The words follow the images. Secure the black box. Located in the Match 360 Legas facility. The director’s office. Meet with box in hand at ten hundred hours Thursday night. Back alley of Wedgewood Row. You will be heavily compensated.
“What is that, Si-Si?” Emily asks. I hush her and pull her closer.
The image shrinks and dies, as if sucked back into an invisible vortex. Replacing the lid, I exhale slowly.
Thursday night? Three nights from now? That doesn’t give me much time. And then it hits me—Harlow Ryder is the owner and director of all the Match 360s. I’ve been hired to break into his office and steal something important. A grin spreads across my face as I think of the implications—I might be able to find out information about my father while I’m there.
“Wow, that was cool,” Emily whispers, her blue eyes wide with awe.
I place the metallic hexagon on my scuffed-up dresser. I’m not the least bit surprised when it bursts into flames, but Emily screams and buries her face in my pillow. I wonder if her screams will wake our mother.
“It’s okay, Em,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.
The metal disintegrates and turns into a fine, silver powder. It lays there in a small pile of ash on my white dresser. Emily wiggles free and moves across the room to touch it.
“No, Em,” I say in a stern voice. She melts back against the bed and watches as I sweep the powder into the trash. Bored, she runs out of the room, her pink Princess Power shoes pounding down the hall.
Rubbing my fingers over the small burn mark, I wonder why this black box is important. As with each “thief-for-hire” assignment, I’m not given details, only specific instructions from Victor of what I need to do. Afterward, the payment for my services automatically appears in my bank account. I never know who hires me because Victor handles all of that. Truthfully, I prefer to keep it that way.
If the assignment didn’t come from Victor, then who?
But does it matter? Because the truth is, I don’t really care who hires me or where the money comes from, as long as it comes. The thought of eating Meat Crap Delite, a step above dog food, for the next month is more than enough incentive.
Biting my lip, I contemplate the task before me.
This one sounds complicated. Breaking into a secure facility is not easy. There are sure to be the three G’s: guards, gates, and my least favorite—guns. Not to mention locked doors and secure access areas. I’m going to need a wingman.
I pull up Chaz on the Lynk communicator, and his face pops up on the tiny, handheld screen. Even without a genetically altered body, Chaz is a genius with computers and easily as smart as most GMs, which makes him my number one go-to guy.
Chaz breaks into a smile when he sees me. “Sienna! Girl, it’s been a long time. How are you?”
I smile. It’s good to see him again. “Chaz, I need a favor.”
Chaz raises his eyebrows. “So this is a business call only, huh? Well, now I feel cheap.”
A laugh escapes from the back of my throat. “Do you still remember how to bypass codes to get into highly secure locations?”
“Yes. Why? Are you planning to break into a secure location?” He grins like he’s being funny.
I shrug. “Are you busy Wednesday night?”
“As long as this doesn’t come back to me—”
“It won’t. I promise.”
Chaz grins and leans toward the Lynk, his round face taking up the entire screen. “Looks like you got yourself a date.”
***
For the next two days, I don’t have time to think about my father, his past, or why he changed his name. Instead, I research points of entry and the layout of the Match 360 building. Thankfully, the city planner made it easy to access architectural copies of the building’s structure.
As I practice different lock-picking techniques, I ponder where the black box might be hidden in Mr. Ryder’s office. I even take a few minutes to contemplate where I might find information about my father. Creating my own laser obstacle course—minus the real lasers, of course—I try to assimilate what I might face once inside the building. After a few calisthenics and stretches, I think I’m ready.
Donning my black shadow outfit, I tie my hair up into a ponytail and pull on a dark ball cap. I’m grateful the sun has long since gone down. As hot as it’s been, I can’t imagine wearing this outfit under its blistering glare. Not even the air coolers inside the fabric of my clothes can help on a hot day like this.
