Laughter erupted. Tina looked at everyone. Her husband was leaning back and relaxing in his love seat. Her mother was sipping more Kremas as her eyes crinkled in amusement at her youngest grandchild and her overgrown buddy. Her eldest in the corner snapped pictures with her phone. Vonda leaned in to whisper in Zavier’s ear and gave him a slight hug. It was a modern-day Norman Rockwell moment. It was what Christmas was all about: the love and warmth of family and friends.
“OK, honeybunch. Run upstairs and put your regular clothes back on. We are off to the movies.”
Maddie hopped to her feet. “Are we seeing—”
“Of course, Ranger Apprentice.”
“Awesome sauce!” Maddie yelled and ran upstairs.
Chapter Three
Indian Bay Mall had seen better days. Its anchor stores had left for the greener pastures of high-end mall complexes filled with fashionista shoe stores, high-end jewelry, and six-figure-income shoppers. The aging complex had one saving grace: The Palace movie theater.
The twenty-theater cineplex featured four thousand seats, state-of-the-art sound, classic movie finger food, burger and fry options, and eclectic independent films. This modern-day theater lived up to its moniker. A large curved staircase dominated the entrance; it looked like it had been lifted out of the grand ballrooms of English stage theaters. The atrium and staircase were supported with large Roman-inspired columns. Roman-Greek motifs and decorative accents were splashed across the walls. Its carpets were a deep royal red, thick and plush, despite the heavy foot traffic the theater saw each week.
The décor of the Palace harkened back to a distant, more romantic past, but was all modern twentieth century. Free Wi-Fi was available in the common areas. High-tech security cameras were positioned throughout the theater, allowing the staff to keep track of all the hallway entrances and public areas. It made their lives easier on normal days. This Christmas, as on others, the cameras were a godsend. The theater was packed to the hilt, and people had a funny way of forgetting their holiday manners when waiting in long lines with sugar-drunk children brimming with impatience.
The modern wireless network systems were also targets for modern problems. The cameras were great for making sure no one snuck in without paying. They did not, however, keep anyone from trying to sneak onto the wireless network itself.
Halfway across town from the theater, Dale “Shadow Chief” McGulligan pushed himself back from his friend’s desk and jumped from his chair. “I’m in! They are owned.”
“Chill out, dude. It’s not the fucking Pentagon. You sound like a noob,” said Gyeong “George” Rhee, his eyes never leaving his computer screen.
Dale flipped him a bird that went unnoticed and walked over to Mirko “Mako” Kovaĉ. Mako sat on the floor, his laptop balanced on his knees as his fingers flew over the keyboard. Seeing Dale’s shadow, he grabbed a bag of Twizzlers beside him and handed it back to Dale. Mako’s eyes never left the screen, and his right hand had not paused its typing. After a moment, he smiled. “I’m in.” Satisfied, he grabbed the back of his baseball cap and turned it back to the front. He got up and placed his laptop next to Dale’s on the desk. He looked over his shoulder at George. “Time’s a wasting, dude. Get it done already.”
The Korean looked up from his screen, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I got in fifteen minutes ago. I was waiting for you slow Euros to get in. And remember— use hacking handles only when we are on the job.”
Mako and Dale gave each other a look and rolled their eyes.
“And is this the secret lair?” asked Mako.
“Secret dump is more like it,” Dale answered for George. “And I thought my room had an unspecified number of undiscovered microbes in it. The walking dead would stay away from this place.”
“We quote ‘Euros’ expect more from you,” said Mako.
George got up from his bed. Stepping over discarded shirts, wrappers, and books, he placed his laptop on the desk alongside the others. He bent down to tap on the keyboard, then held his finger over the Enter key. He shot his friends a sidelong glance. “Are you implying that because I’m Korean I’m supposed to be uptight, ruthlessly clean, with everything in straight lines?”
“That depends, George. When you say you are waiting on us Euros, are you implying Koreans are smarter than us European trash?” said Mako.
