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THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Zander and I ran our five miles earlier than usual. Today I intended to plant nanobug arrays on the four NSA security police officers and, if possible, on the NSA Deputy Director. Meanwhile, Zander would stalk the West Wing and attempt to identify the traitors within the ranks of White House Secret Service detail and tag them with nanobug arrays.
Tag—you’re “it.”
Easy as pie, right?
Maybe.
We wanted—we needed—to spend more time in prayer before we left our apartment.
“Lord,” Zander prayed over our clasped hands, “I need you. Jayda needs you. We cannot do this without your grace covering us the way the nanomites cover us. You warned us through Jayda’s dream to depend upon you more than we depend on the nanomites or their abilities. So, Father God, we confess right now: We need you. We lean on you. Lead us, Lord, and we will follow. We pray in Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” I echoed.
Ten minutes later, I was on the road to Ft. Meade, and Zander was headed for the Greenbelt D.C. Metro station. He would park there and ride the Metro into D.C.
***
ZANDER TRANSFERRED from the Green Line to the Red Line at Gallery Place and got off at Metro Center. He walked the rest of the way to 15th Street, cutting west on Hamilton Place. He used the visitor’s entrance on East Executive Avenue to slip inside the White House through the East Wing. He was grateful for his soft-soled shoes as he, unnoticed, passed busy White House staff and Secret Service personnel.
At the prearranged time, he met up with Kennedy on the House’s second floor in what was called the Map Room. Kennedy walked into the room and thought himself alone.
Zander appeared a few feet away. “I’m here.”
Kennedy jerked and, instinctively, reached for his service weapon. “You about gave me a heart attack, Mr. Cruz.”
“Please call me Zander—and this room is clean, by the way. No bugs.”
“All right. Zander. Are you ready for this? Do you understand the weight of what you’ll be doing, how much hinges on it?”
“I didn’t sleep much last night if that’s what you mean.”
Kennedy took a deep breath. “Okay. I take it you’ve familiarized yourself with the White House’s public floor plans? Of course, the public plans are generalized. We keep the detailed plans secret for the President’s safety and security.”
“The nanomites downloaded the actual plans when Jayda visited last December. I have them memorized.”
“Memorized?”
“Yes. Everything. Right down to the Situation Room under the West Wing, the Presidential Emergency Operations Center under the East Wing, the tunnels connecting them, where your agents and snipers are located, and all your other security measures, including the frequency of your earwigs.” (An earwig being the earpiece Secret Service agents use to communicate with each other.)
“Son of a sea biscuit.” Kennedy’s gaze seared Zander.
“I’m on your side, remember?”
Kennedy continued raking Zander with his suspicious, probing gaze until Zander shrugged.
“I’ll be about my business, then.”
“How do we contact you while you’re here if we need you?”
Zander had the nanomites dispatch an array of nanobugs to Kennedy. “That’s a good question, particularly since I haven’t flushed out the unauthorized listening devices yet. Since we can’t be sure of your privacy until I’ve swept the House and the West Wing, please don’t say my name aloud. If you need me . . . tap the back of your cell phone three times.”
Kennedy’s eyes narrowed. “Tap my phone. Three times. Do you also need me to click my heels and chant, ‘There’s no place like home; There’s no place like home’?”
“If it makes you happy.” Zander watched Kennedy’s mouth tighten. “Look, just tap the back of it. The nanomites will, er, detect it and report your location to me. I’ll come find you.”
“How the devil can the nanomites detect me tapping my phone if they’re with you?”
“Does it matter? I’m here to do a job. The sooner I get to it, the sooner the President can breathe easier about his security and privacy.”
Zander had the nanomites cover him. “I’ll start in the West Wing.”
“Mr. Cruz.”
“Zander.”
“Right. Zander. Well, Zander, if I find out that the President’s confidence in you is misplaced—”
“You won’t, and it isn’t. He’s my president. I will do whatever I can to preserve him and his administration.”
Zander withdrew from the Map Room and made his way downstairs to the Palm Room. He eased out the door and across the West Colonnade that led to the West Wing. Inside, he followed a short hallway, turned left—and came to a standstill, daunted by the West Wing’s tight quarters and level of activity. Fortunately, the nearest stairway leading to the level beneath the West Wing was straight ahead, but that was all that was fortunate about the proximity of those stairs.