Before I leave, I check on Emily. She’s asleep, the lamp with the pink shade casting a yellow glow about the room. I’m about to turn it off, but then I think better of it. If she wakes while I’m gone, the lamplight will provide her comfort until she’s able to fall back to sleep.
I check on Mom next. Earlier today, she had a systemic lupus flare-up, which usually lands her in bed for a couple of days. Sure enough, she’s already asleep, her worn brown quilt pulled up to her chin, despite the heat. Diagnosed a couple of months after Dad died, my mom hasn’t had it easy, which is why I don’t want her to have to worry about anything. And why I do whatever I can to earn a little cash.
Once outside, I grip the handlebars of my Harley and walk it down the gravel driveway until I reach the road. Now that I’m a safe distance from the house, I climb on and start the engine. Most girls my age would be content with a little Hydra, but not me. That small car seems stifling—claustrophobic, even. I prefer the open air of this antique motorcycle I found and restored after my dad died. Turns out, I may not be an academic queen, but I’m fairly good with my hands.
The wind seeps its way into my shirt, like fingers searching for a warmer spot. Soft tendrils of hair escape from my ponytail and caress my face. I try not to think about what I’m planning to do or the consequences for getting caught.
We need this money.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Match 360 facility, the Legas division, is a large, fifty-acre complex located on the outskirts of the city. Made almost completely of glass, it’s one of the pockets of light viewed from the Megasphere. Barbed wire and electric fences run the length of the property, but for safety reasons, they were unable to fence a small portion of the back of the property, in case emergency vehicles need to enter the premises. A big thank you to the city planner for highlighting that detail in his survey plans.
Once I’ve made it past the gun-toting guard in the courtyard—with the aid of a few well-thrown, barrel-rattling rocks—I sprint soundlessly until I reach the keyless entry, the exact door I saw in the hologram. As I dial Chaz, I insert a tiny earbud into my right ear and wait until his face pops up on the screen.
“I’m here,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “What do you have for me?”
The clack, clack, clack of his fingers rapidly typing on the keyboard is his only response. I glance around.
What if there’s another guard I’m not aware of?
“Got it,” he declares in triumph.
A lock clicks, and the door falls open. A good thing considering there isn’t a handle on this side.
“Thanks, Chaz. You’re the best.”
I ease through and leave a small card in the doorjamb to keep it from completely closing. Before I take a step, I eye my surroundings.
“Do you see any lasers?” Chaz asks.
“Shh. I need to concentrate.”
I don’t see any lasers, but that’s what makes them so dangerous. You don’t see them. Not until it’s too late.
I pull a container of baby powder from my backpack and dump some into my hand. When I fling it out onto the floor in front of me, I see them then.
Intersecting lines of lasers positioned every foot or so.
I exhale in a slow rush. I can do this. I can beat this.
And as long as I don’t think about what these lasers can do to my skin—to my body—I can make it past.
I tighten the straps of my backpack as I ease up on my toes, flexing my calf muscles. With careful precision, I step over
the first wire. I barely have enough space to stand in between the first and second, but I catch my balance and conquer the next. The ones after that are trickier because they crisscross at waist level. Using my flexibility, I limbo my way under the next two, the lasers so close to my chest, I can feel the heat through my shirt.
By the time I get to the last one, I’m a little cocky and impatient. I’ve wasted valuable time trying to get past this obstacle. As I hurry over the last laser, I hear the sizzle of the heat slicing through my dangling shoestring. I gape in horror at the leftover piece of shoelace on the floor, its burnt end curling up. Shuddering, I push through to the stairwell.
According to the survey plans, the director’s office is located on the sixth floor. I climb the emergency stairs two at a time until I reach it. Once I’ve pushed through the heavy metal door, I tiptoe down the hallway of glass until I see a door with the name Harlow Ryder etched onto the smooth surface. But when I try the knob, my heart sinks.
Of course, it’s locked.
A small, gel-like keypad sits above the doorknob. I pull Chaz from my pocket and show him the door. “We’re screwed. It’s a fingerprint-activated lock.”
