The McCall Initiative Episodes 4-6

Dedication

This series is dedicated to Oregon’s finest governor, Tom McCall, who harkened in a wave of environmental awareness in the late ’60s and early ’70s that transformed the state and influenced the entire nation.

Among many other accomplishments, McCall was responsible for:

• The first Bottle Bill in the nation. Nine other states have since adopted this legislation, and more are currently in the process of doing so.

• The Beach Bill, which gives the public access to all beaches.

• Land use planning, which protects the farm and forest land Oregon’s economy relies on and prevents urban sprawl.

• The Bicycle Bill, which dedicates 1% of transportation funds to bike and pedestrian paths

• Vortex 1, the first and only state-sponsored rock concert.

Tom McCall was a creative problem solver who believed in making short-term sacrifices for the long-term greater good. To learn more about this amazing man, visit the Tom McCall Legacy Project’s website: http://www.tommccall.org/

Heroes are not giant statues framed against a red sky. They are people who say; This is my community, and it’s my responsibility to make it better.

- Governor Tom McCall

Cascadia, 2063

The McCall Initiative

Episode 4: Liberation

Chapter 1

Logan

Piper stands glaring at me, arms crossed and back straight. Okay then, what’s this spectacular idea Sarto gave you?

I can’t blame her for being skeptical. Liberating Jefferson Cooper from the vice president’s clutches is the most outrageous thing I’ve come up with so far.

It’s simple, really. If DeBrassie’s men can pose as contractors to get into the Benson, so can we. That’s how I’ll get a keycard for the elevator. I’ll go up to the eleventh floor, tell DeBrassie I’m there to transfer the prisoner, and walk right out with Cooper.

Piper stares at me, her mouth open. There’s no way that can work.

Maybe not, I say. But it’s our best shot.

As little as she thinks of Cooper, and as dead set as she is against the idea of us rescuing him, I’m anticipating a huge battle. But the next thing that comes out of her mouth is the last thing I expect.

I’m coming with you.

What? Bailey gawks at her from the booth where Zoey has her boxed in. Piper, that’s crazy. You need to stay here where it’s safe.

Piper scalds her with a look. Why? So you three can take all the risks again? You’re the ones who still have something to lose.

What makes you think you could even do it? Bailey asks. You haven’t so much as walked out that door in a month.

Then I’ll have to get over myself, won’t I?

Right. You’re just gonna march down to the Benson and bust out a guy you don’t even like.

Whether I like him or not doesn’t matter. Logan’s right. He’ll be useful. And I, for one, am ready to let someone else take over this fight.

Are you sure you understand what you’re getting into? I ask. Everything we do will be caught on video, and with your record, the facial recognition software is sure to identify you.

A frown wrinkles Piper’s forehead. You think that’s going to work against us?

No. In fact, it will probably be quite a psychological blow when Sarto learns you’re not only capable of tapping his communications, but also snatching the president out from under his nose.

Then why should I give a rat’s right foot?

Because you’re the face of this rebellion, Bailey says, and you’ve got no business taking stupid risks.

She has a point. But I can see there will be no talking Piper out of this, despite the tremble in the muscles along her jaw line.

Let it go, Bailey, I say, even though I don’t like the idea any better than she does. I’m going to need help, and Piper has a right to make her own decisions.

Bailey shakes her head. You’re both too recognizable. You should let me do it.

After that incident in the diner, you’re just as recognizable as we are. Besides, if you were to get caught, it could compromise Piper’s hiding place.

"And if you were to get caught, it would compromise the whole movement!"

You’re not going, Bailey, Piper says. You’ve taken too many risks already. It’s bad enough Logan will have to go, but he’s the only one of us who can convince DeBrassie that Sarto sent him.

Fine. Bailey turns away, nose in the air, and sinks back against the wall. Her fingers tap out a disinterested beat on the tabletop.

After a moment, she softens. Well, you’ll both need disguises, she says, stroking her chin as she studies her friend. Even though the theatrics are mildly annoying, I don’t try to rush her.

Piper, you can use the one I gave you, but we’ll have to come up with something a little more elaborate for Logan. She turns toward me, her disappointment waning as the intrigue of a new project takes over. I’ll dye your hair, maybe give you a little trim. And a fake mustache might make you look older.

Do you really think changing my hair color is going to fool DeBrassie?

