The Con Code

by Shana Silver

  Thankfully, Tig texts a moment later. It’s a single emoji of a woman shrugging with only one hand. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Colin shrugs with one hand in response.

  I text Tig: Does that mean we’re good to go?

  A minute passes, but there’s no further response from Tig.

  Tension coils in my shoulders. “What do we do?” I don’t want to risk using the ID if Tig hasn’t successfully accessed them on the backend to change out the photo and identifying information to match us instead of the people we stole these from.

  Colin checks the time. Thirty minutes until he has to distract Amy and thirty-five minutes until it’s showtime, folks.

  Thirty-five minutes isn’t a lot of time to slip inside the tunnel doors, find the wardrobe room, check out two uniforms, find Natalie, change, alter my appearance—ugh.

  “I think we have to go for it,” Colin says.

  “But—”

  “Either we risk it, or we risk not getting your mom’s clue at all.”

  Blood whooshes in my ears. When I stand, I wobble on shaky legs. My hands are slicked with sweat, and there’s even more pooled in the crooks of my elbows. It must be due to the heat. It can’t be nerves. It can’t.

  We weave more aggressively through the crowds than we really should, considering we’re trying to go unnoticed. I bump into one woman’s shoulder, and she yells angrily for me to watch where I’m going. I slide off my character ears and reluctantly drop my sunglasses in my backpack.

  At the tunnel door, I grip the ID in shaky fingers and hold it up to the sensor. The door beeps an angry red, and cold panic races up my spine. I wipe my palm on my shirt and try again, but the door blinks red a second time. “Why would it turn red?”

  “Maybe Tig’s still working on it so it’s temporarily deactivated?” Colin knocks my arm aside and shoves his ID at the door. An eternity passes in the two seconds it takes for the sensor to turn green.

  We let out twin breaths.

  “Do you think a one-handed shrug meant that Tig could only access one ID instead of both?” I pull the door open.

  He bites his lip. “Hope so.”

  Colin starts to race down the steps, but I clear my throat, and he slows his pace. A guy in a duck costume zooms past us, fixing his head on as he goes. The air gets steadily cooler the farther we descend inside, and I shiver when I was sweating like crazy only moments ago.

  Our eyes adjust to the dull lighting and the gray drear that decorates the tunnels. It’s a stark contrast to the bright and bubbly exterior, where every inch of the park has been carefully painted to look new and pristine. Here, long brown pipes line one entire side of the gray hallway, and the stench of garbage makes me gag.

  There are unmarked doors along the corridor that each lead to a different ride. For emergency purposes only, of course. (Or for heists, depending on your perspective.)

  I glance down at my phone, where there’s an image of the tunnel schematics Tig found. I nudge Colin in the ribs when we pass the next unmarked door, a silent message for That’s the one that leads to my mother. Or, more accurately, her forgery.

  “Wait, is that it?” He says way too loudly, and I have to nudge him again as an employee with a clipboard walks by us and nods in greeting.

  We pass by a cafeteria filled with gabbing employees and a studio for filming quick Instagram content. We make a pit stop at the maintenance closet to steal some supplies for later. Crowbars, a portable drill, a hammer, and flashlights land in my backpack.

  We continue down the tunnel until we reach the wardrobe hall.

  Every role and job here has a specific costume, from the characters down to the guy who slops mashed potatoes onto your plate at the diner. Employees pick up their costume each shift at the wardrobe center and return their soiled ones at the end of the day.

  It works similar to a library, where employees come in, locate their costume, then scan the bar code at a checkout counter. Our plan was to check out the uniforms in a legit way by scanning our new IDs and then smiling when our photos pop up on-screen. But if my ID doesn’t work, Colin can’t check out two different uniforms. And since we’re not sure what Tig’s text means, it’s probably too risky for him to check out even one.

  So we have to steal these for real now.

  I’m not sure why that idea scares me so much.

