Never Go Alone

by Denison Hatch

  This thief was not one of your sophisticated hacker types. He did not have encryption software pre-loaded into a soldered microchip. He engaged strictly in location hacking, not the digital variety. But now his mission was complete. It had nothing to do with checking electrical circuits. That was a task he was barely prepared to do. But Mr. Clipboard was well versed—an expert, in fact—in making people like this deckhand bend to his bidding.

  ▪

  The instant the computer turned off, a second thief in a black wetsuit emerged from underneath the dock aside which Razor was docked. All was quiet—for the time being. It was impossible to walk directly onto the boat because the ramp had been retracted by the deckhand. The swimmer floated towards the giant inflated balloons that formed the boat fenders for the yacht. He crawled onto one of the bumpers, quickly stabilizing himself. Then the swimmer grabbed the thick cable that secured the yacht to one of the dock’s bollards. Hanging from the cable, he put one hand over the other and pulled himself up. Still about ten feet from the main deck, with the cable angling upwards until it became almost vertical, the swimmer pulled out a climbing ascender. It latched onto the cable and could be pushed vertically but would not retract without being specifically unlocked. He attached the device and then flung his two feet around the cable like an upside down cat. He began to slowly pull himself up the rope, using his feet to retain balance and the ascender’s latching mechanism to avoid slipping back down. Within about forty-five seconds, he was on Razor’s main deck.

  ▪

  While the deckhand didn’t realize that anything had happened to Razor’s computer, it was another story altogether in the security room—built into a series of cabins behind the captain’s wheelhouse. The yacht’s security chief was a hard man named Avi, an Israeli who kept himself at 4 percent body fat even though he was over fifty years old. While boats in general were a soft target, they were not often in the crosshairs. If he had been in the French Riviera and hosting a phalanx of drunk supermodels decked out in millions of dollars of jewelry, the entire yacht’s security team would be at a much higher level of alert. But New York was generally safe, and the last three weeks had been a snoozer. He liked working for the boat’s owner. The organization paid well and on time—always. Both were important, and rarely were both so consistent in the yachting world. Avi was paid over two hundred thousand dollars a year to ensure that no hiccups ever occurred. He was paid well because a snoozer could turn into a shitstorm on a dime.

  And then it did. While Avi sat at his desk, legs kicked up and reading a maritime safety brief from Stratfor, he noticed all of the security cameras go black on one side of his dual screen. The application was still running, but he was getting no feed at all. He jumped onto the radio while he clicked through the application.

  “Deck, Engineering. Report,” Avi commanded into his radio.

  ▪

  Mr. Clipboard heard the radio call from inside the engine room. He watched as the young deckhand brought the radio to his face.

  “I’m almost done. Just need to check out the conduits in the hallway,” he said.

  “Okay,” the deckhand responded, then spoke into his radio. “I’m in the engine room with the Chelsea Piers maintenance guy.”

  “Don’t move,” Avi said. “And don’t lose him.”

  Mr. Clipboard had already scooted out. The deckhand raced outside into the hallway, where the man was standing fifty feet down the hallway, staring up at electrical conduits.

  “Hey! Our security guy wants to talk to you.”

  “You got it,” the man replied. Then he broke into a sprint. The deckhand was shocked for one moment. Mr. Clipboard took a set of stairs at the end of the hallway, rising through the bottom level of the boat, into the second sub-basement and finally reaching the poop deck in the back of the boat. The deckhand followed, yelling into his radio.

  “This guy ran away! He’s out the poop deck, by the engines.”

  ▪

  Avi raced out the back of his security room, onto a balcony that overlooked the boat’s stern. In the darkness, he could barely make out the deckhand shaking his head in confusion.

  Mr. Clipboard was gone.

  ▪

  In the meantime, the swimmer was scaling Razor’s bow, climbing up the glass windows of the first floor towards the forward balcony that made up the main stateroom’s window. The swimmer reached the balcony and tried the door. It was locked. He pulled out a throttle—a piece of titanium about as thin as paper, but unyielding. He wasn’t going to pick the lock. There wasn’t time. He simply placed the throttle into the doorjamb and used the power of leverage. The swimmer plied and then rotated the shiv. Within a second, a small, one-inch space appeared between the double-paned glass layers of the door and the frame. He pulled the door with all his might, and the glass shattered.

