The Madison Jennings Series Box Set

by Kiara Ashanti

  Mr. Y Leiro reminded her of a Spanish version of Professor Snape—without the marvelous personality. He was snide, officious, and overbearing in his desire to point out the flaws in American thinking.

  “Now that your attention is directed toward the proper place, tell us, Miss Jennings, based on last night’s required reading on situational ethics, how do they pertain to the situation in Saudi Arabia?”

  Ever since a bunch of Denver high school students had gotten arrested in Saudi Arabia for “consorting and mixing” with males in a coffee shop, Mr. Y Leiro had had a bug up his ass. He thought the international crisis that had exploded after the release of video of the arrests—and assaults against some of the teens by Saudi religious police—merited teaching the class why the outrage of Americans was wrong.

  Let it go already, dude, Maddie thought. Out loud, she answered, “Something like what’s right or wrong depends on the circumstances, that flexibility should be used when judging a situation. Some stupidity like that.”

  Mr. Y Leiro pursed his lips, but Tiffani Medina responded first.

  “That’s a bit judgmental. I mean, I don’t agree with assaulting them, but they did break the local law. I think what we read was about not being rigid or inflexible in our thinking. At least that’s what I got from it.”

  Tiffani was slim and had wide cheeks and a slightly high forehead. On anyone else, the features would have appeared mannish, but a roguish smile and starlit eyes softened her looks. Handsome and attractive would be how people would describe her, especially when she wore her shoulder-length, strawberry-blond hair down. Right now, she was looking at Maddie with mischief dancing in her pupils. She was baiting Maddie. She did that a lot in Mr. Y Leiro’s insufferable classroom discussions. But since she was one of five point five friends Maddie had in the entire school, she let her get away with it.

  “Excellent point, Tiffani.”

  “Well then,” said Maddie, jumping in to speak before Mr. Y Leiro could move on, “if that is the case, then what’s right and wrong should follow flexible guidelines rather than absolute rules, and that means the cops should have been flexible. In fact, that means the whole country should just chill out. There’s nothing more rigid than Islam.”

  “And what do you think you know of Islam, girl?” Mr. Y Leiro snapped.

  The response made Maddie lean back in her chair with a raised eyebrow as murmurs cascaded around the room. Touchy, thought Maddie. She glanced over at Tiffani for confirmation of the teacher’s prickliness. Tiffani was also casting daggers at her, making Maddie’s face scrunch from annoyance.

  “Miss Jennings, forgive my harsh tone,” said Mr. Y Leiro. The words were monotone, spoken like a script not quite memorized. “You are young and filled more than most in the class with visions of American superiority. Adults know more about the world and its complexities. Islam is as old as my own religion, Catholicism. It is not possible for you to know enough about it at your age. Further, the point of the homework assignment is to get you to look outside yourself—not only walk inside another’s shoes but to see the world as they do. That takes flexibility of mind and spirit.”

  Mumbo jumbo, thought Maddie, and she started to say so when she felt a light touch on her shoulder. She looked over it at Aden Maier, the point five in her friendship circle. He was shaking his head to signal to just stop and leave it alone. She had no intention of doing any such thing, but the sudden ringing of the bell, signaling the end of class, made the decision for her.

  As soon as she had her backpack in hand, Aden took hold of her wrist and all but dragged her from the classroom. If he had tried such a thing even a few days ago, she would have clocked him in the head. But when someone jumps into a street brawl to help you out, they tend to earn a little leeway in their behavior. It had happened at a Habitat for Humanity build, where Aden, like Maddie, had been sent as punishment for fighting in school. While on the build, he saw her begin to fight a group of boys who had knocked down an elderly man and had joined her in her righteous attack against them. “Why do you do that?” he said as soon as they hit the hallway.

  “Do what?”

  “Get into these arguments with him. This is high school, not some freakin’ Ivy League college.”