  A woman sits behind the desk in the entrance of the wardrobe room, typing away on a computer, a fluorescent light above her head exposing all her freckles and flaws. A sign above her reads NO GUESTS, NO EXCEPTIONS. I keep my head down, shuffling past her as though I’ve done this a thousand times, but Colin chooses this moment to wink at her and shoot her his most magnanimous grin. As soon as we round a corner, I glare at him.

  He turns up his palms. “What? You said I was allowed to smile at her!”

  “I said nothing about winking,” I deadpan.

  The costumes are grouped by theme, so we skip the various princesses and witches and head straight to the adventure section. We pass by pirate costumes and jungle costumes, each one neatly hanging from rows of garments in a colorful array, until we find the ones in the back—the ones that aren’t cool. A security guard with a little bit of jungle flare in the form of a palm-frond print on the trim and a safari-chic maintenance worker. Complete with a ridiculous safari hat.

  I grab one of the maintenance worker outfits in my size and turn it over in my hands, brushing my fingers against the sturdy fabric. We have no real plan on how to smuggle these out of here illegally, so I scrutinize the fabric for any obvious traps. There’s a bar code with a raised bump beneath it affixed to the tag of every single piece for the uniform. The safari-style maintenance worker uniform contains five pieces alone. If we walk out of here without scanning these, the alarm will surely blast.

  I tug on one of the tags, but it doesn’t budge, sewed on too tightly.

  Before I can even try to rip it off, there’s a high-pitched blip, like a police siren being turned on and then immediately off. Red lights blink from devices on the ceiling and douse the room in flashes of scarlet.

  “Attention!” An announcement filters in through speakers. “This is a mandatory ID check. Please report to the front of the room for verification.”

  My skin turns to ice, and the uniform falls out of my hands.

  Colin launches into action. “Quick, grab the uniforms and stuff them in the bag. We’re going to have to make a run for it.”

  We hastily shove the uniforms into my backpack on top of the skull and all the tools. I zip up the bag and stand, heart beating.

  People stream past us, walking casually toward the front. If we run, we won’t be able to stop. We’ll have to keep running until we flee the tunnels. We’ll have to run until we outrun whoever might pursue us.

  We have to run straight out of the park.

  Colin’s eyes widen at something behind me. “Security’s coming.”

  We have just enough time to kick the backpack into the rack of clothes before a security guard looms over us, looking burlier than ever. My gaze shifts from the muscles bulging out of his shirt to the gun fastened to his belt. Gulp. I’d make two steps before he flattened me like a pancake. The queasy look on Colin’s face indicates he’s thinking the same thing.

  “Up to the front.” He juts his chin, and when I glance that way, the blood drains from my face. They’re searching everyone’s bags. “Get in line.”

  “Wh-what’s going on?” I manage to stammer.

  “Security breach. One of the employees reported a stolen ID. Need to check everyone as a safety precaution.”

  Oh shit. The photographer’s ID. The fact that I’d tried it at the tunnel door must have alerted them to the possibility that the culprit might be in the tunnels somewhere. That must be why it was deactivated in the first place—it had already been reported stolen when Tig tried to hack it.

  One-armed shrug. One ID activated.

  “Okay, we’ll head there in a sec
.” Colin gives him his signature smile.

  “Now.” The guard stares down at us with a menacing gaze.

  My hands shake, itching to lift in surrender, but I force them to stay down. Colin and I march toward the front, the security guard’s boots stomping behind us. With every click of my heel, my pulse ticks up.

  We must have hit this place right before a shift change, because there’s a long line of employees streaming from the front of the checkout counter all the way to the back wall, and we have no choice but to stand at the end of it. Roughly forty people in front of us, and the security guard, who keeps his eyes trained on us.

  Everything’s silent except for the blips and bleeps from successful ID checks and the groans issuing from the annoyed employees about to miss the start of their shifts.

  I bang out a text to Tig: Pls get my ID working stat. They’re checking everyone. T-minus ten minutes until we’re united with handcuffs.

  This time she responds instantly with a screenshot of her computer screen showing an Access Denied message.

