by Ellery Kane
He turned to me with eyes like ice. “Haven’t I already made myself clear, Ms. Knightley? I did not sell Onyx.”
“But you wanted to,” Elana added.
“No!” Augustus smacked the arm of his chair like he was swatting a fly. “If I wanted to sell Onyx, I would have. And I certainly would’ve done it better than Mr. Steele.”
“Where does Ryker come in?” Edison asked as Augustus fumed. I bristled at the sound of his name, still trying to reconcile the adoring Ryker in my mother’s picture with the other one, the one who ended her.
“I don’t know.” Augustus answered with the voice of a surly teenager. “I suspect he and Steele were partners all along.”
“Partners, how?”
Avoiding Edison’s question, Augustus stood and spoke only to Barry. “Take me to the kitchen. I’m tired and hungry.” He brought his fingers back to his swollen eye. “And my head hurts.”
“Wait a minute,” Mr. Van Sant protested. “We’ve got a ticking time bomb here. Pun intended. You can’t just call time out whenever you feel like it. And what about the information you promised on George McAllister?”
“George who?” Turning his back to us, Augustus sauntered off to the kitchen.
“Unbelievable,” Edison muttered. “That guy is unbelievable.”
“Yep, that’s Augustus,” I agreed. “And you’re right, we shouldn’t believe him. He’s playing us, making Xander look like the only bad guy here.”
Mr. Van Sant nodded. “Very astute, Alexandra. Unfortunately, he’s our best hope for now.”
From where we sat, we could hear rumblings from the kitchen, the sounds of Augustus and Barry arguing. “I told you … pimento. Only pimento.”
Edison rolled his eyes. “So you’re saying the fate of San Francisco and George McAllister rests on that guy?”
“Son, unless you’ve got a better idea, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Now that you mention it … ”
CHAPTER FORTY - NINE :
UNVEILED
I felt nauseous. The thick, cold blood of unease crawled under my skin. Even the sky was a sickly shade of gray. Up here, far above the street with the wind swirling about my face, there still wasn’t enough air to breathe. I lowered Mr. Van Sant’s high-powered binoculars, taking my eyes off Zenigenic’s main entrance to glance at my watch. 4:50 p.m. Ten minutes until Xander Steele would emerge from those doors. Ten minutes until he would tell the world about Docil-E. And just ten minutes until Edison would sneak inside their headquarters on a stealth mission of his own.
I peered over the ledge, careful to stay out of sight. The crowd was its own beast—alive, pulsating, growing beyond expectations—already too big for its cage. The stanchions erected by Zenigenic security had toppled to the ground, trampled underfoot.
Barbara Blake and SFTV secured premium real estate near the podium while a few independent Internet news stations—including Eyes on the Bay—were relegated to the sidelines. I raised my binoculars again, finding Langley behind the camera. I half expected to see my father there, curious and eager. But of course, he wasn’t. That thought weighed heavy, a boulder of worry and regret, but I pushed it from my mind. I had to focus.
Protestors and supporters alike elbowed and shouldered their way toward the red-carpeted entrance where they were stonewalled by a dense line of soldiers. A few daredevils scaled the large metallic Z, claiming a front-row seat atop it. My ears, and then my eyes, were drawn to an emphatic group at the periphery.
Their chant was familiar—We are the New Resistance! Not afraid to feel!—but their attire was unnerving, reminiscent of the 2040 rallies before San Francisco was evacuated. They all wore red bandanas, the color of the Resistance, tied on their arms or covering their faces. Signs in hand, they were advancing, riled and insistent. While everyone else was pushing forward, moths to the flame, I located Elana’s auburn hair at the edge of the crowd. She was watching, unmoving. I picked up my radio.
“Any sign of him?” I’m not sure why I was whispering. I was eight stories off the ground, on the roof of one of the abandoned office buildings opposite Zenigenic’s headquarters. Even if I screamed as loud and as long as I could, my cry would’ve been lost, joining all the others coming from the belly of the beast below.
“Nothing yet. But this is insane.” The sounds of the jostling mob nearly covered her voice. “The New Resistance, soldiers in riot gear, and I just got tested.”
