by P. R. Adams
I set the VR goggles on the countertop. “Two things. One, I need you to crack a device for me. Two, I need you to—”
Abhishek shook his cigarette at me. “It’s late.”
“I need you to do it remotely.” I pushed the goggles toward him.
He blew smoke in my face and turned to Nitin. “You’re running with the wrong sort of brown men. Your mother know you do this?”
Nitin chuckled. “All she cares about is that I make more money than my brother.”
“You whore like him? You break your mother’s heart?”
“No.”
Abhishek stubbed the cigarette out. “She wishes you were married instead of whoring, doesn’t she?”
“Maybe one day. I’m still too young and pretty.”
I spun a finger around the side of my head; Nitin nodded and wandered over to one of the display tables and poked around at some sort of old playback device.
Abhishek plucked the VR goggles from the countertop. “I don’t do anything remote. Is this Agency nonsense? Don’t say, don’t say.” He squinted at the goggles as he turned them around. “No identification. Stolen.” He set them down.
I pushed them back toward him. “Prototypes.”
He pushed them back. “Stolen prototypes. I want to live to ninety. None of this nonsense.” The cigarette glowed as he sucked in the smoke.
“How much?”
He put the goggles on. “Fifty. Hourly. Starting now. You have a secure Grid connection?”
I set my data device on the countertop, punched in Chan’s number, and watched Abhishek’s face when Chan appeared on the display. That got a barely raised eyebrow. Good. “Chan, this is Abhishek. He’ll be helping you with the device hack.”
Chan waved.
Abhishek glanced up over the goggles at me. “I go to bed at four. Sharp.”
I grabbed my data device and ran back to the 750. Ichi still refused to acknowledge me as I slid in beside her. Nitin turned us around and accelerated. He smiled into the rearview mirror when the maneuver threw Ichi against me.
We headed north, to Ravi’s registered address. He could afford a background scrub but not a secret address. Not likely. I called Danny. “What’s the bird see?”
Danny stared out into space, caught up in remote piloting the drone. “Twenty-second floor, corner unit. There’s…there’s pretty good security. He drives a piece of shit. Some ugly Chinese thing. I nearly fell asleep watching it putter around in the snow.”
“He was driving around?”
“Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago. Came from the direction of the hospital.”
Images of the apartment tower filled the display. I forwarded them to Ichi, who had been surreptitiously looking over my shoulder. She pulled out her data device.
I poked through a few short videos. “Anyone else in the apartment?”
“Empty. Must have a cleaning service. It’s spotless.”
The images shifted to interior shots, a mix of UV and thermographic. Two bedrooms, one with furniture. A kitchen and dining area, what looked like a utility room and maybe storage. Chan sent blueprints and a panoramic video. Twelve-hundred square feet, modern furnishings.
I imagined the distance from elevator to apartment door, then the time from entry to the furnished bedroom. “Chan, does the rent match Secret Service pay?”
“Tight.” Chan sounded unconvinced.
“But it fits?”
“Sure.”
He couldn’t be making too much more with this Montblanc.
Ichi’s face tightened in concentration.
I wanted to offer her some reassurance, but it would be rejected. I brought Chan’s connection up as video. “Building security something we can handle?”
Chan sneered. “Handled. Follow the path. Stay on schedule.”
Ichi’s breathing quickened. Norimitsu used to say that every entry was a new experience. No matter how hard he trained, he could never account for human unpredictability. It would always be that way. Ichi had to know that, but the difference between knowing and living through something was what defined life.
We sped on in silence until Nitin came to a stop a block west of the building. Ichi pulled her hood up and tucked her hair into a black watch cap. Her eyes were wide and wet.
Nitin turned around and gave her a devilish smile, as if he thought he could change what team she batted for. “This is gonna be real easy.” Easy came out slow and smooth. “When you come out, head in the opposite direction. We’ll be a block on the east side. It’s just a nice, easy drive home after that. Promise.”