  A lump swells in my throat.

  Fiona: Try harder!

  Three more people check out. The line moves forward. The walls close in on me.

  Fiona: Let me see what you’re doing.

  I call Tig via FaceTime. I keep the sound off because she wasn’t going to say anything anyway, but she picks up and sets her phone beside her so I can follow along. Colin watches over my shoulder. Tig plugs various devices into her laptop, seemingly to run cracking software of some kind. Binary code flashes on her screen at light speed. But the error message pops up once again: Access Denied.

  “Crap,” I mutter, and the person in front of us swings around to squint. I lower my voice and lean even closer to Colin, so close that I can smell his coconut suntan lotion. “Can you talk us out of this?”

  His face pales, and he shakes his head, a wounded expression twisting his brows together. The most confident guy I’ve ever met. The cocky guy that claimed he could weasel his way into anything. That same guy cannot assure me that he can keep us safe.

  “Double crap.”

  A few more people pass through the security check. We move forward, about halfway to the front. I start to picture the cold slap of handcuffs. The experience of the elusive park jail, where they take truants and drunks. The face of Ian O’Keefe when he hauls his ass down here to swoop us back to San Fran.

  The disappointment that I’ll never find my mother again, and I won’t be able to face my father.

  “Please, Tig,” I whisper into the phone.

  On the screen, her fingers flex. She unplugs the devices she just plugged in and tries another combination. She pulls up several new scripts and executes one via the command line. The script runs much more slowly than the last. 1% complete. 3% complete.

  Security validates two more people’s IDs. My heart is in my throat.

  7%. 12%.

  I string the charm on my necklace back and forth on the chain, faster and faster to combat my nerves.

  16%. 21%.

  Eight people ahead of us. Panic climbs up my spine in full force.

  27%. 35%.

  Bleeps and blips pass the next person. My hands shake, rattling the phone. Colin grips his own phone with white fingers.

  44%. 51%.

  The girl in front of us clears her throat, and I nearly throw the phone into the air. I let out a little yelp, but so does Colin.

  58%. 62%.

  Two more people move forward.

  73%. 76%.

  The next person clears security in less than a second. Five people ahead of us.

  81%. 85%.

  Four people left. Oh God. I’ve maneuvered in and out of heavily secured museums with more stealth. And now a measly ID is going to be my downfall. And worse still, I’m going to get Colin caught, too, breaking my promise to protect him.

  89%. 93%. 95%.

  Three people pass. Only one person ahead of Colin.

  99%.

  The next person in line, a girl in her mid-twenties with her hair stuffed in a bald wig, laughs at something the security officer scanning her badge says.

  99%.

  Bald wig asks him about the weather.

  99%.

  “Be prepared to run. Or grovel,” I whisper to Colin. We don’t have the costumes, or the skull, but we have no other option except to try to escape.

  99%.

  There’s a beep, and the guard’s scanner turns green. Baldy waves goodbye and exits safely. Colin takes a hesitant step forward. One. Two. Three. Six security guards surrounding us. Fifteen hundred pounds of muscle.

  Gulp.

  99%.

  “ID?” the guard asks Colin.

  “Oh, um.” Colin fumbles for his wallet, and the guard sighs heavily.

  “Please have your IDs out and ready to go.” He’s addressing Colin but looking at me.

  I keep clutching the phone, making no move for the ID.

  99%.

  Colin continues to fumble for his ID, clearly dragging this out as long as humanly possible. My stomach twists with knots.

  “Any day now.” The guard blows out his bangs from his face in annoyance.

  “Sorry about that.” Colin extracts the ID from his wallet and slowly passes it over to the man.

  99%.

  Crap crap crap.

  The man lifts the scanner just as the screen on Tig’s computer changes to 100%.

  The light on the scanner turns green, and I wipe sweat from my brow that Colin passed this test. But then I glance at Tig’s screen, and my stomach drops to the floor. Her screen shows a side-by-side view of my ID and Colin’s. Colin’s ID contains his photo, while mine contains a giant red X over it and the word Deactivated.