He halted at the top of the flight of steps, studying the press of staff members coming and going—their expressions intent and purposeful, their pace hurried but quiet. Zander edged away as a man from the lower level took the steps two at a time to the top of the stairs then scurried away.
Zander stared down the narrow staircase, loath to put himself into the staircase’s tight quarters, weighing the prospect of encountering someone rushing toward him if he did.
I wouldn’t be able to dodge them if I tried.
After less than five minutes in the West Wing, Zander’s nerves were jangling.
Probably should have arrived long before any of the staff did this morning. I could have swept the entire West Wing by now without all this cloak and dagger business—and without risking a heart attack.
He also admitted to newfound admiration for his wife. Man, Jayda, I don’t know how you do this with such ease. I’m half wrecked.
Zander jumped back as a woman rounded the corner at a fast clip and started down the stairs.
Here goes nothing.
He moved in behind the woman and followed her down, taking a quick left at the bottom to reach the Secret Service Operations Center. When he arrived at their door, he was sweating.
I’m in the belly of the beast, Lord. Please help me remain undetected.
As he tried to calm himself, the door to the Operations Center swung open, and an agent exited. In the seconds the door was open, Zander caught a glimpse inside. He spied walls of monitors providing live feeds of both the interior and exterior of the House. Six agents manned computer workstations. Their eyes flicked from their workstation screens to the bank of monitors, roving over them, questing for anything out of the ordinary.
Zander placed his hand on the Operations Center’s wall and sent the nanomites inside the wall where they located and followed the network cabling into the Service’s network. They downloaded the President’s schedule and the day’s roster of agents.
Zander Cruz, four agents on today’s roster were previously assigned to Vice President Harmon.
“Okay, Nano. Let’s start with them. Show me their locations.”
One of them is nearby, seated at a terminal inside the Secret Service Operations Center.
“Huh. And just how do you propose I get close enough for you to attach an array to him?”
A minute later, the agent who had exited the Operations Center returned and opened the door. Zander again glanced inside, but it was impossible for him to jump through the doorway behind the agent before he shut the door.
The thought of being trapped inside the Operations Center made his heart pump and his skin grow cold.
Zander Cruz, we detect an elevated heartrate. Do you wish us to administer calming endorphins?
“Uh, no. But thanks for the offer, Nano.”
Any time, Zander Cruz. By the way, we have solved your dilemma and have inserted the array into our target. You may proceed to the next target’s location.
“What? How did you get them to our target?”
He knew the answer before he finished asking: The nanomites had attached two nanobug arrays to the returning agent. The agent had, unknowingly, passed one of the arrays to the target and retained the other.
“Quick thinking, Nano—we may need the second array if we take out Harmon’s agents.”
Relieved to quit the confines of the West Wing, Zander went in search of the other three targets who were posted throughout the House. He walked the length of the West Colonnade, through the Palm Room, and into the House proper. One by one, as he located and crept close to the agents, the nanomites sent an array of nanobugs to them. Then he found his way back to the Palm Room and exited onto the West Colonnade.
Zander immediately felt moisture in the sweltering summer air and looked up. Thunderheads were building in the sky above him. “Nano. What’s the weather forecast?”
Rain by noon, Zander Cruz.
“Thanks.”
According to the day’s schedule, the President was meeting with his cabinet.
“This is an opportune time to sweep the Oval Office, Nano.”
Zander made the turn where the West Colonnade skirted the east side of the West Wing. He stole down the walkway, avoiding the two agents stationed on the walkway outside the Cabinet Room doors. When he reached the Oval office, he peered through one of the windows and found it empty. Zander placed his palm on the glass and sent nanomites inside to investigate.
Zander Cruz, we found two listening devices in the President’s office. We have permanently deactivated them.
Zander shook his head. “Okay, so the President’s suspicions were justified. Let’s walk around the exterior of the West Wing and sweep the offices and rooms on its perimeter, Nano, starting with the Cabinet Room, since that’s where the President is now.”
He retraced his steps to the Cabinet Room. With one eye on the agents standing post only feet away, he crept to the closest window and placed one finger on a window pane.
Zander Cruz, we have detected no listening devices in this room.
“Great. Guess we’ll go the other way, then, and check what we can from the outside.”
