Chapter 8
“Augusta, did you hear me?” Prefect’s voice cuts through my daze.
“I heard you,” I say. “Someone stole government property, stashed it here, and now a group of murderous criminals have arrived to take it. And I’m your only hope.”
“Succinct as always,” Prefect says. “You’ve got full immunity for as long as it takes to get this done.
Your mission is to keep federal property out of the hands of criminals.
And I have more information for you. I looked through security cameras near your apartment building and I think I can identify one of the criminals. ”
“Oh, good,” I say. “It’s always nice to know who might kill me.”
“Her name is Hannah Vale,” says Prefect.
“Born in San Diego and considered something of a prodigy. Designed her own coding language at nine, went to college at thirteen. She’s an expert in cybersecurity.
However, the few traditional jobs she had didn’t go well; I found several references to ‘issues with authority.’” A pause. “Sound familiar?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say blandly.
“She worked freelance for a while, but then she went off the grid,” continues Prefect. “It was only a year ago that she returned, leading her little crew.”
“What’s she into? Grand larceny? A bit of murder on the side?”
“Terrorism,” he replies flatly.
“Oh,” I say, suddenly very glad that only I can hear him. “Shit.”
“She’s a cyberterrorist,” says Prefect, “who has been part of an organization responsible for over thirty civilian deaths. They hacked a citywide water system last year, causing a flood of the sewage tunnels.”
I snort. “Okay, when I said ‘shit’ I didn’t mean it literally. She hacked toilets?”
“The organization was redirecting water,” says Prefect, “from certain parts of the city to other neighborhoods. Vale also claimed responsibility for bringing down two energy grids and hacking a few rather important companies and then selling the CEOs’ personal information.
” A sigh. “Her little group call themselves the Ratiocination.”
“Radio-nation?” I repeat.
“The Ratiocination,” says Prefect. He makes no attempt to disguise the contempt in his voice. “The reasoning. Their manifesto, because of course they have a manifesto, is all about solving the inequality of climate change by any means necessary, even if it means killing people.”
“What does she want here?” I ask.
Prefect exhales. “I wish I could tell you. This is the first time any agency has caught them mid-job and I hope—”
His voice cuts out.
“Prefect?” I say. “Prefect?”
No answer. Which means that the terrorists finally severed the phone lines. It’s not entirely surprising—even if landlines are almost obsolete, they won’t want to risk anyone calling for help. We are wholly cut off from the outside world.
I’m alone. There is no backup, no help. Just me.
I can’t do this.
I have to do this.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay. We should—”
A siren slices through the air.
The fire alarm is a piercing wail that sets my pulse afire. I flinch in surprise, the phone dropping from my hand. A light flashes by the door for those who can’t hear the alarm.
Eames grabs Piper. Fear always brings out the most primal desires of people—what we care about, what we need to protect.
I step toward Nonna. It’s an unconscious movement and I only realize what I’ve done when her hand falls on my arm. Her fingers are warm and soft.
Then, as abruptly as it started, the alarm cuts off. None of us speak; none of us even move.
We all hear it when every virtual assistant in the building comes alive. The result is an eerie echo—hundreds of speakers all with the same voice. It thrums through the building and sets my nerves on edge. I’m not easily creeped out, but the voices give the sense that we’re utterly surrounded.
“Hello,” the voice says.
Piper whimpers and presses her face into Eames’s shoulder. His own face is drained of all color.
“By now, you’ll have noticed that you cannot leave your homes.
” This must be Hannah Vale. Her voice is smooth and coolly professional.
It’s the kind of voice I expect to hear from flight attendants and news anchors.
“This building is no longer under control of the City of Portland. It belongs to the Ratiocination. But don’t panic—we aren’t here for you.
We are here because something was taken from us and we intend to have it back.
We do not wish to hurt anyone, but we will if we have to.
“Please remain calm. If you cooperate, you will not be harmed. If you fight back, if you attempt to hide, if you try to halt our search in any way, you should know that we have control of the building. Complete control. Should you try to subvert us in any way, we will know it. We can hear you; we can see you. And we won’t bother with guns or knives.
We’ll drain the oxygen from your apartment. You will asphyxiate for nothing.”
It isn’t the statement that sends a cold chill through me, but the simple matter-of-fact tone. At least I have the grim satisfaction of knowing that I was right about her plans.
“If you’re in the halls, remain where you are,” continues Hannah Vale. “Do not try to hide. We’ll find you. If you don’t resist, we’ll put you someplace safe until this is over. If you do resist, we will take measures. I repeat, we are not here for you.” There is a pause. “Unless we are.”
And with that, the building goes silent.
I can’t move. As long as I remain perfectly still, a sense of dreamlike unreality keeps my fear at bay.
I’m not a hero.
I’m a wraith.
I am a wraith, I tell myself a second time, because it’s both reminder and strength. I have bones of steel, a half-mechanical heart, and the world’s most advanced spybot.
Death greeted me and then recoiled in horror. Probably because I am just that irritating.
I can’t save everyone. That’s too big to contemplate.
But these three people. I can save them.
“We’re going to be okay,” I say quietly. “This apartment hasn’t been upgraded. So they can’t suffocate us, even if they want to. And they can’t eavesdrop without a virtual assistant.”
Nonna nods. “Damn technology,” she mutters. “I knew better than to trust it.”
Eames shoots her an amused, tolerant look. “Of course.”
“Hey, give her some credit,” I tell him. “She’s the reason we’re safer than everyone else in the building.”
“Are we going to be okay?” asks Piper hopefully.
“Backup is on the way,” I say, not truly answering her question.
What I don’t tell her is that it will take some time—and even when help does arrive, hostage situations are messy.
It’s one thing for a few desperate criminals to grab a civilian on impulse, but this was planned.
Hannah Vale and her group are coordinated, methodical, and clearly not above murder to achieve their ends.
I have no doubt that Vale will kill anyone that gets in her way.
“Okay, so here’s what we know,” I say. “The criminals are looking for something. I don’t know what.”
Nonna frowns. “They’re here to steal something? Why’d they lock everyone in, then?”
“Because now they can search the building at their leisure,” I answer, “without anyone interfering. And if anyone fights back or if the cops try to retake the building…” I hesitate, aware of the kid in the room.
“They use that fire thing to kill people,” says Piper flatly. “Maybe one by one. Maybe make an example if someone fights back. Broadcast the whole thing.”
For a moment, no one says a word.
Eames lightly cuffs her on the back of the head. “No more true crime books for you, P.”
She scowls at him.
I take a breath. “Piper’s morbid, but she’s not wrong. Where would you hide something in this building?”
They all look blankly at me.
“Well?” I say, holding out my hands. “I’ve been here under twenty-four hours. You’re all actual residents. Where do you hide something here?”
“A safe,” says Eames at the same time Piper chimes in, “Under my mattress.”
“At least now I know where you’re hiding your books,” says Eames.
I consider his suggestion. “Is there anyplace in this building where there might be a safe?” Most apartments wouldn’t have them, but this place was once a hotel.
He shrugs. “We’ve only been here a few weeks.”
Nonna looks thoughtful. “Well, maybe. In the security office.”
That’s a place to start. I shove my backpack under the love seat. “Do not touch that,” I say. The last thing I need is for them to find Edgar’s chassis.
“Listen,” I say. “I’m going out there. If I’m not back in three hours, barricade the door and stay quiet.”
Eames gives me a skeptical look. “Who put you in charge?”
“A federal agent.”
He doesn’t appear convinced. “And when was the last time you dealt with a hostage situation?”
I answer with complete honesty. “Two days ago.”