by Julie Hyzy
Furious, Kenna faced the wall, bracing her legs and grasping the rope to begin her rappel downward. “Get me down,” she said.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“I said get me the hell down.”
“Guess we have to call it a draw,” he said with a laugh when she landed.
“Do not ever do that again.” Glaring, she called out to suspend the program, activated her signal medallion, and disengaged.
SIXTEEN
There was very little talk among them at first. Murmurs mostly. Three men and two women formed a haphazard circle in this low-rent motel room. One member of the group slouched in a hard chair, another sat tightly cross-legged on one of the twin beds, leaning against the headboard. One sprawled face up on the other mattress. One paced. They all pored over documents, making faces as they read.
Back end perched on the edge of a low dresser, Patrick rubbed a weary hand over his head. He’d been at this for hours, sorting through files, taking pictures, and printing copies. Letting his gaze wander over the group of young people, he cleared his throat. “Everyone just about finished?”
He waited until all their eyes met his. They were the unlikeliest group of rebels he could imagine.
“I don’t get it, Pat,” Maya said, leaning forward from the headboard. She pushed a strand of her dark hair behind one ear as she glanced up. “Why was Charlie sitting on all this?”
Edgar rolled from his back onto his stomach, tucking his packet of information under his chest. “Charlie called me last week,” he said with a lilt of regret. “I asked him what was up, but he said he wasn’t sure. That I should come take a look. Sabra and I were getting ready to fly in when all…this”—Edgar gestured around the room—“happened.”
Sabra spoke up from the chair. “The important thing is that we have more information now. But, what I want to know is…hang on.” Flipping back several pages, she squinted while the group waited for her to continue. “Here it is. This guy, Larry Collins, was supposed to be sharing details about the new interface device with Charlie.” She frowned. “But you’re telling us he was actually a Virtu-Tech operative.”
“That’s right,” Patrick said, knowing what was coming next. “He was.”
The last member of the group, Aaron, stopped pacing to face Patrick. “And you didn’t warn Charlie? It would have saved his life.”
“Larry Collins is an assumed name. His real name was Wendell Long. I didn’t even know Charlie had connected with him,” Patrick said. He pushed off from the dresser to meet Aaron face-to-face. Half his age and six inches taller, Aaron packed double the muscle under tight, black skin.
Patrick continued, “You know as well as I do that Charlie did all this on his own. He didn’t talk to anybody.” Lasering his gaze at Edgar, he added, “The fact that he called you last week is something. He may have begun to have doubts. He may have been looking for guidance.”
“But you believed Virtu-Tech wasn’t targeting the Chicago market yet,” Edgar said.
Aaron lifted one dark eyebrow. Held his ground. “Obviously, you were wrong on that,” he said. “Dead wrong.”
Edgar eased himself off the bed to join the two men. “Listen, we all thought they’d wait until New York and DC were up and running before moving out here.” He placed gentle fingertips on both men’s chests, moving them slightly apart.
Aaron gave an insolent head shake and stared at Patrick. “I thought you said you knew everything Trutenko knows,” he said. “Maybe it’s the other way around?”
“Come again?” Patrick said, inching forward, hands flexing. “What are you trying to say?”
“What do you think?” Aaron asked, mocking. “You’re Trutenko’s little runaround boy, sucking up to your big brother, practically spit-shining his shoes. Maybe we’re not getting classified information on Virtu-Tech like you keep assuring us we are. Maybe Virtu-Tech is getting classified information on us.”
“Back it up, both of you,” Edgar said, exerting considerable pressure against Patrick’s chest. Edgar pushed between them, keeping his back to Aaron as he faced Patrick in a subtle but effective message: two against one. “We’ve gone over all of Charlie’s notes. And I have to admit,” he said, “it looks like he was set up. Question is: Why didn’t Trutenko let you in on this operation?”
