by Julian North
“Jefe Black might lend us men again,” I said desperately. “They won’t expect a direct attack. Maybe Jalen will help.”
“That’s a secure Authority detention facility, and there have been armed riots through all of BC. Of course they’ll expect an attack. It would’ve been suicide on any night. Jalen is too canny to touch that. Right now, it’s just a waste. Anyway, Jefe is done with us. He’s paid his debt. Providing a safe house wasn’t part of the deal. I bet he’s only doing it because if we’re captured, it leads back to him.”
Nythan was right. But that didn’t change what had to be done. “That place is an abomination.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. But acting emotionally rather than tactically isn’t going to help anyone.”
He couldn’t see my glare in the dark. He and Alexander were right about thinking long-term. That didn’t mean it pissed me off any less.
“Then what?”
I heard his breathing. I thought I heard his head humming. It might have been my imagination.
“They aren’t making the chips there. That wouldn’t make sense—putting a chip production facility in Bronx City, next to a detention center. Chip fabrication is complex, and it uses a lot of power. I think they are assembling a processing facility—where the implantation will be done. We need to find the actual chip manufacturing plant. Without that, there is nothing they can do to the people at Fishkill.” He was flicking his fingers, even though all links were blocked. “I know you’re worried about your brother—”
“Not just Mateo,” I insisted, my blood still hot. “Everyone. Those are people in there, Nythan. My people. That is a jackin’ slave factory they are building.”
“I know it. Hear me out. It may also be an opportunity.”
“A what?” The words came out hotter than I intended. “Sorry, Nythan. I know you’re trying to help. Tell me.”
“Virginia Timber-Night or her allies are behind this. They introduced that chipping bill to Congress, then days later prefab units are being set up in Bronx City. Prefabs take time to construct. Whoever they are, they are skirting around the edge of the law. Congress still hasn’t removed the prohibition on chipping or production. That’s why the chips aren’t there… not yet. But she is clearly preparing for when they are. In fact, she must have a supply of chips in her possession somewhere, or it wouldn’t make sense to build the processing center here. HydroTrans, prefabs—it all costs. If we find the production facility and connect it to Virginia Timber-Night, we can use it against her. She has plenty of enemies—the president among them.”
“Richie politics,” I near spat. I wanted to act—I wanted blood.
“The real world, Daniela.”
“Those chips could be anywhere. Colombia. Korea. Any of the countries where it’s perfectly legal to make humans into slaves.”
“I don’t think so. They were being brought in on hydroTrans to a North Atlantic port. Those ships are almost never used for oceanic deliveries, except maybe by the military. If they were coming from South America, they would’ve used a gulf port. I think there is a production facility somewhere closer.”
“How do we find out for sure?” As soon as the words left my mouth, a stirring of an idea came to me.
Nythan was talking about hacking satellites, navigation codes, other jargon, but I didn’t hear him. I was thinking about what Rudolph Banks had said back at the president’s funeral, about a mysterious extraction platform in the Atlantic—a billion-dollar facility sitting on a patch of ocean where Rudolph said there was nothing to drill. A place guarded by patrol boats so no one could get close. That had to be it.
“Stop talking, Nythan,” I said. “I think I’ve—”
An ugly thud interrupted me: the groan of a door being forced open by a battering ram. Only the Authority would be knocking down doors within a curfew zone. Heavy footfalls pounded the floor above us. I couldn’t get a precise count, but there were several officers, at least. They barked orders and acknowledgements. I didn’t need to hear the words to know their mission. This room was well-concealed beneath a false floor, but if they had imaging scanners, they’d find it. It would depend on how thorough they were. I didn’t like our chances.
The noise above soon became violently loud: walls were being torn apart, floors ripped up.
“They’re going to find us,” I whispered to Nythan.
“There are at least four of them up there,” he said. “If that happens, we surrender. We live to fight another day.”
“There is no other day.”
