Control: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 38)

by Robert J. Crane

  “You mean she'll kill your ass.” I hid my smile, but not that well. “Well, good news – I talked to Mimaw before I approached you, and she gives you dispensation to travel to Washington for this. But you're back on a plane right after or, yes, she'll kill your ass.”

  Hades smiled. “Far be it from me to argue with...Mimaw. When is this to take place?”

  “Someone will be in contact with the details,” I said, wrapping it up. I'd already talked to him for long enough, in my estimation. Honestly, after his opening gambit about his sex life, it had been long enough, but I couldn't break things off until I had his agreement on this crucial point.

  “And who is running this clandestine operation while you are under the watchful eye of these people?” Hades asked. “They are watching you, yes? Or am I assuming too much from your comments about them 'running your life' and you choosing this method of contact to reach me?”

  “You're not wrong,” I said, “and yes, someone else is quarterbacking this while I'm...indisposed.”

  He smiled, ever so slightly. “Give your grandmother my love, then.”

  “She sends her disdain,” I said. “Told me to tell you that, exactly.”

  The smile only receded a little, and he nodded, though he would not meet my eyes. “As she should. As well she should.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE

  Now

  “Happy now?” I asked, as Cassidy Ellis stared at me, reminding me, in spite of her extreme skinniness, of a fat mosquito parked right on a vein.

  Seriously, she looked ready to explode with glee. “I am...not overawed with your level of planning and involvement on this, but at least...pleased, I think.”

  I stared at her. “Why 'pleased?' You don't have a dog in this fight.”

  Cassidy let out a long, high, cackling laugh. “Oh, I'm emotionally invested. Speaking as one of your former villains, my ego is all-in on not letting you be beaten by anyone else, because so long as you're dominant in this metahuman power struggle–”

  “You got taken out by the best,” I said, nodding, “which makes you...second best?”

  “I had weaknesses,” Cassidy said, turning back to her computer and tapping away feverishly. “You saw them. You exploited them. It was a good move, and I learned a lot from it. I didn't count on the loyalty of your team, and clearly, neither does this Network.”

  “My brother and his crew are not in this,” I said, looking down at the hard concrete floor.

  Cassidy stiffened, but did not turn from the keyboard. “Why not?” Then she made a noise, and I knew she'd gotten it. “The Network operates on standard power axes, using tech, law, media and governmental force against its foes.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And those are powerful forces, especially for the...shall we say...uninitiated.”

  She gave me a peculiar smile. “You mean people who aren't prepared to live way, way outside the law. Who aren't prepared to be social pariahs, or be on the run, under the radar, without anything to their names? Is that what you mean by 'initiated?'”

  “Yes,” I said. “You've lived on the run and under the radar, like you said. You know the sacrifice.”

  “Not much of a sacrifice.” She turned back to the keyboard. “For me, anyway.”

  “Because you're downright unsociable, Cassidy,” I said. “Which is why I commented on your 'active, empathetic listener' act when I came in.” I stretched my legs. “You might be prepared to live like that, not a friend to call your own, but it gets a little rough on most people. Speaking from experience.”

  “Sure, sure,” she said, “I've read the body of research on the effects of social isolation and alienation. But I have internet friends to, y'know, keep that at bay. And...Eric used to...” Her voice trailed off and she stopped typing for a second. Then she shook her head and got back to it. “Fine, you kept your team of Light Avengers out of the fight. So...” And she turned, smiling at me. “...Does that mean you've got Dark Avengers forming in the shadows?”

  “Comic book references? Have you been hanging out with my brother again?”

  “Just reading his emails and texts. Probably a little sponging effect.”

  “Stop that,” I said. “It's invading his privacy.”

  “I need to know if he decides to make me his mission again,” Cassidy said, tapping away. “Last time I got blindsided by him it cost me a house. And a lot more.” She waved a hand at me. “So what do you need? Right now, I mean?”

  I looked to the corner of the room, where a cot waited, a threadbare blanket folded on it. “Just a place to sleep and lie low for a bit. I'll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

  She stopped typing again, turned to face me. “Seriously? Badass Sienna is going to lay low? Right now?”

