Zero Day

by Jan Gangsei

  “I hope that wasn’t too weird for you,” Darrow said. “They take a little getting used to, but I promise, they’re cool.”

  “It’s okay, Dare,” Addie said. “I’m sure I take a little getting used to, as well.”

  Darrow shook his head and gazed down at her, his eyes warm but somehow sad. “Not for me,” he said. “I’m not sure I ever got used to not having you around.”

  Addie’s heart gave a lurch. She had expected Darrow to tiptoe around the past like everyone else, but his openness was catching her off guard. After all these years, she had figured on Darrow having mostly forgotten her, a shadow of his past, but it seemed like the opposite was true.

  She couldn’t stop herself from wondering—if losing her once had affected him this much…what would it be like for him to lose her twice?

  Darrow raced to the White House intern office that afternoon. He was ten minutes late, but only because it had taken an extra twenty minutes to get through all the added layers of security. He couldn’t park his car until it had been thoroughly checked by explosive-sniffing dogs and Secret Service. At the employee entrance, in addition to running all of his personal items through the X-ray machine and walking through a metal detector, his bag had been manually searched and security had patted him down three times.

  Even though Darrow knew he presented no threat at all, the whole experience made him twitchy, as though no one could be trusted. Every time he turned around, someone was speculating about the Cerberus attacks—on the news, in the hallways at school, in the packed corridors of the White House. His mother was as stressed as he’d ever seen her, barely getting home before ten o’clock every night, and leaving each morning at the crack of dawn.

  Darrow checked in with the intern advisor and was immediately shuffled out of the West Wing to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building next door, where he spent the next hour stuffing envelopes for some gala that the vice president was hosting next month. Darrow’s fingers were dry from rubbing against card stock, his back stiff from sitting hunched over a box. Not to mention he’d developed a strange crick in his neck that he couldn’t pop no matter which way he twisted his head.

  Whoever thought being a White House intern was all glamour and parties clearly had never spent a day in Darrow’s shoes. At least he only had one more box to stuff; then he was out of there.

  Darrow stood, cracked his back, and stretched. The rest of the VP’s staff was in a meeting somewhere else, so it was just Darrow in the high-ceilinged conference room, alone at the massive table that sat atop a heavy Persian rug. Alone, that is, until a hulking outline filled the doorway.

  “Mr. Fergusson?” a voice said.

  “Yes?” Darrow answered.

  A large man stepped into the room. Darrow immediately recognized him by the off-the-rack blue blazer that strained to cover his broad shoulders. In a building full of tailored Armani suits and manicured nails, the guy stood out like a pit bull in a litter of kittens. General James McQueen. Special advisor to the president on cybersecurity.

  “May I have a moment of your time?” General McQueen said.

  “Sure, sir,” Darrow answered. He groaned inwardly, wondering what sort of pet project was about to be thrown his way. Whenever these guys spotted an intern roaming the halls, they moved in like lions on an injured gazelle. Nothing like getting your work done for free.

  General McQueen pulled the door shut behind him. It creaked ominously.

  “Have a seat,” he said.

  “Yes sir.” Darrow sat back down at the conference table. The general pulled up an armchair on the other side and set a manila folder on the tabletop. Great. Just when he thought he was getting out of here.

  “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” General McQueen said.

  Darrow wondered what it would be. Filing? Licking stamps? Sorting notes from a congressional hearing? Running to Starbucks for a triple mocha extra-foam latte? Nah, McQueen looked more the type to just slug back a packet of instant coffee and wash it down with whiskey.

  “Or rather, someone,” McQueen continued.

  Darrow wrinkled his nose. Someone?

  “Adele Webster,” McQueen said.

  “What about Addie?” Darrow said in a rush. He had spent so many years trying to avoid thinking about her that even now, hearing her name out of the blue made him freeze up. It was almost like he had to remind himself that he was allowed to think about her, now that she wasn’t dead, that she was wonderfully, incredibly alive, and probably somewhere in the White House at this very moment.

