Code (2 page)

Flaming ropes connected the group. A golden nimbus surrounded each member.

Virals. Hear me.

My message smacked an invisible barrier. I tried again, concentrating harder.

VIRALS. HEAR ME.

This time I forced the message outward, driving it along the fiery cords. The boys flinched as if struck. Their glowing eyes widened in surprise.

I examined the mental barricade separating us. Probed for weaknesses. Suddenly, the roadblock weakened, then fragmented.

The other Virals’ minds opened like a floodgate. Thoughts and feelings poured into me. Worries. Raw emotions. Random bits of foreign memories. The tide of information nearly scoured my brain clean.

I fought to hold against the onslaught, sensing danger to my sanity.

What shattered the barrier? How did I break through?

“What barrier?” Hi sputtered. “Why are you screaming?”

“Tory!” Shelton’s hands flew to his head. “It hurts! Make it stop.”

Ben stood rock still, grimacing, eyes focused on nothing. “Get out!” he sputtered.

My eyes darted, frantic, unable to comprehend. My mind gibbered, desperate to block the deluge of thoughts pouring into my brain.

I saw trees. Sky. The metal detector. Coop, edging into the clearing, eyes locked on to mine.

As if sensing my peril, Coop bowled into Shelton, who went down with a puff of surprise. The golden light abruptly vanished from his eyes.

The cerebral onslaught lessened.

Coop then bounded to Hi and barked full in his face. Startled, Hi backpedaled wildly, dropped the detector, and fell. His flare disappeared as he struck the ground.

Another wave winked out.

Suddenly on firmer ground, I stilled my mind and extinguished the flare.

SNAP.

The sensory bombardment ceased. I dropped to a knee and saw Ben do the same.

“Damn it, Tory!” Ben spat through gritted teeth. “You’re playing with fire!”

“It’s Coop,” I panted, heart pounding. “When he’s close, my ability skyrockets. But I couldn’t control it.”

“Then don’t do it!” Shelton shirt-wiped his glasses with shaky hands. “You were yelling inside my head. I’m officially freaked out!”

Hi studied me with worried eyes. “You were in trouble, Tory, I could tell. You’ve got to be more careful. This mind stuff is dangerous.”

“I will.”
But I’m going to unlock this secret.

I kept that to myself, though the thought wouldn’t have surprised them.

Dangerous or not, I was determined to discover the full extent of our flare abilities. I needed to know what had happened to our bodies. What we were capable of. What could happen next.

Our mishmashed genetics gave us skills no one else possessed. Astonishing sensory abilities. But the changes went deeper than that. The cellular cross between man and beast had opened doors in our minds. I felt compelled to learn where they led.

Though, I had to admit, the idea of straight-up mind reading gave me the willies. I wouldn’t want someone poking around in
my
head. Everyone has secrets, and the right to keep them. Finding the line between communication and mental invasion was proving to be tricky.

My hard drive finally came back online. Head clearing, I noticed a pulsating tone coming from Hi’s metal detector, discarded in the grass.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Hi collected his precious toy, then waved it over a rough patch of dirt close by.

DING DING DING!

“Bingo!” Hi shouted. “The bloody thing works!”

CHAPTER 2

T
wenty minutes later, Hi’s shovel thunked something solid.

“Finally!” Dropping to a knee, he used his fingers to trace an object at the bottom of the hole we’d dug. “Why bury it so freaking deep?”

“About time.” Shelton tossed his spade aside. “How many of these—” his hand rose, “—
things
have you found, anyway?”

“They’re called geocaches, and this is my third.” Hi was carefully prying a grime-covered mass from the earth. “The other two weren’t buried, just hidden. The first was on Morris, near the bridge. The second was jammed in a hedge next to the Folly Beach post office.”

“The post office?” I peered over Hi’s shoulder, trying to get a look. “That’s so random. Why put something there?”

“That’s how it works.” Working methodically, Hi teased our find from the soil. “You hide a cache somewhere, anywhere, and post the GPS coordinates online. Then other players download the info and try to find it.”

“This game is popular?” Ben was sitting on his tackle box in the shade of a large elm. “Sounds pretty nerdtastic to me.”

“We can’t all practice birdscalls like you.” Hi brushed dirt from what appeared to be a plastic container. “There are millions of geocaches hidden worldwide, and dozens of websites listing where to find them. So, yeah, the game’s kind of a hit.”