  “Better part of valor, blah blah, you know how it goes.”

  “You just got put on the run again, probably re-added to the FBI's Most Wanted list, and your current plan is...hide? That's what you dragged me here for?”

  “That and this lovely, untraceable phone you expertly delivered to me.” I smiled wanly, for I was tired. “I spent last night underground in the presidential bunker, on a couch, and got...maybe three hours? With the China case rolling right into this one, I'm frigging exhausted, Cassidy. I need a safe place to sleep, which, yes, is why I dragged you here. Because there's few people I know smart enough to help me vanish from the grid while allowing me to remain in Washington.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “ArcheGrey could maybe manage it. Your boyfriend could, too.”

  “He's busy. This is my problem to solve. And you're my solution.”

  She twisted her lips while thinking. “Fine. Cot's there for a reason. Don't expect hot breakfast, though. There are limits to my hospitality. I just popped a couple amphetamines so I can get some work done for a client, so I hope the typing doesn't bother you.”

  “I doubt I'll even hear it,” I said, staggering toward the cot. “Oh, and there's another thing – but we'll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Great,” she said, full of the conviction that it would not, in fact, be great, and not troubling herself to hide it. “Sleep poorly.”

  I gave her a vague wave and barely avoided collapsing onto the cot. I was out within a minute, thinking about the president, and how the Network was sure to do everything in their power to finish the job now that I was out of the way.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR

  Chapman

  KORY: She's basically the most famous person on earth. How does she have anywhere left to hide?

  CHALKE: Clearly, this is something she's been planning for a while.

  Chapman drummed fingers against his face. That was true, but no less distressing. Their plans had been predicated on the idea that Sienna Nealon had no idea who was manipulating her. To find out that this was not the case, that the most powerful woman on the planet had known about them, at least to some extent...

  Well, it was worrying.

  CHAPMAN: I'm heading back to my HQ, which has specific meta-protective measures available. I've got workmen double checking the temperature protections to be certain my office, at least, can handle her new subzero powers. It theoretically can, and if it passes muster I'll be holing up there for the foreseeable future. There are also...other ideas I'm exploring to counteract her.

  KORY: Like hiring metahuman bodyguards?

  CHAPMAN: Yes. But also...

  He debated spilling the beans on that last idea, and ultimately – what the hell?

  CHAPMAN: I've procured the metahuman serums, and will be taking all three when I get home. The standard power serum, the booster, and the...I don't know what to call the last one, but it unlocks powers tangentially related to the one the standard serum unlocks. They're all quite rare, but obviously, in this case, I feel they're worth it.

  CHALKE: I like that idea. Wish I could get my hands on some, but I don't think the bureau has managed to seize any.

  KORY: It's like a designer drug. I've heard of the base serum bein
g found out in the wild, but the other two? Wow. You must have some high-end connections.

  Chapman just smiled. Of course he did.

  CHALKE: Since I'm not in a position to protect myself in that way, I've had to find alternate means of safety. Which is to say I'm not going home anytime soon. Would recommend the same for all of you.

  KORY: I'm about to get on a plane to the US Virgin Islands, so I'm all on board for that. You won't see my ass back in the continental US again until this is over.

  BYRD: lol no way guys im going live again shortly 4 2nd show of the nite gonna be boocoupe ratings got special guests and everything will be reporting on the sienna stuff all the way

  Chapman stared at Byrd's knuckleheaded typing. Well, as long as he was getting the word out. Him dying to Nealon because he wouldn't listen to reason seemed like a small price to pay, really. And maybe they could even spin his death to their benefit. Probably.

  “Hey, boss?” Devin popped up in the corner of his screen. “Got a couple things for you.”

  Chapman put down the phone. “What's up?”

  “The facial recognition thing? The blocker?”

  “What about it?” Chapman frowned.

  “Unbreakable,” Devin announced. “Also, it's got a signature on it – subtle, but it's there. It's pure ArcheGrey1819 product.”

