15
Deep breath.
Ava imagined a cigarette between her lips, its papery feel, white smoke curling past her throat and into her lungs—a well-rehearsed mental exercise.
Exhale.
Envisioning the smoke spewing from her lips, no longer white. Turned dark and toxic by the anxiety and ill feelings it had absorbed, and that it now carried away from her. The exercise helped her to compose herself, to settle her mind, to reject a sense of being in the wrong place, of occupying an alternate reality that allowed impossible things.
She stood at the wall of the open-air stairwell, looking out at another bus coming in, and beyond it, Kamehameha Highway, with two lanes of heavy traffic heading out of town. Below the highway, athletic fields, and then the dark water of Pearl Harbor, flecked by glints of reflected artificial light and moon-glow that slipped between the clouds.
If any large ship remained in port at the naval base, she should have been able to pick out its superstructure from where she stood. But the surface fleet had left ahead of Huko, and the submarines would leave in the morning. At least that’s what Kaden had said. She knew now that he’d lied to her, more than once.
Deep breath.
The faint roar of a distant jet drew her gaze out over the ocean. She spotted the bright lights of two arriving airliners come to carry away transient visitors and those residents who could afford the ticket and had made the choice to go. She could have gone. Taken Kaden up on his offer, grabbed that seat on a military flight, seen her daughters again . . .
No way.
No way could she have ever lived with herself afterward.
She headed down the stairs again just as her countdown timer went off. A moment later, her earbud beeped, and the chipper female voice announced, “Call from Matt Domanski.”
“Answer.” She waited for the next beep, then said, “I’m on my way.”
“New rendezvous point,” Matt said. “I’m pinging you the location.”
Retrieving her smart glasses from the pocket where she’d stashed them, she asked, “What’s changed?”
“Lyric’s back online—and I’ve got us transportation.”
◇
Ava’s digital assistant mapped a path to the new rendezvous point—ground floor, far back corner—an area occupied by bike racks and charging stations. Tonight the bike racks were empty and only a handful of scooters were still charging up. With the exceptions of Akasha and Matt, the area was deserted, and the chatter and bustle of the marketplace seemed weirdly far away.
“You’re kidding, right?” Ava asked, eyeing Matt in suspicion.
“What were you expecting?” he asked her. “An expeditionary vehicle?”
“An SUV maybe? Or hell, a chartered taxi? Lyric struck me as a woman with resources.”
Instead, Matt had taken possession of a trio of electric scooters.
Akasha had already claimed one. She sat on it with one foot on the ground, the other on the scooter’s floorboard. She’d changed from her uniform into a form-fitting gray tank top, black leggings, and a charcoal overshirt. She’d released her hair from its service bun, securing it instead in a braid behind her neck. And she’d exchanged her dinosaur backpack for a more dignified black teardrop style.
Matt tossed a key fob to Ava, telling her, “This is our best option. These bikes are fast, cheap, off-grid, and therefore unhackable.”
“Cheap?” Akasha echoed. “You paid three times their cost, new.”
“Midnight before a major hurricane? That’s still cheap.”
“It’s not even close to midnight,” Ava said. “But it is damn late for us to be standing here, waiting for Lyric to come up with a mission plan.”
“I say we go public,” Akasha offered.
Ava tucked the fob into a pants pocket. “If Ivan didn’t believe our story, why should anyone else . . . except a handful of conspiracy-theory nuts who’ll believe anything.”
“At least it’d be on the record.”
Lyric’s voice intruded, speaking through Ava’s earbud: “I’m not the only one working the cloud. If you try to put something online, it’ll be wiped away before there’s time to capture a screenshot.”
Ava hissed at this breach. She had not given Lyric access to her system, but the agent was there anyway, controlling her comms. Ava took it as a deliberate demonstration of her reach and it fed her mistrust. Even so, the sound of Lyric’s voice brought her a measure of relief. Lyric had designed this game, she’d drawn them into it, and though it hurt like hell to admit it, she’d seen deeper into Kaden’s heart than Ava ever had.
That didn’t mean Ava had to like her. “So you’re back home?” she asked acidly. “Safe in a bunker somewhere? Kunia, maybe? Or bumming a chair from the FBI out in Ewa?”
“She’s probably on a flight to California,” Akasha said.
Right.
