Gin took a deep breath. “Certain cr– . . . individuals seem to like to stop in a few specific areas, fairly regularly,” she said. “Look at the frequency of the stops for individuals three, eight, fifteen, and thirty-two.”
He graphed the data, several times to get it right. “I see it now. Yes, that makes sense.”
“You don’t think that’s a mistake? Something I did?”
Lucas shook his head. “No. It seems pretty straightforward. Do you know why they do that?”
“No. I don’t.” Her words came out haltingly. “I mean, not really.”
“Have you plugged the addresses of the stops into the search engine?”
Gin grimaced. “Well, sort of.”
“What’d you find?”
“Two places have a connection to InTech.”
Lucas rubbed his chin. “And the third? Which one was that?”
“It’s this one. I couldn’t find any link there.”
Lucas mapped the condo complex, then pulled up resources like city property records and minutes from homeowners’ association meetings. He scanned back and forth, between the lists and public records. Then he clapped his hands together.
“What about this guy?” Lucas brought up a photo of a young man, possibly a teenager, with cropped hair, big glasses, and a serious expression.
“Martin Schlesker,” Gin read. “What about him?”
“He lives in that building. His condo is on the floor where the birds stopped. And he was a big programmer at InTech. The sort of guy they’d have on special projects.”
Gin pulled her arms around her tighter. “Wait, how’d you find that out?”
“I looked at the names of people on that floor, and his name rang a bell, so I searched for him in the AAG site—”
“AAG?”
“American Association of Gamers. When I put him in, I remembered. He’s the real deal. A savant or something. One of the best gamers alive. Totally legit. And he started working at InTech when he was 16. He’s 20 now.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. He worked there for a few years, then must have gotten another offer from someone else.” Lucas flipped through the screens, shaking his head. “It’s amazing. Now we know where he lives. I might have to go introduce myself. That’d be wild.”
“Yeah. Wild.” Gin’s head was spinning. Every site the crows stopped at had been connected to InTech. And they were all important links, important people.
“You might want to show this to someone else. Not that they’d care too much—these are just birds after all.” Lucas pushed up his glasses. “Well, I guess we should pack up.”
“You’re right—it’s late.” She stuffed her laptop in her bag as she stood. “Thanks again for your help, Lucas.”
“Any time. In fact, if you want to talk more, I’m free any night this week.”
Her laptop felt heavier on her shoulder, the strap digging into her shoulder, weighing her down. “That’d be fun.”
The city streets were busy—cars clattering, walkers jostling, lights flashing—and it took Gin a second to orient herself. She headed for the Metro station, walking briskly, but before she turned the corner, she glanced back at her office window.
She held her breath, as if expecting a crow would be there. Perched at her window. Waiting. Watching.
But she saw only the city, shiny in the damp night, and the empty windowsill.
// Forty-Two
“All right, class.” Ms. Sandlin leaned against the edge of her desk, her gold bracelets catching the light. “This is it. Final check-ins on your models.”
Gin scrolled through her model’s code, not really seeing it. Because she was debating whether she should tell Ms. Sandlin about the pattern.
She had wanted to hear from Felix first. But for the past week, there’d been nothing. Not even a quick hi on the messaging board. She tried his cell, but it was disconnected. It was like he had disappeared—again.
It was worrisome: if Felix was hurt or in trouble, she might be the only one who knew. Then again, maybe he was annoyed at her for wanting to look at the data more.
She rubbed her face, hard. There were too many scenarios, too many unknowns. Impossible to determine the right thing to do.
“Gin? Time for your check-in.”
Ms. Sandlin was motioning her forward.
Gin pulled the model up on her laptop, her hands so damp that her fingers slipped off the keys.
“Very interesting.” Ms. Sandlin slid the laptop over and ran the model several times. She played around with the inputs—velocity, rate of aversion, rate of coherence. Every time, the little kite figures flew and flew, randomly at first, until they finally formed cohesive groups. Every time, it was beautiful.
“This is still so intriguing,” Ms. Sandlin said. “I see you’re almost done now. And the secondary leader phenomenon still holds.” She paused the model and pointed to kites in several groups. “Clearly, this work is excellent. I look forward to seeing all of the statistics.”
Ms. Sandlin started the model again, letting it run for a few more seconds, until all of the kites were in one group, a flock.
“Perhaps we can even get a journal article published.” She leaned toward Gin, hands folded on her desk. “It’d all be under your name, of course, but I could help with the process. I have to say, I’m so glad you continued with this work. Aren’t you?”
Gin clenched her hands in her lap. “Actually, there was something strange with the data.”
There. She had said it. She was going down this road, and in that moment, it suddenly felt good. If Felix needed help, this might be the only way to get it for him. And pulling in Ms. Sandlin would take at least some of the responsibility off of Gin.
She pulled up the raw data and explained the trend she thought she was seeing. Then she described how four crows had stopped predominately at three locations, all of which were connected to InTech.
“And the Gartners, who trained the crows that generated this data, own Odin, Inc.,” Ms. Sandlin said, quickly connecting the dots that Gin had set out for her. “And Odin’s main competition, arguably, is InTech. You know that, right?”
