Trojan

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Trojan Page 16

by Brandon Clark


  “What’s the play now?” Rogue asked. “Are they still going to help?”

  “I don’t know,” Bonnie said. “I can’t imagine they’ll back down, not after Miguel was killed. But I don’t know if they’re going to be interested in what I have to offer. There’s a good chance they just go in guns blazing and just take out as many Volkags as they can.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against that,” Clyde said. “Do we need to get you out of there? I can be there in an hour.”

  “I’m a big girl, thank you very much.”

  “Don’t risk our son’s life if you’re not sure.”

  “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “I’m going to let you two figure this out while I go watch a few cat videos,” Rogue said. She leaned back and two tiny kittens playing with a cardboard box popped up in her pupils.

  Bonnie glared at her.

  “I don’t need a knight, not this time,” she said. “What I do need is help making a plan. If we just sit around here, I don’t know how much longer they’ll keep me around without Miguel, if I’m not useful.”

  “Who’s in charge now?” Clyde asked.

  “Probably Eric?” Bonnie replied. “Not really sure if there was any succession planning. For all I know, the whole gang could be splintering.”

  “Were not splintering,” Stryker said.

  The other three’s heads snapped over to him as he stood and walked to their booth. His clean shaven face was smeared with dirt, and his combed hair was a rat’s nest of twigs and brambles.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Clyde said.

  “Sorry, burying my aunt and uncle took longer than expected,” Stryker snapped. “Maybe I should give you someone to bury so you can show me how it’s done.”

  “If you lay a hand on—” Clyde said.

  “Anyone in his family,” Bonnie cut in. “I’m sure there would be consequences for all of us.”

  She shot Clyde a warning look.

  “We’re all sorry for your loss,” she continued. “Your uncle was a good man. I wouldn’t be here without him. And we loved Francesca. Jacob has been asking when she’ll be back to play.”

  Stryker’s mouth quivered, and a tear gathered in the corner of his eye.

  “Thanks.”

  His voice was husky, and he had to clear his throat before continuing.

  “Look, I know this wasn’t your fault, but how the hell did they find us?” he asked. “That was supposed to be a safe house. I thought you set it up so they couldn’t trace us.”

  Clyde started to say something, but Bonnie kicked him under the table.

  “I’m still looking into it,” she said. “At this point, we have to assume that they’re just that good though.”

  “Great,” Stryker said. “You want us to go up against the hacker version of the Patriots.”

  “No, I said we assume they’re that good,” Bonnie said. “Which means we’re four times as careful.”

  She didn’t mention that it was mostly him that she wanted to be more careful. She had no doubts about Clyde or Rogue.

  “In other words,” Clyde said before Bonnie could stop him, “you sit out and let the grown-ups handle this.”

  “Screw you,” Stryker snarled. “What are you? Some four hundred pound hacker in his mom’s basement? You might be tough shit here, but I’ll cap your ass so fast you won’t have time to grab your keyboard.”

  “Just say where,” Clyde said. “And I’ll happily show you how a real man protects his family.”

  Stryker snarled and lunged across the table. Bonnie held up a hand, and he halted in mid-air, hovering several inches above the sticky surface.

  Then he dropped. Straight through the table.

  He reappeared in a flash of light, seated at the table.

  Clyde started laughing.

  “Such a tough guy,” he said. “Can’t—”

  Bonnie waved her still-outstretched palm at him.

  A hole appeared in the ceiling, and Hector launched up like a pilot out of a downed fighter jet. Then the ceiling closed again.

  Stryker smiled and opened his mouth.

  Bonnie held up a finger.

  “I swear to God, if you two can’t be civil, I’ll ban you both.”

  “He started it,” Stryker said.

  “Jesus, what are you? Five?”

  Bonnie pointed at Clyde’s now-empty seat in the booth.

  “You want to show that you’re the bigger man?” she said. “Figure out how to make it work. We don’t have time to be fighting amongst ourselves.”

  Stryker frowned.

  “I’m not going to just—”

  “Take a minute if you need,” Bonnie interrupted again. “If you two start another fight, I’ll boot you again. And this time I won’t let you back in. I can make the plan work without either of you, but it’ll be much less likely to get what we all want.”

  She checked her watch. “He should be back in about a minute,” she said. “Collect yourself, and I’ll tell him to behave as well. Think you can do that?”

  Stryker eyed her for several heartbeats, but then grabbed Rogue’s drink and tossed it back in one gulp.

  “Anyone need another round?”

  “Perfect timing,” Rogue said sarcastically. “I just happened to have finished mine.”

  He raised the empty glass to her and walked toward the bar.

  “He’d really be cute if he weren’t so angsty,” Rogue said.

  “He’s seventeen.”

  Rogue cringed. “Easy to forget in here,” she said. “So . . . what is the plan?”

  Bonnie sighed. “Hell if I know,” she said. “Something to keep them from killing each other.”

  “It’s funny,” Rogue said. “I’m pretty sure they’d get along well if they actually met. People say some crazy things when you can’t slug ’em.”

  Bonnie was nodding to agree when her phone rang.

  She frowned and pulled it out.

