Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center | San Francisco, California
Kayne had to turn off QuIEK’s early warning system. She was in the thick of it now, with cops and FBI all around her, and the constant buzzing of her phone and smartwatch was not only getting on her nerves, it could potentially get her noticed.
Every law enforcement official in this building knew exactly who she was and what she looked like. And they had orders to be on the lookout for her. Agent Denzel knew she’d be here, at some point. Or he suspected it strongly. Either way, he’d given orders to be ready. She’d seen them herself, sniffing around in her backdoor access to the Historic Crimes email servers.
It was nothing personal. She knew that. Denzel was like Symon, in that way. He could be dispassionate about this, just doing the job he was sworn to do. Unlike Symon, Denzel didn’t really know Kayne all that well, so maybe there wasn’t as much of a personal bond to overcome there. But they’d met, at least. Worked together. Been in danger together. She’d even saved his life. That had to mean something, right?
Maybe. But probably not.
She was currently sitting in a hospital waiting room full of people, dressed in street clothes. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail, and she was wearing a pair of glasses. Clear lenses, not shades. They weren’t even particularly thick frames. They were just meant to help change the shape of her face a little, at a glance.
When she’d checked herself in the mirror, she had decided that she could still pull off looking a little like a teenager. Especially if she used makeup to smooth her complexion, hiding the hints of wrinkles that were starting to form at the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t a vain person, but that did smart a little.
Makeup also helped in other ways. She had been studying YouTube tutorials for months, learning how to suggest features and shapes using subtle techniques. It was pretty amazing, actually, how well these things worked. One of the YouTubers she followed could make herself look like anyone from Jack Sparrow to a comic book illustration.
It was a useful skill, and though Kayne was far from a master of it, she’d picked up enough tricks to allow her to severely alter her appearance.
Using coloring wax she was able to change her hair color without dying it. Using eyeliner and mascara she was able to change the shape of her eyes. Her eye color stayed the same, but it looked somehow different in contrast to the eye shadow she was using.
And there were more makeup tricks for shaping her nose, her lips, her cheeks, her chin. She could even alter the appearance of her ears.
It took her hours, and it wasn’t the most fun thing she’d ever endured—her hands and arms ached from the meticulous application. But it worked. It was transformative.
When she’d looked in that mirror a second time, after all the work, she didn’t even recognize herself. To her own eyes, some teenage girl was standing there, wearing the clothes that Alex Kayne had been wearing only a couple of hours before. She looked easily ten years, maybe fifteen years younger.
Now, here she was, in the lion’s den, field testing her work in the most dangerous way possible, just to see her friend one more time. Possibly for the last time.
It was worth the risk.
She’d been sitting in this waiting room for more than an hour. There were dozens of other people here, all chatting amongst themselves in hushed, worried tones. Everyone in this room had someone they were worrying over, as they waited. She was just one among many.
To amplify her teenager persona, Kayne had opted to orient position herself as closely to an older couple as she could. Though “older” was a bit relative. The couple she’d landed on seemed to be just about her own age. Maybe even a little younger.
She tried to give off the vibe of “disaffected teenager,” keeping her chin down and her phone up, like a shield against the world. This was a handy disguise, as it not only threw off any suspicion, with people hopefully assuming she was the teenage daughter of this couple, but she could freely use her phone, and thus QuIEK, to figure out what to do next.
She was here during the mid-afternoon, which was a peak time. Lots of people in the hospital, moving around, interacting. It was easier to blend in. But the more time that went by, the more the crowd would thin out. People would go home to rest up and recoup before returning to anxiously await news of their loved one’s fate. Staff would go off duty, making way for the thinner night shift crowd. Eventually, Kayne’s disguise would start making her stand out, rather than blend in. Everyone would eventually wonder why the teenager didn’t go home with her parents.
Before the window closed on her, she would need to act.
She’d been using QuIEK to map out every possible exit, and every possible path to Symon’s room. She had also mapped and pattern-tracked every police officer and FBI agent in the building, even those who were disguised and undercover.
The bad news: There was absolutely no way to get to Eric Symon without someone stopping her. And that meant she’d be in cuffs and on her way to a cell without even getting the chance to see him. She couldn’t even pretend to be a relative, since they had a list of approved visitors. And she wasn’t on it.
The good news: Well…
She could always leave.
She’d done enough, hadn’t she?
She’d been there for Symon, when he needed her most. She’d knelt in his blood, put pressure on his wounds with her own hands. It was entirely possible that she’d saved his life, keeping him going until the EMTs could arrive. She’d done enough. It should be enough.
