The Recoil Trilogy 3 Book Boxed Set: Including Recoil, Refuse and Rebel

by Joanne Macgregor

“Three minutes, five seconds,” I call, wiping a sleeve across my forehead.

  Come on, Robin. Come on.

  “Two minutes … One minute forty-five seconds,” I yell. “We’re out of time!”

  The machines hum, Ananya sobs, Quinn drums impatient fingers on the desk, and on my watch, the seconds tick down the ever-shortening time like a burn traveling down a fuse to a bomb.

  “Sixty seconds!”

  We’re not going to make it.

  “It’s in! It’s uploaded,” Robin calls triumphantly.

  He and Neil slap high fives, and I sag against the desk in relief. But there’s no time to relax.

  “And now?” I ask.

  “Now we wait and hope like hell it works,” my brother says, scratching his fake beard vigorously.

  If Robin and Neil’s code succeeds, the malware will piggyback on the released software. It’ll shoot between the nodes on that map in the hallway at the speed of light, and will start downloading everywhere in seconds.

  “We can’t wait here,” Neil warns. “We need to get out before they detect their system’s been breached.”

  “How long before they find out?” I ask.

  “After the first player out there finishes the download and starts playing, things are going to happen quickly. Fifteen minutes into his first game, the hack will activate the announcement. Then, I imagine, phones will start ringing in the support center pretty quick.”

  “How long will it take to download the software?” I ask.

  “Five minutes,” Robin replies with a shrug. “Maybe a bit longer — there’s going to be masses of traffic on the servers.”

  Five minutes to download. Fifteen minutes of game time. That means we’ve got twenty minutes to get out of here. It’s more than enough time.

  But then Neil says, “Of course, they could always pick up the breach sooner from the ops side. Probably will.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” I say, but my sarcasm is wasted on Neil. He merely nods.

  We push the two operators under the desk, where Quinn positions them with their faces to the wall and then secures each of them to a cross-bar of the desk with more zip ties.

  I open the door and check the hallway first. It’s still empty.

  “Everyone, out — quick!” I say. “Robin, don’t forget the bag.”

  Neil is the last to exit the data center — he probably wishes he could stay. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I send a round into the retinal scanner, ducking away from the plastic shrapnel which flies out. I send another round into the intercom system, and it dies with a wheezing moan. Quinn gives the door an experimental push. It’s locked. No one will be getting in there to thwart the malware upload and distribution anytime soon.

  “To the elevators, run!”

  But we’re only halfway down the short corridor, just passing the network map which is now lit up with pulsing lights like a Christmas tree, when the elevator pings its arrival on this floor. I skid to a halt, turning my ankle in the stupid shoes.

  “Take cover,” I yell, dropping awkwardly to one knee in the tight skirt and aiming my Ruger at the opening doors. This time the safety is off.

  “Don’t shoot the white hats, Blue,” Bruce says as he and Cameron step out of the elevator.

  I lower my weapon to the accompaniment of sighs and exclamations of relief from behind me.

  “How’d it go?” I ask the boys, rubbing my sore ankle.

  “Mission accomplished,” Cameron says.

  “We overpowered the guards in the security room, disabled the video feeds, and destroyed their communication devices.” Bruce mimes stomping his foot down on something and crushing it.

  “Did you hurt anyone?” I ask.

  “Meh, not much,” says Bruce. “How did you guys do?”

  “Mission accomplished,” Robin says, grinning widely.

  “And no injuries,” I add. “But we need to get out of here now.”

  At that very moment, a series of beeps sound from the biometric scanner beside the elevator.

  “Nooo!” I groan as I run to it.

  It’s been activated. The light is red, and the display reads: NO ACCESS. I thumb the button to summon the elevator. Looking up, I see the light for the fourth floor is illuminated — it’s already on this floor. But without the right eyeball, there’s no way to get the doors to open.

  I look back over my shoulder at the destroyed access system hanging in pieces off the wall beside the data center door. Pete, Ananya and their retinas are locked inside. Stupid. I am so freaking stupid. Why didn’t I foresee that this could happen?

