Masks (Out of the Box Book 9)

by Robert J. Crane

“The digital backups have been erased,” he went on, ignoring my sudden squeamishness at crime. Like I hadn’t been ready to rip the memories out of a woman and assault my ex just an hour ago. “One of the best hackers in the biz did the job. ArcheGrey1819.”

  “I don’t … even know how I would spell that,” I said, scrambling for the pen on the stand by my bed.

  “I emailed what I found to J.J.,” Jamal went on. “Lemme bottom line it—there was a professional cyber-attack to go along with the big blow ups. Whoever hired ArcheGrey, they wanted complete destruction of whatever was on the FBI and US Attorney’s computer systems, and what they got was a cyber-attack on the infrastructure across Manhattan island that their cyber-crimes division is going to be unraveling for years. It’s broad based, but if you dig like I did, you see the things this hacker went after hardest, like it was his mission.”

  “He went for the evidence,” I said.

  “Looks like it to me,” he said. “But I’m not your ordinary investigator, and they’re probably gonna get at least a little snowed by the other, flashier stuff he did. I mean, he even left a note—”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Not a real note,” Jamal said patiently. “Kind of … I don’t know how to describe it to you, but it’s basically a hacker calling card.”

  “Like … a Tweet?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Jamal said, and I could tell he was humoring me. “A Tweet. He tweeted it. Anyway, he said he was doing it ‘For Chaos.’” Jamal paused. “I’m guessing Chaos ain’t a real dude, but he makes it sound like one.”

  “Fair guess,” I said. “So that’s a big bust?”

  “Like a stripper who went overboard on the implants,” Jamal said placidly, and I wondered if, lonely, wandering guy that he was, he was speaking from experience.

  “Great,” I said with all due lack of enthusiasm. “What about this Glass Blower who wrecked the US Attorney’s office?”

  “I don’t have any better news for you there,” Jamal said. “First step of the cyber-attack caused a hiccup in the system that knocked out all the cameras in a six block radius on the north side of the building for about thirty seconds, so I’m guessing the action was up there. It’s actually still causing outages in coverage, and I suspect they’re going to have to take all the cameras offline to fix it. The problem is, that thirty seconds is—”

  “An eternity when it comes to disappearing into a New York crowd,” I said with undisguised sourness. “So we don’t even know who the Glass Blower is.”

  “The Glass Blower’s just a tool,” Jamal said. “Like ArcheGrey1819. You need to get to the wielder.”

  “Pretty sure I found the wielder,” I said. “Nadine Griffin.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Queen of Wall Street? I could see that.”

  “Can you? Because Scott stopped me before I could see it by ripping the memories out of Griffin’s slimy brain.”

  “Sounds like you got kind of a Civil War thing heating up there,” Jamal said. “I wish I could be more help, but this ArcheGrey … he’s got skills. Beyond anyone I’ve ever seen, maybe even me.”

  I frowned. “Does that mean he’s a meta?”

  “Could be,” Jamal said, “but it could also mean he’s just got tools that no one else does. I really don’t know, I just know genius when I see it, and he did some genius here. I doubt the FBI will ever put it all together, because I don’t think I can, at least not well enough to track his ass down.”

  “Well, thanks anyway, Jamal,” I said. “Did J.J. talk to you about—”

  “I got a consulting fee coming, yeah,” he said. “Thank you. I’m still rolling around, but—”

  “You could stop, if you wanted,” I said. “It’s not like the government was ever looking for you. I just … figured making exile your punishment would be a better choice than imprisoning you for the agency.” I shrugged. “I’m not going to press it if you go home and live your life, so long as you don’t resume your revenge-killing ways.”

  “I think I got it all out of my system,” Jamal said, and he sounded a little haunted, his voice cracking. “But … not sure I feel up to going home again. I don’t, uh … anyway, whatever. Thanks. Give my best to Augustus, will you?” And he hung up.