But it wasn’t.
For all she knew, Symon wouldn’t pull out of this. His condition was still listed as critical, and as she’d dipped in and out of his charts throughout the past couple of days, he wasn’t showing much improvement. He’d had a transfusion, which helped. His blood pressure was still borderline, though. And he was still intubated, with a damaged lung. They had a tube in his chest to keep fluid from collecting around his heart.
These were not good signs.
And that was why, despite the risks, she had to see him. Even if it meant going to prison for the rest of her life, she owed it to him to say goodbye.
Do I, though?
She’d been thinking about this for the past few hours. Wondering. Trying to figure it out. After a few years of obsessive self-preservation, she was suddenly willing to throw herself in front of the train. Why?
Guilt.
It was the word that kept ringing back around in her brain. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
She’d almost killed Derrick Conners. She’d wanted to kill him. So much so that instead of using her usual tactics and methods, finding the guy and exposing him, pointing the Feds right to him, she’d gone there personally. She’d wanted to be as hands on as possible. She’d wanted to cave in his skull.
She hadn’t. But she’d really, really wanted to.
And if she was willing to do that, even for a second, what did that mean? Who did that make her?
And if she was willing to do that for Eric Symon, how could she let him lay in an ICU, drifting toward death, while she just kept running, like it was business as usual?
No.
This was the line.
This was where that line was drawn.
When she’d been framed, when it became clear that there were people who wanted QuIEK for their own purposes, and those purposes were just evil, Kayne had lit out. She’d made a run for it. And she’d been running ever since. Until running wasn’t something she was doing anymore, it was who she was.
Running had become her life. Running had become her identity.
But somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d known that, eventually, the running would have to stop. She’d known that there had to be something that would make her stop. A line. And this was it.
She’d gone to Wyoming to kill Derrick Conners. She had stopped herself. This time. But what about next time?
And she’d seen someone she cared about hurt. She’d literally had his blood on her hands.
Her friend. Maybe the only real friend she had left in the world, despite the strange nature of their friendship. This person she cared about, at the very least, was laying there, dying. And by damn, she would see him before it was too late.
Time to move.
She rose from the waiting room chair, stretching, working the kinks out of her shoulders and neck and back. She turned toward the older couple for a moment—maybe that would give the impression that she was talking to them, whispering to them, telling them she was going to go find a bathroom or a snack machine or just take a walk. And then she turned and made her way out of the waiting room and into the corridor.
She passed three undercover FBI agents as she went. Each glanced at her, and their eyes moved on. No sign of recognition. No moves to call for backup. That was one hell of a makeup job.
Kayne’s heart was pounding, but she was keeping things in check. She had years of practice at keeping calm despite whatever internal anxiety she was feeling. Her body language said “bored and young” instead of “fugitive about to freak out.”
She still had no solid plan about how she was going to see Symon. Even just wandering toward his room in the ICU would be enough to garner suspicion. She’d be arrested before she could even peek in his door.
She had considered disguising herself as a nurse or orderly, but had scrapped that idea right away. They’d be expecting that. Everyone on this floor had been checked and vetted, and the agents and officers on hand all knew who should be here and who shouldn’t. A new nurse showing up would immediately cause suspicion, and since she really was the fugitive they were looking for, that would be the end. So, scratch that plan.
Kayne was starting to consider making a sprint for it. She could be down that corridor and in Symon’s room in seconds, if she was willing to clobber the two people guarding his door on her way in. And yes, moments after that she’d be pinned to the floor and cuffed before being dragged away to live out her days in a cell somewhere. But she could see him. She could touch his arm. She could say goodbye, even if she had to say it with her face mashed to the floor and an agent’s knee in her back.
Of course, that might not be the end for her after all. Maybe QuIEK’s automated protocols would provide her with some way out of custody. Miracles did happen.
But no, the chances were pretty high that she’d be throwing her freedom away for good. And all for someone who wouldn’t even know she was there.
Still… she was short of other options. So… maybe?
She had just convinced herself to give this not-a-plan a go when she stopped short.
From the elevator, down the corridor, Agent Julia Mayher emerged. She showed her ID to one of the uniformed officers sitting at the end of the corridor, and they spoke for a moment. Getting directions, Kayne figured. And then Mayher started walking toward her.
Not really toward her, actually. But toward the corridor where Kayne was lingering. The general direction of Symon’s room.
