“Getting in kind of late this morning,” Chalke said. It was not a question, nor did she look up from her laptop – which was actually in her lap rather than on the desk.
“About that,” I said. “I wanted to make clear where we're at in the investigation.” She looked up from her computer expectantly. “We're absolute nowhere.”
She cocked her head at me. “Beg pardon?”
“Yeah, we're nowhere,” I said breezily. “We have nothing. Forensics isn't complete yet, but nothing has come up in the preliminary reports and I'm betting they'll come up dry in the final, too. Whoever shot Bilson was a pro. Professional enough to leave nothing behind except the bullet that killed him. We should have some detail back on that today, but I'm guessing it'll be useful only in the event we capture a gun that we can test it against. Otherwise we'll just have a caliber.”
Now her eyes narrowed. “What about the attack at your office yesterday?”
I shrugged. “Haven't heard anything from the lab, again, but the guy disappeared after stealing our stuff, and I couldn't lay a hand on him, so unless something amazing like a rare element shows up in his footprints – assuming he had footprints – I don't think we've got anything there. Furthermore, I haven't talked to tech this morning, but neither have they followed up with me.”
“No news could be good news.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “You're talking about all the photos of that diary just vanishing out of both my phone and the cloud. Whatever happened there, the best we can hope for is fingerprints or something on the items themselves. Maybe DNA. Absent that...”
“You're nowhere,” she said, but this time she was staring at me. “Does this mean you're giving up?”
“No ma'am,” I said, shaking my head fervently. “Just telling you where we sit. We're looking for a break and we haven't caught it yet. I'm not quitting...I just don't want you feeling blindsided in a day or two days, wondering why this case isn't solved. It's because we've got almost literally nothing. And while I am magical in my own special, annoying sort of way, creating clues out of empty air is not among my powers.”
“Then get out there and rattle the bushes,” Chalke said, leaning forward. “Shake something loose. The president's National Security Advisor candidate was murdered. You think we can just let that slide?”
“No. But neither can I conjure up links to this mysterious Network out of bountiful nothingness.” I threw this out because I figured a reference to the Network might make Chalke back off.
It did. She sagged back in her seat. “Fair enough. Well, do what you can.” And she turned her attention back to her laptop, indicating to me that the meeting was over. “And let me know if there's anyone I need to work on for you. The forensics lab...agents...whoever.”
“Roger that,” I said, giving her a nod on my way out. “I'll keep you in the loop.” And I would, along with the VP. Or President Gondry, if he was back now.
During the walk down the sterile hallway back to my conference room/office, I saw Hilton dart out, booking it toward the bathrooms. She was really cruising, which I chalked up to her trying to hold it for just a little too long after her morning coffee. She disappeared around the corner without looking back, and I shrugged as I turned at the conference room, yanking it open and stepping in, expecting to find myself alone.
I was not alone.
There were four people in the room.
Not one of them liked me.
“What...the...effery?” I asked, eyes flitting from Chase Blanton to Captain Frost to... “Chase. Frost. ...Dude with the partially shaved head, what's your name again?”
That guy's eyes lit up with pure hate. “Tyler Bowen. You're going to remember it this time.”
“Probably not,” I said, looking at the last person in the room. “Hey Chapman, what's up with the unannounced visit? And bringing this trio of assholes into my place of work?” I cracked my knuckles as I looked at the tech guru, who just smiled back at me, not quite benignly. “You looking to start a rumble?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jaime Chapman stared at me, mirth lighting his tiny, slightly beady eyes.
Then he burst out laughing. “Go wait for me outside, will you?” he asked his triad of assholes, waving a hand to dismiss them like the serfs they were.
I caught a glare from Chase that would have melted my skin almost as effectively as her lightsaber hand, and the cold treatment from Frost was enough to leave me with freezer burn. But they harkened to the crack of their master's whip and went on.
But Bowen, Mr. Sideways Mullet, his eyes hate-boffed me as he traced a path almost to my side. Slow, so I didn't take it totally amiss, but he definitely made his way toward me with unkind feels vibing off him.
“You feeling lucky?” I asked, staring at him coolly. “That's your thing, right? You're a leprechaun?”
Dude reddened like he'd caught me naked in bed with his mom. “I am not a leprechaun. I am a luck changer.”
“Well, I'm Dirty Harriet,” I said, “and I'm asking you...do you feel lucky, punk?” I smiled. “Well...do you?”
He sort of sat there and vibrated in fury for a minute, then turned on his heel and stomped out.
“Interesting,” Chapman said, watching the whole scene play out.
I gave him a surly look of my own. “What? That you brought people with an antagonistic history to my place of work and we exchanged hostile words? I'd have thought a bright guy like you would be well versed with probabilities, and the law of cause and effect.”
“I just meant it's interesting how quickly you default to violence,” he said. “Like it's programmed into you at the most basic level.”
I blinked a couple times. “Pretty sure it's programmed into all of us at the most basic level. Some of us just paper over it with civilization better than others. And of course...some of us are just better at it than others.”
