Don't Look Now (4 page)

“Fine.” Amanda got to her feet and started pulling on her jacket. “I just thought maybe we could both use a little fun.”

Peter watched her, perplexed. “Fun?”

“Yeah, something besides school and huge corporate conspiracies.” Angrily, she tugged a scarf around her neck. “Forget it.”

Now that she mentioned it, it had been a long time since he’d done anything that qualified as fun. It wasn’t a terrible idea. “We could go tomorrow,” he offered.

Amanda paused at the threshold, her hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“Sure,” he said. “But I’m not reading subtitles.”

“I figured.” She beamed at him. “Okay, then. It’s a date.”

“Let’s rip out his fingernails,” Turk snarled.

“No one is ripping out any fingernails,” Noa said forcefully. She eyed the guy who was tied to a chair in the middle of the garage; he stared back at her balefully. The room was soundproofed—the previous owner had probably had a kid in a band, so they’d caught a lucky break there. The van had been moved to the driveway to make room for the interrogation. The rest of her group sat or stood in a circle around him.

There was a strange energy in the room—keyed-up excitement combined with bloodlust. If she allowed it, they’d probably rip this guy to shreds. Hell, they might do it anyway. He represented all the bad things that had ever happened to them, and despite their different backgrounds, the one thing they had in common was a consuming need for retribution and revenge.

Observing that now, Noa was forced to admit that taking a hostage might’ve been a mistake. Peter had basically said as much, but by then, it had been too late. Not for the first time, she wished he was here. Sometimes Noa felt like she was fumbling through the dark on her own, struggling to find her way without a compass. Peter had been that for her, briefly; she hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely on him until he was abruptly gone.

But this was how things were now, she reminded herself. And she had Zeke.

He caught her eye from across the room and cocked an eyebrow. She could tell that he was worried, too.

“So, what? We just stand here and stare at him?” Turk spat. “This is bullshit.”

Before Noa could answer, Zeke spoke up. “We’ve got the Tasers, right? We could use those.”

Noa shifted uncomfortably. It was the middle of the night, and she still hadn’t slept. The fatigue was starting to become overwhelming, to the point where she felt like she might keel over midsentence. But she’d decided that it would be better to deal with their captive sooner rather than later. They needed to get as much out of him as possible; keeping him any longer than necessary was too dangerous.

“What are we waiting for?” Crystal said impatiently. “Make him talk!”

The rest of the group murmured in assent.

Noa was tempted to call the whole thing off, but nine kids were staring at her expectantly. If she backed down now, she’d lose their respect. And the minute that happened, they’d turn on her.

She felt a hand on her elbow. In a low voice, Zeke said, “Whatever you want to do, I’ll back you.”

Noa nodded briskly, feeling a wave of gratitude. Zeke was the one person she could always count on. Knowing that gave her the strength to say, “Take off the duct tape.”

The charge in the room kicked up another notch as Turk ripped away the tape covering the guy’s mouth.

The commando glared at Noa. “Stupid little bitch,” he growled. “You’ve made a big mistake.”

“Says the guy tied to the chair,” Zeke muttered.

Noa bent over to look him in the eye. “Where were you taking Teo?”

“To the ballpark,” the guy said with a snort. “Looked like the kid could use a hot dog.”

“We left your buddy Jimmy for the others to find,” Zeke chimed in. “Bet he’s not laughing right now.”

“He’s not my buddy,” the guy muttered, but his eyes shifted to the floor.

“They probably killed him, right, Noa?” Zeke added. “That’s what happened to the last one.”

There hadn’t been a last one, actually; but maybe the guy wouldn’t know that. She had no idea whether or not P&D’s mercenaries communicated with one another. That was just one of the things it would be helpful to find out. “We could always take you back there,” she said, watching him closely. “See if they might want to have some fun with you, too.”

The guy didn’t appear concerned, or maybe he was just good at hiding it. “You’re going to kill me anyway,” he snorted. “You have to.”

“No,” Noa said. “I don’t. I can leave you at the ballpark, if you want. All you have to do is answer a few questions.”

The guy tilted his head back and laughed. “You don’t get it, do you? If you don’t kill me, they will. They’ll know I told you something. Hell, they’ll kill me anyway, just for screwing up.”

