by Jan Gangsei
The news anchor’s face froze and he put his hand to his ear.
“We have a breaking situation at the Brown compound,” he said. “We have reports of shots fired. The FBI is moving in. Let’s return to Amy on the scene.”
The corner screen enlarged and the blonde reporter returned, glancing behind her shoulder and back at the camera, hand on her earpiece. “That’s right, Brian,” she said. “We are hearing shots fired from somewhere in the compound. No word if it’s the Browns or the FBI.”
A flurry of activity erupted somewhere off camera. The reporter began to run, still talking and breathing heavily into her microphone.
“We’re being asked to push back,” she said. “Brian, can you switch to the chopper for a better view of what’s happening on the ground?”
Once again, the screen changed: an aerial view of the compound. In the center was the rectangular shape of a house, surrounded by a field and fence. Black figures moved in from the edges, so small they looked like toy soldiers.
Suddenly, the flash of a muzzle lit up from the house, followed by another. Brian began to narrate breathlessly.
“Confirmed. We do have shots fired,” he said. “They appear to be coming from inside the house. I repeat, shots are being fired from inside the house.”
“That’s right,” Amy’s voice interjected. “We can hear the FBI. They are yelling over their loudspeakers for the Browns to drop their weapons and surrender.”
There was a moment of silence. A smoky substance billowed from the house.
“It appears the FBI has shot tear gas into the building,” Brian said. “But they are approaching with caution as there are reports of children in the house.”
The chopper circled back for a tighter shot. On-screen, the house’s front door swung open. Two figures ran out into the front yard, guns blazing.
The surrounding black figures’ weapons lit up like a string of flashing Christmas lights.
The couple at the center fell to the ground.
And the news feed cut out.
Addie pulled the covers to her chest, trying to hold back tears, trying to process what she’d just seen. David and Helene Brown were people. Real people. And they were dead. Because of her. None of it made sense. They were supposed to be just a story, something to lead the FBI astray.
Addie tried to push the horrible scene she’d just witnessed from her mind, desperate to replace it with a happier thought. A memory washed over her. She was thirteen, strolling with Father and Mikey down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées in Paris. Father had swept the family away on the surprise trip as a reward after Addie successfully hacked into a jihadist Web site and shut it down—but not before alerting French authorities about their plans to bomb a nightclub.
Addie was in heaven. She loved everything about Paris—the French Baroque architecture, the sounds of street musicians mingling with car horns honking and people chatting, the style and grace of the city’s people. But most of all, Addie loved the feeling of freedom she had in the City of Lights. Here, she was just another teenage girl—Lilla Erlander—strolling the boulevards with her father and brother. She wasn’t Addie Webster, the terrified child who’d been stolen from the Virginia governor’s mansion five years earlier. Here she could simply be herself without constantly needing to look over her shoulder, mindful that someone might recognize her.
As the family meandered down the sidewalk, they peered in the windows of the upscale boutiques that lined the avenue, admiring the fashionable displays: sleek fitted dresses with wide leather belts, tailored suits, sparkling jewels. A street vendor caught Addie’s eye. She stopped at the wooden cart, shelves crammed with miniature Eiffel Tower replicas, postcards, and colorful silk scarves. With a grin, she grabbed the tackiest thing she could find: a black beret with PARIS written in bright yellow script across the front. She turned to Father, stood on her tiptoes, and placed the hat squarely on his head. She stepped back and giggled, hand over her mouth, as his eyebrows shot up. Michael shook his head and tried to hide his smile.
Father leaned forward and inspected his reflection in the small rectangular mirror hanging from the vendor’s cart. He looked ridiculous, like an oversized kid on a class trip. Addie waited for him to fling the hat off, but instead, he gave an exaggerated gasp.
“Très magnifique!” he said, and pulled a wad of crumpled Euros from his pocket and gave them to the vendor.
They all laughed, continuing down the avenue. They stopped at a small outdoor café and sat down at a black wrought-iron table beneath a yellow umbrella. Addie couldn’t help but feel sophisticated as she tore off pieces of warm croissant and popped them in her mouth, followed by sips of espresso from a white demitasse cup. She leaned back and closed her eyes, sucking in a breath of the sweet-smelling air, tinged with the scent of sugar and roasted coffee beans. She smiled as the late afternoon sun warmed her cheeks.
As the sun crept lower on the horizon, the family headed back toward their rented apartment. Along the way, they passed a small jewelry shop tucked into a large brick building. Addie came to a sudden stop, transfixed by a display on the other side of the store’s window: a glittering hair clip shaped like a butterfly, but elegant, not childish. Dozens of sparkling red and blue gems decorated the wings. Addie reached up to her own hair, finally growing back out after having been cut short and bleached blonde for so many years to disguise her looks. She didn’t even notice Father slip in the store’s front door. A moment later, a hand reached over the display and retrieved the clip. Father emerged a few moments after that, carrying a small velvet box.
Addie’s eyes widened. “You got it for me?”
Father smiled and creaked the box open. He pulled out the delicate clip. “May I?” he said. Addie nodded and he gently secured it in her hair. Father caught his breath. “You look lovely, Lilla,” he said. “So grown-up.”