“Lyric’s on our side,” Matt said. “And we’ve got a job to do. The goal is to prevent Denali from launching a missile, an action that can only take place if all necessary conditions are met.” He ticked off those conditions on his fingers. “The sub must be at sea, there must be a launch code from Washington DC, and both the commander and executive officer must be aboard, so they can each enter their own biometrically validated codes to certify the launch. By interrupting any one of those conditions, we can stop the launch.”
“So block the launch code,” Ava said. “Or assassinate the Sigrún member who controls it.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Lyric admitted. “My best guess is that Sigrún has a means to generate spoofed code outside official channels—though it’s possible they have someone on the inside, close to the president.”
“Is Denali still in port?” Akasha asked. “If not, it’s all up, isn’t it?”
Ava’s thoughts fared briefly back to the afternoon, when Kaden still had her trust and her affection. “Kaden said the submarine fleet leaves tomorrow . . . but tomorrow starts at midnight.”
“Denali is still in port,” Lyric assured them. “It’s not due to sail until after sunrise.”
“It’s the navy who needs to step in,” Ava insisted. “Not everyone in the chain of command can be loyal to Sigrún.”
“No, but look how hard it’s been to convince you of the truth—and you still don’t fully believe it, do you? Because you don’t want to believe.”
“Who would?”
“Exactly.”
But Lyric was wrong. Given all that Astrid Robicheaux had told her, Ava knew the scheme could be real . . . and Kaden had been so eager for her to leave the island.
Lyric said, “I’ve tried going outside official channels, approaching several officers who could be in a position to do something, but every one of them has shut me down.”
“Like they’re supposed to,” Ava growled, her own military training weighing on her conscience.
“Robicheaux needs to be aboard the sub,” Matt said.
“And he’s there,” Ava told him. “He left to join his crew before we left the hospital.”
“Lyric, can you confirm he’s there?”
“I can confirm that,” Lyric says. “He is at the dock, along with his executive officer.”
“Then we have to lure him off,” Matt said. He met Ava’s gaze. “That’s why you’re here.”
“I told you before, we’re past that. Kaden is not going to talk to me.”
“Arnette is right,” Lyric said. “That window has closed. Robicheaux’s latest HADAFA profile shows he will not accept a communication from her, or respond to an entreaty should she get through.”
“Hell of a way to break up,” Ava said—a bitter façade as she tried to hide, even from herself, the blunt trauma of being summarily cut off.
Akasha spoke up, sounding cynical. “So the last option is to force Denali to stay in port, right? Get Matt over the fence. Let him do his thing. Trespass and sabotage.”
“Lyric?” Matt asked, appearing unfazed at the challenge of infiltrating a base guarded by both electronic eyes, and armed sailors who were, no doubt, bored out of their minds and eager for action.
Ava shook her head. “No way. Won’t work.”
“Arnette is right again,” Lyric said. “I’ve run the models through HADAFA. There is no way you can successfully penetrate base security.”
Ava sensed where this was going. She’d glimpsed the possibility when they were still on the truck. “But sabotage is still an option, isn’t it? If we can enlist the help of allies.” She looked at Akasha. “Say, a local insurgent group?”
Lyric backed her up. “Yes. Akasha’s compatriots have been working on plans to harass and cripple the fleet.”
Akasha’s face went slack with shock—then anger slammed in. She left her scooter and backed a step away. Her fierce gaze fixed on Matt as if she imagined Lyric looking through his eyes—and wasn’t that true? Matt’s smart glasses surely served Lyric as a window onto their activities. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” she demanded. “You decided I’m part of Hōkū Ala, and you’re working a shell game to get on the inside—”
“Akasha, this is real!” Ava snapped.
Akasha’s wrath shifted to her. “Did you help set this up?”
“No. I didn’t know until tonight that you had anything to do with Hōkū Ala. And I’m not sure I believe Hōkū Ala has the means or the talent to take out Denali.” Although Lyric’s interest suggested they did . . .
Had Hōkū Ala been preparing for violent revolution? Like preppers, stockpiling weapons and accumulating hardware to make their insurgent fantasies feel more real . . .
“Akasha, if there’s anything you know, now is the time.”
Akasha shook her head. “I’m not part of it. I’m not on the inside.”
In the army, Ava had spent a year working counterinsurgency. She knew how the game was played. “You’re not on the inside, but you know people who are. You’ve heard rumors about what they’re working on. Akasha, if Hōkū Ala has the capability to disable Denali and prevent it from sailing—”
“I don’t know,” Akasha insisted, backing away, frightened now. “I really don’t.”