  McQueen leaned across the table, gray eyes squinting. “Pretty interesting, her miraculous return. Don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean, interesting? I think it’s awesome,” Darrow said.

  “You don’t find it a little odd?”

  Darrow’s back stiffened. He cast a glance at the closed door and back at the pockmarked face of the general in front of him. This whole thing was beginning to make Darrow extremely uncomfortable. “No,” he said. “What I think is odd is that you’re in here asking me questions about the commander in chief’s daughter. Do you want something?”

  “Yes,” McQueen said. “I want to know what she’s up to.”

  A slice of anger cut through Darrow’s confusion. “Up to? What would you be ‘up to’ after crazies held you captive for eight years?” After all she’d been through, what right did this guy have to ask anything about her, besides how she was doing?

  “I’m not sure,” McQueen said. “But nothing about your friend’s story explains some of her recent actions.”

  “What are you talking about, ‘recent actions’?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, kid.”

  Darrow crossed his arms over his chest. He was getting tired of this conversation. This McQueen dude may have been an ex-general tough-guy type, but Darrow was young and strong and could have him in a headlock in no time flat. So what if maybe he wouldn’t do it. He still didn’t like being pandered to. “That seems pretty convenient.”

  “Okay,” McQueen said, obviously changing tack. “So what are your impressions, then? You’ve spent some time with Addie, right?”

  “Yeah, some,” Darrow said. “I see her at school.”

  “Mmm.” McQueen nodded. “And you guys hung out at the Virginia estate the other night. Playing hide-and-seek out in the woods, or something?” He let out a friendly chuckle. “Sounds fun.”

  “What?” Darrow said, not liking where this was heading.

  “Oh, sorry,” McQueen said with a wave of his hand. “I just saw the security video from the estate that night. The president said Addie was outside goofing off with you. Which I admit is a little odd, because the video appears to be time-stamped two minutes after your arrival. But hey, sometimes I guess these things can be off, right?” His gray eyes bored into Darrow’s. All the color drained from Darrow’s cheeks, and he struggled to pull himself together as he pictured Addie crouched in the woods, hands over her head.

  “Well, I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me,” he said with his best poker face.

  “No?” General McQueen leaned back and smirked. “Like I said, I want to know what she’s up to.”

  “So why don’t you ask her father? Your boss. The president.”

  “You and I both know I can’t do that,” McQueen said. “Come on, you’re a smart kid. Figure it out. I want you to do a little digging for me. Find out what she’s doing in her free time. Other than hanging out with you in the woods.”

  “What?” Darrow got to his feet. “You’re asking me to spy on—”

  “Calm down,” McQueen barked. “Do you really buy this story of hers? A couple of wackos kept Addie Webster for eight years for no apparent reason? No ransom. Didn’t kill her. Just kept her locked up for the hell of it, until one day she gets lucky and runs away. That’s it? Give me a break. I’ve been around the block a few more times than you, kid. And let me tell you, nobody makes a move in this world
without an endgame.”

  A wave of horror and disgust washed over Darrow. The idea of Addie locked up anywhere, that strangers could have done anything to her, made him crazy. Whoever those sickos were, he hoped they got what was coming to them. That was the only endgame Darrow cared about. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder…what had Addie been doing the night Darrow found her hiding?

  “Seems like maybe I’ve struck a chord with you, kid.” General McQueen’s gruff voice broke into Darrow’s thoughts.

  Darrow met McQueen’s eyes. “Not at all,” he said in a cold, even voice. Maybe there was something up with Addie. Maybe there wasn’t. But there was no way Darrow was selling her out to this jerk. She was still his friend, and Darrow stood by his friends. Well, most of the time. His stomach churned. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice—sell someone out to save his own ass.

  “I don’t know what your endgame is,” Darrow said. “But I want no part in it. And you are going to regret this conversation when I tell—”

  “You’re not going to tell anyone,” McQueen said.

