by Tracy Deebs
I want to laugh—which, now that I think about it, is exactly what Ezra wants us to do—and sit here listening to his utter ridiculousness forever. But I have a job to do and it’s not going to get done by avoiding my brand-new, state-of-the-art laptop.
Gingerly, I open the beast and take a look at where I am, trying to get my head together so I can think clearly. It’s hard because my arm really hurts and I suck at typing one handed. And that’s before the captain comes over the loudspeaker, welcoming us to the flight and asking that we not hesitate to make our needs known—which means we’re about to take off.
I’m really not sure I’m ready to take off, not sure if I’ll ever be ready to hurtle into the air at hundreds of miles an hour with nothing but a seat belt, misplaced faith, and this tiny tin can to keep me alive. A tiny tin can chartered by people who just tried to kill us not that long ago.
Sure enough, we start slowly taxiing toward the runway, and as we do, I can’t help looking longingly at the small galley in the front of the plane and wondering if they’ve got any M&M’s. And if it’s too soon to ask the flight attendant to get me some if they do.
Probably, I decide, as I try to focus—a task made infinitely more difficult by the fact that Alika’s chomping away at her Skittles next to me while Seth crams a whole Kit Kat bar into his mouth before starting on a bag of Doritos. Not that I’m bitter or anything, because I so totally am not. At all. It’s not like I tend to eat away my nerves or anything like that.…
Screw it, I tell myself as the pilot tells us to prepare for takeoff. I’m a big girl with big-girl problems and what I really, really hope will be a big-girl solution. If Ezra, Owen, and Harper can fly—and hack—without sustenance of the pure cane sugar variety, then so can I. Besides, I have enough trouble typing with one hand. Trying to eat M&M’s is probably beyond me anyway. And considering what’s waiting for us in Helsinki? This flight is going to be a walk in the park.
With that thought, I finally manage to focus on the code in front of me. I installed Linux last night—and ran the Owen-Seth code on all my new devices—so the comp’s good to go as soon as I am. My arm is really throbbing, but I take two Tylenol and push through the pain. We have enough going against us right now. The last thing we need is for me to punk out because my arm hurts.
It doesn’t take long before I’m immersed in what I’m doing, basically writing code that will exploit Jacento’s main servers—if the ones in Helsinki are like the ones in San Francisco. If they’re not, then we’re all screwed. But then, we’re screwed even if we can’t get to the servers. Because we’re running out of places to find the code.…
I’m doing the same thing now that I did all those weeks ago—writing code that should let us back door our way into Jacento’s particular brand of Red Hat while the others work on ways to exploit my opening. Alika’s putting the payload together, Seth is figuring out how to deliver it, and Owen’s munching data as he tries to figure out how to get it to spread as fast as possible.
If things go according to plan, we’re going to be sending a wicked blended threat straight into the heart of Jacento’s network—and straight into the heart of every kiosk Jacento has. One that will ensure those chargers can’t so much as charge a phone, let alone complete any of their more nefarious tasks.…
I glance at Owen, whose fingers are flying across his keyboard so fast that they’re practically a blur. Which pretty much boggles my mind. When I’m on my game, I’m a fast coder, but what he’s doing is insane. I can’t figure out how he can think that fast, let alone figure out how to bum code at such an insane rate.
It’s awe-inspiring and more than a little humbling.
Then again, that can pretty much describe my feelings about everyone sitting around me. I know I’m good—one of the best hackers in the Southwest, in fact. But these people? They’ve got the most mad skills I’ve ever seen. Not to mention they’re so much more than that. And while I’m not one to get all sloppy and sentimental, I can’t help being a little grateful things have gone down the way they have. Because now that these five people are in my life, I can’t imagine going back to a time when they weren’t.
Ezra glances up then, catches me looking around at the group of them. And, being Ezra, just raises an eyebrow. Which I now know him well enough to understand means Are you okay? What’s the problem? and Are you planning on getting any work done anytime soon? all at the same time.
For a second, I’m struck by how much he’s changed, how much more open he is than he was just a few days ago. And I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing about me.
Not that I’m about to let him know what I’m thinking. So I just grin and raise a brow back. It’s a definite dare, one I can see by the gleam in his dark eyes that he understands—and is more than willing to take. And for the first time, I let myself think about what happens next. About what happens after this is all over.
I don’t know what this thing is between us, don’t know where—if anywhere—it’s going once we get past today. It’s impossible to even imagine a guy like Ezra, with his life, falling for someone like me. Someone with my life. But then he looks at me like that, all deep and intense and cocky at the same time, and I can’t help wondering. Can’t help falling for him just a little more.
Which is fine. No, it’s better than fine, because I’ve fought this every way I know how and we’re still here, still doing what I’m beginning to think we were meant to do all along. So maybe it’s time I stop trying to control things that are out of my control. Maybe it’s time to forget all the hard lessons I’ve learned and have a little faith. In myself, in Ezra, and in the universe that brought all of us together.
