Dangerous Code

by Stella Marie Alden

  When the music stops, I know he’s listening again and start talking. “Uh huh. Sure, got it, one cream, two sugars. No, I’m not going to Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s Starbucks or nothing. Anyone else want anything?” I hope he gets what I’m asking. I really need to know if Jason thinks anyone else is involved.

  “Hate charades, O’Brien. I’ve got Georgio on chat.”

  There’s a long pause. Every second seems like ten, then more like twenty. My vision narrows onto the man’s hand. I’m sure that’s a detonator.

  While I wait and follow, I practice my next moves in my mind’s eye.

  Sansone speaks softly in my earpiece. “Georgio says the terrorist is working solo with eighty-seven percent accuracy, if you trust her application. And it says that your suspect’s detonator has a dead man’s switch. Don’t let him let go of it.”

  “Got it. Be home soon. Love you, Mom.” I put my phone in my pocket, the man turns around with eyes wide.

  I know that he knows that I’m going to take him down.

  First, I clamp down on his right hand. If I lose that grip nothing else will ever matter again. Then I spin in front of him, step between his legs, and push him off balance. I jab his solar plexus, my fist strikes his groin, and then my elbow shoots up to his jawbone which gives way with a crack.

  Then his unconscious body lies with his arm perpendicular to the sidewalk because my five fingers are locked around his fist, keeping it closed.

  “Holy Shit!” A teen with jeans half way down his butt stops to stare. What an idiot.

  “NYPD. Clear the area.” My authoritative voice causes everyone to run except the young dumb-ass.

  Instead, he takes out his phone and starts to shoot. Before I suggest he might want to move or become instant hamburger, the bomb squad squeals into place along with five cruisers. Then the street is cleared and I guess the kid gets breaking news. Overhead, helicopter blades flap so loud that it’s hard to think.

  An officer decked in bomb squad armor approaches and covers me in protective gear but all I can do is wonder how hard it will be to live without my right arm. Which is pretty stupid, because if that thing goes off, I won’t live long enough to worry about prosthetics.

  “Don’t let go, Detective.” The officer smirks, pats me down, and checks my badge.

  Megan comes to mind. Before I die, I need to know she’s okay. “Listen up, I need to call-”

  “-Here comes Vitale. He’s the best. I’ll call your wife if you want. But first, let’s focus. Okay? You with me?” His face is grim and all business as his team clears the area and shuts down the street.

  A tall Italian approaches, covered in bomb armor. “Can you describe the detonator?”

  “About the size of a cigar. Feels cool like glass.”

  “Got it. Keep it vertical, just like you’re doin’. Gabeesh?” He exhales, slowly opens the suspect’s vest strapped with C4, and curses.

  “This may take some time.” He takes a few photos and then opens his toolbox.

  “Can you have someone call my partner and see if Doctor Jenna Jones has been found?” I ask again.

  “Yeah, sure. Your wife?” He picks up a pair of wire cutters.

  “No, my suspect.”

  Chapter 9

  Sixteen-year-old Megan McCarthy

  Los Alamos, New Mexico

  Sirens go off all over the college and despite my screwed-up life, I grin. My trojan-horse is working perfectly. In fact, the virus is absolutely awesome! Like a power grid in a blackout, every network in this place is going down and it’ll take these jerks days, maybe even weeks, to get the servers back up again.

  I’ve seen the cameras on the front door so I squish through my dorm room window, throw out my comforter and jump onto the dumpster cover. From there I hop to the ground.

  Okay. Steps one and two accomplished. Now for step three.

  Imagine a college full of computer nerds without their network. They won’t start looking for me for hours. Not while their precious system is down. I jump into the back of the bread truck and wait. When the driver puts it into gear, the forward momentum causes me to fall on my butt.

  There’s about a hundred bucks in your wallet, Megan. You won’t get far with that.

  I know but I’m prepared. Time to put weeks of hotwiring practice to the test. You can learn anything online. LOL. For the next few years, garages for miles around will wonder about the epidemic of ignition wires covered in electrical tape.

  I thought I’d be really scared but I’m not. Mostly I’m relieved to be gone.

