by J Bennett
“Nah-ah,” I say, taking a quick step forward so that I’m just out of arm’s reach. I keep my pistol pointed and wrap my finger around the trigger. “I’ll shoot,” I tell him. “It’d be a pain to drag your ass to the getaway car, but I will.”
My hand shakes with adrenaline, but I’m standing so close to him I can’t miss.
Ash Anders has the small pistol in his hand, but he’s still crouched. There’s no way he could move to aim it without giving me enough time to get off a shot. He’s in an impossible situation and must know it.
Still, he pauses.
“Toss the weap,” I bark at him.
After one more moment of reflection, he says, “Dragging would be so undignified” and calmly drops his pistol. He straightens up and smooths his jacket. “You’ve a stun laz then?” His eyes dart down at his unconscious guard.
“Yes. She’ll be fine. They all will.” I appreciate that he cares about his employees.
The Mayor of Chicago looks me over. “You’re with The Professor, that looney vil from Big Little City?”
“Iron, at your service,” I say pleasantly. “Let’s take a walk. How about you turn around and move forward slowly.”
“Let me guess, no sudden moves.”
“I would appreciate it. As I said, dragging your unconscious ass would be a hassle.”
“And undignified,” he adds. He’s clearly noticed the cam drone drifting overhead, recording all of this. He begins walking.
I suck in heavy breaths as my heart hammers in my chest. My hands feel slick with sweat and a part of me wonders if this is all a dream. Maybe I got hit with a laz shot in the main ballroom, but then I blink and see the back of Ash Anders’s expensive green suit as he moves slowly in front of me.
“Make the second left,” I tell him.
“You are setting an incredibly dangerous precedent,” Anders says as he complies with my directions.
“Well, you wouldn’t believe how cutthroat the competition for ratings is in our little town,” I reply.
“You might be surprised,” he says lightly, but there’s something dark in his voice. A sharp point of fear stabs into my stomach. It’s starting to hit me, what we’re doing. Who we’re kidnapping. All the consequences that will cascade from this.
“Next right,” I say gruffly.
“You know,” he says in that same light, dangerous tone, “I think I’ll personally escort you and all your costumed little friends to the New Path Rehabilitation Camp. We’ve been testing some highly promising new protocols there. You’ll have a truly excellent stay.”
Instead of answering him, I tap my comm back on. Immediately a swarm of voices pounds into my eardrums.
“Is he breathing?”
“I don’t see her.”
“We can’t wait much longer.”
“I hear sirens.”
I clear my throat and say as loudly as I can, “I need a pickup. I have the ruby.”
All the voices stop.
“What?” Sequoia squawks after a beat.
“You heard me,” I say. “Get the car to my exit. We’ll be there in one min.”
Every single bit of me wants to ask about Gold, but I can’t afford to lose focus. Not now, when I can see the exit door ahead. I swallow. My brain feels like it’s overheating. I can practically hear Gold whispering in my ear. Don’t waste this lens time, Wholesome.
“Keep moving,” I bark at Ash Anders. He walks to the door then pauses and turns around. Again, his eyes grill into me.
“What a foolish little game you’re playing,” he says, a note of disgust in his voice.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” I reply sadly, “but we are truly desperate. Now, if you’d be so kind as to remove your Band and turn it off, we’ll be making our getaway.”
He doesn’t move. Instead, he stares at me. I wonder if he’s going to try something, if I’ll have to shoot him. That will complicate our escape immensely, plus the ground is hard. I really don’t want to be the reason the president’s son gets a major concussion.
“Your heist was decent,” he says. “You took advantage of the element of surprise. You diverted attention away from me. Utilized a flaw in the security robos. I assume you got lucky a few times, but you obviously planned and executed this well.” He pauses to let his next words sink in. “Things will be different from here on out. The authorities have been called. They’re probably already here. They will track you. Every cam will be searching for my face. They’ll blanket the skies with drones. You’ll never be able to escape.”
