Hostile Attractions

by Raleigh Davis

  “She had some people she was working with. Before Corvus. I think she’s planning to release all this information with their help. But she has to get in touch with them first.”

  “She’s been at Corvus for at least five years,” Mark says. “And she’s been working on this the entire time?”

  “That’s what she told me.” I’d been planning to tell them before this, but now that I’m about to, I’m suddenly unsure. “And Minerva’s not her real name. She didn’t tell me that, but I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

  It’s out and it’s too late to pull it back, but I feel like I’ve betrayed her in some way. Which is ridiculous. She’s the one who’s not telling the truth, at least not the entire truth.

  “I’ll get on that too,” Finn says.

  He’ll probably find her real identity. Finn’s got resources in the dark web that I don’t even want to know about.

  “She can’t be allowed to release this information,” Dev says. “Don’t give her that drive back.”

  I start to protest how I can’t just take it from her when I realize that’s exactly what I’ve done. Everything Dev and the rest of them are suggesting is what I thought about doing in the first place… But somehow without Minerva here to fight back, it feels like they’re ganging up on her. And I’m the only one left to defend her.

  Which she doesn’t need. Not at all.

  “Why can’t the information be released?” I haven’t decided if I’ll give the drive back, but I’m not letting Dev make that decision unilaterally.

  No one answers because they’re all too busy agreeing with Dev and asking Finn to look for this or that on the drive.

  I’m used to being the odd one out here—the only lawyer among the programmers, a guy who can barely code a website. But I’m also the only one here who really understands the legal implications of what Minerva’s done. And just how much judicial firepower is going to be trained on her.

  “We’ll get you a hotel room,” Logan is saying to me. “And leave her there, on your boat, with the guards. I know you don’t like hotels, but it’ll be temporary.”

  “I’ve got an apartment he can use,” Paul says over the line.

  Mark nods. “Yeah, keep her nice and secure. And then we can figure out who’ll take her.”

  “Take her where?” I ask.

  “I wonder who she was going to sell this to,” Finn says, holding up the drive to stare at it.

  “You don’t believe the whistle-blower story?” Dev asks.

  “Her? Naw. Minerva is only ever looking out for Minerva.”

  I set my hands palm down on the table. “She. Was. Almost. Murdered.”

  The room gets very quiet.

  “We know,” Logan says, but I don’t think he gets it. “Still, you don’t have to stay there with her. She’s fine and safe with the guards.”

  “Right.” Finn sets the drive down. “You can get your own space, and in the meantime, she’s secure while we figure out… something.”

  It makes perfect sense. I don’t want to be that close to her even though I kissed her, and she doesn’t want to be that close to me. I was the choice of last resort.

  “She needs clothes,” I blurt out.

  “I’ll arrange to send over everything she’ll need. And someone to check on her,” Anjie says.

  I notice that Anjie isn’t going herself. Minerva is going to be… sealed up in my house, with no contact with the outside world. They’re going to make my home into a prison cell.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  Again, there’s silence. They’re readjusting, fitting their plans to me and my declaration.

  “We could move her,” Mark says slowly. “But it’s—”

  “We’re not moving her and I’m not leaving.” Everything snaps back into place as I take control of the situation. “There’s space for both of us. And she… she tells me things.”

  I almost said she trusted me, but that’s not true.

  Dev sits back. “You think she’ll tell you more about this plan of hers?”

  “Possibly. I’ve certainly gotten more out of her than any of the rest of you.” I might not be able to crack all the secrets of that hard drive, but I can get at some of hers.

  Logan snickers. “As if you’d want any more of her.”

  I see red. That’s the only way to describe it. Logan’s made me this mad before, but like, when I was five and he took my Legos.

  I grab hold of my anger, shove it away. “Anjie, could you bring the clothes yourself?” My voice is steadily neutral. “She’s…” I try to think of how to describe her size. Smaller, more vulnerable than you might guess. But that’s not a size. “She’s shorter than January. Thinner than Callie. And can you bring some bathroom stuff?”

