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

by Robert J. Crane

  “Not long, I'm told,” Veronika said. “We've got the key players Phinneus promised, and it's lucky he knew these guys, because...well, they're key. We should be in by morning. Assuming they don't see us coming...”

  “I'll make sure they don't,” Chapman said. “I'll hit the White House with a DDoS attack on the scale of a nation state. Their entire security infrastructure will go down.”

  She nodded. “They'll scramble everything if you do. Post snipers, cover every corner – nothing will get into that building, and if one of the guards sneeze, five others will be wiping his nose before he can draw his next breath.”

  “Good,” Chapman said. “Nealon's already locked out. This will clear the way for you to do your business, uninterrupted.”

  “Yep,” Veronika said, a poison-laced smile appearing on her features. “Sounds good. We're starting in a few minutes.”

  “Get to it,” Chapman said, “and let me know when it's done. But Veronika? Cover your tracks.”

  “Always do,” she said, and saluted him before signing off.

  He looked at the Escapade app; the conversation was quiet except for about ten lines of Kory spazzing out. He skimmed them, rolled his eyes, then dove right back in with his own agenda, ignoring that bullshit.

  CHAPMAN: We're on track. Tomorrow morning.

  KORY: Okay, but I'm a little concerned about MY NAME being out there on this!

  Chapman rolled his eyes, sighed. Figured this little human zit was going to throw a fit over something he'd teased Johannsen about...what? Earlier today? Chapman shook his head. The weariness was setting in.

  CHAPMAN: It's just an accusation. You'll fight your way out of it in your own element – the press. It's not like there's clear evidence that ties you to anything, even Julie Blair's suicide. She jumped off the balcony her own damned self, you weren't there pushing her, so...don't be such a little bitch. Have a valium and calm down. We have more pressing issues to deal with.

  FLANAGAN: Nealon?

  CHALKE: Nealon.

  CHAPMAN: Yes, Nealon.

  He started to toss an idea, start the ball rolling on brainstorming what to do with her, but Devin pinged through and he pulled it up on his phone. “Heyyyy,” Devin drawled. “Sorry to bug you, but I sealed off Byrd's Escapade app. Working on a functionality to reach out and delete them off the phones of your fallen comrades, I think I've got it. Anyway, Byrd's is now erased, but Johannsen and Bilson? They'll have to be powered up to delete, but it should happen if anyone turns them on again.”

  “Good, but you didn't have to video chat for that–”

  Devin's face scrunched. “I'm not. There's, uh...something I think you should know about. Hitting screenshare.”

  The box to accept came up and Chapman took it. A second later, a photo began to load – a big one, HD, and the network was chugging trying to get it onto his phone. It started to load, entirely too slow for Jaime's patience – but it started to appear at the top, slowly painting its way down the page, like a poster being unrolled.

  It was dark, night. There was something in the darkness at the top – tree branches, he realized. A thin element running vertically, like a line – a rope!

  The photo took ten, fifteen seconds to load, and every one of them felt like a game of Pictionary or charades until it was about halfway done, and the line of the rope ended in a...

  A noose. It was a noose.

  And the face, shadowed and dark, held inside the noose...

  “That's Chris Byrd,” Jaime realized, sitting back with some shock.

  “This was taken in a park in DC,” Devin said. “Showed up on Socialite a few minutes ago. Police are on the scene, but...yeah, he's dead.”

  Chapman just stared at the blank, shadowed features of the newscaster. “How...?” He shook his head, trying to get the image out of it. “Killed himself. I'd call him a coward, but he probably did me a favor.”

  “Yeah, I kinda thought maybe it was something like that, which is why I brought it to you,” Devin said. Clever Devin. He knew a little too much, it seemed. “But...there's something else...”

  Chapman straightened, waiting. “Yes?”

  “There are no cameras in this part of the park,” Devin said, hesitating. “And I viewed the footage of Byrd running that way – it seemed normal enough, except for one thing.”

  “Which is...?”

  Devin cringed. “He didn't have a rope.”

  Chapman blinked a few times, gears spinning in his mind. “She killed him.”