Addie glanced at her reflection in the store window. She did look grown-up, barely a trace of the scared child left in her strong, confident gaze. She threw her arms around him.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you, Father.”
“I love you, too, Lilla,” he said. “And I’m so proud of the person you’ve become. The world will be a better place thanks to you.”
Addie pulled the covers tighter to her chest. How could someone who cared so much about the safety of others purposely lure two innocent people to their deaths? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. It was like discovering two plus two equaled three.
The image of David and Helene Brown crumpling to the ground—dead—flashed through Addie’s mind again. They were just supposed to be a story. Something to fool investigators. But as she listened to the voices in the hallway start up again, growing louder and closer, heading her way, Addie wasn’t sure who she was trying to fool anymore. Her mother. The president. Darrow…
Or herself.
Darrow’s biceps flexed as he pulled the oars across the glassy surface of the Potomac. It was Monday, after school—a perfect spring afternoon for the first regatta of the rowing season. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with puffy white clouds that looked like a child’s finger paintings. A crowd of Darrow’s classmates had assembled on the riverbank to cheer Cabot on as they faced off against three rival high schools. Archer Prep was in the lead, with Cabot a close second. Saint Paul Academy and Riverside High came in at a distant third and fourth.
The coxswain at the front of Darrow’s boat shouted out a new command. “Power ten!”
Darrow gritted his teeth and dragged his oars hard through the water, hands tightly gripping the smooth wooden handles. The eight-man shell pulled forward, just inching ahead of Archer. Darrow heard a cheer rise up from the crowd. He exhaled, and even though he was trying to focus, his mind wandered right back to where it had been all day—Addie.
She hadn’t been at school, and he was worried. For her. For his mother. For himself. The news yesterday that her kidnappers were dead should have come as a relief. Instead, Darrow
was filled with dread. If Addie’s kidnappers had been killed, who was the man that had attacked him in the parking garage? And why? Darrow felt like he was contemplating a trick SAT question, one with an obvious false answer. Or maybe one that had no answer at all.
Out of the corner of his eye, Darrow could see the Archer team gaining speed. He gripped his oars so tightly his knuckles strained against his skin. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. That was all he’d been doing lately, and it was going to cost him this race. Maybe more. Darrow grunted, dropping his oars in the water. Sweat rolled down his cheeks as he pulled the handles. The finish line was straight ahead. Cabot and Archer were now neck and neck.
“Power twenty!” the coxswain called out.
Darrow’s muscles strained, but he rowed as hard as he could, keeping pace with his seven teammates. Sweat burned his eyes and he could barely see anymore—just the outline of the rower in front of him, silhouetted by the late afternoon sun. More cheers rose up from the crowd, but Darrow tuned it all out, focusing only on the rhythm of his oars dipping into the water, the smooth glide of the shell, the sound of his own heavy breathing.
One, two, three, four…
The Cabot boat pulled into the lead again as they rapidly approached the finish. Darrow put everything he had into his last strokes, letting himself be one with the rhythmic motion of the oars. But just then, the Archer boat sped forward, crossing the finish line a nose ahead of Cabot.
“Check it down,” the coxswain said as Cabot finished in second place.
“Damn it!” Darrow let out a loud grunt and dropped his oars squarely in the water. The boat came to a stop. Saint Paul and Riverside crossed the finish line in third and fourth. Darrow put his face in his hands, still breathing heavily. So. Damn. Close.
The teams rowed their boats to the dock and Darrow climbed out. His muscles ached and he dripped with sweat. He wiped his face on the back of his forearm and shook the perspiration from his hair, splattering droplets all over the wood by his feet. As he walked toward the boathouse, someone called his name. It was Harper, blonde hair glittering in the sunlight as she ran down the steps toward him.
“Dare,” she said, panting. “We need to talk.”
Darrow kept walking. “Not really in the mood right now,” he said.
“I know. Tough race. But it’s important,” Harper said. “I wouldn’t bother you otherwise.”
Darrow sucked in a breath full of air and stopped, sweat still burning his eyes. “Okay,” he said as his teammates streamed past. “What is it?”
Harper shook her head. “Not here. Too many people. I need to talk to you alone.”
“Yeah, all right. Just let me get my things from…” He stopped short, glancing over Harper’s shoulder at the familiar motorcade parked on the street. His heart strained against his rib cage, even harder than it had moments ago when he was trying to bring his boat home.
“Ad…?” he began.
The back door of the Town Car opened. A set of long, slender legs in black leather leggings swung out and a pair of high heels hit the ground. A girl emerged, wearing round sunglasses that covered half of her face. She leaned casually on the car, scanning the crowd. The heat rose in Darrow’s cheeks. It couldn’t be…
The girl lifted her sunglasses. She briefly caught Darrow’s eye, biting her lip, and smiled ever so slightly. Then, with a flip of her golden-brown hair, she slipped back into the car. A moment later it pulled away.
