Mike tensed, ready for Vincent to make his move.
When Leona and the old man crossed on the landing, Vincent pretended to stumble on the next step. Cloth ripped, the black bow tearing free from the dress, and—
The scene flickered like an old black-and-white film. Suddenly Mike found himself standing on a narrow metal stairway. He absently jerked Vincent back upright.
What the heck? Had he lost a VR contact? Was this the bare bones beneath the Titanic code? But no, the white-bearded man hadn’t vanished. He now wore a naval uniform and peaked cap, and was walking a full-size white wolf.
Mike’s breath stalled.
Howling, the wolf threw himself forward, easily breaking the old man’s grip on the leash.
The scene flickered again. The quick strobe restored the Titanic’s opulent-hotel-lobby surroundings—but the wolf didn’t revert to a dog.
Mike abandoned Vincent and reversed directions, pounding down the stairs. He found himself holding the sash which had slipped free of Vincent’s hands.
The wolf gave chase, bounding past the huddled Widow Vincent toward Mike, fangs bared.
Mike thought furiously as he gained C deck and broke left, whipping around the wooden bannister. The wolf had to be a VR construct, but where had it come from?
The wolf kept chase, dodging around the other people. Curiously, only the contestants/celebs were screaming. The Non-Players appeared exasperated or even amused, as if they still saw and heard the small yappy terrier.
He dived down a stairway, taking the steps two at a time. So which was it, the lap dog or the wolf?
Teeth closed on his pants leg, tripping him three steps from the next landing. The stairwell flickered again: metal treads hard on his palms. Mike kicked the wolf in the face, yanking himself free, and the Grand Staircase returned.
“For shame!” the white-bearded owner tutted from above. “The little dog won’t hurt you.”
Mike didn’t waste his breath trying to explain.
The wolf sprang for his throat. Mike ducked, fending it off with his raised arm. Incisors bit through his coat and shirt, drawing blood. Flicker. Mike ignored the change of scenery and used the wolf’s own momentum against it, straightening his back and slinging it sideways over the rail. For a second he thought it would take his arm with it, but it let go in surprise as it fell. Flicker.
Mike spared a glance up. The Widow Vincent had made his escape, but to his surprise Leona was running down the stairs, gun in hand. Determination had replaced her earlier vacuity. That was the tough competitor Leona he remembered.
“How do we turn it back into a dog?” she called.
“Just shoot it!” Mike yelled.
The wolf had landed five steps below the landing on the next flight of steps. Yellow eyes glaring, it loosed a ripping snarl that raised the hairs on Mike’s neck.
“Bad doggie,” the old gent said from above.
The wolf rounded the stairs and rushed toward them. Leona fired point-black, but the VR bullet puffed out of existence when it hit the wolf.
What. The. Hell?
Pulse thudding in his throat, Mike back-pedaled, but not quickly enough. The wolf lunged at Mike’s belly. He jumped backward and almost overbalanced on the railing. While he swayed, stomach swooping, Leona kicked at the wolf with one booted foot. The move gave him time to regain his balance, but her tight skirt prevented her from putting any real force behind the blow.
Teeth flashing, the wolf attacked Leona. She screamed as its jaws closed around her calf. Mike searched desperately for a weapon to drive it off.
The world stayed in Titanic mode, but the wolf and Leona fuzzed in and out like static.
“Here!” Dev’s voice rang out from above. She slid down a bannister, grabbed the old gent’s cane on the way and tossed it down to Mike.
He caught it with one hand. The end had a silver knob in the shape of a bird. He cracked it down on the wolf’s skull with all his strength.
The wolf released Leona, and she became solid. The beast sprang for his throat. Mike jammed the cane lengthwise between its jaws, pushing it back, keeping it from touching him and doing its flicker-mojo-magic.
Dev slid to a halt beside him, clutching a blinking square. She jabbed it into the wolf’s furry side and pressed a button.
The wolf thinned, momentarily transparent, then disappeared.
Panting, Mike wiped the sweat out of his eyes and tried to make sense of the last few minutes. The wolf was gone. So was the dog. But the bloody punctures remained on Leona’s leg.
