Rift (Roran Curse Book 3)

by Heidi J. Leavitt

  He could hardly blame Lilah for wanting reassurance that he was wholeheartedly trying to help. That’s what this was really about, he decided. If Lilah was truly worried that he had conspired with the kidnappers and was hoping to bring about Jenna’s death, she wouldn’t be here in his office shouting at him about it. She’d either be shouting in his father’s office or she’d be comming Admiral Donnell and sharing her theories with him.

  He leaned forward, catching Lilah’s eyes and holding them until she stopped pacing like a caged predator.

  “Lilah, I understand that you doubt my intentions. Nothing can change what happened all those years ago, and I won’t pretend that I don’t wish that things had turned out differently. However, I truly want to find Jenna before anything happens to her or to her kids. I will do anything in my power to make it happen. I will find her,” he vowed, his voice fierce.

  His flipcom pinged. Once he’d had a netband, the upscale comm device that had been all the rage on Terra. It had communicated directly with his brain via a tiny node so he could hold mental conversations. It had shown displays that appeared right before his eyes, and it had also been a camera capable of unobtrusively capturing everything that was going on around him. He’d had to give it up when he’d gone to Kirtuth, and when he’d come back, his father had issued him one of the bare-bones flipcoms that the Quintan Security officers used. No access to any feeds. No fancy holographic comms. No private communication. He checked the flipcom and noted that the comm was from Moriel. Glancing at Lilah, who now had her arms folded and tapped one foot impatiently, he answered the comm.

  “There’s a lead on the Forrest case,” Moriel said abruptly. “Head down to security.”

  “Got it,” Zane responded, switching off. He rose, offering a hopeful smile to Lilah. “I have a bite,” he said encouragingly. “This could be just the break we need.”

  Lilah’s mouth opened, probably to ask if she could come along, and then she closed it without saying anything. She’d worked at the Quintan Edge long enough to know that she should steer clear of the security wing. Instead, she moved ahead of him toward the door. “Let me know as soon as you know something,” Lilah ordered. “Jenna is family.” Her breath hitched on the last word, and she scrunched up her nose. Then she whirled without another word and hurried out of his office.

  Zane followed her but turned the other direction, heading toward the lift that would take him down to the basement tube station. One quick tube trip to the other side of the resort, and he reached the security wing. In the main waiting room he found a scrawny teenage boy standing with hunched shoulders and flanked by two impassive security officers. The boy looked terrified, like he was rethinking his decision to come. His eyes darted in every direction. The officers looked at Zane when he walked in and stood straighter. These men didn’t know of his fall from grace; all they saw when they looked at Zane was another powerful member of the Quintan family. It was reassuring; he felt a little more like his old self. Time to put the boy at ease. This was the stuff he was good at.

  “Thank you for coming in,” Zane said warmly to the boy. Turning to the officers, he stated, “We’ll sit in the Ocean Room. Bring us something to drink, please.”

  Then he beckoned the boy and led him through the nearest open door. The boy stopped short at the threshold, staring around the room. Rotating artwork of the beaches near the Marah resort graced the walls. There were two overstuffed chairs covered in dark brown velour. A large Cambrian rug covered the bare floor, and a small teak table was centered among it all. The boy finally moved all the way into the room, staring around at the photos of the ocean in awe. He had probably never seen it. Zane had met his kind many times: the children of Red Zone toughs who lived in a world of poverty and fear. Taking a seat on one of the chairs, he invited the boy to sit also. He allowed the boy another minute to stare at the changing landscapes until the guard brought in a couple of flavored waters. Zane handed one to the boy, who stared at it as if it might be poisoned.

  “This wasn’ what I was expectin’,” he said, speaking for the first time. His voice was still high and reedy. Even younger than Zane had originally thought.

  “I hear you have some information for us,” Zane said pleasantly, making his voice as inviting as he could. The boy had probably been filled with all kinds of outlandish tales of the atrocities committed by Quintan Security. It had taken a lot of courage for him to come by himself. Though if he’d seen the public execution of Quartos, that may have been motivation enough.