  “Really.”

  “This isn’t a request.”

  Darrow was having trouble controlling his breathing. He forced his voice back to calmness. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, you know,” McQueen said. “Had an interesting little chat with one of my buddies at the NSA recently. Seems you’re not exactly the golden boy everyone thinks you are.”

  “Excuse me?” Darrow’s skin crawled and his cheeks burned.

  “I know—crazy, right?” McQueen said. “Who would ever guess that the son of the chief of staff for the president of the United States has a juvenile record that was conveniently buried?”

  “It wasn’t buried,” Darrow said, blood pressure rising. “It was expunged. I wasn’t guilty of anything.”

  “Typical ‘he said, she said’ kind of thing, I guess. I’m sure the rest of those guys who were hauled off to juvie weren’t guilty of anything, either,” McQueen said with an exaggerated shrug. “Doesn’t really matter. You should know by now that nothing in this day and age ever really goes away. All you have to know is how to look in the right place. Actually, I’m not sure Georgetown would have to look that hard at all—not if I just sent it to them.”

  “You can’t do that,” Darrow said. “I could sue you in federal court. The president—”

  McQueen put up his hand. “Save it for debate club, kid,” he said. “Let me make this simple for you. If you want that little run-in with the law you had in Southeast when you were fourteen to stay buried, you’d better keep your mouth shut. And you’d better find out what the hell Adele Webster is playing at.”

  Darrow gripped the edge of the table, hands shaking.

  “It’s not a difficult decision, really,” McQueen said. “You help me, and I’ll make sure you keep that early-admission slot to Georgetown that you’ve got all lined up. You may think they’ll be sympathetic, but you can’t bank on it. And word is, you’re on the fast track to get into politics yourself someday. Stuff like this comes out, you won’t get elected to the student council, let alone the Senate. I’d hate to see a bright future like yours go down the toilet. All for some idiot move you made because you fell in with the wrong crowd.”

  Darrow lowered himself into his chair, angry and terrified. His entire life played out in his mind—all he wanted was to do something good in the world. Stand up for the little guy. Maybe be president himself someday.

  But there was a time he hadn’t wanted that, when he’d wanted nothing to do with this world where everything was handed to him on a silver platter, everything except the one thing in the world he actually wanted: relief from the suffocating guilt that had haunted him since he was nine years old. When he’d turned fourteen, he’d started lying about where he went after school. He’d made new friends. But none of it had made him feel better about Addie. It had all just led up to that night when everything unraveled. And now Addie was back, somehow managing to be the best thing that ever happened to him, somehow managing to still screw up his life.

  Darrow rubbed his temples.

  “I don’t know how you expect me to do that,” he said. “The White House is keeping her pretty secluded.”

  General McQueen grabbed his folder and stood. “You’re a smart kid,” he said. “Youngest White House intern ever, right? Top of your class at Cabot. Captain of the crew team.”

  Darrow said nothing, lips pursed with anger.

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way,” McQueen said. “Oh, and if you’re still considering running to Mommy or the president with any of this, think again.” McQueen pulled something from his file and dropped it on the table.

  Darrow looked down. An eight-by-eleven photo of him on his daily jog teetered atop the stack of half-stuffed envelopes. Darrow gasped and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Spare me another lecture, kid,” McQueen said as he headed to the door, a threatening smile on his face. “Just remember: We have eyes. Everywhere. This isn’t some sort of game I’m playing here. Get close to Addie. And be in my office by five P.M. on Monday with something I can use.”

  Addie sat at her computer, the glow of the screen reflecting off her pale cheeks. She was supposedly doing homework before dinner. Instead, Addie was scanning the White House network, looking for the one computer she wanted. Finally, it popped up in her menu: LCWebster.

  Select.

  Her desktop changed. A picture of Liz, President Webster, Elinor, and Mackenzie on the South Lawn popped up. A lump formed in Addie’s throat. All this time gone, and she wasn’t even a background photo anymore.