They came for us moments later. The trapdoor covering the entrance was ripped from its hinges. Light from above invaded our dark hideaway. I didn’t wait to find out what the Authority goons intended next. Maybe those men would’ve given us a chance to surrender. Maybe not. When they arrived, I was ready for them.
The force of my trill surged forth as the first of the black boots peeked through the shattered floor above. I was icy will, a wielder of power. Finally, I had a chance to attack.
My mind found the vanguard of the Authority search team peeking inside from ten feet above. My tentacles jabbed into his thoughts, and in that instant, I knew him. Norris was his name. He wasn’t from the Five Cities, and the Authority was new to him. He hailed from further south—Georgia. Norris had served in Varin-Lynn’s border patrol and had been newly seconded to the Special Threats Force. I probed his mind’s defenses; they were more formidable than I expected.
I approached a reinforced concrete bunker with a single, dark entrance. I sensed the will deep inside the fortifications, wary of attack. As my cold power pushed closer to the structure, ugly coils of barbed wire sprouted from the ground, the edges glistening dangerously. Unusual. The man was no highborn. He must’ve had anti-interrogation training. Former military.
I drew upon more of my power. It came easily, anxiously. I directed the cold that flowed through me at the wire protecting Norris’s mental fortress. The metal became ice, then even colder. The ground froze. Finally, my icy will reached the thick walls of the bunker. Icicles formed on the concrete. Images of a skyline I had never seen flashed before me; Savannah, I suddenly knew. I saw a refugee lying on the ground, a force rifle blast through his back. Dead at my hand. I shook the dream away, focusing on the task at hand. My will attacked—an armored bulldozer racing toward what was left of Norris’s mental defenses.
The frigid wire shattered as I plowed into it. The walls of his bunker cracked even before I reached them. When I struck, they shattered like glass. I entered his sanctum, triumphant, tingling with power. Norris was mine to command. And I did. The men around you are your enemies. They are trying to kill you.
The beam of a force rifle flashed. Screams of horrific shock followed in its wake, rattling down to our dark recess. More light blazed overhead. I reached out for others whom I could command. I’d beaten Norris’s defenses. I could do the same to anyone else. And I wanted to. They deserved no less.
I came upon another man, another former soldier. His mind was already open, a fallen tower of stone lying upon a muddy field. Images of a little girl, her hair so shiny blonde that it was almost gold and eyes glinting like a lake under the noon sun, danced before me. The girl ran just out of my reach. I lingered to grab her as the sunlight above faded to black.
The image shook. It changed. The girl was gone. The sharp chin and ugly eyes of Major Varin-Lynn appeared instead. His mouth moved as he spoke into his viser. I was too far away to hear clearly, but I could read his lips: Project Windrip. Something in Varin-Lynn’s eyes drew my attention. The image shook again. I tried to focus. The major looked surprised—maybe nervous. The world trembled.
A hand was on my back, shaking me hard. “Daniela!”
It was Nythan.
My eyes were open, but I saw only Varin-Lynn’s face. I blinked. The hideout returned. Nythan’s pale eyes were an inch from mine. His breath stank.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded. “You were in some kind of
trance.”
“It’s nothing.” My tongue was heavy in my mouth.
“Who were you trilling? It’s quiet up there.”
“No one.” I rubbed my face. “It’s complicated. Let’s get out of here.”
“Daniela, if something happened to you while you were using the power, you need—”
I started up the ladder. I didn’t have time to play doctor with Nythan. Something was happening. Something even worse than that chip facility. It was enough to make Varin-Lynn nervous. And it was coming soon.
I lifted myself into the basement, into a scene of carnage. I kept the cold energy of my will drawn and ready.
Three men lay on the ground soaked in their own blood. Two were stacked on top of each other—a single force blast had cut through both of their torsos. Their companion had been hit in the leg and chest. That lone corpse had a baby face, smooth and plump. He looked peaceful. Norris stood over the bodies, gaping at his empty hands, then at the carnage he had wrought in quick succession. His flaxen hair hung over drooping eyes; his lips were trembling. A force rifle was on the ground beneath his feet. Most importantly, his mind was still open, vulnerable.