She exhaled and seemed to relax. She popped the door.
I touched her hand. “We all make it back. All of us.”
The door closed, but I thought I saw a flicker of trust in her eyes.
She was lost in the darkness and snow about eighty feet away. I switched to UV and got into the front passenger seat. When I closed the door, Nitin turned, eyes squeezed shut and lips pressed together.
“What?” I didn’t need him panicking, too.
He relaxed. “You believe in a God, boss?”
“I believe in me. You need to believe in you.”
He leaned forward and rolled his gloved hands over the steering wheel. “Yeah, but…a higher power. Something to give us hope and maybe pull off miracles.”
I suppressed a groan. “We do our jobs right, we won’t need miracles.”
“No. I’m not talking about driving. I’m good with that. I mean getting all deep and religious with Ichi.”
The heat hit me again. “Drop it.”
“Sure. I just want to know—” He caught my glare and leaned back in his seat.
I brought up the apartment’s external security video. “Chan, how’s she doing?”
A totally indistinct form bundled in a hoodie and hunched low came into view as the front door opened.
“On schedule,” Chan said.
The video tracked to the lobby. Chan’s path was a hovering line that swerved and twisted around columns and furniture. Ichi was in the center of a moving green segment that extended maybe six feet in either direction before it turned to amber for another six feet, then turned red. The green segment moved quickly, requiring speed and grace. Ichi had that in spades. She was staying dead-center for the most part. Watching her brought back memories of Norimitsu, although she had a little more spring to her step.
An elevator opened ahead of her, and she entered just as the line she was on turned amber. The door slid shut as the line turned red.
I leaned closer to the display, unsure what to make of that. “Chan?”
“Safe. Camera caught entry. Legs. Nothing identifiable.”
“And the elevator’s express?”
“Straight to twenty-two.”
My pulse hammered in my throat. On the twenty-second floor video, the line appeared, already turning amber as the elevator door opened. Ichi came out at a sprint and regained the center of the green segment, then slowed. As she approached Ravi’s door, it opened.
I pulled Danny’s connection up. “Danny, she’s heading in. Where is he?”
“Uh, bathroom. Showering, I think.” Danny gulped. “I…lost him. He—he closed the curtain, and thermographic’s not as good for depth. But I think he went into the bathroom.”
I tapped over to Ichi and Chan. The only video we had now was from Ichi. It showed the hall outside the dining room. “Ichi, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a hallway past the kitchen to your left. Master bedroom on the right. Ravi might be in the bathroom, might be showering.”
“Water is running.”
“All right. You’ve got the different mock-ups Chan did, so you know what the device should look like. There’s a nightstand near the bed. Perfect place to start.”
She shot past the kitchen.
A thought hit me. “Wait. Check the sink and dishwasher.”
She backtracked, went to the sink. Empty. The dishwasher
held what I was looking for.
“Those drinking glasses. Run the biometric glove over those. See if you can come away with fingerprints, maybe some saliva.”
The glove was latex with integrated circuits, scanners, and replaceable swabs on the fingertips. It was somewhat tricky to use, but once she got the glove on, she was able to run it over the glasses like a pro. She got green lights on the second and third glasses.
She closed the dishwasher and put the glove back in her pouch, then headed down the hallway. She put a hand on the door, stopped, then opened it. The room was dimly lit. The bedspread was folded back on the bed a precise forty-five degree angle, revealing beige sheets. No empty food cartons piled nearby, no bottles bunched together. The drapes were a rich gold with yellow fleur-de-lis patterns, same as the bedspread. Her camera scanned over a pale oak dresser—dust-free—and to a matching nightstand.
The lamp lighting the room—stained brass base, matching fabric shade. A handkerchief, a wallet, a data device.
The water shut off.
Ichi gasped. Quiet. Barely noticeable, but it was there.
She opened the nightstand drawer. Service pistol, holstered. Two magazines, loaded.
And the encryption device.
She pulled it out and held it in front of the camera.
