Zero Day

by Jan Gangsei

  Until recently, the group had been largely known for disrupting terrorist-run Web sites using repeated denial-of-service attacks, as well as alerting authorities to potential plots. While McQueen didn’t entirely approve of their methods, he couldn’t deny that these so-called ethical “white hat” activists got the job done. For most of the group’s existence, McQueen had been satisfied to keep a watchful eye on them, making sure they didn’t venture into criminal territory.

  Then, six months ago, something had changed. A group of jihadists had pulled off a late-night hack into the nation’s power grid, gaining control of dozens of nuclear power plants. The entire country had been on the brink of multiple catastrophic meltdowns. The potential death toll had been staggering—millions would have died immediately, and even more faced long, agonizing deaths from radiation poisoning. But while the government had been scrambling to respond, someone else had hacked into the grid and shut the operation down. That someone was Cerberus.

  Shortly after, Cerberus had sent several news outlets screenshots of the chat room where the jihadists had planned the attack, showing that critical pieces of intelligence had been missed in the days leading up to the near-catastrophe. The political fallout could have been huge. But thanks to a tip from a reporter at the Washington Post, the Webster administration had been able to put its own spin on the story before it went far and wide, claiming its people had been well aware of the plot, and the public had never been in any danger. McQueen had been quickly hired as special advisor to the president on cybersecurity to quell any lingering fears. And the public, who had no clue how bad things had almost been, went back to living their daily lives.

  From what McQueen could tell, that’s when Cerberus had gotten pissed off, suddenly going dark—until last week, when they’d attacked the fund-raiser.

  And then Addie Webster had reappeared.

  Coincidence? Maybe. But McQueen had spent enough time in the field to be suspicious of anything that didn’t quite add up. And something wasn’t adding up. Not that he could say anything to President Webster or his cronies yet. Not without concrete evidence. It hadn’t taken long to figure that out. Just yesterday, when McQueen had tried to subtly raise his concerns at the morning briefing, he had been slapped back down so fast—by the press secretary, of all people—it had made McQueen’s head spin.

  Well, if that was how they wanted to play it, fine. McQueen was going to do his job, with the administration’s permission or not. They could worry about their opinion polls. McQueen would worry about what was really going on.

  He had just begun another attempt to decode the origin of one of Cerberus’s e-mails when the phone on his desk rang. He picked it up and cradled it between his shoulder and ear.

  “Davis,” he said. “Talk to me.”

  The voice of NSA Director Chuck Davis came over the line. The retired Colonel Davis and McQueen had leapt from airplanes together back in their younger days.

  He listened intently to his buddy and nodded.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Can you send it my way?”

  “You got it,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

  McQueen hung up. A few moments later, an e-mail alert popped up on his computer. He clicked it open, heading straight for the attachment. A black-and-white security video filled his screen, the tall trees of the Websters’ Virginia estate coming into focus. McQueen watched, the creases between his eyebrows deepening as a slight figure came into view.

  As he watched it move along the perimeter, apparently searching the darkness, one thing became increasingly clear to McQueen. Addie Webster was playing at something.

  What, he wasn’t sure.

  But it definitely wasn’t a game of hide-and-seek.

  Addie fidgeted in the back of the limo as her motorcade turned off Wisconsin to 37th toward the side entrance of Cabot Friends. The morning sun filtered through the tinted windows, warming Addie’s cheeks. Even so, a chill worked its way down her spine as the Town Car pulled through the tall gates. The fifteen-acre campus loomed straight ahead, not nearly as grand as Addie had pictured—simple brick buildings, surrounded by neatly trimmed trees and green fields—but it still scared Addie in a way she hadn’t expected. The glossy-brochure normalcy of it all. The idea that, somehow, she had to fit in. She felt like an alien that had crash-landed on another planet.

