Minders

by Michele Jaffe

  The bed was gone from the light blue bedroom, and the partition that had separated it from the other room was flattened. The only thing that hadn’t moved was the radiator.

  “Case in point,” Mason said, leaning against it.

  The skittering noise came again.

  The stairs up to the stage had been stripped to metal slats, but the stage was still there, and the outdoor theater. Bucky, you sneaky rat, Sadie heard Ford think, as he now realized that the theater he’d been searching for was actually a hanging garden, a completely fabricated outdoor space. Even the perfectly ruined walls had been constructed. Sneaky rat genius.

  “It’s even more beautiful when you realize Bucky built the whole damn thing,” Ford said, echoing Sadie’s thoughts.

  “But why do that?” Mason asked. “Why not just move into an old theater like the one he took the seats from?”

  “Camoufla—”

  A shower of bullets strafed the front of the stage. Ford flattened himself to the ground, groaning as his ribs hit, and tried to make out where the shots were coming from. He spotted one ski-masked gunman in the audience—

  Another round of bullets.

  —and two more on top of the exterior walls.

  Ford popped up and ran toward the back of the stage, shouting at Mason, “Come with me.”

  “Divide and conquer,” Mason yelled back, giving a loud war cry and running the other way.

  The men in ski masks all turned to look at him, and while they were distracted, Ford jumped on the lever Bucky had used to activate the trapdoor, opened it, and leapt through.

  There was no bag this time, and he landed hard on his hurt ankle. It twisted out from under him, and as he staggered to right himself in the darkness under the stage he tripped over something, making it clang. He stopped moving and held his breath. Had they heard? Were they coming after him?

  His heart was racing against his ribs, and his lungs contracted. Don’t panic, she whispered to him, keeping her breaths long and regular. Breathe and think.

  It worked. She sensed his attention sharpen as he took in his surroundings: light from the left, a sink across the way, tall shelf full of umbrellas.

  Why would Bucky need a dozen umbrellas? Ford wondered.

  There was a—moan?

  Sadie held her breath, and so did Ford. Was there someone there?

  Another moan.

  “Do you need help?” Ford whispered.

  The sound stopped. But it was close by, he thought, stepping around a pile of chairs, just—

  “Oh, Bucky, no,” Ford whispered, collapsing on the floor next to him. The hair on Bucky’s forehead was matted with blood, his left leg was at an unhealthy angle, one eye was swollen shut, and his lips were caked with blood.

  “Who did this?” Ford demanded. Sadie felt his rage sweltering like a foundry in the summer, a hairbreadth away from complete combustion.

  He needs water, she urged Ford, to focus him. And a blanket. He’s in shock.

  “Water,” Ford’s mind echoed, and he twisted around, assessing. Getting to the sink without making noise was going to be challenging.

  There’s a blanket to your left, Sadie told him. He looked to his left and was pleased to see a blanket. He put it on Bucky and started for the sink.

  “Gotcha!” a voice—male, jovial—said, and a volley of bullets from above flew through the stage within inches of Ford’s position.

  He leapt back toward Bucky and stood stock-still.

  “Lost him. Anyone got a chirp?”

  Another guy, this one slightly nasal sounding. “No chirp.”

  Chirp? Sadie repeated. What did that mean? How had they known exactly where Ford was standing?

  “He’s still down there.” This voice sounded older, and familiar.

  The boards of the stage creaked with the weight of the gunmen as they moved over it in slow, concentric circles, searching for Ford.

  The one with the sniffles said, “Stupid chippy thinks he can hide from us.” Chippy. Sadie and Ford both repeated the word in their mind.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are, chippy.”

  Sadie’s mind wouldn’t let go. Chippy. Chip. Could they be referring to—

  No, she protested against the thoughts pushing their way into her head. Her conscious mind dug its claws in, trying desperately to deny it, but she couldn’t. They were tracking Ford with his Sycnopy chip.