  “What?” Rogue asked.

  Bonnie turned it around so Rogue could see the ID of the person who’d sent her the private chat invite.

  Rogue’s eyes went wide. “That’s got to be a trap.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Bonnie said.

  “And if you give away your location again?” Rogue asked. “There’s no one to protect you this time. And no handy escape tunnel.”

  Bonnie shrugged. “You have a better plan?”

  Rogue cursed.

  Bonnie pulled on her mask and hit accept.

  Her vision swam in a sea of greens, blues, purples, and yellows. If Hendrix had been playing, she could have been at Woodstock. Instead, there was only a high pitched whine and the smell of hospital grade antiseptic.

  She expected the room to resolve into something else, but as her stomach settled, her feet hit something solid. She had no way of telling how far away the walls were, but when she reached out, her hand met only air.

  “Do you like it?”

  Bonnie looked around until she spotted Lucy in front of an easel. She had a tray of paint on either side, and her fingers were the same bright colors that were floating through the air. She turned so all Bonnie could see was the back of her brunette curls, a small ladybug clip in her hair.

  Each time she pushed a painted digit to the canvas, it slipped and flowed off to form its own river of swirling color as soon as she let go. In fact, the small canvas was the only white thing in the room.

  “It’s . . . different,” Bonnie managed.

  “Isn’t it?” Lucy said. “I get so bored with all those spaceships and castles. Hollywood has just made us so creatively bankrupt.”

  She pressed her thumb to the canvas, and a wave of magenta rolled across the room, giving them everything a sinister shadow.

  “Can’t say I disagree,” Bonnie said. “But I’m not really much of an art person.”

  “Oh, the things we’ve lost,” Lucy sighed. Then she drew a quick stick figure in blue, laughing as she ad
ded orange hair. When she finished, she pushed her hand through the canvas, and the figure faded.

  “Not to be rude, but I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Bonnie said. “Should I assume that this invitation means I’m on your radar now?”

  Lucy ignored her and continued painting, humming to herself.

  Bonnie shook her head and took a tentative step forward. She didn’t fall through the floor, which she regarded as a good thing, but she also didn’t seem to get any closer to Lucy.

  “Look, this really isn’t a good time,” she tried again. “Can we do this tomorrow?”

  “You’re welcome to leave,” Lucy said, still not turning. “But I can’t guarantee you’ll be invited back. We just need one more person, and then we should be able to get started.”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “By the way, do you want to use your current handle, or something else?”

  “Depends on what we’re doing.”

  “I’m going to introduce you to a friend of mine that needs some assistance,” Lucy said. “You don’t mind being on the other side of the law, right?”

  “Depends on how far on the other side of the law,” Bonnie said.

  “The Russian side.”

  Bonnie clamped her mouth shut. “Give me a second,” she said. She bent over and put her hands on the tops of her feet. The smooth, soft leather of the pumps she was wearing transformed into hardened battle-steel power armor. She straightened slowly, her jeans and blouse warping into the shiny green metal. Her vision took on a subtle yellow tint as it reached her neck, and she felt the pressure of the helmet and visor encasing her head.

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who traced me?”

  “No, but if the nightly news is to be believed, you took care of the person that did,” Bonnie said. “Which means it’s a perfect handle to use as a burner until I know I can trust your friend.”

  Lucy’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded slowly.

  “Fine,” she said. “But I can’t promise that you won’t get a reaction with that from my friend. He was the one that took care of that script kiddie, but it wasn’t as clean as I would have liked.”

  Bonnie nodded, glad she’d gone with a full-face visor.

  “I’ll get him.” Lucy melted back into the swirl of colors and was gone.

  Bonnie had nothing to do but wait. Her head started hurting from the barrage of pigment, and she closed her eyes.

  She was beginning to think that Lucy was just testing her to see if she really did have anything else to be doing when a delicate bell chimed and a swirl of colors to her left started warping outward. She watched as two globs of paint stretched out from a distance, leaving a thin trail to connect it back to the broader river.

  The globs twisted and writhed until they were vaguely human shaped. Lucy came through first, popping into existence without breaking stride.

  The other figure appeared to be fighting the paint, as the blob shifted and twisted. Then the colors started fading into the browns of hair, reds of clothing and grays of a giant steel ax.

  Bonnie gasped as she recognized the white features.

  Vlad.

  “Impaler,” Lucy said, finally turning. “Thanks for joining. Now we can get started.”

  “I told you I was busy,” the giant Russian growled. “What’s so damn important?”

  Lucy waved a hand toward Bonnie.

  “Since you seem to be floundering with your assignment,” she said. “I thought you could use a hand.”

  “Floundering?” Impaler growled. “You sent us into a kill zone.”

  “I told you it was a DS safehouse,” Lucy said. “You should have been more careful.”

  “My men are—” The noise turned into a strangled snarl as he saw Bonnie. “That little bastard is still alive?”

  He took a menacing step toward Bonnie. “You have the balls to send me to the wrong place, and then taunt me by bringing—”

  “It’s not the same hacker,” Lucy cut in. “Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

  Impaler was shaking, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The muscles in his jaw were bulging, and Bonnie was surprised he didn’t crack a tooth.