I lifted the binoculars back to my eyes, finding a group of soldiers at the periphery. White strips in hand, they were swiping wrists just as Elana reported. It should’ve reassured me, but it didn’t. Not even close. Not after what happened with Emma. I settled back to the ground and resumed my position. Waiting. I couldn’t help but look for Quin, though I already knew I wouldn’t find him. Wherever he was—with Xander, probably—his unveiling would be as orchestrated, as public as Docil-E’s. Edison was counting on it.
“I saw Percy,” Elana added, giggling a little. Leave it to her to bring him up at a time like this.
“You did?” I quickly scanned the crowd with my binoculars, searching for his close-cropped, raven-colored hair.
“He asked about you, Lexi.”
“Bleh!” Only Quin could make that nickname sound appealing. “What did he say?”
“He was quite concerned actually. He wanted to know if your dad was really an EAM dealer. And if you were on the run.”
“He thinks I’m a criminal?”
Elana chuckled. “He thinks you’re a super sexy fugitive. As in, he wants to be the Clyde to your Bonnie.”
Partly flattered, partly horrified, I laughed. “What did you tell him?”
“That you are every bit the femme fatale he thinks you are. I’m pretty sure he’s already planning a second date somewhere on the lam with you.”
“Elana!”
“Kidding, kidding.”
Behind me, the steel door to the staircase rattled open, and Mr. Van Sant stepped onto the roof. A sudden gust of wind blew him back a little, but he held his ground and made his way toward me. In blue jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt, he was nearly unrecognizable, far from his usual buttoned-up attorney garb.
“Bird’s-eye view, huh?” he said, lowering himself to the ground, armed with a second set of binoculars.
I nodded. “You were right. It’s the perfect spot.”
“Good thing I never tossed out those old keys.” Before San Francisco’s evacuation, Mr. Van Sant’s law office was located on the third floor of the building. “I came up here a lot when I needed to clear my head.” For Mr. Van Sant, I imagined that meant a lot of stomping, cursing, and red-faced yelling.
“I think it’s starting,” I said as the crowd began to buzz with tangible anticipation. Gina Tan emerged from headquarters and strutted to the stage, backdropped by the pallid sky, exploding with bursts of color.
“I should’ve expected fireworks,” Mr. Van Sant muttered. “Nothing understated about Steele.”
“Or Zenigenic.” I fought off the memory of my mother and her ambivalence as she watched the fireworks meant for her.
“There’s Steele.” Mr. Van Sant spotted him, just as I did. He was as slick as always, in a dark, pinstripe suit. Any bruises—there had to be bruises—were expertly covered by his make-up team. A sharp-dressed Quin followed closely behind him, then a limping Valkov—his arm in a splint. He could barely keep up. The rest of the security team, accompanied by a troop of soldiers, trailed a few paces back. “I hope Eddie can pull this off.” Mr. Van Sant spoke quietly, wistfully, almost to himself. “You know, I’ve never seen him in his uniform.”
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer, but I did. “Don’t worry. This kind of thing is his specialty.”
“He does have a flair for the dramatic.” Mr. Van Sant chuckled. “Wonder where he gets it from.”
“I wonder.” I let myself laugh with him, but didn’t take my eyes from the ground below. I centered my focus back to Elana’s r
ed hair. She was in the heart of the mob now—just alongside the red carpet walkway where the military presence was thick. Max had taken his position next to her. Edison—the old Edison, Greenhorn 558—stood just a few soldiers down from them. He blended perfectly.
“Greenhorn 558 reporting for duty,” he whispered into the microphone, clipped just inside his collar.
Ignoring the jeers, Xander waved to the crowd, sauntering leisurely toward the podium. As the procession passed Elana, Mr. Van Sant’s breathing got quiet. Mine did too. Prepare for impact in one thousand one … one thousand two … Quin lurched forward, catching himself with his hands before he hit the red carpet, tripped by Edison’s well-placed boot. He reached Quin well before Valkov, but I couldn’t see them anymore. They disappeared under the cover of the crowd, only muffled scratching audible from Edison’s microphone.