  With a shock, Sadie realized she’d known. Known subconsciously, and repressed it, like Ford repressing his memory of walking in on James and Cali. She’d kept her mind busy with misdirected suspicions about other people’s influence on Ford, resenting Plum and Mason, how open he was with them, worrying they might hurt him when—god, the irony—she was the danger to him. She was the one leaving him completely vulnerable and unprotected. It was because of her they could hunt him this way.

  James’s “magic power” hadn’t been that he was invisible, she realized. It was that he couldn’t be tracked because he didn’t have a chip. He was free. Safe.

  Her presence stole that security from Ford.

  The same chip that makes me care for him makes me betray him, she realized, horrified by the irony. By her powerlessness to stop it.

  Anger filled her now, not Ford’s but her own. Against her will she had become Ford’s implacable, inescapable enemy. Somehow she’d been tricked, turned into an unwitting pawn in the Pharmacist’s sick game.

  “Yoo hoo, chippy,” a voice coaxed from upstairs. “We’re bound to get you. You might as well come out.”

  An unwitting executioner.

  Ford took a step forward and said, “I want to talk to the Pharmacist.”

  I want to punch the Pharmacist, Sadie thought.

  There was a deep, swaggering laugh. “Sure thing, chippy. Just come a little more to the center of the—gotcha.”

  The bullets started to fly again, nearly on target. Ford took two steps back toward Bucky, and the guns stopped.

  Was it a trick?

  From upstairs the older voice said, “That dead chippy down there’s interfering with the relay. We need to pull him out.”

  Bucky’s chip was blocking their ability to see Ford’s when they were close together, Sadie and Ford realized simultaneously.

  But then Ford took a step forward, away from Bucky. What are you doing? Sadie yelled as a hailstorm of bullets flew around him. He jumped back to Bucky and the bullets stopped.

  Yep, looks like that’s how it works, he thought.

  That was not a hypothesis that needed to be tested, Sadie seethed at him.

  “Go get that dead chippy,” the older voice ordered.

  “Could be an ambush,” the one with the sniffles said. “They could be waiting with weapons down there.”

  Good idea, Sadie heard Ford think. He could make them think he had weapons even though he didn’t. His eyes roamed the room for anything within hand’s reach.

  On the floor near his feet, Bucky groaned. “You weren’t supposed to come,” he said. “Card only for emergency purposes. All went wrong. So sorry.”

  “What happened?” Ford asked, leaning in close. “Do you know who the Pharmacist is?”

  Bucky shook his head. “These are just thugs. Paid guns.” He made a gun with his fingers. “Bang.”

  “Why are they here?”

  Bucky grabbed Ford’s arm and pulled him closer. “I’m sorry. I saw—Fourth of July. They made me watch. That. This—” He rolled his eyes. “My punishment for not telling. Never tell. But hated seeing what they did to you.”

  Ford smiled at him. “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

  Oh god, Ford, I love you, Sadie thought.

  Bucky tried a chuckle, then gulped air. “Hurts too much.” His hand squeezed Ford’s hard, eyes closed against the pain. “I didn’t tell. All still there for you.”

  “All what?”

  Bucky opened his eyes. “The treasure.”

  “We’ll have some fun with it when this is over.”


  Yes, Sadie vowed. You will. I promise.

  “No, Citizen F. This is the end for me.”

  “Don’t you dare say that, Bucky,” Ford threatened, as if the force of his will could keep him alive. “Don’t give up. I’m not going to let you go. We’ll get out of this.” I’m not going to lose anyone else, Sadie heard him think.

  But something had changed in Bucky. His eyes were clear and alert, and he seemed calmer. He said, “Was always jealous of James. Not because of him.” Bucky’s hand clutched Ford’s, and his eyes closed as a fresh surge of pain rolled through him. “Because of you. Always wanted a brother like you.”

  Sadie tasted tears and didn’t know if they were hers or Ford’s. “Bucky—” Ford said, part plea, part gasp.

  Bucky’s eyes opened and he smiled at Ford. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. Bet they have better treasure hunts where I’m going.” He looked peaceful, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes.

  It ripped Ford in half. “The best,” Ford told him, struggling to breathe around the lump in his throat. “The very best.” Sadie heard him praying: Please don’t let him die, please.

