Down to the Wire (9 page)

Grinning, he settled back in his chair. Behind his shades, he surveyed the two-story white stone building that stood across the cobblestone walkway. The Museum of Modern Art.

It wasn’t a coincidence TL sent us here. Plenty of time to eat, drink, and get the museum’s layout.

A bank stood to the left of the museum and a jewelry store to
the right. A sliver of space separated each stone building from the next. Just like both sides of the whole street. Building after building after building. Houses, offices, businesses. It wasn’t really beautiful, but more interesting, unique. I’d never been in such a crammed space before.

Sounds of laughter drifted with the wind. I blinked out of mission mode and glanced around. We’d been alone when we first sat down. Now an elderly woman sat to the right and a businessman occupied the table straight ahead.

“Hot chick to the left,” Wirenut mumbled.

I glanced over. A sunbeam lit the wrought-iron table where “hot chick” sat alone. She wore a long, gauzy, white skirt, and her straight black hair hung halfway down her back. It blew with the wind, and she held it out of her way while talking with the waitress.

Wirenut was right. “Hot chick”
was
beautiful. With her dark skin and gorgeous smile, she and the waitress could be sisters. Or maybe mother and daughter.

“Hot chick” laughed again. She and the waitress exchanged a few more words in Rissalan, then, carrying her tray, the waitress meandered back over to us. She put our plates and coffees down then pointed to our water glasses. “
Nusi?
” More?

“
Pu vjepl vua
,” Wirenut replied. No, thank you.

We both dove in, forking up big bites of the food Wirenut had ordered us. Fried pork, eggs, and spicy rice. Why didn’t they feed us stuff like this at the ranch?

I paused in stuffing my face to take a sip of my iced coffee.

“Please tell me I didn’t look like a starving hyena just now.”

“Huh?” I glanced over at Wirenut. He was staring at the girl as she stared back at him.

She smiled. “
Jimmu.
” Hello.

Wirenut cleared his throat and took a sip. “Don’t screw this up,” he mumbled to himself. “Play it cool.” He sent her a small wave. “
Jimmu.
”

“
Enisodep?
” American?

“
Ztt.
” Yes.

“I speak English,” she said.

Wirenut smiled, obviously relieved. I mean, how much would that suck? Trying to communicate in Rissalan with somebody you liked.
Hello. Yes. Please. Where’s the bathroom?
That conversation would last all of one minute.

“My name is Katarina.”

I loved her melodic accent.

“Stan,” he introduced, using our fake names. “And this is my
friend
, Dana.”

I caught his emphasis on the word
friend
, making sure “hot chick” knew I wasn’t his
girl
friend. “Hi.”

Wirenut took another bite, chewed. “Ask her a question,” he mumbled to me without moving his lips.

Ask her a question?
Was he kidding? Conversation was not my strong point. I dug around in my head.
How old are you? Where do you go to school? Come here often?
I nearly laughed at the last one. It sounded like a corny pickup line. And Wirenut was the one picking her up, not me.

“Live around here?” he asked before I had a chance to open my mouth. He shot me a forget-it look.

I shrugged and went back to my food.

She nodded. “On a boat on the canal.”

A boat? Neat.

The waitress crossed in front of us. She placed a bowl of fruit on Katarina’s table. While they talked, we finished our breakfast.

They shared a laugh, and the waitress looked over her shoulder at us.

“Great. They’re talking about us.” Wirenut wiped his mouth.

“Hush,” I whispered. “They’re not talking about us.” I thought I was the only one who obsessed about stuff like that.

He propped his feet on the chair beside me. The waitress left Katarina’s table, and Wirenut did not hesitate to continue the conversation. “Do you go to school around here?”

“I’m taught at home.”

“You mean on the boat?”

She nodded.

“How old are you?”

Katarina cut a chunk of melon in half. “Sixteen. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

In my peripheral vision a man stopped in front of the museum. Sipping my iced coffee, I studied him. He was the first to show. Must be the manager. I peeked at my watch. 7:05 A.M. Museum opened at 8:00 A.M.

“How long are you here for?” She bit into her melon.

“About a week.” Wirenut touched the screw on the right side of his sunglasses, holding his finger there for a count of three. It activated the built-in cameras.

Smooth. I wasn’t even sure he’d seen the man. I clicked my watch head twice counterclockwise, engaging the microchip recorder. His glasses contained the same recorder. Mine served as a backup in case something went wrong. The glasses were a nifty little electronic device he had created.

“Are you here with family?” Katarina drank a bit of her hot tea.

“No. Vacation with friends.” Wirenut put the glasses on the table and pointed them directly at the museum.

There were two cameras. One filmed the building’s exterior, and one, according to Chapling, X-rayed through the stone walls to tape what went on inside.

Katarina pushed back from her table and stood, grabbing her bowl of fruit. She put some bills down and crossed the short distance between us.

Wirenut’s jaw twitched as he watched her come toward us. I could only imagine what thoughts spiraled through his head.
Don’t go, hot chick. Don’t go.

She extended her hand. “Nice to meet both of you. I wish I had more time to visit.”

He shook her hand, looking so bummed I wanted to hug him. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Her light brown eyes twinkled. Exotic eyes, kinda catlike. But
it was the friendliness of them, the intelligence behind them that caught my attention more than anything, like they invited true, soul-bonding conversation.