  “Toiletries? Yeah, I can do that. And I can find some clothes that will work.”

  I nod, then rise from my chair. “I need that drive back when you’re done. I’m going to start researching Minerva’s options.”

  No one stops me as I leave. But I don’t make the mistake of assuming that they’ve given up on their original plans.

  Chapter 13

  I’m going to have to talk to Elliot about his internet security. But I’ll have to do it after I leave here since his lapses are my opportunities.

  Once he left, I went in search of the books he mentioned. I wasn’t going to try my chances at getting past the guards, so I figured I should find something to do.

  And I did. Behind the stacks of books, I found an old e-reader, clearly unused. I bet he got it as a gift, turned it on just to be polite, then tossed it aside in favor of paper books.

  I plugged it in and switched it on and then did a dance when it immediately connected to the Wi-Fi.

  So here I am on the internet when I’m not supposed to be. The operating system on this thing isn’t exactly sophisticated, so I can’t do too much—and the little keyboard is absolutely torturous—but I have managed to check the fake email accounts I set up. No reply from anyone.

  I don’t let myself be disappointed by that.

  Next, I read every news article I can find on my “promotion.” My position at Corvus wasn’t a normal one. I wasn’t an engineer or developer or even a vice president—there was no official title attached to me. According to HR, I was classified as a specialist, but my specialty was Arne Fuchs and him alone. I did what he wanted, made his wishes happen. People might have been even more afraid of me than they were of him.

  Promotions weren’t a thing that happened to me. Sometimes I got a raise, which I only found out about when I got my paychecks. Otherwise, Fuchs gave me orders and I gave him results. There were no performance reviews.

  So giving me the title of COO is a tactic of his. He’s trying to make me do something. Probably come back. Or be dumb enough to expose myself so he can catch me.

  But he knows I’m not that stupid. And he knows exactly what I took, what’s at risk for me here. Perhaps he’s so angry he’s flailing. It’s not something he does often—too much of the world bends itself to his whims—but it does happen.

  Unless…

  I drum my fingers on the dining table. Outside I can see two large men, earpieces in, strolling in front of the houseboat. Occasionally one of them hops onto the deck, looks around.

  I wonder what the neighbors think of this. Because these guys aren’t trying to be discreet.

  That’s Elliot’s problem though, not mine.

  And I think I know now why Fuchs did it. It wasn’t to flush me out—it was to cast suspicion on me. He might have guessed that I went for help when I left. And that whomever I contacted might not be so eager to believe me.

  If that was the plan, it worked. Elliot tossed me out without a second thought. Then Fuchs struck.

  I’m beginning to believe that I’m not getting out of this intact. It’s either prison or death at the end of this road. I suppose that’s karma coming for me after everything I’ve done. I didn’t mean the bad things; it was all to stop
more bad things—justice won’t care about my excuses.

  Time to google my friends, see if I can find anything about them.

  Deena doesn’t seem to be anywhere on social media. There’re a few profiles with the same name, but they’re not her. And there’s nothing about a job anywhere or former addresses or any of it. She must be periodically wiping her internet presence. There’s nothing there that will help me contact her, but if she’s being so cautious, she must still be committed to our cause.

  Next I look up Chad. Instantly I get a bunch of social media profiles—and they’re definitely his. Pictures of his wife and kid are prominent on them. His son is a toddler and amazingly cute. So he married and started a family.

  It’s not what I would have expected, given how Chad used to talk about relationships and monogamy. I guess he found someone to change his mind.

  His Facebook profile says he works at some place called Starline Enterprises. That website says they’re a company that specializes in “corporate solutions.” I have no idea what those might be. I can’t imagine Chad, at least the Chad I knew, enjoying a job like that. But the Chad I knew seems to be gone.

