by A W Wang
Her lips purse when I don’t answer. Then spreading her hands in front of her body, she says in a softer tone, “I said this at the funeral, and I’ll say it again. If there was anything this craziness could accomplish to bring Mary back, I’d do it too.”
“I just want to know what she was up to during those last days.”
“For what purpose? Suppose there is a secret and you find out, what will you do then?”
I rub the scruff of my neck. “I guess, nothing.”
“This is what you look like,” she says with a swipe of her hand.
The hologram reverses to show a haggard face wearing a three-day stubble. Sweat and drool have soaked through the man’s dress shirt. I’m shocked at the empty stare and barely recognize him.
Mary hates facial hair.
The chair squeaks as I straighten.
After the image flips back to Emily, she says, “Nick, promise me for Mary’s sake. Promise you’ll be able to function without her. And then after a little more time, move on?”
My eyes moisten, and I wipe a non-existent tear, not wanting to show weakness. I give a long sigh. “I promise.”
“Good. In a couple of days, I’ll check in again and see how you’re doing.”
When I nod, the hologram vanishes.
I scrunch my lips, fighting to control my leaky emotions. She’s right; Mary would hate what I’ve become. With a huff, I stand on shaky legs. All of Mary’s stuff—the trinkets, the vintage furniture, the wallpaper—every last memory needs to go.
But first, I reach into my pocket and drag out the card. A long moment passes before I unclench my fingers, and it falls into the trash. I’ll burn the damn thing later, which will mark a definitive step of moving forward.
Feeling a weight lifted, I stumble into the bathroom, dragging the box of alcohol. I avoid staring at the mirror while I dump the contents of the last two bottles into the sink with weary moans. After rinsing off my face and drinking a few handfuls of water, I head back into the den.
The most important thing is delaying some bill payments. Perhaps if I sell the cottage and everything inside. That might be something I’ll have to do for the best of all involved.
“Jasmine, on.”
A pink glow breaks up the morning sunlight. “Yes?”
“Sort the pending bills in order of due date priority. And assemble the personal contact information so I can call the lenders.”
“There are no pending bills.”
“What?”
Her bland expression stays the same. “There are no pending bills.”
That can’t be right. Collectors have been crawling up my ass for the last year. “Three days ago, the number was fifty-nine.”
“Yes.”
“Now it’s zero?”
“Yes.”
“Have you developed a sense of humor?”
Her tiny eyes blink, but no reply answers the poor half-joke.
I slump into the chair, pinching my nose.
This should make me happier, it really should…
“Anything else I should know about?”
“Yes, there is other good news,” Jasmine replies, her happy inflection grating on my darkening mood.
“Oh?”
“Two years of standard salary has been deposited into your bank account.”
“Where did that come from?”
“An insurance policy.”
Not liking any of the unexpectedly good news, I set my jaw. “What policy?”
“There are no other details.”
As I rub my cheeks hard enough to remove the stubble, I consider the ramifications.
I lean over and reach into the trash can. After a few seconds of fumbling through bottles and wrappers, my fingers touch the familiar silky surface. I yank the card out and hold it to the sunlight, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.
Five
Below the starry night sky, the concrete stairwell leads off the deserted boulevard and down into a sparsely lit basement corridor. Under the watchful lenses of well-placed surveillance cameras, I march to the end of the brick passage and pound on a gray metal door.
After a few seconds, the view slat opens.
“You Pete?” I say to a narrowed pair of eyes.
“No names,” a voice replies with suspicion.
I purse my lips, holding back an obnoxious remark about the over-the-top secrecy. “Jimmy sent me.”
“How do you know Jimmy?”
“He was my roommate in college. The one who recommended I take the computer class where I met my wife.”
“How do you feel about computers?”
“They’re useful, and I hate programming them.”
Although the eyes relax, the man says, “I’m still not sure why I should help you.”
“Because you’re getting paid.”
“I have enough money.”
“Then because you owe Jimmy, and Jimmy owes me,” I reply testily.
A huff drifts through the slat. “Fine, let’s do this.”
The hollow clangs of bolts being pushed aside reverberate down the long corridor.
When the metal door squeaks open, a ferret-faced man, who I assume is Pete, pokes his head out and looks past me. Given the security cameras, the extra safety measure is redundant, but instead of saying anything, I extend an open palm with a money chip.
He opens the door a crack wider. “Inside.”
The metal slab bangs closed after I step through the unwelcoming entranceway, and my host bends to pull the bolts back into place.
Although I’m disappointed tinfoil isn’t lining the discolored brick walls, the rest of the large, windowless room meets my expectations, starting with the reek of old sweat and older food tainting the dank air. Across the dingy space, intermittent LED bulbs spray cones of light over metallic frames and folding tables sagging under the weight of every type of computer and display. Connecting wires lie everywhere as a testament to his fears of leaking too much information via the airwaves. Another pile of equipment next to a low cabinet holds a boxy toolkit and completes the nerdy atmosphere.
