Ferocious
Page 17
Jesse is taking a shower, so I brush my teeth in the kitchen sink and splash a little water on my face.
“What did you do to him?” Baz asks from the living room.
“Nothing, why?”
Baz hops up from the sofa and goes to stand by the bathroom door. He motions for me to join him. “Because he’s singing. That’s why.”
I press my ear close to the painted wood. Sure enough, I can hear Jesse’s voice over the patter of the water. What’s even funnier is the fact that he seems to be singing one of the recent K-pop hits. He must have heard it on TV.
“Sounds like he’s ready for noraebang,” I tell Baz. Noraebang is the Korean version of karaoke.
“I used to be quite the noraebanger myself,” Baz says.
“You are just a constant string of surprises, Sebastian Faber.”
Baz grins. “You’ve got to keep your audience guessing.”
“Any news on Jun?”
“Sorry. Nothing yet,” Baz says. “But I’ve put out a lot of feelers with my contacts in the area.”
“I appreciate it. What about those names on that paper we found in Kyung’s pocket?”
“I passed them along to a friend so he could run a deeper search,” Baz says. “I Googled them myself and I think one might be the leader of a rebel group in Myanmar, but I’m not sure about the others.”
“Myanmar. That’s odd.”
“It could just be a list of contacts for something else business related.” Baz rubs at his beard. He hasn’t shaved since we got here and it’s getting quite thick.
Turning back to the kitchen, I look for the rice pot and realize it’s still in the sink with Jesse’s gluey burned rice stuck to the bottom. “I was going to make breakfast,” I say. “But it might just be easier to go buy something.”
Baz waves me over to where he’s sitting on the sofa. He’s skimming through recording footage of Kyung. “Speaking of lists of names, here are all the lead security guards with full building access.” He hands me the tablet computer and the badge-cloning device. “If you see one of them, all you do is try to stay within three feet of him long enough for it to copy the clearance codes.”
I skim the list of five men on the computer screen, memorizing their names and faces. Two of them are older, with streaks of gray in their hair. The others are younger, probably twenty-five to thirty-five. “Three feet is pretty close.” I set the computer on the coffee table.
“Well, if it doesn’t happen at UsuMed, we can try following them after they get off work. Maybe I can sit next to one of them at a bar or something.” He swipes at the tablet. “Hey. Check this out.”
I perch on the edge of the sofa and look down at the screen. Kyung is pacing back and forth in the living room with his phone, so the listening device behind the painting only picks up sporadic bursts of conversation. I hold the tablet up to my ear, closing my eyes to focus on Kyung’s words. “Right now it doesn’t work … I don’t know … She’s disappeared, but I can find—”
“It doesn’t work. He’s probably talking about the neural editor. Do you think she is me? I can’t hear the end of what he says. It’s like he quits talking midsentence.”
Baz flips the tablet back to the video feeds. “He stepped out on the balcony. I wish there was a way to get close enough to bug his actual phone.”
“Can’t you do it remotely, with spyware or something?”
“Not without him noticing changes to his phone, and I’d need to have his number to even try.”
“Maybe one of us could sneak into his room while he’s sleeping and plant a bug.”
“Too dangerous,” Baz says. “But I’ll keep thinking on it.”
* * *
When Jesse is finished in the shower, I fill him in on Kyung’s phone call and then invite him to go with me to pick up some breakfast. We head around the corner to a convenience store that sells all kinds of food and drink. I pick out two cartons of noodles for Baz and me and a doughnut for Jesse. I find him in the refrigerated section admiring the triangle gimbap.
“Is it like a seaweed-and-rice sandwich?” he asks.
“Sort of. There’s usually some kind of meat or fish in the middle with sauce and then rice around it, and then it’s packaged so you just wrap the whole thing up in seaweed and hold it in your hand.”
Jesse peers at the label, trying to figure out what flavor he’s holding. “Can we get some for later?”
I smile at him. “We can get whatever you want.”
Those might not have been the wisest words, because Jesse takes me up and down each of the aisles, asking me to explain the stuff he hasn’t seen before. We end up with two bags of stuff, including triangle gimbap, hard-boiled eggs, spicy noodles, honey-flavored milk, cookies made from wheat flour, Japanese Pocky candy, and a couple cans of Chilsung Cider, a Korean version of Sprite.
As we walk back to the apartment, a scrawny cat darts across the alley in front of us. I immediately think of Miso.
Jesse can sense the change in my posture. He squeezes my hand. “I’m sure little Moo is doing just fine. I bet he misses you, though.”
“I miss him too.” I bend down and make a clicking sound with my tongue. The stray cat peers out from behind a trash can, its eyes winking orange in the morning light.
Jesse bends down next to me. “Here kitty, kitty,” he says. He rustles one of the plastic bags with our food.
The cat cocks its ears forward. Its tail flicks back and forth.
“Give me that.” I pull the bag out of Jesse’s hand and tear open one of the packages of triangle gimbap. I break it into balls of rice and filling and toss bits toward the cat.
For a few seconds it just looks at me. Then it creeps over toward the nearest ball and sniffs at it.