Valkov, angry Valkov, loomed in my lens. As he strained to offer his good hand to Quin, his face contorted with rage at Edison, his roar audible in Edison’s mic. “Watch yourself, you grunt!” After their explosive encounter at Quin’s press conference, I was relieved Valkov didn’t recognize him in his uniform.
Mr. Van Sant scooted nearer to the ledge for a better view. “What if Quin doesn’t have it with him?”
I shrugged. “Max said Quin had the key card in his pocket at the hospital. He probably doesn’t let it out of his sight.”
Quin was back on his feet, just slightly rumpled and facing Edison. His mouth formed words like drumbeats, short and intense. I wished I could read his lips. Between the fireworks and the raucous roaring around them, Edison’s microphone was all white noise. Quin straightened his jacket and turned to Valkov, giving him a good-natured pat on the shoulder. Satisfied with himself, Valkov proceeded to the stage without a backward glance. Quin kept moving too, but the set of his shoulders seemed different, less certain.
I eyed the radio, waiting for confirmation from Edison. “Got it.” Mr. Van Sant exhaled, but I was far from reassured.
“What did Quin say?” I asked.
“I could barely hear him. It sounded like Get out of here. He was probably just playing along.”
I didn’t say anything else. I let those words swim around in my brain, trying to ignore their sharp, little teeth biting at the back of it. My eyes followed Edison, then Max until both of them were out of view of the stage, heading toward the side entrance.
Mr. Van Sant’s cell phone vibrated next to us on the concrete. “It’s from Barry,” he said. “He’s in.” Zenigenic’s security cameras were now under his control. He could alter their direction and play back archived footage so Edison could pass by undetected.
Xander tapped the microphone. He was positioned at the podium, protected by a plexiglass shield. Merely a precaution, according to Barbara Blake’s morning broadcast.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to this historic occasion. I am thrilled to be here today. In fact, since my appointment as Zenigenic CEO last year, this is my proudest moment.” Behind him, Gina Tan clicked a remote, lighting up an oversized screen on the wall of the building. On it, a devilishly handsome man held up a vial marked Docil-E. I blinked my eyes a few times just to be sure. Yep, it was Quin. I could feel Mr. Van Sant staring at me, but I couldn’t look at him. “Let me introduce you to Docil-E, the newest, the best, the safest EAM that Zenigenic has ever created.”
A roar of reproach from the New Resistance dwarfed the meager cheers of support. Xander raised his hand in a futile attempt to silence them. “I understand many of you are skeptical, but I am confident Docil-E will secure a peaceful future for all of us.”
I directed my binoculars to Quin, but he was looking away, not at Xander. I followed his gaze to the wall of soldiers. Faces blank as parchment, they stared ahead, stiff-necked. “Kindness.” Xander spoke the word as if it belonged to him. “Tranquility. These have been in short supply in our great nation, especially here in San Francisco. Our researchers believe Docil-E is the first building block to a harmonious, non-violent world. Docil-E promotes many of the body’s naturally occurring hormones, encouraging relaxation and suppressing anger and aggression. Here at Zenigenic, we like to call it the anti-Onyx.” Like any skilled spin doctor, Xander was making Docil-E sound good. Really good.
Mr. Van Sant leaned his ear toward the radio and adjusted the volume. Edison’s voice was barely a whisper, “I’m in the building. It’s quiet as a tomb in here.”
“Bad choice of words,” Max chided. “Remember, eighteenth floor. You’ve got about ten minutes. I’ll be outside the entrance if you need me.” I could hear Edison’s steady breathing and the heel-to-toe clicking of his boots as he moved. Then, silence.
“Hold it, Greenhorn. What is your purpose here?”
“Uh … ” C’mon, Edison. Showtime. “Well, sir, it’s a little embarrassing.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve been demoted to inside detail.”
“Why is that, Greenhorn?”
“I tripped Quin McAllister, sir.” Mr. Van Sant met my eyes, and we both grinned. “Mr. Valkov told me to get out of his sight. He said the only thing I was good for was guarding an empty building.”
“Alright then, try to stay out of trouble.”
“Absolutely, sir.” The radio went quiet for a while, then Edison snickered.
“Still got it,” he boasted. “I’m in the elevator.”