  “I think you mean university, not college, and that’s the wrong question,” answered Maddie, her mouth twisted to the side. “The right question is why aren’t you arguing with him. What are we supposed to do, just take his word as gospel truth or something?”

  Aden looked upward in exasperation. “This is high school. We’re supposed to do as little as possible so we can just get through it.”

  Maddie barked out a laugh. “That sounds like the words of a newly minted, lazy jock. You ready for the impending game?”

  “Well, let’s see. It’s our first home game. I’ll be starting in place of our star running back thanks to you injuring him, and I barely know the plays.”

  “So, if you kick ass, your stardom is because of me, and if you fail spectacularly, it’s also because of me. Either way, I win,” Maddie finished with a bright smile and a thumbs-up.

  Aden grimaced then leaned in close to Maddie with narrowed eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind when you’re up for your first cheer routine.”

  Now, it was Maddie’s turn to look like she had just stepped on something squishy and unpleasant. Flips she could do, dance routines . . . not even a little. Aden started to say something else but stopped when he looked over Maddie’s shoulder. He took an involuntary step back in the face of the glare directed at him.

  “Um, I think your sunnier side feels like I stole you from her. I’ll catch up to you later. We still need to talk about this weekend.”

  That was not a conversation she wanted to have, so she just nodded and turned to see Tiffani hanging back waiting for Aden to shoo.

  She started in as soon as Maddie was within earshot. “What is his deal?”

  Maddie glanced over her shoulder before shrugging. A long sigh escaped her throat. “It’s—”

  “Oh my God! You’re about to say complicated. Ugh, you’re becoming one of us. That will just not do.” Tiffani slipped her arm around Maddie’s and pulled her down the hallway toward their next class. “I’m going to have to exorcise these normal teenage notions from you. I can’t be the only peculiar person in this school.”

  Maddie allowed herself to be dragged down the hall, but gave her friend a face-crunching, side-eyed stare. Tiffani was one of the most normal girls she knew.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Mirko “Mako” Kovaĉ rubbed fatigued eyes and reached over to grab another Red Bull.

  “We’re all out,” said his deskmate, Robert “Highway” Sims.

  Mako tore his eyes from his desktop screen to look at the small space separating his work area from Highway’s. Sure enough, all six of the Red Bulls were open and empty. “How did my Red Bulls become ‘our’ Red Bulls?”

  “Hey, it’s all hands on deck, man. I needed wings beneath my sails. I’ll get the next pack, promise.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s not gonna help me now. And I’m not getting that shit they call coffee in the breakroom.”

  Mako turned his attention back to his computer screen. He was one of the hundreds of analysts at the Cyber Security Division within Homeland Security’s Advanced Research Projects Agency tasked with developing new technology to combat emerging and evolving cyberattacks on American critical infrastructure. He had taken the job while still in college—though “taken” was, in truth, a stretch. “Corralled” was a more appropriate description. After the events of The Christmas Day Massacre in which he and his friends Gyeong “George” Rhee and Dale McGulligan broadcast the entire attack on the web, he was pretty much forced into this job.

  The legal ramifications for broadcasting the attack had been serious. They turned severe after he and his friends ignored court orders that restricted their use of computers and proceeded to go after terrorist propaganda all on their own. Their defiance had
earned them two choices: jail or serve the greater good in the belly of Uncle Sam’s vast military complex.

  Dale had picked up a gun, preferring bullets to bytes. He and George, whose colleagues now called him “Rhee,” had remained in the cyberworld. Rhee had chosen the NSA. Mako selected the CSD, thinking it would be more exciting than other cyberdivisions.

  Currently, he felt like a high school graduate who exemplified the Navy slogan, “It’s not a job, it’s an adventure.” The common reality was that it was a tedious daily slog. Tedious not from routine or boredom, but due to the sheer number of cyberthreats the country faced every single day. Mako often imagined he was fighting the modern equivalent of the Mongolian hordes. The attacks were unrelenting and constant.