  Chapman's frown grew deeper. “How did Nealon get ahold of ArcheGrey? Never mind.” He shook his head. “Figure it out if you can, don't spend too much time on it if you can't.” Everyone in the coding community knew ArcheGrey. Legendary hacker. If ArcheGrey had tailored that facial recognition block, it was safe bet that Devin was right, that there was zero chance of tracking her across the world's camera systems now that it was in place.

  Shit. That was a crucial avenue closed off.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Not for now,” Devin said. “She's off grid, or at least we're not finding her. Big surprise with that arrow in her quiver, amirite?”

  “Yeah.” Chapman glanced at his phone. “Ping me if you get anything else.” And he shut Devin off, turning his attention back to the Escapade app.

  BYRD: can we tlk abt julie b for a min?? cuz i want 2 relly hit her hard 2nite on my 2nd edition show

  KORY: I've got contact with the Washington Free Press reporter that Johannsen had following her, and I put a private eye on her. She's checked into a hotel in the Washington area. Her second, because the first – get this, cuz it's funny – she got her credit card declined. My PI got close enough to overhear her phone conversation and it sounds like it was her husband denying her money to check-in! Because they're broke or he's just pissed at her! LOL.

  CHALKE: So someone got kicked out of their own house? Hilarious. Kids aren't with her?

  KORY: Nope! They're at home, with the hubs. Domestic non-bliss, thy name is Julie!

  BYRD: perfect deffo gunna lead w/ that 2nite

  Chapman smiled at that. So Julie Blair had gotten kicked out of her own house by her angry husband? That was some exercise of power. How was she doing, he wondered, under all that pressure?

  Well, there was one way to find out.

  He slipped into the Socialite system, shortcutting his way back to her profile. Ah, there she was, online even now via both laptop and phone. He pulled up both, activating the cameras and mics, and setting up his screen so he could see her timeline. See what she was seeing as she scrolled.

  Her face was so bland, such a Plain Jane. Her eye makeup was utterly ruined, globbing and smeared, and the eyes themselves were hopelessly red. She sniffled and he caught it on the mic, and he watched her scroll down the timeline.

  CHAPMAN: I've got visual on her. Anyone want to see? She looks PATHETIC.

  KORY: Oh, hell, yes, I want to see the misery we've caused. I am here for this content.

  BYRD: 2nd-ed

  CHALKE: LOL, yes. Give me a sec to get my pizza and I am IN.

  Chapman smiled and dropped a link into the Escapade app straight to a private server, then mirrored his screen to it. In a day filled with setbacks, this was something they could rally around – a small victory in an otherwise crowded field of punishing defeats.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE

  Julie

  She sniffled again, because she couldn't help it.

  Scrolling her Socialite timeline to see pictures of her friends with their kids, having fun, living life, talking about promotions, job achievements, their wonderful husbands and vacations–

  It was like a knife straight to Julie's heart right now, a pain she couldn't deflect. She let out another mewling sob, and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her bathrobe. It was a cheap one, because the hotel she was staying in was a more budget-conscious choice.

  The hotel should have been nice; would have been, once. It was nine, ten stories, on the outskirts of DC, with a balcony and minibar. She'd hit the latter hard, and was now considering going out onto the former, but stayed firmly rooted to her bed instead, sobbing and scrolling, trying to find something – anything – that could make her feel better.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX

  Chapman

  CHAPMAN: I have an idea. Should we make things worse?

  He sat back after typing it, smiling devilishly to himself. Chase was the only person in the passenger compartment of the jet that was anywhere close to him; his assistants were all sleeping up front. Chase was nodding off, but cracked an eyelid and looked at him with a thin slit of white punctuated by a pupil. “It's fine, get some sleep,” he said, and she promptly closed the eye.

  KORY: Does the Pope shit in the woods?

  BYRD: oh yeh gimme some NEWS to report lol

  FLANAGAN: How do we make things worse?

  Chapman just smiled, opening another window on his screen which was immediately reflected on the share his was doing with them.

