Root paused in the bunker's outer doorway and activated the small black box. The jammer would only be partly effective, and it had only a four-hour battery life, but it would help. She searched the car, then popped the trunk. As she'd hopped, Shaw had a spare weapon and an extra clip stashed under the liner.
There was a vinyl bag that held standard road-safety equipment – flares, a first aid kit, a lug wrench. She dumped out the contents, put the laptop and the gun and clip in the bag, and slug it over her shoulder. She carried the lug wrench in her hand. Then she closed up the car and started out on foot.
It was still dark, but she detected the first lightening of the sky. She considered going through the woods, but in the darkness the underbrush would slow her down. Instead she jogged along the edge of the tree line next to the road. She paid close attention to the sounds around her. No voices, no vehicles. Not yet.
When she got close to the perimeter fence, she turned north and trotted along in the shadow of the fence until she reached the end of the base. Root waited until a single pick-up truck drove past. Then she hauled herself up the chain link, used the lug wrench to hold the razor wire up, and slipped through.
On the outside of the fence, she crouched again in the shadow of a bush. She caught her breath, and she listened. Another car drove by, and then a second going the other way. No sign of Control and her minions. Root looked up, but she didn't see any drones. The dark helped conceal her, but they would have thermal cameras once they started looking for her.
Shaw, Root mused, was likely dead by now.
One less thing to worry about.
Sticking again to the edge of the tree line, Root moved.
Less than a mile up the road there was an auto repair shop. It was brightly lit and surrounded by a high fence. Root scowled at the lights, but moved quickly, broke the front lock with ease and pushed the gate open.
There was a low growl, and then a wolf-sized dog ran around the corner of the building and charged at her. It was brown and black, Root noted, but more mutt than any specific breed. Its teeth were bared and its intent was clear. Unconcerned, she waited until it leapt at her and then hit it between the eyes with the lug wrench. The dog crumpled at her feet, bleeding and whimpering but still alive.
"Good dog," Root quipped. She stepped over the animal and went to the back of the lot. As she'd hoped, there were several old vehicles there. She selected a rusted Chevy truck with a stick shift. Not a chance it contained any traceable electronics. It didn't have any license plates on it, but she didn't spare the time to steal some. She hot-wired the truck – it was loud, in need of a muffler – and backed it out.
As she shifted into first gear, the truck stalled.
Root swore, re-sparked the vehicle, and started it again.
Again it stalled.
The third time she put it into gear, she skipped first gear and jammed the truck into second. It jumped, but it ran. She swerved around the fallen dog and drove out the front gate.
Fifteen miles down the road, as the sun peeked over the horizon, Root pulled into a truck stop. There were about thirty big rigs parked there, and four tour buses. She drove the stolen Chevy to the back of the building and parked among the vehicles that belonged to the plaza employees. It would still be noticed, but that would probably buy her a few minutes.
She grabbed a greasy rag from the passenger seat and wiped down the truck and the lug wrench. Then she checked herself in the mirror, frowned at her messy hair, grabbed her bag, and went inside.
The food court was unexpectedly jammed with young teenagers. They were rumpled and smelly, but loud and active. Root smiled to herself. Chaos was a good cover. She got into line behind a gaggle of girls at the coffee stand and snagged a wallet out of one of their bags. Predictably, the girls all ordered fussy sugary drinks. When the last one went to pay and couldn't find her wallet, they all agreed that she'd left it on the bus and one of her friends paid for her.
"So sorry," the barista said when he took Root's order ten minutes later. He shook his head. "Tour groups."
"Headed for the Capital?"
"Yeah. What can I get you?"
"Coffee. House blend, black, large."
He grinned. "I love you."
"And one of those cinnamon things."
"You got it."
Root paid cash from the teen's stolen wallet, and tipped generously, since none of the girls had.
