The Madison Jennings Series Box Set

by Kiara Ashanti

  She rose from her bed and turned on her computer. Despite everything, the conversations she’d had with the retired veterans were still fresh in her mind. She would work on her paper. Her document file was just opening when a message box popped up on her screen.

  I thought I told you to stay off the radar?

  For the second time that day, Maddie rushed to lock her bedroom door. She sat back down and tapped out a reply.

  What are you? My mother now, Geekboy?

  I’m the one that detailed to you this very morning my annoyance over scrubbing the web of those dance videos. Only a few hours later I get a high alert on your file being accessed. Someone here in DC for some cop in your area. That is not as easy to scrub, not without someone knowing. So, tell me what the hell are you doing?

  Maddie shoved a fist in her mouth to keep from screaming. Without a shadow of a doubt, she now knew that Aden’s dad hadn’t been able to keep the fight from biting her in the ass. Maddie rubbed her temples and imagined Uncle Z staring at her with zero sympathy. Then Geekboy’s earlier comment played in her mind: “I need to be able to concentrate on the important stuff.” A sudden realization made her shoot out of her seat so fast that she had to catch her chair to keep it from falling to the floor. She stood over her keyboard and started typing like a keypunch operator.

  Wait. Have you done this before? she typed.

  Madison, I’ve been keeping your real name scrubbed for years. Did you really think your mom zipping you around the world was keeping your whereabouts unknown? If the Times knew how often I sent them down a cyber rabbit hole, they’d hire a hitman to take me out. Understand me when I say this, your mother is not paranoid.

  The words sent Maddie into a daze. She had thought the change to their names—numerous times—with the help of the government and living overseas had covered their tracks. She did not think she would warrant more than an updated profile. She had really believed that she’d be forgotten like so many other terrorist victims.

  Why would anyone care now?

  You’re getting sidetracked. Tell me everything. I need to know in case this person does not let it go. This is no joke.

  Without even seeing his face, Maddie could tell that any trace of her cyberfriend’s normal jocularity had disappeared. Right now, he was not the cybergeek responsible for broadcasting The Christmas Day Massacre to the world or the nerdy hacker who had tried to assuage his guilt by being a distant big brother and checking up on her. He was a cyberanalyst.

  In short, concise words, Maddie told him everything, starting from the first day of school: the locker-room fight, the fight with the football players, the problem with the cheer squad, and today’s street brawl. She was not sure it all mattered, but a nagging voice told her to throw it all out there. Her friend’s first response: Five emojis showing a man smacking his head.

  Why couldn’t you just go to high school and bitch about boys, clothes, and your parents’ unreasonable curfew like normal kids?

  So this is a problem?

  Yes. No. I can control the web searches easily enough, but I cannot control the human factor. I took down the request in the system and their email. The talk you say the cops had with this kid Aden’s dad did not dissuade them. Why would it anyway? What did you say his name was?

  Aden Maier, though his dad’s last name is Kent. Not sure how that works.

  Hold on.

  Maddie sighed. Her mind struggled over what to do with the information she had now. Would she have acted differently had she known? Even as she formed the question, the answer came back a flat no. The information would not have altered her decisions. All it did was provide strength to the idea that maybe it should have or should in the future, but she knew it would not, especially regarding the old man. She made a mental note to ask Aden or Tommy to get an update on his condition.

  Well, that explains that, came the response.

  What?

  Aden’s father works for the FBI. Was a real badass in fieldwork. Now he’s a trainer. That’s why he thought he could get the cop to let it go.

  Holy shit! replied Maddie. I don’t think Aden even knows.

  Look, don’t worry about any of this. I’ll take care of it.

  Maddie nodded, even though she knew her friend could not see her. Another notion came to her. She hesitated, then plowed on.

  As long as you’re doing Maddie chores, can I ask a favor?

  Sure, Queenie. What else can I do for you? Get you the moon or the sun?

  There is a girl, Shalonda Reese. She is missing. Police aren’t doing much according to her mother. But there have been other reports on the news about some missing people. Local news is speculating about a batch of bad drugs on the streets, but nothing else. Can you see if anyone is doing anything at all?

  FBI handles missing persons’ cases. DEA may or may not have local agents tracking any drug issues, but I’ll snoop around. Stay out of trouble.

  The text box vanished, leaving Maddie with a blank document screen and a jumbled mind.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Gyeong “George” Rhee shut down the communications packet and leaned back in his slick-styled, black X-Chair. He stared at the array of five flat-screen monitors set up like a four-leaf clover. Each screen was connected to its own dedicated server within the government facility where he worked. One monitored keyword searches and analyzed social media sites. It searched endlessly for a post, tweet, or comment praising radical Islam. If it found something interesting, it would flash yellow.

  A separate screen trolled the web for actionable Intel on blogs. If a jihadist got a hankering to blow off a rant or make a call to arms to their brothers in jihad, Rhee would know. He monitored this feed with extra attention. Small- and large-scale events on the terrorism front were almost always advertised first, a fact that continued to amaze Rhee. Didn’t these crackpots know America and the rest of Western civilization monitored the web?

