As evening fell, the lights of Pell Street flickered ablaze.
The buildings of Chinatown huddled close to one another, blocking the scant breeze, which left the night air warm and thick. Humidity cast halos around the glowing signage.
Curfew was still a few hours off, so the sidewalks were crowded with vagrants, hookers, and street vendors, their combined scents a fug of spice, sweat, and cheap perfume. A steady stream of pedestrians snaked between them, most sporting earbuds and dead-eyed glares to make it clear they weren’t interested in anything on offer. One slinked hunch-shouldered from shadow to shadow—a baggy jacket on despite the heat, a Mets cap pulled low over his eyes, a paper mask obscuring his face.
Jake had ransacked the Croziers’ belongings to cobble this outfit together. He’d intended it to thwart the city’s recognition software, which analyzed gait and body shape as well as facial features. In the relative safety of the dead couple’s apartment, it had seemed a sensible plan. On the streets, he was less sure.
The Jade Dragon was sketchy in a vaguely promising way. A narrow space with tacky neon, dirty windows, and a leaky air conditioner above the door, you’d have no trouble believing it served some of the best Chinese food in town, provided it was busy. But until Jake pushed inside, the restaurant didn’t have a single customer.
Its interior was done up in black lacquer and red paint, and layered with a scrim of grease. The aquarium beside the host station was lit, but empty of fish. Long strands of algae undulated in the current generated by its bubbling pump.
A man in a silk button-down glared at Jake from behind the bar. Jake removed his mask, approached him, and laid a diamond necklace he’d purloined from Mrs. Crozier’s jewelry box atop the varnished wood.
“I’m here for the tasting menu.”
“We don’t make change,” the man said as he inspected the necklace. Though he was Chinese by extraction, his accent was pure New York.
“I wasn’t expecting any,” Jake replied.
The man secreted the necklace beneath the bar. Then he nodded toward the swinging double doors that separated the dining room from the kitchen.
After the semidarkness of the dining room, the kitchen’s glare was blinding. Stainless steel, white tile, fluorescent light. Steam billowed from massive pots. Vegetables sizzled in enormous woks. Jake wondered who all the food was for. Deliveries, maybe.
Unsure of the protocol, Jake opened his mouth to speak, only to be shushed by an older Chinese woman in chef’s whites. A twentysomething guy in a filthy apron opened the kitchen’s microwave, which contained a smattering of personal electronics.
“Please place any smart devices inside.”
“Excuse me?”
“Smart devices,” he repeated. “Phone, watch, that sort of thing.”
“Due respect,” Jake said, “but that wasn’t the part I found confusing.”
“Relax. We’re not gonna nuke ’em. It’s not even plugged in.”
“Then why?”
“You ever heard of a Faraday cage?”
The look on Jake’s face was answer enough.
“The oven blocks all signals in or out. You can collect your stuff when you leave.”
“Oh,” Jake said. “I’m not carrying anything electronic.”
The guy rolled his eyes and said something to the woman in what Jake supposed was either Mandarin or Cantonese. They shared a laugh at Jake’s expense, after which the woman mimed to indicate that Jake should lift his arms. When Jake complied, the guy wanded him with a device that he produced from beneath his apron, then nodded to the woman.
She smiled and gestured toward a nondescript door half-hidden behind a set of wire shelves. Jake opened it and saw stairs heading down into the dark. Vape fumes wafted upward from below, a noxious mix of weed and cotton candy.
The basement was lit by a chevron of pink neon on the ceiling, and the dull glow of a couple dozen computer screens. A teenage girl snapped her gum at Jake when he reached the bottom of the stairs and said, “Welcome to the Dragon’s Lair. You’re machine seventeen.” Her cadence was a master class in performative disinterest.
Time was, a burner phone—cheap, prepaid, disposable—would suffice to protect you from eavesdroppers, but the Wellness Act’s erosion of the Fourth Amendment and advances in monitoring technology had rendered burners obsolete. Hence the need for modern speakeasies like the Dragon’s Lair—illegal hacklabs that sold anonymous, encrypted access to the internet by the hour.
Patrons were scattered throughout the space. None looked up as Jake walked by. Machine seventeen was a heavily customized computer in a carrel of its own. Several sets of initials were carved into the carrel’s desktop. Stickers and marker scrawls dotted its interior walls. The keyboard was tacky and smelled of artificial cherry flavoring.
He sat, tapped some keys, and followed the onscreen prompts to place a video call. When Hannah answered she looked puzzled, then relieved. “Jake? Is that you?”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“Where the hell are you calling from? The caller ID was garbled nonsense. You’re lucky I picked up.”
“That’s… complicated.”
“Are you okay? Because, honestly, you don’t look so great.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot today.”
“Then maybe take the hint.”
“I’ll book a spa day just as soon as things settle down,” he deadpanned. “How’s—”
“Same,” Hannah replied tersely, reminding him that, while his end of the call couldn’t easily be traced, their conversation was still vulnerable to eavesdropping.
“Can I see her?”
“She’s resting. I’d rather not disturb her.” Hannah paused, pursed her lips. “So, do you want to tell me what’s going on? Your virtual assistant’s been ringing off the hook—and, unless I’m mistaken, there’s an unmarked police car watching your place from across the street.”
“Honestly, I wish I could, but I’m not so sure what’s going on myself.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet. And I can’t risk coming home until I do.”
“Jake, if those guys across the street come knocking…” She trailed off, but he got the gist. Law enforcement officers were obligated to report signs of illness to the DBS.