“Is that your way of saying you're less evolved than me?” Chapman had an infuriating sort of smile, in that I was pretty sure he was trying to piss me off.
“Absolutely,” I said. “In much the same way as a naked, unarmed man in the jungle is less evolved than a tigress.”
“But the naked man is not unarmed,” Chapman said, “and he brought bodyguards. Just so you don't get any ideas.”
“What ideas might I have, Mr. Chapman?” I asked, strolling over to my computer. I was pretty sure I hadn't even booted it up before I left, and the dark screen suggested that was likely the case. Still, Tyler Bowen had been sitting in my seat, and he had left the aroma of cotton candy behind. Clearly another vaper.
“I don't know what sort of things run through your mind at any given moment,” Chapman said. “Probably long, empty gulfs of blank space followed by the occasional violent impulse that you struggle to rein in.”
“It is quiet in here,” I tapped the side of my head, “when I'm not thinking about ways to kill people.” I folded my arms in front of me. “Why are you in FBI headquarters today? And my office specifically?”
“Oh, is this your office?” He made a big show of looking around. “I thought it was a waiting room. I've got a meeting with the director, you see.”
“Mmmm,” I said. “I bet you have lots to discuss with her. Mutual...connections and whatnot.”
Chapman's eyes widened subtly, and I thought I caught a moment of pure terror before he reined it in. Couldn't deny tossing that out there was worth the blowback for making the bowl-cut-wearing nerd sweat. “I was actually here to talk to you about a mutual acquaintance of ours,” he said, eyes falling back to the table. “Mr. Bilson.”
“I'd heard you three were linked in,” I said, and his eyebrow twitched. It was not the most subtle baiting ever, but no one ever really accused me of being any less obvious than a tack hammer to the nuts. “By the by...how's your deal with China going? You still eager to jump in bed with Mr. Huang?”
Chapman twitched, then forced a smile. “You did me some damage on that China deal.”
<
br /> “I'm so sorry you were damaged,” I said. “If only I'd let them get away with kidnapping thousands of people, you might still have a functioning deal. The sacrifice of some human beings to experimentation and breeding programs is probably a small price to pay so you can make a few more billion.”
He visibly flinched. “You have no idea why I do what I do.”
“I'm sure you have fantastic reasons to collaborate with them. Collaborators with murderous, dictatorial regimes usually do. Strangely, they typically coincide in the area of fattening bank accounts. Odd, no?”
“China's not going to change from without,” he said hoarsely. “Their internet is locked down. Without someone going in who can open things up–”
“Yes, I'm sure they'll definitely change all their free-speech-quashing standards they've had since the Cultural Revolution for lil' ol' you.”
Chapman's face turned red. “You know absolutely nothing.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? It's the upbringing. We can't all grow up with such a tight web of social connections as yourself. I mean, you grew up upper class, went to the best schools, full ride to Stanford. Jaime...you were networked in to the top echelon of our country, to the veritable ruling class from childhood, am I right?”
Chapman's lower lip wavered, and he swallowed visibly. “You're not very clever at all, Ms. Nealon.”
“I'm sure that's down to my lack of a high school diploma. And of course my lack of a college education.” I made a funny face. “I'm just so darned stupid, y'know. Not like you and your friends. You're all geniuses. To the manor born. So bright. So ascendant. Graced with the right to rule us plebes. Nay...divinely ordained to, I'm sure.” I wiped the smirk off my face. “You're the same so-called elite that's always tried to put their sorry asses on a throne above the rest of us. You don't even bother to hide your sense of smug superiority.”
Chapman's eyes settled on me, and there was a real hate burning behind them. “Why would I bother to hide the fact that I am superior to you? What have you done?”
“Saved the world from annihilation at the hands of Sovereign,” I started ticking points off on my fingers, “saved Chicago from a falling meteor, kept the guy you backed for president last time from taking over the minds of every single person on Earth to turn us into a human ant colony, killed a Scottish bitch with dreams of world domination, stopped a nuclear holocaust...do I need to go on, or do you get the point of me?” I leaned over the table and put my knuckles down on the surface, felt them cool against my skin. “What have you done that means a damned thing, Jaime? Other than made it possible to share photos of your cat with people from high school that you didn't like then and don't like now?”
“I bring people together,” he said hoarsely, “in ways you can't imagine.”
I chucked a thumb over my shoulder toward the door. “I admire the fact you've brought together three people who hate me. I have a feeling it's going to work out badly for them before this is over, but...I'm sure you see that, too. What with your superior brain and education and all.”
“It seems to me,” Chapman said quietly, “you've been very lucky in your life, Agent Nealon.”
“Have I?” I cocked my head, still smiling smugly. “Well, like Napoleon said, it's better to be lucky than good.”
“Your luck is bound to run out soon,” Chapman said. “I mean...hypothetically, of course.”
“Oh, is that why you hired Bowen?”
