Wired (7 page)

“Oh, definitely,” Melanie cooed. “You should definitely do that.”

But whether or not she was kidding, Jake was already gone, headed down the street at practically a jog.

“WELL,” MELANIE EXCLAIMED, ONCE Jake had disappeared down the block, “it looks like we won't have to bother with Operation Revenge after all. I guess Gaia's relationship is falling apart without us even having to interfere.” She grinned nastily. “Whatever. I told her Jake was a total player.” She didn't look at all sorry to be proven right.

“You think so?” Megan looked genuinely curious. “I mean, yeah, he's a flirt, and yeah,
I
definitely wouldn't mind if he was interested in taking a break from Gaia, but I don't know…. I mean, like we said, she has a way with guys, and he didn't act like they were on the skids.”

“Why would he tell us if they were?” Laura pointed out.

“I bet they're not done yet is all,” Megan said. “And to be honest, after the way she was acting in calculus, I kind of hope they're not. I actually feel a little bad for her. It looks like being a freak has finally gotten the better
of her. It's like… she finally
cares
what we think or something. Which she should,” she hurried to add. “I mean, it's about time. But I still say there's something to be learned from hanging around with Gaia Moore.”

“Please,” Melanie replied. “She's a total loser and completely hygienically challenged. I mean, really.”

“If she hangs with us, we can help her out with that,” Tammie mused. “Anyway, like Megan said, maybe it's worth a shot. She
was
being a little pathetic in class today. Come on—boyfriend trouble sucks. We've
all
been there.”

“Great, just what we need. A project—a
pathetic
project.” Laura shook her head. “It's like we're in some bad eighties movie where we do a makeover on the uncool girl and suddenly she's gorgeous and steals all of our men. I mean, cheerful dressing-room montage? No, thanks.”

“Sweetie, I've got news for you,” Megan responded. “In case you haven't noticed, she's
already
stolen all of our men. We might as well bring her over to our side.”

GAIA STRODE PURPOSEFULLY UP Seventh Avenue, headed toward St. Vincent's hospital. After the emotional roller coaster that had been her day at school, she
needed some downtime, and she couldn't think of anyone more qualified to help her achieve a state of semi-Zen than Ed. She was crawling out of her skin, second guessing her every thought process, and if there was one person in her life who could calm her down, it was Ed. Ed would never mince words or play games, and she might even be able to confide in him about her newly reconfigured genetic makeup. If she didn't tell someone soon, she was going to burst.

Bursting was bad.

She paused outside Two Boots, contemplating a thick slice of Earth Mother Sicilian. She could get one for herself and something disgustingly meaty and greasy for Ed, something no doubt banned by his health care professionals. After all, she'd practically been the one to put him in the hospital—it was the least she could do. Though their friendship seemed shakier than it had once been, their mutual interest in junk food had lasting power.
The ties that bind
, Gaia thought, only semi-cynically.

As she dug into her bag to check out the money situation, though, she saw something suspicious. Nothing obvious, just a slight movement from out of the corner of her eye. Someone with less finely honed peripheral vision, someone less inclined to go about her daily business on high alert might not have noticed a thing. Gaia, however, was too well trained to play dumb. She'd had too many close encounters of
her own not to know that something that
looked
fishy probably
was
fishy. She whirled around and backed up slowly, her well-worn Chucks moving soundlessly across concrete.

There. In the alley.

A young girl, probably about Gaia's age but more firmly built and solid, leaned against the brick wall of an abandoned building. The structure had probably at one point served as a corner deli, but it was obvious that the store had been vacant for a while. The pavement of the alley was littered with broken glass, cigarette butts, shredded paper, and stamped-out wads of gum. Lovely. Gaia's new friend was hunched over, her stout frame bent in such a way that her long, dark hair hung in straggly clumps over her shoulder. She was shrouded by a thick cloud of menace that was only enhanced by dark, droopy clothing and a chain connected from a loop on her belt to the sagging pocket of her torn cords. It didn't take x-ray vision to make out that the girl was leaning over someone else. Someone smaller. Someone pressed nervously against the side of the building. Someone afraid.