“I know,” he said. “They won’t. They’re probably just waiting around in case I show up. As long as I steer clear, they’ll have no reason to come inside.”
“I hope you’re right about that,” Hannah said.
“Yeah. Me too.” Jake cleared his throat. “Hey, listen. One more thing. Under the bed is a lockbox. The combo is Zoe’s DOB. Do you remember it?”
“Of course, but—”
“Good. If anything gets your hackles up—anything at all, no matter how small—open the lockbox, grab Zoe, and get the hell out of there, you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand. If you’d just—”
“I’m sorry. There isn’t time for me to explain.”
“Where would we even go?”
Jake fell silent a moment. “Remember where we had our second date?”
“Our second date,” she said. “Wasn’t that the one—”
“Yeah. If anything goes wrong, we’ll meet there.”
“When?”
“Whenever you wish.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, in the hopes she’d take the hint.
“Whenever I… okay, got it. How will you know we’re on our way?”
“Your Bangarang account’s still active, right?” In truth, Jake knew it was, because he’d drunkenly scrolled through Hannah’s social media profiles countless times in recent months.
“I guess. I haven’t used it in forever, though.”
“Good. I’ll check in on your feed as often as I’m able. If you post, I’ll know you need me to come get you. Just keep it innocuous, so it doesn’t arouse suspicion, and be sure to ditch your phone afterward, so it can’t be used to track you.”
“Jake, you’re freaking me out.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure I’m overreacting,” he said, hoping it sounded more convincing than it felt.
The girl at the bottom of the stairs met his eyes and pantomimed a telephone, holding her hand to her head with thumb and pinkie extended. Then she tapped her wrist where a watch would be if she was wearing one. Jake, struck by the notion that both gestures had outlasted the objects they referenced, caught her meaning. Even VPNs and anonymizers couldn’t hold off government tech forever. If anyone was listening in, it wouldn’t be long before they pegged his location. “Look, I’ve gotta go. Tell Zoe that I love her.”
“Of course.”
“And Hannah?” Jake swallowed hard. He wanted to say the same to her. But, after all they’d been through—after all he’d put her through—he couldn’t muster the words.
Thankfully, Hannah let him off the hook.
“I know,” she said. “Me too.”
Jake stared at her a moment, as if committing her face to memory, then disconnected.
His next call—audio only, this time—was to police headquarters. Jake told the woman who answered that he needed to speak to Captain Ian Bavitz, and doggedly refused to give his name.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Hiya, Cap.”
“Gibson? Jesus—where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all goddamn day!”
“Last I checked, I was suspended.”
“Yeah? Then why’s the DBS all up my ass about some witnesses who place you running toward a shootout earlier today, and leaving with a kid?”
Ian’s question had stamped out the last ember of optimism Jake had been clinging to. This wasn’t some big misunderstanding: he, Mat, and Amy had been right to run.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “They must have me mistaken for someone else.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why you called in from a secure line.”
Jake sighed. “What do you want me to say, Cap?”
“I dunno. How about ‘I haven’t fucking lost it.’ Or maybe ‘I know how it looks, but I wouldn’t dare wade into the middle of a DBS investigation.’”
“If that’s what you need to hear.”
“What I need to hear is the truth.”
“The truth is, me and Amy were damn near killed today by folks who looked an awful lot like government operatives, and seemed hell-bent on abducting a frightened child, even if it meant waging war in the middle of Manhattan. Now I don’t know what the fuck is going on, or who to trust.”
“That’s… a lot to take in,” Ian said.
“I know how it sounds,” Jake replied, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“All the more reason for you to come in.”
“I can’t.”
“You’d better,” Ian snapped, “before the DBS decides to rain hell on you and Amy both.”
“And if it turns out they’re involved?”
“Christ, Gibson, do you even hear yourself right now? You sound like one of those paranoid Endtimes bugfucks on the internet. Why the hell would the DBS be involved?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying, I don’t trust them.”
“I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Do you still trust me?”
“Of course,” Jake said, “but not the people you report to.”
“Hey—you report to them too.”
“Reported,” Jake replied. “Past tense.”
“If you’ve got no intention of coming in, why call me?”
“I guess I wanted to get a sense of how much trouble we’re in. To tell you our side of the story, as best I can. And to feel out the odds of Amy winding up arrested if I drop her at a hospital somewhere.”
A pregnant silence stretched across the wire.
“Is she… okay?” Ian asked.
“Honestly? I don’t know. She took some shrapnel when the building blew, and yanked it out before I could stop her. I got her bleeding under control, I think, but I’m scared to shit about infection, and smart enough to know my training’s out of date.”
“You’ve gotta realize that if you bring her in, you’ll probably both get nabbed.”
“Yeah. Unless…”
“Unless what? Unless I help you put one over on the Feds? Sorry, pal, but I’ve got a family to support. Just tipping you off like this could cost me my job. My marriage too, maybe, since Stuart’s got his heart set on another kid, and adopting ain’t exactly cheap. If I stick my neck out any further, I could go to jail.”
“That’s what I figured. Still, it was worth a shot.”
“Maybe, if you had concrete evidence of your claims—”
“Cap, forget it. I understand.”
Ian sighed. “You can’t run forever, you know. And the longer you try, the worse it’s gonna be when they find you.”
“I know.”
“Do me a favor. Try not to get you or your partner killed.”
“Sure thing,” Jake said.
“And if there’s anything you need—”
Jake cracked a smile. It was an old joke between them, even if it didn’t seem like one today. “Call someone else.”
“You got that right,” the captain said, and hung up.