  “I dunno. But I seen the broadcast, all my friends too. You told anyone who’d seen them people in the pics to come forward. You said they was Quintan family.” His voice squeaked.

  “You saw something?” Zane inquired, trying not to seem too eager. The last thing he wanted was to allow himself to be fed fake information. Best not to seem desperate.

  “I never saw no kids,” he said first. “But that lady . . . holy Vesuvius, she was one pretty honda. Me an’ my friends knew right off she dint belong here.”

  “What did she look like? Do you remember what she was wearing?” Zane questioned.

  “Like the feed pic. Long blonde hair. Light skin. Fancy duds. Got outta the taxi in front of the Lore haunt. There were three toughs waitin’ on her. Knocked her out or somethin’, put her back in the taxi. They got in too and left.” Zane listened to this, his face impassive. Not much here that they couldn’t have worked out for themselves. The Lore building . . . it was right across the street from the Quintan Edge. Had that been intentional? Or only a convenient place to program the taxi to take Jenna to?

  “Did you see anything else? Anything that would help us identify the men who took her?” Zane asked thoughtfully.

  “Their duds looked like your toughs. Same tan pants and black shirts. No way I’d know ’em if I saw ’em again, though. They weren’t wearin’ no masks, but,” he shrugged uncomfortably, “I dint look too close, you know? And it was near dark.” Zane studied the boy’s face thoughtfully. He would guess that he was telling the truth.

  “They looked like Quintan Security officers?” Zane asked. The boy shrugged again. That was possible, Zane mused. So close to the QE, the kidnappers might have wanted to look like they belonged in the area. Still, a group of three men standing outside waiting to take a highly memorable hostage in a fairly well-traveled area of the Red Zone, and they didn’t even bother to wear masks? It had been later in the evening, but nowhere near late enough for the street to be deserted. It wouldn’t have been unusual for a group of boys to be hanging around, and if these men had been the professionals they had seemed to be, they would have already scouted the area and known exactly who might be watching.

  Something wasn’t right about this situation.

  Was he being played?

  “Who is your boss?” Zane said, steepling his fingers.

  “My . . . my boss?” the boy stammered. “Ain’t got no boss yet. Too young, they say.”

  “Which crew are you trying to join then?”

  “Crew?” the boy’s voice faltered.

  Zane sighed heavily. “Look, kid, you were out at night, standing with a group of friends in front of a known boss building. That means either you’re in a crew, or you’re trying to join. Which one?”

  The boy’s eyes widened, and then they dropped to the floor.

  “They told us not to say,” he admitted, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

  “I’d rather not call in security, but I’m a busy man, and I have other appointments to keep. It will be better for us both if you are just upfront with me,” Zane said firmly. He noted that the boy’s hands were trembling. They really had picked a newbie for this. Or he was the world’s best actor, but Zane rather doubted that. There was already sweat beading on his forehead. That would be tough to fake.

  “The Lobos,” he muttered, in a barely audible voice. “They told all three of us t
hat if we wanted to join we had to prove ourselves by watchin’ the Lore haunt all night. They wanted recon, they said.”

  “And you just happened to see the toughs take the woman we are looking for,” Zane clarified, his eye narrowed.

  “Yeah, just like I said. We dint do nothin’, we just watched. That was our job,” he protested.

  “You reported what you saw back to the recruiter?”

  “Yeah, he dint care. Said it weren’t none of our business and wouldn’t matter none to the boss. So when I saw your feed, I figured I could tell. Knew it had to be the lady you were looking for. Dint want t’be blamed. Everyone knows the Quintans show no mercy,” he babbled, barely taking a breath between sentences. He looked like he was ready to cry. How had this boy survived this long in the Red Zone?

  “Where do you live?” Zane asked.

  “On Sunset Street,” said the boy. “In the Haints.” The Haints were a very crowded boarding house. Cheap accommodations packed wall to wall with people who had nowhere better to go.