  “See, little one?” he’d said the last time he discovered her searching for her mother’s name. “She’s back at work. She’s moved on. They have a new baby. It’s time you accepted that this is your family.” He’d leaned over her shoulder and Addie could see his pale face reflected next to hers on the computer screen, matching dimples in both their cheeks, matching slopes to their narrow noses. “We are much more alike than we are different,” he’d said. “I have so much to teach you.…”

  Addie pushed down the memories and started typing.

  Her mother had set up an extra layer of security on her personal computer, but Addie didn’t have trouble bypassing it. Why would she? Addie had learned from the best. She’d even taught him a thing or two. With a few keystrokes, she was breezing through Liz Webster’s master directory. She paused and glanced around the room nervously, then shook her head. Stupid. Who did she think was watching in here, anyway? The ghost of Calvin Coolidge?

  Addie licked her dry lips and read the program names in alphabetical order.

  SafeguardPro

  Seeker

  SPQ

  Addie rubbed her temples.

  It wasn’t there.

  She searched another directory. And another; zip. Her next search came up empty. It made no sense. He’d told her she would find it on her mother’s personal computer. So where was it? Maybe she had named it something else?

  Addie read through every program in the directory, clicking on several. But none were right. She flicked the screen. What if it didn’t even exist? What if she was going through all this for nothing? She tried a few more directories to no avail.

  A knock on Addie’s door interrupted her typing. She logged out and closed the browser just as her mother’s head poked in.

  “Hey,” Liz said.

  “Hey, Mom,” Addie answered.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Sure.” Addie closed her laptop and tried to smile casually. Her hands were still damp with sweat. She folded them in her lap. “What’s up?”

  “You’ve got a visitor,” her mother said. “Finished up work early, and wants to know if you’d like to hit Shake Shack with his friends.”

  “Darrow?” Addie said.

  Her mother nodded. “What do you think? Want to go?”

  Addie was about to say no, that she should do her homework. She was nervo
us. She was running out of time, and there was no sign anywhere of Shi. Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, misreading her anxiety.

  “We’ll double down on the security detail,” Liz said, clearly trying to push back her own worries. “You’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Addie said.

  “I’ve already talked to the Secret Service,” Liz said. “They’ll send an advance team to ensure the restaurant is secure, and you will have a full detail in sight at all times. So what do you think? Do you want to go?”

  Addie wanted to stay exactly where she was and keep looking for Shi. But she could see from the expression on her mother’s face that, despite her fears, she desperately wanted—maybe even needed—Addie to go. It was exactly the sort of thing normal teenagers did.

  “Sure, sounds great,” she said, giving her mother a small smile.

  “Good,” Liz said. “I’ll call down. The driver and Christina and the rest of the detail will be ready to bring you in thirty minutes.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Addie, Darrow, Luke, Keagan, and Harper sat crammed together on two long benches at a scuffed wooden table in the corner of Shake Shack. The popular Dupont Circle burger joint was packed with an eclectic mix of Hill staffers, families with little kids, and teenagers.

  She hadn’t been in a place like this since she was a little kid herself—warm, buzzing with people, smelling like grease and French fries. He didn’t approve of pedestrian fare. A hand-spun black-and-white milkshake sat in front of Addie, and she hadn’t been able to focus on much else since it had arrived. She gripped the sweaty paper cup in both hands and slurped through the straw.

  “This shake is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said, setting it back down.

  Connor grinned. “No, it’s not. But it’s about to be.” He glanced over his shoulder at Agent Alvarez, who was sitting unobtrusively a few tables away with two other members of the detail, eating a cheeseburger and pile of crinkle-cut fries. Three more agents were posted outside, keeping an eye on the perimeter. Addie suddenly felt bad for them. The smell of fast food wafting out there had to be torture. Connor turned around and pulled something shiny and silver from his front pocket.