  “Miss, please step forward and hand me your ID.”

  There’s nothing to save me from this. My ID won’t turn green no matter how slow I go. “I, um…” I swallow hard. “I don’t have one.”

  Colin lifts his head, shoulders straightening. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.” The nerves he had moments ago dissipate, and that cool, confident manner of his takes over. He laces his fingers through mine and pulls me toward him. His warm palm offers my sweaty one a little bit of comfort. “She doesn’t work here—she’s my girlfriend.” He says it with absolutely no hesitation, like this is something he’s said a million times. “I was just showing her around.” He turns to me and gives me the most lovesick grin I’ve ever seen. For a moment I lean toward him, falling right under his spell like I did outside school in the rain.

  The guard’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me, but we have a breach in security and you neglected to mention that you brought an intruder in here?”

  Colin shrugs. “It’s my first day. I didn’t realize—”

  “You watched a training video. You signed a document acknowledging—”

  Colin rubs the back of his neck. “Guess I should have paid more attention to that video, huh?”

  “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to report this incident to HR.”

  Colin swallows hard but nods before ducking his head.

  “Miss, come with me. You need to leave these tunnels immediately.”

  Colin squeezes my hand. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Backpack,” I whisper through gritted teeth.

  I follow the guard straight out of the wardrobe room and through the hallways, where we pass by room after room undergoing the same security review to find the culprit that they’re unknowingly about to escort out. Once the guard punts me all the way into the bright sunlight, I lean against the side of the building, tension still wound in my shoulders as I wait for Colin to return. He’s still going to have to get those costumes out unscathed somehow. He can only scan one.

  Ten minutes later, he still hasn’t returned, and my texts have gone unanswered. Maybe Tig’s rubbing off on him. We only have five minutes to meet Natalie and start distracting Amy.

  Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I nearly yelp. When
I spin around, there’s a giant pig character waving at me.

  I shake my head. “Not interested. Go find a child or something.”

  The pig lowers his head and pretends to cry into his white gloves. I roll my eyes.

  “Calm down. It’s me.”

  I squint harder and then burst out laughing. “Colin?”

  “It was the only way I could smuggle the backpack out of there. Inside this giant pig head. Literally crushing my own head right now.”

  “Oh my God. I need to capture this forever for future blackmail purposes.” I fumble for my phone.

  “Yeah, yeah. I got the other uniforms by the way. Had to rip off all the security tags, but they’re here. Also crushing my skull. Now help me ditch this costume.”

  I lift my brow. “Is this the part where you strip?”

  “If your fantasies are to watch me slowly yet seductively remove a pig tail from my torso, then yes.” He pauses, then tilts his head to study me out of giant fabric eyes. “Are you okay? I was worried you got caught.”

  My heart amps faster. “You were worried about me?”

  He rubs the back of his fabric-covered neck with white gloves. “I mean—yeah. Of course. You’re vital to this operation.”

  Something in my chest cracks. It’s the same thing I said to him after the truck escape, but now I can feel the sting. “Right.”

  “So, what do you say? Let’s ditch a pig and then steal ourselves a skull.”

  He knows just the way to a girl’s heart.

  CHAPTER 16

  With the stolen uniforms in my bag and less than ten minutes until Tig cuts the power, we weave through a crowd stopped to watch a parade of singing men dressed in animal costumes and head toward Amy Cleary and her soon-to-be replacement. On the way, we place our earbuds in our ears and connect on a four-way call. Well, it’s technically four-way even though the fourth person only breathes heavily in response. I thought cracking my mom’s clues was hard, but deciphering what Tig means when she sends a haircut emoji followed by a number nine proves to be impossible.

  “You want nine haircuts?” I guess, and Tig clucks her tongue.

  Colin rolls his eyes, nearly crashing into a mother pushing three screaming kiddies in a stroller as wide as a tractor and seemingly as heavy. “She probably means your hair looks stupid. Nine times stupid.”