  For two days, his division had been fighting one of the largest cyberattacks in recent memory. A security packet had somehow become infected with a morphing ransomware. Eighteen countries had been hit. Hospitals, universities, businesses, and communication networks were locked out of critical systems. Worse, as soon as security technicians fixed the problem, the ransomware changed and migrated to another part of the infected systems. One minute you were locked out of payroll, then the next minute you were locked out of communications. The new versions were also beating each new security patch. It was a mess affecting over one hundred and fifty thousand systems.

  Mako was writing a seek-and-destroy program designed to protect critical systems in the power grid. He was knee deep into an eighteen-hour day, working through the code to discover the root commands of the ransomware. In other words, he needed a Red Bull. No . . . not him. The country needs me to get a Red Bull. All could be lost if I fall asleep at the wheel.

  Mental justification completed, he locked his computer screen and stood up from his workstation. Just then, a shadow appeared over his shoulder.

  “Mako, you got any updates on that Cathy Newman problem?” asked a voice from behind him.

  “Been a little busy keeping the lights on, boss man.”

  “We all have, but I have the added pleasure of getting calls from our director, who is getting calls from a certain senator who oversees the subcommittee that oversees us, who in turn is getting calls from a certain businessman who raised over a million dollars for his campaign. I’d be more than willing to shift those calls to you if you’d like. If not, then I need you to multitask.”

  Mako huffed then brought his hands to his head and rubbed them backward. “And the rich wonder why people fucking hate them.” He bent down to reopen his computer screen. Then he double-clicked a file titled “Pings” that opened up a map of Colorado with multiple red dots.

  “I pinged all of Cathy Newman’s last-known cell phone locations. As you can see, it’s like a connect-the-dots picture. Chick’s been all over the place. Last known locale is at a park known as a hotspot for partying. Several previous locations she was at fit the same description. So, that doesn’t tell us anything. She could have lost her phone or had it stolen. She could even just be someplace avoiding daddy dearest. She’s done it before, according to a couple of police reports. Seriously, why isn’t cyber at FBI handling this?”

  “Because the FBI goons don’t think it’s a kidnapping. There’s been no ransom call, the investigator the father hired to process the park area found no blood, and, as you say, there is a history there. No open case, no one there to look for her, and,” the speaker empathized, sensing a budding protest from Mako, “there are a number of overdose deaths in that area of the state. FBI is not interested in users. However, our dear senator has influence with this division. He figures one cybergeek is the same as another cybergeek looking.”

  “We do all look alike,” Mako quipped. He moved to close the file when he saw another file highlighted in red. “Well, this is interesting.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I tagged my search parameters to add any changes on this—well, whatever we want to call it, since it’s not an official case. Looks like I got a hit.” He opened the file and scrolled down to the latest update, which prompted a frown. “I thought you said the FBI didn’t open a case file.”

  “They didn’t—at least not to my knowledge. Is there one open now?”

  “Well, it looks like an SSA—Adrian Kent—looked . . . well, that’s weird. He made an inquiry about a Shalonda Reese. Not sure why my program tagged . . . ooh,” said Mako as he suddenly sat back down.

  “What? What do we have,” his boss asked, eager to get some news that would end the director’s incessant phone calls to him.

  “I’m not sure yet. Looks like this Reese girl is missing also, but from a city adjacent to Newman’s last phone ping. Seems as though she has a bit of a drug history as well. Listen, I know someone who kinda keeps his eyes on that area. Let me talk with him and get back to you. Could be nothing, but nothing is all we have now, so it can’t hurt to call him.”

  “OK, look. I know we’re swamped and have more important things to do than being some civilian’s private detective network. But . . .” He left the sentence unfinished.

  He did not need to complete it. Mako had been in government long enough to know the unspoken rule: Lawmakers remember the offices and divisions that help any constituent that helped them get elected. Funding was their lifeblood, and fighting worldwide threats was not always the motivating factor when the time for appropriations rolled around.

