Marshall stepped around him, but BlackFlag and Tornado were there with palms outstretched to stop him. “Please wait,” BlackFlag said. “We need a plan.”
He pushed past and headed for the door. The others followed on his heels—Bambi, Whomper, and TomBoy joining them—and Marshall overheard their anxious interchange.
“It’s happening!”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ve got to find a way out of here!”
He shoved through the door and into the central gathering space. Most of the residents were milling about in confusion, their voices raised and questioning. But the older ones, likely all yellows, made a beeline toward one of the stairwell exits. He spotted his two guards; they’d taken up station at the doorway, checking wrists before permitting anyone to pass. A third guard showed up and handed each of the other guards a snub-nosed submachine gun. A growing herd of greens stirred nearby, fear etched on their faces.
Marshall hesitated, unsure which way to go. The kids caught up to him.
“How do I find DarkMatter?” he shouted.
The kids exchanged fearful looks. From behind, Shamer slid into the group. Her hair was tousled, her face red. “He’s probably left already,” she said breathlessly.
“So it’s true?” Dolphin asked. “It’s really happening?”
“What’s happening?” Marshall asked. “Where has he gone?”
“It’s worse”—Shamer gulped, trying to catch her breath—“than we thought. They’re gonna fire the building.”
“Fire the building?” BlackFlag asked.
She leaned over and placed her hands on her knees. “Yeah,” she said. “Incendiaries. Top four floors.”
Dolphin placed a hand on her shoulders. “We’re going to get out here.”
Shamer rose and pointed toward the door. “Don’t you get it? We can’t leave. Only the yellows can pass.”
Bambi clutched her throat. “B-but what about us?” She motioned toward the growing crowd. “What about us greens?”
Shamer shook her head.
“No friggin’ way,” BlackFlag said. He took a step toward the door with clenched fists.
A quick chatter of gunfire stopped him in his tracks. They all looked toward the exit to see one of the greens lying motionless on the floor. Chang stood over him, his weapon smoking. The crowd of greens by the door backed away. BlackFlag turned around, his face drained of color, his gaze pleading with Marshall. The others turned toward him as well.
Marshall recoiled. He’d wanted to confront Jiaolong, to squeeze the life out of the man with his bare hands, knowing he himself would be killed in the process. No, not knowing. Praying for it.
Lacey was gone, and every breath he took seemed to elevate his anguish.
But these kids, they were innocent pawns. He couldn’t stand by and watch them be slaughtered in the wake of Jiaolong’s deceit. His eyes narrowed on the exit. Both guards were armed, and because of the gunshots more were likely on the way. But he had to try, he had to do something. With an exhale, he set aside his agony and held his cuffed palms out to Dolphin. “You said you’ve got the code. Can you remove them without deactivating them?”
“Sure,” Dolphin said. He pulled out his phone, opened an app, and tapped the screen.
“Wait!” Marshall said. “Stand back. Just in case.” Dolphin edged backward. The others did the same. Then Marshall stretched his hands as far away from them—and his body—as possible. He turned his head away and closed his eyes.
Dolphin tapped the screen.
The click of the cuffs sent Marshall’s heart into his throat. When he realized he was still in one piece, he opened his eyes and sighed with relief. He removed the bracelets and stuffed them in his pockets. The kids nodded. BlackFlag patted Dolphin on the back.
“Nice trick,” Marshall said, struggling to keep his emotions in check for their sake. “How’d you figure it out?”
Dolphin exchanged a quizzical look with the others, then turned back to Marshall. “Dude, we’re superhackers, remember? So, what’s the plan?”
Their eyes went wide when he told them, but none of them backed down.
Chapter 11
Hong Kong
JAKE FLATTENED HIMSELF against the wall, flipping off the safety of the MP5. Skylar, Lacey, and Pete were stacked up behind him in the southwest stairwell. A fading rumble of footsteps echoed from below. “Sounds like somebody’s leaving.”
“In a hurry,” Pete added.
Jake cracked the door to the twenty-fifth floor and glanced both ways.
