by Zoe Cannon
Maybe this girl had told her contact the truth. Maybe she had simply been lucky enough to get away at the last second.
Maybe Becca was about to order the execution of an innocent person.
But if she wasn’t innocent…
The stakes were too high. She couldn’t risk it.
Jameson wouldn’t have risked it.
“It’s enough,” she told Meri, trying to ignore the other woman’s tension. “Tell me how to find her.”
“I couldn’t find any record of her arrest. If Internal sent her to a reeducation center, wouldn’t her file be in the system?”
Maybe she was never arrested.
Maybe she’s innocent.
Becca shook her head. “That could mean anything. For all we know, Internal deleted the record so we wouldn’t find it.” She sighed. “You’re going to have to tell me who she is eventually, Meri. Let’s get it over with so we can both be done with this.”
“You mean so you can kill her.”
Becca didn’t allow herself to flinch at the word. “You know how this has to work.”
Meri nodded. “I know. I know what we’re going to have to do when we find them. But what if we’re wrong?” She turned to Becca with anguished eyes. “She’s one of my people, Becca. It doesn’t matter that we’ve never met. She’s in my network. You know what that means to me.”
“I know.” Out of all the core members, Meri had the largest network by far, and she saw them all as her family. She loved them with a ferocity that more than equaled Sean’s passion for the ideals of the resistance or Alia’s desire to protect the innocent.
“I know,” Becca repeated. “But if we don’t stop the spies, it won’t be just one person in danger. It will be everyone in your network.”
“You don’t have to teach me about sacrificing one life to save others.” Meri’s voice grew sharper. “You should remember which of us thought up the plan for the liberation. But shouldn’t we wait until we’re certain? Isn’t the life of a resistance member worth that much?”
“You came to me because you saw a threat,” Becca reminded her.
“I came to you because I know how important this is. I thought you needed to have all the information. And I still do—which is why I’m asking you to wait. Let me try to find out more. Let me be sure before we do anything we can’t take back.”
Just let me take care of this and be done. “Every day we wait is another day she could do more damage.”
“There’s not much she can do right now,” said Meri. “She only knows three other resistance members—and if she’s a spy, they’re already lost no matter what we do.”
Maybe Meri was right. Maybe another couple of days, another couple of weeks, wouldn’t make a difference.
Becca had already lost one person this week. Maybe she didn’t have to lose anyone else.
But she was making excuses, and she knew it.
And the resistance didn’t need a leader who couldn’t do what had to be done.
“Give me the name,” she said. Soft. Gentle. Inexorable.
“Just listen first,” said Meri. “Let me tell you about her. Maybe then you’ll understand.”
There wasn’t any point. The situation would be the same either way. Listening to whatever Meri had to say would only make it harder.
Becca needed to tell her to stop. To give this up.
She didn’t.
“She’s sixteen years old,” said Meri. “She’s been working with the resistance for almost a year now. Her parents both have high-level administrative positions in Surveillance. Most people from Internal families follow in their parents’ footsteps—I don’t need to tell you that. But she joined us instead. And at sixteen! Can you imagine the strength of will that must have taken?”
Becca didn’t have to imagine.
She knew.
Sixteen years old.
Becca had joined the resistance at sixteen.
Her parents both have high-level administrative positions…
Becca’s mother had always expected her to get a job with Internal.
But she joined us instead.
It had taken Becca weeks to make that first phone call. She could still remember sitting in her room, heart pounding as she folded and unfolded the piece of paper with Jameson’s phone number on it.
Can you imagine the strength of will that must have taken?
It didn’t matter. The Becca who had made that call was gone. And this girl was still a threat to the resistance.
“She heard her parents talking about evidence they had on a friend of hers,” Meri continued. “She warned her friend, who happened to be one of us. Her friend put her in touch with the man who became her contact. From what I understand, she was scared to death, but she fed us information from her parents for months before the Enforcers came for her. We need people like that fighting for us, Becca. We can’t afford to lose her. Not unless we’re sure.” Her eyes pleaded with Becca. “And after what she’s done for us, what she’s risked for us, she deserves better.”
I need to take care of this.
Walking up to the door of 117 five years ago, legs shaking. Willing to risk whatever Internal might do to her in order to help her best friend.
I need to protect the resistance.
Sneaking into her mom’s bedroom after school, all her nerves on edge as she listened for the click of the front door that would mean her mom was home. Heart pounding in her ears as she searched her mom’s files for the information the resistance needed.
That Becca is gone.
Becca opened her mouth to tell Meri this didn’t change anything. To remind her of what they both had to do.
“Find out everything you can,” she said. “Use your informants in Surveillance. Get it done as quickly as possible.”
Meri let out her breath. Her hands relaxed. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” Not until we know whether I’ve just destroyed us.
Jameson would have done what needed to be done.