Gaia's throat caught. This was it. This was the type of moment that she lived for. Someone gross and greasy was threatening someone weaker. It could be a standard mugging; it could be some kind of small-potatoes drug deal. It didn't look like there was a weapon involved: the would-be assailant was clearly
relying on her size advantage to overpower her opponent. But one couldn't be sure.

The blood rushed to Gaia's ears and her heart began to pound. Her fists suddenly felt clammy. Was she going to go all Pink Ranger, or was she going to freak out? Each second that passed felt like a tortured eternity.
I have to do this. I can do this
, she reminded herself.
I am trained for this. This is my job. God only knows what's going to happen to the smaller girl if I don't step in. This reaction I'm having, it's normal. It's just jitters. I can control it
. She tried to reason with her psyche, to call upon all of her training to reinforce confidence in herself that she was more than prepared for this moment.
I'm not scared. I'm not scared. I'm not scared
, she repeated, mantralike, in a hoarse whisper. She had to talk the fear down if she wanted to get through this and do what had to be done.

Screw that. I ‘m
terrified.

She heard a muffled yelp from the alley and saw the larger girl bend farther forward. Based on her stance, Gaia could see that she had the smaller girl's wrist in her meaty hand and was twisting. That was it. That was the final straw. Gaia's indignation overpowered her fear.

In a flash she leapt halfway down the alley, landing, Jackie Chan style, just behind the assailant. She stepped one foot in front of Large's right leg and reached her right arm out, grabbing hold of the intertwined
hands. Using all of the force of the right side of her body, she jerked her hand forcefully, causing the thwarted criminal to let go of her victim and flipping her over in an instant.

As soon as Large hit the ground, Gaia stepped squarely over her. “Back off,” she growled, hoping like hell that her rapid-fire heart palpitations weren't actually audible. Inside her head, the sound was deafening.

The diminutive victim—a mousy, washed-out blond who couldn't have weighed more than ninety-five pounds—took the opportunity to bolt. She dashed down the alley at warp speed without so much as a thank-you to her savior, who was doing her best at the moment to avoid turning pale.

Gaia was used to passing out after a massive physical exertion. This didn't qualify. The waves of blurriness that danced before her eyes could only be attributed to her fear, she knew. This hadn't been a fight, had barely been more than a scuffle. She wasn't having a blackout, she was having a spaz-out, like a typical girlie-girl scared out of her wits.
Be careful what you wish for
, she thought fleetingly, unamused by the irony of the situation. She squelched the spaz urge as best she could, managing to squawk in what she hoped was a vaguely threatening tone, “Pick on someone your own size.”

Large responded with an unimpressed grunt but didn't make the mistake of trying to move or otherwise
overpower Gaia. She turned her head to one side, looking away and obviously willing Gaia to be off, finally. The crisis had been averted.

Gaia's heartbeat finally slowed. The immediate threat had passed. This girl wasn't going to fight back. She could do this. She was prepared for this. It was a calculated risk, and it had worked. She exhaled deeply, relieved.

She turned on her heel to leave, to resume the day's events as though they'd never been briefly interrupted by superhero crime-stopping pursuits. As she stalked out of the alley, though, she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder. Thankfully, Large was making no attempt to rise from the pavement. But Gaia noticed something she hadn't seen before. A glint of color against the black-and-gray asphalt.

Slowly, cautiously, she edged back toward the scene of the crime. Leaning forward, she could now make out a colored piece of paper flattened against the ground. It almost looked like the tattoo prizes that could be found in the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. She knelt down and peeled the paper up into her hand with her fingernail, studying the image more closely. A strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail during the scuffle dropped into her line of vision and she pushed it impatiently back. The illustration was unmistakable. It was a small square of white paper,
and just in the center, gleaming brightly at her, were four perfect renderings of a bright, vivid polka dot. Instantly Gaia realized what she held in her hand, what she was looking at. And instantly a feeling of dread overtook her.