  “Not the she you're thinking of,” Devin said, “or at least...not exactly. Because I pulled the footage, and Sienna Nealon? Nowhere in it. But...” And he paused for a second, pulling something else up on his screen – the facial recognition software, Jaime realized as it popped up on his phone's screenshare. “Remember that EMT that saved her in New York?”

  Chapman nodded. “The one that showed up as her rideshare driver the night Bilson was killed. It was him?”

  Devin shook his pudgy head. “No, but look at the other EMT with him.” The picture appeared again, and Chapman zoomed in on the female EMT. Her age was tough to tell from a grainy photo. “Then look at this lady at the scene tonight that facial recognition flagged for me when I ran it over the footage.”

  Another picture appeared, and there she was, a woman somewhat like the EMT. Chapman wasn't great with faces, but the software popped up with a helpful, instructive red text: 67% MATCH.

  “Photo quality is poor on both shots,” Devin said, “otherwise we might be able to be a little more decisive about it, but I think...I think that's the same lady.”

  “It is,” Chapman said, gutturally, a scratchy hoarseness in his throat. “She's wrapping up all the loose ends tonight.”

  Devin nodded. “Settling all the family business.”

  Chapman wrinkled his nose. “...What?”

  Devin stared back at him blankly. “What?”

  “You've never seen The Godfather?” Chase asked, staring at him over the phone. He'd forgotten she could hear every word he was saying to Devin.

  “I'm twenty-eight,” Chapman said. “I wasn't even born when it came out.” He turned his attention back to Devin. “That's good enough evidence for me. Nealon's coming for – well, everyone, it looks like.” He drew another hard breath. “Thank you for this, Devin.” And he unceremoniously cut him off without a chance to reply.

  Chase shifted in her seat into a more aggressive, leaned-forward posture. “She's really coming for you?”

  “At some point, yeah, I think so,” Chapman said, turning his attention back to his phone. He pinged two people in ten seconds, checking preparations – security, to be sure the additional anti-meta security measures were in place, then his assistants at HQ, to make sure the designer drugs he'd ordered had been dropped off properly, and finally he skipped back to the Escapade app to deliver the news.

  CHAPMAN: Nealon had one of her people “suicide” Byrd in a DC park. It's with the news agencies now, someone found him swinging from a tree.

  KORY: WHAT?!

  FLANAGAN: whoa

  CHALKE: ?

  CHAPMAN: I have video footage and facial recognition of her accomplice in this, though. Matches to an EMT that helped save Nealon's life back in New York before her Silicon Valley adventure.

  Chapman thought about it a moment. That was the case that had brought her across his path, in the flesh, for the first time. Interesting timing.

  CHAPMAN: She's clearly coming for all of us. You're in a safe place, Chalke?

  CHALKE: Safe and sound.

  FLANAGAN: I'm hiding.

  KORY: Shit, you guys, I'm on a plane and will be for hours yet.

  Chapman chuckled. Look at Kory freaking out when he was probably in the safest position of all of them.

  CHAPMAN: Wouldn't worry about it. It's not like she can fly anymore, idiot. You're fine.

  But something about that nagged him; after all, if Nealon had managed to hang Byrd from a tree and make it loo
k like an accident, was it out of the realm of possibility that she had a friend who could fly...?

  There was no time for that now, though. They had to take action.

  CHAPMAN: The Gondry operation is proceeding and will hit sometime before dawn. That'll be the end of his presidency, and one obstacle out of our way.

  KORY: Forgive me for not being more ecstatic about achieving our long-term goals when SHORT TERM THIS BITCH IS TRYING TO KILL US ALL.

  Chapman suppressed a chuckle. He was feeling pretty confident in his own plans for staving off Nealon's advances. She couldn't be in California yet, after all, and he'd be back to the office in five minutes. Empowered – well, hopefully – shortly after, and at the least in lockdown behind his state of the art, anti-metahuman defenses until they took hold. Multiple lines of defense, prepared to resist even an all-out assault by her. Which...

  Her moves had been subtle thus far. Deniable. She was keeping this a secret war. “She doesn't want to go back to being an outlaw,” Chapman muttered to himself.

  “Who would?” Chase asked, adding nothing to the conversation. Since his life was in her hands, though, he didn't chastise her, just mentally wrote off her dumb opinion.