“So you’re already dead,” Noa pointed out. “Then why not talk?”

“Why should I?” The guy tried to shrug, but his arms were bound too tightly to the chair.

“They’re killing kids,” Noa said, fighting back a sudden swell of rage—she could practically feel the cold metal table beneath her again. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“I never killed anyone,” the guy protested. “My job was just to grab ’em. They were mostly trash, anyway.”

At that, a few of the kids shifted. Noa could sense their anger growing, and she didn’t blame them. They’d all probably been called trash at one point or another. And whether or not they acknowledged it, it always hurt.

“You’re a dead man,” Turk said, shoving his way into the circle.

“Turk, step off,” Noa ordered.

“Screw that.” He punched the guy in the chest hard, and the chair tipped back and slammed into the ground. Turk planted a Timberland boot squarely on the guy’s throat.

Noa snapped, “Off him, Turk!”

Turk glowered at her. She met his gaze, chin raised. She’d been afraid of this moment from the beginning, knew that at some point one of them would challenge her. The fact that it was Turk was hardly surprising. She wasn’t suited for this, had never been good with people to start with. The house of cards she’d constructed by forming her little “army” had always felt like it was on the verge of collapsing. A bead of sweat trickled down her spine as she stared into Turk’s eyes. They were light blue, and too pretty for a boy, she thought nonsensically; funny she’d never noticed before.

After a beat, Turk stepped back. Without a word, Zeke righted the chair; the front legs landed back on the concrete floor with a thump.

“Give me a Taser,” Noa said.

Zeke met her eyes questioningly. Then he stepped forward and handed her one.

“How’d you like this today?” Noa asked, waving it in a slow circle. “Did it hurt?”

The guy shrugged, though for the first time she caught a glimmer of fear in his eyes. “It tickled.”

“Yeah? Guess I should crank up the power, then.” As she turned the knob, he swallowed hard. Noa continued, “You don’t have a heart condition, do you? Because there was a warning on the box. . . . What did it say again?”

“Maximum of five milliamps on people,” Zeke chimed in. “We had it set for three today. I think you’re only supposed to go above that for large animals.”

“He is pretty big,” Noa said thoughtfully.

“Sure,” Zeke said. “I bet he’ll be fine.”

Noa held it in front of his face and said, “Last chance.”

The guy tried to rear away from the tip of the Taser. Noa pressed it up against his chest and cocked her head to the side.

“Ready?” she asked. “One . . . two . . .”

“We were driving him to south San Francisco.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “There was a truck waiting for him.”

“Just Teo?” Noa asked. “Or were you supposed to get others?”

“Three more,” he said. “Two in Oakland and another in San Francisco. But he was first on the list.”

“What are the other names?”

“I’ll give you them, I swear,” the guy said. “I’ll tell you anything. But you gotta promise me something.”

“What?” Noa asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Let me go somewhere outside the city. Just give me a little cash, enough to disappear for a while.”

Turk snorted. “Yeah, I bet you’d like that. So you can run back and tell them all about us.”

The guy shook his head and scoffed. “Smarten up, you little punk. They already know all about you. Mark Toledo, street name Turk. Mom was a junkie hooker, Dad was a pimp. Landed in foster care when you were two because she hadn’t fed you for a week and the neighbors complained that you and your sister wouldn’t stop screaming.”

Turk looked like he’d been struck. Seeing it, the guy recovered some of his bravado and eyed the rest of them. “Crystal Moore. Trailer trash from Modesto. Mommy’s boyfriend got a little too friendly one night, so you ran away. And there’s little Danny Cepeda. Those cigarette burns healed up yet?”

The circle widened as kids backed away.

“Stop it,” Noa said in a low voice.

“And you.” The guy turned to her with a sneer. “The golden goose. Oh, they know all about you and your little ‘army.’ You really think you can beat them? You can barely take care of yourselves. You’re just a bunch of whiny little brats that the rest of the world could give a shit about. In the end, you’re all going to end up back on their tables. Just wait and—”

He suddenly went spastic, eyes wide, spittle flying from his mouth. Noa jumped back as sparks flew off the end of the Taser. But her hands were empty; Zeke had taken the stun gun and activated it.