“Holy crap, they eat rice?” Jesse says.
“Apparently so,” I say, as the cat gobbles up the food.
I lower myself to a seated position. The cat inches its way closer to Jesse and me. As the cat eats another bite of rice and meat, my hands start to go numb from the cold. I blow on my fingers as I slide the partially unwrapped food back into the bag. “Sorry, that’s all you get,” I say apologetically.
Jesse stands up and reaches down to give me a hand. As he pulls me up, the cat rubs against my leg.
“Aww,” I say. “Maybe you can have one more bite.” I toss another bit of rice down onto the sidewalk before reluctantly turning away.
But the cat is interested in more than just food. As Jesse and I turn the corner onto our block, it trots beside us, its furry face contorted into what looks like a smile.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Jesse says. “We’re being stalked.”
“Me? From what I’ve seen, you’re the cat whisperer. I bet if we split up, it’ll follow you.”
Jesse laughs. “I almost want to try that just to see if you’re right.” He lowers his voice. “But I don’t want to leave you.”
Warmth radiates out from my center. I don’t want you to leave. I can’t quite spit the words out. I know Dr. Abrams is right. That Jesse is an adult and he can decide to walk away from me if he gets tired of waiting. But I still feel bad about the push-pull thing I do with him. I glance down at the sidewalk. There’s a star beneath our feet that reads “Hej.” This whole neighborhood is interspersed with sidewalk stars that say “Hello” in different languages.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I turn back to Jesse. “It’s fine. I know what you meant.”
The cat lets out a plaintive yowl as if to ask what’s taking us so long. When we reach our building, I spend a few minutes scratching it behind the ears. “You can’t come with us,” I say sadly.
The cat blinks once and then flops down on its side as if it understands.
“See you around, Blackie,” Jesse says.
I snort. “Blackie? You come up with the worst pet names ever.”
“Whatever.” Jesse holds the front door open for me and then heads for the stairwell.
>
I pause in front of the elevator, my eyes tracing the crack between the two doors, wondering.
“You ready to try?” Jesse asks.
“No, but I’m feeling reckless. Let’s do this.”
I tap one foot nervously as I wait for the doors to open. When they do, I step into the compartment and glance quickly around to make sure we’re alone. Jesse follows me inside and presses the button for the sixth floor. As the doors slide shut, my breath sticks in my throat and I realize what a bad idea this is. I should be taking medication and doing it a little bit at a time like Dr. Abrams suggested. I lunge for the “door open” button but it’s too late—we’re already moving.
The second I feel the ground shift beneath my feet, the walls start to lose their shape. They go soft, almost liquid; they twist around me, pressing on my chest, pressing on my throat. I try to inhale through my nose but I can’t get any air. When I exhale, all that comes out is a wheezing sound. I look desperately up at the red numbers. We’re only to the third floor. That can’t be right. I lunge for the button marked five, but Jesse catches my hand before I can make contact. A strangled sound escapes from my lips.
“Breathe, Winter,” Jesse says.
“Can’t,” I try to say, but if I open my mouth, I feel like the walls of the elevator will pour down my throat and drown me. I shake my head violently. Darkness creeps up on me. I’m either going to pass out or dissociate, and right now I don’t care which. I reach for him, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding on.
“You’re doing good.” His hands gently twine together around my lower back. “Almost there.”
I press myself against him harder. I blink back tears. Gradually the walls press back into their actual form. The doors open and all of my breath rushes out of me at once. Jesse supports me as I limp out into the hallway. I’m still clutching the plastic bag of food. I gripped it so hard that the plastic handle has actually broken the skin of my palm.
Jesse gently removes the bag from my hand. He looks down at me, lifts one hand to touch my cheek like maybe he’s checking for a fever. “You did it,” he says. “It’ll get easier.”
I am too drained to do more than just nod.
Baz is sitting on the sofa assembling something out of batteries and wires. He looks up as Jesse and I enter. “What happened?”
“She took the elevator,” Jesse explains.
“Good,” Baz says.
I am still shaking. I slip out of my shoes, one hand clinging to the bathroom doorway for support. I point at the mess of wires and components. “What’s that?”
“Plan B.”
“What’s plan A?” Jesse starts to put the food we bought into the refrigerator.
“Plan A is where we can access the tech with nothing more than a cloned badge.”
“And if we can’t?” I ask.
“Then we find out where it’s located and blow our way in. Unless of course you want to cut out some guy’s eyeball and carry it around for a retinal scanner.”
The nonchalant way Sebastian delivers this line makes me wonder if he’d be all right with that. A fist clenches and unclenches in my stomach as I watch him deftly manipulate the wires and components. Gideon trusted him, and so far he’s given me no reason not to do the same. But what kind of person knows how to make bombs?
CHAPTER 27
I wake up early on Monday to prepare for my first day at UsuMed. We haven’t learned much yet from surveilling Kyung’s hotel room, so my goal is to get close enough to a security guard to clone his badge, and also to keep my eyes and ears open about any hints to where the ViSE tech is being kept.
