by Naomi Paul
Doctor Lan Ming of Hong Kong was found dead this morning by neighbors, of apparent suicide by self-injection. This tragedy follows the loss of Lan’s business, research laboratory MedVestigators, to fire just one week ago. Authorities have confirmed that a suicide note was found on Lan’s person but have released no details of its contents.
Lian closed the browser and slid down the outside wall of the cinema until she was sitting on the sidewalk. The raid had failed, Zan’s undercover work hadn’t turned up anything incriminating, and now her next best hope had quite literally gone up in flames.
She took the pills and drank the iced tea, but this headache wasn’t going to get better anytime soon.
TWENTY-TWO
Tuesday
12:08 AM HKT — Komiko has logged on
Komiko: Clearly, I’m not going to get any sleep tonight. Anybody up for some midnight conspiracy theorizing?
Torch: I’m the only one here right now, but sure. Hit me with your best shot.
Komiko: You had a chance to read the news story I linked to earlier, about Dr. Lan?
Torch: I did.
Komiko: She questioned HC’s materials and practices, and she was diving back in for another lap. And then . . .
Komiko: Her whole lab was lost to a fire . . . along with all the samples and files. And a week later she sticks herself in the neck with a chemical cocktail.
Komiko: For anybody else, I’d say these were extreme measures for a cover-up. But I’m starting to suspect that, for Harrison, it’s just another boring day at the office.
Torch: Take a step back, K. Fires happen. I’d guess they’re even more likely to happen in buildings full of chemical samples.
Torch: The preliminary report from the fire investigator doesn’t rule one way or another on arson.
Komiko: You have to imagine Harrison’s people would know how to stage an accident.
Torch: But that’s CONJECTURE, not evidence. It’s not the smoking gun we need.
Komiko: I believe the fire was an accident about as much as I believe that Lan took her own life.
Torch: And if we could convict on your beliefs alone, half the world would be in handcuffs.
Lian gave a short, harsh laugh at this. “Gallows humor,” they called it. Harrison held open the noose; first Jiao and then Lan had stepped into it. And try as they might, 06/04 couldn’t saw through the rope.
12:11 AM HKT — Crowbar has logged on
Crowbar: Hi peeps, give me 1 sec 2 get caught up
Komiko: Switching subjects, then. There must be records SOMEWHERE that link Jiao to HC.
Komiko: We show that a worker died while in his employment, Harrison will have to face up to it.
Torch: Believe me, I’m doing all I can to find those records.
Crowbar: We do still have the 1st postmortem, the 1 that says she didnt drown
Komiko: Right. Put that together with her employment files, the timeline will be hard for the police to ignore.
Torch: The HC firewall is a lot tougher nut to crack than I anticipated.
Crowbar: U R the best hacker Ive ever known, T. I know U can break it
Torch: Vote of confidence duly noted.
12:13 AM HKT — Blossom has logged on
Komiko: Torch, if you really don’t think you can hack them, maybe it’s time we started thinking in more physical terms.
Torch: Meaning?
Komiko: One of us has to get inside the corporate office and find the file.
Torch: Way too dangerous.
Crowbar: Yeah K, if U really think hes responsible 4 those deaths, U cant think thats a good idea
Lian sighed, interlaced her fingers, and flexed them until her knuckles cracked. She had known that her suggestion would meet some resistance from the group, but she wasn’t about to be steamrolled.
Komiko: Maybe those two dead bodies SHOULD scare me off. But instead, they’re my reason to keep fighting.
Komiko: The authorities are seeded against us. The computer system is fending us off. All of Harrison’s dice are loaded, and he has no reason to think he’ll ever lose.
She thought of her father, cowering in Harrison’s presence, and bit into her bottom lip in fury.
Komiko: Yes, what I’m proposing is dangerous. It’s corporate theft, nothing less. And if you guys tell me you’re out, I can respect that.
Komiko: But I’m in. All the way to the end. If I have to do this alone, I will. But I’d sure like to have you guys backing me up.
Blossom: Youre talking about meeting up in person?
Torch: That’s pretty much the opposite of “anonymity.” Which, as you might recall, is where we find strength.
Komiko: We’ve stayed anonymous this whole time, Torch—but now that things are getting serious, I’m worried we’re not strong enough.
Nobody typed anything for almost a full minute.
Crowbar: Hell with it, Im in
Torch: This is very much against my better judgment.
Blossom: . . .
Blossom: I cant do it. Sorry, everyone, but Ive only been with 06/04 for a week. Its too early to ask me to blow my cover.
12:21 AM HKT — Blossom has logged off
Crowbar: OK dont sweat it, a triangle is the most stable structure anyway :)
Torch: NOTHING about this plan feels stable.
Komiko: Maybe not. But it’s happening.
As she’d predicted, Lian got almost no sleep during the night. She found herself building up plans for infiltrating the Harrison offices, testing them for weak spots, and chastising herself when she found one. She fretted over her decision and had to reassure herself over and over that it was the only choice. She even wondered, briefly and frivolously, what she might wear to the first face-to-face-to-face meeting of 06/04.
