the list. “Try . . . that one.”
My finger speared a PDF entitled “Brimstone—Project Goals and Parameters.”
Shelton opened the file. A two-page document filled the screen.
The header proclaimed:
CONFIDENTIAL AND PROPRIETARY.
THE INFORMATION AND OPINIONS CONTAINED IN
THIS REPORT ARE THE EXCLUSIVE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF CANDELA PHARMACEUTICALS, INCORPORATED. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED
TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.
“Whatever.” I began reading the document.
By the time I’d finished, my knees were shaking.
“Oh my God.” Shelton covered his mouth.
Ben kicked the base of the desk. “That idiot!”
Hi was wide-eyed. “Man, this is as bad as it gets.”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t tear my eyes from the awful report.
My mind raced, trying to assess the implications.
Finally, I had to say the words out loud. Didn’t want to believe them.
“Chance ordered new tests for Parvovirus XPB-19. He’s resurrecting Karsten’s experiment, but on a larger scale.”
“Moron!” Hi shot both hands through his hair. “He doesn’t understand the consequences!”
Suddenly, the door swung inward.
Chance stepped inside, holding a sheaf of papers.
His sleeves were rolled up, his tie loosened. Chance’s pricey Italian shirt was stained and wrinkled. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.
Chance paused in the doorway, taking in the four of us crouched behind his desk.
We stared, unable to muster a defense. The jig was up.
Caught red-handed. We’re toast now.
Then Chance did the last thing I expected.
“Good.” Wearily, he closed the door behind him. “You’re all here. Saves me the trouble of having to find you.”
Tossing the papers onto his coffee table, Chance collapsed on the couch. He rubbed bloodshot eyes with his palms.
We stood in a clump. Frozen. Clueless what to do.
“You might as well sit.” Chance gestured lamely. “It’s not like I didn’t know you were here. Security alerted me the minute you walked in. They’ve had your descriptions for months. I hear you spoke to Delores in Accounts Receivable. Next time, be polite and share the elevator.”
Dumbfounded, I did the only thing possible.
Slowly, expecting a trap, I walked over to the chairs. The boys trailed behind me.
I sat. So did Hi. Shelton and Ben remained standing behind us.
Chance hadn’t moved, remained slumped on the couch like a dead man.
Then abruptly, he straightened. Tension filled his frame.
His gaze roved the group. “I guessed right about you four, didn’t I?”
No one answered.
Chance spoke without emotion, as if discussing poetry at a Starbucks. “What happened when you caught the supervirus? Were the effects solely physical? Or did it change the way you think as well?”
“Let’s get out of here, Tory,” Ben urged. “Now.”
“I know everything, Benjamin.” Chance spoke simply, without threat or rancor. �
�I have Karsten’s old files. I’ve determined that Coop was the sole carrier. And I have no doubt you were infected. I’ve seen what this bug can do.”
“Yes.”
All eyes on me.
“Yes,” I repeated, looking directly at Chance. “We caught the supervirus. And, yes, it has had . . . effects on us. We call ourselves Virals now.”
Shelton gasped. Hiram’s eyes nearly shot from his head.
Ben shifted uncomfortably, his knuckles whitening on the sides of my chair.
“We have to bargain.” I spoke to my friends, never shifting my gaze from Chance. “The B-Series is too dangerous to ignore. And Chance knows too much already.”
Chance nodded slightly, but didn’t speak.
I leaned forward. “What do you want from us, Claybourne? Why are you pursuing this so hard? Why revisit illegal experiments with a canine virus?”
Chance inhaled deeply. A single tear leaked from his eye.
“I knew I wasn’t crazy,” he whispered.
I sat back, some of my anger evaporating. “Is that what this was about?”
Chance glared from across the table. “Try questioning your sanity for a while. See how much you like it.”
Fair enough.
“But you can’t continue these tests.” My voice grew pleading. “This experiment you ordered—Brimstone—you have no idea what you’re getting into. Trust me on this. You have to kill the project.”
Chance looked out the window. For a long moment, he didn’t reply.
Finally, “Too late for that.”
My tone sharpened. “What do you mean?”
Chance continued as if he hadn’t heard. “These changes you spoke of. You’re talking about special powers. Extraordinary gifts, right? I know. I was there. I saw what you can do. It’s amazing.”
“Those gifts might be killing us,” I shot back. “We barely control them. This isn’t a game, Chance. The supervirus won’t transform you into some kind of real-life Green Lantern. You’re playing with fire. You might be toying with a new plague.”
His voice changed. “You’re saying the virus could be dangerous? Deadly?”