My stomach churns as I crawl out of bed. My muscles twitch. I pull my hair back in a ponytail and drop to my hands and knees on the wooden floor. I do a set of twenty-five push-ups, but I still feel kind of edgy.
In the living room, Baz is sitting on the sofa, flipping through some files on his computer. “Oh hey, I got you something.” He gestures at the coffee table. A set of two titanium throwing knives are laid out on the glass. “Jesse told me you left your knives in Los Angeles. I know how it feels to go undercover without any kind of weapon.”
“Thank you.” I go to the knives and lift one of them. The weight is almost the same as that of the knives I left behind, but the blade is sharper and stronger. “Where did you get them?”
Baz grins. “I know people who know people.” He pulls something small and metallic out of his pocket. “Take one of these with you too.”
“What is it?”
“Another listening device.”
“What am I supposed to do with that? You’re interested in the inner workings of the UsuMed customer service department?”
“Maybe you’ll run into Kyung.”
“And if I do, you expect me to bug him? Just slide it into his pocket without him noticing or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you can figure out what office he’s working out of and pick the lock. Better to have and not need, right? Just in case an opportunity presents itself.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say grudgingly. “Sorry. I’m just a little nervous.”
He looks over, studying me with his gray eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes. I was thinking I would run the stairs a few times.”
“Maybe you should take the elevator a few times,” he says.
“Good point.”
I put the knives and listening device in my bedroom and then slip out into the hallway. I run up to the top floor and then take the elevator back to the lobby. Jesse and I spent the last few days practicing, and by the tenth time I was able to go by myself. By the fifteenth time I was able to go with a stranger.
But it’s still not easy.
The bell dings and the doors open. I head for the stairwell again, my feet pounding the steps a second time. Before I know it, I’m back on the top floor. Now the calm is starting to move through me, my blood spreading out into my extremities instead of pooling in my chest and making my insides feel tight. I do two more laps, riding down and running back up. Then I ride the elevator down to the sixth floor.
Back in the apartment, I take a quick shower and then dress in a knee-length skirt, white button-up blouse, and gray blazer. Instead of nylons I wear a thick pair of black leggings, both to make me feel less exposed and to keep me warm. I slip one of the knives in each boot.
My next decision is the headset. If I get caught with it, Kyung will definitely find out that I’m there. It could wreck the whole plan. Or it could make the whole plan if I can record something helpful.
I decide to put it on. Like Baz said, the chance of running into Kyung when I’m working in the customer service offices is pretty slim. I pin the black wig with bangs over my headset and adjust the hair around my face until I’m certain everything looks natural.
Jesse wakes up while I’m in the kitchen nibbling on a hard-boiled egg and pacing back and forth. “You okay?” he asks. “Because if you don’t want to do this, there’s probably another—”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. There might be another way, but so far this is the best way.
* * *
On the subway, I stand in the middle of the car, one hand gripping a support beam and the other clutching my leather portfolio with copies of my work documents. Baz and his friend went through and made sure I had all of the identification paperwork I would need.
After I exit the train, I walk two blocks and then follow a scattering of people up the wide, flat stairs to the set of doors leading into the UsuMed building. Pressure builds in my chest as my heart and lungs decide to malfunction at the same time. Focus, Winter. I pause, pretending like I’m checking something on my phone. People swerve around me, their eyes glued to their own phones as they head inside. I take a deep breath like Dr. Abrams taught me, holding it in for four seconds before expelling it slowly and holding my breath for four more seconds.
Then I step through the glass doors and into the UsuMed lobby.
“You’ve got a bit of something on your collar,” he says.
I angle my head and see a few drops of some kind of sauce standing out on the dark wool. Someone on the subway must have spilled something on me.
“Thank you.” I pull a tissue out of my purse and dab at the spots. I take a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding in my chest. “I’m supposed to report to the Talent Acquisition Department. Can you tell me where that’s located?”
“Fourteenth floor,” the man says crisply.
“Thank you again.” I turn away and wait in the lobby for an elevator. My heart revs up once more as a small crowd gathers and a couple of men with leather briefcases push in close to me. As much as Jesse and I practiced the elevator, we never did it with this many people. I bite down on my lip and visualize riding the car up to the fourteenth floor. It’ll only be about ten seconds, I tell myself.
When the doors on the elevator finally open, it’s like getting on the subway all over again. Everyone makes a mad dash and I just barely squeeze in before an older lady with deep scowl lines etched in her forehead presses the DOOR CLOSED button.
I turn toward the corner of the car as we begin to move, resisting the urge to close my eyes. I’m sure there’s a camera somewhere and I don’t want to call attention to myself. I hold my breath for most of the ride, flinching each time the car slows to a stop to let people on or off. I just want the ride to be over with.
When we make it to the fourteenth floor, I squeeze out of the elevator behind two men with briefcases. There’s a set of restrooms here and I duck into the ladies’ room to smooth the wrinkles from my skirt and catch my breath. Then I find the Talent Acquisition Department at the west end of the hallway. This entire wall of the building is made of glass and I pause outside the door for a moment to look down at the busy street below. A swarm of businesspeople emerge from one of the subway exits, many of them looking down at phones as they walk.