Zero Day

by Jan Gangsei

  “What?” Michael said.

  “I told you,” Addie said, glancing at the floor. “I don’t have it with me. It’s in my room. If you want it, I’ll have to go back and get it.” She nodded toward Darrow. “But I’m not doing that until you let him go.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes.

  “Enough with the games,” he said in a low growl. “I know you. And I know you’d never leave something like that just lying around where anyone could find it. Not tonight of all nights. Now hand it over. I’m not going to ask you again!” He raised the gun, pointed it directly at Darrow’s temple, and cocked the hammer. Darrow’s mouth pressed into a thin line, hands balled into fists at his side.

  “Don’t give it to him,” Darrow said, voice rough.

  Addie glanced quickly at her old friend, heart filling with so much pain she thought it might explode. She couldn’t let him die for her. She already had too much blood on her hands. She turned her gaze back to Michael.

  “Fine,” Addie said. “You want it?” Slowly, without taking her eyes off Michael, she reached down into the top of her dress and pulled out the thumb drive. She held it in front of her with one hand. She pressed the other hand against her thigh, counting down…3, 2, 1. She could only hope Darrow was watching. That he’d remember their secret signal. The one they’d used on the playground when they were trying to outwit an opponent in freeze tag.

  “If this is what you’re looking for,” she said, “then you’re gonna have to go and get it.” She tossed the drive into the air. As Michael’s eyes followed its arc, Addie turned her gaze on Darrow and balled her hand into a fist.

  Zero, she mouthed.

  In that instant, Darrow jerked his elbow into Michael’s arm. The gun flew from his hand and skidded beneath a seat. Addie dove after it, while Darrow tackled Michael to the ground. She could see them out of the corner of her eye, struggling over the thumb drive on the floor. Addie pressed herself against the ground, extended her arm, and reached for the gun. Her fingers wrapped around the barrel. But just as she stumbled to her knees with the gun, a hand reached out.

  “Give me that,” Michael said, grabbing the blunt end. Addie held on tight, feeling Michael’s body jerk back and forth as Darrow tried to pull him off her.

  “Let go!” she screamed.

  Michael yanked the butt of the gun so hard it twisted Addie’s arm unnaturally behind her back. She whimpered in pain. A loud bang suddenly filled the air. Smoke twisted from the barrel of the gun. Addie let go, hand burning, and turned—just in time to see Darrow collapse to the floor.

  “No!” she yelled, tears clouding her vision. “Darrow…” She crawled toward him, the glint of her cell phone catching her eye, just ahead on the floor. She began to breathe rapidly. If she could reach it and push the panic button, she could get help. There was still hope.…

  She extended a hand, only to have Michael’s foot land on top of it, crushing her fingers.

  She cried out in pain.

  “Forget it, Lilla,” Michael said, slowly lifting his shoe. He scooped up the phone, tucked it in his pocket, and aimed the gun at Addie. “Now get up and come with me.”

  “Where?” Addie said, barely able to contain the tears welling up in her eyes.

  “You know where,” Michael said. “You’ve got a mission to complete.”

  Agent Alvarez frantically searched the dance floor. She checked the bathroom. She went from table to table. No sign of Addie. She lifted her wrist to her mouth and spoke into the microphone tucked beneath her shirtsleeve.

  “What’s the status?”

  “No sign of Songbird in the lobby,” a member of the detail answered.

  “We’re combing the main floor now,” another said.

  Alvarez’s earpiece buzzed.

  “Hold on! I’ve got a visual. Songbird has left the building, heading north on the Mall.”

  “Shit!” Alvarez spun toward the tall windows, just in time to see Addie sprinting toward the National Gallery of Art in her dark red dress, black hair flying behind her, heels in hand. “Dammit!” She radioed the rest of the detail.

  “Songbird on foot,” she said. “Just passed the carousel, headed north. All units respond immediately.”

  Alvarez dashed from the room out the front door of the museum and down the steps. She still had a visual of the girl straight ahead. Agent Devers and the other agents who had been monitoring the exits and searching the museum joined in to give chase. The girl slowed as she neared the opposite side of the Mall and looked left and right, as though lost. Alvarez ran faster.