I force what I hope is a brave smile on my face. “Well, Mr. Mayor, I was hoping you would help us with that.”
Now he smiles. “You thought wrong.”
“Turn off your Band and hand it over.” I wave my pistol at him.
“We’re here,” Sequoia says into my ear.
“I could put in a good word for you at your sentencing if you turn yourselves in now,” Ash Anders says.
I shake my head. I admire his quiet courage. If he wasn’t a politician, I might even respect him.
“We’ve come too far for that now,” I say.
He nods. “Worth a try.”
“Your Band.”
He turns it off and unlatches it from his wrist slowly, obvi playing for time. I’m surprised to see he wears a Crane model Band. It’s slim and sleek, plated in white gold and etched with some swirly Latin phrase. Cranes are old. I haven’t seen one in years. I’m sure he’s retrofitted it to put in chips with higher processing speeds and greater bandwidth. Still, it’s a surprise that he’s not showing off a fancy Falcon or Wyvern or the new Raptor that all the Captains like to flash.
“Toss it over,” I instruct.
He drops his Band straight down so that I’ll need to get within reach of him to pick it up and lower my gun in the process. Nice little trick.
“Your jacket, too,” I say, just in case he has any surprises hidden in there.
Ash Anders raises an eyebrow but complies, just as slowly. He wears a spotless white button-up dress shirt beneath. Well-made but understated, just like the rest of him. He drops the jacket on top of the Band.
“I do hope you’ll allow me to keep my pants,” he says.
“Turn out your pockets.”
He does and reveals a cartridge of breath mints, caffeine drops, and a small, curved seashell.
“Put them on the floor,” I order. Personal trackers can be made to look like everyday objects. Some of the capes and sidekicks have been known to use them. The only reason the Glory League found the Fat Tubist after he was captured by Femme Feline was the tracker kazoo in his pocket.
Ash Anders pops a breath mint in his mouth before he tosses the container and caffeine drops onto his coat. “Not this,” he says of the shell and slips it back in his pocket.
“No, drop that too,” I sputter.
He hits me with a look. “It’s just a shell.”
“Then you won’t mind putting it on the floor.”
“No.”
I almost shoot him. We’re right at the door anyway. It wouldn’t be too hard to load him into the car. But we need him conscious and there’s something else. Ash Anders already believes we’ll be caught. He has good reason to think so. There’s no way we can make it out of the city on our own. If he’s so confident, why would he risk a stun laz to keep a tracker on his person, and why would it be such a random object?
Unless it’s not a tracker. Unless it’s some kind of personal token.
“We’re coming out,” I say into my earbud. “Ruby first. Be ready.”
“Check,” Sequoia says.
I point my gun at the mayor. “Open the door and get into the car. If you try anything, you’ll get a stun laz.”
Ash Anders smiles at me. “You sound a little nervous.”
“I am nervous.”
“Good.” His smile widens. Glamour’s Stream listed him as the fifth hottest politician last year. They weren’t wrong. He pushes open the door. Mermaid�
�s car waits for us outside, the back door hanging open.
Ash Anders looks around. I tighten my grip on my gun. He ducks smoothly into the car. I grab up his coat and Band and follow him in, shoving him roughly and slamming the door behind me.
“Drive,” I croak.
The car is at capacity. Even with Kitty in travel mode in the trunk, it’s still a tight squeeze. The Professor and Mermaid have the front seats, with Gold buckled between them. He slumps sideways, his head resting on Mermaid’s shoulder. My stomach clenches. Gold is always so animated, never seeming to be able to contain all the energy inside of him. Now he is utterly quiet.
We roll away from the library, its walls still splashed with glittery holograms of the objects up for auction. Dazed guests stand outside in clumps.
“Hello, Mr. Mayor,” Sequoia says, finally, as he tries to adjust his big body to give our captive more room. “I hope you’re doing well.”
“Not my best night,” Ash Anders replies
I meet Sequoia’s eyes. He looks thoroughly panicked. I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I’m sure my own face betrays my nerves.