  Even if Chad contacts me, I can’t message him back. With a family, he can’t get pulled into this.

  Finally I search for Reagan. The first thing that comes up is a GoFundMe page. And the update is bad.

  Reagan is dead. She got sick—cancer. Couldn’t afford the treatment, so she started a fund-raising page. But… but she couldn’t quite raise enough.

  So she died.

  I have to put the e-reader down so I can breathe. Reagan was one of my best friends. It hurt like hell to cut her off when I went to Corvus. I didn’t contact her first because she had enough on her plate—lots of family issues.

  I used to go to their house for Thanksgiving. Her family was loud, prone to fights, but Reagan used to roll her eyes and laugh about it. After being on my own for so many holidays, I loved it even as it overwhelmed me. But if Reagan hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have been half as fun.

  And she’s gone. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Because I was still selfishly absorbed in my mission.

  Once more, I summon Minerva and push the pain of losing my friend aside. There’s no time to mourn. I have to finish this. I can’t get emotional. I don’t have to keep pretending to be Minerva, but I still need some of her tools.

  Perhaps it’s time to cut all my old ties. To keep going like I have been: completely alone.

  I call up Twitter and start scrolling through several journalists’ feeds. More than one has their secure messaging information in their profile. Once I get the drive back, I could send one of them everything.

  I’ll be caught even if it’s sent anonymously. Fuchs will make sure of that. And his friends at the CIA and the NSA will be furious that I spoiled their scheme. People like that don’t let grudges go.

  But at least when I go down, I’ll only take myself.

  Of course, that’s assuming the journalists would even print the story. And that the watchdogs in government who are supposed to stop these kinds of things do.

  I get up, start to pace. The sweatpants slide down my hips, and I just catch them in time. Having proper clothes that fit would be nice. My suit was completely ruined by the rain, which I’m strangely grateful for. Putting on Minerva’s clothes again isn’t something I want to do.

  I want new clothes. I want to leave the shell of Minerva behind finally.

  In prison, I’ll get some nice orange jumpsuits. I laugh to myself about that. Be careful what you wish for.

  I flick through Twitter more, looking for the activists I used to know. Some are gone, probably banned, and some haven’t posted in years. A few are still there though, still posting about the things in the dark that the government and corporations don’t want you to know about.

  In the end, I stop on a particular journalist’s account, a guy who wrote an in-depth dissection of Fuchs and the awful shit he’s done. Arne was so mad about that he couldn’t even speak for several days. I’d been sent off to find any dirt about the journalist, anything Fuchs could use to hurt him.

  I found some things, but I told Arne I didn’t. It was one of the few times I disappointed him.

  That journalist might be the best person to hear what I have to say. He works for Logan’s wife though, and she hasn’t forgotten what I did or forgiven me for it. Her eyes when I came down those stairs yesterday morning…

  No, I can’t go to him. Not at first.

  I find another journalist, one who writes for a prestigious East Coast paper. He’s done some interesting tech stuff, a story or two on electronic surveillance in other countries. So I message him, giving him the general outline of what I have. I don’t say who I am or that I work for Corvus. And I pray like hell that Fuchs hasn’t cracked the encryption on this particular secure messaging app.

  My heart pounds for a long time after I hit Send. I’ve taken a big step here. A frightening one.

  But it had to be done. I didn’t steal all that data to keep it to myself. I stole it to give it to the world. To let them know what Corvus was doing to them in secret.

  I wipe my hands on my sweatpants, then go upstairs to put the e-reader back where I found it. Elliot wouldn’t be happy to know I’ve used the internet without his permission. And I need to keep my access secret so I can keep using it.

  I’ve got the last book back in place, the e-reader hidden deep in the cupboard, when there’s a knock at the door.

  I slam the cupboard shut. My breath is coming too fast, my skin blooming with cold sweat. It’s not Elliot—he wouldn’t knock—so it must be the guards. And something’s happened.