  “We’ve got the perimeter cars coming down Madison and 7th,” Devers panted, just as two Secret Service vehicles closed in from opposite directions, blocking the road.

  The agents driving them flung the doors open and leapt from their cars. “Stop right where you are!” they yelled, guns drawn.

  The girl stopped running and fell into a crouch, hands over her head.

  Alvarez caught up with her, breathing heavily.

  “Addie,” she said. “Enough. Running. Okay?”

  The girl didn’t respond, but Alvarez could see her trembling with sobs. She nodded toward the agents with their guns still drawn. “Lower your weapons,” she said. “She’s not a threat. She’s not going anywhere.” Alvarez kneeled, putting her hand on the girl’s back.

  “Let’s go, Addie. You’re going to be all right.” The girl had caused Alvarez more stress than she’d imagined possible, but she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, curled on the ground, vibrating with fear. “Come on, Songbird. I’m taking you home.”

  Slowly, the girl turned her head. As she did, her dark hair slipped to the side, revealing the three-headed beast tattooed on the back of her neck. Alvarez recoiled as she found herself staring into the eyes of a stranger.

  “Who the hell are you?” she said in shock. “And where is Addie Webster?”

  The girl simply shook her head.

  Alvarez stood and turned back toward the museum. From across the Mall, she could see the outlines of students dancing in front of the tall glass windows. She looked back at Devers and the rest of the detail.

  “Which one of you called me to report seeing Addie Webster running this way?” she said.

  No one answered.

  “Which one of you made the call?” she shouted even louder.

  The agents looked back and forth at each other, shaking their heads. Fear gripped Alvarez by the throat as the terrifying realization washed over her: they’d been duped. They’d left the prom—they’d left the president’s daughter—unsecured and completely unprotected.

  Addie struggled to remain calm as Michael led her across the museum and back toward the America by Air exhibit. As they got closer, she could hear the rhythmic pulsing of dance music and the laughter of her classmates. She sucked in a breath, the barrel of the gun hidden in Michael’s trench coat pressing firmly into her side.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said again.

  “Just shut up,” Michael said.

  As they entered the main hall, Addie frantically searched the crowd for Alvarez. But the agent was nowhere to be seen. Nor were the other agents on her detail. Just like before, the very people who were supposed to protect Addie had vanished. Karl might have lied about a lot of things, but he was right about one: Addie would never be safe.

  “Where are we going?” Addie asked, trying to buy herself time. Michael didn’t answer, but only kept his grip on Addie and pulled her past the dance floor.

  He pointed at the 747. With a shove, he pushed Addie up the stairs and across the catwalk that led to the plane. Addie hesitated at the door.

  “Go on,” Michael said. “Go inside.”

  Addie stepped across the threshold. Michael followed and stretched a red velvet rope across the entrance. An “exhibit closed” sign hung from it. He motioned Addie toward the front.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  Addie slowly turned, facing Michael. He pulled a pair
of handcuffs from his inside jacket pocket. “Now put your hands together and hold them out in front of you.”

  Addie choked back a sob, lifted her arms, and gave Michael one last pleading look. She watched as the corner of his eyelid twitched.

  “I know you don’t want to do this, Mikey,” Addie said. “I know you. You don’t kill people! Please…”

  He moved toward her, clumsily trying to balance the gun in one hand while getting out the handcuffs with the other. Addie watched him, her leg muscles twitching at the ready. With each step he took closer, Addie focused her breathing.

  Michael stopped in front of her and leaned forward, handcuffs at the ready. But before he could lock them to Addie’s wrists, she raised her knee, slamming it hard between Michael’s legs. He doubled over in pain. As his hands flew down to protect himself, Addie made a grab for the gun. But she had forgotten just how strong Michael was now. He jerked his hand back, stood tall, and swung his arm.

  “I’m sorry, Lilla,” she heard him say—just as the butt of the gun collided with the side of her head. Stars flashed in her eyes, and her ears began to ring.

  The next thing she knew, her world went black.