“I don’t know.” Patrick’s hands came up; he took a conciliatory step back. He hated the suspicion that stared at him from four sets of eyes, but he couldn’t blame them for doubting him. Charlie wasn’t just another operative. He’d been their friend. “Charlie was set up. But Trutenko never meant for things to go this far”—Patrick lifted his chin to forestall their collective outcry—“I didn’t find out about it until after.” Patrick’s voice faltered. “After Charlie had been killed.”
“Convenient,” Aaron said.
“Look,” Patrick said, “would I have pulled this group together if I was in on it?” He didn’t wait for them to answer. “Of course not,” he said. “My brother confides in me, but he doesn’t tell me everything, okay?” He met each of their gazes in turn. “You’ve read the notes. Charlie thought he could do it all himself. He thought that once he got hold of the interface device, he could use it to infiltrate Virtu-Tech’s systems and boost the chances of our plan’s success.”
Maya swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked up. She finished his thought. “But then Trutenko noticed him.”
Patrick nodded. “My brother decided to interrogate Charlie. Apparently, he wasn’t convinced Charlie was any kind of real threat at first. That’s why he never mentioned him to me. Trutenko couldn’t conceive of anyone so far away from DC headquarters being able to mess with the plan.”
“The guy’s never heard of hackers?” Sabra asked.
“Celia Newell believes that Virtu-Tech’s systems are impenetrable,” Patrick said.
Maya wiggled her fingers. “No system is impenetrable.”
“Exactly.” Patrick smiled. “But the longer they believe that, the better it is for us.”
“Trutenko didn’t say squat to you,” Aaron said. “About Charlie.”
It wasn’t a question, but Patrick answered anyway. “No, he didn’t. Trutenko pulled in Collins and a guy named Tate. Tate’s the one who—” Patrick cleared his suddenly hot throat. “He’s the one who killed Charlie. It wasn’t meant to go that way.”
“You’re not defending Trutenko, are you?” Maya asked.
“No, of course not. Just trying to share the facts as I know them. Collins was supposed to trick Charlie into divulging information on the dissident movement. They expected names, locations, and plans, but Collins lost control of the scene. My best guess is that when Charlie realized what was going down, he tried to escape with the new technology. Unfortunately, we’ll never know for sure.”
Patrick revisited the moment Werner had told him the news of Charlie’s death. Like a swift, deep punch to his soul, Patrick had lost ability to draw air into his lungs, and—barely able to remain standing—strove for phony outrage over Charlie’s incursion as he struggled to fake nonchalance.
“They sacrificed Collins,” he added.
“Trutenko killed one of his own?” Sabra asked.
“More like they sent him in without understanding the consequences,” he answered. “Collins wasn’t an envoy. Neither is Tate. They programmed limitations to their power and didn’t know how to work around them. They lost control of the scenario. Trutenko, incidentally, is furious. He was determined to get Charlie to talk. You’ll all be relieved to know that Charlie didn’t breathe a word about what we’ve uncovered on Sub Rosa.”
“Of course he didn’t. None of us would.” Aaron relaxed his stance enough to let Patrick know he’d gotten through. “What about Charlie’s girlfriend?” he asked.
“Fiancée,” Patrick corrected.
“How much does she know?”
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“Not a lot. Kenna can be bullheaded.” That was an understatement. “He knew that if she caught a whiff of wrongdoing, she’d take it up the chain until she got answers.”
“That ain’t gonna work,” Maya said. “Not in this situation. Way too dangerous.”
“Exactly,” Patrick said. “She gets laser focused on righting perceived wrongs. Makes her an excellent envoy.”
Sabra nodded. “But tough to corral.”
“If Charlie never told her about us,” Aaron said, “maybe he didn’t trust her.”
“Charlie trusted Kenna,” Patrick said. “Completely.”
“Yeah?” Aaron worked his jaw. “Well, let me say what we’re all thinking here. This is serious shit we’re dealing with, and sometimes it’s hard to know who you can trust and who you can’t.” He looked around the room. “If Charlie didn’t talk to his own fiancée, then what’s that say about her? Maybe it isn’t that she’d go running to ‘right the wrongs.’ Maybe she’s in on Sub Rosa. Maybe she’s one of them.”