  Boots sounded on the stairs behind them. Bucky gave Ford’s hand a feeble squeeze. “Hide.”

  Grief welled up in Ford as he flattened himself against the armoire. His heart was racing with fear, but over it Sadie heard him repeating that it wasn’t fair, Bucky couldn’t die too, it wasn’t fair.

  I’m so sorry, Ford, she cried, guilt making her feel like she’d been stabbed. This was her fault. Not consciously or intentionally, but she was still responsible. Without her, he wouldn’t have been in this situation.

  The heavy footsteps—two sets? More?—had almost reached the bottom of the stairs. Ford’s heartbeat jumped with fear, and he thought, I’m really sorry, Mom.

  Oh, Ford, Sadie gasped.

  There were three gunmen, large guys wearing ski masks and body armor with weapons cocked at waist level. Two of them advanced toward Bucky to pick him up while one of them stayed by the stairs.

  “Let’s make it fast,” the one nearest to Ford said. “All this dust is hell on my allergies.”

  “We should take a second to look around for Sub Nine. If we find him, we—”

  “Stop talking and do this,” the gunman at the stairs barked.

  From above Sadie and Ford heard a baritone that hadn’t spoken yet announce, “I got one!” and the sound of booted footsteps marching across the stage.

  So there are four gunmen, Ford thought.

  Sadie added, At least.

  “He’s not on our list,” another voice they hadn’t heard before said.

  Five.

  “He’s not a chippy, but he was nosing around,” the baritone explained.

  “Not nosing.” It was Mason’s voice. The strain in it made Ford feel like someone was pulling on his guts and increased the crushing burden of Sadie’s guilt. “I’m a developer. I’m just looking at the property.”

  “Put him in the transport,” the newest voice said.

  No! Sadie heard Ford think, and she caught quick flashed images of white, of rope, of the black glove, the icehouse.

  What does that memory mean? she wanted to ask him. Why are you thinking of it now?

  The two gunmen lifted Bucky’s body from the floor. Ford’s mind was raging. You can’t have him, Sadie heard him think. Not without a fight. Sadie saw him putting together a plan, grab one of the umbrellas, use it to hook—

  “Got a chirp on your chippy!” the baritone from upstairs called. “He’s down there with you, I’m locked on—”

  Get back! Sadie screamed, and Ford skidded away from the umbrellas, knocking the gunman carrying Bucky’s legs to the ground as his colleague began shooting through the floor at the place where Ford had been standing.

  “You hit me, you bastard!” the one with the allergies shouted.

  Sadie felt Ford’s grim pleasure, but it was short-lived. The other gunman kept moving and had dragged Bucky nearly halfway up the stairs, which meant he was getting away and Ford’s chirp would be visible in five… four… three.

  Duck, Sadie called to him as the gunman by the stairs opened fire, sending a barrage of bullets into the debris where Ford had been the moment before.

  Shell casings clinked on the ground. The air stank, thick and smoky. Bucky was out of view.

  They must be reloading, Sadie thought. We’re completely exposed now. Trapped. She was shaking all over.

  “Did we get him?”

  Above them the guy with the baritone said, “I can’t find Subject Nine. He’s off screen.”

  What? Sadie asked. How?

  “I’ve lost Subject Nine.”

  “Me too.”

  A knot began twisting in Sadie’s stomach. She could see everything Ford saw, which meant his chip was active. And Bucky was gone. So how was Ford staying shielded? Unless there was someone—

  Linc’s big head filled Ford’s field of vision. “I really didn’t want it to come to this,” he said, pressing the point of a knife against Ford’s neck.

  CHAPTER 26

  You say a word, I’ll slit your throat,” Linc growled. “But I’m going to get you out of here if I can. Do you understand?”

  “Why should I believe you?” Ford demanded.

  For a second it almost looked like Linc was going to laugh. “Because if I wanted to kill you, you idiot, I would have done it already. I can’t believe James always said you were the smart one.”

  “Relatively speaking,” Ford told him. The knife was still against his throat. “You keep that nice and sharp.”