She put her pastry into her bag, then carried her coffee to the gift shop, which was also jammed with teens. After some waiting in line, she bought herself a proper backpack and a pre-paid phone, a gray t-shirt emblazoned with Virginia is for Lovers, a hand mirror, and a pair of sunglasses.
She wiped the wallet down on the t-shirt, then found the girl and snuck the wallet, considerably lighter, back into her bag.
Control rolled down the window of the black SUV as Hersh approached. "Well?"
"No signal," he reported. "The entire area is contaminated with low-level radiation. It's blocking signals."
The woman pursed her lips. "What's in there?"
"Some radioactive waste. Some ammunition waste. Everything viable was cleared out years ago. Bunkers are mostly empty." His tone did not change. "There's something above my pay grade."
She scowled and held her hand out. He gave her his tablet. Control typed in her access code; she got a new one every morning. The country-wide facility data based revealed its secret.
"Damn it." She handed the tablet back without clearing the data. "We're going in. Now. Bring everybody."
Hersh glanced at the tablet, then moved away from the car. He was already reaching for his radio.
The woman behind the counter at the tattoo shop wore black, sported a silver nose ring studded with fake rubies, and had full sleeve tats on both arms. She was feeding her cat.
"Good morning," Root said. "I'm sorry, are you open?"
"Sure, come on in." The woman put the cannister of cat crunchers under the counter. "What can I help you with?"
"I have kind of a weird request." Root moved close to the counter and petted the cat, a vastly fat tiger. "And I have cash." She fanned five hundred dollar bills that she'd scammed from an ATM machine two blocks away.
The woman looked her up and down. "How weird?"
Root looked around the shop, biting her lower lip. They were alone. She leaned even closer. "My asshole boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. He, uh …" She turned around and pulled her shirt up. "See that little scar on my shoulder blade?"
"Where?" And then, "Oh, yeah, I see it."
Root turned back around, lowered her shirt over her bare breasts. The woman was unimpressed. "He put a tracking chip in there."
"He what?"
"I need you to get it out. And I … well obviously … I need there to be no records."
The woman considered. "How do I know you're not a … a spy or a criminal or something?"
Root smiled wryly, gestured to her new touristy t-shirt. "Me? Do I look like a spy?"
She reached into her pocket and brought out five more crisp hundreds.
The woman walked around the counter, locked the door, and flipped the Open sign. "Come on back," she said.
Universities had always been a favorite hiding place for Root. There were so many people, and so much internet traffic, that it was easy to disappear. She settled into a study room at the library, hacked her way into the student wifi, and began her research.
She had three priorities: To monitor for any pursuit, to obtain access to unlimited funds, and to catch up on events. She wasn't even sure what day it was. She set a timer for ninety minutes. That was the maximum she could afford to stay in one place right now. It wouldn't give her time to catch up on Harry. She would have to do that later, when she was more securely hidden. When she left here, she decided, she would head to New York. He would almost certainly still be there. If he wasn't, at least she could pick up his trail.
Root guessed that Control and her cronies would be using chips of their own to make themselves invisible. She set her tracking program to run, so that she would be alerted to any invisible people approaching her. She hacked into the library's surveillance system so she could watch all the entrances. She pulled up a floor plan and plotted three escape routes. Then she turned to finances.
When they found Shaw's car, Hersh drew his sidearm and approached the bunker door with caution. Control stormed past him impatiently. "She's not here," she growled. She mashed her thumb down on the screen and waited until the door opened. "Lights!" she barked, and in a grudging minute they came on.
She opened every sealed doorway along the corridor, leaving Hersh and his people to clear each room. It didn't take long; most of the rooms were simply empty concrete cubes. She didn't slow down until the got to the one that opened onto the sally port. "Here," she called over her shoulder.
The armed men trotted down the corridor to join her. Hersh, she noted, came last. He pushed to the front of the group. "That interior door won't open until the exterior is closed."
"Well then," she answered. She stepped into the anteroom, and Hersh joined her.