His own arm throbbed. He didn’t have a clue what had just happened, but he knew who did. His gaze focused on Dev.
Dev studied the black square’s readout. “Got him.” She shoved the device into her handbag. Without even a glance at the wounded Leona or the distraught old gentleman, who alternated between apologizing to Leona for his dog’s terrible behavior and asking where it had gone, Dev pushed her way back upstairs.
Mike followed her to the top of the Grand Staircase, feeling decidedly grim himself. He spared only a glance for the fancy glass cupola, pursuing Dev outside onto the boat deck.
He cornered her where she huddled at the rail between two lifeboats. She turned in surprise when he caught her shoulder.
“You were expecting an attack,” he accused. “You used me as bait.”
She didn’t bother to deny it, just raised one cool eyebrow, then bent over the device again. It wasn’t a palmtop. The tech looked much older and clunkier, more like a child’s toy.
Mike snatched it away and ruthlessly held it over the rail of the boat. From five stories up the water below looked black and icy. The tops of the waves and the frothy wake from the boat glinted white.
“Give it back!” she screeched, hitting his chest. “I need that!”
He didn’t budge. “Not until you tell me why we’re really here. I’ll give you a hint: it doesn’t have anything to do with winning.”
Her chin jutted out. “You don’t understand.”
“Want me to guess?” Mike asked. “Let’s start with how exactly—” your partner, “—I ended up in a coma. My memory is a little fuzzy,” he improvised.
She stared at the decking, blinking, then said, “We were on a practice run. A pre-game show before the VR competition started, a just-for-fun thing to limber up. It was a city simulation, running across rooftops at night trying to catch a jewel thief.”
Mike hid a wince. He didn’t like heights.
“As usual, you were being reckless, trying to prove that heights don’t terrify you. I yelled at you to slow down.” Dev clenched her fists.
Mike could guess the rest. “I slipped and fell.” Not that a VR fall should have hurt him—
“What?” Dev crinkled her forehead. “No, you didn’t fall. Ga—you—never fall,” she said with pride.
“Then what?” Mike asked, exasperated.
She bared her teeth. “A dragon swooped in 100% from nowhere and swallowed you. It didn’t belong in the scenario. It popped in and out in less than fifteen seconds. I thought the programmers were screwing with us. I was so furious I hit Escape. I expected to find G—you—laughing, but you just lay there even after I unplugged you. You were in a coma for several days. A VR death shouldn’t affect a physical body; the doctors are—were—clueless.” Her teeth ground together.
What if it were Angel in the coma? What would he do? The thought made Mike uncomfortable, because the answer was: anything.
“So you were expecting the wolf, or a VR anomaly like it,” Mike stated. Obviously. Otherwise she wouldn’t have had her handy little device. “What did the police investigation turn up?” he asked.
Dev drew in a deep breath. “The dragon came from a different VR sim. They traced the code back to a Nations Against member, but since he was already in jail for some minor crime and supposedly has no online access, he was never charged. He claims someone else stole his bit of code, but I don’t believe it.”
“And this wil
l help implicate him?” Mike waggled the black square at her.
She snatched it; he let her take it. It wouldn’t do him any good. Programming wasn’t his specialty. He waited, hands shoved in pockets as she examined it. “Do you have the proof you need?”
Her nostrils flared with satisfaction. “Maybe.”
“So you’re all done here?” he asked impatiently.
Her black eyes turned opaque, still keeping secrets. “You can leave if you want to.” Which meant she wasn’t finished yet.
As if he would leave without Angel.
Mike studied Dev. She hadn’t told him the whole story, but what she had rang true. Crap. It had been easier to hate her when she’d been his kidnapper and Angel’s nemesis, but now she was morphing into something more like Angel’s kid sister. And he resented it.
“I’ll help you,” he offered reluctantly.
“What?” She narrowed her eyes.
“You heard me,” he growled, already regretting the offer, but he had the gut feeling it was what Angel would do. “You don’t have to tell me your secret plan,” he said impatiently.
