We needed to project a positive image of ourselves to the mass of people, if they were to take us seriously. If we pulled off a stunt like that, the media would be quick to tarnish us with the same brush as the shady kidnappers and other troublemaking criminals, which would cause more damage to us than good.
Not to mention, what would we do with all the kids, even if we did manage to steal them? If we didn’t have access to the government’s adoption archives, we’d have no clue whom to return them to.
No, that seemed like a thoroughly stupid and irresponsible idea.
Whatever we did, it had to be intelligent, and staged in such a way that would make it clear to the media, beyond any doubt, that we weren’t just your average rebels without a cause, but a serious, organized group seeking to reform, rather than hurt, our country.
How we were going to pull off anything remotely close to that, I still didn’t know. I needed more time to think about it, so I decided to shelve it for now, and returned my focus to the screen.
“Hey, you there?” Nelson’s voice crackled up from the bed, interrupting me.
“Oh, sorry!” I said. “Forgot you were still on the line. I’m just reading.”
“It’s fine. Was just curious to hear your thoughts, but I know it’s a lot to absorb. We can catch up another time because I gotta go offline for a bit. Oh, and you need to tell me how it went today with Hux.”
“It went fine. Another successful visit,” I replied, then went on to give her a summary of everything that had happened. As expected, she was horrified to learn about the kidnapping site, as well as intrigued by my description of Gabby, saying that she looked forward to her joining the forum so she could have a chat with her.
Then, once she’d finished asking me questions and I’d told her all I had to say, she exhaled and said, “Okay, Robin. Thanks for the recap. I’ll catch you later.”
Bidding her goodnight, I cut the call, then looked once more to the screen, continuing to scroll down the page. Several more suggestions popped up, no less rash than Winter’s—and in some cases, even rasher, like targeting schools in wealthy areas, or even children’s hospitals. All of those got a massive no from me, and I was glad to see that others, including my own team, commenting in the forum shared my disagreement. We needed to do better.
By the fifth page of comments, I was starting to feel overwhelmed by the bombardment of ideas and random trains of thought. The open dialogue was great—it was the first step in the right direction—but I could see that we really were going to need to have some better organization and management of thoughts and ideas if we were to get anywhere. There were only ten or so people even taking part in this discussion right now; I couldn’t imagine what it would be like once more joined, and we got into the hundreds.
Realistically, we were probably going to need to meet in person somewhere, at some point, and have a moderated meeting overlooked by an appointed chairman. Online, people tended to be scatterbrained and less organized. But until we trusted each other enough for a real meetup, Nathan would most likely institute some kind of voting system—a modified version of the polls we had on the main network, to allow the most popular ideas to rise to the top and gain the most visibility. I just had to try to be patient and wait until Monday, for when the official site rolled out, and we could really start getting things moving. Five more days.
For now, I decided to click out of that “stunt” thread, to give my brain a rest, and check out the list of security best practices.
That thread had been started by the one and only Mr. X, to my pleasant surprise, who was currently showing as offline. Perhaps he hadn’t reached… wherever his home was… yet. Or had gone straight to bed when he got in.
I read through the list of security advice, and most of it was obvious to me, thanks to my training from Nelson. All of the guidance basically amounted to the same thing: share information only as strictly necessary. There was one line that caught my eye, however, which might not have been completely intuitive to me:
“We advise you to avoid posting specific information in the Facilities/Resources thread until you have gotten to know this community better. Especially where said facilities/resources could give valuable intel about loopholes to a government mole.”
That made sense. I checked the resources thread just to see if anyone had fudged over that advice and posted anyway, but no, it was still bare of comments.
My eyes were starting to droop, the lack of sleep last night and the long day today catching up with me, but I managed to keep them open long enough to scan through the final “Changing Perspectives” thread. It wasn’t very long, with the opening being a general statement by a member named Stayhome Dad (hairy_poppins), expressing that the best, and only, hope we had of effecting change was to affect the consciousness of the people, because there had to be only so much external, public pressure that even a leadership as stubborn as ours could take. If enough people rallied together, change could happen.
And as I finally sank into my pillows and closed my eyes, I just hoped that was true.
14
The hours seemed to tick by even more slowly than usual at the factory the next day. The overwhelmingness and general disorganization of the forum played on my mind, making me impatient for Monday to arrive, and I’d also gotten another message from Hux earlier this morning, asking if I was free to meet him outside Trenton Mall at 6:00 p.m. for another visitation. I’d been pleasantly surprised by the location and immediately replied that I’d come, since the mall was right near my factory. Which left me checking my watch so often that even my colleagues started to notice and asked if I had a date or something this evening.
I told them yes, because it wasn’t a lie. Despite its teething problems, the early opening of the portal had injected me with an enthusiasm I couldn’t shake to continue going out with Hux, and help him recruit the rest of the group’s members as soon as possible. So we could actually start doing something. After all, every step forward, however small, was a step closer toward my endgame: saving our country and finding my daughter.
And if I had thought my life had regained meaning seven months ago when I discovered Nelson and her team, it was feeling a hell of a lot more meaningful now, regardless of how far we’d actually end up going. My horizons had been broadened, and it made my blood hum.