  “It’s active?” Quinn asks.

  I nod.

  “How are we going to get out?” Sofia asks, sounding panicky.

  “We could try forcing the elevator doors open,” Bruce suggests, “using Blue’s rifle as a lever.”

  Quinn shakes his head. “Even if we could — and I doubt it would work— it would set off alarms, and there’d be a welcome party waiting for us when the doors opened.”

  “How did it get switched on if you ‘secured’ the security room?” Evyan asks Bruce.

  “Dunno,” he says. “Maybe it was on a preset timer.”

  “Or maybe the guards have been discovered, or the system breach. They may know we’re in here,” Quinn says.

  We hurry back to the data center on the remote chance there’s some way back inside.

  “No way, man,” Bruce says, after examining the door. “Even if I had explosives I wouldn’t know where to stick them. This door is probably reinforced with spokes projecting into the wall. Blue, why didn’t you take one of them hostage?”

  It didn’t even occur to me, that’s why.

  “What about the fire escape?” Evyan asks.

  Quinn and I glance to the end of the hallway, beyond the elevator. That’s where the fire escape stairwell was positioned when we used it to access the second floor last time we were here. But on this floor, there’s just a blank wall.

  “The stairwell doesn’t come all the way up to this floor. That’ll be part of their security,” Quinn says. “They must count the stairs from Roth’s office the receptionist mentioned as their fire-escape route.”

  “Yeah, that’s the only way out now,” I say. “But it means we’re probably going to have to fight our way past Hawke and his security detail to do so.”

  Bruce immediately cheers up at the prospect, but I’m not pleased. I had hoped for us to get in and out without anyone getting hurt. Now, that’s looking increasingly unlikely.

  Chapter 40

  Outlook

  The door at the end of the hall looks to be plain wood, and the only sign on it is a brass nameplate: ROBERTA ROTH, CEO.

  There’s no answer when we knock, and a quick test confirms it’s locked, but Evyan has us inside in under a minute. As soon as we enter, I see that the whole back wall of her office, except for a door marked FIRE EXIT, is a slanted glass overhang that overlooks the gaming arena where six months ago, Bruce and I shot our way into the ASTA Academy in a sniper simulation exercise.

  Was Roth watching that day? Already selecting her future killers and super-soldiers, comparing our real-life performance in the simulation to our scores in the virtual game? How long had she been keeping tabs on us by means of The Game, through the tinted window of her office and the cameras at ASTA, and via her many eyes and ears — the unit commanders, and the snitches like Leya?

  Bruce nailed it when he said we were like rats in a lab. Roth has been the experimental scientist, selecting samples, changing protocols, measuring results. Playing with us all the way.

  “Evyan, can you lock the door to the hall? And can you guys try to barricade it in some way so no one can come through?”

  While Quinn, Bruce and Cameron shove desks and filing credenzas in front of the door, I get the telescopic attachment of my rifle from the duffel bag and peer through the scope down at the arena floor, far below us.

  The presidential entour
age is already in the arena. The camera crew is arranging lights, someone is touching up Roth’s makeup, and Hawke is combing his hair again. They’re setting up in front of the statue of a cavalryman astride a rearing horse. That’s where I shot Sarge in the neck with a blue paintball, and he praised me for my coolness in a crisis.

  Sarge probably ensured every simulation ended at this spot in the arena so Roth could have a bird’s eye view of the final players from her crow’s nest.

  A slim figure with short, spiky black hair stands on one side of Roth. Before I’ve even trailed my scope up to her face, before I’ve seen the Chinese character on the outer corner of her left eye, I know who it is.

  “Leya,” I breathe.

  I glance back at my old ASTA cadets.

  Cameron’s head snaps up, Quinn grimaces, and Bruce’s face settles into hard lines. “I want a word with her,” he says.

  “Those stairs,” I say, indicating the fire exit door, “will take us all the way down to street level in the arena. I reckon we’ll come out close to where they’re filming. Hawke has three of his secret service agents with him, plus that big personal bodyguard. The others must be stationed at the exit, which is over at the far end, that way.” I point across the fake inner-city neighborhood of streets, alleys, buildings and abandoned cars.