“I think I can bypass the system,” he says. “What floor are you on?”
“Six.”
The clink of the keyboard becomes background noise on Chaz’s side of the phone. I glance down the hall as a nervous bead of sweat dribbles between my shoulder blades. Not even the air coolers in my shirt can help right now.
“How much longer?” I hiss when the silence in the hall becomes deafening and the only sound is the swift beating of my heart.
Another pause, and then a triumphant voice announces, “You’re in.”
At the same time, I hear the lock click.
Relief floods me as I slide into the dark room. With my pocket light, I do a quick sweep of Harlow Ryder’s office. A sleek black desk rests in the center of the room with a silver pendant light hanging above it. Two black-and-silver striped chairs sit opposite the desk, and a white couch covered with black throw pillows lounges in the corner.
I hurry to the desk and jerk each drawer open, rifling through papers as my heart pounds against my lungs. What if I can’t find this box? What if it’s not here? I try not to think such thoughts as I search under the desk for a trigger or key or something to indicate there’s a hidden safe in the room.
The metal cabinet in the corner of the room looks like a great place to stash a small box. I pull open drawer after drawer, but all I find are data chips in their protective sleeves neatly filed in rows. My eyes skim over the names on the sleeves, searching for my father’s former name—according to the Devil—but my shoulders slump when I reach the last alphabetized chip. No Mitch Hoover. And no black box.
Of course, it won’t be in plain sight. Not something as important as this small box that must contain secrets.
Think, Sienna, think.
I scan my light around the dark room until it rests on an elaborate oil painting of a Trojan horse.
Bingo.
I stride over to the picture frame and try to lift it off the wall, but it won’t budge, almost as if held to that spot by some invisible force. With my latex-covered hands, I feel around the picture, searching for a hidden button. There’s an indentation in the backside of the picture frame, and my heart thuds with excitement as I lightly press the small button. The sound of the click brings a smile to my face, and the heavy frame swings open to reveal a small safe.
I eye it. Clearly, this is an antique rotary combination lock, and they don’t make them like this anymore. When I spin the dial, I hear the click of the four live locking bolts.
Shouldn’t they have something more sophisticated for such an important facility? Not that I’m complaining. They just made my job a whole lot easier.
I press my ear to the safe at the exact moment that there’s a noise outside. Standing slowly, I peek out the window. Three sleek vehicles pull up, their roof lights barely glowing. Enforcers step out of their vehicles, making their way to the building with their laser guns drawn. Damn. I must have triggered a silent alarm.
“Looks like we have company, Chaz,” I mutter. I don’t know if he can hear me, but I don’t take the time to find out. As I rush back to the safe, I know I can’t leave until I get what I came for. I probably have three minutes tops until the Enforcers reach my level of the building.
Taking a deep breath, I bend down until my ear is next to the dial. My fingers grasp onto the cool metal, and I slowly turn it. I’m greeted with silence. Swallowing hard, I try again. This time, I hear it, the faint click of the lock. The dial moves easily in the opposite direction, and again, I hear the slight clink of the discs catching.
The Enforcers will be on my level at any moment. My hands shake, and beads of sweat dot my forehead.
Stay calm, Sienna. Just stay calm.
Cursing my heart for its loud, erratic throbbing, I turn the dial again, carefully listening. After what seems like an eternity, I feel the click, like a small pulse under my fingertips. With a slight tug, I open the safe and see it.
The black box.
The engraved symbol on top of the smooth lid is one I’ve seen before. Similar to an infinity sign, two triangles face each other, forming a mirror image—the Match 360 symbol.
Lights bounce on the other side of the glass wall, throwing my pulse in overdrive. The Enforcers are nearing Mr. Ryder’s office.
I grab the box, wrap it in the red bandana, and place it in the pack slung over my shoulder. Clearly, I can’t leave the way I came. After closing the safe and the picture frame, I scan the room for an escape, spotting the windows on the far wall.