  “With your parents?” Zane continued without looking up, tapping into the flipcom and sending a comm to security.

  “Nah, I left home. Won’ go back neither,” the boy said defiantly. Zane didn’t probe further. Another runaway. Well, the Red Zone was full of them. Either this kid would toughen up quickly or he would end up in the morgue. It was the way around here.

  He stood up. “Well, thanks for the information. We’ll keep your willingness to help in mind . . . what is your name?” he inquired casually.

  “Cyrus.”

  “Cyrus. Security will see you out, but if you see anything more that might help us, please come back again.” He ushered the boy out of the room and turned him over to the waiting security. They would have gotten his comm and would make sure the kid was tailed. Any chance of corroborating his story would be useful.

  Then Zane headed back up toward his office, pondering what he had learned. If Cyrus was telling him the truth, Jenna had taken a taxi right into the Red Zone where three guys who wanted to be seen were waiting. He could imagine why Jenna did it. They’d probably threatened her children. It would make any mother come running.

  But why did the men make sure they were seen? Why did the Lobos make sure that several green kids saw it, knowing it was likely that the word would get back to the Quintans?

  Were the Lobos the crew that had orchestrated the kidnapping? It seemed unlikely. They were a crew that focused on petty thievery, and they had never crossed paths with the Quintans in any way. The little that Zane knew about them indicated that they were led by an inexperienced boss who relied mostly on teenagers to do his work. Amateurs. Not someone playing in the Red Zone big leagues.

  Was it possible that someone wanted the Quintans to find Jenna?

  Or was this a plan to distract Zane and send him chasing the wrong crew in the wrong direction?

  He had a feeling he was running out of time to figure out what was really going on.

  11. The Hacker

  Only one bulb in the row of entrances was lit. The other four doors were dark holes, their location only visible because of the breaks in the concrete wall for the walkways that led up to them. If Jimmy squinted, he could see the black hinges still on the sides of the openings; at one time, the wall must have had gates for each of the entries.

  Regular residential housing was not common in the Red Zone. Most people who built there were looking for some kind of business opportunity—whether a traditional one or a shady one. But there were a couple of pockets of homes that were as old as the zone itself, built by the people who had moved to Zenith eager to try out their new experiment of living almost without any government. Jimmy wondered what had happened to those original settlers. How long had they lasted? How long had it taken before a strong man had simply forced them from the homes? Or had they walked away voluntarily when all the normal businesses had disappeared? When they had to go into Omphalos for their groceries and then make it home without anyone trying to take them away? When they realized their children were being recruited into gangs?

  Most of the remaining residential buildings were now the homes of squatters. People who had nowhere else to go, who wouldn’t for one reason or another seek help in Omphalos. This one was unusual in that it had electricity at all. Someone in the building had a power cell, even though every single pane of glass was missing from the windows of the four connected row houses. Jimmy thought it a miracle that the single lit bulb didn’t attract a horde of ruffians. It announced that at least someone living here might have something worth stealing yet likely didn’t have a means of protecting themselves.

  When Jimmy asked Grier about it in a low voice, the former bodyguard shook his head. “No, it’s a signal that Rawle is home today. Nobody would rob Rawle.”

  “You said this guy will have information?” Jimmy asked, looking around at the empty streets nervously.

  “If anyone knows anything, Rawle will. Whether or not he will share this information with us remains to be seen,” Grier replied. With one final glance around the empty streets, Grier moved forward silently, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Jimmy stayed behind him, though his own footsteps seemed clumsy and loud. He kicked practically every loose stone in the street. At the doorway, Grier moved directly under the light bulb and motioned Jimmy toward him. He felt terribly exposed after having hidden in shadows for their whole walk through the Red Zone. “We have to let him identify us,” Grier explained softly. “Right now he is making sure he has something on both of us. Otherwise he won’t let us in.”

  “Something on both of us?” Jimmy repeated nervously.