  I knew what he was going to say before he cut himself off. He didn’t feel up to facing his momma. I couldn’t blame him. I’d met Mrs. Coleman, and she was a tough customer. If she’d known Jamal had murdered people, he might have preferred to take his chances with the justice system than with her.

  I stood up, casting my phone aside and strolling over to my hotel window. Below me, Times Square was starting to light up, the rush hour people and car traffic rolling through in perpetual near-gridlock. I watched a crosswalk flood with humanity and stared down. ArcheGrey and the Glass Blower could be among them, and I’d never know it.

  Jamal was right. Those two were tools, used to execute an attack against the FBI, the US Attorney, and the SEC—the infrastructure that was supposed to keep law and order, to keep people like Nadine Griffin from thinking they were gods who could get away with ripping people off. However badly they’d erred in the past, and in spite of her protests in interviews about the “Old Boys network” being out to get her, she’d done terrible things to people who’d trusted her with their money. Whether other people had done similar things and gotten away with it was beside the point—for now.

  First she’d done wrong, and now she’d done evil.

  “Yeah … you’re not getting away with that,” I said, staring out at Times Square. Tomorrow, I’d begin again.

  And I wasn’t going to stop until Nadine Griffin was locked away again, for good this time.

  61.

  Jamie

  Jamie walked along slowly, hands thrust into her pockets, the night rising around her as the summer sky started to grow dim. What time was it, anyway? She checked her phone, but it showed a network error. She unlocked it, and then tried to access the internet. Another error popped up, followed by the buzz of a text message:

  “WARNING: Your account has been deactivated due to non-payment. Please contact customer service immediately by dialing *3 to resolve.”

  Jamie stared at the phone’s screen. “That’s not possible,” she said, and now, more than ever before, things were starting to seem like a sick joke, like the same error had made its way into the system for all these companies. Surely this was a mistake?

  Wasn’t it?

  She sighed and put her phone away. She’d been walking for a while because she hadn’t wanted to change back into her Gravity Gal costume, but she hadn’t been keeping a very brisk pace. She’d lagged, feet shuffling slowly.

  This was so stupid, though! Clarice was mad at her for a worthwhile reason, but … everything else was ridiculous! Except the bank canceling the loan to Barton Designs. That didn’t seem to be an error, just a terrible reversal of fortune that would leave her and every one of her people unemployed.

  But the cell phone, the car … those had to be errors, didn’t they? Poorly timed, but errors nonetheless. She’d paid her bills on time, always.

  Her stomach rumbled, and she realized, not for the first time, that she hadn’t really eaten at all today. Even the stale bagel with the brick of cream cheese congealed on its surface now seemed appealing. She sniffed and caught another whiff of the river and ocean water in her hair, and sighed again. It was just a bad day, that was all. Sometimes these things happened.

  She saw a convenience store and gas station ahead and quickened her pace. She’d just get something to eat, and that would help. She doubted they’d have salads, but she’d even take a microwavable sandwich at this point if it meant her stomach would stop rumbling. The caffeine had worn off long ago, and the lack of sleep from last night catching up to her. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours ago that she’d spoken to Sienna Nealon in her own house?

  Jamie didn’t set much store by Nealon, or at least she hadn’t. Sienna’
s methods were far too brutal for her tastes, at least in most cases. But she’d fought beside her at the bank, and helped in the fire, and at the ship explosion … Jamie didn’t necessarily think she was a bad person, but she certainly did terrible things when riled. “Not my way,” Jamie murmured as she walked under the aluminum portico covering the gas pumps. But Sienna was certainly helpful and effective. And contrary to Jamie’s fears, she hadn’t killed anyone yet on this trip.

  The door dinged when Jamie walked inside. The convenience store was quiet, the clerk behind the counter messing with his smart phone. Jamie made her way over to the metallic warming stations where a half-dozen paper-wrapped sandwiches sat waiting. They’d probably been here for most of the day, but she didn’t care. She scooped up an inoffensive looking ham sandwich with mozzarella, pressing it gently. It was pretty hard, the texture of the bread approaching that of Styrofoam. She ignored it and made her way to the drink case, where she pulled a bottle of cold Diet Coke, and made her way to the register, successfully avoiding the donut case.