She shook my hand. “I’m here every morning for breakfast, if you want to join me sometime. I’d be happy to show you around.”

Wirenut’s bumminess immediately lifted. “Sounds good.”

With another smile, she caught the waitress’s eye and held up the bowl. The waitress nodded.

“I’m a regular. They let me take stuff because they know I’ll bring it back. Until later.” Katarina turned and strolled off down the cobblestone walkway.

Wirenut watched her until she turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

TL passed her coming toward us. He wound around a table, stopping at ours. “Let’s go.”

Wirenut and I looked at each other. Something wasn’t right.

TL put some bills on the table, and we strode off down the cobblestone walkway.

When we got far enough away, TL stopped walking. “Chapling decoded the name of the person who stole the quid pluolium.”

Wirenut nodded. “Who is it?”

TL’s jaw hardened. “Octavias Zorba. The same man who hired us to find it.”

“Oh, my God.”

TL turned to Wirenut. “Chapling also uncovered Zorba’s real name. It’s Antonio Badaduchi. Your uncle.”

[5]

Wirenut clenched his jaw.
“That’s impossible. My uncle’s on death row.”

TL glanced down the sunlit cobblestone walkway back to the outdoor café, where more people had gathered. “Come on.” He led us down a narrow alley bordered by the back side of a row of stone buildings. From his pants pocket, he pulled out a key chain with a small blue pyramid on it.

Wirenut glanced at it and then did a double take. “That’s my white-noise audio-feedback blocker.”

I blinked. “Your what?”

TL turned the pyramid’s top counterclockwise. “Although no one can detect it, the pyramid emits a static pulse that blocks others from hearing our conversation. Instead of hearing us, they hear white noise.”

“You made this?” I leaned in, curious as all get-out.

Wirenut nodded. “Two years ago. I was bored and decided to see if I could do it.” He shrugged. “I succeeded.”

TL stopped halfway down the alley. He turned and looked at Wirenut.

Seconds ticked by, and, with each one, my heart clanged
harder. When TL stared at you like that, it always preceded life-altering words.

“Your uncle,” TL finally spoke, “was never on death row.”

It took a pause for Wirenut to comprehend TL’s words. “B-but I put him there. I testified against him.”

“He was sentenced to death row. But he never made it.”

“What do you mean he never made it? He’s been on death row for twelve years.”

“En route to prison, he was taken by his own men.”

“Men? What men? My uncle didn’t have men. He managed an antiques store and collected junk.”

“That was his cover. He’s had his fingers in a lot of illegal stuff.”

“That’s impossible. I would’ve known. I was only five, but I would’ve known. My dad would’ve known.”

TL cupped his shoulder. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

Wirenut shrugged away. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.” He paced a couple of steps. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that maniac slaughtered my family and has been roaming free ever since?”

“Yes.”

“Son of a bitch!” Wirenut spun and crashed his fist into the stone building.

I took a step back. I’d never seen him so angry.

“Look at me,” TL requested.

Wirenut hit the building again. “Why didn’t I know? Somebody should have told me.”

TL grabbed his arm. “Look at me,” he commanded.

Wirenut opened his eyes.

“We’ll get him. You hear me? I promise.”

Anger visibly vibrated through Wirenut’s body. He stared at TL, shaking, clenching his jaw, his fists, seeming barely to control his fury. “You knew, didn’t you? That he never made it to death row.”

TL nodded once. “Obviously, though, I had no idea Antonio and Octavias Zorba were one and the same. His identity was hidden deep. I’ve never even met him. He sent a representative to hire us. And believe me”—TL narrowed his eyes—“I’m
extremely
irritated that I’ve been duped.”

“But you knew,” Wirenut gritted, “that he never made it to death row. You should have told me!” Wirenut reared back and rammed his fist into TL’s jaw.

I sucked in a breath.

TL barely moved with the impact.

I glanced from TL to Wirenut, and then back to TL. My heart broke with the hurt and sorrow I saw in their eyes.

A split second later, Wirenut bolted down the alley.

I looked at TL and started to go after Wirenut.

“GiGi,” TL murmured, “let him go.”

Wirenut stayed gone
the whole day. TL didn’t seem to be as worried as I was. As evening approached, I wondered what we would do. According to intel, we had to break into the
Museum of Modern Art that night to retrieve the first encrypted message. Even with all my notes, I knew I couldn’t penetrate the Rayver System. We needed Wirenut.

I disconnected the scrambler from the laptop as TL stared at the screen. He’d said barely a word to me since the episode this morning in the alley. Normally, I didn’t mind silence, but this was driving me mildly insane.

“What are we going to do if Wirenut doesn’t show up?”

TL shook his head. “He’ll come back.”

“What about Octavias Zorba?”

“He doesn’t know that we know he stole the toxin. He doesn’t know that we know he’s Wirenut’s uncle.” TL rubbed his hand across his jaw. “We’re going to do the only thing we can do. Decipher these encrypted messages, find the neurotoxin, and bring Octavias down.”

“But what if it’s all a trap?”

TL sighed. “It probably is. That’s why we’ve got the best people on our side. We’ll stay one step ahead of Octavias.”

Someone rapped on the hotel door six quick times (our secret knock). Wirenut. Thank God.

Sliding my glasses to the top of my head, I looked away from the laptop as he let himself in. Poor guy. He looked so worn-out. Being on an emotional roller coaster does that to a person. I just wanted to hug him.