  A hand clapped Mako on the shoulder. “Let me know as soon as you can.”

  Mako waited a full fifteen minutes before messaging Rhee and leaving his workstation. Ten minutes after that, he was in the department’s designated area where cell phone use was allowed. He answered even before the first ring finished.

  “George.” Mako still called him by his old nickname.

  “What’s up, Mako?”

  “Remember that thing you had me look into regarding Madison?”

  “Yeeahh,” said Rhee, a tone of concern coloring the drawn-out response.

  “The boy she was with that day—you mentioned his father was a training agent for the FBI. Is his last name Kent?”

  “Yes. Why? Is that cop still snooping around?”

  “No. No, I stopped that cold. But they’ve had me unofficially looking into a possible abduction of Cathy Newman.”

  Several seconds of silence passed.

  “That wouldn’t happen to be of Newman Oil and Gas would it?”

  “Yup. It’s been hush-hush because of her past and because we’re looking into it for him. The FBI is not convinced it’s anything other than her disappearing on her dad again, but my search parameters captured an inquiry by Kent about a Shalonda Reese, who may also be missing. It captured it because of the vicinity to each last known location, I guess. Do you know anything?”

  “That’s interesting. Madison asked me to look into this Reese girl too.”

  “She what? She’s a goddamn freshman in high school! What is she worried about this for, and why are you entertaining it?”

  “She ran into the mother. The mom didn’t think the cops were taking it seriously. So, Madison asked me to see if that was true, which it is. I didn’t think it was a big deal, to be honest. Told her that the girl was probably just strung out someplace with her boyfriend.”

  The desperate mom had been passing out fliers about her missing daughter not far from the Habitat for Humanity build Maddie and Aden had been working on. The police were not doing much. A history of drug use had led them to believe the daughter was just another druggie who would show back up at home looking for money to buy her next fix. The other possibility was showing up dead like so many others had in recent weeks. The mother’s pleas had prompted Maddie to ask her cyberfriend Rhee to look into it. He had resources that local police did not. It was irrational, but something about the situation had bugged Maddie.

  After Rhee explained things to his friend, he paused. Mako could feel the heat of thought emanating from his phone. He was positive they were thinking the same thing.

  �
�If Kent is asking about it, maybe it’s worth another look,” finished Rhee. “Send me the information you have. I’ll message you the server ID I want it sent to. I’ve still got it tasked and permissioned for a little extracurricular work.”

  “I’ll send it today. And thanks, though I’m not sure what outcome to wish for here.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The days blended into one unending blur for Maddie. Her personal routine of the last six years had given way to the new routine of school, cheerleading practice, homework, and dance lessons with Vaska Popov in his storefront studio. Despite all that change, the one thing that remained the same was her personal exercise regimen. She would never give that up.

  Her routine was beyond that of most ROTC members, meaning she was in excellent shape. And now the new demands she was making on her body in her new activities were causing a new degree of soreness. The backflips and aerials she practiced for cheering awakened the fun she had felt pretending to be Gabby Douglas as a child. The dance routines were a trial in coordination and stamina. Going through even one take of several dance moves left her as out of breath as when she ran five miles with her dad.

  Dance classes with Vaska were difficult. He was a bear of a man who could float across a dance floor. It was a strong contrast to what he really was, or had been, in his past.

  Vaska was Spetsnaz—Russian special forces.

  Or had been once upon a time. His arm still bore a faded remnant of a tattoo proclaiming his unique status. After multiple attempts to erase it, now only the wings and a barely blue background were visible. Normal people would have thought it a silly homage to Batman. Maddie was not normal, so she had known better.

  She began taking dance classes at Vaska’s studio—much to her mother’s delight, who thought it was really all about dance—just so she could talk Vaska into training her how to fight like him. He had recoiled at the idea. The skills of a Spetsnaz operative were not an after-school program or designed for weekend tournaments.