Addie and Liz sat beneath a big blue umbrella on the patio of the Café du Parc. The French bistro was located on the ground floor of D.C.’s Willard Intercontinental Hotel. A low wrought-iron fence was all that separated their table from the bustle of Pennsylvania Avenue on the other side. But for a brief moment, as Addie took in the aged facade of the Treasury Building across the street, she almost could imagine she was back in Paris.
A waiter approached, said “Bonjour,” and placed a basket of warm baguette on the table.
“Some fresh bread,” he said.
“Thank you.” Liz inhaled deeply. “It smells wonderful.”
“Just out of the oven,” the waiter said. “Do you require more time with the menu?”
“Yes, please,” Liz answered. “We haven’t even looked yet.”
“Very well.” The waiter bowed his head. “I will check back on you.”
Addie tore off a piece of bread, thinking suddenly of the quaint little café on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. It made Addie’s heart ache a little. Especially after this afternoon, which Addie had spent at the FBI, answering follow-up questions about the Browns. But she couldn’t really tell them any more. Not any more than she already had. Up until a few days ago, she hadn’t even known they were real.
Liz placed her hand on Addie’s.
“I know this has been a rough day,” she said. “But I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Addie said.
“And I have a surprise for you,” her mother continued. “After we eat, I’m taking you to Janie’s studio. We’re going to find you something spectacular for prom on Saturday.”
Addie smiled, but she knew it looked forced. “Great,” she said and glanced away. A family was coming up the sidewalk, pushing twin babies in a double stroller. An older child walked alongside. Three children. Addie felt a painful swell in her chest. The Browns had three children. And now those children didn’t have any parents. Addie didn’t know what to do to make things right. She only knew the hole in her heart couldn’t be patched with designer dresses, no matter how good her mother’s intentions were.
Liz picked up a menu. “Do you know what you want to eat, Ad?”
Addie glanced at the menu and felt her throat tightening. The last time she’d been in Paris, she’d had an amazing coq au vin, the most delicious chicken she’d ever tasted. “I’m not sure. I—I don’t really know what any of this is.”
Her mother was silent for a moment. When Addie glanced up at her, there were tears sparkling in Liz’s dark eyes.
“Mom?” Addie said.
“God. Of course you don’t. I’m sorry, baby. You’ve been so strong all day, and now I’m the one who’s a mess.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Sometimes it just hits me when I don’t expect it.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Addie said, not really knowing what else to say.
“I can’t help it,” Liz said. “I know you want to move forward, and I think that’s the bravest thing in the world. But sometimes I think I’m still stuck in the past. After you were taken, Addie, it was like time stopped. I threw myself into work. I didn’t know how else to cope.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could,” Addie said.
“Yeah? I’m not sure,” Liz said. “I think I’ll always wonder. I can’t help it. Like, maybe I should have just shut myself away after you were taken, like all the critics and pundits said.” Liz let out a sad laugh. “Maybe it’s appropriate that the best program I ever created was during that time—and that it will never see the light of day.”
Addie’s hand twitched, making the silverware clink. “Best program? What was it?”
“Something called Shi,” Liz said.
“Shi?” Addie’s heart began to thump wildly.
“Means ‘guardian,’” Liz said. “Or ‘lion,’ technically, in Chinese. I started developing it shortly after your disappearance.”
“So what does it do?” Addie asked, even though she knew exactly what it did. There was a reason Father wanted it so badly.
Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter’s return. Addie listened impatiently as her mother ordered for both of them. When he finally left, Liz raised an eyebrow.
“Where was I?” she said.
“You were telling me something about a program you created,” Addie said. “What it did, I think?”
“Right. Shi. It’s basically a very sophisticated electronic surveillance program,” Liz said.
“Some kind of spyware?”
“Yes
,” Liz answered. “But it’s not like anything else out there on the market today. The best way I can describe it is that it operates like a skilled hacker. You know what a ‘zero-day flaw’ is?”
“No.”
“It’s a flaw in an operating system that isn’t discovered until it’s too late. And by the time it’s found, you have—”
“Zero days to fix it.”
“Yes, exactly,” Liz said. “Well, Shi seeks out those flaws and corrupts them, exploits them to gain access to a user’s system, then installs itself and runs virtually undetectably in the background, collecting information and transmitting it back to the host computer. It can be programmed to find any type of data the user is seeking.”
“That sounds…” Addie struggled for the right words. “Scary.”
“It is scary,” Liz said, “because I programmed Shi using artificial intelligence. It learns from its mistakes, with the primary goals of preserving itself, spreading across systems, and collecting data. So even if one flaw is found and fixed, Shi just looks for another. And once it gains a foothold in a system, it spreads exponentially, like a virus. There’s almost no stopping it once it starts. I’m sure you understand why it couldn’t be let loose in the world.”
“Dad,” Addie answered. Everyone knew Mark Webster had run on an anti-spying platform, and had spoken out against the NSA-sponsored cyber-surveillance programs long before he ran for president.
Liz sighed. “No. Of course, your father would never have approved of something like this for domestic use once he became president, but he couldn’t have prevented me from selling it at the time. I was the one who pulled the plug. The NSA was all ready to snap it up, but when it came down to it, I just couldn’t do it. I think all along I’d never really planned to actually let it be put into use.”