George grinned. “I never said ‘trash,’ but since I beat you, and always beat you, in my case that happens to be true.”
“Whatever, man. You’re still a short dweeb to me,” said Mako. “What were you doing while we were toiling away?”
“This.” George finally hit the Enter key. The web page on his laptop screen transferred to the large flat screen hanging on the wall in front of his desk. “I hacked Pornhub.com. If we don’t find any hotties at the theaters, at least we can look at some virtual ones.”
Despite the well-endowed actress freeze framed on the television screen, Mako looked over his shoulder toward the door. George’s parents walking in now would be most inopportune. Dale, on the other hand, lunged to press the volume button on the flat screen.
“Don’t worry. It’s always keyed to my wireless headsets.” George opened a drawer and pulled out three Denon wireless headphones. He handed one to both of his friends and slipped his on. “The door is locked. They have parental controls set on the TV, but I hacked that down long ago. If they check, they will see me playing Minecraft.”
Dale smiled and patted George on the shoulder. “Impact,” he said, using George’s computer screen name, “I so love that you’re smarter than this little white boy.”
Silence reigned supreme as they each watched the featured video of the day from Pornhub. After a minute or so of video, George stopped it and minimized the screen.
“I’m OK with ignoring the theaters,” said Dale.
“I second that motion,” agreed Mako.
“I don’t really relish spending the next two or three hours watching porn next to two dudes that just want to run to the bathroom and whack off,” said George. “I’ll send you the key, and you can view it at home in your own room and on your own soiled bedsheets.”
Without a word, Dale and Mako turned to look at George’s bed dubiously. Turning back to each other, Dale said, “Mako, I do believe Impact is projecting a bit here.”
“Yes, Shadow Chief, I think you are correct,” Mako responded. He then reached up and tapped his forehead with two fingers. “Image deleted.”
George’s lips compressed into each other, forming a hard line of annoyance. It was a sure sign that the barb had hit a little too close to home. He said nothing, focusing instead on moving a second video feed from his laptop onto the larger screen.
“I want to hit the movies, so let’s see which location has got the most hotties this Christmas,” said George. Porn forgotten for the moment, the three teenage hackers flipped from one theater video feed to another, cycling through each security camera to get eyes on where their age group was hanging after opening their gifts. The West End theaters were a bust, but that was not surprising. That part of town only had eight theaters and was run down, but was usually saturated with teenage girls—one of the perks of being attached to a mall, but it was closed. That left The Pointe on International Drive and the Palace. They were about even.
“I say the Palace, man. The Pointe is full of tourists,” said Dale.
“Which is why it’s better. Tourists are gonna leave. It makes them easier to hook up with,” countered Mako. “You can hit it and act like you don’t want to quit it as their plane takes them home.”
“They’re all here with family, dude. Their parents or annoying brothers and sisters are there too. No way you get them to break away to hook up. The girls at the Palace are chillin’ with their peeps like us. Harder to score, but we don’t have to worry about them running off to their hotel room after the movie.”
“I agree with Mako, Shadow. They may be locals, but we got more options. Let�
�s look some more.”
George closed out the feeds from The Pointe and West End. He pulled in more camera feeds on the screen until he had a dozen or more up. Each looked them over, until Dale uttered a noise from the back of his throat.
“What? The blonde in the daisies on camera six?” asked Mako.
“No,” said Dale. “There seem to be a whole bunch of Muslim dudes there.”
George looked at Dale askance and then at Mako, who was rolling his eyes. “Dude, racist much?”
Dale looked at George, puzzled. “What?”
George raised a finger and pointed toward Mako. Dale rolled his eyes. “Please. Mako is as sandy-haired as me. He’s not a real, you know, Muslim. He’s from Europe.”
“Being Muslim is not a race, dickwad. It’s a religion,” said Mako.