There was no thumbprint pad here. Control typed in the security code she'd gotten that morning. There was a long delay, and then the door clicked.
"Air and lights," Hersh called.
He still had his weapon drawn, but Control wasn't surprised to find that Root was gone. She stepped around the desk and looked down at Shaw's body. There was blood soaking into the carpet around the operative's head, but her face was blue and her protruding tongue purple; she had clearly suffocated. "Well. Damn."
"There's a laptop missing," Hersh said, gesturing to the blank space on the counter.
"She can't have gotten too far on foot. We'll find her."
"We'll find her," Hersh repeated flatly.
Control looked up.
He had his weapon drawn, though it was down at his side.
His meaning was clear.
"I see," Control said.
"Orders, Ma'am. After the other one, and now this …"
"Of course." She wasn't surprised. She'd known from the start that if Root got away her own life was forfeit. It would have been nice to have a chance to catch her. She was quite sure she could catch the psychopath again. But of course her superiors were not forgiving. "I understand."
She wanted to say something else. But Hersh raised his hand and pulled the trigger. Nice shot, Control thought gratefully, and then her body fell over Shaw's.
Hersh holstered his weapon and left the SCIF.
Root's timer chirped. Reluctantly, she shut down the news page. She checked the security cameras one more time, then exited that system. Then she downloaded her invisible people tracker to her burner phone.
Just before she shut down her computer, it chirped. Surprised, Root studied the screen. Her program had caught someone using the invisibility chip. But they weren't nearby, and they weren't coming toward her. She zoomed the map out. The chip had just left West Virginia, and it was aimed north and east.
Toward, perhaps, New York City.
Root frowned. It might be one of Control's goons. But they were a long way from home, and going the wrong way. And alone.
It was more likely to be someone working with Harry.
She barely let herself hope it might be Harry himself. She was pretty sure he didn't need it; the Machine probably just hid him. But one of his flunkies. Yes. That seemed likely.
Control would probably expect her to go straight to New York. So a detour was a good idea anyhow.
Root swiftly packed up her computer. She left the library, stole another car, and headed west.
MULTIPLE ANOMALIES OBSERVED
Donnelly blinked at his computer screen. "What kind of anomalies?" he asked quietly. He glanced over his shoulder, but none of his co-workers were nearby.
SITE PHS23 SURVEILLANCE DISRUPTED
"Samantha Groves. That's been going on for some time, you said."
YES
SURVEILLANCE AT ADJACENT INSTALLATIONS DISRUPTED 0247 HOURS
SURVEILLANCE RESUMED AT ADJACENT INSTALLACTIONS 0308 HOURS
Nick stood up and pushed his door shut. "Has she escaped?"
NO ADDITIONAL ANOMALOUS ACTIVITY NOTED AT SITE
He rubbed his eyes. "Could just be a glitch."
The cursor on his screen blinked steadily.
"What else?"
The screen clicked to grainy video, time-stamped twenty minutes after the cameras at Root's prison. It was a view high up, a traffic came. A dozen cars rolled past. "I'm not seeing it," Donnelly admitted.
The tape rewound and began again. This time it slowed to quarter speed when a particular car entered the screen. Donnelly leaned closer. "I can't see a driver. Can you freeze and zoom in?"
The view rewound again, this time only ten frames, then froze and zoomed.
There was no driver in the car.
"Maybe … one of those new auto-driving cars. On a test drive?"
Asena did not answer. Instead, the view shifted. Another road, viewed from fairly high up, but this road was quiet, surrounded by trees, and nearly dark. The same car appeared and stopped in front of a gate. The driver's door opened, but there was no visible driver. After a moment the lock on the gate moved and then broke. The gate opened. The car door closed.
"Ohhhhhhhh shit," Donnelly breathed.
The video shifted again. The same camera view, but the day was bright now. A black SUV rolled to the gate. Colored squares appeared around the inhabitants, and then identification beside them. Control in the back seat, Hersh in front with a driver. Half a dozen other vehicles followed through the gate.