Zander headed back toward the Oval Office, intending to swing around the corner of the building toward the offices on the West Wing’s south side. He had taken only a few steps when the nanomites interrupted him.
Zander Cruz, one of our arrays within the Operations Center is reporting activity.
Zander leaned against the outside of the Oval Office, closed his eyes, and went into the warehouse. He watched and listened as the feed from the nanobugs streamed into the warehouse. He picked up a few low voices from agents within the Operations Center, what sounded like soft commands spoken into wireless headsets. Nothing of note.
A screen appeared, evidently from the target’s workstation.
“What am I watching, Nano?”
The target has opened a new window. This window has been configured not to register on the Secret Service network; however, we are watching it via the nanobugs. The target is transmitting audio collected from . . . a listening device within the Chief of Staff’s office.
“We’ll deactivate that device in a minute. Where’s the audio going?”
We have the IP address, Zander Cruz. Attempting to trace it now.
“Okay. The agent has proven that he is on our adversary’s team. You know what to do. Take him out.”
Zander kept watching the live feed from the array of nanobugs, waiting for the command from the nanomites to the array to take effect. For several minutes nothing happened—until the agent closed down the window before the audio transfer was complete.
“Can you tell what’s going on, Nano?”
The target’s respiration has risen slightly. Skin temperature has cooled a degree; skin is clammy. He has remained seated at his station; however—
The live stream from the nanobugs erupted with the unmistakable sounds of retching and gagging, followed by the raised voices of other agents inside the Operations Center. Though the feed was garbled, the voices talking over each other, Zander made out several sentences.
“Oh, man, Carter! Couldn’t you have used a wastebasket?”
“Boyd—get housekeeping on the line. Right now. And someone open the door. The stench is killing me.”
“Crud. There he goes again. Carter! Use the *blank* waste can, man!”
Zander snickered under his breath. “One down. Three to go.”
He opened his eyes. “Let’s go clean up the Chief of Staff’s office, Nano.”
The south side of the West Wing was planted with shrubs and trees to shroud the Oval Office not so much from public view but from the view of a potential sniper. The trees also concealed a little patio with seating beneath the Chief of Staff’s windows and a decorative concrete pond beneath the offices of the President’s senior advisors. Zander threaded his way around shrubs and flower beds and stood on the pond’s edge to reach the senior advisors’ windows.
Zander Cruz, we detect no listening devices.
Zander moved on to the patio. The corner office belonged to the President’s Chief of Staff. He placed his hand on one of the Chief of Staff’s office windows.
Zander Cruz, we detect a listening device in this room. The device is active.
“Can you tell me what’s going on inside?”
The Chief of Staff, Marcus Park, is engaged in a phone conversation. This is the audio our target was transmitting before he was interrupted.
“Can you tell who Park is talking to?”
He is speaking with the White House Press Secretary, Zander Cruz.
“Okay, well I guess what matters most is that he’s being spied on—and we need to change that.”
Minutes later, the nanomites reported, Zander Cruz, we have deactivated the listening device.
Zander turned the corner. The next office was assigned to the Vice President. Since the office was unoccupied, Zander wasn’t surprised that it was clean. The National Security Advisor’s office, however, was not. The nanomites made quick work of that listening device, too.
“These devices couldn’t elude the Secret Service’s daily sweeps unless the agents performing the sweeps know about them.”
That is our deduction also, Zander Cruz.
“How do we find the names of the agents performing the daily sweeps?”
The nanomites did not immediately reply. When they did, they said, Zander Cruz, our target in the Secret Service Operations Center has been sent home.
“Excellent news.”
The remaining array within the Operations Center, sent to one of the trustworthy agents, has provided us with the list of agents conducting daily sweeps over the past three weeks.
“And?”
And a pattern has emerged. Every sweep over that three-week period included one of the four agents formerly assigned to Vice President Harmon’s detail.
“That validates the President and Agent Kennedy’s concerns.”
We agree, Zander Cruz.
Zander grinned. “Then take ’em out, Nano.”
The order is given, Zander Cruz.
“You’ve been watching too much Trek, Nano.”
Zander Cruz, we believe you have said, and we quote: ‘Is there such a thing as too much Trek?’ This antiquated projection of future space travel is quite entertaining.