  When the truck stops, I crack open the back door. Small towns aren’t the best places to escape from. This one has a drive-through bank, a gas station, a Seven-Eleven, and a thrift store.

  And there’s a bunch of trucks parked in front of a diner. An older guy with bald head and white t-shirt exits toward his eighteen-wheeler. Maybe if I’m lucky, I can hitch a ride with Mr. Clean.

  “Hey mister.” I wave madly as I run across the street.

  “Whatcha want, kid?” The man frowns but at least he doesn’t ignore me.

  Encouraged, I take a deep breath. “Um, excuse me, sir. I just crashed the Los Alamos computers and well, I need to get out of town real fast. Any second, the Feds are going to come looking and arrest me. But I was being held against my will. I swear.”

  He shakes his head and scratches the white stubble on his chin. “Well, that ain’t the best story I’ve ever heard.”

  He studies me for a second and I guess he figures I’m telling the truth. “But it ain’t the worst neither. Get in. Get down. Keep quiet. I don’t like no company and don’t like no conversation.”

  “Okay. Deal. I won’t say a word. I promise.” I climb up into the passenger side.

  You did it.

  He drives through the night and into the next day. Other than a few quick meals with bathroom breaks, every mile looks and sounds pretty much the same. Finally we end up in another diner in the middle of nowheresville.

  He nods which I’ve learned means that it’s time to get out of the truck.

  Once inside I see myself as others do in the mirror behind the counter. I’m an awkward, overweight geek with thick glasses and a slightly crooked bicuspid. The fluorescents accentuate my pasty skin and dark circles under my eyes. To make matters worse, my hair’s a mess and I haven’t showered for days.

  As we sit in this uncivilized place with no Wi-Fi, my driver looks up at the waitress handing us menus. “Grace? This is another one of them girls.”

  “Okay, Sam. I’ll be back in a second.” She disappears behind the counter, comes back with coffee, and takes our order.

  As always, we eat our meal in silence but then he surprises me. “Honey, stay here with Grace. She’ll help ya. Don’t ever be going with any other truckers. Y’hear? Not so many is good ones. Good luck to ya.”

  That’s more word’s than he’s said since day one. Mr. Clean throws a few bills on the table, turns, and walks out the door. For the first time since running away from college, tears slip down my face. I’m all alone without a clue where I am.

  Grace walks behind me and puts her arms around my shoulders. “Don’t you worry none. You just sit tight in this booth until I finish my shift. Okay?”

  “Oh-oh.” Her wide-eyed stare leads me to follow it out the window where a state trooper is pulling into a parking spot.

  “Go.” She shoves me into the ladies room so I guess she isn’t going to turn me in.

  Listening with my ear to the door, I can barely hear because my heart is thumping so loud but Grace is cool as a cucumber.

  “Why no sir, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that young lady. Not a very becoming little thing now, is she? …Well, ya don’t say. That young‘un is a terrorist? I sure will tell y’all if I see her, though…Uh huh…You betcha. You want fresh pecan pie and coffee before you go, officer?”

  Later, I thank her over and over as she drives me back to her apartment. Then I sit down on her overstuffed c
ouch and grab a chocolate chip cookie from a white plate with blue willow trees.

  “Okay, hun, spill the beans. What kind of trouble you in? Tell me the whole truth so I know how to help.” She leans forward on a recliner that had seen better days.

  I don’t know where to start. Even if I did, she’ll never believe me but what choice do I have?

  Dazed and exhausted, I give it a go. “To start with, I’m enrolled in this special college for super-intelligent teens in Los Alamos. But you see, everyone thinks I’m at Arizona U and I’m not supposed to tell.”

  Grace nods listening intently, reminding me of Nurse Susan at summer camp.

  A bit more chill, I grab another cookie and chew, talking at the same time. “I have regular classes but mostly I’m studying coding, networks, statistics, and encryption. You know?”

  When she frowns, I dumb it down a little. “Basically, I can hack into anything.”

  That, she gets. “Whoaaaa. How old are you, girl?”

  “Just turned seventeen. Lots of kids my age go to college early.” I shrug. “I’ve got an IQ off the charts.”