Except…
Except that when Becca had impulsively followed him to a resistance meeting she wasn’t supposed to know about, he had let her live.
He had risked the safety of the entire resistance for her.
“What’s her name?” Becca asked again. But the question was different this time.
Meri’s eyes softened. “Ryann,” she said quietly. “Ryann Peters.”
“It’s likely she’ll turn out to be a spy,” Becca warned. “And we can’t wait for evidence forever.”
Meri nodded, her face still full of gratitude. “I know.”
“Ryann,” Becca repeated, and tried to tell herself she had made the right decision.
Chapter Five
The last time Becca had visited Vivian at work, the receptionist had led her down two flights of stairs into the musty darkness of the filing room. Now she found herself walking down a bright hallway two stories up, stopping at an office door with Vivian’s name carved into a freshly-polished copper plaque.
Becca swung the door open and stepped into empty space. Nothing but sunlight from the oversized window filled the cavernous room—that and a plain metal desk shoved into a corner as if it were embarrassed to be there.
Vivian sat behind the desk, her brows creased in a frown as she typed. She didn’t look up.
Becca cleared her throat.
Vivian jumped. She raised her eyes; her face broke into a smile. “Becca! Hey! It’s been ages since you’ve come to visit. What’s going on?”
Becca forced an answering smile to her lips. “I wanted to celebrate your new job. I figured you were too busy to go out to lunch, but I brought you something.” She held up the small bag she had brought and set it down on the desk. She pulled out two giant chocolate cupcakes, dripping with frosting, and placed one in front of Vivian with a flourish. “Congratulations.”
Vivian’s smile grew strained. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” She didn’t move to pick up the cupcake.
“Actually, I should get back to work.” Vivian took a bite of the cupcake—more for show than anything else, it looked like. “But thanks for coming by.”
Becca couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without doing what she had come here to do. And what had happened? What had she done to offend Vivian, to switch her enthusiasm off like a light? She studied Vivian—not as a friend, but as an evaluator, letting her training come to the forefront of her mind. She took in the way Vivian held herself, the lines of her face, the cadence of her words.
And she saw what she had missed.
Vivian wasn’t offended.
She was terrified.
“So I guess I’ll see you at Lucky’s next week.” Vivian’s mouth spasmed into a brief smile as she turned back to her computer.
Becca didn’t move. “Something is wrong. What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s the new job, that’s all. There’s a lot of work to do.” Vivian didn’t look at her.
If this were an evaluation, her job would be done. She would make her report—Evasive. High levels of fear. No dissident tendencies present—and move on to the next appointment. But that didn’t help her here.
She didn’t need to know Vivian was hiding something. She didn’t need to know Vivian was afraid.
She needed Vivian to let her stay.
“Remember when my mom was arrested?” she asked.
Vivian nodded, face tense, gaze flicking between Becca and her computer screen. “What does that—”
“I tried to shut you out. You wouldn’t let me. And now I won’t let you.” She crossed her arms. “Something is wrong,” she repeated. “What is it?”
Playing the concerned friend so she could get what she needed. She ignored the flicker of guilt. The resistance came first.
“It’s nothing like that,” said Vivian. “Nothing serious. It’s just…” She stopped.
“I know what you think of the support groups,” said Becca. “But—”
“Waste of time,” Vivian interrupted. “A bunch of people sitting around talking about their feelings when they could be doing something useful.”
“But I’m good at listening,” Becca continued as if Vivian hadn’t interrupted. “I have practice. And whatever the problem is, I won’t hold it against you.”
Another twinge of guilt.
If she had said all this to Vivian a couple of years ago, she would have meant every word.
Vivian hesitated.
Then she nodded once, sharply. “Close the door.”
It felt like it took Becca twice as many steps to cross Vivian’s office as it did to cross her own. She pushed the door closed; the slam echoed through the empty space.
“I don’t have a chair for you.” Vivian scowled, as though the lack of furniture were Becca’s fault.
“It doesn’t matter.” Becca lowered herself to the carpet and motioned for Vivian to join her. After a moment, Vivian did.
“It’s stupid.” Vivian spoke to the floor. “I’m being stupid. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.”
“Is it about—” Becca glanced up at the camera. She couldn’t say Micah’s name. Not here. “I meant what I said last night. It’s okay.”
“You can’t really think I could do this job as well as anyone else here,” Vivian blurted.
Was that all that was bothering Vivian? Simple insecurity? “You’re smart enough for it,” Becca assured her. “You were wasted in filing. They should have given you a better position years ago.”
“Yeah, but… not something like this. Everyone I’m working with is twice my age. We had a meeting this morning, and…” She shook her head. “They all have experience. They have ideas. All I could do was sit there and try to look like I knew what I was doing.”
“Internal wouldn’t have chosen you if they didn’t think you could do it,” said Becca. “This is too important.”