“Jesus, such noobs, both of you. Muslim isn’t a ‘religion’ either. Islam is a religion. You should know that. Maybe Shadow’s right. You are as white as him.”
“Says the disciplined Korean with a pigpen as a room,” shot back Mako.
“Dudes, chill,” said Dale. Reaching across George, he selected four camera streams and made them larger. “I’m serious. Look at these guys. It’s a bunch of them, and they are all together . . . with bags.”
“All the white people are together too, asswipe,” said George. So damn ignorant, he thought. “And looook, many of them have backpacks and hoodies. Let’s call Homeland Security.”
George deselected the four screens, putting them back to their original size to allow them to see the rest of the cameras. He went back to searching for hot girls when Mako sidled up next to him.
“Hold up a minute.”
Mako studied the camera feeds. His eyes rapidly tracked from one camera feed to another. He leaned in, focusing on one feed in particular. “Shit.”
“What,” George and Dale said together.
“Something’s not right.”
Chapter Four
Like a dragonfly zipping between cattails, Maddie flitted left and right through the crowd. “Come on. Hurry up or we won’t get a good seat, Mom.”
“Maddie, slow down. You’re gonna knock someone over. There are plenty of seats,” said Tina.
Maddie’s freckled nose crinkled as she stood on her tippy-toes and scanned the crowded theater. They needed five seats, which could be a problem on a holiday.
“There’s five over there on the end,” said Tina.
“No, Mom. We have to be in the middle. It’s the best spot,” said Maddie.
She craned her head around, looking for seats in the right spot. Seeing what she wanted, Maddie dashed around a woman with a cane and ran down an aisle. There were four seats next to each other in the middle, about three quarters of the way up the bank of theater seats. A Spanish woman in her fifties was seated in what would be the fifth seat, but on the other side of her was an empty seat.
“Excuse me, ma’am. My parents and her best friend, that’s them right there—we are gonna sit here, but we need another seat for my uncle. He’s a veteran, and I want to sit with him. Do you mind moving down one seat?” Maddie smiled sweetly, just as Tina reached her.
“Madelynne Collins! Don’t ask people to move from their seats. It’s rude. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
The woman smiled and waved Tina’s apology away. “No, no. It’s no bother at all. In fact, your daughter was very polite and sweet. I can move down so she can sit with her uncle. Not a problem at all.”
She got up and moved before Tina could do more than give her daughter a withering look.
Maddie positioned herself in the middle and began directing everyone to the appropriate seats.
“Mom, you sit here, and Daddy, sit right here on my left. This seat is for Uncle Z.” She pointed to the seat on her right. “And Aunt Vonnie, you sit there. See, all perfect.” Janice, who felt she was too cool for a family trip to the movies on Christmas, had stayed home to Facebook with her friends.
Maddie plopped down in her chosen seat, demonstrating—at least in her mind—that everything had been decided correctly. She let out a long sigh and contentment glowed on her face. The three adults, minus Uncle Z, who was in the lobby to buy snacks, just looked at her and then each other. Each wondered how children managed to get their way so often.
Zavier rubbed his temples to try and calm his own impatience. He understood that it was Christmas. He understood that everyone and their third cousin came to the movies as a way to get away from their second and fourth cousins. He understood that meant a long wait for tickets and concessions. What he did not understand was why the concession employees were moving in slow motion. Did it really take forever to ring up a popcorn and soda?
Taking a deep breath to further calm himself, Zavier went back to people watching. Giving them the stink-eye won’t make them move any faster, he mused.
He looked at the people milling about. Most were waiting patiently, or not, in line for popcorn and drinks. Others were either in line for movies or just hanging out. An unusual amount of teenagers abounded. Teenage girls roamed around in groups of three or four, as if running in packs would dissuade the boys from approaching. An odd move, he thought, considering more than a few were running around in shorts about as long as a small bathing suit. How any of these girls managed to get out of the house with their midriffs exposed, short shorts, and faces made up like college sorority girls was a mystery to him.