Something about Ms. Sandlin’s face—the way her eyebrows were knit together, the intensity of her gaze, made Gin feel even more worried. “But it may not be anything.”
Ms. Sandlin narrowed her eyes, looking harder at the data. “Maybe. But, you wouldn’t mind if I took a closer look, would you?”
“I guess not.” Maybe Gin had secretly hoped that someone—Lucas, Ms. Sandlin, her dad—would see her reasoning was off-base. But they all seemed to think the opposite.
“Good.” In a few quick keystrokes, Ms. Sandlin had emailed the file to herself. “I’ll let you know what I think. Okay?”
The bell rang, and Ms. Sandlin was on her feet, dismissing the class. Gin packed her bag, telling herself that whatever happened was fine.
Because the data was there. And so was the fact that Felix had, once again, disappeared. She couldn’t change either of those facts. Like Felix had said, they were truths, realities. Like a car with bad brakes, or cancer in your body—it was there, whether you wanted it to be or not.
And at some point, you’d have to deal with it.
// Forty-Three
All weekend, Gin ran statistics to show the secondary leader phenomenon was real. She had pages of statistics and scenarios, dozens more than she needed for her project. But it was better than sitting around and thinking.
Felix still hadn’t messaged her. And Gin had a sinking feeling that maybe he never would. But short of driving to his home and trying to bust in through the gate, there wasn’t much she could do.
On Monday, Ms. Sandlin asked Gin to stay after class. “I looked at the data,” she said as soon as the other students had left. “But first, I want to be clear that you are not in trouble. Got it?”
She acted like Gin should be happy to hear that, but it
only made things worse. Because now Gin knew that something was very wrong.
“The pattern you saw is real. It’s significant, according to my calculations. And quite strange.”
In a way, Gin felt relieved. She wasn’t crazy, she hadn’t missed some little mistake. But it also meant there could be something real going on. Something that would impact Felix and the crows.
“I’ve decided the best next step is to send the data to some associates. There won’t be any further action unless they feel it’s necessary.” She gave Gin a warm smile, the type that was supposed to make everything seem like it wasn’t a big deal.
Gin tugged on her hair and bit her lip. “I thought the data would stay in the class.”
“Yes, it usually would. But if there’s something going on, it deserves to be examined further. I believe you understand that—otherwise, I don’t think you would have brought the data to me in the first place.”
It was true. Gin could have decided not to turn it in, to keep it to herself, to show Ms. Sandlin her traffic model instead. But she hadn’t.
“Now, I would suggest that you don’t have any contact with the Gartners at this point. This could be sensitive. Otherwise, stick to your regular routine.”
“Even Felix? He’s been helping with the crow model, and . . .”
“Even Felix. I’ll let you know if there’s an update.” Ms. Sandlin stepped closer and put a hand on Gin’s shoulder. “But I want to be clear, this in no way impacts the quality of your work. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished. I’m still looking forward to having you in my internship program this summer, and I’d still like to help you publish a journal article on the scientific findings of this model.”
Gin made herself nod. “Thanks.”
“Of course. You’re talented. If anything, this shows it more.”
By the time Gin left, the halls were nearly empty. She watched the last few students hurry to their next class. Then she was alone.
She paused for a second. Her skin prickled, and she felt as though someone were there, watching her. She turned and looked behind her, quickly.
The hall was, unsurprisingly, empty. Rows of lockers, shiny floors, and blaring lights.
Nothing to be afraid of.
Two days later, just after Gin had made her way through two slices of Hawaiian pizza and was getting started on her homework, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. Which meant it could be Felix.
She stared at the phone, remembering Ms. Sandlin’s warning not to talk to any of the Gartners, even Felix. She answered it anyway.
“Hello?”
It was silent for a second. “Hey, Gin.”
Felix’s voice broke through, raced into Gin’s phone, into her ear, her brain. She closed her eyes and winced. It had been two weeks of silence. Two weeks of worrying about him, wondering if he was even alive. She was relieved to finally hear from him, but she was also tired of it. It all felt like a game, and she was done playing.
“I saw your message. I’m sorry it took a while to call. But, it’s been . . . hard.” There was a softness in his voice.
“I wish you had called too. You’re okay? I’ve been worried.” She sat down on her bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.
“Yeah. It’s just . . . my dad doesn’t make anything easy.”
There was another pause. She didn’t know what to say. What to tell him or not tell him. Maybe she shouldn’t have answered the phone.
“So this pattern,” he paused. “What, um . . . what do you think about it?”
She stood at her desk and stared out the window. “I don’t know what to think. Except I don’t think I ever expected to find anything. Did you?”
“Well, maybe nothing is there.”
Her face warmed, and she shook her head. “That’s the thing. I checked it all, and the trend I found is real. I don’t know what it means—”
“And that’s the rub, right?” His voice was suddenly cool, insistent. “Because data and patterns and all of these numbers—they’re useless if they don’t mean anything. And this finding—maybe it’s interesting or different. But it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“Right, that’s true. I know that.” Gin felt frozen. She wasn’t a novice at all of this. And Felix was making her feel like one.