  CHAPMAN: A few years ago we ran a little experiment on the Socialite timeline. To put it succinctly: we inundated people with bad news items – bad news – and then monitored their own posts, having psychologists perform an analysis of their mental state from what they posted. We found, basically...we can actually depress people if we want.

  KORY: Surprising absolutely no one who's ever watched the news, lol.

  Chapman rolled his eyes. “Of course you'd go to that, Kory. You simpleton.”

  CHAPMAN: It's a little more complex than that. So, anyway, in the vein of this, I authorized a second experiment to dial in the results a little closer, shall we say.

  KORY: How so?

  CHAPMAN: Well, the new experiment takes advantage of our access to their camera and the facial recognition program – you know, the one we've been running on Nealon? We impose this new program that goes beyond feature analysis into an AI we scripted to analyze emotions. Watch this.

  He activated the script on the video of Julie Blair's live feed from her camera, and it took a moment to load before it popped up with a result at the bottom of the screen in red letters:

  Angst 84%

  Sadness 13%

  Other 2%

  KORY: Lol, “other?” Also it doesn't add up to 100.

  CHAPMAN: It's not perfect. Just a tool. Watch this.

  Chapman pulled up the Flashforce home page, and didn't even have to hit the search bar. There, on the front page, in big letters, just below the latest Sienna Nealon story, was a headline that blared:

  WHITE HOUSE SCANDAL WIDENS AS AIDE BLAIR FALLS UNDER FBI INVESTIGATION

  With a simple point-click-copy, he took the story and dropped it right into the Socialite interface, his behind-the-screen access to Julie Blair's timeline. Then he waited.

  Her scroll stopped abruptly as the article came up, and she made a soft, hiccuping noise as she stared at it.

  KORY: LOL DEVASTATING!

  BYRD: lol direct hit lol

  Chapman glanced at the facial analysis as the numbers changed in real time.

  Angst 64%

  Sadness 35%

  Other 1%


  He smiled, then clicked back to Flashforce. Maybe there was another article he could drop in to really crank those sadness numbers up...

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVEN

  Julie

  INFIDELITY ACCUSATIONS PAINT PICTURE OF TROUBLED LIFE FOR WHITE HOUSE AIDE UNDER SUSPICION OF ALCOHOLISM, MALFEASANCE

  Her eyes burned as Julie read the headline, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

  God, her kids were going to read this someday. The internet was forever, after all.

  What would that even feel like for them? To see their mother's name attached to words like “alcoholic,” and “FBI investigation?”

  She bowed her head, taking her eyes off the screen for a moment.

  Ding!

  Julie looked down; her phone had gone off with a news alert. She picked it up to look–

  NEW ACCUSATIONS SURFACE AGAINST EMBATTLED WHITE HOUSE AIDE BLAIR AS SCANDAL DEEPENS TO INCLUDE CRIMINAL ACCUSATIONS, CONGRESSIONAL SUBPOENAS

  Another popped up – another Socialite alert, no less! A second later.

  EMBATTLED WHITE HOUSE AIDE BLAIR KICKED OUT OF HOUSE BY HUSBAND - “HE'S FILING FOR DIVORCE AND FULL CUSTODY,” HUSBAND'S ATTORNEY SAYS

  “Ohmigod,” Julie gasped, and it came out sounding so piteous.

  How could this have happened? She didn't do...anything.

  But she'd called friends, looking for a place to stay after Dom had kicked her out and...nothing. No one would even answer her call. Or call her back. And it had been...hours.

  And she had no money to speak of. Dom had pulled that rug out from under her, too. She wanted to be mad that he'd apparently found enough money to hire a lawyer, but...

  How could she? All these things that were happening...it was a straight deluge of stories, of raw, terrible, shocking stories. If they'd happened to anyone else, and she'd been a watcher observing from outside as someone went down a torrent of hate like this, what would she think?

  She didn't even have to ponder it. There was so much smoke over her, how could she blame anyone for thinking there might be a fire? Even Dom. Once-loyal Dom, even he'd lost all trust in her.