  Linc got the same this-is-what-I’d-look-like-if-I-ever-laughed expression again. “Don’t make me regret this.” He sheathed the knife, said, “Come on,” and started navigating across the debris-covered floor toward the back of the theater.

  “Where are we going?” Ford asked, trying to fill in the empty parts of his mental map of the building as they walked. Having a knife to his throat had stilled Ford’s internal landscape, making his mind lucid and supple. Sadie made a mental note to look up the effects of adrenaline before meeting with the Committee.

  “They’ve staked out the back and main stairs,” Linc said. “If we climb over the stage, we can get to the old coal chute. It’s unguarded.”

  “Up and over the stage?” Ford whispered. “In plain view? That’s nuts.”

  “I just did it. They’re not looking for you, they’re looking for your chirp. They keep their eyes down on the readers. But if anyone looks up, fight like you’re fighting for your life. I will be.”

  You can do this, Sadie told Ford. This could work.

  “Where’s Bucky?” Ford asked.

  “In the back of the Range Rover. With your friend.”

  “We have to get him.”

  “Impossible,” Linc growled, and there was no question it was final. “If you make it out of here, call the highway patrol and report the car stolen. Black Ranger Rover.”

  “What make? What year?”

  “You want me to wipe your ass for you too? You make a big enough fuss, they’ll find it. Tell them it’s your wife’s car and you don’t know all that information. They’ll pull it over, should be time. Highway Patrol, not Serenity Services. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Stay within three feet of me. Farther, and you’re blown.”

  The map he’d been compiling unfolded in Ford’s mind, the path Linc had laid out most clear but the rest still visible. Sadie could see spots of color, images, hovering around the edges, but he was keeping the center clear of distractions. His heart rate was remarkably even, his breathing a little shallow but not fast, and Sadie concentrated on matching hers with his.

  They got to the scaffolding that went to the catwalk and were halfway up when Linc stopped moving to take a phone call. There were three guys in ski masks on the stage, each holding a palm-sized monitor in one hand and an automatic rifle in the other, not more than twenty feet from them.
Sadie felt Ford’s heart beat babum, babum as he hung there, completely exposed, listening to Linc whisper, “I understand. Yes. I’ll take care of it,” before continuing on. His forehead was sweating and his mouth was dry, and his knuckles ached from holding on.

  They made it up to the top and started across. Sadie willed Ford not to look down, but she was having trouble controlling her breathing, and her hands were shaking.

  Linc dropped over the side abruptly to begin his descent. Ford hadn’t realized the edge was coming, and it took him a second to catch up.

  Too long. His relay chirped. Three pairs of eyes all swiveled toward him. Bullets started to fly.

  Down, Sadie urged, but instead of descending the side of the scaffold near them, he ran back the way he’d come. She heard him assessing the outer wall of the building and thought, No, oh, no. The gap between it and the scaffolding was easily five feet across, and the wall was two feet higher than they were. It’s the only chance, she heard him think at the same moment she thought, There’s no way—

  He made a mad flying leap for the wall. Sadie screamed and closed her eyes and didn’t stop until his fingers had caught—just barely—the top of the stone. He hauled himself up, a bullet nicking his shoe, and slid down the wall on the other side.

  He’d forgotten that the theater was elevated so he dropped five stories, more than the two he’d been expecting, and landed with a thud that made his recovering knee feel like it had been kicked all over again. He had to blink twice to clear his head, then blinked again in disbelief.

  Wait, was that—?

  He was standing across the street from the Candy Factory, Plum’s club.

  He turned to look behind him and started to laugh. The building he’d left, the one housing the theater, was the Surprise Party Outlet Store. Surprise Outlet. Sadie heard him repeat to himself. As in surprise exit. Bucky had written it right on the sign.

  He started limping toward the Candy Factory, his mind plotting a map of the connection between the two buildings—a mile and a half on the streets but only about a quarter mile if you put tunnels that looked like hallways through the empty lots behind the buildings. Distracted, he walked in front of a limo pulling up in front of the club. It blasted its horn, which prodded Ford’s memory.