Chan shouted, “Fuck! Specialized interface!”
Abhishek hacked, cleared his throat. “U-D interface. Check the pouch. It’s the one with the squarish sides.”
Ichi dug out her universal cable and dumped the interfaces into her hand. “Which?”
Abhishek said, “The big one. Near your middle finger. Yes. That’s it.”
She slid the interface into the cable, then connected the cable to the device.
“Ah! Look at that!” Abhishek chuckled, then wheezed. “All good, all good.”
I felt like I was being strangled. “You getting it? Do we have it?”
“Oh, not yet. This is very good. Very good. The latest firmware. Not something I’ve seen.”
I popped open the shared Chan and Abhishek view. Green wireframes, windows with numbers and symbols scrolling by. Tech bullshit.
A door handle rattled. Ichi spun; her camera caught a hand, a pajama sleeve.
She slid the drawer shut, dropped to the floor, and rolled beneath the bed.
I bit the middle knuckle of my hand. “Ravi’s in his bedroom. We’re out of time.”
Abhishek snorted. “This will take some time.”
Danny said, “We need to abort, don’t you think? Get her out?”
The bed creaked. The light went out.
“If he finds her, we lose everything.” Danny left that out there for a second. “Stefan?”
“Ichi, it’s your call. I can get you out, or—”
Ichi texted: No.
Danny disconnected from the conference call. He immediately called me direct. “I thought…” His voice shook; he took a deep breath. “I thought you said Stovall might be involved?”
“That’s what we’re checking.”
“If he’s one of Stovall’s thugs, he’ll kill her. She’s not ready—”
“Danny, it’s her call.” I swallowed hard.
“Yeah. Okay.” He ended the call.
I flipped back to the conference call. Abhishek was rattling off something that had Chan trying to interrupt, irritated.
I cut in with, “Stop!” When the line went silent, I said, “Okay. One of you. What’s going on?”
“We can’t copy this,” Abhishek said. “Too tight a security. Several unpublished protocols.”
Chan snorted. “Nothing’s unpublished. I can get it.”
“Gridhounds always say they can get it.” Abhishek snorted. “This is quite impossible.”
We’d come too far to call it impossible. “Chan, how long to dig up what you need?”
“Don’t know.”
“Pfft.” Abhishek went into a coughing fit. “Give me five minutes.”
Clattering, rattling, banging. As if Abhishek thought he might construct something on the fly to get into the system. Preposterous, at least with anyone else.
I texted Ichi: You holding up?
Yes.
She had to be lying. Her pulse had to be as big a mess as mine.
The noise on Abhishek’s end stopped “Ah! There! Yes! Always a vulnerability.”
“How much longer do you need?” I asked.
“Need? I am done. I took an image of memory. The rest is just deconstruction and reconstruction. I know the hardware. Your pretty girl can get out of there now.”
“Ichi, exit.”
She slid out from under the bed an inch at a time. There was enough light to make out the shape of the nightstand, to see the blanket where it draped over the bed. Ravi’s breathing was still quiet and uneven.
Ichi’s hand went up. She pulled the nightstand drawer out. An inch. Two. Her hand went over the side; the device slid out of sight.
She slid the drawer closed again, quieter than Ravi’s breathing.
Her camera went dark, but I heard the carpet scratching against her clothes. Crawling.
She looked up. Maybe halfway to the door.
A data device rang. Ravi’s.
The light came on. Sheets rustled.
Ravi gasping. “Who the hell—?”
The drawer opened. The gun!
She twisted, kipped up, grabbed the blankets, and threw them over him.
He brought the gun up.
She pinned his arm down, took sharp strikes at the wrist. Numbing strikes.
He screamed, dropped the gun, sat up.
She drove an elbow into the area just below what looked like his chin.
He fell back.
She kicked the gun and ran, bouncing off the wall, tugging the door closed behind her.
She was through the kitchen, had the hall door open.
Chan’s line was red. She sprinted into the green, slowed until the door opened behind her, then sprinted again.