As irksome as Zavier found their state of dress to be, he could tell he was alone in that feeling. Teenage boys loved skin, and judging by the faces and expressions of the boys surrounding him, they approved of the girls’ fashion choices. Most were loving the leg and flat tummy fest on display all around.
Most . . . but not all.
As Zavier moved up to the front of the concession counter, he spied two young brown-skinned men glaring at one group of girls that sashayed by. Naked hostility glowed in their eyes. They continued staring at the girls until another trio of girls intersected their line of sight. Their eyes followed the new pack of girls, but their malevolent stares did not diminish. They just had another target.
“Can I help you, sir,” asked the girl behind the counter.
Startled back to the matter at hand, Zavier shook himself to release the unease the look in the young men’s eyes had given him. “Umm, yeah. Get me four small Cokes, a cherry Icee, two medium popcorns, and a pretzel.”
Ignoring the concession worker, Zavier scanned the crowd, again looking for the angry, young men. He had seen their look before. It had been a daily sight in Iraq and Afghanistan. Then, the anger and derision had been directed toward female soldiers. More than a few times, soldiers, including himself, had to be restrained from teaching Afghan and Iraqi locals a lesson. Muslims took a dim view of women serving in the military. Women were there to serve men, not to fight for them.
This is America, Zavier, not the Sandbox, he thought. Nonetheless, he kept his eyes on the two young men until one of them noticed him looking at them. The taller one of the two held his gaze and then grabbed his companion by the arm and walked away into the crowd. Both were carrying backpacks.
Zavier felt a rumbling in his stomach. In his peripheral vision, he saw the concession worker step back to the counter. Absently, he handed over his debit card, totally missing whatever the cost for the snacks had been. His focus was on the lobby, his eyes scanning the room like it were a grid line. Section by section, he looked and saw other groups of presumably Muslim men and teenage boys together. His mind screamed to him that even if Muslims did not celebrate Christmas that did not negate them from coming out to the movies on Christmas day with their families.
Families. That’s all he saw. Muslim fathers and mothers out with their families to enjoy a few hours of mindless, fun entertainment. Nothing out of place. Except for the clump of three clusters of men with sour looks on their faces as women and girls walked by them. Their eyes hard and flinty.
His stomach rumbled once more. This time he mentally s
hushed it. A planet of Muslim-looking people were mixed in with black and white friends. All were talking and laughing among themselves waiting for food or entrance to a theater like anyone else.
“Sir? Sir, here is your card. Do you want a receipt?”
“Huh? Umm, no. No, thank you,” he said.
Zavier gathered the snacks and moved in the direction of his theater. Walking gingerly through the crowd, he felt as if he had two figures on his shoulders, except instead of an angel and a devil, there was the solider that had served and the civilian that just wanted to see a good flick. His mundane civilian side told him he was being paranoid. The soldier told him he knew better than that.
Chapter Five
Dale, George, and Mako shouted at each other with the force of Manchester United soccer fans. The volume was so loud and their gestures so intense, none heard the hard knock on the bedroom door until the knock moved from insistent to a pounding worthy of D.E.A. agents trying to force their way into a crack den. George broke away from the group, unlocked the door, and ripped it open. “What is it?!”
George’s father gave his son a severe look with eyebrows arched so high and sharp they could have pierced a hole in the hallway ceiling. “Mind your tone, boy,” he said.
Mr. Rhee’s voice was hard and flat. He looked past his son into the room, his eyes examining every inch of it. They settled on the large monitor and the multiple video streams playing on it. “What is going on up here? I can hear the three of you all the way downstairs and out back.”
“Oh, you know us Mr. Rhee, always debating,” said Dale sheepishly.
George’s father stared at Dale until the teenager began fidgeting and sat down on the bed, Mr. Rhee’s message clear. The question was not meant for Dale or Mako. His eyes swung back to the monitor. Six security camera views were playing on it.
The Madison Jennings Series Box Set Page 3