  CHAPMAN: I agree. Nealon's threat is considerable, since she appears to have taken out three of our comrades thus far. Our next move must be unpredictable.

  KORY: Like what?! We've sent the best against her. Others have tried to kill her. Nothing is working, Jaime! She's a damned unkillable juggernaut, and this beast we thought we had on a leash all year? AIN'T! AND WE CAN'T SEEM TO KILL HER!

  KORY: Sorry I'm just scared shitless right now because I'm probably next.

  CHALKE: Not a bad reason to be scared shitless. I understand completely.

  FLANAGAN: You think she knows who I am?

  CHAPMAN: She definitely knows who I am, so most of us are in the same boat at this point. We need to do something bold. Something to get her eyes off us.

  KORY: Dude. She killed our political operative, so we've got no leverage in that arena. Two thirds of our press power is dead, and I'm exposed, so anything I put out – assuming I can get my newsroom to cooperate while I'm operating at a distance – is bound to be questionable. I know you own the tech sector and Chalke and Flanagan have law enforcement and legal going, but seriously...she's already had the whole government turned against her and she's still out there, dodging, ducking, dipping, diving, and dodging...so...?

  CHALKE: You said “dodging” twice.

  FLANAGAN: Lol it's a movie quote. Dodgeball.

  Leave it to the FBI Director to miss a movie reference.

  CHAPMAN: Look, I have no particular bandwidth to deal with this right now. In my view, we mobilize everything we can against her, and then, once the deed is done with Gondry, we throw blame at her with everything we have left. Maybe it muddies the waters, maybe it doesn't, but for now – run and hide is the best solution, while we work on others.

  “And prepare yourself for a fight,” Chapman muttered to himself.

  “Oh, I am,” Chase said, with a particular hardness.

  He glanced up at her. “Sienna Nealon's going to come for me. How do I stop her? Preferably before she even hits the state line of California?”

  Chase gave it a moment's thought. “She can't see it coming, whatever it is. It needs to hit her right in the blind side. If she's on the offensive right now, you need to get her in a defensive mode.”

  Chapman pursed his lips. “And how would you do that?”

  Chase hesitated. “There's no...easy way, exactly.”

  Chapman caught it. “But there is a way.”

  Chase nodded slowly. “Her...family, as it were. Brother, his crew up at their agency. Sienna cares about those people.” Her face darkened. “At least the ones that are left.”

  Chapman nodded. “But if I hit them in some way...how do I keep it from just enraging her, getting her to want to come at me harder?”

  She shrugged. “The only way I can think of is if you have something over them that will keep her back.”

  “Like a dog on a chain?” Chapman smiled at that image. Fitting. She was a bitch, after all.

  “Exactly. But it better be something big. Something she'd fear to have hitting them. Because if you just kill them, or put a threat of death over them...”

  He nodded slowly. “She'll come at me like a meteor streaking out of the sky. Yes. I know exactly what you mean.” And he turned back to the phone.

  CHAPMAN: Okay, I've got it.

  FLANAGAN: ?

  CHALKE: Got what?

  This is what he was here for, Chapman realized. The reason why he was top of the world and all these other losers were gutter-players.

  CHAPMAN: A way to immobilize Nealon. It's simpler than I imagined, too – we just run the same play we did on her, the one we perfected on Julie Blair – on all the members of her so-called family at her agency up in Minnesota.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN

  Veronika

  This was the team.

  Veronika looked around the semi-circle in the warehouse at the faces assembled before her. Three men, three women, including her.

  Not a friendly face among them.

  “I'd say let's go around the circle and introduce ourselves,” she said, arms folded in front of her chest, as much from the chill of this old warehouse as from the thought of what they were about to unleash, “but I think we'd probably all like some anonymity, amirite?

  The biggest among them grunted, drowning out all other replies. He was already anonymous, his face covered in sleek metal that distorted his features, made him appear...statuesque, in the worst way. His cheeks, his nose, all covered in shining steel, his bald head glinting in the overhead lights.

  His name was Chris Silva, but she'd already taken to calling him Shinyman. He didn't do much talking.

