by Tracy Lawson
Tears stung Tommy’s eyes. She’s not going to remember saying any of this, and I’m never going to be able to forget it. He wanted to hold her, but he realized any gesture would be for his comfort, not hers. He clenched his fists.
She held up her hand and examined it, and waved her fingers. “Pink is coming out of my fingertips, like when I was on CSD.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Is that why I feel so strange?”
“Atari dosed you with Phase Two. You’re going to be all right in a while, but you probably won’t remember this.”
She nodded without emotion. “That makes sense. You never remembered either.”
That made him wonder what kinds of things he’d said when their situation had been reversed.
“Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
She scrutinized his face. “Do you want to kiss me? You look like you want to kiss me.” She was leaning in, lips parted, when he stopped her. The CSD had definitely compromised her filter.
The come-hither look on her face reminded him of Atari’s fantasy Careen in the dating sim video, and he tried not to laugh at the change in her. “That’s usually a safe bet.” She seemed to take that to mean it was all systems go and lunged at him, but he managed to turn the kiss into something that could have passed for brotherly. “Wait, stop.” He brushed his fingertips across her cheek and traced the nearly healed scar. “If I kissed you right now, it could lead to a lot more. You’re not ready. When it does happen, I want us both to remember it.”
“Oh. All right.” She nestled against his chest and sighed when he put his arms around her. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor tonight.”
He chuckled. “You’d better leave yourself a note in case you forget that you invited me to stay.”
“Good idea.” She climbed out of bed, crossed the room and wrote something on the notepad on the desk. She signed it with a flourish, folded it, and put it in the pocket of her jeans.
“What does it say?”
She shot him a look of drunken shrewdness. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”
She yawned, climbed back into bed, and was asleep in his arms in less than a minute.
11:45 AM
Atari wrapped a handful of ice cubes in a towel and held it to his swollen, bleeding lip. When his phone vibrated on the desk, he looked at the number on the display and chose to ignore the call from Mitch.
What was the logical next move? He stared at the checkerboard of monitors on the wall, but nothing came readily to mind. This must be what writer’s block feels like.
The Link around Madalyn’s wrist should have been a way for him to control her and force her to make decisions that worked with the Resistance’s agenda. He’d been sure she’d want to scrap the whole program to avoid having her secrets made public. The transparency that was part of life with the Link should have damaged her image.
But somehow it had backfired. Even though the Link wasn’t active and Madalyn lied with impunity, people now perceived her as honest and responsible because of the red plastic band on her wrist.
Expanding the Link program to include anyone who was arrested had caused a public outcry—but again, not about what he’d expected. He put his head in his hands, frustrated by the irony of the situation. Protesters and so-called dissidents who’d been arrested and Linked that week had fueled the anger of a growing number of adults who wanted Links for themselves, and left them more determined than ever to have them. The pro-Link segment of the population believed that they deserved the Links over criminals who were undermining the chance at security for the righteous and the blameless.
Even the shortage of available Links had worked to her advantage.
He designed video games that presented players with options and choices. The ones who made good choices could win. For those who made mistakes, it was game over.
He laced his fingers and stretched, cracking his knuckles. Too many people had made the wrong choice, and now Frankenstein’s monster was on the loose.
Chapter 16
9:15 AM
Monday, December 25, 2034
Quadrant DC-001
Madalyn stood at a podium in the Essential Services building’s lobby, with the OCSD seal in front of her and a mural of a wheat field behind her. “Victor Martel’s promise to the American people was misguided. Everyone believed him when he said the opt-out of Essential Services deliveries would begin on January first, but we are not prepared to transition. There is inadequate food available in the private sector. Essential Services will continue to provide sustenance for every American in 2035. Maybe change will be possible sometime in the future—just not now. No questions at this time.”
Security guards flanked Madalyn on both sides and rushed her out of the building. As they emerged into the wintry day, protesters surged toward them. Splat. Something landed in her hair, and she glanced around. Pieces of rotten fruit clung to the security officers’ black jackets. Something wet hit her cheek, and she held up a hand to protect her face. Shouting and chanting filled the air, but she didn’t understand the words. The guards held her by the arms as they hustled her to the armored SUV. The door shut behind her and muffled the roar of the crowd. She exhaled.
Her phone rang and she dug it out of her purse. She’d missed another call from this number a few minutes before. “Hello?”
“Your payment is ready. It will be delivered to your office.” It was the man who had approached her about buying the CSD formulas. His accent sounded foreign, though she couldn’t place it.
They had never nailed down the specifics of how she would be paid. Madalyn felt her panic level rise again. “Don’t you think a little discretion is in order? I thought you’d simply deposit it—”
“In your government account?” He harrumphed. “That would be too easily traceable. Payment will be made … indirectly. What you do with it is up to you. But first I must have the formulas. All three phases of the Counteractive System of Defense, as you call it. Phase Three will give me total control over those who use it, correct?”