Mayher glanced her way once, and Kayne was leaning against a wall, affecting a sullen and bored posture, as if she were tired of waiting for whoever was the reason for her being here. Kayne wasn’t looking at Mayher directly, as the agent passed. She was studying her phone, which was displaying an enhanced video from the hospital security cameras. She could see Mayher looking at her, from that other vantage point, and was slightly relieved when the agent passed her by without seeming to recognize or even suspect her.
Kayne slipped the phone into her pocket and pivoted, gaining lock step with Mayher.
Mayher noticed, and as she paused and turned, curious about this strange girl shadowing her, Kayne moved forward, grabbed the agent’s elbow and pulled her into the restroom.
It happened so quickly that Mayher had barely reacted by the time Kayne had closed and locked the door. And in the next instant, the agent and the fugitive stood facing each other.
Mayher blinked.
Kayne stood, silent.
“Alex?”
“Julia,” Kayne replied.
There was a beat, and Kayne saw tension move like a ripple through Mayher’s body. She was waiting to see what Mayher tried. She knew the agent had her weapon holstered on her left-hand side, against her ribs and under her coat. If she went for that, Kayne would have to disarm her.
Mayher could yell for help, but Kayne thought she could probably silence her.
Mayher could spring at Kayne, trying to pin her and arrest her. That would be a tussle, but Kayne figured she could gain the upper hand. Maybe. They’d had their physical scrapes before, though, and Mayher was the type to try to learn from her mistakes and work to shore up any weaknesses. Kayne hadn’t really followed Mayher’s activities, but she could imagine the agent enrolling in a martial arts class, after learning that Kayne was serious about the Krav Maga.
But instead of the things Kayne was mentally preparing for, Mayher simply stood, staring, until finally she shook her head.
“I know you have like forty ways out of here,” Mayher said. “So there’s no point in me trying to stop you.”
Kayne didn’t contradict her. She didn’t bother saying that she had essentially zero ways out of here. But she was more than happy to let her reputation serve her. It could buy her time, at least.
“What do you want?” Mayher asked.
Kayne sighed. “I… want to see Eric,” she said.
Mayher shook her head. “The second anyone knows you’re here, they’re going to lock Eric up tight. Even you can’t get to him at that point.”
“True,” Kayne said. “So… would you help me?”
Mayher looked surprised and even laughed. “Help you? Alex, you’re a fugitive. I’m supposed to arrest you.”
“But you haven’t,” Kayne said. “Not yet.”
“Only because I know your M.O., and I don’t want egg on my face.”
Kayne watched her, studied her. “That’s not it, though, is it? Not all of it.”
Mayher was looking right back at her, and eventually shook her head, cursing under her breath. “Kayne… Alex… I just…” She made a frustrated noise. “I just don’t know, right now.”
Kayne hadn’t noticed it before, but now she could see it. Something was off with Julia Mayher. “Are… you ok?”
Mayher laughed and shook her head. “Dammit.”
“What?” Kayne asked, curious.
“Eckhart,” Mayher said.
Now Kayne was confused. “Ross Eckhart? What does he have to do…”
“He was right about you. About your nature. You’re… noble.”
Kayne blinked, laughed a little, shook her head. “I wouldn’t call myself…”
“You’re the one who takes responsibility for everyone and everything else, even if it costs you. Dammit, Alex, if that isn’t noble, nobody knows what the word means. Which is exactly how Eckhart put it.” Mayher laughed again, then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Ok, let’s go.”
“Go?” Kayne asked.
“To see Eric,” Mayher said. She looked Kayne up and down. “Christ, I don’t even recognize you and I’m standing right in front of you. Is this some new thing QuIEK can do? Is it magic now?”
Kayne smiled. “Not QuIEK. And not magic.”
“Whatever it is, I think you can pass as my niece or something. Someone who wouldn’t be on the approved list. I think I can get you in.”
Kayne considered this. “But… why?”
“Do you really want to ask me that? I’m giving you a gift, here.”
Kayne nodded. “Ok. Yeah. Ok. But, wait, if they find out…”
“I’m screwed. I’ll probably be in a cell right next to you. So don’t make this the one time you got caught, Kayne. Got it?”
“Got it,” Kayne replied.
Before they opened the door, Mayher took out her own phone and tapped in a text message.
“Who are you contacting?” Kayne asked, suddenly feeling dread.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mayher replied. “I’m sure your AI already knows, right? But it’s nothing you need to worry about. Just the opposite, actually.”
Kayne frowned.
“I know this probably doesn’t mean much. And maybe I haven’t earned it,” Mayher said, “but maybe you could just trust me.”
Kayne considered, then nodded before saying, “Actually, it means more than you think.”
Mayher huffed. “Ok, then. Let’s go commit a felony.”