Dev flinched, pretty much confirming she did have one. “Why would you help me?” she asked warily.
She didn’t trust him. That was okay. He didn’t trust her either; she’d already proved she’d screw over him or Angel to get her revenge. But— “Temporary truce until we take down Nations Against. They’re starting to annoy me.”
“Truce.” They shook hands.
Dev shivered. Mike repressed the urge to give her his coat. It was her choice to be up here in the wind.
Dev began to fiddle with the code device. “Make yourself useful and stand watch.”
Mike dutifully looked around, even checking the canvas-covered lifeboats for stowaways, but they were all alone. Faint clicking noises came from the Marconi room where the telegraph was, but the door remained closed. Mike looked at the dark water far below, idly trying to spot the iceberg. Minutes ticked by. Now he was getting chilled.
“So how do I identify these people?” Mike asked. He’d bet she had dossiers on known agents.
Her lips twisted as if she’d tasted something sour. “They like to use the names of old countries like India, China, Chad. The hacker’s name is Todd Cole, but he had his first name changed to go with the company line.”
“To what?”
“Tadzhikistan.”
They both fell silent as a red-haired man in a blue uniform entered the Marconi room. He opened the door again only moments later, then paused in the doorframe. “Is this Devon Seawest a man or a woman?” he directed his question to someone inside.
Mike and Dev exchanged startled glances.
“Doesn’t matter,” a man’s voice said. “The room number’s on the slip. You’ll have to wake them. The message is marked Urgent, and the toffs get upset if they don’t get their messages on time. Tell them I’ll be on duty here for another half hour if they wish to send a reply.”
Dev stepped forward. “I’m Devon Seawest. You have a message for me?”
The steward frowned, his mustache quivering with suspicion. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“She has no reason to lie,” Mike said, putting one hand on Dev’s shoulder to keep her from flying off the handle. “We’re just trying to save you a trip. Devon, tell him your cabin number.”
“B-134.”
“It matches.” Looking friendlier now, the steward handed over the message.
If he was waiting for a tip, he wasn’t going to get one.
Dev ripped the envelope open then swore in a way that made the steward’s eyebrows jump up. Mike glared at him until he left. “What is it?” he asked Dev.
She didn’t answer, so he plucked the paper from her fingers.
TO DEVON SEAWEST URGENT STOP PATIENT HAD CONVULSIONS STOP FINE NOW STOP REC’D MESSAGE FROM CHINA STOP REACTIVATE WOLF OR PATIENT HURT STOP CATHERINE FULL STOP
“Fast work,” Mike said bitterly. “They obviously had this in place already. Did they blackmail you before?” Was that why she’d framed Angel and kidnapped him?
Dev didn’t respond. She was breathing hard, but the tears standing in her eyes didn’t fall. Her hand tightened on the black square.
Nations Against was watching all this on TV, Mike realized, waiting for her to obey and reactivate the wolf. Which meant—
He caught her wrist before she could point it at him and pried the device from her fingers. It fell to the deck, and they both scrambled after it.
Mike let Dev pick it up, but pinned her arm to the deck, leaned close and whispered, “Buy time. Pretend it’s broken.”
She elbowed him in the chin, and he let her break away. She pointed the device at him. He had a moment of icy panic: he’d treated her like Angel, trusting her to play along.
Dev pressed a button, but the wolf didn’t emerge. “It’s not working!”
Mike straightened, smiling. “Too bad.”
“Iceberg ahead!” the cry came from the forecastle deck.
The alarm was taken up by others and the huge ship swung ponderously to the left. Rushing up to the rail Mike saw it: a large white shape looming in the dark. They avoided a head-on collision, but the ship shuddered as the iceberg scraped against her side below the waterline.
Mike grinned. Disaster not averted. Now the fun would really start.
He turned to Dev. “I’m going in. Don’t follow me,” he said for the benefit of the camera.
Time to find Angel.
Chapter Seventeen
ANGEL
Sweat beaded my skin from the rising air below as I climbed down into Boiler Room Six. It felt uncomfortably like descending into hell.