“I’ve been thinking about what Ramon said. It makes sense. They think it’ll make them look good if someone like me ends up bringing down that dissident group. But here’s what he didn’t say—what happens if the plan fails? What’s the story then?”
Becca didn’t have an answer.
“You want to know what I think?” Vivian looked at the camera. She lowered her voice. “I don’t think they’re trying to make themselves look good at all. I think they’re trying to protect themselves if something goes wrong. Think about it—if the idea fails, they can blame it on me. They can say I’m too young. That I’m inexperienced. That I don’t know what I’m doing. They could even—” She cut herself off, breath shallow, face pale.
When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. “They could call it dissident activity. They could say I was working against the plan from the beginning. That way, if it failed, it wouldn’t be their fault.”
Becca opened her mouth to protest—then closed it again.
It made a horrible amount of sense.
Vivian probably didn’t even know how much sense it made. She didn’t know how often Internal executed innocent people because it suited the needs of Public Relations. If the program failed, Public Relations would want a scapegoat. And Internal was nothing if not pragmatic—if it came down to a choice between framing someone who had worked in Investigation for twenty years and had already proven their value, or sacrificing someone like Vivian instead…
When she thought about it that way, it was obvious. Internal had set Vivian up. If the spies didn’t bring down the resistance—
Becca went still as the implications hit her.
If she succeeded, if she saved the resistance, Vivian didn’t stand a chance.
And Becca had convinced her to take the job.
Her stomach curdled. She pasted a reassuring smile onto her face. “Internal wouldn’t do that.”
Vivian kept her voice low. “I’m not so sure. I mean, you know I don’t question Internal—it’s not like I’m a dissident—but it makes more sense than any other explanation I could come up with.”
“I think you’re worrying too much. But even if you’re right, all that means is that you can’t give them the chance. Catch the dissidents for them. Make the plan work.”
Empty words.
Vivian would fail. She would fail, because Becca couldn’t let her win.
Vivian stared down at the carpet. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Of course you can.”
You won’t.
“You’ll prove them wrong. You’ll do what no one else could do.”
I’m going to stop you.
“You won’t be their scapegoat. You’ll be their hero.”
You’re going to die.
Vivian nodded. She squared her shoulders, a new light of resolve entering her eyes. “I’ll do it.” Her voice steadied. “I’ll make this program work. Whether they expect me to or not.”
Becca reached up to the desk and grabbed Vivian’s cupcake. When Vivian took it, she raised her own in a toast. “To Vivian, hero of Investigation 212.”
Vivian touched her cupcake to Becca’s. “To the end of the dissidents.”
Becca took a giant frosting-laden bite. It tasted bitter in her mouth.
She waited until she swallowed before she spoke. “Can you get us something to drink?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.” Vivian set her cupcake down on her desk and disappeared from the room.
Becca sprang up from the floor.
She glanced at the door. Vivian had closed it behind her. Good.
She sat down in Vivian’s chair and got to work.
It took her less than a minute to get into Vivian’s files. Investigation used practically the same file system as Processing—and since Vivian was already logged in, Becca didn’t even need to worry about the password.
All the inf
ormation about the spy program was right here in front of her.
She had no way to tell which files had the information she needed. And she couldn’t copy them—if she tried, it would send up a red flag with Surveillance, and when she got home, Enforcement would be waiting for her. Jameson had given her that lecture at their very first meeting, when she had told him with giddy enthusiasm that she could bring the resistance copies of all her mom’s files. Her cheeks still burned at the memory.
No way to copy the files—and a couple of minutes at most until Vivian came back.
She would just have to hope she guessed right.
She clicked on a file at random.
A cheerful little box popped up asking her for a password.
No. She had come this far. She wouldn’t let this stop her. Not now.
She closed the box and tried the next file.
The box reappeared.
She tried the next one. The same thing happened.
And the next. Same thing.
None of them would let her in.
She scanned the desk for any clues to the password, even though she knew she wouldn’t find anything—no Internal division would allow a lapse in security like that. She opened every desk drawer. One held only a couple of pens; the rest were empty.
So close. She was so close.
She slammed her hand down on the desk in frustration.
“Are you okay?”
Becca jerked up. Vivian stood in the doorway, a bottle of water in each hand.
Becca closed the files before Vivian could see what she had been doing. “I’m fine. I went to check something online, and I saw that the resistance set off another bomb last night. They killed five people.” She had seen it on the news this morning—Internal’s latest victory in their propaganda war. A couple of months ago Internal had started blaming them for random attacks downtown—attacks that no doubt originated from inside Internal itself. Innocent people, sacrificed to make good citizens a little more afraid. To make them aware of the magnitude of the threat, her mother would have said.
“It’ll be over soon.” Vivian’s voice came out too loud, too confident. Like she was trying to convince herself. “I’m going to stop them.”