“Yes, yes of course. Total control. I can send the file from here.” She sent the email she’d drafted. There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke again.
“It has arrived. Everything appears to be in order. Obviously, we will not be in contact after we terminate this call.”
She cleared her throat. “Agreed.”
“I hope we have no occasion to meet in the future.” There was a beep, and he was gone.
The SUV pulled up in front of the OCSD building. “Everything all right, Madam?” the driver asked.
“Yes. Wait for me. I may be going back out after I freshen up.” Madalyn slammed the car door and stomped inside. She ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to remove the bits of food that clung to her golden coif and wrinkled her nose as she brushed at something sticky on her coat sleeve. She unbuttoned the coat, intending to have it sent to the laundry. She was wriggling out of the sleeves when a young man dashed into the building and headed straight for her. She screamed, and two security guards dive-tackled the man, pinning him to the floor at her feet.
“Ow! Jeez! I have an envelope … urgent message for Director Davies. It’s in my bag. I was supposed to deliver it ten minutes ago, but I couldn’t get through the crowds in front of the Essential Services building.”
One of the guards spoke from the pile. “You got a work ID?”
“Yes … ow! I’m a courier for Get it There Yesterday. We deliver all over the capital quadrant. I’ve been here dozens of times before. Let me up.”
The guards released him, and he pushed himself to his knees. As he reached inside his windbreaker, the guards drew their guns. He raised shaking hands above his head. “Chill! How am I supposed to show my ID if you won’t let me get it?”
The guards slowly lowered their weapons, and the courier produced a laminated ID card on a lanyard around his neck. The guards hauled him to his feet. One of them rummaged in the man’
s bag and pulled out a large envelope. Madalyn extended her hand. “I’ll take that, please. It’s addressed to me.”
The guard held it out of her reach. “No can do, Madam Director. Anything that arrives for you has to be inspected first.” He eyed the envelope suspiciously and held it at arm’s length as he carried it to the x-ray machine at the security desk and laid it on the conveyor belt. Madalyn followed him, and watched it trundle in one side and emerge on the other.
“Now will you kindly give it to me?”
“No, ma’am. We have to open it. I wouldn’t be worthy of protecting you if I didn’t follow protocol.”
She considered snatching it out of his hand, running away, and locking herself in her office. How much information was in the envelope? How would she explain a receipt for a transfer of funds from a foreign country? She tried to appear calm as he painstakingly slit the envelope and drew out a single sheet of paper.
“It’s a receipt.” His lips moved as he read it to himself.
She made another grab for it. “A receipt? For what? Give it to me. It’s my private business.”
He finished reading and handed it to her. “There’s a package on hold for you at the post office.” He headed behind the security desk and muttered to himself as he pecked at the keyboard. “Nothing in the employee handbook about how to handle this.” He picked up the phone.
Madalyn left her coat lying on the floor and, clutching the receipt, ran outside. Her driver was waiting at the front of the building and hurried around to open the car door for her. As soon as they were settled, she spoke. “Driver?”
“Yes, Madam Director?”
“Have you ever been inside a post office?”
He laughed. “Oh, yes, Madam. I spend lots of time standing in line.”
“I’ll have to stand in line? Oh, of all the ridiculous, time-wasting ….” She scanned the receipt for clues. It said nothing about the sender or what the package might contain. She handed it to him.
“Take me there right away so I can get this over with.”
Wooden barricades sealed off a perimeter around the capital’s main post office. The driver nudged the car close to the curb and parked. Just ahead, marshals in riot gear swarmed from SWAT team vehicles and patrol cars like a colony of invading ants headed for the front of the building.
Hoyt Garrick, walkie-talkie in hand, approached her car. She rolled down the window.
“Madam Director, OCSD Security mobilized the bomb squad and SWAT to deal with your suspicious package.”
“There’s … I just want … whatever it is.” She handed the receipt out the window.
He scanned it and gave it back to her. “I understand, but in light of the current situation, it’s prudent to let the bomb squad check things out first.”
“Current situation?”
“People are angry about you reneging on the Essential Services opt-out. You were just attacked by a mob. We can’t be too careful.”
Madalyn got out of the car, hugging herself against the chilly December air, and watched customers and uniformed employees, ushered by members of the SWAT team, exiting the building.
A PeopleCam news crew’s producer elbowed his way through the crowd, making way for the camera operator and Pete Sheridan. The toothy anchorman tugged a postal employee in front of the camera and, arm around the other man’s shoulder, held out the microphone. Madalyn was too far away to hear what they were saying.
Her driver offered her his overcoat, and she draped it around her shoulders. After thirty minutes of standing in the cold, watching everyone rushing about, she retreated inside the car and folded her arms across her chest. How long was it going to take, anyway? She jumped when someone tapped on the window. It was Garrick. She rolled down the window.
“Here you are. I’ll bring the rest of them out to you as soon as I can.”
She got out and accepted the box. It was unexpectedly heavy, and she set it on the trunk with a thump. “The rest of them? I don’t understand. How many are there?”