  The clerk stirred from his phone-induced lethargy and started to ring her up. Jamie fumbled, finding her credit card in her back pocket and sliding it into the reader. It honked at her, and she frowned and inserted it again. The clerk, half-asleep a moment ago, was looking on in interest now, and his computer screen dinged to get his attention.

  “Huh,” he said, and reached to the reader to take her credit card. She let him, figuring he was going to re-run it since it wasn’t working for her. Instead, he took a pair of scissors and cut it in half in front of her.

  “Wha—why did you do that?” she asked. That was only card she had, except for her ATM card.

  The clerk shrugged, abdicating all responsibility as he pointed at the screen in front of him. “It said to.”

  She barely held in, “And if it told you to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you?” But it was a struggle.

  “Do you have any cash?” the clerk asked.

  “Not on me,” she said, and slid out her ATM card. She looked around and saw an ATM against the front windows. “Be right back.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, and picked up his phone again, lost in the digital world once more.

  Jamie hurried to the ATM, her stomach rumbling once more. She slid her card in and punched her pin before waiting as it read, “PROCESSING,” in big letters. It usually took a few minutes, but … she frowned, an uneasy feeling unrelated to her hunger rumbling through her stomach. Everything else had gone wrong today, with her credit card canceled, her phone service being cut off, and her car being repo’d. Surely she wasn’t about to—

  A loud honk sounded from the ATM, and a message sprawled in big white letters across the screen: “YOUR ACCOUNT HAS BEEN LOCKED. Please contact customer service at …” Her eyes glazed over.

  “Rough day, huh?” the clerk asked, smiling faintly, apparently jolted out of his e-trance by the sight of her misery. He swept the sandwich and the Diet Coke off the counter and out of sight, probably for re-stocking as soon as she was out the door. The gesture stung Jamie more than she wanted to admit.

  “You have no idea,” Jamie said, feeling lightheaded. She wouldn’t beg for food, though, not from this man, not from anyone. She pushed out the door of the convenience store instead and started back toward home, her footsteps slow and shuffling, her energy and hope exhausted.

  62.

  Nadine

  “I’m going to seduce you now,” Nadine said, breaking off from kissing Scott Byerly for just a minute to make that admission. He’d been kissing her back for the last twenty minutes or so, splayed out on her couch. She’d worn down his resistance pretty easily, bonded with him, commiserated with him, talked trash about Sienna Nealon and how horrible she was with him.

  And then she’d kissed him, and it had all gone swimmingly so far from there.

  “Is that so?” Scott asked, somewhat breathless, leaning in to kiss her again.

  She stopped him. “Yep,” she said, allowing just one kiss before she slipped out of the room and headed for the bedroom, beckoning him to join her with one finger. She thought about lingerie, about explaining why they should do this—striking Sienna in her jealousy was at the top of the list for her—but ultimately ditched all those plans, because … either he was aware of the reasons or he wasn’t, and either he was into her without the need for fancy dress-up or he wasn’t, and to her—and anyone with a decent view of his crotch—it looked like he was.

  So why bother with the overkill?

  She grabbed him by the loosened tie and tugged him along. She didn’t really care what his reasons were for doing this, anyway. Let him get blindsided by his vengeful ex if he was too stupid to consider the ramifications of sleeping with her. It’d be entertaining, she suspected, so long as she managed to avoid the flaming ire of Nealon. She had a few plans for that, of course, or she wouldn’t have embarked on this journey anyway, she reminded herself, as she tugged Byerly’s jacket down around his shoulders and buried her lips on his neck, leaving a mark or two.

  “Oooh,” he said with a shudder as she tossed his jacket aside and came back to his lips. She let him slip her blouse off with fumbling, unpracticed hands. Weren’t metas supposed to be more dexterous than other men? She buried her sigh of disapproval. It wasn’t as though he was anywhere close to the worst she’d had, at least so far.