  ▪

  About ten seconds later, Razor’s computer began to reboot automatically. Lights blasted on all around the yacht, accompanied by loud sirens. The whole place woke up in a hurry, with dozens of staff members rushing to the surface.

  Avi held a pistol on the top deck. He could see a wet and black-clad intruder running towards the bow, now illuminated by extremely strong spotlights.

  “Stop!” Avi screamed.

  But the swimmer did none of the above. He didn’t stop as Avi lifted the gun. Instead, he turned to view the yacht in all of its beauty. He had just conquered this beast, and all of its denizens were running around with their heads cut off. He could vaguely hear the yelling and commotion around him as he placed his hands behind his head—as if he was actually conceding. He saw the security man holding the pistol and charging towards him. And just when they were a few feet away, the swimmer stepped back. He lifted his feet to the sky and flipped over the yacht’s front railing. Within seconds, he was enveloped by the murky black hole of the water below.

  Once the swimmer was underwater, he held his breath. He paddled as hard as he could. He was looking for a light and finally found it, blinking far ahead. He strove for the light, which was submerged into the water and seeking only him. He finally breached the surface just as his body was quaking with the necessity of air. He looked up at the small Zodiac boat there to pick him up. A few sets of arms reached into the water and yanked the swimmer out of the cold, where Mr. Clipboard grinned at him.

  “It was a covert preparation,” Mr. Clipboard said.

  “For an overt operation . . .” the lanky swimmer said while he pulled his six-foot-four body into the small Zodiac boat.

  NINETEEN

  MONA AND JAKE COVERED THEIR faces with their hands as they sprang through the empty visitor’s center. The front doors were locked, but a fire exit to the side of the ticket booths led outside. Of course, it would also cause an alarm to go off. But that was a small price to pay considering they had a helicopter on their tail—their second in a week. Mona pushed through the door, and the alarm blasted in loud, shrill decibels that reminded Jake of his music.

  ▪

  They stole across the grass. Jake glanced over his shoulder. The copter was much closer now, about thirty seconds from the island and searching high and low for them.

  They reached the far end of the flat island. Mona jumped over a railing and began to climb down the large stone bulwarks.

  “We’re dead meat, Mona.”

  “Have a little faith.”

  Below the bulwarks were large, piled boulders that led into the Hudson itself. They were the final line of preservation that protected the island from the elements. Jake ducked into the shadowed protection of one of the immense boulders as the helicopter’s light washed directly over where he was just standing.

  “Easier said than done,” Jake said.

  “Relax,” Mona said. She pulled out a small flashlight and aimed it into the darkness. She pressed the button on the side of the light three times in quick succession then waited. After a long pause, a small flashlight returned the illuminated call. One time—then off.

>   “Toldja!”

  Jake continued to crouch behind the boulder. He could make out the hum of a small engine motor. After a while, the murmur grew louder. Out of the murky darkness, he began to resolve a small micro-Zodiac boat being steered towards them. Rory was at the helm. Jake scampered towards the water. He helped Mona onto the boat and then jumped on himself. They ducked down for cover as Rory ripped the Zodiac away from the rough edges of Liberty Island.

  Just a few seconds after they departed, the helicopter flew over the edge of the island again, its large spotlight washing over the location that the Zodiac had just occupied. But there was no Zodiac. It was now a blip, barely visible in radar, moving farther away from the island with every passing second. A large Coast Guard cutter’s sirens filled the bay behind them and arrived too late, its loudspeaker straining in vain for the urban explorers: “This is the United States government. You do not have the right to access this site. Turn yourself in immediately. You are trespassing!” the speaker blared.