“Forty. Says so on your receipt. Apparently they’re all that heavy. The bomb squad is checking them out, one by one.”
“Well, what’s inside?” Did she detect the hint of a smile? She tried to conceal the unease that welled up inside her.
“They didn’t say.” He chuckled. “Thought they might be a Christmas thing, or an early birthday gift of some kind. You have the big four-oh coming up this week, don’t you, Madam Director?”
She ripped off the packing tape and dug in, pulling out a dusty, dented metal coffee can. Her hands were cold, and she nearly dropped it as she peeled back the lid and poured out a handful of old American coins. She dropped them back into the can and felt around in the box, counting three more cans wedged into the wrapping paper.
If this was her payment for the formulas, it was worthless. It was worse than worthless.
Forty boxes of coins? I can’t spend them. I can’t deposit them. How will I explain where they came from?
She struggled to shove the first can back into the box, but in her haste, she knocked the box off the trunk, and the contents cascaded out, clinking and clanking and rolling everywhere, like a spreading silver puddle.
She stooped, intending to somehow scoop up the coins and hide them, but there were far too many. Flashes from cell phone cameras went off all around her. By the time she stood and faced the crowd, there wasn’t a phone in sight, but the averted eyes had all borne witness to the contents of her package.
Madalyn skidded through the spilled coins as she retreated to the car. “Take me back to the office!”
As soon as they were underway, she dialed the number of her last incoming call. A recorded message declared that the number had been disconnected.
She threw her phone to the floor and clenched her fists, unable to voice the scream of fury that threatened to come out. But then a calming thought swept over her. That terrorist thought he’d double-crossed her, but he was in for a surprise. He’d procured the CSD formulas because he wanted unwavering obedience from his minions. When he distributed doses of Phase Three, he’d decimate his own followers with Trina Jacobs’ poison, and, once again, Madalyn would emerge the victor.
Chapter 17
9:30 AM
Quadrant OP-439
Someone rattled the knob at Beth Severson’s front door. Had Jaycee come back? She flew across the foyer and threw it open. Her smile turned into a scowl. “What are you doing here? I hoped I’d never have to see you again.”
Her husband stepped over the threshold. “Missed you too, dearest.” She sidestepped him when he tried to kiss her on the cheek. “Relax. I just stopped by for a few things.”
He wandered into the dining room, and she hurried after him.
“I was on my way here when I got a call from an old friend. Said he had something I’d want to hear.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and inserted a chip drive. She recognized her voice, and Jaycee’s, on the playback.
“How dare you bug my house and listen in on a private conversation!”
Art pocketed his phone. “Don’t forget it’s my house. I had it bugged after you threw me out. I hoped the Baileys would get in touch with you, and it seems I’ve hit the jackpot. Why didn’t you tell me you had more than one connection to the Resistance?”
She shrugged. “What’s a marriage without a little mystery? I don’t recognize you at all anymore. The Baileys were our friends. It was you who betrayed them.”
“Tom’s nothing more than a giant thorn in my side. Delivering him and Lara back to Madalyn would have been enough to cripple the Resistance and assure my future at the OCSD—even without a close connection to another Resistance leader.”
He picked up the sheaf of papers Jaycee had left behind. “She’s coming back for these, I believe?”
She folded her arms. “You know she is.”
He nodded. “I imagine Mitch Carraway would come out with guns blazing, so to speak, if his daughter was in trouble.”
<
br /> “Leave her out of this.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Go back to the capital. You said the Baileys would be enough to keep you there. Take Mitch later if you feel you have to. Just let me have Jaycee. I don’t have anyone to love. Promise me you’ll wait until she’s here, and safe, before you go after the Baileys.”
The life she had envisioned for her daughter all those years ago could never be. Now, she had to protect her any way she could.
10:25 AM
Quadrant DC-005
Careen rolled over and draped an arm over her eyes to shut out the light from the bedside lamp. Her head pounded, and when her stomach lurched, she kicked away the covers and ran for the bathroom. She heaved over the toilet; the spasms brought up nothing but clear bile.
After her nausea passed, she came back into the room where Tommy occupied the far side of the bed. She shot him a what-do-you-think-you’re-doing look.
He folded his arms to make it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. “My permission slip is in your back pocket.”
“Permission slip?” She looked down and realized she was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. She drew the paper out and unfolded it. “‘Just in case you don’t remember when you read this: Madalyn lied about everything. None of the Resistance is in prison. Atari has control of the Link. You really are safe here. P.S. Don’t be mad at Tommy. You said it was okay for him to sleep in the bed last night, but it could have been the Phase Two talking.’ This is my handwriting. What’s going on? What did I mean by Phase Two?”
“Atari, um …”
“Did you let him dose me?”
“I didn’t let him anything. I never saw it coming, and neither did you.” He cringed away from her, as if he expected her to unleash her wrath on him. “He kind of … shot you with a blow dart tipped with CSD.”