“Back off, Blue.” Shelton flashed a toothy grin. “Hi found more buried treasure. We’re in business. I knew this was a good idea.”

My eyes rolled at Shelton’s abrupt one-eighty.

“The contents won’t be valuable,” Hi warned. “The point is the
finding,
not the getting. What’s inside is usually trivial.”

“That I can believe,” Ben quipped. Shelton threw him a long-distance high five.

Ignoring their trash talk, I helped Hi wipe away the remaining grit. “Looks like some work went into this one.”

The cache was roughly the size of a shoebox and carefully sealed with masking tape. The exterior was bright purple, and covered with dancing clown stickers. Wide grins stretched their contorted, cartoonish faces.

“Clowns,” Shelton mumbled. “I hate those goofy bastards.”

Hi nodded sagely. “I read
It
last summer. Stephen King. Never trust anything that paints on a smile.”

“You guys are such dopes.” Ben pulled a pocketknife from his cargoes and tossed it in Hi’s direction. “Let’s see what Bozo wanted you to find.”

Hi made a fumbled catch, then flipped out the single blade. Four strokes cut the tape and freed the lid.

“More gold, perhaps?” Shelton winked. “There’s a new X-Box due out this year.”

“It won’t be valuable,” Hi repeated. “Just enjoy the sense of accomplishment.”

“Right.” Ben, straight-faced. “Accomplishment.”

“Enough.” I snapped my fingers. “Open sesame.”

The container held two items: an envelope and a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.

Hi handed me the former and focused on the latter. “Here goes nothing.”

The bundle contained a second rectangle composed of small, interlocking pieces of plum-colored metal. Cigar box–sized, the object had been hand painted with more leering, cavorting clowns.

But these clowns didn’t smile. They scowled. Snarled.

The effect was eerie.

“Creepy.” Hi rotated the box in his hands. “And no way to open it.”

Coop nosed forward to sniff the box. I reached down to scratch his ears. Felt them flatten beneath my fingers.

A low growl rose from the wolfdog’s throat.

“What’s wrong, boy?” I tried to stroke his muzzle. “Something got you spooked?”

Coop whined, clearly agitated. His gaze flicked to Hi. To the box. Back to Hi.

“I don’t like how Bow Wow is looking at me.” Hi took a nervous step back. “I come in peace, soul brother.”

“Coop, heel!” I ordered. “Be good.”

The wolfdog yapped twice, eyes never leaving Hi. Then he circled to sit by my side.

“Read the letter,” Shelton suggested. “It must explain the box.”

My fingers rubbed the envelope. The stationery was thick, cream-colored, and obviously pricey. The flap was sealed with scarlet wax. The only marking was a majestic capital
G
penned in ornate calligraphy.

“
G
?” I glanced at Hi. “Does that mean anything?”

“For geocache, maybe?” Hi shrugged. “All I know is, whoever buried this went to
a lot
more effort than most players. It’s gotta be a good cache.”

“So open it,” Shelton pressed.

Breaking the seal, I parted the envelope and removed two sheets of lilac-colored paper. High-grade bond. Excellent quality.

The first page was decorated with another elaborate, whirling
G
that ended with a single line running horizontally across the page.

“I guess that’s the log sheet,” Hi said.

I checked the back, but it was blank. “So we’re the first to find this cache?”

Hi nodded. “There wasn’t much info online. No clues, no past history, not even a record of who buried it. Just coordinates. It’s the first cache ever listed for Loggerhead, so I’m not surprised it’s never been logged before.”

“And the other page?” Ben asked.

The second sheet contained a single phrase written in the same grandiose style:
Himitsu-Bako.

“Himitsu-Bako,”
I read aloud. “Anyone?”

“Chinese?” Hi mused. “Japanese? Burmese?”

Blank faces. No one knew.

“What now?” Shelton asked. “Sell it on eBay?”

Hi hefted the delicate box in one hand. Something rattled inside.

“I think this thing opens,” Hi said. “We’re supposed to figure out how.”

“Then bag it.” Ben yawned loudly. “This sideshow has been a snooze from the start.”

“Philistine.” Hi removed a wrinkled
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue from his backpack. “It’s all I have to trade,” he said with a shrug.

“Do we sign these or something?” I held up the first page from the envelope.

Hi considered. “Sign the
G
and put that sheet back, but keep the second one. The phrase is probably some kind of clue.”