Fire glowed in the mouths of the four gigantic boilers they'd squeezed into Boiler Room Six. Each boiler was a towering drum of metal with three furnaces on both ends. I could also smell smoke—smells were something VR often failed at.
The men toiling here had coal-smudged skin and sweat-stained clothes. Maryanne and I paused at the first catwalk to survey the men at work, trying to determine if Ron, Gerry or Tad lurked underneath a peaked cap. I didn’t see them, but a lot of the men were too far away to tell, slaving over different boilers.
“You search both levels of catwalks,” I told Maryanne. “I’ll look down below.” The bodyguard portion of my brain had wanted to leave her safely above, but the friend portion knew she needed to be part of the team. This made a good compromise.
Before she could protest, I monkeyed down the ladder as fast as I could. I’d decided to search Boiler Room Six first since it was the closest to the bow and the most likely to flood when the iceberg hit.
I jumped the last two feet off the ladder, then bellowed at the top of my lungs, "Team Angel over here!"
The noise of the nearby engines swallowed up my shout. A few heads turned, but nobody stepped forward. Taking care not to get too close, I moved from one roaring-hot furnace to the next and repeated my call. Worry tightened my stomach. Where were they?
I was about to move on again when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned, and Gerry grinned at me from under his peaked cap. Coal dust dulled his red hair. “Hey! Isn’t this awesome?” He gestured at the 20-foot high monstrosity behind us.
I ignored the frivolity. “Where’s Ron?” As partners, they ought to be together.
“He’s over there breaking up coal and putting it in a wheelbarrow. He’s a trimmer. I’m a fireman because I feed the furnace,” he added, mopping his face with his sleeve.
“Come on.” I headed in the direction he’d pointed and spotted Ron’s lanky frame just exiting a door in the bulkhead. The tunnel beyond led into the coal reserve.
I’d thought Gerry was dirty, but Ron was head-to-foot coal dust. Only his eyes and teeth showed white.
He set down the wheelbarrow handles, smiling cheerfully. “Hey, Angel, you found us. It really sucks not having a palmtop. Any idea where we are?"
"We're on a ship that’s about to sink,"
I said tersely. Every nerve on my body twitched with the need to get out of this death trap. "Have you seen Tad?"
They both shook their heads. “No, and I’ve been looking. If he was down here, I’d have seen him,” Gerry said.
“Okay, then let’s get out of here.”
Gerry waved me ahead when we reached the ladder. “You first; we’ll anchor.”
I grabbed the ladder and started to pull myself up.
Three rungs up I heard a yell. "Hey! You three!"
I ground my teeth in frustration and chagrin. I ought to have known the programmers wouldn’t let us off that easily.
The foreman, a brawny thirty-year-old, grabbed hold of Ron's arm. “Back to work! Those furnaces don’t feed themselves.”
Ron shook him off. “We need to visit the washroom.”
I winced at the lameness of his lie. I should’ve prepped them on a cover story.
The foreman looked first incredulous, then angry. “All three of you at once?”
This needed to end now. I coiled myself to jump on the foreman’s back; I needed to drop him without hurting myself.
Before I could launch myself into the air, a short man yelled, “Full stop!” He pointed to a hanging box that looked a little like a traffic light. Lit letters read out STOP. The box was a telegraph, I realized, so the bridge officers could communicate with the men in the boiler rooms to tell them when to pour on more coal.
The foreman took a step away from Ron, grumbling, “I’ll be watching you!”
The short man cocked his head. “Why are we turning?”
I could guess. A shot of fear went through me. “Start climbing,” I urged Ron and Gerry.
My bad feeling was borne out seconds later when a huge thrumming shock reverberated through the ship: the Titanic hitting the iceberg.
An alarm blared. Red lights flashed over the coal bin door.
“Clear the door!” the foreman bellowed, running forward.
I climbed another four rungs, head turned to watch the drama. A trimmer dived for the door, made it through. The man behind him didn’t. The water-tight door slammed shut in his face.
Angel Eyes Page 18