Oranges
.

Ed had no idea who this hot-and-cold mannequin was.

FOR THE THIRD TIME THAT AFTERNOON Jake retrieved the crumpled e-mail printout from the back pocket of his jeans, smoothed it out as much as was possible at this point, and squinted at the address.
121 Canal Street
He stared again at the simple white door that stood before him. One twenty-one, no doubt about it. He inhaled deeply. The air was heady with exhaust fumes, exotic cooking spices, and ripe garbage from an overflowing trash can that stood at the corner of the sidewalk. All in all, the location was thoroughly unimpressive. But Jake knew enough about Oliver by this point to know that nondescript was the order of the day. The door before him was shabby and splintering and looked like something that would have crumpled at even the slightest tap, but there was a reason that Oliver had provided him with a door code. Jake knew it would have been literally impossible to infiltrate the rickety-looking walk-up without it.

Carefully Jake punched a set of numbers into a touch pad that had been installed in the outer doorway. He had a moment of wavering doubt, but when he jimmied the doorknob and shoved lightly against the door with his hip, it gave way with only slight
resistance. He stepped into the entryway of the building, which was no more impressive on the inside. “Hello?” he called out.

There was no answer. Of course. Oliver's instructions had been very specific: he'd been told to proceed directly to the third floor. Jake made his way up the warped, unsteady staircase, taking pains to avoid the odd glue trap that had been left out. Thankfully, the traps were all empty. Small favors and all that. Though he was fairly certain mice would be the least of his concerns today.

The third-floor landing didn't appear to hold much promise: the floor was dusty and hadn't been swept in… well, hadn't been swept in a while. More mousetraps were tossed to the far corners of the hallways, collecting lint, which was slightly preferable to the alternative, considering. But the door directly to Jake's left was clearly marked 302, which was exactly where Oliver had promised he'd be waiting. Jake knocked uncertainly, then decided that Oliver wouldn't be moved by his indecision. Oliver preferred a man who knew his own mind. Jake stepped more confidently through the door.

He was greeted immediately with the sight of Oliver's back. The room was small and bare, furnished only with an ancient floor lamp radiating minimal light from a naked bulb, a wooden desk that had seen better days, and an office chair that could easily have
been swiped from the street. It was missing a wheel, Jake noticed. But at the desk Oliver was punching furiously at the keypad of a state-of-the-art iMac, barely taking note of Jake's arrival. Jake knew Oliver well enough to know that his nonreaction to his guest's arrival was one part intimidation tactic, one part intense span of attention. Sweat stood out on his brow, and his gaze was locked in fierce concentration.

“Hey,” Jake said. His voice sounded too loud. “Five-thirty. I'm here. What have you got?”

“Shhh!” Oliver reprimanded, tapping out a final thought and slamming down on the control key. Then, as if remembering his initial invitation, he swiveled in his chair to face Jake. “Oh, yes,” he said by way of greeting. “I'm glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn't miss it,” Jake replied easily, coming closer to catch a glimpse of the computer screen. It was devoid of anything especially juicy, but he could tell that Oliver had been sending out a flurry of e-mails just as Jake arrived. “You've got info on the bastards after Gaia?”

“Yes, of course. Some of my sources have intercepted various messages…. Look here.” He pointed at the screen. “Imperative for testing that further samples be taken from the subject for hair follicle tests. A few strands will be sufficient, but a dozen will be more useful….'” He scrolled down the screen, continuing to read select passages aloud. “‘Confrontation with the
subject should be kept to a minimum.'” He turned from the screen and back to Jake, his face impassive. Jake could tell Oliver expected him to make something of the passages he'd just read. Too bad he was stumped.

Jake's forehead wrinkled in concern. “So you're saying Gaia's the subject?” That much was pretty clear. Why else would that information be of any interest to Oliver?