Pulling a pen from my pocket, I scribbled my name on the horizontal line and placed the paper inside the container next to the magazine. “Not exactly a fair trade, Hi.”

“I know. Anyone have something to add?”

“Here.” Shelton walked over and dropped in his battered green Timex. “This watch is low-rent. Plus I’m getting a new one for my birthday anyway. But you owe me, Stolowitski.”

“Owe you what?” Hi said. “Who wears a wristwatch anymore? Cavemen?”

Satisfied with our swap, I closed the container and dropped it back into the hole. Ben and Shelton grabbed the shovels and quickly reburied it.

Hi was sticking the metal box in his bag when another growl caught his attention.

Cooper. Inches away. Teeth exposed.

“Yikes.” Hi dropped the pack. “I thought we were bros!”

“No. Look.” I pointed. Coop’s attention was focused on the backpack.

Muscles tense, the wolfdog snuffled the bag, whined, sniffed again, and then began to growl.

“Must not be a geocache fan,” Shelton cracked as he scooped up Hi’s metal detector and switched off the power.

“The mutt’s not alone,” Ben mumbled.

“You guys are a riot,” Hi said. “Laugh a minute. Now someone call off the attack dog.”

I whistled for Coop’s attention. “Here.”

Reluctant, Coop gave Hi’s bag one last pass, then trotted to my side.

“Coop really doesn’t like that box.” I knelt and rubbed the edgy wolfdog’s snout. “It better not be stuffed with dead squirrels or something.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Ben grumbled, but he shot me a wink. He was just winding up Hi.

“It’s not a rodent coffin!” Hi huffed. “This cache is legit. You’ll see, haters.”

“Okay, kids.” I hoisted my fishing gear. “Let’s call it a day. Kit wanted me back at LIRI a half hour ago.”

“Can’t upset the Big Boss Man,” Shelton said. “Let’s hustle.”

One by one, we trooped from the clearing.

CHAPTER 3

L
IRI’s back gate rolled open with a soft whir.

“Come on if you’re coming,” Carl grumbled. A shade over five feet and weighing three hundred pounds, the ruddy-cheeked guard seemed winded by his short walk across the compound. “The magnets only release for thirty seconds.”

“Thanks, Carl,” I said cheerfully, familiar with his prickly demeanor. “Sorry to drag you out here. I wish Kit hadn’t ordered these new auto-locks.”

“Director Howard must’ve had his reasons.” Carl’s tone implied that we Virals might be primary among them.

As we passed through the reinforced perimeter fence, Carl punched numbers into a newly installed digital keypad. The gate closed behind us. Above, a pair of security cameras swiveled to track our movement.

“Can I assume you four won’t be back out this way today?” Carl asked. “I’m getting tired of tramping across the courtyard.”

“We’re taking off,” Hi said. “You can hit the gym early.”

Carl gave Hi a level look, sky blue security uniform stretching precariously over his massive bulk.

“We’ll be heading home shortly.” I shoulder-barged Hi down the path. “I just need to see my father for a minute. Thanks again!”

Carl waddled in the direction of Building Four, muttering about the foolishness of youth.

“Making rounds of the vending machines,” Shelton whispered. “They require constant security coverage.”

“Moron.” Ben had already started walking.

LIRI consists of a dozen glass-and-steel structures surrounded by an eight-foot-high chain-link fence. Aligned in two rows, the state-of-the-art buildings flank a well-tended central courtyard. Only two access points exist: a large front gate leading to the island’s single dock, and the smaller portal at the rear. The complex contains nearly every permanent construction on Loggerhead.

Crossing the courtyard, I was struck again by the bustle of the place. A dozen white-coated scientists dotted the grounds, some hustling between labs, others clustered around benches discussing research, snacking, or just enjoying the afternoon sun.

Since Kit had assumed the directorship, LIRI buzzed with a new energy and sense of purpose. The staff had doubled; rare were the days you could cross the grounds without encountering a preoccupied veterinarian hurrying to update a project. With its funding permanently secured, LIRI was, once again, one of the premier wildlife research facilities on the planet.

“Do we have to go in?” Hi hand-shaded his eyes to peer at Building One. Four floors high, it was LIRI’s biggest, housing the most sophisticated lab and the institute’s administrative headquarters. “My dad’s retooling the centrifuges, and won’t be happy to see me inside.”