  Addie sat up straight, reminding herself how hard she had worked to get here. It had taken a careful performance to make Dr. Richards suggest that school would help integrate Addie back into regular life, and the Cerberus attacks had nearly derailed those plans. But Addie had pleaded with her parents—after all those years locked up, how could they turn around and lock her up again? And so, after the Secret Service had guaranteed that the quiet Quaker school would be locked down as tightly as the White House itself, they’d agreed to let her go.

  The motorcade pulled up directly in front of the school. Even though they’d arrived a half hour early, students were already starting to mill about outside. Addie’s car honked at a group of kids blocking its path. One by one her classmates turned, elbowing each other and pointing. Addie’s shoulders tensed. Way to make a subtle entrance. At least her parents hadn’t come. They’d wanted to, but Addie had begged them to stay home, knowing it was an even bigger production whenever the first lady or president showed up anywhere.

  Agent Alvarez, on the other hand, was in her usual seat right next to Addie, watching the scene outside. Addie couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be parked next to her in homeroom, too.

  “So, here’s the drill,” Alvarez said, as though reading Addie’s mind. “I’ll escort you inside and ensure you get to your classes, then I will make myself invisible. We’ll have two agents out here in a vehicle guarding this entrance. Another will be situated out front, and two more on the adjacent streets. And we’ll be coordinating continually with Cabot security.”

  Addie nodded. “So you don’t have to come to class with me?”

  “Nah,” Alvarez said. “I’ve been to high school already. Once was enough. Trust me.”

  A small laugh escaped from Addie’s lips.

  “The whole idea is to keep you protected and let you experience school like every other student,” Alvarez said. “I’ll be nearby keeping an eye on you at all times, but I won’t be right in your face. If I’m doing my job, you won’t even know I’m there.”

  Alvarez pulled a shiny gold smartphone out of her bag and handed it to Addie.

  “Cool,” Addie said, turning the phone over in her hands. “I’ve never seen one like this before.” She began to swipe her finger across the touch screen to unlock it, then quickly caught herself. “Well, I guess I really haven’t had a cell phone since the kind you flipped open to use.”

  Alvarez smiled. “This phone is one of a kind,” Alvarez said. “Designed just for the Secret Service. You can thank Nova for that.”

  Addie ran her fingers over the ubiquitous star logo of her mother’s company on the back. Goose bumps popped up on Addie’s arms. She flipped the phone back over. Alvarez swiped her finger across the screen.

  “Pretty easy,” she said. “You activate it like this. Phone, text, camera—all that is right here. And check this out—the phone’s been retrofitted with a special button.” She pointed to the side, just below the toggle switch. “Any danger, just push it for one second and it will sound a silent alarm. We’ll be with you instantly. Hold it for five seconds and it will produce a siren loud enough to raise the dead. My direct cell number is also plugged in there if you need anything non-emergency-related. Like maybe my opinion on which ballet flats match your leggings.”

  Addie looked at Alvarez’s feet, clad in a pair of rugged combat boots. She laughed. “Will do.” Addie dropped the phone in her pocket, smiling to herself as she felt the cool metal against her palm. She didn’t care about ballet flats any more than Alvarez did. But she could definitely do a lot more than buzz the Secret Service with this thing. She couldn’t wait to j
ailbreak it later and load it with some real apps, not Notepad or whatever lame stuff was on it already.

  The limo rolled to a stop. As Addie and Alvarez stepped from the back, the chattering students congregating outside fell silent. Addie immediately wanted to hop back in the car and race back to the White House. But she couldn’t. She had to prove she was okay. She kept her back straight. Her head high. She had to keep marching forward, even if she was on her own personal parade into hell.

  Addie climbed the steps to the main administrative building. It was solid brick, like the rest of the buildings on campus, with CABOT FRIENDS written in simple block letters above the double oak doors. Addie kept her gaze focused straight ahead as she and Alvarez walked down the hallway to the office, still feeling the burn of eyes watching her. Nobody actually said anything right to her face. But they didn’t have to. Addie could still hear them. What they whispered to each other when they thought she was out of earshot.