  “Four guards,” Quinn says.

  “It’s not ideal, but it’s probably as good odds as we’re going to get,” I say.

  “Only four? We can take them, no problem,” Bruce says. “Hell, we could probably take them out from up here — easy as shooting fish in a barrel.”

  “The glass will be bulletproof. Besides, we are not going to take anyone out unless we absolutely have to. Unless it’s self-defense.”

  “We’ve got to wait until they try to kill us before we shoot? C’mon, man, that’s not what snipers do. We pick the time, the place, the shot. And I’ve got dibs on Leya.”

  “No!”

  “Blue, not everyone is going to get out of here in one piece. You’ve got to know that.”

  I do. And I can’t see any way around it.

  “Can’t we just wait until they finish and everyone leaves, and then we can go down?” Sofia asks.

  “No,” Quinn says, surprising me. Waiting it out is exactly the sort of approach he would prefer to take. “If our intrusion hasn’t already been discovered, it soon will be, then we’ll be well and truly trapped.”

  “Sitting ducks,” Cameron says.

  I squat down to empty the duffel bag out onto the floor, cursing the tight skirt that makes it difficult for me to move freely, and the shoes which are pinching my toes painfully. While Bruce and Cameron sort out their weapons and ammunition, I assemble my sniper’s rifle, check the internal magazine, and stow extra ammunition in my pockets, all the while shooting envious glances at Evyan’s jeans. That’s what I need — a pair of pants. But hers would never fit me. She’s way skinnier than I am.

  “Hey, Robin, give me your jeans.” My twin is more or less my size — his should fit me.

  “My what? Why?”

  “This skirt is cramping my style. If I’m going to be fighting down there, I need to be able to move more easily.”

  “So I’m supposed to go down there in a skirt?” he says, giving me an over-my-dead-body look and rubbing hard at his beard.

  “No.”

  “In my boxers?”

  “No. You’re not going down there at all — not until I give the all-clear. You’re going to stay up here with Evyan, Neil and Sofia.”

  “No way, uh-uh, I’m coming with!” Robin protests.

  “To do what, exactly?” I say irritably, shoving my rifle into the duffel bag and slipping the straps of the bag over my shoulders. I tuck my sidearm into the back of my skirt’s waistband.

  “To help you figure a way out.”

  “I know that you three” — I indicate Robin, Sofia and Neil — “are geniuses, but —”

  “What am I — stupid?” Evyan interrupts.

  “Unarmed,” Cameron says.

  “But,” I continue, talking over the mutters, “you can do your thinking from up here.”

  “Where it’s safer for us, because we’re so in need of being protected,” Robin says bitterly, ripping off the fake beard and tossing it onto Roth’s carpet, where it crouches like a fuzzy little animal.

  “Robin, it’ll be safer for me down there if I don’t have to worry about protecting you three … civilians.”

  Robin looks mutinous.

  “Hey, you insisted that I be leader,” I remind him. “Well, now I’m giving you an order — stay put!”

  I glance out of the window. They’re filming. Hawke is standing alone in front of the statue, gesturing grandly.

  “We need to get moving,” I say, walking over to the fire exit door.

  “What about Quinn?” Evyan asks. “He’s not armed, he’s a civilian, too.”

  How to explain that Quinn wouldn’t leave my side now even if I ordered him? That I wouldn’t want him to. We’ve vowed to stick together, and it’s a promise we’re both going to keep. I know that without asking.

  “I am armed,” Quinn says, holding up his knife.

  Robin makes a sound indicating that he thinks this is one of the most ridiculous things he’s ever heard and tells me, “Well, you’re not getting my pants.”

  “Here.” Quinn kneels beside me and slits the side seams of my skirt from the hem up to my thighs. “Better?”

  I flex my knees and kick out sideways. “Much!” I say, flinging off the stupid shoes and removing the fake bun for good measure.

  “Why don’t you guys try to log onto the Go!Game?” Quinn suggests. “And see whether the hack is working.”

