“Are they . . . are they shepherding us?” asked Slack.
“Yes, but not in a nice way,” said Salome. She accelerated, and the Russian helicopters increased their pace, drawing closer. As she made a hesitant turn, one of them flew gracefully to her right, blocking her. Both the flanking helicopters rose and pulled closer together. John stared up at them.
They lowered, tightening Salome’s room for maneuvering even further.
“They’ll drive us into the water!” yelled John. “Where do they want us to go?”
“Russia, clearly,” Salome snapped. “I’m trying to dodge them, but they’re driving me exactly where they want.” She jerked on the control stick, and the craft lurched violently to the left, but the helicopter on that side loomed ominously closer. The pilot waved in a clear gesture of command.
Salome steadied the craft, flying on in the only possible direction. “The gulag it is.”
“Can you increase our altitude?” yelled John desperately. He could make out the faces of the pilots now, their eyes concealed by mirrored sunglasses. They did not look friendly.
“Not in this weather. I could lower the chopper, but we could hit the sea. That would be bad.” Nevertheless, she pulled on the left control, and the nose dipped hard toward the water.
“No!” yelled Slack, his voice high and filled with panic. “Up!”
The whole craft shuddered and swayed as Salome fought to lift it. “They’ve got us where they want us,” she shouted over the engine’s rattle and roar. “And look!” She took her hand briefly off the cyclic control to point up to her right. “The other chopper’s followed us from Diomede. They’re close!”
John gasped. The Diomede helicopter was flying fast above the others, angling around to cut them off.
The radio on the control panel crackled to life, and Salome glared at it. John didn’t understand the barked words. “What are they saying?”
“My Russian’s not brilliant,” muttered Salome, “but they’re not talking to us. They’re warning off the Diomede chopper.”
The clashing voices on the radio were rising in volume, and John could make out a few words from the American side. “Back off . . . return to your base . . . please withdraw immediately . . . ”
“This is going to turn into an international incident!” shrieked Slack grimly.
And suddenly a high female voice joined the others, speaking swift and fluent Russian. Salome was startled.
“What’s that?” asked John. His heart was in overdrive.
“It’s Eva! Sh!” Salome listened. “She’s hacked their radios. She’s telling the Russians to focus on protecting us. To back off and block the Americans and to give us a clear run to the Siberian border.”
Salome’s Russian seemed to be fairly brilliant, thought John.
The Russian craft swooped high above them and turned. John could just make out all four now, facing each other down, with the Russians barring the Americans’ way. The radio argument grew even more heated.
“The Russians won’t fall for that for long,” he warned.
“Nope.” Salome was pulling at the cyclic control again, swinging back toward the Russian coastline, dipping the nose, and accelerating.
“What—” said Slack. “Salome, where are you going?”
“That cloudbank.” She pointed. “I want to get way out of sight of the Diomede chopper. Far enough to give us a good head start.”
Ahead, the low gray coastal mist looked solid, so unyielding that John’s heart was in his mouth as Salome plunged straight for it. It enveloped them with terrifying suddenness, and John started back, slamming the window shut on the freezing dampness. Moisture spattered the glass, and Salome fumbled for the controls. The windshield wipers lurched into motion, slapping away huge drops of rain.
“OK, they can’t see us,” Salome growled. “On the other hand, I can’t see a thing.”
“You’ll fly us into the cliffs!” shouted Slack.
“I have to try!”
John closed his eyes tight. “Stop yelling. Stop!”
“What use is—”
“Shut up!”
Slack did. There was no sound but the roar of the engine, the rattle of rotors, and the frantic squeak and slap of the wipers.
For John, it all faded into a distant white noise.
It was as if he were running on some instinctive program; he didn’t even reach for his phone. He just clenched his right fist hard.
You’re in my flesh. Every instinct, every thought in his head funneled toward that tiny, alien implant. We have to be compatible. We are compatible.
“John!” Slack’s fearful shout was no louder than an irritating buzz.
Permit access, John told the implant. Now. Access denied.
Override code, he insisted. Access required. Identification required.
Identification NOT required. Override. New code incoming.
ACCESS DENIED.
Override. Override. Over—
DEVICE COMPATIBLE.
John thought for an instant that he was outside the helicopter and falling into the sea. No. That was just an illusion. He was tumbling into a green ocean of code and flipping between lines, adjusting, and correcting. No typing necessary. He rewrote the code by instinct, with no more than a thought.
He burst out of his eerie reverie like a diver surfacing. “Give me your hands!”
Snatching Salome’s fingers from the central control and grabbing Slack’s left hand, he shut his eyes and focused his mind, locking onto the flickering signals that were their implants.
Access granted.
The code he needed was in his head now: it took only seconds to rewrite it. Slack jolted back as if he’d stuck his finger in a socket; Salome shuddered violently.
“Turn back, Salome,” barked John. “Get away from the Russian coastline!”
“Oh God!” screamed Salome, her eyes almost popping out of her head. She wrenched at the control stick between her legs, and John and Slack tumbled back as the helicopter surged upward.