Zander laughed under his breath. “Point taken. Let’s go wait for the President so we can update him.”
Zander retraced his steps, entered the Oval Office from its exterior doors, and waited for the cabinet meeting to adjourn. He wasn’t quite as anxious as he’d been two hours ago, but it was still surreal to be walking around in the President’s office, examining the tokens of history within its walls.
When he heard low voices approaching the office, he placed himself out of the way, adjacent to the far side of the President’s desk. Kennedy entered first. He scanned the room for threats before he ushered President Jackson inside and closed the door.
Jackson’s first words were, “I’d like to know how our friend is making out.”
“I’ll signal him.” Kennedy drew his cell phone from his jacket pocket and carefully tapped the back of the case three times.
Zander cleared his throat. “Here I am, Mr. President.”
“Good heavens. You gave me a start, Mr.—”
“Better not to use names just yet, begging your pardon, sir—although I can assure you that your office is clean. Now.”
Kennedy stared from his phone to Zander. “How did you . . .”
“I’m tempted to let you believe that I instantly teleported here, summoned by your ‘magic’ phone, but I’m not going to yank your chain, Agent Kennedy. I was actually already here, hoping for an opportunity to report my progress.”
Kennedy scowled, but the President was eager to hear from Zander. “So, you’ve already made progress?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take a seat, Mr., um . . . Never mind. Please sit down.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Zander sat on a couch and the President seated himself on a nearby chair with Kennedy hovering behind him.
“Tell us what you’ve found.”
“Your suspicions were justified, sir. Our, ah, tiny friends found two devices here in your office and one each in your Chief of Staff and National Security Advisor’s offices. Our friends have deactivated them.”
The news brought the President no relief. He sat back and glanced up at Kennedy. “We were right. The conspiracy is still in play—they may try again to kill me.”
“Not until they have a replacement for Harmon, sir—a vice presidential candidate of their choosing.”
“And that’s a whole other can of worms.” Jackson returned his gaze to Zander. “What else do you have?”
“The four agents formerly on Vice President Harmon’s detail. We caught one of them transmitting the audio of a phone call between the Chief of Staff and your press secretary. Then our . . . friends studied the list of Secret Service personnel who swept the West Wing daily over the past three weeks and uncovered an interesting fact. At least one of the four men was on that roster each time.”
Kennedy swore under his breath. “Inserting bugs under the guise of sweeping for them. Making certain their taps weren’t discovered. Traitors!”
“Yes, they are. I believe we’ve found and deactivated the more crucial bugs, but I intend to come in early tomorrow and sweep the entire house before any staff members arrive.”
“Good idea. But now that we’re certain of the four agents’ treachery, we’re back to the problem of ridding ourselves of these moles. How do you propose we do that?”
Zander couldn’t prevent the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I think you’re going to hear of a particularly nasty strain of stomach flu making the rounds through the White House Secret Service ranks today. Four agents have already been sent home—or will be shortly. They will be quite, uh, indisposed.”
The President leaned forward and whispered, “You made them sick to their stomachs?”
“Those men will worship at the porcelain throne so often and so vigorously, they’ll wish for a quick death,” Zander deadpanned. “And in a few days, when they recover and consider themselves fit enough to return to work? All four of them will suffer a regrettable relapse.”
“Doesn’t rid us of them permanently.”
“No, but it gives us some time and relief, a week or thereabouts. It also doesn’t tell their bosses that we’re on to them. Not exactly, anyway. I didn’t want to make it obvious to our enemies that only the four plants were targeted, so . . . unfortunately for a fifth and supposedly innocent agent, he will be unable to report to work tomorrow.”
Kennedy’s suspicion flared. “How did you do such a thing? What did you give them?”
“If you don’t mind, I need to keep the details to myself.”
“What if I do mind?”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to trust me.”
“You haven’t touched the President’s detail, have you?”
“No. Only the four suspected White House agents—and the innocent one as a deflection. I’ll add a nonessential White House staffer to the sick list tomorrow, to further the ruse that stomach flu is going around.”
Jackson turned to Kennedy. “Well? What do you think?”
Kennedy studied Zander with grudging admiration. “I think it’s bloody brilliant, sir.”