In the morning, she rode the Twist N’ Go to school, aware that her bleary eyes weren’t the best choice for navigating the busy Central streets. More than once, at her periphery, she felt sure that someone was following her. She took a handful of one-way streets, off her usual route, to try to isolate the tail. When she dared turn her head enough to look, she saw nobody. Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation.
And, weirdly, she couldn’t help but think that it might be Matt.
There was no way to confirm it once she got to school because he didn’t show up for the economics quiz. Lian sat at her desk, staring numbly at the paper. Even in her sleep-deprived state, she knew these answers easily; she was finished before even half of the allotted time had elapsed. But she read the questions again and again until the words became meaningless, simply because she didn’t want to glance up and see the icy look in Mingmei’s eyes.
When the bell chimed, she gathered up her bag, dropped the quiz on Mr. Chu’s desk, and escaped into the hallway. But she hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps before Mingmei’s voice struck her from behind like a dagger between the shoulder blades.
“He didn’t show up because of you, you know.”
Lian stopped in her tracks but did not turn around. “That can’t be true.”
“Come on, Lian. At least have the guts to call me a liar to my face.”
This was the last thing she needed. So much was on her plate for the day, and a fight with her best friend would ruin the taste of everything else.
“I’m not calling you a liar,” she said as she slowly turned to look at Mingmei. “I promise. I just mean, I can’t believe that what I think of him has any bearing at all on what he does.”
“Yeah,” Mingmei said, biting off her words. “I wouldn’t have thought so, either. Looks like we were both wrong.”
“So,” Lian said, trying for a smile, “that’s one thing we can still do together. Be wrong.”
“I think the era of us doing things together might be coming to a close. I prefer not to spend my evenings blotting my skirts in a failed attempt to get out the grease stains after popcorn’s been dumped all over my date.”
“I’m sorry,” Lian said meekly. “I�
��ll buy you another skirt.”
“You’re purposely missing my point, Lian.” Mingmei’s hands were on her hips, her voice frosty, her glare harsh. Lian hated this. Her stomach felt sour, and her head felt much as it had outside of the theater.
“Mingmei—” Lian broke off at the sound of a commotion at the far end of the hall. She wasn’t certain what she had been planning to say in her own defense, and whatever it was fell right out of her head when she saw who was coming into the school.
The police.
All of the conversations in the hallway around Lian lapsed into silence, too. Was this who she’d seen following her? Were the police here to haul her in for what she’d done—or what she was planning to do?
Her feet rooted to the tiles, she watched as half a dozen uniformed officers strode up the hall toward her, their rapid footsteps the only noise in the eerily quiet space. Just when she was sure they were going to grab her, force her to the ground with a knee at her neck, tie off her wrists with riot cuffs . . . they brushed past without sparing a glance.
Down the corridor they continued and to the door of the computer lab. A barked command cleared out the students who were sitting in the room, and then the police entered. Another officer was coming down the hall, bringing up the rear with a wheeled shipping container. The students silently moved toward the banks of lockers, clearing a path for him.
Lian felt a sudden jolt when she recognized the newcomer as the baby-faced junior officer to whom she’d returned the blanket, back at the beach. Was it just coincidence that he was here now? Or had he been keeping tabs on her ever since she’d found Jiao’s body? Lian was no longer sleepy but no less ill at ease. Her head swam with questions, but the police, in their wordless efficiency, offered no answers.
The young officer parked the storage bin outside the computer lab, and the six men inside the room began loading the computers, part and parcel, on board. The bell chimed for the next class, but nobody who could see what the cops were doing moved a muscle.
Lian was trying to reason with the voice in her head, the voice that was yelling the game was up—a mistake had been made. No mistakes could have been made, she told herself over and over again. Yes, she’d used the school computers to do plenty of research for 06/04 and had e-mailed herself several links that she’d explored in full on her laptop at home—but she’d been careful never to log into the chat rooms from school. Even with a nominally untraceable route through multiple proxy servers, it had seemed like a risk too far.
But, had even these protective measures been too little? Had the anonymizer failed somehow? A determined tracer—someone who had reason to suspect her—could have put two and two together. All it would have taken was a cross-referencing of her sign-in times at the school’s computer lab with the times of “subversive” searches. As careful as she’d been, all Lian could think of now were the possible cracks in her armor and how they might have been pried open.
One thing was certain: Harrison was onto her. Maybe he didn’t have enough evidence to have the cops haul her in quite yet. But this raid was a very public demonstration that he had her in his crosshairs, and that the authorities were at his beck and call to crack down hard.
06/04 was running out of time. Rand Harrison was laying down his final tiles. This was the endgame.
The break-in at Harrison Corp’s offices would have to happen tonight.
TWENTY-THREE
It was like a blind date.