Clutching the door handle, John hauled himself forward, finding his feet. From the left-hand window he saw black solid cliffs veer away from them.
“Close one,” he breathed faintly.
“Too close,” whispered Salome. She was shaking as she turned the craft, thus leaving the brutal rocks behind them.
“What did you do?” demanded Slack as he scrambled to his feet.
“I stopped us from crashing!” she yelled.
“No, not you! John! What did John just do?”
“I hacked our implants.” John was panting hard. “Reset the trackers inside them. Those choppers think we’re over Siberia.”
Slack grabbed his arm, swinging him round. His stare was hot with shock and anger. “Never mind what. How? What did you hack them with?”
John could only shake his head. “Later.” Slack stumbled back, and John turned away, unable to meet his eyes. His mental hack of the implants had been automatic, as if the commands had clicked in his head. I hardly know what I did.
As Salome, battling against the wind, moved the craft in a broad circle, John crouched by the window again. She was aiming the nose straight toward the Seward Peninsula now, and it shimmered into sight through a blur of snow and fog.
John tensely watched the coastline grow larger. Streams of fog rushed around the fuselage, the sky was dark, and he hoped Salome’s flying skills extended to landing in what looked like miserable weather. He saw her throat jerk as she dived the craft toward the looming fringe of land and realized she was hoping the same.
The heaving sea became frothing waves, then a snow-blanketed claw of land. Salome worked the throttle again, slowing the helicopter, and it swayed violently in the wind. John’s stomach lurched with the craft as it lowered far too fast, and he felt a giant
jolt as the skids touched the earth. It hopped, slammed down again, and rocked gently.
Salome flicked switches, and the engine died.
Above them, the rotors slowed, quieted, and finally stopped.
Salome slumped forward over the controls, with her fists clenched and her shoulders heaving.
Slack seized her arm. “You are awesome! When did you learn to fly a helicopter?”
Her muffled voice trembled. “Never.”
“What?” said John.
She flopped back against the pilot seat, pale, her eyes staring. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean, ‘can’t’?” Slack hooted. “You were brilliant!”
“I mean I can’t,” she yelled, turning on him. “I never learned. I don’t know how to fly a helicopter. I don’t know how.”
The boys stared at her. Slack’s gaze darkened as he turned to John and frowned. “So can you explain now—”
“I don’t know what Salome’s talking about,” John interrupted him hurriedly, “but we made it. Now we have to get out of here. Lykos will figure out we’re not in Russia, and they’ll follow us.”
Salome gave an exhausted nod, and between them the two boys dragged the trembling girl from the cockpit.
“Don’t think I’m letting this drop,” growled Slack over Salome’s sagging head as he held her arm. “I want to know how you hacked our implants. You didn’t even touch your phone.”
John nodded and stretched forward to open the door. An icy blast of pure winter hit them. He flinched, then jumped to the ground.
Salome stumbled down, helped by Slack. “I can’t fly. Why could I fly?”
“Never mind,” barked John against the howl of the blizzard. “Come on.”
He and Slack half carried Salome across a flat expanse of tarmac through driving snow. In the distance, he instantly recognized Wales Airport, but the low buildings were indistinct in the snowy air: Salome had missed the helipad by miles, he realized, and they were on a branch runway far from the center.
Snow and wind buffeted them as they half ran, half stumbled through the blizzard, but John was aware of another creeping sensation. Somewhere deep in his brain, there was a subtle tug.
Like a cursor, he thought suddenly. A cursor, blinking away on a blank screen, like it’s waiting for something. Like there’s an incoming message—
And, suddenly, text leaped into his mind’s eye, flickering through his brain, shining on the inside of his eyelids when he shut his eyes tight.
John. Download waiting . . .
He shook his head violently. He had no idea what was happening—the sudden instinct to hack the implants, the tickle of that waiting cursor in his head—but now was not the time to be distracted.
Ice was forming on his eyelashes, and the gale wind was cold enough to cut into his skin. His chest and throat stung from it.
Download complete.
John almost screamed. Leave me alone!
Yet without even thinking about it, he veered ninety degrees. Dragging Salome, he stumbled along a thin strip of snow-covered tarmac, his eyes already seeking what he knew was there.
Shelter. We need to reach it.
“Will someone from the airport come after us?” gasped Slack as he ran.
“They don’t know we’re here,” croaked Salome. “If there’s even anyone manning the airport. I received no contact before we landed.”
“Eva,” rasped John. “I bet she could hide us. Clever . . . clever girl.”
They pounded on through the whirling snow flurries. John led them across strips of gravel runway, until at last, in the driving gray blast, a low, squat building took shape. With a last surge of energy, he sprinted toward it.
He almost collided with a shabby timber wall. Salome and Slack were right behind him, and the three of them slumped on a stretch of snow-covered grass in the shelter of the little hut. Their panting breaths plumed in the freezing air.