“Charlie trusted her,” Edgar said. “When I talked with him last, he said he intended to bring her in on all this as soon as he had something solid.” He waved his hands to encompass the group. “Maybe he was just trying to protect her. That’s what I’d do in the same situation.”
Sabra and Maya sent him twin looks of disdain. “Big man protecting his little woman?” Sabra said.
Edgar frowned. “You know what I mean. It’s not a gender thing. You try to protect those you love.”
“Lotta good it’s doing her now,” Maya said. “Nobody’s watching her back.”
“Kenna is a kick-ass envoy. Better than Charlie was, even,” Patrick said. “And I’m watching her back. What I need to do now is to convince Trutenko that Kenna’s not worth his effort, so that he calls off the dogs.”
“How?” Edgar asked.
“I sorted through Charlie’s notes to identify the ones that make it clear Kenna isn’t involved. I’ll be sure he understands that.”
“You’re going to hand over Charlie’s notes to Trutenko?” Aaron asked.
“I’ve got to give him something.” Patrick’s tone was clipped. He was tired of trying to hide his irritation. Tired of having to behave like a good Virtu-Tech soldier, only to turn around and have to justify his actions to the dissident team. “He knows I went through Kenna’s apartment. He knows Charlie was onto him. If I come up empty, it’ll only raise more questions.” He rubbed his hand over his head again, tension and exhaustion seeping through his weary words. “I’m not going to give him anything that could bite us.”
“You’d better not,” Aaron said.
Patrick ignored him. “He flew to DC to meet with Newell. He’s returning here the day after tomorrow. With any luck, he’ll bring me up-to-date with her plans.” He nodded to them all, as though soliciting cooperation. “You guys got copies of everything Charlie found before he went to that final meeting.”
“He uncovered a hell of a lot in a short amount of time.” Maya said.
“Yeah,” Patrick said. “Now we just have to figure out how best to use it. Decide on our next steps.”
“Charlie’s notes make perfectly clear what our next step should be,” Maya said, holding the documents aloft. “We recruit Kenna.”
SEVENTEEN
Kenna locked AdventureSome’s front door and returned to the VR control area. “I really appreciate your help with this, Vanessa,” she said.
Vanessa sat at a monitor, tapping at her keyboard. “What exactly are you hoping to find by re-creating the scene?” she asked. “I can’t imagine any way revisiting it will help you understand what happened to Charlie.”
Picking up her VR headgear, Kenna turned to face her friend. “No one believes me,” she said. “And I get it. What I described doesn’t seem possible. But I swear that creature on the bridge was an avatar of a sentient being.”
“There wasn’t anyone else here, though,” Vanessa gently reminded her. “Someone can’t enter another person’s scenario. Not remotely. They have to be together in the same facility if they plan to share an adventure.”
“I know that,” Kenna said. “But I also know what I experienced. That thing knew exactly what it was doing when it activated a signal medallion.”
“The werewolf.”
“I know how it sounds.” Kenna returned to confirming her capsule’s readiness. “And to answer your question, I don’t know what I hope to find. But I have to start somewhere, and this is the only option I’ve got.”
“Let’s do it then,” Vanessa said. “I’ve set you up with full permissions and command for self-direction. Ready when you are.”
“Thanks,” Kenna said. “This means a lot to me.”
Once in, it didn’t take long for Kenna to get her bearings. She ordered herself to see, hear, and smell the surroundings as they assumed shape. Sunlight emerged, filtering gently through umbrella-size leaves, warming her bare arms and casting shadows through long fronds onto the soft soil underfoot.
She took a deep breath of the mossy air, fighting the quiver of anxiety that jolted her heart. This is how it all began before. But this time, she told herself, she wasn’t looking for Charlie; she was seeking clues to his killer. And unless all aspects of the program had been permanently purged, she’d find him.
Kenna sorted through all the possible ways to go about searching. The blond man wouldn’t be here, of course, but because he’d appeared in Charlie’s final VR scenario, his matrix was on file in the global database.