***
I SPENT MY DRIVE TO Ft. Meade rehearsing how I would find and get close to the four SPOs to insert the nanobug arrays into them. I parked in my usual area and made my way to the Repository. It would be my first day without Macy’s coaching, and I already missed her. Not the coaching so much, but her friendship.
Guess I needed to exert myself and get to know my team better.
“Morning, Sherry. Morning, everyone.”
“Morning, Jayda. If you need any help today, please ask Neville.”
Neville waved from his workstation. “Just give me a holler.”
“Hey, Neville. Thanks. I will.”
Not likely. I’d had the job locked from the second day; I just couldn’t let Macy know it. Now that she wasn’t looking over my shoulder, I could speed up, finish my tasks early, and “go” with the nanomites into the Repository to view their take.
The nanomites had “borrowed” an encryption key from one of the classifiers in the department, but it had taken them until last Thursday to break the encryption itself—encryption the NSA swore was unbreakable. I had been too preoccupied with tracking Wayne Overman’s movements to give my attention to what they’d found, but today would be different . . . in several ways.
“Nano, dive into the Repository and begin looking for references to former Vice President Harmon, especially files designated for his eyes.”
On it, Jayda Cruz.
I busied myself with my work—and finalizing my plans. Lunchtime couldn’t arrive fast enough.
“Don’t make the same mistakes today that you made last week, Jayda,” I whispered.
When noon rolled around, Lynn and Chantelle invited me to lunch with them.
“We’re hungry for sushi. There’s a little sushi bar on the other side of the Parkway. Want to come?”
My stomach voted for sushi with a roar so loud that my teammates heard. When their laughter died down, I smiled and patted my belly.
“As you heard, my tummy would love to go with you guys. Sadly, I have an errand to run. I think I can just get there and back in an hour. Next time?”
“Sure, Jayda. Would you like us to pick something up for you? We have a menu.”
“Yes; that’s perfect!”
I chose a dragon roll and handed some cash to Chantelle.
“We’ll see you later, then,” Lynn said.
“Hey, I’ll walk out with you guys.”
We chatted while crossing the breezeway into the next building and down the long hall toward the exit to the parking lot. I even left the building with them. I waved and split off toward my car. Halfway there, I walked between two cars and “dropped” my keys. When I stooped over to pick them up, I had the nanomites cover me. I turned around and reentered the building.
It was nicely done. By “walking out” with Chantelle and Lynn, I’d avoided the rest of my team. No one would expect to see me for a solid hour. And I’d had the nanomites shut off my badge’s tracking device when I turned around. As far as anyone watching my badge’s movements would believe, I had left the building and had not yet returned.
In less than an hour, I needed to locate the four SPOs and tag them with nanobugs. If enough time remained, I would go in search of the Deputy Director, Lawrence Danforth.
Since it was lunchtime, the halls were busy with noisy, lunch-going employees, busy enough to mask my soft footfalls as I jogged toward the Safety and Security Department, zigging around the clusters of personnel headed out or toward the cafeteria. I made it to my destination in four minutes and tiptoed into the department.
It looked like the receptionist was at lunch, which made my job a snap. I placed my hand on her workstation.
Jayda Cruz, two of the officers of interest are on duty. The other two are scheduled at 3:30 p.m.
“The two who are on duty? Show me where they are.”
Talk about Mission Impossible. One SPO was in a police car. He and another SPO were cruising the campus fence line and parking lots. The second SPO was posted on the fourth floor.
Same floor as Danforth’s office.
“Huh. Nano. Is Deputy Director Danforth in the building?”
He is in his office, Jayda Cruz.
“Two for the price of one. Guess that settles it.”
I didn’t want to use the elevator, so I closed my eyes to recall where the building’s stairwells were located and where the stairwell opened on the fourth floor. Moments later, I was sprinting through the hallways.
The door to the stairwell was alarmed and watched by a blinking video camera. The nanomites disabled the alarm and paused the camera while I pulled the door open and slid through. Then it was up four flights of empty, echo-filled stairs to the Executive Suite.
Adrenaline was shooting through my veins, so running those stairs felt good.
Zander and I need another trip to the dojo.
When I arrived at the fourth floor, the nanomites had the video camera skim the exit area for us before they paused it and disabled the door’s alarm.
You may exit now, Jayda Cruz.