Hi’s father, Linus Stolowitski, was LIRI’s chief laboratory technician, having been promoted by Kit the previous month. Since assuming the post, Mr. S had become more officious about Morris Island teens fiddling with facility equipment.

“Quit moaning,” Shelton said. “
Both
my parents are in there.”

Nelson Devers, Shelton’s father, was LIRI’s IT director. His office was on the ground floor. Shelton’s mother, Lorelei, was a vet tech working in Lab One.

“It’ll only take a sec,” I said. “Lately Kit’s so busy, I almost never see him.”

It was true. In the two months since Kit had been named director he’d worked nonstop. Board meetings. Staff assemblies. Budget conferences. Though running himself ragged, Kit seemed happy. Ditto every worker at the institute.

On Loggerhead Island, Kit was practically a god.

When lack of funding had threatened to shut LIRI down, Kit’s generosity had saved the day. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

No one but Kit knew who’d really bankrolled the institute. That the boys and I had discovered and donated the she-pirate Anne Bonny’s lost treasure to LIRI. That those underfoot teenagers had actually kept LIRI’s doors open.

And the Virals were just fine with that.

The less scrutiny
we
received, the better.

“Wait here, boy.” I attached Coop’s rarely used leash and looped it around a railing beside the entrance. “No wolfdogs allowed.”

Coop dropped to his belly, chin on paws, disapproval clear in his eyes. At seventy pounds and still growing, he was a sizeable animal. His half-wolf pedigree gave him a fearsome look, right up until he licked your face. I suspected he’d spook a few squints while he waited for us to return.

No big deal. A little something to spice up their day.

Passing through hermetically sealed doors, we approached the security kiosk. The other half of LIRI’s frontline defense manned the desk. Sam was Carl’s polar opposite, skeleton gaunt and completely bald. Though older, and terminally sarcastic, he was usually the more congenial of the two.

“Ah, the vagrants return.” Sam’s lips twitched in a half smile. “Break anything expensive today?” He wasn’t holding a shooting or hunting magazine, which could only mean one thing—his new boss was nearby.

On cue, a voice boomed from an office behind Sam’s desk. “State your business.”

Security Chief David Hudson emerged. Forty-something, graying, hair buzzed to his scalp, Hudson had the unyielding glare of a bird of prey. His uniform was neatly pressed, his shoes and name tag gleaming.

After recent events, Kit had decided to completely overhaul LIRI’s security. New fences. New cameras. New locks. Updated protocols. Better equipment. And a hard-ass security supervisor to oversee it all. On the job less than a month, Hudson was proving to be Kit’s least popular upgrade.

“I need to see my father, Mr. Hudson,” I said politely. “Just a fast word.”

“Wait.” Hudson snatched a clipboard from the countertop. “Sign, please.”

“I really won’t be long,” I said, beaming my most disarming smile. “I don’t want to clutter your official records with a quick pop-in.”

Finger tap. “Sign.”

Locking my lips in the upright position, I scribbled my name. “Good?”

Hudson didn’t smile. Never did. “No side trips.”

Nodding obediently, we started toward the elevators.

“Halt!”

My eyes closed briefly before I turned. “Yes?”

“Just you.” Hudson’s gaze scanned Hi, Shelton, and Ben. “Unless these boys also have business?”

“Nope.” Ben walked back outside.

“Mr. Hudson,” I began, “we’re just going to—”

“It’s cool, Tory.” Shelton headed after Ben, a head-shaking Hi at his heels. “We’ll wait with Coop.”

“Thanks, guys. Five minutes, tops.” I raised my eyebrows at Hudson. He snapped off a curt nod.

I strode to the elevator, entered, and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

“No side trips!” Hudson barked again, as the doors slid shut.

“Jackass,” I muttered, before remembering Hudson’s cameras still tracked me.

The elevator stopped at the second floor, admitting two white-coated men. I knew the taller one by name.

“Hi, Anders.” I tried not to blush.

“Tory. Off to see the Wizard?”

With pale green eyes and curly brown hair, Anders Sundberg was easily LIRI’s most handsome employee. Just a shade past thirty, a former Olympic swimmer, he looked like a taller, buffer Justin Timberlake. In other words, pretty hot.

Anders had joined Kit’s marine biology team the previous summer, adding a specialization in sea turtle habitats. Since Kit’s promotion he’d been running the department on a provisional basis. His selection had ruffled some feathers among the senior PhDs, but, by all accounts, the guy was doing a good job. The position was his to lose.