I try the first one, but it won’t budge.
My chest constricts with fear as my hands move to the next one. Thankfully, it slides open easily enough. Crawling out, I inhale sharply as my eyes adjust to the darkness. The fire escape is strategically placed under the next set of windows. And there’s no way I can reach it from here.
Plastering myself against the wall, I slide along the eight-inch ledge to the next window and try not to think about what will inevitably happen if I slip six stories above the ground. Each step puts me closer to my escape, but further from the safety of the window I crawled out of.
Once I reach the adjacent window, I drop five feet onto the metal fire escape below. A groan escapes as my knees take the full impact of my weight. I stumble forward, grasping for the railing. But I can’t stop yet, not until I put more distance between the Enforcers and myself. Ignoring the pain, I leap down the stairs while voices shout above me.
“She’s getting away! Enforcers! Stop!”
A laser bullet whizzes past my head and hits the railing, burning a quarter-sized hole in the metal. I keep moving. When I reach the end of the fire escape, I plow forward, throwing myself over the seven-foot drop. Pain shoots up my arm and tiny rocks stab my skin as my body slams against the pavement. Blood trickles down my elbow, and I lay on the ground for a moment, struggling to catch my breath as another bullet whizzes past. It lands on the ground next to me and leaves a burnt hole in the pavement. The next one is so close that it singes my pant leg and grazes the skin underneath. I scream as a lightning bolt of pain sears my leg and the smell of burnt flesh and fabric assaults my nose.
Staggering to my feet, I take off running—well, hobbling mostly—as I escape into the darkness, the black box wrapped protectively in my backpack.
CHAPTER SIX
Sitting on my bed, I lather burn cream on my leg. Thankfully, the laser burn wasn’t as bad as I initially pictured, only the size of a dime. But by the time I got home last night and dialed Chaz to let him know I was okay, it had already blistered and was oozing a bile-colored liquid. Not one of my best nights, that’s for sure.
A knock on my bedroom door is followed by Mom peeking into the room. She’s dressed in the usual—tan sweatpants and gray T-shirt. Her bright red hair is pulled back in a high ponytail.
I
quickly pull my pant leg down, but I’m too late.
“What happened, sweetie?” Crossing the room in two strides, she plops down on the bed next to me. She tries to reach for my leg, but I gently push her hands away.
“I’m fine, Mom. Just a little burn from the exhaust pipe.”
She frowns and fiddles with the silver charm bracelet on her wrist, one Dad gave her a few months before he died. “You need to be more careful, honey. That thing is so dangerous.”
“I will, Mom. I promise.” I study her face. She looks better today than she did yesterday. “How are you feeling?”
She gives me a small smile. “Much better, thankfully.” She fingers a piece of my hair that came out of my ponytail. “Just look at you. You’ve grown into such a mature young woman.”
Biting my lip, I tuck the strand of hair back into place. “Mom, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, honey.”
“Why didn’t you and Dad choose to have me genetically engineered?”
Mom’s eyes widen as if she wasn’t quite expecting that question. “Well, your father was opposed to it. Wanted you to be free of the pressures of society, or something. I can’t remember how he put it.” She smiles. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because you’re perfect to me.”
My chest squeezes at her words. I wrap my arms around her and hold tight. As strong as I try to be, I still need my mother’s love. I want to ask her about my father’s identity change, but I don’t want to upset her. She’s so fragile nowadays.
Mom’s arms enfold me. When she pulls away, her eyes are moist.
“What are your plans for today?” she asks. “Are you still working at that doctor’s office?”
No, that was like two jobs ago, but I don’t expect her to keep track, especially when I never tell her the truth about my jobs. “That was only a temporary position. I’m between jobs right now. But don’t worry; I should be getting another paycheck soon.” I hate lying to her, I really do. But if she knew the truth, it would tear her apart.
Catalyst Page 3