  Did you see her?

  That’s Adele Webster.

  What do you think happened to her?

  She looks normal enough.

  Really? You call that normal? Is she in mourning for her lost childhood?

  Addie’s face burned. Her fitted black T-shirt and dark coated skinny jeans had seemed like the safest bet this morning, but now she realized they were all wrong. Cabot might not have a uniform, but there was certainly an unofficial one, and Addie was pretty sure she was in violation. The dress here was simple and unassuming, but in a preppy sort of way: button-downs tucked into skirts for the girls, and chinos and polo shirts for the boys. Addie tried to shake it off. It really didn’t matter what she wore. She was going to stand out. She just had to learn to deal. Fit in. At least for another week or two. Until this whole thing was over.

  When they reached the office, a frizzy-haired receptionist handed her a printout of her schedule. She scanned her classes and the attached map. This place was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside. The paper shook between her fingers. This was ridiculous. With everything she’d been through, high school was throwing her for a loop? She took a deep steadying breath and looked up, then jumped.

  Darrow was standing right in front of her. How the hell did he keep sneaking up on her like that?

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He was wearing a crisp white shirt and a cautious smile. A backpack was slung casually over one shoulder.

  “Hey,” she said. “No worries.”

  He looked at her carefully, and Addie felt her breath catch in her throat. Those golden-brown eyes never seemed to miss anything.

  “First days suck,” he said bluntly.

  “Yeah, they do,” she said, letting out a pent-up breath with a laugh. It was nice to be around someone who didn’t sugarcoat anything.

  “What do you have first period?” Darrow asked.

  “British Literature,” Addie read.

  “Cool,” Darrow said. “Me too. I’ll walk you there.” His eyes flicked to Christina. “If that’s okay with your friend, of course.”

  Alvarez nodded. “She’s all yours, Fergusson. Just don’t lose her between here and the playground at recess.”

  “Recess,” Darrow said with a snort. “Funny. Who says Secret Service agents are a bunch of stiffs?”

  “I don’t know,” Alvarez said, standing up straight and tapping her concealed firearm. “Who does?”

  Darrow’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh…” he stammered.

  Alvarez laughed.

  “Go on, get out of here,” she said. “I don’t need my charge getting a detention on her first day. I’ve got things to do after school. Need to get home in time for the Ellen show, you know.”

  Darrow and Addie grinned, then headed back into the hall. Alvarez followed ten steps behind.

  “I like her,” Darrow said.

  “Alvarez?” Addie said. “Yeah, she’s pretty cool. Not bad if you’re going to have someone trailing your every move.”

  Addie cast a glance over her shoulder. Yep. Alvarez was there, combat boots clomping down the wood floors, causing the other students to stop and stare. Not exactly invisible, that was for sure. Addie shoved her schedule and map into her pocket and followed Darrow into another part of the building.

  First bell was now just a few minutes away, and the hallway was growing more congested. Addie could still see Alvarez keeping pace, but she was surrounded by dozens of students. They held cell phones in front of their noses, bumped into each other, dug books and papers from their backpacks, laughed and high-fived. A few spotted Addie and pointed in her direction.

  Fine. Addie straightened and brushed her long hair out of her face. As she met each of their gazes, they quickly turned away.

  Darrow’s hand touched her arm. “Almost there.”

  They rounded a corner and stopped at a classroom. “This one.”

  Addie felt more eyes digging into her as they walked inside. There were a few hushed comments. Sideways glances. A group of girls in front turned and stared, elbowing each other, but Darrow shot them a look. All but one, a pretty blonde wearing a blue sweater and red lipstick, turned away. The girl shot a narrow-eyed look right back at Darrow.

  “What’s up with her?” Addie whispered. “Your girlfriend or something?”

  Darrow hesitated, not looking directly at Addie.