It’s a crazy idea for a girl like me, but as we speed toward Helsinki—Helsinki!—the crazy seems just about perfect. At least until I take out my very professional fake passport that Harper somehow managed to procure, which tells the world my name is Daniella Sanchez and I’m twenty years old.
And then I’m right back to where I started, wondering how I got here and if I’m ever going to reach the bottom of the very deep, very dark rabbit hole we all seem to have fallen down.
33
Owen
(1nf1n173 5h4d3)
We’re about to walk blind into the belly of the beast. Not my first choice, as I’ve always been a fan of control and having backup plans for my backup plan, but right now, it can’t be helped. But that doesn’t make it easier.
We left San Francisco at 10:00 PM, took a ten-hour flight across the North Pole to Helsinki, and are set to land a little after 6:00 PM local time thanks to the ten-hour time difference. The big black-tie gala at Jacento’s headquarters starts at seven, and even in good traffic it’s an hour and a half away from the airport according to our research.
Not for the first time since we got on this plane, I wonder how this thing is going to end. All I know is that I’m going to do my damnedest to ensure Olsen doesn’t hurt any of the others. I’m the one who got them into this mess, and I’m going to make sure they get out. No matter what it takes.
My arm throbs as I get dressed in one of the three tuxedos that were hanging in the back of the plane when we got on board. It’s not the dull pounding of the last day or so, but something sharper, hotter, more painful. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that I could use some antibiotics—bullets are dirty, and I think I’ve got an infection going on despite the care Seth and Harper took trying to clean the wound. It’s one more thing about this whole night—this whole suicide mission—that just flat-out sucks.
“Are you going to tie that thing, or are you just going to stand there trying to strangle yourself with it?”
I open my eyes to find Alika standing only a few inches away from me in a jade green dress that makes her skin look like porcelain. “Here,” she says, brushing my hands away from the bow tie I’ve been making a mess of for the last five minutes. “Let me do it for you.”
“Thanks.” I smile at her. “I’ve never been very good with
these things.”
“I don’t know many guys who are.” She evens out the two ends, then crosses one over the other. “I used to do this for my father all the time when I was younger.”
“Hey.” I catch her hand, hold her in place for one second, two. “I don’t think I ever thanked you. For coming with us. For doing this.”
“It’s the least I could do, considering I’m the one who created the payload.”
“No, the least you could do would have been to ignore the message I sent you and pretend none of this ever happened. So thank you, again.”
Her lips quirk in the little grin I’m growing to love. “I’m pretty sure we should be thanking you. Or cursing you, depending on how tonight goes.”
“It’s going to go fine,” I tell her, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince, Alika or myself.
“Yeah, well, let’s hope you’re right. I look terrible in prison orange.”
“Do they even wear orange in Finnish prisons?” Harper wonders.
“If it’s all the same to you,” I tell her with a grin, “I’d rather not find out.”
Before I can say anything else, the pilot comes over the loudspeaker and asks us to take our seats as we’re about to land. Alika turns to head over to the seats, but I stop her with an arm around her waist. Then I pull her in close and whisper, “If I forget to tell you later, you look amazing.”
Now she’s full-on grinning. “So do you. Who knew dreads go so well with a Tom Ford tuxedo?”
“I did.”
She laughs as she moves to take her seat. “Careful, or you’re going to end up sounding like Ezra.”
“Hey, there are a lot worse people he could sound like,” Ezra tells her in mock indignation.
“Of course there are,” Issa says to soothe him, but she’s grinning too.
The usual banter starts flying back and forth, and as I buckle in, I can’t help praying that I don’t let them down. Can’t help praying that my plan works and in four hours we’re flying right back across the Atlantic—or at least they are—Phantom Wheel a memory growing more distant with every mile we traverse. I won’t be able to handle it if this goes bad and I end up costing all these people more than they can pay.
“Hey.” Harper lightly punches my shoulder. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Blame yourself for things that haven’t even gone wrong yet.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” she interrupts. “And I get it. But we’re all here because we want to be. So stop thinking of everything that can go wrong and start concentrating on what’s going to go right. Because, frankly, ‘I’m in the mood to kick a little ass.’”
Ezra whoops. “You and Moira Kelly, baby.”
She just smiles. “I told you. The Cutting Edge. Best. Movie. Ever. Even if it doesn’t have Val Kilmer in it.”
There’s no time to debate her on it, because suddenly we’re on the ground. Olsen’s got a limo waiting, and though logic tells me the last thing we should do is accept a ride from him, at this point we don’t have any other choice. Not when the four men sent to escort us to Jacento headquarters are all carrying guns—and are more than happy to let them show.
Alika stops when she catches sight of the guns, looking scared for the first time since we got on the plane. It pisses me off, makes me want to slam my fist into one of those bastards’ faces. Or all their faces, and then let this unfold however it goes.
But that’s a very short-term solution to a problem that will only get bigger the longer we put it off. Besides, bringing Olsen down inside his own headquarters will be so much more satisfying than punching a few of his security guards, no matter how much they deserve it.
So I dial back my anger, settle for wrapping an arm around Alika’s waist and pulling her close to my side.