Somewhere.
Kenna made her way to the clearing in the jungle. She had no warriors to worry about this time, no overturned Land Rover beyond the edge of the cliff. All she had to help her concentrate was the sun beating down from the clear sky above, and a view of the rope bridge that had finally led her to Charlie’s side.
She stood at the cliff’s edge, trickles of perspiration beading and dripping down her sides and back. Turning her face to the sun, she found herself relishing the feel of toxins pouring from her body.
Charlie had been murdered. Despite what Stewart, Vanessa, and Dr. Baxter all argued, Kenna knew Charlie hadn’t simply become mortally absorbed. He was too good for that.
The blond man from the VR jungle scenario was key to discovering what was really going on. Somehow he’d manipulated the program’s parameters, and her best plan of attack was to locate his matrix. Then, it would just be a matter of tracing that matrix back to its source.
Kenna remembered his height, his build, his coloring. By self-directing—controlling the parameters of her VR while inside it—she would be able to search the global database for matches. She sat on the sun-warmed ground and stared down over the outcropping. Concentrating, she began her quest.
This scenario wasn’t precisely the same as the one in which Charlie had been killed. It was close, but she’d had to settle for an amalgam of different images and different scenes because there was nothing unique enough about a jungle with a rope bridge to trace back to its source. She needed to narrow her search.
Kenna made her way down to the outcropping and started across the wobbling bridge. She held on to the rope sides, gazing down at the gorge, so far below. The bridge’s far side offered no hut, but VR huts were ubiquitous. Hun warriors less so, but because they were a popular option among warfare-loving VR participants, there was no way to isolate the very ones she’d encountered. To attempt to re-create them here would be foolish, and a waste of time.
But.
Kenna stopped at the center of the bridge and looked down at the water and thought about the werewolf. It had vanished before hitting the bottom. That meant it was either programmed to do so or, as Kenna suspected, it was a sentient being’s avatar.
That hadn’t been typical. Not by a long shot. While certain types of VR adventurers often included mythical creatures in their scenari
os, the light-eyed monster with oversize hands might just be unusual enough to be tracked.
Kenna hurried across to the bridge’s far side, her steps making hollow sounds as she clattered along the plank floor. At the far end, she turned. Focusing on the middle of the bridge—where she’d seen him last—she triggered the global database as she set up her search parameters. Best guesses. She specified the color of the creature’s fur, and, most important, those pale blue eyes.
“Come on,” she said.
When the werewolf appeared, Kenna laughed in spite of herself. It was Wary Wolf, a familiar cartoon character Kenna used to watch as a child. He glittered to life, grinning. Wary Wolf, bright-eyed and scrawny, spent his days chasing a chicken he never could catch. Worse, he was terrified of the little thing.
Three more tries, three more werewolves. Kenna gritted her teeth in frustration. How many damn blue-eyed werewolves were there? Details, she thought. I need details. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up every minute feature she could recall. She changed the parameters to exclude those she’d already found, and tried again.
After what seemed forever, Kenna saw a faint shimmer at the bridge’s center. She stared at the spot, holding her breath as the shimmer grew larger, and larger still. Silvery and striated, like a streaked mirror, it molded itself—body first, then appendages. The wood floor of the rickety structure began to sag from added weight. Before the form came into sharp focus, she heard a low growl.
A familiar growl.
The werewolf came to life with its back to her. The sight of it sent apprehension buzzing down her neck. It stood upright, exactly the way it had when it snatched and killed the warriors. Everything, from its yellow fur to the size of its hands, was exactly right. And when it slowly turned its massive head to fix its light blue stare on Kenna, she knew she’d struck gold.
“Yes!” she said aloud.
With a fix on the creature’s matrix, Kenna was confident she’d be able to find its creator. She wanted nothing more than to tear the ugly monster apart with her bare hands. But that would solve nothing. Instead, she focused on getting the thing recorded. Saving its file. All she had to do was interface with the system long enough to record the creature’s specifications. Then, it would be just a matter of time before she tracked its originator down.