She’d known Torch and Crowbar for months, of course. She had followed their causes from the mainland even before she’d joined 06/04, and had come to think of them not just as fellow crusaders, but as friends of a sort. A friend with some control issues, and another with some apostrophe issues . . . but friends nonetheless.
But this was the first time they would ever meet in the flesh, and Lian found herself picking outfit after outfit from her wardrobe, discarding each of them after only a second’s glance. She wanted to make a good impression. She wanted to impress. Should she pick something upscale, something that might create a mature look, at the risk of betraying her moneyed lifestyle? Or should she dress down and risk being dismissed as a juvenile teenager?
At last, she settled on a smart, dark gray suit over a silken cream blouse. With her hair pulled back and a brushing of dusky eye shadow, she could pass for a young professional, a serious-minded twenty-something who wouldn’t disappoint her compatriots.
Lian picked a pair of sensible black flats from her large collection of shoes. After a moment’s consideration, she also grabbed an extra pair of dark sneakers and some ankle socks and stuffed them into a messenger bag. If this break-in required speed and agility, all it would take was for her to switch shoes and ditch the suit jacket, and she’d be in good shape to outrun a pursuer or scale a fence.
They had finalized the arrangements only a couple of hours ago. Zan—whose poor, dead sister was the impetus behind all of this—would join them on the mission. Torch had gotten very edgy at the notion, but Lian had insisted; Zan was desperate to have a hand in bringing down the man responsible for Jiao’s death. He had asked his factory coworkers to tell the floor boss that he was staying back at the Mansions, coughing up blood. In reality, he’d made his way across the harbor to Sun Yat Sen Memorial Park and was waiting, pacing nervously, when Lian arrived at half past nine to pick him up.
“Okay,” he said, straddling the seat behind her on the scooter. “Are you ready for this?”
“More ready than I’ve been for anything in my life,” she said, and then sighed. “Which is my fancy, face-saving way of saying that I have no idea.”
“It’s all come down to this, Lian. Tonight is where it all pays off. I know I’ve said it before, but, whatever happens, thank you. ”
Lian gave his leg a pat. “It’s what we want, too. You brought the newspaper?” The members of 06/04 had agreed to have a rolled-up copy of the day’s Standard in their left hands, as a way to identify one another without drawing undue attention.
“Got it,” Zan confirmed, lightly swatting her arm with the paper.
It was all she could do to maintain a safe and inconspicuous speed as she drove them to the meeting spot—a little plaza nestled just north of where Queen’s Road and Wellington crossed. There, only a couple of blocks from Harrison Corp’s Central offices, they sat on a bench and failed utterly at trying not to fidget. They were an odder pairing than she’d have liked—she in her sharp tailored suit, he in his cheap gray T-shirt and black jeans—and she scanned the few passersby carefully, praying they weren’t doing the same to her.
“Him, maybe?” Zan whispered, nodding toward a frowning middle-aged man in a suit who was walking purposefully around the perimeter. He was all business, except for a ponytail that stopped halfway down his back.
“He does look the part,” she said. “But no newspaper.”
After another minute or so, Zan tapped her and pointed out an obese, bespectacled young man on a waddling course that would take him near their bench. He did indeed have something rolled up in his left hand.
Lian felt her pulse quicken, and she sat up straight and gripped her own copy of the Standard tightly. The man’s walking pace was agonizingly slow. Was this Torch, at long last? The master hacker, the naysayer, the firebrand?
“Nope, nope,” Lian said, turning away quickly and blushing as she caught a glimpse not of newspaper, but a lewd comic book cover. “That’s hentai. That’s not our guy.”
“That’s nobody’s guy,” Zan said with a laugh.
“Excuse me,” said a soft voice from behind them. Lian and Zan both turned at once, and the first thing either saw was a mass of dreadlocks in fierce, bright Gothic Lolita blue. Under these, like the delicate stem supporting some exotic azure flower, was a waif-like white girl of around twenty, in a black Joy Division shirt, a jagged skirt, and boots laced almost to her knees. She wore a spiked bracelet not unlike the one under Lian’s bed, and her belt buckle was a wicked-looking brushed chrome crow
with a small red jewel for its eye.
Lian knew, without knowing how she knew, that this was Crowbar. “I’m Komiko,” she said, standing up and extending her right hand in greeting. “It’s . . . it’s really a pleasure to meet you.”
“Crowbar,” the girl said. She shook her hand, and the two of them spontaneously broke into big smiles. Lian’s mind was scrambling to retrofit this new face to all of the many misspelled conversations and medical minutiae that she’d read after Crowbar’s user name for so long. With her pale skin, slight build, and bubblegum-pink lips, this girl was far from the bruiser she’d imagined after Crowbar’s takedown of ten heavily armed Junk Bay extortionists last winter.
“This is weird,” the white girl said. “I mean, is it just me, or is this a little weird?”
“It’s not just you,” Lian said, laughing. “You haven’t lived anywhere but inside my computer for so long. This is like meeting Super Mario in line at the market.”