  ▪

  Once he’d found a spot in the boat to cool down for a moment, Jake looked up. Rory was skipping. He had a large, thick fleece blanket wrapped around him and seemed to be soaking wet. Jake was slightly surprised to see Castle and Nik on the boat as well. But unlike most interactions, Castle had a huge grin on his face.

  “Maybe you ain’t so bad,” Castle nodded.

  “The boy did good. That statue? That’s the tip-top, that’s the elite, that’s infiltration at its finest,” Rory yelled.

  Jake glanced at Mona. She was pumped too. She raised her palm.

  “Yes!” she yelled.

  Rory gestured to Jake. “Come ’ere.” Rory wrapped Jake into a big bear hug with one of his arms. “How does it feel to finally be alive?” Rory asked.

  “Good,” Jake said. “Really good.”

  “Yeah?” Rory said. “You’ve just scratched the surface, kiddo.”

  Jake noticed a lump near Rory’s feet: an all-black waterproof bag lay on the floor near the wheel. It was relatively inconspicuous. Except that a padlock secured its zipper shut. Weird.

  ▪

  Rory’s home was a jarringly trendy mash-up of the roughly industrial and smoothly posh. The ceilings were open, revealing electrical conduits and the raw beams holding the place up. But the kitchen cabinets were slickly metallic with pure white marble countertops and pricey appliances. For a man who seemed to support himself by means of alchemy, not appearing to hold a regular job at all, Rory was living large. His loft was in the prime of Williamsburg, a far cry from the shithole where Jake resided. The pad even had a garage. Rory had just given Jake the combination to said garage and announced that he was welcome to park his bike there at any time. It made Jake feel good. There was a friend somewhere inside Rory—just waiting to break out. Jake had a job to do and he knew it. But it had also been a long time since Jake had a damn good time, especially with a lovely lady by his side.

  The whole crew relaxed in Rory’s living room, punctuated at one end by large windows overlooking Manhattan. They quickly made themselves comfortable, and Jake realized that this was the final puzzle piece. This was the beating heart. Rory’s house was their clubhouse, their base of operations—everything. Jake was in the belly of the beast and he felt at home. Rory pulled a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator and popped it open. He tipped the champagne into Jake’s mouth. Jake chugged. Mona was next, and then she passed it around to the rest of the group. Jake glanced around the room slowly, taking in the details. He noticed that one wall of Rory’s apartment was plastered entirely with maps and building schematics. Jake ambled towards the wall.

  “Like what you see?” Rory asked from behind Jake. “That’s some places I want to go. Every unit you see just happens to be owned by Arthur Metropolis.”

  Jake checked them out. “Trump Tower, Time Warner Center, Eighteen Gramercy Park, The Millennium, and Fifteen Central Park West,” Jake said. “They’re all residential. High end. High security. Those would be really tough.”

  “I like to challenge myself,” Rory nodded, “Come on . . . I’ll tell you a little bit more about what I’m thinking later. We could use a guy with your skills in our crew.”

  “A climber?”

  “No, no,” Rory said. “A guy who doesn’t piss himself when the cops show up.”

  While Jake sat back down and sipped his drink, he noticed Castle pick up the waterproof bag he’d seen on the boat. Castle positioned himself behind a desk at the other end of Rory’s living room. He unlocked the bag and pulled out a laptop. Nikolai joined Castle. Jake could hear them quietly murmuring to each other as the laptop started up. He couldn’t make out the words at first, something about a “BIOS hack,” but then he distinctly heard Castle mutter, “Tell me if you find the video.”

  Jake stared at Rory across from him.

  “Are you gonna rob those places?” Jake said.

  “What?” Rory turned suddenly.

  “Come on, man. It’s obvious. I’m not an idiot. But I thought that was the whole point of initiation—I’d finally get the truth. Didn’t I show you how real I am?”

  “It doesn’t concern you.”

  “Yeah, it does. I’m part of this crew now. But it’s not just that. I want to knock that guy just as much as you do. Metropolis? I hate what he’s doing to our city. I just want to be part of it, part of taking him down. If that’s what you’re doing . . .”