  Alvarez clicked handcuffs onto the girl and pulled her to her feet. She shoved her toward one of the other agents.

  “Take this girl into custody,” she said. “Find out what she knows. The rest of you, come with me.” She began to sprint toward the museum. But before Alvarez and the detail had made it even ten feet, Alvarez’s earpiece screeched loudly and she winced in pain. She reached a hand to her ear and slowed. A strange computer-generated voice came over the speaker.

  “Special Agent Christina Alvarez,” it said. “This is Cerberus. And if you don’t want hundreds of innocent children to die, I suggest you stop where you are, call your detail back, and listen very carefully.”

  “Excuse me, what?” Alvarez said.

  “I said, stop where you are, call the detail back, and then we will talk.”

  Alvarez’s heart raced. Cerberus? She came to a dead stop.

  “That’s more like it,” the voice said. “Now call the rest of the detail back.” Alvarez hesitated. “I said, call the rest of the detail back. Now!” the voice repeated.

  “Hey!” Alvarez shouted. “Hold up!” The other agents slowed and looked back at Alvarez, confused. “I’m getting some information,” she said, pointing at her earpiece. “Just a minute.” The detail slowly walked back toward Alvarez.

  “Thank you,” the voice said.

  Alvarez scanned her surroundings. Whoever was talking to her was obviously close by. She made note of a young couple, seemingly out for a walk; a homeless man in a pea-green jacket asleep on a bench; a middle-aged woman, jogging her way along the dirt path, MP3 player strapped to her upper arm. Still, there were several dozen more people out for strolls, enjoying the night air. It could be anyone.

  “I suggest you stop trying to figure out where I am, and listen carefully.…”

  Alvarez stiffened and she held her hand to her ear. Agent Devers tapped her arm. “What’s going on?” he said. “We’re wasting time here. We need to get back to the prom.”

  The voice spoke before Alvarez could answer. Alvarez held up a hand to Devers and strained to listen. “Tell the rest of the detail there’s been a misunderstanding,” the voice said. “Addie Webster had a fight with her boyfriend and went home without your knowledge. The girl you have in custody has done nothing wrong and is free to go.”

  Alvarez brought her wrist to her mouth, turned her head away from Devers, and whispered under her breath. “That’s insane. Why should I?”

  “Because if you don’t, we will blow Addie Webster and the Cabot prom sky-high. We have complete control of the building and everyone in it. Just watch.”

  Alvarez glanced toward the museum, throat constricting, as the entire building pitched into darkness. A split second later, the lights came back on and Alvarez could once again see the faint outlines of students dancing.

  “Don’t make me do something more drastic,” the voice said. “Now, release the girl; tell the detail to go. And you—stay right where you are.”

  Alvarez turned to Devers, who was still watching her with an eyebrow raised. She tapped her earpiece. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Just got word from the White House. Appears I jumped the gun. Songbird is at home. Had a fight with her boyfriend, called her mother, and left without my knowledge. We’re no longer needed here.” She motioned to the agents on the street, lowering the girl into the back of a patrol car.

  “I made a mistake,” Alvarez shouted to them. “Songbird is at home. You can let the girl go.”

  The agent holding her by the wrists did a double take.

  “I said,” Alvarez repeated, “uncuff the girl and let her go.”

  “You’re in charge,” the agent answered. “But I want it on the record that this was your call.”

  “Noted,” Alvarez said. “Now let her go. And the rest of you, you’re done for the night. Go on. Go home.”

  As the detail began to disperse, Devers hung back. Alvarez regarded him anxiously.

  “Do you want something?” she said.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “You just let some girl running around in an Addie Webster dress go without further questioning? What the hell was that?”

  “I told you,” Alvarez said. “I made a mistake. So get out of here.” She lowered her voice and spoke through gritted teeth. “You can probably still catch the last quarter of the game. You don’t want to miss the Buckeyes dominating, do you?” Devers stared at her.

  “You’re hilarious,” he said. Alvarez shot him a look. He shook his head and walked away, joining up with the rest of the detail and speeding off. Alvarez spoke into her mouthpiece.