  “No,” he said and dumped his backpack on a table. The tables were arranged in a big U, conference-style, with about twenty chairs around them. The girl kept staring.

  “Huh,” Addie said.

  “Well, we hung out a little last year. Nothing serious.” Darrow pulled out a chair, still not meeting Addie’s gaze. “Here. You can sit next to me.”

  Addie slipped into the seat and pulled her chair forward. The blonde girl sat on the opposite side, still watching. Addie wasn’t sure what it was, or had been, but it sure didn’t look like “nothing serious.” Addie knew it shouldn’t bother her if Darrow had had a girlfriend—of course he’d had one after all this time, probably more than one. But it still hurt Addie’s heart a little, this latest realization that time hadn’t stood still while she was gone.

  The bell rang. A teacher wearing a loose floral dress, her gray hair arranged in a messy bun, glided through the door.

  “Good morning.” The teacher’s eyes flicked around the room. Addie cringed, wondering if the woman was going to make her stand up and introduce herself.

  Hello, my name is Adele Webster! I don’t have anything for show-and-tell. Except this phone. Watch—I can push this button here, and every one of you can experience the exhilarating feeling of a Secret Service agent’s P229 pistol in your face. Cool, right? Other than that, I’m just your average junior.

  “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Miss Hastings,” the teacher said, giving Addie a small nod and smile. “Now, as for the rest of you, please pass your essays to the front.”

  Addie watched as the students around her pulled papers from their backpacks and passed them forward. Miss Hastings collected them and placed them on her desk, then sat on the edge facing the class. She pulled out a book.

  “Last night’s reading,” she said, holding up a copy of Hamlet. “Anyone care to take a stab at the major themes of the play?”

  “To be or not to be!” one student called out.

  “Yes,” Miss Hastings said. “That is the question.” The class laughed. “Who else wants to share their profound insights? What do you think Hamlet is about?”

  “Revenge,” a student said.

  “Mortality,” said another.

  “Madness,” said a third.

  “Very good,” the teacher said. “Anyone else?” Her eyes scanned the room again, pausing for a moment on Addie. Addie’s throat tightened. She shrugged like she had no clue, even though she’d read Hamlet four years ago. Twice. The teacher skipped past her.

  They were missing one.

  Deception.

  Officer Reynolds waited just past the Braddock Road entrance of the I-495 HO
V express lanes in an unmarked Dodge Charger, sipping his coffee. Two EZ Pass readers were positioned in his back window, and a computer was mounted on his front dash. Reynolds kept one eye on the computer, the other on the morning rush-hour traffic driving past.

  The screen in front of him displayed an alert: oncoming motorist in the HOV lane, which meant at least three riders needed to be present in the vehicle. Reynolds glanced at the passing car. Sure enough, just one guy. That hadn’t taken long. Didn’t even get to finish his coffee. Reynolds hit his siren.

  Hope saving that four bucks was worth it, buddy, Reynolds thought as he pulled out after him.

  The officer eased the Charger behind the car, a white BMW X3 with Virginia tags, and sounded his siren. He watched the driver’s eyes flick toward him in the rearview mirror, as if to say, Who, me?

  Yep, that’s right. Pull it over. Reynolds motioned for the driver to move to the side.

  The guy looked at the officer for one more beat, then turned his focus back to the road. He hit his right turn signal. But instead of pulling over and slowing down, he got in the breakdown lane and sped up.

  “Oh, come on,” Reynolds groaned.

  He blared his siren again and took off after the HOV violator. Reynolds’s day had already started off badly. Chief had put him on nights for the next two weeks, which meant Reynolds would miss Mason play in the NCAA Sweet Sixteen. He definitely wasn’t in the mood to deal with some entitled jerk who was too important to be late to his morning meeting. The only consolation was the look Reynolds envisioned on the guy’s face when he gave him not one, but two—make that three—tickets; might as well throw in some “reckless endangerment” in addition to “evading arrest,” along with a summons to appear in court.