  “Look, you came in late to the game,” Rory said. “If I choose to get you involved, I’ll let you know. It’s a one-way street. But we’re nearing the end.”

  “The end of what?”

  “The investigation.”

  “Huh?” Jake said, suddenly alarmed.

  “Nothin’. Why don’t you get yourself another drink.”

  ▪

  Rory’s place was expansive, and the cherry on top was the patio outside the large windows that overlooked Manhattan. Later that evening, Mona and Jake sat on a bench on the patio, gazing over the dappled lights of the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance.

  “Got a nice view, doesn’t he?” Jake said. “I gotta get a gig like Rory’s.”

  “Some people are luckier than others. Rory’s an enigma,” she said.

  “Where’s all his money come from?” Jake asked.

  “Honestly? I don’t know.” Mona pondered for a second. “I think he inherited it. Family money. Just like half the people in Gotham.”

  “You know a lot of what I was doing dried up.”

  “And what was that?” she asked.

  “Selling electronics and bike parts. Buy ’em down in Chinatown, whoever will give them to me cheap. Sell them on auction sites or to some of the dealers.”

  “Why can’t you keep on doin’ it?”

  “My competition wants to kill me,” Jake chuckled.

  “Do me a favor. Don’t worry about money tonight. Think about the good stuff. Like the fact that I cured you.”

  “Of what?”

  “You have to admit. You didn’t panic up there,” she said.

  “The vertigo,” Jake said. “I knew you’d help me.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Mona laughed, “But I proved you wrong. I told you . . . Believe in me, and it will all work out.”

  “So are you done for the night?”

  “That depends. You?”

  “Not if you’re with me.”

  “So where we rollin’?”

  “Maybe we should finish what we started . . .” Jake said.

  ▪

  The second time Jake went up the Brooklyn Bridge was much easier than the first. He was practically racing up the thick cable towards the top. He didn’t look back. He didn’t stare down. And when his eyes flashed to his feet briefly, his brain wasn’t stuck like a long chain of broken pixels. He gazed ahead, towards the precipice. He paced quickly. He was leading Mona. He pursued the target without pause or concern. Rory was right—with the right preparation and tools, anything was possible. It didn’t take very l
ong for them to summit the bridge. Jake reached the top first, pulling himself up onto the flat brick surface atop the tower. He helped Mona up.

  “Hey,” Jake said. “Thanks. I wouldn’t be up here without you.”

  “There we go. That’s more like it. You’re welcome.”

  Mona rested against Jake while they sat on the top of the bridge and observed the Freedom Tower like an obelisk blasting to heaven.

  “So what’s your deal with Rory?” Jake asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I asked what I mean.”

  “No deal,” Mona answered. “I’m not with Rory, if that’s your question. We’re friends. Sometimes we slip up in that regards, but no one cares. A couple of years ago there was something else. But I was young. I didn’t . . .” She turned to look at Jake but couldn’t complete the sentence.

  “What?”

  “I know more about him now,” Mona said. “He wise. He’s talented. But he’s not the best influence. Life isn’t so easy to figure out, that’s all. Don’t worry about Rory.”

  “Come on. Everyone’s telling me to not worry. You can trust me.”

  “Is that a fact? I’ll tell you what I think. I think you came in here hot and heavy. You wanted so bad to be part of Rory’s crew, and I’m still not sure why. I don’t think it was just me. I hope it wasn’t. It’s probably because you spent your life trolling the net, catchin’ our videos, and aspiring to live the life that we live. You don’t tell me anything about your past because there’s nothing to tell. Whatever you were doing? It was shit. Shitty friends. You were just existing. Punchin’ the card of life. You were nothing before you met us. You’re no different than a bunch of other barns that have tried to join our crew. For every Castle, there’s five guys that disappear after a few months. How do I know you’re not going to become one of them?”

  “I’m not going to disappear,” Jake said.

  “There’s no guarantees in life. That’s what I’ve learned.”

  She was incredibly far off, but she wasn’t completely wrong. He needed to tell her more. He needed to tell someone more. He wasn’t a cipher—he was a man. There was a reason for everything.