“Clear.” He led with the shouldered weapon as he moved into the corridor. The vinyl flooring shimmered beneath the long hallway’s overhead lighting, and there was a clean smell to the space. Doors lined either side. Jake overlaid the scene onto the memory of what he and Pete had studied from across the street, locking onto the fourth door on the right. “Let’s go,” he whispered, his feet ghosting along the smooth surface, senses alert.
I’m coming for you, Francesca.
He raised his fist and crouched at the door. Lacey and Sky stopped behind him. Pete moved forward, staying low. Jake turned the door handle and cracked the door open. The space was dark and his brow furrowed in confusion. He’d expected a well-lit room with a wall of monitors. Pete moved past him and flicked on the lights. It was an editing bay of some sort.
What the hell?
“State-of-the-art equipment,” Pete said.
“As good as I’ve ever seen at a film studio,” Lacey added.
“This way,” Skylar whispered behind them. She motioned to the next doorway, which was protected by an electronic keypad. “That’s gotta be the security room.”
Jake cursed himself, angry at the stupid mistake, and moved quickly to the next door. The others stacked up around him. He signaled toward the keypad. Pete nodded, then let his assault rifle dangle from its sling while he reached over his shoulder and pulled out his sawed-off shotgun. He aimed it at the door latch, looked to Jake. His voice was low. “All hell’s gonna break loose.”
“What choice do we have?”
Skylar panned her weapon toward their rear. “I’m ready.”
Jake gave Pete the nod.
“Wait,” Lacey said, moving forward. She grabbed the door lever, pulled it down slowly, and nudged open the door.
Jake shook his head and shouldered past her. His eyes raked the room, and the muzzle of his MP5 settled on the lone security guard seated in front of a bank of monitors. The unarmed man spun around; his hands flew into the air. “Don’t shoot,” he said, his expression wary.
A quiver of uncertainty rushed up Jake’s spine. Something about this setup didn’t sit right—the empty halls, the unlocked door, the lone guard.
“Somethin’ is fishy,” Pete said, moving into the room. He grabbed the slender man by the collar, yanked him out of his chair, and slammed him against the wall. “Watch our backs, lass,” he said to Sky, who stood in the open door frame. She swiveled to a crouch and leaned out the door, then panned her weapon down either side of the corridor.
Pete turned back to his captive. “Did ya know we were comin’, young fella? Is that it?”
The man pressed his lips together.
“Have it your way,” Pete said. He cracked the butt of the shotgun across the man’s forehead and the guard folded to the floor. Lacey winced. Jake moved to the control board and took in the various camera views from throughout the facility: the rooftop, the battle outside, the bustle of people in the lobby, tough-looking types storming up the stairwells...
“We amn’t going to have much time,” Pete said.
Skylar said, “Still clear out here, but if they converge from both sides, we’re dead meat.”
Jake brought up a submenu with a multi-column list of camera locations.
Lacey hissed, “No. There’s nearly two hundred of them. There’s not enough time—”
She stopped talking as the main monitor flashed through views so fast they s
eemed to blur into one another. Jake’s finger tapped the keyboard faster than a woodpecker’s beak, his eyes glued to the screen. “I’ll find them,” he said flatly. “Get your masks on.”
He heard them unsnapping their masks from their belts as his hand froze over the keyboard. The monitor showed a mass of teens—each in a uniform of white over black—backing away from a lifeless form in front of an exit door. Three guards stood over the body, threatening the crowd with their weapons. Another group of teens huddled nearby, circled around an adult.
Lacey lurched forward. “It’s Marshall!” She jabbed her finger against the screen.
Jake zoomed in on Marshall and his group. He made an entry and several other views of the room appeared on perimeter monitors. The space was huge. Other teens were pounding on two other sealed exits. “Looks like they’re locked in,” he said as his eyes danced from one view to another, searching for signs of his family.
Where are you?
Pete leaned in. His gas mask was pulled over his head like a baseball cap, the elastic holding it in position for Pete to lower over his face. Pete pointed at the screen, where Marshall had extended his arms from his body and turned his head to one side. The teens around him backed away. “What’re they about?”