  A third screen monitored domestic security camera feeds for intrusion attacks. Each cyberagent was assigned a territory to oversee. It was a massive human project, but necessary. Rhee had been integral in proving that fact six years ago.

  The last two, including his central screen, were tasked with hacking into and shutting down terrorist propaganda on the web. It and the video intrusion detection were his specialties. It was how he and two friends, Mako and Dale, had become infamous. It was also how he had gained his adult working moniker, “Lockdown.”

  That is what he did. If ISIS, or al-Qaeda, the undying terrorist group that arose from the dead like Friday the 13th’s Jason, or any other group tried to use social media, video sites, or blogs to spread their extremist views, he shut them down. For years, Inspire was the biggest propaganda site for jihad. Twitter, Facebook, and the FCC all made excuses for why they could not do anything about it: too large a space to monitor, against the First Amendment, not legal. The list was endless.

  After the events that had introduced Madison into his life as a sophomore in high school, Rhee had taken matters into his own hands. He had ignored the government’s prohibition against him and his friends accessing computers, and they had begun to attack the sites. First they did so as members of Anonymous, but when it became evident that Anonymous was more interested in chaos and anarchy, they went out on their own.

  This had led to more legal trouble for Rhee, but he did not care. He felt partially to blame for the events at the Palace Movie Theater. Government officials agreed and fast-tracked Rhee and his friends into working for them. It made more sense to use their skills for the country rather than to place them in jail.

  Rhee worked at the Remote Operations Center for the Office of Tailored Access Operations at the National Security Agency. Mako was stationed at Homeland Security monitoring terrorist cells in Europe and the Baltic region. Dale had dropped cyberwar as a fighting tool and picked up an M4 rifle with Special Forces.

  They were all dedicated to fighting terrorism. Rhee was also dedicated to keeping M
adison off the radar. Nosey journalists with no sense of decency were the least of her problems. Something about her family’s survival of the terrorist attack galled the Islamists to the core of their soulless bodies.

  When The Christmas Day Massacre began, Rhee, Dale, and Mako had been hacking the camera feeds of the theater to spy on the hot girls there. They had noticed something strange going on and had tried to get the police to respond but were ignored. So they broadcasted their hacked feed to the cyberworld.

  It had not been the best decision.

  Rhee rose from his workstation and headed for the central operations area of the room. His guardian-angel duty was well known though not an official part of his job. He was not sure if his coworkers knew Maddie’s identity. He referred to her only as “Hatchingly” on the few occasions he needed to reveal his actions in an area. It was a tightrope that he walked. Madison and her family were not officially in protective status, so he could not just call another agency and shut inquiries down. He would need help on this situation.

  He knocked on the thick glass of the ops door and waited for his supervisor to buzz him through. Herbert “Engineer” Endicott was a dead ringer for Howard Wolowitz, except the character on The Big Bang Theory was a munchkin compared to Herb’s gangly six feet. He endured the ops nickname spawned by his resemblance to the fictional character but took a dim view of any gifts of outrageous belt buckles.

  He was looking over the shoulders of three analysts, who were, in turn, monitoring a distant operation, when Rhee sidled up. “What can I do for you, Rhee?”

  “I just wanted to check on the Dubai op.”

  “Lurker’s team is in place now. It’ll be a bit of a wait for it though. It looks routine to me, so I’m not sure why they even want us monitoring the situation.”

  “Routine always turns into something else is why. Let me know. Oh, there is one other thing. Remember that dessert item you wanted me to research for you—the exotic flower?” asked Rhee, speaking in code.

  Endicott was a pro. He never turned from the screen he was examining. A quiver of an eyebrow let Rhee know his message had been received. “It would be nice to get the mother-in-law off my back by finding her the perfect ingredient,” said Endicott, playing along.

  “I’ve got the info on my phone. I’ll send it to you after work.”

  “I’m off for a nicotine break, anyway. Give it to me on the way to the cancer station.”

  A female analyst glanced at Endicott and shook her head. “Your mum’s desserts won’t do you much good if you’re dead from puffing those killer sticks.”

  Endicott slapped the back of the analyst’s chair as he walked away. “Scarlett, you’re too young to be my wife, so you can’t nag me.”

  “I’m your work wife. It’s my job to nag you when you’re here,” she shot back.

  Rhee and Endicott exited the center and strode down a long white hall. Endicott gave Rhee a sideways glance.

  “I need some help on a Hatchingly situation,” said Rhee, dropping the previous cover conversation.

  “What do you need?”

  “Someone over in DHS accessed Hatchingly’s file. Looks like they did it as a favor for a cop.”

  “Shit, Rhee. Favors are items within our ops center. Anything dealing with another department is not a favor. It’s an issue.”

  “Don’t worry about the human component. I can get Mako to handle that. I just need to implement a search and destroy parameter for any more possible inquiries.”

  “I’ll free up a Phantom for you. Make sure this does not balloon. You know how territorial these pricks can be.”

  “I hear and understand, Obi-Wan.”