Mr. Van Sant pumped his fist. “That’s my boy!”
Meanwhile, Xander droned on. “All our research has shown, unlike its predecessors, Docil-E is virtually free of negative side effects and is non habit-forming. As soon as we receive final approval from the government, Docil-E will be available for purchase at ZenigenicCorp.com in easy-to-swallow pill and injection forms. Each package will contain information regarding our recommended daily dose based on age and weight. I assure you that I will be using Docil-E regularly.”
Mr. Van Sant was shaking his head. “Phew, he is laying it on thick.”
I nodded. Xander was as likely to use Docil-E as I was.
“The applications for this drug are endless and extend well beyond the consumption of the general public. Imagine Docil-E as a tool for defense.” My ears perked a little. Now we were getting somewhere. “In this regard, we are proud to announce our partnership with the specialized military force deployed to help manage our fine city in the wake of the banned-EAM crisis. They are now equipped with vials and spray canisters of Docil-E to quell any potential violence with minimal use of force.”
Mr. Van Sant’s eyebrows were raised like my own. I’d never expected Xander to be so forthcoming about the military’s use of Docil-E, but his admission worried me. For every secret he revealed, a hundred more remained hidden.
From the radio, came the ding of the elevator. “There’s someone up here,” Edison hissed. “She’s coming this way.”
“May I help you?” The woman was polite but perturbed, as if she already knew Edison didn’t belong.
“Hello, ma’am. Greenhorn 558. I was told Mr. Steele requested military presence outside of his office.”
“I don’t think so, Soldier. Mr. Steele left specific instructions to keep this floor clear until his return this evening. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” That was the sound of Edison’s charm hitting a brick wall.
“Okay, then. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” The clomping of Edison’s boots was followed by a long pause. “I’m in the stairwell. Time for Plan V.”
“Max?” Elana summoned. “You’re on.”
“Got it. Plan V initiated. Calling now.” A few seconds later, in a coarse, punishing voice, “This is Valkov. There’s an urgent delivery arriving for Mr. Steele on the first floor. I need you there immediately.” Goofball Max was still underneath, but it sounded creepy. He totally nailed it.
Xander continued to address the crowd, gesturing to another graphic displayed alongside Quin’s face. It was Docil-E’s slogan in bold, black type: Make the world a little kinder. “Zenigenic has a stor
ied history. We are the pioneers of emotion-altering medication, and like all pioneers, we haven’t always gotten it right. But I assure you, it is our mission to do good—to better the world.”
Edison was back on the radio. “She’s coming your way, Max. I’m going in.”
“Is that String?” Elana asked. My stomach curdled, soured with fear.
“Where?” Max blurted the question before me.
“With the New Resistance.” Elana’s head was directed toward the edge of the audience, near the side of the building, where the Resistance red was thick. “His face is covered, but I think that’s his Mohawk.”
I scoured the protestors. Most of their faces were shrouded now—just pairs of eyes visible over their bandanas—but I could see their anger anyway. It was in the tautness of their bodies, the emphatic thrusting of clenched fists in the air. “There!” Hand on one hip, String was the only one just standing, cool and removed, leaning against the building.
“What’s he doing?” Max asked.
What he’s always doing, I answered silently. But aloud, I resisted the urge for sarcasm. “Nothing.”
“We’ll watch him,” Mr. Van Sant assured Max and Elana. But the casual way String stood there, his shades concealing his eyes, made me wonder who was watching who.
I followed Elana with my binoculars as she faced the stage. “Lex—” She didn’t have to say anymore. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. Quin was at the podium.
CHAPTER FIFTY :
UNMASKED
“Thank you, Mr. Steele. I am honored to be here as the new spokesman for Docil-E.” Quin gestured to himself on the screen, his cheeks reddening as the audience erupted in applause. When the roaring diminished, a young girl atop the Z called out, “I love you, Quin McAllister!” The crowd giggled along with her. They understood what I knew from the moment he sat next to me on the bed at the Resistance headquarters that first night. Quin was lovable. So lovable.
Edison interrupted my reverie with urgency. “Did Quin mention a code to get into Xander’s office?”