“Okay, good.” He sighed. “I’m glad we understand each other. Because the reality is, all this analysis means for me is a bunch of trouble. So maybe it’d be good to ignore the whole thing.”
Gin rubbed her forehead and tried to steady her breath. “Well, I know it might not mean anything, but it kind of came up when I was talking with Ms. Sandlin, and—”
“You showed it to Ms. Sandlin?” Now he was mad. Felix, who never, ever seemed so much as frustrated, was mad. At her.
The pit in her stomach grew. She hadn’t done anything wrong—had she? Unless she should’ve waited to tell Ms. Sandlin.
“But, you wanted me to show her the model. And this part just kind of came up. And I hadn’t heard from you.”
There was another long pause. Gin tugged at her ponytail, nervous.
“Well, I’m sorry I’m still grounded and can’t always get to a computer, but that’s entirely out of my control.” He breathed out, slow. “I thought you would’ve waited. This isn’t a game. This is . . . my family.”
Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away. She didn’t even move. It was like she was stuck to that one spot on the bed.
“This doesn’t sound like you.” She nearly choked out the words. “I mean, you’re all about truth. And these are numbers. That’s it. Nothing I can change.”
She wiped her nose, trying not to sniffle. She didn’t want him to hear her so upset.
“Gin.” His voice was focused as though each word mattered. “You have to listen to me. You have to be careful, okay? We shouldn’t even be talking about this. But, be careful. Okay?”
House lights clicked on outside, bright in the deepening dusk. There was a distant sound of frogs croaking, and the days’ last birds flitted around the sky.
“Okay.” The word just came out. Even though she had no idea how to be careful or what she needed to be protected from.
“I mean, maybe you had the wrong data.” He suddenly sounded practical. For a moment, it was comforting. As though nothing were wrong. “I don’t even know what file you’re working with. The data could’ve been corrupt. Why don’t you send it to me, and I’ll take a look?”
“It’s the only one you gave me.”
“Right. But it doesn’t hurt to be sure.”
For a second, she hesitated. She had no idea what Felix knew or didn’t know, whether he was trying to protect his dad or actually wanted to help her figure it all out. But he had sent her the data to begin with, and her analysis was safely stored on her computer. Sending it back to him now couldn’t hurt.
“Okay. It’s coming over.” She watched the progress bar grow, and soon the spreadsheet was flying through space to Felix.
“I guess you probably have homework?” he said.
And she knew then. The conversation was over. Even if she didn’t know what any of it meant.
“I guess,” she answered.
“Okay.” He sighed again. “I just—I’m sorry. I know it probably doesn’t mean anything coming from me. But still, I am.”
“Okay,” she said. “Me too.”
He hung up, and whatever hope she’d had that things could be made right was gone. Now she knew. It’d never be the same again.
// Forty-Four
Two days later, Gin sat on her couch, her dad at her side. A normal school night, except they never sat together like this. And there had never been two suited men sitting across from them.
The men were from the FBI. They had flashed their badges at the front door and followed Gin inside. Thankfully, her dad had been home.
“Now, Regina—�
� said the man with the blue eyes, broad face, and hollowed cheeks. Agent Mike Finney. He was the talkative one. The other one seemed to be the note taker.
“I actually go by Gin.” She regretted saying it as soon as the words were out. He was with the FBI, after all.
“Sorry. Gin. Tell us how you first came in contact with the Gartners.”
Gin sat up straight, hands in her lap, expression calm. But the question filled her with dread. If she had known this would happen, she never would’ve used the data. Would she have?
“You should know,” her dad broke in, “that I work for a company owned by Grant Gartner. Though I don’t believe Gin had met the Gartners before this year.” Her dad was nervous, talking too fast and shifting his weight on the couch.
“Thank you, Mr. Hartson. That’s helpful.” Agent Finney turned back to Gin, his muscled body awkward in their old La-Z-Boy chair. For a second, his light eyes made Gin think of Felix.
“Now, Gin, tell me how you met the Gartners.”
She took a deep breath. And told them everything. Even how she and Felix had started to date a bit, before Felix was taken out of school. When she got to that part, her father raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a thing.
Agent Finney listened without reacting. Not even when she told him how she had found the pattern in the data, how certain crows had been stopping at places connected to InTech, how she had emailed the analysis to Felix weeks ago with no word back until two nights earlier, when he called, upset, and warned her to be careful.
A few times she hesitated. Maybe she shouldn’t be telling them what she knew. Maybe she should get a lawyer. But she hadn’t done anything wrong.
And for all she knew, the Gartners hadn’t either.
The light outside faded, and the sky turned dark blue, then black. Only the lamp in the corner of the living room shone. Gin’s dad didn’t seem to notice how dark it was, and Gin didn’t feel like she could get up, much less move. So they sat there, in the dim room, shadows lengthening around them.
Finally, after a few more clarifications, Agent Finney leaned back and looked at his partner. “What do you think, Paul—we good here?”
Crow Flight Page 23