“How’s Gold?” I ask.
“Unconscious,” The Professor answers. His voice is soft, none of the usual flights of fancy in his voice. “Breathing is steady. Strong pulse. I believe it was a heavy stun hit.”
“Of course he was stunned,” Ash Anders says from between us. “My security team always tries to convince me to give them lethal authorization, but I don’t allow it. Not with civilians present.”
“How kind of you,” I say.
“It has nothing to do with kindness, Ms. Henchman,” he replies. “Robos are predictable. People are not. I won’t have dead innocents on my watch.”
Overhead, I hear the heavy whomp, whomp of an approaching helicopter. Many of the cars around us gently glide to the curb and their lights die. The transportation department must have disabled all the city-owned rental cars. Sirens wail in the distance. The security net is tightening around us.
Ash Anders leans back in his seat, seemingly unperturbed. He knows there’s no way we can possibly escape the city, not if we had months to plan this heist and a couple million more crypto Loons. The best we can hope for is to hide out for a few hours until the authorities track us down.
The Professor turns around to face the mayor and I suck in a heavy breath. Here we are, at the final, most brazen part of our plan.
It’s not going to work, I realize. Now that I’ve seen Ash Anders up close, gotten a sense of his pride, I know we are as doomed as the glaciers.
“Mr. Mayor, may I introduce myself. I am The Professor,” my boss begins, a slight edge of uncertainty in his voice. Even he seems a little undone by the audacity of what we’re doing.
“I know who you are,” Ash Anders snaps. “Is this the part where you reveal your big plan?”
“Indeed,” The Professor says, “but to clarify, this is the part where I reveal our plan, because, Mr. Mayor, I would sincerely appreciate your assistance in coordinating our escape.”
Ash Anders is quiet for a moment and we all listen to the heavy approach of sirens. Then the Mayor of Chicago laughs. I see the flash of his white teeth as we pass under a streetlight.
When he recovers, he says, “I know what my next line is. I’m supposed to ask, ‘Why in the world would I ever help you?’”
Now The Professor smiles. “Because, Mr. Mayor, I believe I can help you become President of the United States.”
Ash Anders doesn’t laugh at that.
Chapter 17
Nope, never practiced. The laugh is utterly natural. You just have to let it happen. Don't overthink it. ~ The Professor, Interview with Reena Masterson
~
We sneak the car into a temp lot where city-owned cars wait to be ordered. Ash Anders leans back into the seat while The Professor explains the value of media attention.
“People don’t listen to the news. They don’t watch your debates. They’ll never remember the budget you spent all your political capital to pass,” The Professor says. “But what they do listen to is the gossip Streams. What they do watch is my show.”
My boss pauses. Ash Anders gazes out the window, his eyes far away.
“You’re just another politician making pretty promises,” my boss says. “I can turn you into a Persona, into a hero.”
The Professor continues, explaining the plan just as Mermaid, Sequoia, Gold, and I laid it out for him just a few hours earlier. He points out every benefit to Anders, adds flourish to the details, and finally offers the kicker. “Mr. Mayor, your name is already famous, but when this is all over, everyone, every voter will know you.”
No one speaks. I can hear Sequoia breathing. Around us, the sirens grow louder.
Ash Anders won’t agree. What happens next? Do we try to hide or let him go and flee? Turn ourselves in and beg for the mercy of the court?
“Very well.” Ash Anders says the words so quietly, so suddenly that for a moment I wonder if I imagined them.
“Are you sure?” The Professor says, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
Anders nods. “I don’t like you. Any of you. I don’t like what you’ve done or why you’ve done it, but you have a goal and I have a goal. Those two things align for the moment. I won’t turn away an opportunity just because it’s crass.” He looks at me while he says this.
“So you are a politician after all,” I say.
“I suppose I am.”
“Excellent, excellent!” The Professor cries and claps his hands together. “Let us commence with the final stage of our escape, now, shall we? Mr. Mayor, if you would be so kind.”