The elevator opened and immediately started to close when she was inside.
Ravi was there, hands fighting to keep the door open, to get in, staring at her. Staring right at her.
His hands pulled free. The doors closed.
Chan shouted something unintelligible.
I could see it in Nitin: Everyone was losing it. “We’re getting her out of there.”
“Something’s knocked me out.” Chan might have been crying.
“Is the elevator getting her down? Ichi, can you hear me?”
“Total disconnect.” Chan’s voice was high, nearly a squeal.
“Keep it together.” I turned to Nitin. “Get us into position.”
We lurched forward, then steadied.
Nitin shrugged. “Sorry.”
I watched the road ahead, straining against the snow. “Chan, can you get back in?”
“Trying.” Sobbing. Clear sobbing. Fear and anger.
We slowed as we approached the front entrance, then waited at a stop sign. No sirens, no lights.
No sign of Ichi.
“It’s locked down,” Chan shouted. Something cracked; I imagined one of the displays bearing the brunt of a fit.
“Keep fighting.”
“I can’t.” Chan was openly crying. “It isn’t possible.” Disconnection.
We moved through the intersection. Slow. Inconspicuous. Nitin licked his lips.
A window on the second floor shattered, and a moment later, Ichi dove out. She executed a perfect flip and landed in the street but lost her footing in the snow and went to her knees.
Nitin braked. “She’s down!” He accelerated, then braked again.
The rear door facing her opened, and she flopped onto the seat with a groan.
I leaned back, reached toward her. “You okay? Anything—”
Gunfire. Automatic. Loud.
Glass shattered and rained over me. Something cracked off my upraised arm, knocked it back. Still functional. Something wet and warm
trickled down my face.
Nitin! He convulsed. Slumped. Blood covered everything and slowly tracked down to the floor. Snow spilled into the car, melted, disappeared in the crimson.
Ichi shifted.
I pushed her down against the seat. “Stay down!”
Nitin’s face was a gory ruin, and his eyes stared into nothing. I popped the door, unbuckled him, and shoved him into the street. Forms moved toward us, guns raised.
I scanned the dash for the switch to engage the smart system, found it, flipped it on, and ordered the car to get us out of there. It rumbled, accelerated.
More gunfire, more shattered glass.
I signaled the system to gun the engine as I crawled into the driver’s seat. The forms drew closer. The smart system braked.
I switched back to manual and turned straight at two of the approaching forms, accelerated, and clipped one.
Bullets tore through the car. A few struck my arms and shoulders. One grazed my rib. The 750 held it together long enough for me to get us away from the area.
“Danny?” I glanced back at Ichi while the data device made the connection. She blinked at me. Glass covered her in a sparkling blanket. “Danny?”
“Yeah?”
“Nitin’s dead. I need an exit.”
“Oh. Oh, no.”
“They were waiting for us.” I checked on Ichi again. She was crying. Alive. I flipped back to the smart system. “Chan’s bugged out on me. I need you to take control of the car. Get us to a new vehicle, then ditch this one.”
“Yeah. Gimme a minute.” There was a pleasant calm to Danny’s voice. He was back in his element.
“Agency?” Danny asked.
I twisted around to brush glass off Ichi’s hood. “Had to be.”
I didn’t need to wait for Abhishek to hack the device. I knew who we were up against.
Chapter 17
It took nearly as long to calm Heidi down than to arrange medical support for Ichi. To listen to Heidi’s cursing and shouting, I would have thought she was the injured one. Finally, she gave me a name and address: Yanis and an address in Bethesda.
He met me at the back door to a mansion that probably wasn’t even his. He was skeletal, almost regal, with patient, blue eyes that were bleary and red. He smelled of ouzo and garlic, and his thinning, brown hair looked like it had recently come off a pillow. It was hard to see him as a doctor, even though he spoke like one. He waved me into a kitchen, where a thick-chested giant of a man with a heavy brow waited.