  She put the thoughts of other men out of her mind as she pushed him back on the bed and climbed on top of him. They had some articles of clothing yet to go, and she wasn’t going to rush this. The moment was fun, after all. She’d always relished the act itself, but in this case, thinking about what would happen after was almost an aphrodisiac unto itself. She pulled his shirt open and ran her hands across his strong, tanned chest, and smiled.

  The evening was unfolding exactly as she’d planned it.

  63.

  Jamie

  This was not the evening that Jamie had planned, nor wished for, nor even had nightmares about. This was worse than even that, because her nightmares tended toward the “naked in front of all her employees” variety, and while humiliating, she at least still had employees when she woke from them.

  Now, she thought, staring at the notice she’d found on her front door when she’d gotten home, still starving, she wasn’t going to have employees … a car … a cell phone … or a home, apparently.

  The notice read Foreclosure Notice in big letters, and that was as far as she got before she tried her key in the door. At least that worked. She could hear music blaring from Kyra’s room as she walked in.

  Jamie closed the door behind her, feeling like she’d not only had the weight of the world settle on her today, but the weight of a few other planets as well. How many fights had she been in in the last couple days? Was it really only one? One and half, if she considered the idiot with the gun who’d tried to kill Nadine Griffin. Plus the fire, which was worth a couple of fights. Whatever they were, she’d used up most of her strength on them and didn’t feel like she had anything left.

  It was like the universe she’d known had ended, and she was trapped in the black hole left in its wake.

  Kyra’s door opened with a snap, some music pouring out. Jamie wasn’t sure it was really music, actually. Its defining characteristic seemed to just be LOUD. Kyra stormed into the hall, eyes alighting on Jamie, and Jamie could feel the anger even at this distance.

  “What now?” Jamie muttered under her breath as Kyra stood there, eyes red.

  “Were you even going to tell me?” Kyra asked.

  Jamie’s mind went blank for a moment, then she raised the foreclosure notice. “About this …?”

  “No, about your secret boyfriend!” Kyra said, going right to a shout. “Yes, about us losing our home! Melanie and her mom saw the notice. I was so humiliated. They asked me if you lost your car, too, and I had to laugh it off. I sounded like a total basic bitch.”

  “It’s a mistake,” Jamie said. “All of it. I’ve pa
id the bills, so I don’t know where this is coming from.” She held up her phone. “This got shut off, too—”

  “OMG!” Kyra screamed, and ran back into her room. “MY PHONE!” She slammed the door behind her and locked it. The sound of pounding, furious music seemed to shake the house from the inside.

  “On the plus side,” Jamie said, “if her music ends up bringing the house down, at least the bank won’t have anything to foreclose on, I guess.” She made her way over to the stools next to the counter and collapsed into one, slapping her keys down. She eyed the one for her car. It was irrelevant now, at least until she ironed this out. She glanced at the notice in her hands demanding that she vacate the premises and realized that the one for her house technically no longer belonged to her. Her gaze lingered on the ones for Barton Designs and her office door, and she realized that they’d have to come off the ring, along with the one for the shed out back.

  “I’m about to lose all my keys,” she said in a weary mutter. She looked over at the fridge. She wouldn’t even have a fridge soon. She stood up and shuffled over to it, opening it wide.

  Empty. Utterly empty, save for a ketchup bottle.

  “Kyra,” Jamie said, glancing at the sink to find the remnants of the last of her fresh greens and a bottle of salad dressing that was empty except for a few remaining drops of vinaigrette. She moved over to the cupboard, not having a lot of hope, and almost slumped in relief as she found a box of Saltines. They’d given all the canned goods away a week ago for a food drive, and she hadn’t been to the grocery store to replace them since.

  “This whole thing is just … horrible timing,” Jamie said, taking the saltines and slinking back to the counter. She opened the box and found all of five crackers remaining within the white wrapper.

  She stared at the meager offering for only a moment before ripping it apart and devouring the white, salty crackers within. They were slightly stale, but she didn’t even care at this point.