“What is Operation Windrip?” I demanded in a voice that was also an unstoppable command.
Norris’s mouth opened, then shut. His brows furrowed with confusion. “I—I don’t know… not really.”
“Tell me everything you do know.”
He shook his head. “I heard the major talking about it a couple of times. The first time was two days ago. Then again tonight, before we set out. Search operations are to cease at two o’clock this morning. At that time, we are to report to base for a three-hour rest period.”
“Then what?”
“I haven’t been given further orders. Further operational details are classified.”
“But you suspect something. What do you think will happen after that?”
Norris squinted, as if straining to see something that wasn’t there. “Some kind of operation is planned. Almost every SPF squad—everyone who was transferred over from Border Enforcement—has been issued orders similar to ours. Something big is going down.”
I looked at Nythan. “We’ve got to get out of BC. Back to Manhattan to warn Alexander. Jalen too.”
“How?”
I pointed at Norris. “He’s going to help us.”
Chapter 24
Norris’s team traveled in a military-style light transport vehicle that resembled those used by the Authority elsewhere, except its rear compartment was covered only by a plastika sheet and it had enough room to carry two dozen soldiers. I instructed Norris to take manual control of the vehicle while Nythan and I piled into the rear transport area wearing ill-fitting SPF uniforms. Mine had a force blast hole in the chest, but that detail wasn’t easily noticeable in the dark.
We cleared the cordon easily—a pair of Authority patrolman stood vigil at the only checkpoint. They waved us through without even scanning Norris’s identification. A single enforcement drone rolled past us, but the roads were otherwise clear. As we rode on, I realized that Bronx City was devoid of almost any activity, even outside the cordon. Strangest of all, I didn’t hear a single drone in the sky.
“What does that mean?” I whispered, indicating the lonely clouds.
“Nothing good.”
It soon became clear where the security forces had gone; they were massing at the bridges into Manhattan. Dozens of vehicles similar to the one we rode in were parked in neat, military-style rows just off the roadway. Large tents had been erected nearby. A dozen enforcement drones were lined up behind them, seemingly powered off.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“It means it’s going to be hard to get across that bridge. I don’t see anyone crossing—by land or air.”
I clenched my jaw. “I’ll get us across.” I leaned in closer to Norris, speaking through a small hole in the transparent duraglass separating the front cab from the rear cargo area. “You have a special permit issued by Major Varin-Lynn to cross. Operational details are secret.”
Nythan shot daggers at me but kept his mouth shut. There was no other way to do this, and he knew it.
We drove along the road lined by parked paramilitary vehicles and drones with the wariness of a fish swimming into a crocodile’s mouth. But no one challenged us. Indeed, a disconcerting silence hung over the place. Most people were busy elsewhere, or resting in preparation for whatever was coming in a few hours.
The gates of Broadway Bridge were closed. A duraglass security booth large enough to fit a single person stood off to one side. Its occupant stared out into the night rather than at the screens in front of him. Our vehicle drew the officer’s attention. His eyes narrowed. Outside the small shed, four other black boots stood in a circle, their scanning equipment beside them. Two looked over their shoulders before resuming their conversation. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t handle five at the same time.
“Bridge is closed to traffic,” said the officer as he opened the door to his shed. He was as young as Norris, with smooth skin and blue eyes. “You should’ve been issued those orders already.”
“I’ve got special instructions from the major himself,” Norris replied. He held out his viser, certain that its encrypted contents would confirm his statement.
Mr. Blue Eyes pursed his lips before flicking a few fingers on his visered hand. He frowned as he gazed at its display.
I whispered my trill as a biting cold shot at his mind. He had only a wall of glass to guard his free will, and it fell easily. A smile curled at the edge of my lips. “Those are orders from Major Varin-Lynn instructing you to permit this vehicle to cross into Manhattan without delay.”