  “Uh huh. That so?” She pours some milk to go with the fast emptying plate.

  “I have all these online friends and we all brag about what we can do. I told them about this college and they said it was a setup but I told them, no way.”

  I glance down at myself and frown. “I shouldn’t eat these. I’m already too fat.”

  “Go on, now. I bet that ‘ol coot of a driver didn’t feed you worth a damn.”

  I didn’t want her to think poorly of Mr. Clean. “No, no, he did. He fed me good. He actually saved my life.”

  “Now you lost me. That college tried to kill you?”

  “Oh God. I was so stupid.” My face heats. I’m not sure I can tell her the rest.

  “You ain’t going to shock me none, hun. Go on.” She nods with a friendly, open smile.

  This is so embarrassing. “You got to understand. I never had a boyfriend before. I’m no cheerleader. I don’t know how to swish my hips, toss my hair, and bat my lashes. And I thought Mahmoud was soooo hot. He’s got this accent that sounds like James Bond and has exotic chocolate brown skin. I never suspected…”

  Grace isn’t smiling anymore.

  “He was my teacher, my advisor in artificial intelligence theory. That’s why the government sent me to this school. They wanted everything for free. I was teaching them, not the other way around. That’s what my online buddies were trying to warn me about.” I moan, close my eyes, wishing I could go back in time.

  “You can’t never trust the government.” She takes my plate and washes it in an old white sink.

  It’s easier to talk to her back. “I really thought he loved me. I actually told him I wanted to have sex.”

  Grace turns, eyes wet when I whisper what I’ve never told anyone before. “I shouted for him to stop but he wouldn’t. And he made a video.”

  She curses with vile words which don’t jibe with her southern accent “He made a video of him having sex with you. After you said no?”

  I nod.

  “That bastard.” She pulls me into a bone crushing hug. “I’m so sorry, hun.”

  It’s hard to swallow past the knot in my throat. “So I crashed the whole Los Alamos network and ran. Now they’re after me.”

  “You’re going to need a lawyer but first things first. You should call home.” She hands me a phone and I dial the familiar number.

  “Mom?” I wait and hope that since I’ve been gone, she’s miraculously changed.

  No such luck. “Megan? Where are you? I’ve been sick with worry. I want you to go back to school. Tell them you’re sorry. The government men were here. They said you broke their computers and they’re considering a law suit if you don’t return immediately. What if the neighbors hear? Find the school psychologist and get some help. Megan? Megan? Listen-”

  “Mom? Wait-” Salty tears fall onto my lips and nothing comes out of my mouth.

  Grace grabs the handset and holds it away from our ears, listening as my mom rants on. Then she says, “I’m sorry Mrs. McCarthy. Megan’s not goin’ back and she’s not goin’ to be able to contact you for some time. Please don’t worry none.”

  I can’t believe she hangs up on my mother. No one’s ever done that to the DAR, Mayflower descendant, and prima donna extraordinaire.

  “I’m going to get you out of this but it’s like them witness protection shows on TV. You say something to anybody and they find you. Understand?”

  “Yeah. I get that.”

  She hands me a box of tissues. “We’ll talk more, after you freshen up a bit.”

  Chapter 10

  Megan in a van, kidnapped.

  When an arm reaches around my waist, my feet are lifted off the sidewalk and I scream. “H-H-Help! C-Colin!”

  Seconds later, I’m kicking like mad and pulled into a van. Then a heavy man plops on top of me, pain shoots from my lower back, and cracked vinyl scratches my cheek.

  I’m being kidnapped in broad daylight? Right outside my office? Shit like this doesn’t happen in Manhattan.

  When the vehicle bounces off the curb and the door slams shut, reality sinks in. I take a deep breath because otherwise, the next few seconds may be my last. My hand slips between the backseat cushions and I stash my phone deep within.

  Jason’s GPS is on and will track me. It has to.

  “That guy saw us. I think he’s a cop.” A guy grumbles next to me.

  “Move.” The man on top of my body shifts his weight, shoves me off the seat, and slams my face into the metal floor. Then he wrenches my arms behind my back and plastic ties cut into my wrist.

  “Ow. Dammit.” I dig my heel into his inner thigh.