Jake zoomed closer just as Marshall seemed to relax, lowering his arms and removing odd-looking bracelets from his wrists. He pocketed them, said something to the group, and they all pushed into the crowd toward the guards.
“I don’t like this,” Lacey said.
Jake watched as Marshall’s teens positioned themselves along the front line of the pack. One boy held a cell phone. When they were in place, Marshall shouldered into the no-man’s-land in front of the guards. One of the guards raised his weapon.
Lacey squeaked, grabbing Jake’s forearm.
But another guard, the largest of the three, stayed his partner’s hand. He waved Marshall over, then grabbed Marshall’s buddy by the arm and shoved him against the door. Marshall cowered, hands at his sides, as his friends suddenly erupted into a frenzy of jeers and taunts, spurring the crowd.
The guards turned toward them, weapons panning. The boy with the cell phone stood his ground, finger hovering over the screen.
“Here it comes,” Pete mumbled.
In a blur, Marshall fished the bracelets from his pockets, shoved them into two of the guards’ pockets, and dove for the floor.
The boy tapped the screen.
Twin explosions erupted from the guards’ hips, driving them sideways with the force of charging NFL linebackers. Their guns went flying and the men crashed to the floor, writhing and twisting in agony.
By the time the third guard stopped gaping, three of Marshall’s team had bowled him over. The crowd followed and ripped the weapon from his grasp. The boy with the phone gave commands and they dragged the guard to the door, held his wrist to a scanner, and shoved open the double doors. The crowd herded out. Others at the back of the room sprinted to follow.
Marshall rose to his feet and high-fived the kid with the phone.
Pete grinned, “Well, I’ll be—”
“That’s my man!” Lacey said.
“I’m hearing boots from the stairwell,” Skylar said. “Getting louder.” Jake turned to see her activate a remote control on her web belt. “Going smoky,” she said, then pulled down her mask.
Jake unsnapped his mask and swept it on. Pete helped Lacey with hers before pulling down his own.
Jake’s voice was muffled. “That room is two floors down. Get started, all three of you. I’ll catch up as soon as I locate Francesca.” He turned back and was about to tap the keyboard when his gaze locked on the screen. The scene unfolded in slow motion.
Min streaking from the far side of the room toward Marshall, who, along with his friends, were ushering the last of the crowd out the doorway, oblivious to the threat behind them. Min leaping through the air, drop-kicking Marshall into the wall, Marshall folding to the ground. The boy charging, Min dodging, whipping her bobbles, a slash across the side of the teen’s face, the boy spinning to the floor. Marshall struggling to rise. A girl attacking Min from behind, shoving the woman to her knees. Min snapping around in a crouch, a blade shimmering in her hand, cocking her wrist. Marshall kicking her legs out from under her. A smartly dressed Asian man rushing forward with an armed guard. Marshall barreling at him, his face enraged, the guard’s gun rising...
A shot...
Marshall’s head snapping backward, blood splattering the walls...
“NOOO!” Lacey screamed.
The Asian man turning toward the guard, holding a pistol to the other man’s forehead, the pistol jerking, the back of the guard’s head exploding.
Smoke billowing into the room through the vents, the screen going white...
Chapter 12
Hong Kong
LACEY STAGGERED AGAINST the console, clutching her throat, her gaze fixed on the image on the screen—her husband sprawled on his back, blood glistening from his scalp. Tears blurred her vision as smoke filled the screen.
An elevator bell rang in the distance, breaking her trance.
From the doorway Skylar said, “That’s it. We gotta move.”
Her words echoed in Lacey’s earpiece. Pete grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room. She yanked her arm free and ran down the corridor toward the far stairwell. “They’re going to pay.” Thick smoke spewed from a vent up ahead, obscuring the hall in a blanket of white.
Jake rushed past her, flicking a switch on the side of his mask. “This way.”
She reached up and toggled the infrared switch on her own mask. The smoke vanished from view, and Jake’s form glowed as it raced ahead in a surreal hallway of grayscale tones. She followed on his heels, white-knuckling her MP5. She’d fired hundreds of blanks from similar weapons on various sets, but this one was loaded for real. And she was anxious to use it.