I hand Ash Anders his Band. He turns it on and begins making calls, first to his chief of staff, then to the chief of police who apparently connects him to some military general. We all wait in silence, listening as he gives the same six-digit code followed by smooth, fluid orders while the men, women, and none-binaries on the other end of each holo-call nearly burst with questions, doubts, and fury.
“I assure you, I am under absolutely no distress,” Anders says again to the military general, a note of irritation finally entering his voice. “I gave you the code, didn’t I?” The general squawks back. His voice is so loud that even with the sound shied feature engaged in Anders’s Band, I swear I hear something about artillery at the ready. “That is patently unnecessary, General,” Anders snaps. “Tell Mother I am handling the situation. Look, you have my Band location. Track me for all I care but stand down. I’ve discovered a sudden desire to take a working vacation in the lovely town of Big Little City, so there you have it.”
The General sputters some more. Ash Anders hangs up on him, calls his chief of staff again, and begins speaking as soon as she picks up. “You pulled the guest list and security cam footage from the event? Excellent. I understand your concern. Oh, yes, this is certainly a terrible idea, but we’ve taken risks before.” Ash Anders nods, listening. “That’s your opinion. Keep all my meetings on the books, but the hospital visit will need to be rescheduled. Not one word about my whereabouts. If I see any leaks to the media, I’ll get rid of the whole team starting with you. And feed the cat.”
He hangs up and turns to The Professor. “That should about cover it.”
The car reeks with our sweat. And then, just like that, the sirens go quiet. The steady whump, whump, whump of the helicopters fades and the heavy spotlight goes dark.
“Roads are clear,” Ash Anders says. “Off we go.”
“You were really able to erase the guest list and security footage from the auction?” Sequoia asks.
Anders smiles at him. “They are now in my possession, but they certainly aren’t erased. And that took quite a few favors, just in case you were interested.”
“Much appreciated,” Sequoia mutters.
It’s as good as we're going to get and more than I had hoped for. Even the most novice detective will realize that there must have been some inside people to help The Pr
ofessor pull off this caper. No one will find it suspicious that Sequoia was at the event, but I’m a nobody without a single Loon to my name who also happens to be a resident of Biggie LC. My name on the guest list would be an obvi giveaway. That annoying curtain of beads paired with my platinum wig will hopefully disguise my identity if anyone caught me in the background of their selfie vids. The rest of the caper was washed out by the light attack, so we should be safe.
Until Ash Anders gets what he wants and betrays us, I think grimly.
“Let’s get to the lair,” The Professor says. Our car pulls out of the lot and we move toward the highway. It could be a trap, of course. Ash Anders may have sent our GPS coordinates to his chief of staff through his Band. The police chief could have a blockade waiting for us. But we’ve already risked everything. No way we can go back now. Our salvation depends on how much Ash Anders wants good optics.
A few cars now share the road with us. The driving blackout has been lifted. As our car picks up speed, I keep glancing at Gold’s sagging body. Mermaid might as well be unconscious too. She stares out the front windshield, her eyes far away.
“We will record a grand hostage video,” The Professor says. In the dim light of his glowing bowtie, I can see the stretch of his smile.
“Naturally, I would like to review and approve the script,” Ash Anders replies. This is not a request.
“Of course, of course!” The Professor is now a gracious host. “I assure you all will meet with your expectations. You shall act quite brave in the video, hurl whatever insults you please. We’ll broadcast it throughout town and on our show’s official Stream. It will get picked up everywhere.”
Ash Anders nods. He turns to me. “Alice Hannover,” he says softly.
I shouldn’t be shocked that he already knows my name, but I feel the breath evaporate in my lungs. The way Ash Anders looks at me, it’s like he’s imprinting my face onto his memory. He’s been known to hold a grudge. After Anders became Mayor of Chicago, the father of his old girlfriend—the man who threw his own daughter out of the house when he found out she was an addict—suddenly found his contracts drying up, one by one. The banks called in his loans and now he’s living in some cargo container, just another faceless subsister.