“You okay?” I whisper as I bend down to put my mouth right up against her ear.
“No.” She sags against me for one moment, two, and I reconsider trying to take out the security guards. But those few seconds are all she gives herself before she straightens her shoulders. Clenches her fists. Narrows her eyes. “But I’m going to be. So let’s get this done.”
Is it any wonder I’m crazy about this girl?
I expect traffic to be bad—it is New Year’s Eve, after all—but everyone must be taking the train, because the roads are clear. Which is good and bad, I guess. The trip isn’t long enough for us to make any last-minute tweaks to the code, but that means it also isn’t long enough for us to freak ourselves out any more than we already are.
We end up getting to Jacento’s headquarters, where the gala is being held, before the gates even open. That must be Olsen’s plan, though, because the security guards wave us straight through. Which makes everything about the beginning of the plan both easier and harder.
“You can let us out here,” I try telling the driver.
“You’re to be taken through to the main office building,” he tells me in his Finnish accent.
Of course we are. Looks like we’re dealing with worst-case scenario, then. Big freaking surprise.
I pull out my phone, access the code I uploaded a few minutes before we landed. Then I stay alert, just in case an opportunity presents itself. I memorized the layout of this place on the plane, so when the driver takes a left turn at the small man-made lake, I nearly cheer.
I settle for a sigh of relief and keep my eyes peeled for—“Stop the car!” I yell with every ounce of authority I can muster.
The driver slams on the brakes. I throw my door open before the limo even careens to a stop and tumble onto my knees in the snow. As I do, I slip a thumb drive to Harper and do my best to make myself puke as a distraction.
Alika throws herself onto the ground next to me. “What do you need?” she asks me in between dry heaves. Seconds later the rest of them pile out of the car too.
“Harper’s got it,” I whisper back, then groan as I pretend to be wracked by another stomach cramp.
“Get up!” one of the guards orders, and I nod weakly before pretending to try. But I only make it halfway up before I collapse again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harper make a run for it, and I groan, loudly, to keep the guards’ attention on me.
It only works for a few seconds, but that’s all Harper needs. The girl is fast, even in the snow, and by the time they start chasing, she’s forty yards away—and right next to one of the VET-Sähkö utility cabinets that provides access to the whole compound.
Uploading my code there is risky—in theory it will eventually work its way into the network, but how long it takes is anyone’s guess. And it’s not like we’ve got a ton of time here.
Harper fakes a fall—or at least I hope she’s faking. I don’t know what happens after that because the guard who stayed with us reaches down and hauls me to my feet. Then he throws me back into the limo with orders to not “throw up on the upholstery.”
Alika climbs in after me, as do the others. We watch as the other guards drag Harper back to the car, and while her hair’s messed up, she otherwise doesn’t look any worse for wear. Thank God.
“What were you thinking?” Issa demands angrily as soon as Harper is back in the car. “There’s nowhere to run out here! And were you just going to leave the rest of us?”
Harper looks away, shamefaced, but doesn’t say anything. Neither does anyone else. Issa’s pretty savvy, so I figure it’s just a performance on her part for the surveillance equipment that we’re all sure is watching us right now. Especially when she shuts up right after—there’s no reason to say any more and maybe tip our hand.
As the limo starts moving again, I glance Harper’s way. Her eyes meet mine briefly, and she gives an almost imperceptible nod. Satisfaction winds through me. If my plan worked—to “get sick” right outside the one cabinet on the compound that actually gives us an open, if convoluted, line into the servers—and Harper was actually able to deliver the code in a brute-force attack… th
en maybe, just maybe, we’re in business.
We carefully avoid looking at one another as the limo winds its way through the compound. Partly because of the bug thing, but partly because the quieter and more defeated we look, the bigger surprise it will be to Olsen when we come out fighting.
Or at least that’s what I’m hoping.
Long minutes go by, minutes where I feel like I might jump right out of my skin, before we pull up in front of a ten-story building that is ablaze with lights. According to the schematic I memorized, this isn’t where the gala is being held; that’s in a building halfway across the compound. But this is where Olsen’s office is, along with all the other offices.
Ezra reaches for the door, but one of the security guys—the one with no neck and only nine fingers—beats him to it. “Mr. Olsen will see you now.”
I just bet he will.
As I wait for my turn to climb out of the limo, I slide my hand into my pocket and check to make sure my Swiss Army knife is still there. It’s not much protection against a gun and one of the most powerful men in the world, but it’s something. Right now, I’ll take whatever I can get.
34
Harper
(5p3ct3r)
We fall into a double line behind two of the four big burly security guards who met us at the airport. The other two bring up the rear behind us, and then we walk—all dressed to the nines in our fancy evening wear—down the hallway. I’m nervous, constantly looking over my shoulder. Olsen might have said this was a civil invitation, meant to make peace between our two sides, but none of us is stupid enough to believe that. This is a trap. We know it, and yet we are still walking right into it. What choice do we have?
“Any luck?” I whisper to Mad Max, who has his phone out and, though it’s a long shot, is trying to find out if the code I delivered has made its way from the power grid into one of the servers.