  Pursed lips and a wilting look was Endicott’s only response. Rhee turned on his heel and headed back to the ops center.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Social media was buzzing. Several high school girls from the Denver area had been arrested in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, and two boys had been assaulted by officers in the Saudi religious police. They were all part of a group from a Denver high school experiencing a semester abroad. The girls had been eating and joking with the boys in their group and some local teenage boys in a Starbucks.

  Saudi Arabia was not Denver. Women could not mix with males who were not their husbands; it was forbidden. The girls’ arrests and the assault on the boys had been captured on Facebook Live. The male who had filmed the arrests had also been assaulted by Saudi police. His condition was listed as critical.

  It was all Galvin High teens or the United States at large could talk about. As Maddie entered history class, everyone huddled watching the video and listening to the ensuing comments on their cell phones. The lone exceptions were Tiffani and Aden.

  Maddie hesitated. Aden and Tiffani were seated on opposite sides of the class. After the weekend they both had endured, Maddie was inclined to sit next to Aden. It was a notion that would have been abhorrent a few days ago, but Aden had been a rock. However, she decided she would see enough of Aden after school. She headed over to Tiffani.

  Tiffani’s head was down, and her long strawberry-blond tresses obscured what she was looking at. Maddie assumed she was getting more info on the topic of the day. She flung her books down and flopped into her chair. “Wouldn’t have been me,” she said.

  Tiffani kept looking at her phone but smiled. “They’d have shot you and thrown you into some desert hole—or worse, tied you into a burka.”

  “I actually like those. Throw a little camo on those babies, and they’re perfect for the woods.”

  Now Tiffani looked up from her phone. “You’re a freakin’ riot.”

  Mr. Y Leiro entered the classroom with a storm cloud centered on his face. Behind him, two audio/visual students wheeled in a large flat-screen monitor. One of the students, a girl, started to connect wires to a computer on the desk, but the teacher shooed her and the other student away. As soon as they were out the door, Mr. Y Leiro slammed it shut, making everyone jump.

  “I want every single phone in this box, now!” Mr. Y Leiro slammed a cardboard box onto his desk. When everyone in the class hesitated, he closed his eyes, then tilted his head side to side, cracking a joint. “Into the box or you all go into Saturday detention.”

  “Something has him in a titter,” said Tiffani as she rose from her desk. She held out her hand to Maddie. Maddie plopped her black flip phone into her hand. Tiffani repressed a laugh—but only just.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Maddie, shooing her friend away.

  After all the phones had been deposited, Mr. Y Leiro put the box on the floor and with a backward shove of his foot, slid it under his desk. “If I hear a phone, I’m giving the person two Saturday detentions. No exceptions.”

  “What if my mom’s in the hospital?” shouted a boy.

  “You don’t drive, Scott, and you’re not a doctor. Judging by your grades, you never will be. There is nothing you can do for her.” Mr. Y Leiro let the class snicker for a moment before continuing. “We are all aware of the world event happening today regarding the arrests of students from our state. Rather than have you all looking at your phones, we will discuss it as a class.”

  He turned, walked to his desk, and hooked the wires into the monitor. Once the screen was up and running, he pulled up Twitter and the video. He set it to full screen and hit play. Everyone in the class, except Maddie, had seen the video. As it played on the large screen with proper audio volume, a lot of the students made small exclamations as if they were seeing it for the first time. The big screen made it seem more real and immediate. The students watched as the arrested girls made a scene. They screamed, “We were just having coffee,” and bystanders yelled, “They didn’t do anything.” One large girl took a backward swipe at one of the Saudi police. His face registered shock, then he put her in a controlling hold and slammed her to the floor. At that, a couple of the boys intervened. Their interference did not last long.

  As the video ended, Mr. Y Leiro turned to the class. “What are
your impressions?”

  “The one girl that threw a punch should have followed up with a kick to his balls,” said Maddie.

  Pounding on desks signaled the class’s general agreement. Mr. Y Leiro gave Maddie a tight smile. “Hardly a surprise coming from our school’s WWE mascot but perhaps a little hypocritical.”

  Maddie perked up, and her eyes narrowed. “How do you figure that?”

  “In our discussions on immigration, you have more than once stated your belief that noncitizens should follow our laws. They need to follow the law, and if they do not happen to like that law, they can try to do something about it after they become citizens were your exact words I believe.”

  He turned to the desk and grabbed his computer mouse. A moment later, a PDF file opened. It was titled “The Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice Laws and Regulations.” He scrolled down to a page and highlighted a section. “Miss Jennings, please read the highlighted text.”

  Maddie frowned, and her blood began to boil. Tiffani touched her leg, signaling her to keep calm. Maddie gritted her teeth and began to read: “ ‘It’s not allowed for any woman to travel alone and sit with a strange man and talk and laugh and drink coffee together like they are married.’ ”

  “Correct. Now we might think that is a bad idea, but that is their law. That is how their society is structured, so who are we to disagree? The girls are guests in that country. They have to follow the country’s rules.”

  “Honor killings, genital mutilation, forced marriage to minors are also rules or norms in that society. Are we supposed to accept those as well, against our own people?”

  “Possibly,” answered Mr. Y Leiro.