I slid noiselessly from the stairwell. My eyes cut across the floor, probing for danger. Most of the personnel were absent, probably at lunch like so much of the campus.
My first target, the SPO, stood his post adjacent to the bank of elevators. He looked bored. Danforth, I presumed, was behind the closed door to his office.
I crept toward his office first and placed my hand on the door.
Jayda Cruz, Deputy Director Danforth is on the phone.
“Can you insert the array from here?”
No, Jayda Cruz. We must be in closer proximity.
“Can you . . . can you cut off his phone call?”
Done, Jayda Cruz.
I heard muttering through the door, and, after more seconds, a receiver slammed onto its cradle and a chair scooted from a desk.
I stepped to the side before the door opened.
Deputy Director Danforth called to the SPO, “Johnson! Have the phones gone down?”
The SPO lifted his radio and spoke into it. When an answer came back, he replied, “No, sir.”
Swearing, Danforth strode back into his office and lifted the receiver of his phone. “Huh. Working now.”
Array inserted, Jayda Cruz.
“Excellent.”
Johnson, the SPO, didn’t sense me creeping toward him and never noticed a thing as the nanomites sent an array to him.
I checked the time as I reentered the stairwell. “Forty-five minutes still on the clock. Plenty of time to track down the other SPO, right?”
I raced down the stairs and back to the Safety and Security Department. Placed my hand on the receptionist’s terminal. “Find the other SPO, Nano.”
It took the nanomites a while to pinpoint the police car’s exact location using the campus’ external video feeds. It’s hard to describe the expanse of the NSA’s sprawling campus and the number of lots needed to serve more than thirty thousand employees. Acres of parking lots surround all sides of the campus and are scattered among the outlying buildings. Four security police vehicles patrol the lots continuously. I knew the nanomites could identify the right car; I just wasn’t certain how long it would take them or if, when they did locate it, I would have enough time to reach it, plant the nanobugs, and return to work on time.
After five minutes of the nanomites scanning live video feed without a word on their progress, I grew impatient.
“Nano?”
It took the nanomites another three minutes to answer me. They popped up a layout of the entire campus in front of my eyes. Two lines, one red, one a squiggly blue, appeared on the layout.
Jayda Cruz, the vehicle containing the SPO in question is, at this moment, traversing the southeast fence line heading east. The vehicle’s progress is marked by the solid red line; its projected path is indicated by the dotted red line. We have determined that, should the vehicle continue at its present speed and if it turns north at the southeast corner of the complex as we anticipate it will, and if you leave now, running at 5.3 miles per hour, following the route we have computed—marked in blue—your path will intersect with the vehicle here.
The campus layout zoomed in with breathtaking speed and centered on an “x” three-quarters of the distance from the southeast to the northeast corner of the campus.
“That’s a lot of ‘ands’ and ‘ifs,’ Nano.”
You must leave now, Jayda Cruz. We will update the police vehicle’s route and your projected intersect point in real time.
I flew down the halls and back out into the sultry air, the nanomites’ route overlaid on the real world around me, a timer on the left counting down the time remaining before I was expected back at my desk. My projected route had me skirting parked cars, jumping short retaining walls, and dodging employee pedestrians returning from an early lunch—basically everything but leaping tall buildings in a single bound.
I was within fifty yards of the point of intersection when the “x” began to move. In fact, it jumped precipitously to the north, my route lagging far behind.
I was going to miss the intersect.
I poured on the speed. “Nano! What’s going on?”
The patrol car has sped up, Jayda Cruz.
“You don’t say. Tell me something I don’t know!”
I saw it, racing ahead, and I did the only thing I could to ensure that I reached it in time. With a flick of my wrist, I sent a bolt of electricity toward the vehicle’s left rear wheel.
The tire blew with a satisfying BANG leaving a trail of shredded steel-belted rubber.
Even more satisfying, the patrol car, its left rear wheel rim screeching on the asphalt, ground to a stop. Both officers bolted from the vehicle and crouched behind their respective car doors, sidearms drawn, scanning for danger.
Huh. Maybe they thought the tire had been shot out?
Even with the timer ticking down relentlessly, I hung back until the officers, not spotting a threat, holstered their sidearms, and emerged from behind their doors to study their car’s missing tire.
