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RAINDROPS DRUMMED ON the roof of the truck in a relentless, unbroken rhythm. The wipers lanced back and forth in a valiant effort to improve visibility. On all sides, the traffic level was crammed with a wide assortment of competing vehicles, all undeterred by the relentless downpour.
Aubrey huddled in the front seat, knees drawn up under her chin. Her eyes were wide, and she looked overwhelmed.
Amos felt some sympathy for her, recalling his first foray into Hoarderville. “It’s a different world, isn’t it?”
Aubrey leaned forward, peering through the rain-lashed windshield. The rain obscured any view of the upper levels. “Right now, I feel like the epitome of the wide-eyed Country Girl. I’m gawking like a tourist.”
She heaved a sigh, settling into her seat. “This must be what a rollercoaster feels like.”
“Almost there.” Mateo cut their conversation short as he merged into a new lane. He caught Amos’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Remember your role. Hidden in plain sight, as you Runners like to say.”
Amos nodded, more uneasy than he cared to admit. He understood the rationale behind Mateo’s plan—the Enclave’s parking garages were a potential trap. The Tracker’s audacious proposal was to park in plain sight, outside the rear entrance to the Surveillance Monitoring Division.
Amos’s task was simple: shield Megan from the camera’s view until they were inside the building.
Simple or not, this is going to be awkward.
Their truck accelerated as they exited the traffic level. The steep tunnel curved up and to the right, depositing them into a busy parking complex. Mateo showed no signs of concern as he steered between rows of empty vehicles.
In a final brazen flourish, he selected a parking space labelled “Visitors Only.” The rain beat a staccato refrain on the roof as he shut the engine off.
Aubrey took a deep breath and opened her door, ducking her head against the heavy rain. Mateo rounded the front of the vehicle, ignoring the foul weather, and they jogged up the short flight of steps.
Amos held the rear door open as Megan slid across the seat to join him. She tugged her hooded sweatshirt forward, but her eyepatch remained visible. As per Mateo’s suggestion, she curled one arm around his waist, burying the side of her face into his jacket.
He threw an awkward arm around her shoulders as they hurried to catch up to Mateo and Aubrey.
Megan’s foot slipped on the rain-slicked curb, and she stumbled. Amos gasped as she tightened her arm around his waist, her fingers digging into the tender scar tissue just under his ribs.
How’s that for ironic? Amos gritted his teeth. A former Tracker finds the scar from my former Implant.
He was well-aware that surveillance cameras tracked their every move. They kept up their diversionary play-acting, splashing through puddles until they were through the foyer inside the rear entrance.
Mateo led them with unerring aim to Lindholm’s office. He paused only to enter a code in the wall-mounted keypad. The door slid open, and without waiting for an invitation, they barged inside.
“Well, well, well.” Tara swiveled her chair to face them, leaning back for a good look at her unexpected visitors. “If it isn’t the Enclave’s most notorious saboteurs. The Monitoring Division is honored.”
“Why are your screens blank?” Amos ignored her acerbic greeting. He crossed her office, the pain in his side forgotten. “I thought it was your job to keep an eye on things.”
“I must concur with my colleague.” Mateo towered over Tara, his gaze shifting from screen to screen in short, sharp jerks. “It appears you’ve failed in your duties.”
Tara leaned an elbow on the arm of her chair with a bemused expression. “Failed in my duties, huh? If that’s the case, I have you to thank for it. Here, take a look.”
She rotated her chair, pointing to the only active screen, a live-feed from the Infomedia. “Your little stunt has been wreaking havoc on our electrical grid. Over a third of the Enclave is without power. Naturally, first priority has been given to the Infomedia. You’re just in time—they’re running your story again.”
She increased the volume. The screen showed a rain-soaked reporter, huddled outside against a backdrop of high-rises. No lights shone in the windows, and signage marquees were dark.
“. . . Earlier reports indicate temporary day workers failed to observe standard safety precautions. The result was a chain reaction in our power grid, which has plunged much of the Enclave into chaos . . .”
“Don’t you just love the Infomedia.” Tara laughed. “They never miss a chance for propaganda. Stoke the fears just right, and now people are complaining the Initiative’s taking too long. Ah, here’s the part you’ll find interesting.”
The video footage changed to a much darker, grainy set of images. That’s the maintenance level.
Amos caught his breath, watching in fascination as frantic supervisors splashed through the water between the machines. Several workers were shouting emphatically as they pointed at something overhead.
The reporter’s voice-over continued. “Shocking footage of the terrorists responsible for the sabotage . . .” An angry figure rose up in front of the security camera, wrenching at it with frantic hands.
The picture shook, and then the camera was twisted out of its mooring, now aimed at an unnatural angle above the maintenance level. The camera was directed at a metal catwalk, and its adjoining staircase. The auto-focus spun, blurring the footage for a moment, and then the camera zoomed in.
The video quality wasn’t good, but clear enough to reveal three figures racing up the steps, and a fourth waving them on from an open door at the top of the staircase.
The scene shifted without pause to a recording with much higher resolution. Now, the footage showed the Runners, in vivid detail, as they exited the room where they’d changed into Hoarder attire.
Tara jabbed a button on her console, freezing the image. Her chair creaked as she leaned back, gazing around the circle of astonished faces. “See what I mean? You’re famous. The whole Enclave’s looking for you.”
She pointed a finger at Megan. “Especially this one—she’s hard to miss.”
Amos’s inner voice shrilled a paranoid warning. He tore his eyes away from the incriminating footage. “Why are you showing this to us?”
Tara rolled up her sleeve to display a puffy red welt on the inner side of her forearm.
“As dedicated employees in the Division, we were among the first to receive our nodes,” she said dryly, staring at her arm with distaste. “They say the swelling goes down in a day or so. Well, we’ll see.”
She waved in the general direction of the door, dismissing them. “Make no mistake. I’m a loyal Citizen of the Enclave. But I hate the nodes as much as I hate the Givers. Do whatever it takes to help Darcy get rid of them.”
She threw her head back with a bitter laugh. “Besides, if anyone sees your fugitive faces leaving my office, I’m as good as dead anyway.”