Jake turned a corner, pushed into a stairwell, paused to make sure it was clear, then waved them forward. “Twenty-third floor,” he said before darting down the steps. She followed, and the sounds of Pete’s and Skylar’s boots behind her gave her comfort. A fire alarm echoed from below, and a cacophony of voices filtered up from the lower floors. She peeked over the rail to see dozens of heads bobbing as the tenants evacuated the building. She rounded the steps two floors down. Jake held a fist up at the door, and she and the others stopped behind him.
“This door dumps into the space where we saw Marshall,” Jake said. “Hug the wall to your right, skirt the dining area, and you’ll find him.” He cracked the door, checked both ways, and waved them through.
Lacey grabbed his arm. “Wait, what about you?”
“We’re splitting up. I didn’t get to check the camera views for the floor below us. That’s where the others must be. I’m gonna find ’em.”
“But Jake—”
“I’m not leaving until I find them.”
Even through the lenses of both their masks, she could see the determination in his eyes. She’d seen that look before. She bit her tongue, squeezed his arm, and nodded.
Pete moved forward, grabbed Jake’s collar, pulled him mask to mask. “Don’t dally, ya bloody chancer. We’ll be waitin’ fer ya on the street.” Jake nodded, and Pete led the way out the door. Skylar gave Jake a fist bump on her way past. Lacey followed, then glanced over her shoulder to see the door swing closed. Jake was gone.
They dashed forward and spotted a trio of guards, blinded by the smoke, moving clumsily toward the far exit with outstretched hands. After dodging past them, they weaved through the dining area. Pete stopped and crouched by a counter. Skylar took up a defensive position beside him, weapon trained on the approaching guards. Lacey stayed low. She followed Pete’s gaze to see another pair of guards shuffling toward Marshall’s body, cradling weapons, sweeping their legs in front of them like blind men with their canes. She recognized them as the two guards Marshall had downed with his explosive bracelets. The men grimaced with each
painful step, but a rage seemed to fuel them forward. They were two steps away from Marshall’s body.
Lacey sprang to her feet and dashed forward.
“What—?” Pete’s voice stuttered in her earpiece. Then she heard his breath heave as he started after her.
The larger guard’s boot swept into Marshall’s outstretched arm. The man looked down.
“Found him,” the guard shouted, swiveling the muzzle of his rifle to Marshall’s face.
The other guard limped over, raised his weapon. “It’s payback time, TurboBastard.”
Marshall’s head turned, and Lacey’s heart jumped to her throat. She screamed, skidded to her knees, raised the MP5, and let loose on full auto.
The guards twisted and jerked as rounds stitched their torsos, blowing them backward to the floor. The magazine clicked empty and she knelt there, mouth open. Pete rushed past her, kneeled down beside Marshall, checked his pulse. “He’s alive!”
There were spits behind her, and she turned to see Skylar firing toward the three guards in the distance. One was thrown backward. The other two dove for cover.
Skylar spun around and pulled Lacey to her feet. “Hurry. Those guys behind us won’t hold off for long, smoke or not.” She took a knee and swept her weapon behind them.
Lacey rushed to Marshall’s side and cradled his head. His blood was sticky on her fingers.
“Marsh, I-I thought you were—”
He looked at her with unsteady eyes, the corner of one lip curled up. “You’re such a stud.” Then his eyes rolled and his head slumped to one side.
“Marsh!”
Pete pressed a finger against his neck. “No worries, he’s still with us.” He used his knife to cut off the black sleeve of his jumpsuit, revealing an orange uniform beneath. He tied the sleeve around Marshall’s head. “That’ll hold him. Let’s move.”
Pete grunted as he heaved Marshall over his shoulder, then he nodded toward the exit. Skylar fired a couple rounds behind them, spun around, and led the way. Lacey brought up the rear, the hairs on her arms standing on end. They wound down the stairwell and encountered a crowd when they reached the twenty-first floor—the first of the real tenant floors. Families packed the stairs, coughing and pushing.
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