The smallish man, who doesn’t want to be called by his real name of Pete, steps in front of me. Although his scruffy face is on the youthful side of forty, gray has stabbed into his dark hair and bushy brows. I presume a secretive life is stressful.
After he takes the monetary chip, we head to a U-shaped command station, where he wipes food wrappers from the compact equipment.
“So what do you need?” Pete says, plopping into a comfortable gamer chair.
“Information.” I hand him a slip of paper. “My wife died two weeks ago, and I want to figure out what happened by checking the hospital footage.”
“Why do you think there’s anything suspicious with her death?”
Reluctantly, I pull the card from my jacket pocket and give it to him.
He closely examines the dull gray surface, frowning. “A fancy business card?”
“It was displaying numbers.”
“That’s all?” he says, setting the card on the desk.
Tired of explaining my motives to everyone, I nod and fold my arms.
His brows wrinkle in thought before he swivels back to the display, saying, “Whatever, I’ve got other stuff I need to get to.”
“Great,” I say, hiding my irritation.
He slips on a pair of sparkly gloves, and a shallow hologram shimmers into existence. With spreading motions, he widens the floating window to curve over the desk. After reading the paper, his hands perform more gestures, and impressive details of the city blossom within a blue and yellow background of holographic pixels.
A line of thumb-sized characters materializes over the hologram when he flicks a two-fingered salute. They resemble Jasmine, except are far more colorful and detailed. In fact, more than real.
“These are the hacks I use for this type of information gathering,” he explains. “I may not look like much, but with these guys, I’m a god.”<
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“You mean like part of a team?”
He snorts. “No, that’s Jimmy talking. These are traits to make me better. Teamwork’s got nothing to do with it. It’s all about the individual, and I’m the best there is.”
Not understanding any of the underlying code, I decide to like him less for the severe case of egomania. However, since I only need to put up with him for a few minutes, I clench my jaw, refraining from any sort of snarky answer.
As more motions with the gloves follow, the holographic view of the care center expands. He flicks a finger at the waiting characters. A red-clad ninja somersaults into the hologram, spiraling and shrinking into the shallow representation of the former warehouse.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“This hack can penetrate their server security, so we can see the camera footage.”
Dizzying videos cross the display for several seconds before an overlaid pane appears with the view of the hallway to Mary’s cubicle.
“Search from dusk till dawn for anyone exiting or leaving two forty-one,” the hacker commands.
In fast motion, nurses, doctors, and patients zip up and down the long pathway. When I exit the room, the action pauses.
“Find the next instance,” he says.
As fewer people wander during the deepening night hours, the movement lessens until everything stills. A few moments later, a nurse charges into the cubicle.
“Sorry, that’s the time of death.”
I sink into a plastic chair, crestfallen. “Could the hack have missed anything?”
He shakes his head. “This procedure is pretty simple.”
“I guess you’re not a god,” I mumble just loud enough for him to hear.
“What?”
Pretending I didn’t just question his godhood, I say, “Jimmy told me that if he couldn’t find anything, you wouldn’t be able to either. So I guess I shouldn’t be disappointed.”
His eyes narrow as he scowls. “But Jimmy isn’t a computer genius like me, and since you’re paying a lot of money…”
He flicks his hand, and the ninja returns to the waiting line of software. A detective—complete with a Sherlock Holmes trench coat, hat, and magnifying glass—jumps into action.
A fresh window leaps into existence. Vertical and horizontal lines partition its surface into dozens of camera feeds. The flattened holograms run backward and forward, faster and faster, until the flood of information resembles a jumble of static. Even with the hacker minutely controlling the search with his fingers, a half-hour passes before two images rise from the chaos. One shows the empty hallway, while the other displays a heel disappearing behind a corner.
Pete leans close, wiping the back of a gloved hand over his sweaty forehead. “Interesting. Very interesting. This has been altered starting at midnight.”
I lift my glasses and squint. “What?”
He maneuvers the window toward me. “There’s a mismatch between the two cameras covering this intersection. The timestamps say 12:01 am. See, the heel matches a water stain on the carpet, so this movement was missed, but the other’s been wiped and just repeats the empty hallway.”
As I process the implications, he says, “This is sophisticated stuff. What exactly were you and your wife into?”
“We ran a public relations consulting firm.”
He arches an eyebrow and points at the pictures. “This says you aren’t that boring.”
I shrug. “I’m in the dark as much as you, but you’re way ahead of Jimmy.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Reveling in the compliment, he flamboyantly waves his hands like a symphony conductor. The Sherlock Holmes created window disappears, and the map recedes to encompass the area outside the building. “Since the hospital cameras all feed into the same server, we’re not getting anything from there.”
After the detective leaps back to his place among the cast of caricatures, the hacker calls an old dame, complete with a slinky black dress and elegant smoke holder. She inhales on the black stick and turns into a puff of smoke, seeping into the display around the hospital.