“I’m assuming you mean Kit,” I said, “so yeah.”

“He’s the one behind the curtain, pulling all the strings.” Anders grinned. “The great and powerful Dr. Howard!”

The other man appeared a decade older than Anders. He had thinning black hair styled in a bad comb-over, close-set eyes, and a nose about an inch too long. His foot tapped impatiently as he waited for the doors to close.

“This barrel of laughs is Mike Iglehart.” Anders elbowed his companion. “Say hello to Tory Brennan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Iglehart said blandly. “Is there a field trip on the island or something? I don’t think you’re supposed to leave the group.”

He promptly lost interest, refocusing on Anders. “I need more bandwidth on the mainframe. The Triton program can only run half-time as it is. If we’re going—”

“This is Director Howard’s daughter, Mike. You might want to show a bit more courtesy.”

“Kit’s little girl, eh?” Iglehart really looked at me for the first time. “You must be thrilled about your father wrangling the director’s office. It’s too bad
I
didn’t find a lost fortune.”

My lips parted, but words didn’t form. What was this guy’s problem?

The elevator beeped our arrival on the third floor. The door opened, and Iglehart strode out without a backward glance.

“Don’t mind him.” Anders actually winked. “Mike came to LIRI about the same time as your dad, and hasn’t exactly flown up the corporate ladder. Chalk the attitude up to sour grapes.”

“No sweat.” I tried for breezy, found myself standing straighter in response to Ander’s undivided attention. “Have a good one.”

“I’m dissecting a three-week-old turtle carcass,” Anders said as the doors slowly closed. “How could I not?”

“Have a good one,”
I repeated to the empty car. “You’re such a dork, Brennan.”

The elevator continued to the top floor. I exited into a short hallway leading to a pair of frosted-glass doors. The director’s suite. Under Karsten, this whole area had been a ghost town. Abhorring distraction, he’d kept every office empty but his own.

Not so, Kit. The floor now hummed with activity, every workspace occupied or held open for guest researchers. Inside the director’s suite, Kit had assembled LIRI’s business-side officers. Fund-raising. Marketing. Public Relations. Trust Management.

I’d once asked Kit why he put up with so much distraction in his suite. “Better the pencil pushers are jammed in with me than bothering active scientists,” he reasoned. “And I want these people out here on Loggerhead, not in cozy downtown high-rises. It’ll help them remember what we’re actually doing.”

Passing through the doors, I encountered my last obstacle: Cordelia Hoke.

The Dragon.

Under Karsten, Hoke had been the only other employee stationed on the fourth floor. Though less than pleased by Kit’s disruption of her once-private kingdom, she tried to keep it to herself. And usually failed.

Hoke as Kit’s personal secretary? My guess, he was too chicken to let her go.

Kit had tried to stop Hoke’s hourly puff break—LIRI was, and always had been, a smoke-free facility—but even
I
knew she still snuck a cig every chance she got. But that was less than under the previous regime.

The nicotine cutback hadn’t improved the Dragon’s temperament. She glared at me over the rims of her bifocals.

“May I help you, Tory?” Her tone suggested the opposite intent.

“I was hoping to snag Kit for a moment.”

“Your father’s very busy.” Hoke shifted her impressive bulk, wiping cookie crumbs from the sleeves of her ragged cashmere sweater. She had one for each day of the week. Today was violet. “He can’t come running every time you stub a toe.”

Grrrr.

“I’d like to speak with him about his dinner plans.”

Blank face. No response.

“So that I can make
my
dinner plans.”

Nothing.

“Look, just tell my dad I’m here.”

Hoke’s face darkened. “Honey, in
my
day a young lady didn’t speak to her elders like that. We were taught
manners.
”

I was about to further reduce her opinion of my upbringing when the shade to Kit’s office rose. My father stood on the opposite side of the glass, phone to ear, a bored expression on his face. His charcoal suit and maroon tie were a far cry from the scuffed white lab coat that, until this year, he’d worn every working day of his life.

Kit made “can’t talk now, I’m tied up, please feed yourself” motions with his hands. Nodding, I waved good-bye.

Kit shook his head ruefully, mouthed, “Sorry.”

I gave him a thumbs-up, smiling to convey my understanding.

Hoke cleared her throat. “Will there be anything else?”

“Nope.” I was already headed for the door.