Well, the tire wasn’t missing, not exactly. It was strewn behind the vehicle for around twenty yards.
“What the *blank* happened?”
“Must have been a faulty tire. I’ll call it in. You get out the spare.”
The nanomites painted a big blue “x” on the SPO I was seeking. I breezed by him, dropped the nanobug array, and took off running. The nanomites routed me through several buildings I had no business being in, but they got me back to the parking lot before my lunch hour ended. I had the nanomites uncover me and activate my badge and (sweating like a pack mule) I walked inside.
With a minute to spare, I sat down at my desk. I was quivering from exertion and hunger and steaming like a baked potato fresh out of a microwave.
“Hey, Jayda. Here’s your order and your change.”
“Bless you guys. I’m starving.” My hands shook as I pulled the container from the bag they handed me. Through the transparent plastic lid, the dragon roll winked and beckoned like the gold of El Dorado. I fumbled to pry open the container.
“My, don’t you look all hot and bothered.”
Kiera leaned against the cubical wall at the entrance to our team’s area. Her expression was composed and noncommittal, but her eyes raked over me, missing nothing.
“Hey, Kiera. Yeah. I had some errands to run—and its sweltering out there.”
“Must have been a marathon of a lunch hour.
I poked a whole piece of sushi into my mouth and talked around chews. “You have no idea.”
I busied myself with eating, hoping the woman would leave, but she didn’t.
“I’m sorry. Here I am stuffing my face while you’re waiting on me. Did you need something?”
“No.” She pushed off the wall. “Just wondered if you’d heard anything from Macy.”
“Not yet. Want me to let you know when I do?”
“Sure. I’d appreciate that.”
***
KIERA RETURNED TO HER area and sat down at her workstation. She fingered her key fob and made a show of trying to log in for a few minutes before turning to her supervisor.
“I’m having a problem logging in. Okay if I run down to IT?”
“Go ahead, Kiera.”
She was deliberately going off script but reckoned she could pull it off this one time without arousing suspicions. When she walked into IT, Rob’s eyes widened momentarily.
“I’m having trouble logging in,” Kiera broadcast to whomever might be listening. “I was hoping you could help me.”
“You’re in luck. That’s what we do here. Just give me a minute.” He seated her at an IT computer with her back to the room’s video camera and pulled a chair up next to her so that his body hid her computer screen from the camera.
“I take it there’s nothing wrong with your login?”
“Of course not. Have you been keeping tabs on the Cruz woman?”
“Yup. And I’m glad you’re here.” He reached for the keyboard and accessed the camera system. “Watch this.”
Chantelle, Lynn, and Jayda exited the building to the parking lot. Rob switched to another camera. There they were in the lot, Chantelle and Lynn moving in one direction, Jayda in another. He changed cameras again, this one more distant, but it showed Jayda walking between two cars. An object fell from her hand and she stooped over to pick it up, the camera losing her between the two vehicles.
The feed rolled on—without Jayda reappearing.
“Where is she?”
“Exactly. Where is she? With all the employees leaving for lunch, a casual look at the feed might not have picked up on it, but I watched this scene six times. She bent over between those cars and never reappeared.”
“That’s not possible. Where’s her car? She ran errands during her lunch.”
Rob smirked. “Want to know what’s not possible? Running errands while your car sits in the parking lot.”
“What do you mean?”
Rob tapped the keyboard and the video zoomed in. “See that car? That’s Cruz’ car.” He tapped the keyboard again, zooming in on the plate. Then he toggled to another screen and pulled up the parking pass database. “See that pass? Jayda Cruz. Note the plate number.”
“So, that’s her car and?”
“And it hasn’t moved since she arrived this morning, but—” Rob toggled back to the video feed and advanced it an hour. Same view of Jayda’s car. A nearby vehicle had driven away and been replaced by another, but Jayda’s car had not moved.
“Rob—”
“Wait for it.”
The feed was stationary, unchanged. The next instant, there was Jayda, moving away from her car in full stride.
“What . . . did someone splice her in?”
“No. Note the time stamp.” Rob reran the scene.
“But, it looks like a glitch—”
“Keep watching.” Rob zoomed out and they saw Jayda moving toward the building entrance. Then he switched to the camera over the entrance and zoomed in.
“Notice anything?”