Slack sat doubled up, clutching his knees, gasping. Salome was still shivering, her eyes wide with terror, and nothing would calm her. “I can’t fly. I can’t fly. I don’t understand.”
“I do,” said a new voice.
John leaped to his feet, his heart thundering. Who was out here? There was something familiar about the accent, but it wasn’t possible. It was in the wrong place. It couldn’t be.
A short, round figure materialized in the thick gray air. As it drew closer, it grew into a very slight girl, wrapped in a thick, puffy winter jacket. She wore huge snow boots and a woolen hat that was pulled down to her eyes; her gloved fingers gripped the straps of a bulky backpack. She was just a shape in the driving snow, but John knew her anyway, just by her familiar dark eyes. His heartbeat kicked against his ribs, and he sucked in a shocked breath.
“Hello, John Laine,” said Akane. “Nice to meet you at last. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
The hut had been abandoned long ago. That was
obvious now; its dull green paint was peeling, and there were splintered gaps in the wooden boards. John and Slack kicked at the door till it collapsed inward, and then they and Akane helped Salome to her feet. Stumbling forward into the echoing emptiness, they slammed the door shut as best they could, and Slack jammed Akane’s huge backpack against it.
For a long time, they sat in silence. John needed to get his breath back even more than the others.
“Akane,” he whispered at last. “How did you get here?”
“It doesn’t matter how,” she said. “What matters is why.”
Salome’s eyes had begun to regain their fire. “This is your friend from Japan, John?”
“Yes,” Akane answered for him. “And it looks like you discovered the same thing I did, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“We didn’t discover anything.” Slack leaned forward. “We left because there were men after us. Men with guns. It all started . . . because there was a shutdown at the school.”
“What happened?”
“A malware infection. Every single device.” John stared at Akane, still hardly able to believe she was here. “Reiffelt’s up to something bad. All three of us were affected by something in that place—we all had the same nightmares. Killing urges. Then—we discovered Roy Lykos is after us. And that’s where the men with guns came in.”
“It’s worse than I thought,” muttered Akane. “Yet I’m not surprised. I was chased too.”
“You? They came after you? Why?” John rubbed at his temples with his fingernails. “Someone had been warning me, telling me to get out.” He hesitated. “Was that you, Akane?”
She shook her head. “No, that wasn’t me.”
He looked at her intently. “But you did message me. On my broken phone.”
She glanced up, biting her lip as if she were tormented. “Yes.
I did.”
“How?”
Slack was looking from John to Akane, his eyes narrow. “You mean, like you hacked our implants with nothing but your head?”
Akane glanced at him. “Did you, John? That was clever.”
“Somebody had better start explaining themselves.” Salome spoke through chattering teeth, but her voice was determined.
“Two people, in fact,” muttered Slack.
Akane let out a deep breath. “A year ago,” she said, “John found files of mine that he shouldn’t have been able to find. I don’t mean it was hard—I mean it was impossible. And he did it by downloading a key. He didn’t do that with a computer. He did it with instinct. Downloaded it straight into his head. As if he were the device.” They stared at her.
“You can’t hack with your instincts,” snapped Salome. She sounded more frightened than angry. “With your head.”
“It was just luck,” said John hoarsely.
“No. It wasn’t.” Akane peeled off her wet gloves and shook her
hair free of her beanie. “I’ve been hunting for an explanation ever since then, John. It’s driven me crazy. But it wasn’t till you went to the Center that I found the answer. And that was a coincidence, or luck, if you like. Because when I broke into the Wolf’s Den files, I wasn’t expecting to solve the puzzle of you.” She swallowed hard. “But I did.”
“So how?” John clenched his fists. “How did I do it?”
“Last year you were struggling to find a way into my files. And your programming knew where to find the answer. In the Cloud.”
“Don’t be crazy,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t have stored your key in—”
“The Cloud that exists between us.” Akane spoke over him. “Just us. Our personal, linked storage, the Cloud that only we have access to. Your programming kicked in and downloaded it.”
There was a heavy silence. “His programming . . . ” echoed Salome.
“And yours, Salome. And Slack’s.” Akane unzipped her jacket and drew out her phone.
She tapped the screen and turned it to face them. “I’ve been doing some hacking.”
“Scorpion’s gonna sting,” said John.
She didn’t smile as she usually would, and he frowned at the phone as she handed it to him. Salome and Slack looked over his shoulder as he scrolled through Akane’s bookmarked pages. His eyes widened.
“Here’s the thing,” she told them quietly. “We all had accidents when we were little. Bad accidents. I fell off a temple roof and broke my skull.” She touched something on the back of her head. “John tried to climb on rocks, and he fell too; he nearly died. Jake—Slack—was in a boating accident; the boom knocked him overboard, and he was trapped under the keel. You drowned, Slack. You were dead.”
Slack blinked at her. “I . . . know.”
“And Salome? You got away from your nanny. You ran into a road in Lagos and were hit by a high-speed car.”
The Ghost Network (book 1) Page 15