“And you were worried he wouldn’t talk,” Zeke said, avoiding her eyes. “Turns out he won’t shut up.”

The guy had slumped over in the chair, unconscious. His chest rose and fell, so he wasn’t dead. Noa clenched her hands into fists to hide the fact that they were shaking.

“How did he know all that?” Turk asked, a tremor in his voice. “How do they know who we are?”

“Some of you were rescued,” Noa reminded him.

“Not me,” Danny said in a low voice. “I found you online, remember?”

Noa chewed her lip. He was right. Some of these kids had already been part of the organization when she joined up; others like Teo had been rescued. Yet this guy claimed to know personal details about all of them.

“Someone’s been talking.” Turk marched back over to the chair. “I bet he knows who, too.”

“Leave him,” Noa said. “I’ll deal with him myself.”

“How?” Turk snorted. “You didn’t seem to scare him much.”

“I know,” Noa said thoughtfully. “But I’ve got another idea.”

“Fingernails?” Turk asked hopefully.

“No,” Noa said. “PEMA.”

Peter frowned at the monitor. After Amanda left, he’d started sifting through the initial data spewed out by his sniffer. Unfortunately, he quickly became overwhelmed. Thousands of emails, research reports, interoffice memos . . . It would probably take a team of people weeks to go through it all, and this was only a single day’s worth of data. He’d have to come up with specific search parameters to narrow the field, maybe zero in on PEMA, Project Persephone, and other likely code words. If he skipped his afternoon classes, he could have the program ready by tomorrow night.

Still, there’d probably be a ton of stuff to go through. He mulled it over. There were a few other hackers he trusted, all of whom had been part of the /ALLIANCE/ when it was up and running. One in particular, Loki, was as good as Noa when it came to hacking skills. But he’d also made it pretty clear that Peter had pushed his luck last time by bricking the servers. He might not be willing to step up again.

Peter sighed. Better to tackle this on his own. He’d take his usual route over the firewall tonight, pushing the sniffer data to the back burner.

It was late, nearly two a.m. He had to be up for school in a few hours, but this was the only time of day he could be totally certain that he wasn’t being monitored. Not that he’d seen any sign that the Project Persephone bastards were still following him, but better safe than sorry. So Peter was parked in the driveway of a house a block away from his own. The owners were a retired couple who wintered in Turks and Caicos. The driveway was long and sweeping, and didn’t have a gate. It had been his spot of choice for the past month: not visible from the street, and far enough from his house that no one could tap into his computer activity.

It was hardly comfortable, though. He didn’t dare run the engine for fear of attracting attention, which meant the interior of the car was freezing. Snow was forecasted for tomorrow, and he offered a silent prayer that the meteorologists would be right for a change. A snow day would give him a chance to catch up on sleep.

Suppressing a yawn, Peter sifted through recent emails. He’d homed in on a few accounts that seemed directly affiliated with Project Persephone. The messages were encoded, but pretty easy to figure out: lots of references to “new R&D products” being moved to the Phoenix facility. He’d spent the evening tracking the company’s shipping manifests. Pike & Dolan had warehouses worldwide, most of which stored their legitimate products: shampoo, pharmaceuticals, even pet toys. But he’d become adept at figuring out which locations were being used as ad hoc operating facilities: primarily buildings where trucks drove shipments in, but rarely drove anything back out.

And there was one near the Phoenix airport.

He pulled up a satellite image of the property; it fit the profile of the other secret labs. Relatively isolated, and surrounded by half-finished buildings; probably all casualties of the economic crash. The warehouse itself looked unremarkable, a huge building the size of an airplane hangar.

Peter cracked his knuckles as he examined it. Not an easy place to sneak up on—surrounded by desert, with no cover visible in any direction. Only one road in and out, and the nearest highway on-ramp was two miles away.

He yawned again, then shook his head to try and wake up. The clock on his dashboard read 2:15. Crap, he had to get some sleep. Peter eyed the building again. Tomorrow he’d dig up blueprints for Noa to study; they were probably on file with the Phoenix building management office. Thankfully, municipal networks were notoriously easy to hack into. And they had some time. According to the emails, shipments were still arriving; the next was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Noa wouldn’t be able to get to the area before then anyway.