  “You know what I want?” The calm drawl of the Southerner in the trench coat, his fetching smile buried between the two parted sides of his upturned collar. That clothing item was waaaaay out of place in the DC summer heat, but the guy was wearing it nonetheless, and his hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Veronika wasn't typically much into the males of the species, but for him...she might have made an exception. Once, at least.

  He was Taylor Wilkerson, but to her...just handsome. Also, an Achilles. She was already thinking of him as Impervious. To taunts, goads, and whatever the hell else hit him, like tank shells before this was over, probably. A human bulldozer, but with charm.

  “Let me guess,” answered the tall, willowy brunette next to him. She had a no-bullshit look, lips puckered like she didn't give a damn and hadn't for a long time, “it's going to be something to validate my opinion of you as a dick-first, think-later asshat.”

  That was Stacey Poole, and her power was to control metal. If she didn't try and put a shard through Taylor's heart before this was over – probably fail, but still try – Veronika would eat her entire library. Which was considerable. Her codename, at least in Veronika's head? Metalmind. She was like a steel trap, in that not much escaped her.

  A soft giggle answered that one, mostly coming from the other woman (that was not Veronika) in the group. She was short and goth, pale skin and dark hair, with a red tinge to her eyes. Not contacts, either. Because she was Nora Weber, one of the only vampire metas that Veronika could recall meeting. And not wanting to murder. “You know what I want?” Nora smacked her lips together. “Presidential blood. Wanna see if it tastes any different than regular blood.” Veronika mentally tagged her as Vamp.

  “Right, well,” the last member of their little sextet said. Of all of them, he looked the most out of place, because the dude seemed like he'd just come stumbling in off an oilfield in West Texas. Overalls, beard, eyes squinting in the dark, red neck glowing in it – Jess Daniel was Rockrigger. Because he moved the earth. “I'd really like to get started on this so we can go...y'know, home.”

  “Get started, then,” Vamp said, baring her te
eth beneath those pale lips, that moon-shining face. Veronika suppressed a shudder. Wouldn't do to show fear in front of this crew.

  “Okay, let's do that,” Veronika said, going around the circle and pointing at each of them. “Code names – Shinyman, Impervious, Metalmind, Vamp, and Rockrigger.”

  “You're not bad at this naming thing,” Rockrigger said, nodding at her.

  “Very good,” Impervious said, smiling at her. Be still, my heart, Veronika thought.

  “Seriously, 'Vamp?'” Nora made a face, still baring her fangs. “That's the best you can do?”

  Veronika shrugged. “Got better, I'm open to suggestions.” She gave a nod to Rockrigger. “Start digging. I painted the direct bearing on the floor over there. We'll use the compass equipment over there to make sure our heading stays dead on. After that, it's just a matter of making sure we don't run into anything until we get up to the presidential bunker.” She shot a look at Metalmind. “You got that, right?”

  Metalmind nodded. “I can detect piping, subway tunnels, bunkers, whatever's out there, and steer him around.”

  “I just thought of a question,” Rockrigger said, about halfway through a step toward the starting point. “You named all us...but what do we call you? Codename-wise, I mean?”

  “Sweety, you get this done, you can call me whatever you want,” Veronika said, smiling tightly. “There's a lot of money in this, for all of us. Let's not screw it up.”

  Rockrigger hesitated. “No, I get that, and I'm going to do a fine job. But if I need to get your attention, you know, while we're in the thick of this, what do I call you?”

  That was a good point Veronika hadn't thought of. She lifted a hand, lit it up with blue, glowing plasma, and said, “Just call me Hot Stuff for now. Or boss. I always answer to that.” She smiled, winked.

  Rockrigger seemed to get the message, and he moved off to start the job. Metalmind and Shinyman trailed behind him, and he turned to Metal and said, “I think I'm probably better off callin' her boss, don't you?”

  “How about we establish this now – you don't talk to me unless you desperately need something, chatterbox,” Metalmind said, her thin frame receding into the shadows at the far end of the warehouse, “and I won't impale you on a steel pipe after we're done with this? Or better still,” and she made a gesture to Shinyman, still trailing silently behind them, “I'll just shove him up your ass, feet first.”