“Orders confirmed,” Blue Eyes said. He glanced over his shoulder at the inspection team.
“You are to speak to nobody about this,” I ordered.
His mouth stayed shut, and his fingers twirled, entering codes until the gates opened. The inspection team looked up again.
“Get moving,” I told Norris. He did.
We rumbled across the bridge into Manhattan.
It was late; the streets were mostly empty, although Manhattan never truly slept. The odd pleasure center or café was still animated, even at this hour. There was no sign of increased Authority activity. Drones patrolled the sky, but not in unusual numbers.
“Where to now, boss?” Nythan asked.
“Alexander’s place,” I said. “Communication was restored as soon as we crossed the bridge. I’ll ping him that we’re on our way. But I don’t want to arrive in an STF transport. Let’s head for a subway station. We’ll get out there, then I’ll tell our driver friend to find someplace quiet to take a nap.”
“I still want to talk about what happened to you back at the safe house.”
“Later, Nythan. I think the world’s about to blow up.”
We walked from the Eighty-Sixth Street subway station to the Rose-Hart residence through clean, peaceful streets. Alexander met us outside his house. He looked like he was ready to go spend an evening with friends in his flowing shirt of snowy cotton hanging loosely over antique denim pants, but his face had an air of gravity. He wrapped his arms around me as soon as I stepped out of the vehicle. His embrace was tight, strong, and warm. I let myself enjoy being enveloped for a few precious moments before pulling away.
“A storm is coming.”
“Let’s talk inside.”
He led us to the cozy table in his massive kitchen. For once, Gibbs wasn’t around. Alexander poured us coffee, dark and steaming. My head pounded. Visions of bodies lingered in my mind.
“Are you all right?” Alexander asked me.
I waved away his concerns. “Nythan, tell him about what we found.”
Nythan told him about the chipping facility being constructed, and about my brother. I wouldn’t have been able to relate the situation so calmly. He left out the part about my trilling the STF soldiers, about killing most of them. “Normally, i
t would take a year to construct someplace like that, but this one will be operational in weeks, maybe days, because it’s already been assembled—in pieces, somewhere else. Someone has been planning this for a long time.”
“Virginia Timber-Night,” Alexander pronounced grimly.
“A strong possibility,” Nythan agreed.
“The chipping bill is blocked by Hoven and his allies. She’s taking a huge risk.”
“We need to save those people. Mateo, and the rest,” I said. “Nythan said the modules are coming in off hydroTrans. Which probably means the prefabs are being prepared close by.”
“How close?”
“Eastern seaboard,” Nythan said. “Those ships can move at about eighty knots, but they don’t carry enough fuel for more than twenty-four hours of continuous operation.”
“Rudolph Banks told us that he’d seen unusual activity around his energy platforms,” I said. “He thought Tyrell and Virginia were muscling in on his business. But maybe it has nothing to do with resource extraction at all. Rudolph said the platform was in the North Atlantic—so probably within Nythan’s distance calculations.”
Alexander managed a weak smile. “Mr. Banks seemed to like you. Ask him in the morning.”
“I’m not waiting till morning. I’ll ping him now.” I flicked my viser. Once. Twice. “Something’s wrong.”
Nythan glanced at his own device. “It’s started.”
Chapter 25
The entire net had been shut down. No communication, no feeds, nothing. But we didn’t need viser data to know something terrible was happening. We could hear it from within Alexander’s house—Operation Windrip.
The roar of engines came first. It was the sound of v-copters—a lot of them.
“The roof,” Alexander said, and we all ran, following him to the landing pad on the top of the house.
The aircraft flew toward us in tight, arrow-shaped formations, like flocks of birds. There were two groups, one headed in from the north and another from the west. Most of the machines were v-copters, but they were accompanied by another, sleeker type of aircraft I hadn’t seen in the sky before.