  “Satisfied?” she said.

  “We’ll see,” the voice said. “It depends how good you are at following the rest of our instructions.”

  “What do you want?” Alvarez said.

  The voice on the other end laughed, an eerie robotic sound. “You have to ask? We want what we’ve always wanted. For the administration to take the threats against this country—against the free world—seriously.”

  “And you hope to achieve this how?” Alvarez said, unable to help herself. “By threatening to kill a bunch of innocent kids? Do you think that makes you any better than the people you say you want to protect this country from?”

  The voice didn’t answer immediately. Alvarez began to worry she’d crossed a line.

  “Do we want to kill anyone?” the voice came back. “No. But if we have to, we will. Sometimes it’s necessary to make sacrifices for the greater good.”

  Alvarez shifted her weight, leaning momentarily on her right foot.

  “I told you!” the voice said. “Stay where you are!”

  Alvarez froze.

  “Now listen carefully,” the voice said, “because we’re only going to tell you once. We want you to deliver a message. Tell President Webster we are done firing warning shots. This time, we’re playing for real. He has failed to recognize the dangers in our world, and we will no longer sit on the sidelines. If he doesn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of children—the death of his own daughter—he will hold a press conference by midnight tonight, publicly acknowledging his failures and offering us a seat at the table.”

  “Wait, a seat at the table?” Alvarez said, incredulous. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way President Webster is going to make a terrorist organization part of his administration. You must know that.”

  “We are not a terrorist organization. And we are done playing games. Tell President Webster that we have Shi.…”

  “Excuse me, what?” Alvarez broke in.

  “He’ll know what we mean,” the voice said. “Just convey this to the president: We have Shi. We have his daughter. If he doesn’t renounce his failed policies and meet our demands—by midnight—we kill Addie Webster and anyone else who happens to be nearby. And whe
n we’re done with that, we’ll set Shi loose on the White House. Every classified document, every e-mail, every intelligence briefing will be released indiscriminately online. There’s no way to stop it; just ask Liz Webster. And if President Webster thinks the United States doesn’t have a security problem now, he won’t be singing the same tune tomorrow when terrorists worldwide have access to every state secret, the names of covert agents, the locations of secret weapons programs. It will all be out there for the taking.”

  Alvarez had to bite her tongue. If she’d needed any more confirmation that she wasn’t dealing with a rational person, she had it now. Only someone truly unhinged would believe they could make threats like this and expect the president to comply. The best Alvarez could do was to try to buy herself—and the kids at that prom—more time.

  “Okay,” she said. “I will deliver your message. But it’s already past nine o’clock. These things take time. I can’t promise results by midnight.”

  “That’s too bad,” the voice said. “Because if you don’t, you’ll go down in history as the first agent with the blood of a First Kid on her hands. Good-bye—”

  “Wait!” Alvarez said. “Let’s just say the president does agree. How am I supposed to make contact with you?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the voice said. “We will contact you. We have control of all Secret Service communications. And we have our eyes on you. So if you’re thinking about calling in a rescue team, or attempting to contact any of those students in there to tell them to evacuate, think again. You have one call to make. To the president.”

  And with that, the transmission cut out. Alvarez radioed the dispatcher at headquarters.

  “This is Alvarez with an urgent matter,” she said, throat dry. “Put me through to Spider.”

  Darrow’s right leg throbbed as he lay on the floor. It was dark. And as far as he could tell, he was alone.

  “Addie?” he said, voice hoarse.

  There was no answer. Darrow sat up, gripped a nearby armrest, and tried to pull himself to his feet. The pain in his leg stabbed all the way from his thigh to his ankle. Darrow stumbled into a seat and looked down, shocked to see a circle of blood staining the front of his pant leg. The fabric was torn, his raw skin exposed underneath. He remembered the pop of the gun, the burn of the bullet as it hit, falling to the ground as Addie screamed. Darrow realized he must have passed out, but he didn’t know for how long. Time had taken on a strange shape, measured only in staggered breaths and pounding heartbeats. In the distance, he could hear the sound of music pulsing. Prom must still be under way.