I raced out of the factory the moment the dismissal bell rang, almost running over my supervisor on the way out, then leapt onto my motorcycle and drove around the corner to the mall, where I found Hux already waiting, sitting on a bench outside the entrance.
He was slouched over, his head resting in his hands, and he didn’t notice me even when I parked right next to him. Nor when I dismounted and started walking toward him. It was only when I got within a couple of feet of his bench that he finally raised his head.
And there was no kind way to say it: he looked like crap. Dark circles ringed his amber eyes, which were bleary and slightly bloodshot, while his dark hair was sticking up in at least four different directions.
“Whoa,” I said. “Are you okay?”
He leaned back, running a hand through his thick, tousled locks. A halfhearted smile twitched his lips. “Do I really look that bad?”
“You just look… really run down.”
He exhaled. “Probably the result of getting less than two hours of sleep last night,” he muttered under his breath, then rose swiftly to his feet and cast his eyes up and down the street. “So you parked already?” he asked, changing the subject before I could ask why he had slept so badly.
It made me think back to the call he had received just before I’d left him last night, and the way his face had darkened. I couldn’t help but suspect that his lack of sleep was related to it. “Yes,” I replied, having no time to dwell on it now.
“Okay. We’re going to need to rely on personal transport for our destination today, and I suggest we take my bike.”
He led me around the corner of the small shopping cen
ter building to a large, shiny, beetle-black motorcycle parked in one of the bays, then opened up the seat and pulled out two helmets, handing one to me while he put the other on. He mounted the bike first, moving as close to the front of the seat as he could to make room for me. Luckily the seat was pretty elongated, and I was able to sit fairly comfortably, my fingers hooking under the safety support beneath my butt. Still, I was unable to ignore my proximity to him, and it sent an embarrassing thrill rushing through me. It was as physically close as I’d gotten to him, and the novelty somehow increased the speed of my already-racing heartbeat.
Trying to put the feeling away, I kept my eyes focused straight ahead as he took off. We headed through the urban area, and when the buildings became sparser, I realized we were heading all the way into the countryside. Soon we were actually trundling through open fields.
I attempted to make small talk a few times, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood, so I let silence reign—which wasn’t difficult to do anyway, with the breeze whipping against our helmets. Instead, I watched row after row of wind turbines, their rotors glinting in the sparse evening light, until the sun dipped, and the twilight turned them into hulking shadows.
Once we were truly in the definition of the middle of nowhere, Hux turned down a small dirt track, and I noticed in the distance a large, rectangular building with metal walls. It seemed to be some kind of warehouse, and as we drew closer, the words painted on the wall and illuminated by two white spotlights, became clearer: Burnaby Group, Inc. We pulled to a stop about twenty feet away from the entrance and got off the bike. I gave Hux a curious look, but his eyes were already fixed on the building, and he started moving toward it.
Once we’d approached within ten feet, there was a loud groan and a side door opened, revealing a tall, thin man wearing a black suit and tinted glasses. It seemed this guy was cagier about revealing his appearance than others had been, which instantly got my guard up, making me wonder what he had to hide.
He beckoned us over, and as we reached him, stepped backward, allowing us through the door, before closing it behind us. Once we were inside, he held a hand out for Hux to shake, but made no motion to shake mine. He seemed tense, anxious to get the meeting over with, and led us swiftly down a narrow, white-painted corridor toward a paper-strewn office, which overlooked a giant storage room… filled with guns of every shape and size imaginable.
Hux and I took seats opposite him, and as they began to talk, it became clear to me that the guy was the owner of a legitimate weapons business. Which would explain his nerves, and simultaneously lessened mine somewhat, now that I had something to pin his caginess on. His jaw kept twitching, and every other minute, his eyes darted reflexively to the door as if he feared someone was about to barge in. In helping us, or even agreeing to meet us, he was putting a lot on the line. Not only himself, but also his company.
I realized that it was noble of him to even consider taking the risk of joining Nathan’s new initiative—and perhaps for that reason, the meeting was over quickly, within fifteen minutes. We both gave him our heartfelt thanks when he agreed to sign up. I hoped we wouldn’t need to call upon his services much, if at all, and that we could find more nonviolent ways to go about our dealings. But it was comforting to know that we had him and his weapons as backup, should the need arise.
Then, after a few questions of his own regarding confidentiality, and once he was satisfied, he escorted us back out of the building and bade us farewell.
Hux went quiet after that, his mood growing heavy once again, as we got on the bike and headed off. I made a comment about the good progress we, or rather he, was making, with three positives in a row so far, and then I went quiet, too, knowing better than to keep talking, after his reluctance to hold a conversation on the journey out.
Before long, we were back in front of the mall, and I slipped off his motorcycle, about to say goodbye. Then, to my surprise, he got off too.
“You’re not heading home now?” I asked, as I handed his helmet back to him.
“No. I’ve got to buy a birthday present for my sister,” he muttered. “It’s this Sunday.”
“Oh,” I said, my eyebrows rising. “That’s nice.”