  Robin and Neil perk up at the thought of that, but Evyan asks, “So we’re just supposed to sit up here, unarmed and unprotected?”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  “If you want, I can stay and defend them,” Cameron says softly.

  “Oh, Cameron, thank you!” I give him a quick, tight hug and kiss him on the cheek.

  I know he must want in on this fight, must be desperate protect me and Bruce, and he’s sacrificing that to keep my brother, and the others, safe.

  “Aw, man, you’re going to miss out on all the fun,” Bruce complains, joining me at the door of the fire escape.

  “Be careful. Hawke’s a snake,” Cameron says.

  I want to tell them all goodbye, good luck, that I love them. But I superstitiously think that making my peace with them will somehow bring about their, or my, death. So I just give them a tight smile and tell Bruce and Quinn, “Let’s go.”

  “Ooh-rah,” Bruce murmurs. Then he opens the door, steps aside and says, “But ladies first, so … after you, O’Riley.”

  Chapter 41

  Truth will out

  “Hide your weapons, Bruce,” I tell him as we run down the stairs.

  It’s much easier moving quickly now that I’m barefoot and can take bigger strides in the split skirt. The duffel bag containing my rifle bounces against my back, and I hold a steadying hand against the Ruger 9mm tucked into the back of my waistband.

  The stairs end inside one of the buildings resembling an apartment block on the street with the traffic circle and the statue.

  Bruce pushes the door open a crack, and I check. The president’s guards are standing just ten yards away — within arm’s length of the president, who is now chatting to Roth. Leya is standing just behind her. The camera crew is packing up — folding tripods, stowing cameras and lights in storage trunks with wheels.

  “What’s the plan?” Bruce whispers.

  They keep asking me this, like I know. But I’m making it up as I go.

  “We wait for the camera crew to leave, then we move.”

  “When you say, ‘move’ — do you mean shoot?” Bruce asks.

  “No! First, we try talking.”

  Beside me, Quinn nods his support for this strategy. “Yeah, let’s see if we can convin
ce them that the game’s up. That they need to surrender.”

  “Yeah, right. That’s likely,” Bruce mutters.

  “We have to try,” I say, even though I fully expect Hawke and Roth to laugh at our attempts at a negotiated solution.

  As soon as the film team has cleared out, I push open the door, step outside and, flanked by Quinn and Bruce, walk purposefully toward the group of people clustered at the statue. The presidential guards turn as one to face us. We stop a few meters away and wait. The personal bodyguard, who has already drawn his weapon, alerts Hawke, who turns to face us. Roth follows his gaze, and the sycophantic smile fades rapidly from her face.

  “You!” she says, glaring at me, taking in my new hair.

  “Hello again, Ms. Roth.”

  “Jinx? Bruce?” Leya looks stunned.

  I spare her a glance, but only to check for weapons. As far as I can see, she’s not armed. No way would the presidential guard have allowed it, I guess. Besides, Leya’s real gift was never in shooting. Her talents lay in surveillance, camouflage, double-dealing.

  “You and I have some unfinished business, Leya,” Bruce says, his voice flat and hard.

  Leya’s eyes widen, and a vein pulses at her temple under the small tattoo, but she says nothing.

  “Who are these people?” Hawke asks.

  “Cadets, from the Academy,” is all Roth says.

  Obviously, she has no desire to explain how at least three top cadets have abandoned the program, gone AWOL, and are now working with the rebels.

  “Welcome,” says Hawke, smiling in his smarmy way. How could I ever have thought of him as a kindly father-figure? He’s a total creep. Without the subliminally-induced favorable attitude toward him, I can see that he’s a slimy crook. “I wasn’t expecting any cadets to visit today, but you are all welcome!”

  He actually leans forward to shake our hands. If we were babies, he’d probably kiss us. As one, the three of us take a step back. Hawke looks offended. Roth looks worried. Leya’s eyes move from side to side, scanning the arena. Looking for a hidey-hole?

  I realize that Hawke doesn’t know who we really are, that he has no clue that Bruce and I are Game-raised, government-trained killers. I guess he has more important things to do than memorize the faces on the most-wanted lists.