“She’s red-faced and sweating. Like she’d been out in the heat for the whole hour. And she was still perspiring when I saw her a few minutes ago.” Kiera lifted her eyes to Rob’s “If she didn’t get in her car, where was she during that hour?”
“I can’t tell you, because her badge went ‘out of range’ the same moment she disappeared and came back into range when she reappeared.”
“So, off the grid but . . . Did anything of note happen on campus during that hour?”
“A patrol car had a blowout. That’s it.”
“Not a flat but a blowout? At what—fifteen or twenty miles an hour?”
They stared at each other, frowning in concentration. Without a word passing between them, Rob pounded on the keyboard until he located a camera that had captured the patrol car the instant its tire blew.
Rob zoomed in. The video framed a spectacular blowout—as far as blowouts go. Shredded tire flew in all directions.
“Back it up, Rob. Before the tire blew.”
Rob rewound the recording twenty seconds and set the feed in motion. An instant later, they both saw it—the streak of light that struck the tire before it exploded.
The video continued to roll while Kiera and Rob tried to understand what they’d seen.
“What the *blank* was that?”
“Wait. Stop the tape. Roll it back.”
“You know it’s not tape, right?” Rob griped. “It’s digital.”
“Shut up and wind it back—there. Did you see that?”
He rewound and played it again. “That flicker? Is that what you mean? That could be anything. Light bouncing off a car in the lot behind the camera.”
“And was it ‘light bouncing off a car’ that zapped the patrol car and destroyed its tire? That was a weapon.”
Rob was tired of her superior attitude. “Y’know, Kiera, you are a real pain in the *bleep* to work with. I tried to tell you last week that this Cruz chick was weird and up to something. You wouldn’t listen. I told you how she went into the women’s restroom and didn’t come out for six minutes—but her badge had her running to IT and back.”
Kiera studied him. “Okay, Rob, I’ll bite. You said you took screen shots. Did you keep them?”
He opened a file directory and navigated to the folders where he’d saved the Word doc he’d pasted them in. With a click, the document opened, and Kiera paged through the images, noting their time stamps.
“According to the video feed she was in the bathroom . . . but according to her badge, she came here.”
“Yeah. Like I said. Only later, the time stamps on the video feed and badge tracking changed.”
“Rob?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to download video of everything we just looked at. Her disappearing and reappearing and the blowout. Especially the blowout and that . . . that bolt of lightning or whatever it was.”
“It’ll be tricky, covering my tracks. And what do I do with the files?”
“Use this.” Kiera handed Rob a pen. They both knew it contained a hidden wireless flash drive—strictly verboten.
“Send me the files tonight.”
“And if I’m caught?”
“If you get caught then you aren’t as good as you keep telling everyone you are. Oh. And Rob? You’d better do it quick. Before someone tampers with the video.”
***
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, long after I should have recovered from my run outside, uncomfortable heat surged up my neck into my face. I ignored it until the third instance left me gasping and fanning myself.
Chantelle looked over at me. “Are you okay, Jayda? Your face is all red.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll run to the restroom and wash my face with cool water.”
I couldn’t wait and bolted from my chair. I remembered some vending machines in the next building, tucked into an alcove off the main corridor. I quick-walked to the machines.
“Nano. Pull down a can of soda for me—and remind me to pay the machine back at the end of the day.”
I grabbed the can as it came out and pressed it to my cheek. “Ahhhh.”
All the way to the restroom, I rolled the can across my forehead, cheeks, and back of my neck. When I reached the restroom, I ran the cold-water tap and splashed water on my face until I felt halfway normal. Then I folded several paper towels together, soaked them in cold water and laid them across the back of my neck.
As I was finishing, I decided to use the opportunity to scrub the video feeds. I had the nanomites pop open the paper towel dispenser. I laid my badge on the stack of folded paper towels and closed the dispenser. Under the nanomites’ cover, I raced to the Safety and Security Department, tiptoed to the receptionist’s desk, sent the nanomites into the system to expunge any video oddities, and waited.
Done, Jayda Cruz.
I crept from the Safety and Security Department, ran to the restroom, grabbed my badge, and came back out. Minutes later I was at my desk.
“Better?” Chantelle asked.
“Yeah. Don’t know what got into me.”
~~**~~