He gave me what I guessed was supposed to be a faint smile, but it came off as more of a grimace, and then started moving, and I sped up to walk alongside him.
“What sort of thing are you looking to buy?” I asked, trying to coax him back into conversation as we reached the entrance.
He glanced through the revolving doors, then hesitated, running his tongue over his lower lip as if considering his next words carefully. “To be honest, I don’t know,” he said. “Back home, we created gifts for each other. I made her wooden toys when she was younger, and then a necklace for her last birthday. But since I don’t really have the equipment for either of those options anymore…” He looked at me, furrowing his brow. “Do you have any ideas?”
I blinked. “Me?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. You’re a girl, aren’t you?”
I smirked. “Yes, but I don’t know your sister. I mean, I could try. But full disclosure: I don’t have a lot of experience shopping for gifts. So this might be one of those blind men scenarios.”
He sighed. “Maybe, but I’m guessing you’ll do a better job than me.”
I paused, giving him a considering look, and then decided that his statement was probably accurate. “Okay, well… Shall we go inside, then?” I asked.
“Thanks,” he replied, with the first genuine smile I’d seen on him all day.
We passed through the revolving doorways and began examining the store windows.
"Does she have a favorite color?" I asked as we passed a clothes store.
“Purple,” he replied.
I smiled. “Good taste.” It was my favorite color, too. “How about we take a look in this store?” I suggested.
“Sure,” he said, and we went inside.
“You said she’s ten, right?”
“She’ll be eleven on Sunday.”
“Okay.”
We headed to the children’s section, a small area at the back that held only three aisles, and the selection of clothing was uninspiring, to say the least. Mostly essential items like pants, shirts, and jackets. It only took me a couple of minutes to do a sweep and see that there was nothing worthwhile.
“Let’s keep moving,” I said, leading him back out.
We passed a few more shops, including a chocolatier, but chocolate just seemed too thoughtless. I guessed we could keep it as a last resort, but I wanted us to do better than that.
We went into a toyshop next, but she was too old for most of the items on the shelves, and even the ones that might be suitable, like the stuffed animals, were stupidly overpriced. I didn’t feel comfortable suggesting to Hux that he buy them. I didn’t know what he did for a living, but I doubted he was rolling in money.
After I had rejected five shops in a row, Hux started to look a little guilty. “Hey, I didn’t mean for you to spend so much time on this,” he said. “I thought it might just be a quick thing. If you need to go, I’ll just try to find something for her myself.”
“Um, no. It’s okay,” I replied. It wasn’t that late yet, and I’d said I would give him a hand with this. I wasn’t the type of person to be a quitter if I could help it.
“Okay. I just don’t want to put you out too much, because it’s probably not the end of the world even if we don’t find anything.” He paused, then, and I suddenly sensed that heaviness from earlier returning. His face darkened and he turned away, his tone going low as he murmured, almost to himself, beneath a breath, “It’s not like she wants to see me anyway.”
My breathing stalled as I stared at him. For several seconds, I didn’t know how to reply. If that was what his phone calls had been about, then I could understand why it had been eating away at him so badly. What had happened between them that they didn’t live together? What could he have done to make her so angry w
ith him? And where was she staying now? It wasn’t likely to be with a CRAS family, given that he seemed to have the freedom to visit her whenever he wanted, and the fact that he had mentioned a “contact” who I thought would have helped them both escape the government’s capture. So I wondered who else it could be.
Whatever was going on between them, it sounded brutal.
“I… I’m sorry,” I managed.
He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant again, and failing miserably. His eyes fixed determinedly on the path ahead of us, but he couldn’t hide the pain etched across his face.
“Do you mind if I ask… how? Why?”
He drew in a deep breath, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “My sister. She blames me for what happened. For our brother and parents’ deaths.”
My mouth dropped open and I froze in my tracks, my hand instinctively reaching out to grab his arm. “What?! How could that possibly be your fault?”
He shook his head. “It’s not, of course. And deep down, I honestly don’t think she truly believes it is either. But, my sister…” He exhaled. “She’s smart and capable in certain areas, but she was born with a mental irregularity. We were never really able to diagnose what it was, without a professional, but she’s always had behavioral issues. She struggles to empathize and has a habit of just clamming up in stressful situations. Cutting herself off emotionally from those around her. The blame she’s placing on me, I think it’s her warped way of dealing with the pain. I think the trauma of losing our family just sent her over the edge. And I… I’ve been trying to pull her back. But it’s hard.” He breathed out heavily. “God knows, it’s hard.”
I found myself speechless. Whether his sister had a disorder or not, I just couldn’t imagine the pain it must be causing him to be blamed for his family’s deaths, especially when he was still recovering from the trauma himself.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, as we reached the last group of stores on the bottom floor. It was all I could think to say.
He set his jaw and stepped onto an escalator. We ascended to the next floor and then continued perusing the shops in silence, though I could hardly concentrate on the items behind the windows after what he’d just told me. My mind dwelled on the issue, and I contemplated asking him about the situation further, but decided it was better to let him lead on this topic. He might just want to change the subject now.
The Child Thief Page 14