  “Yes, some secret or some valuable bit of information we wouldn’t like to get into the wrong hands. It’s his protection. Rawle is a hacking genius, and he has a program set up that will deliver every secret he keeps into the wrong hands should he be unable to enter his passcode every day,” Grier described as they waited.

  The wait grew longer, and Jimmy’s skin started to crawl. Were they being watched? He felt so exposed standing here in the light surrounded by the darkness of the street. Anybody could be out there watching. Perhaps even targeting them.

  “Why is this taking so long?” he hissed at Grier. “We’re very exposed here.”

  Grier’s eyebrow quirked. “Look who finally learned to worry about exposure,” he said, his voice dry. He sighed. “It doesn’t usually take so long. Rawle already has something on me, so he’s probably having a hard time finding something usable on you.”

  Jimmy grinned. “Yep, all my bad behavior is public record.”

  “It’s not just that kind of stuff. He could also let the wrong people know you’re married and where your wife is.” Grier grimaced. “But since your wife and kids are already missing, that won’t really work in your case. And you’re not rich enough anymore to auction off your bank account information.”

  “Hey, I knew there was a perk to my father cutting me off.”

  The door in front of them shuddered as several bolts were drawn. Then it slowly opened inward, an old-fashioned swinging front door.

  “Come in,” a high-pitched, nasally voice said. Grier stepped over the threshold into a brightly lit entryway, and Jimmy followed him. Glancing around, he saw that they were in a starkly bare room with a couple of straight-backed upholstered chairs. The fabric was frayed and faded. There was a table in the corner with a tablet laying on it, and a panel of prefab filled the hole where the front window used to be. Grier walked over and sat down in one of the chairs, so Jimmy copied him. As he moved into the room, the door swung shut behind him, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see a man even younger than Jimmy himself. He had stringy red hair, a face so pale it looked like he had never seen the sun, and a thin, spindly figure. He wore glasses with large lenses pushed up high on the bridge of his nose, and he scowled at them.

  “Grier Nuri
s, I thought you were retired.”

  “I am,” Grier said, his voice calm and pleasant. Jimmy took a seat next to Grier. Rawle—if that’s who he was—remained standing but moved to pick up the tablet from the table.

  “And James Forrest III,” Rawle added derisively. “The rich, useless daddy’s boy who cut ties with the Quintans because they weren’t nice enough to him.”

  Jimmy actually stifled a smile. This kid was the hacking wizard with dirt on everyone? He sounded like a petulant teenager.

  “That’s me,” Jimmy answered with a straight face.

  “What do you want, Grier?” Rawle demanded. “If you’re retired, you’re of no use to me.”

  Grier nodded at Jimmy. “I’m pretty sure you know what I want.”

  Rawle looked at Jimmy, undisguised loathing on his face. “Yeah, everyone’s heard the message from the Quintans now. They want Jenna Forrest back, or they want info on who took her.” He snapped, “If the Quintans want something from me, they should come to me directly, not broadcast it across the zone.”

  Grier didn’t answer this. He merely waited patiently.

  Finally, Rawle grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, I know. Moriel Quintan would rather cut herself into small pieces and be fed to Zorian crivaks than deal with me. It was one mistake, Grier. One!” Jimmy wondered what that one mistake was that angered Moriel so much. Moriel could be unforgiving, he well knew.

  “I need to know who took Mrs. Forrest, Rawle,” Grier said, his voice firm. “The Quintans will never ask you, and the only reason I am here is because I am not working for them.”

  “So you’re working for the not-so-rich-anymore playboy?” Rawle asked skeptically.

  “I’m not working for anyone. I owe the Forrests a debt of honor,” he answered. His eyes flicked to Jimmy. Jimmy realized with a shock that perhaps Grier did feel some regret over the Quintan Tower debacle. He’d always assumed that Grier had just added it to the list of unsavory things he had done on behalf of Lev Quintan, just part of his job as one of Quintan’s personal bodyguards.