Lyric: “My reports indicate Hōkū Ala has the means, but we need a way in. That’s why you’re here, Akasha. I selected the players who would bring the most value to my operation.”
Bullshit, Ava thought. Akasha had come to the hospital because Ava requested it. No other reason.
But then paranoia swept in. How long had Lyric been on the case? Akasha had transferred to night shift less than three months ago. Was that chance? And was it chance that not long after that, Ava found herself seated beside Kaden at the wedding of a mutual friend? Or had Lyric already been collecting and preparing her game pieces?
It doesn’t matter.
All that mattered, here, tonight, was that they stop Denali. “Can you do it?” Ava asked, meeting Akasha’s frightened gaze. “Can you get us in?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know what the operation looks like, or who else is involved.”
“But you know at least one person.”
“He’s prickly. Unpredictable.” She tapped her head. “He had a bad time, after Nolo. If he’s even willing to talk to me, it’ll take time to convince him.”
“So get on it,” Matt said.
“It’s not that easy.” She edged up to the scooter she’d claimed. “He doesn’t talk on the phone. If this is gonna happen, it’s gotta be done face to face.”
“Give us a direction,” Ava said. “Where are we going?”
“First we need to get down to the water. Then head Ewa. The old bike path, you know?”
“There’s nothing out there,” Lyric said.
“Oh, you’re wrong. He’s out there.”
◇
They needed to get back to Kamehameha Highway, but blue lights marked a pair of patrol cars stopped at the turnoff into the stadium complex.
“They might not be looking for us,” Ava said, straddling her scooter just outside the open market. “But how about we take another way out?”
“Working on it,” Lyric answered. “I’ve got a potential route through the complex. Take the footpath. Walk your scooters. And stay dark. No headlights.”
They skirted the bright lights at the entrance to the stadium, then passed behind a little amphitheater.
“All right, you can ride now,” Lyric said. “But stay dark, and go slowly.”
“Go where?” Ava asked. “I don’t remember an exit on this side.”
“There used to be a hole in the fence,” Akasha said. “Kids would use it as a short cut out.”
From Lyric: “It’s still there.”
They passed offices and additional parking structures, all dark, with no one around—which meant the three of them would be obvious to anyone watching through a security camera.
“Loading the route now,” Lyric said.
A soft green guideline appeared in Ava’s field of view. At first it followed the concrete walkway, but then it diverged onto a dirt path that crossed a narrow unlit lawn. Glancing up, she could just make out the top of a chain-link fence against the brighter background of the night sky.
“Drone!” Akasha warned, as Ava registered the faint waspy buzz.
“It’s mine,” Lyric said. “It’s a jammer. Get through the fence. You’re going to lose connectivity for the next few minutes, and so is everyone else. Just follow the route. Don’t stop for anything. Matt, take the lead.”
“Roger that.”
Ava’s glasses popped up an icon announcing the loss of network connectivity, but the projected path remained. Locally stored on her device, it led away into darkness.
Matt went first, whisking ahead, moving with speed for the first time. Ava followed, and Akasha came behind her.
The path jogged sharply left. Then right. Ava felt the mesh of the fence scrape her shoulder. Then she was through. The path turned again, ninety degrees. She followed it, and to her shock, the ground fell away. She clenched the brake lever. The wheels locked, skidding, sliding, down a steep muddy slope. No way to stop.
The glare of street lights in her peripheral vision blinded her to whatever lay ahead, and she’d lost track of Matt. But she knew Akasha’s position by the swearing behind her.
Then she bounced down over a curb. Her teeth rattled as she arrived at what she guessed to be an asphalt road, though no lights illuminated it. Probably a closed driveway into the stadium.
The projected path jogged left. She turned too, and as she did, two blue police cruise lights flicked on not twenty feet ahead. Their cold steady glow revealed a patrol car blocking the narrow, weed-choked drive.
Lyric had known. She’d warned them, Don’t stop for anything. Matt had taken that advice to heart. Ava saw him again as he yanked his scooter to the side and shot past the car.
The slim figure resting her ass against the hood made no move to stop him. She called out instead, “Ava Arnette, what the hell are you up to? There are quite a few patrol officers who’d like to know.”