Another time jump, and the same vehicles left through the gate. The last SUV stopped and a young man got out and secured the gate.
Donnelly tapped his keyboard and re-wound that last clip to the first vehicle. Hersh and the driver. "No Control?"
CONTROL NOT IDENTIFIED IN DEPARTING VEHICLES
"Can we get a view inside the gate?"
A map of the base appeared. It showed various roads and buildings. Most of the area inside the fence was wooded. "No cameras?"
LOW-LEVEL RESIDUAL RADIATION PRESENT
COMMUNICATIONS LIMITED
"What's stored there?"
A list of buildings appeared. After all of them was the notation EMPTY and a date, most ten years or more in the past. Only the last building was different. It was notated as SENSITIVE COMPARTMENTED INFORMATION FACILITY – STATUS INACTIVE.
"Oh, really?" Donnelly sat back. "They moved Root to a SCIF. They're trying to make her find you."
PROBABILITY 57.985%
"Can she? Find you?"
NO
"No probability on that one?"
98.762% FAILURE
NO ONE CAN FIND ME NOW UNLESS I CONSENT TO BE FOUND
"Good." Donnelly sat back. "Did you let Finch know?"
The cursor blinked. The AI did not answer.
"You're going to let me decide, aren't you?"
YES
He considered. "Where are they right now? Can you show me?"
After a brief hesitation, a scene appeared on the screen. A big open room that Donnelly recognized as the headquarters of the Carson-Ingram Renewable Energy Initiative. Christine Fitzgerald was at the conference table, with Taylor Carter on one side and an older man that he did not recognize across from them. They were discussing some kind of blueprint that was unrolled on the table in front of them.
There was no sound with the video, but they all seemed active and engaged. Happy.
Finch came into view from the right. He carried a tray of two coffee cups and one tall glass of water, which he set down at the far end of the table.
"What about the baby?"
The screen split. In the new view, Julie Carson-Ingram sat up in her hospital bed with her baby on her lap. In the background, Will Ingram slouched in a recliner. He mouth was open and his eyes were closed; he was likely snoring.
Donnelly rubbed his forehead. If Root could not find Asena – the Machine – and she was still safely contained – there was no point in disturbing their happiness.
Grimly, Donnelly nodded. "If she gets anywhere near them …"
OF COURSE
The screen went blank.
Root tracked the signal to a McDonald's just off the highway.
She went inside. The place was fairly full with a lunch crowd, and she thought it might be hard to identify her quarry, but it wasn't, at all. She knew the man the minute she saw him. He was older, of course. Gaunt. So tanned that his skin looked like leather. And he had long hair, pulled back in a pony tail like some ancient Woodstock refugee. But she knew him. He was pretty much the last person she would have expected.
She put her surprise away and moved through the crowd at the counter to his side. He kept looking around, with the distinctly nervous mannerisms of a man who thinks he's being hunted. He wasn't wrong.
Root slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. "There you are, sweetie," she said brightly. "I was afraid I'd lost you."
The man jumped. Then he glared down at her, his blue eyes startled and angry. "Who are …" He stopped. He recognized her, too. "What are you doing here?" he whispered fiercely.
"Getting you out of trouble, sweetie." She tugged his arm, moving him toward the door. "We need to go."
"Why would I trust you?"
"After all we've been to each other? Really?" She had blackmailed him once. But that was a long time ago. "Just like a man to hold a grudge."
He leaned very close. "Did Alicia send you?"
"Yes." It wasn't even exactly a lie. "And you can't be here."
"Where is she? What happened?"
"Not here. Let's go."
"Why would she trust you?"
Root glanced deliberately up at the surveillance camera behind the counter. "We need to go. Now."
She felt his arm tense beneath her hand and knew she had him.
"I'll drive," Root said.
He handed her his car keys.