  With small, steady steps, I make my way down the stairs. I force my face to assume my Minerva mask. Emotionless. Blank.

  Inside, I’m anything but. If something’s happened to Elliot… If he was hurt because he’s helping me…

  I cock my head, peer out the tiny window set in the door.

  There’s a woman outside. Something about her is familiar.

  It takes me a moment to remember who she is—the office manager. She works for Bastard Capital. Except she’s more than an office manager. Her position for them is more like mine was for Arne.

  I open the door a crack and say nothing. I doubt it’s a trick, but I can’t be too careful.

  “Elliot sent me.” The woman’s voice is strained, like she doesn’t want to be here. “He told me to tell you that the code word is sleep.”

  That’s what he told me to do last night, when he was holding me and I was too keyed up to relax.

  She reaches into a bag. “And I’ve got your drive.” She holds it up.

  I wrench open the door then reach for it. I don’t care if I’m being rude or graceless—I’ve given up too much for that thing to care.

  “I have some things for you.” She holds up the bag. “I’m Anjie, by the way.”

  I realize I haven’t said a single word. “Minerva. But you know that.”

  “I do.” She takes half a step toward the doorway. “Can I come in?”

  I fall back, let her inside. “It’s Elliot’s home, not mine.”

  She brushes past me on the way to the kitchen/living area. “It’s nice of him to let you stay here.” Her eyes narrow as she turns to face me. “Most people don’t realize it, but Elliot is a really good guy.”

  Ah, I’m being warned. He kisses like a bad boy, I’m tempted to say. “I haven’t done anything to him.”

  She watches me for a long moment. “But you did things to other people. People close to him.”

  I cross my arms. “And now I’m going to expose those things—and Arne Fuchs—to the entire world.”

  “But you still did them.”

  I did. And there’s no way out of that.

  “Did Elliot send you here to tell me that?” I ask pointedly.

  One perfect eyebrow rises. All of her is perfect, polished to a high vintage gleam. “I don’t know what you sa
id or did to get him to believe you, but the rest of us aren’t fooled.”

  “Right.” I raise my own eyebrows. “Because you guys just loved me before.”

  She shoves the bag at me. “Just so we understand each other. This isn’t a truce.”

  “Oh, I completely understand.” I take the bag at the last moment, almost when she’s about to drop it.

  “There’re clothes and toiletries and food in there.” She stalks to the door, her heels sharp on the hardwood floor. “And we’ve made a copy of that drive. In case you were thinking of selling it to anyone. We’ll hear about it. And we’ll stop you.”

  “Since I’m not doing that, knock yourself out.”

  She spins dramatically, her full skirt flaring out. “And don’t even think about messing with Elliot.”

  I almost laugh because it’s like we’ve entered an episode of Dynasty. But she’s deadly serious.

  They all love Elliot. Everyone at Bastard Capital. He’s stiff and difficult and not just with me… but they love him. They’re protecting him.

  My amusement dies.

  “Elliot can hold his own,” I say with quiet seriousness. “And all I want to do is get in touch with my friends. Then you’ll never see or hear from me again.”

  “Good.” There’s a touch of vicious pleasure there. “Elliot said he’ll be back this afternoon.”

  Something lightens in my chest. He didn’t say that he was leaving me all alone here, under guard, but I did have the suspicion that he might. It would have been the logical thing to do.

  But he’s coming back. He’s not deserting me.

  “I’ll see him then.” I hug the bag to my chest. “And thank you for bringing these.”

  I’m so giddy over Elliot coming back that I’m actually being polite to this woman. Minerva would have never done that.

  But I don’t have to be her anymore.

  Chapter 14

  “Minerva?” I call into the darkened houseboat. “Minerva?”

  It’s only four in the afternoon, but the house is dark and quiet. I nodded to the security guys as I came in and they nodded back, so she hasn’t escaped. But the house feels very empty.