  “Is there a problem?” Lucy asked.

  Impaler closed his eyes and took a deep, nostrils flaring breath. Then he shook his head.

  “Good,” Lucy said. “You have a problem: you still owe me the code for the kiosks.”

  “We’re working on it,” Impaler growled. “We keep getting sidetracked by—”

  “I don’t really care,” Lucy said, her voice the quiet calm of someone used to being obeyed. “But I’m not heartless. I’m offering you a lifeline.”

  She looked at Bonnie meaningfully.

  “Take it or leave it,” Lucy continued. “But your deadline still stands.”

  Lucy shrugged and returned to her easel. She raised the brush and continued to paint, but her motions became stiff and repetitive.

  Impaler regarded her for several more breathes, clearly trying to get himself under control. Finally, he turned back to Bonnie.

  “So you’re some hotshot hacker?”

  “More or less,” she replied.

  “I need you to get something.”

  “How much are you paying?”

  Impaler snorted.

  “I’m not paying you a dime,” he said. “You work that out with her.”

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Lucy.

  “That’s not how I operate,” Bonnie said. “I want to know the terms upfront.”

  “I don’t really give a damn what you want,” he said. “I’ve been told to work with you, but if you quit, it’s not my problem.”

  “Seems like it may be your problem if you don’t get a new vending machine,” she replied. “Do you like DC Cola or PepiPop?”

  Impaler took a step toward her. Thanks to the extra few inches Stryker had built into his persona, Impaler didn’t tower over her anymore. Not that it made him any less intimidating.

  She marshaled the most uninterested expression she could muster, then realized he couldn’t see her face.

  “You can try to act all big bad wolf,” she said. “But at the end of the day, I can walk away. But it sounds like you’re a bit more locked into your current employer.”

  She nodded to Lucy.

  Impaler’s nostrils flared again, but he nodded as well.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you actually need?”

  “I need the code base for the new machines the Advanced Kiosk Company is rolling out,” he said. His mouth twisted into a frown like he’d bit a lemon as he spoke. “The ones in the airports.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not being paid to ask questions,” he snapped.

  “You just said I’m not getting paid at all,” she shot back.

  “I said you’re not being paid by me.”

  “Same difference.”

  “Just get the code,” he said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “When you have it, let me know, and we’ll set up a meeting. I’ll make sure you get paid.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “All systems are green,” Stryker said as he twisted several of the knobs on the control panel in front of him. The display above his head lit up, and Bonnie felt a deep rumble in her chest.

  “Keep the scanners off for now,” she said. “I want to make sure that we’re staying quiet.”

  “But don’t you—”

  “Keep them off,” Bonnie said. “We’re already going to be making enough of a racket with this many requests. Let’s not push our luck.”

  Stryker appeared to consider arguing, but he just shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  Bonnie ignored his tone and studied the screen before her.

  The Advanced Kiosk Company network perimeter was hardened beyond belief. Thirty-foot walls of reinforced concrete and a pair of machine gun nests covering every entrance. Stryker had found an unguarded entrance
the day before, but as soon as he’d crept inside the walls, he’d realized it was just an empty room. Then an iron gate had slammed down behind him, and hoses had flooded the room with warm honey, drowning him in a sticky, sweet lake.

  They’d tried to fly over the wall, but a trio of missiles had blasted them out of the sky before they got close.

  Bonnie had even dug through the most recent patch reports, trying to find an exploit on a rogue web server, but AKC was annoyingly consistent in their patching.

  So Bonnie had asked Rogue to do some recon, and with the help of a few CareerLink web crawlers, they’d come up with a plan.

  Bonnie twisted out of her own chair at the console and squirmed to the back of the tank. She hit her head several times as she tried to get to the back but finally managed to get to the stack of shells. Bonnie lifted one, her muscles groaning at the exertion and slid it into the gun barrel. It locked in place with a click, then she swung the cover closed and screwed it in place.

  “First round is locked and loaded,” she called up to Stryker.

  “Alright, ready?”

  Bonnie barely managed to cover her ears before he pressed another button on the console.

  Bonnie’s bones nearly liquified as the whole tank shook and the shell rocketed out of the barrel. She blinked several times and watched as the round left a white vapor trail on the monitor in front of Stryker.

  Then it broke apart into a hundred smaller rounds, each forming their own vapor trail.

  Bonnie held her breath as the rounds started hitting the concrete wall. A giant fireball erupted along the wall.

  There was no wind, so the cloud of thick black smoke settled on the wall for longer than it would have in real life, but when it finally cleared, Stryker didn’t bother trying to muffle his curse.

  The wall looked like it’d just been built. The concrete was a smooth, pristine gray.

  “Loading the second round,” Bonnie said.

  “What happened to being quiet?” Stryker asked.

  “This is quiet,” Bonnie said through gritted teeth. She could feel sweat starting to bead along her forehead. She wrestled the shell in place, then screwed the cover shut.

  There was another thundering boom and another line of vapor trails and a cluster of explosions.

  The wall was still untouched.

 

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