  “You bitch.” He stomps his sneaker onto the back of my head.

  Okay. That may have been a bad idea. My ears ring and in addition to stars, I see lip gloss, a pen, and a small bottle of Advil. Odd how visions of my purse’s contents will no doubt be my last.

  What’s taking Colin so long?

  The pressure on the back of my head lessens and I’m grateful for that small comfort until I’m tugged up by the roots of my hair.

  “Where’s your cell phone?” Fat-guy searches me from head to toe.

  I don’t get groped without a fight so I bang the top of my head into his stupid face. When the cartilage of his nose cracks, I do a mental high-five.

  “Your mother was a whore and begat a dirty pig. I curse you to sixty thousand hells and may disaster follow you until the end of days.” My Arabic is rusty, but judging from his shocked expression, it was pretty good.

  Unfortunately, now he’s pissed. “Foul mouthed cunt.” He slaps my face and sinks a needle deep into my arm.

  Drugged? That went well. Not.

  “Stop dicking around and find her phone.” Scary eyes scowl from the rearview mirror.

  “She doesn’t have it. I’ve checked.” Fat-guy, about ready to piss his pants, drops the needle and feels around the back seat.

  I should be freaked but I’m busy having my first out-of-body experience. My neck twitches, my chin hits my chest, and my eyes flutter shut.

  “The phone is a deal-breaker.” The evil-eyed driver in the front seat morphs into Batman’s nemesis, The Penguin.

  Fat-guy reeks of fear, sweat, and garlic. I dub him Mr. Freeze. “Circle back. She must’ve dropped it in the street.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Go!” A third voice comes from the back of the van over sirens whining in the distance.

  I search the sky for the bat-signal and smile. Colin is coming. Some small part of my brain screams for me to find reality and I try, I really do.

  Mr. Freeze shakes me, clears his throat, and spits in my face. “It’s all her fault. If she’d just stayed in hades, Allah would not have called me to this jihad.”

  I calmly wipe my cheek on my shoulder and glance out the window, trying to get my bearings. There’s water to my left so we must be heading
north on the West Side. Wait, or maybe south on the FDR. Can’t be sure.

  “Shut up. I need to think.” The Penguin exits the highway and descends into the bowels of Gotham city where burnt-out apartment buildings, piles of trash, and hopelessness prevail.

  Then I’m reasonably certain that Jason transmits my coordinates to the bat-cave because somewhere Colin’s at the wheel of the bat-mobile, fire spurting out the exhaust.

  Chapter 11

  Colin.

  Finally free of the detonator, I mumble a prayer to the Big Guy upstairs. Then I shake hands with the bomb squad members, salute the applauding silver shields, and rush to where Joe’s Ford idles.

  I can’t wait to hold Megan again. She’s consumed my every thought for the last four hours. The more I find out about her, the more I want to know. We could make a go of this thing. We’ve got some history and we’ve got sparks. Relationships have been built on a lot less.

  “Get in. We need to go and get her.” My partner slaps me on the back, hands me a bottle of water, and jumps behind the wheel.

  “Get her? I thought you had her.” I run around the front of the car, push a Subway wrapper off the seat, and slam the door hard.

  Joe raises his eyebrows and pulls out into traffic which because of my incident is slower than death itself. I need to dial it back a notch but for hours I’ve had nothing to do but stand perfectly still.

  Yeah. I have to admit I’m not at my best. “Sorry.”

  My partner nods, accepting my apology. “They probably didn’t tell you but at the exact moment Jones was kidnapped, there was a total of seven terrorists in the city, including yours.”

  “Jeesh. Was anyone hurt?”

  “No. Read up.” He hands me his iPad, yelps his siren, and we slowly make progress crosstown.

  Scrolling through the briefing, my mind races in a million directions. I can’t imagine someone going to such great lengths to kidnap just one woman and yet it can’t be coincidence. The whole city’s one stupid mess. According to the latest, the mayor just called in the National Guard.

  When I’m stressed, my hands need something to do, especially having been frozen in place all morning. Old coffee cups, donut wrappers, and paper bags rest where my feet want to be so I toss the pigsty into the back seat.