Fascinated, I watch as mist gathers around points in the parking lot and over the nearby streets. The map pans several blocks, stopping at a police station.
“The security is a little trickier,” Pete mumbles, completely engrossed in the puzzle.
A masked burglar dressed in horizontal black and white stripes crawls into frame. After it shrinks and disappears into the station house, another window sparkles into existence.
Pete dumps the timestamp of the anomaly into the virtual setting.
“Prior ten minutes.”
During the next few seconds, holograms erupt onto the display then fade.
I hold my breath when the focus shifts to an empty street. Under a lone overhanging light, a black SUV pulls up. Three people exit and walk quickly into the hospital, where they stop at the desk and talk to the nurse and doctor.
They were hiding something.
“Here’s the synchronized entrance footage,” Pete says.
The display updates and shows the lobby with empty chairs and a bored nurse behind the counter. As the video advances, nobody enters, but clearly from the street view, the strangers boldly stride through the glass doors.
I release the breath I was holding. “I was right. There was something.”
“That’s for sure.”
The hacker calls a new caricature, who I’m pretty certain from the white lab coat is a forensic technician.
While the hack isolates and enhances the three faces from differing outdoor camera angles, I study their movements. The taller man interlocks his fingers with the lone female.
Professionals shouldn’t be doing that…
The screen wipes to show their faces in high resolution. Pete rubs his gloves together. “Jimmy can’t hold a candle to me. Now, to figure this out.”
Although my heart pounds and my hands tighten on the plastic armrests, I force my breathing to remain steady.
The forensic tech and the others leap back to their waiting positions. A giant ant crawls to the display. When the all-too-real-looking insect reaches a newly formed map of the United States, it divides. The smaller ants fragment into innumerable ant-specks that sweep into the hologram. The motions of the swarming dots are a bit too realistic, and I scratch a nonexistent itch under my jaw while my stomach tightens.
“There are AIs everywhere, so this will get tricky. Might take a while.”
“I’ve got no place better to be.”
Pete pulls off his gloves and grabs an open bag of potato chips.
I refuse when he offers me one.
Crunches fill the background as the ants do their work, checking every corner of the country. Pictures of close matches are tossed to the waiting forensic technician for evaluation.
When a positive identification is made for each of the visitors, the hacker tosses down the bag, spilling chips over the table.
He says, pulling on the gloves, “We’ve got their names. I’ll target some government databases to get their addresses. Will that be enough?”
The plastic chair scrapes on the concrete floor as I shift with anticipation. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”
Shrinking, the burglar dives back into the map and heads west as the giant ant reassembles with the rest of the waiting software.
“What’s in Nevada?”
“One of the main government databases. Just be quiet, I gotta concentrate,” he says, preoccupied with the action.
After the view expands to highlight the target location, the miniaturized burglar sneaks into a data-farm icon.
Minutely gesturing with his fingers, the hacker leans close, his shallow breaths floating through the rapidly changing symbols of the hologram.
For a few seconds, nothing happens.
He smiles, his shoulders relaxing. “Okay, got it. Now to get out without leaving a footprint.”
Static frosts the window.
As if struck, the display ripples outward as the horizontally striped pieces of the burglar explode, flying off the edges and disappearing.
A strange thrill runs through me from the destruction of the software, and I jump to my feet.
More characters dive into the fray as the hacker gestures wildly with his gloves.
The hologram bows when a gigantic eel pushes into the frame and opens a wide maw filled with pointy teeth.
With a start, I edge backward.
A curse leaves the hacker’s mouth. Desperately moving his hands, he sends more of his minions into the defense. Different types of soldiers, flying insects, and even an eagle descend into the hologram and attack the hideous intruder.
The eel snaps back, shredding many of the characters, the distinctive bits of their appearances whirling outward and fading into oblivion.
Another wave leaps into the fight, and the line of waiting software empties. The pockets of chaos rumbling in and out of view become too fast to follow.
The screen recedes as slices appear across the eel’s body. A moment later, the terrifying monster shrinks into the distance, chased by the remaining characters.
When things still, the hacker fires his arm through the display and yanks out the connecting cable.
As the hologram fades into yellow and blue static, only a few of the hacks return from the fight. Huge gaps interrupt the previously crowded waiting line.
Eyes wide and hands shaking, Pete pushes his chair backward. He faces me and says between pants, “What the hell’s going on?”
Before I answer, he grabs the electronic card from the desk and holds it up to a light.
“What is this thing?”
I shrug.
He rises and brushes past me with a scowl, hustling to a dusty pile of hardware near the low cabinet.
More than a bit curious, I follow.
Metal and plastic clatter as he tosses aside a wide assortment of devices. After a minute, he grabs a machine with a clear dome and dumps the card inside. When he plugs the device into a wall socket, the innards glow and a window pops up, displaying the card’s schematics.
As he stares at the data, his jaw drops.