Chapman smiled, but it was ghostly, and I could tell I'd scored a couple verbal body blows in our conversation. “I hired Bowen in case I needed a bodyguard.” He started for the door. “And it's already looking like a sound investment.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “I mean...after all, when you start to experience feedback in a closed network, the...feedback could just...kill you.”
Chapman gave me one last look from the door, eyes wider than I'd ever seen them, and out he went, leaving me behind to wonder if, in anger, I'd just overplayed my hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chapman
He stormed into Chalke's office as soon as the secretary opened the door, walked right up to Heather, past her attempted greeting, and grabbed her, hugging her close in as awkward a gesture as he'd ever made in his life.
“What...the...?” Chalke said into his shoulder.
Chapman just held her for a second, then whispered back. “Nealon. She knows.” And before Chalke could ask, he finished the thought. “About us and the Network.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sienna
“Did Jaime Chapman find you?” Hilton asked when she came bursting back into the conference room, winded, a few minutes later. “He was here...looking for you...and I thought you went to the bathroom–”
I stared at her. “You literally told me before I left that Chalke was looking for me. I was in her office.”
Hilton stared at me curiously, then went, “Ohhh. Right. But he found you?”
“He found me,” I said, sitting down in front of my laptop. “Though I bet he wishes now that he hadn't.” The last bit I mumbled, mostly to myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Julie
Riding the Metrorail was always a mixed bag. It took forever, the people riding with you could be somewhere in the range from pleasant to unremarkable all the way down to smelly and dangerous, and you never knew which you were going to get until you were on the train.
Still, it was going to get Julie where she wanted to go, so she held her nose and rode, focusing on her phone all the while.
She'd just gotten done reading a cute article about a viral video of a little brother cuddling his baby sister for the first time, and was having an attack of the cutes when she clicked back to the main page of Flashforce. She liked that site. They put just enough saccharine in to make the world seem not so terrible.
Then she saw it. Something distinctly not saccharine.
White House Comms Aide Scandal Deepens with Allegations of Sexual Impropriety
Julie stared at the headline in cold horror for a moment before clicking it. It sounded terrible, and worse, was there any White House communications aide embroiled in a scandal right now other than...well, her? The drinking articles had been terrible, after all, and spread broadly across multiple independent publications. They'd stung, too, every one she'd read bringing fresh tears even long after she'd thought she'd gotten all of them out.
She read the first paragraph and started to feel them welling up again.
The scandal in the White House Communications Office deepened today with new revelations about sexual impropriety of Julie Blair, 34, who was fired...
Julie wheezed. There was a sudden tightness in her chest, like a giant fist had gripped her by the lungs.
...sources within the office say it was well known that Blair, in addition to having problems with alcoholism, was involved in multiple affairs with sometimes married staffers in the office. Blair is also married.
“Oh my God,” Julie breathed. She grabbed the metal floor-to-ceiling stabilizing bar because lightheadedness seemed to be setting in and she thought she might fall out of her seat.
How could this be happening? She'd never screwed around on Dom.
Her breathing seemed to get heavier, deeper, as the train rattled around her – like a harbinger that Julie's world was inching closer and closer to falling apart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Chapman
There was no time to hash things over with Chalke, nor particularly the desire to do it face to face. She looked at him, ghost-eyed, and he just nodded. “Got to go to my other meeting,” he said, and saw himself out.
They would talk about it later, it was understood. In a more secure environment, in the app. The one area left on earth he could control fully.
How had Nealon found out that he and Chalke were in the Network together? With Bilson, no less?
Oh.
Of course.
How could he have been so
stupid?
Bilson was the answer. Of course Bilson was the answer.
Chapman thought about it in the back of the limo on the way to the next meeting, his new bodyguards keeping their silence, thankfully. That Bowen fellow with the partially shaven head seemed like he wanted to say something, but Jaime's face must have warned him off.
He caught a stray look from the woman, though, Chase, and that made him pause. “What?” he asked, the dark shading on the windows tinting the back of the vehicle in shadow.
“Never been here before,” she said, looking out the windshield.
Chapman tried to mute his annoyance. “Stick with me and you'll be back,” he said, as they pulled up to the entry gate to the West Wing of the White House.
Security was an inconvenience, but not an insurmountable one. Chapman himself passed with ease, having been “invited” or at least having the power to invite himself. His bodyguards would wait in the car, and he would pass through the Secret Service blockades. Which he did, again, with ease.
He was shown into the Oval Office immediately, because that was what one did when one was head of the single largest aggregator of social data and information on the planet. He was the valve through which so many communications flowed. How could anyone desiring power think of him as anything other than a perfect spigot through which it flowed and kiss his ass accordingly?
“I wish we had all day, but I'm sure you know I'm heading to Andrews in a short while for a speech in Michigan. I'm sorry I haven't made it back to California in a while, Jaime,” Richard Gondry said after the perfunctory handshakes. “Or at least not Northern Cali. How's everything going for my friends in Silicon Valley?”
Control: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 38) Page 11