I can set you up with a beer belly, too. Maybe some tats or an earring. You wouldn’t believe how a few little things like that can fool people.

It’s a good point. Unless someone’s professionally trained or particularly astute, they tend to focus on superficial details rather than things like facial structure. The trouble is, I have no idea how well DeBrassie’s been trained.

All right then, I say. You come up with a list of things we’ll need for disguises. Sparky, why don’t you do a search on that ‘Quality One’ Sarto’s email referred to. See if it’s a real contractor. I’d feel better if we could fabricate some sort of credentials with a logo. And find out everything you can about the Benson. I’ll go downtown to take a look at the place. I should have plenty of time to get back here and pick you up before Dad expects us home.

Before I leave, I take a few minutes to check the Benson’s website. I discover it’s a high-class hotel, built a hundred and fifty years ago by Portland philanthropist Simon Benson. Considering it’s used to house foreign dignitaries, I don’t expect to find a floor plan, and I’m right. But I do learn the address and glean one other important detail from an online review: a tunnel connects the building to a parking garage across Stark Street.

I drive downtown, park the Toyota on the street, and walk to the parking facility. The underground passageway is carpeted and well lit, looking like any other hotel corridor. I pass through a set of glass doors into a hallway on the lower level of the Benson. Nobody’s around, so I take some time to explore. Several of the doors are locked, one leads into a narrow utility stairwell, and two others are clearly for restrooms. Across from these is a small lobby with three elevators, the first of which has an out of order sign taped to the front. No doubt, it’s the one that’s been designated for use by the construction crews.

When I round the corner, I find an ornate stairway, and across from it, a banquet room. I continue upstairs to the south end of a high-ceilinged lobby replete with marble and a dark, rich natural wood. While I’ve seen no obvious guards, it’s possible Sarto was smart enough to have one pose as a hotel patron.

The check-in counter is to my left, and the main doors to my right, with a small restaurant and bar at the far end. I locate the concierge desk near the bar. Tomorrow I’ll have to walk up and bluff the person behind it into believing I’m both an adult and a contractor hired by the government. Despite everything we’ve done so far, the idea leaves my mouth dry and my palms damp.

I want to explore upstairs, but once I’m inside the elevators, I discover I can’t go beyond the second floor without a keycard. Renting a room is out of the question. I’m not old enough, and even if I were, I wouldn’t want to leave a trail. With the luxury of more time, Zoey could make me a fake ID, but as it stands, I’ll have to hope we can find something online that will give me a clue about the layout of the upper floors.

* * *

Back in the neighborhood of the White Eagle, I pass the protestors gathered out front, park a few blocks from the Superfund site, and walk. I’ve created several additional paths through the woods to disguise the one leading to the mouth of the tunnel. If anyone were to look carefully, they’d still find the entrance, but at least this lessens the possibility.

It’s nearly five o’clock when I get back to the tavern. There will only be time for a quick planning session before I need to take Zoey home.

We all sit down, and I fill everyone in on what I’ve learned. I think we can pull this off, I say, but in addition to the disguises, we’re going to need a few other things. Handcuffs and a gun, for starters. I think I can get cuffs at—

Whoa, Piper says, slapping the table. Back up the crazy train. No way am I going to be part of shooting anyone.

Piper, we’re disrupting a coup. If we want to get the president out of there, we have to be willing to take desperate measures. DeBrassie won’t hesitate to pull a weapon, and I don’t plan on letting either of us be arrested or shot tomorrow.

She turns on the seat, leaning away from me. And where are you going to get something like that? Cooper might’ve relaxed the gun control laws, but you’ve still got to be eighteen to buy one.

I could get one, Bailey says. My dad has a collection. He used to take me to the shooting range all the time.

Piper fires a nasty look in her direction.

So you’d know what you were dealing with, I say.

Bailey smirks, draping her arms over the back of the booth. Of course. Don’t worry, you’re not going to wind up with a .357 and a box of .22 ammo. Have you ever shot a gun?

Yes. I don’t offer details. I’m not sure she’ll believe virtual reality is legitimate training in this case. I’m not sure I believe it.

When she doesn’t press for specifics, I get on with my plan. Okay, the next issue is how we’ll deal with potential guards. I didn’t see any in the lobby. That either means they’re plainclothes or Sarto’s decided to forgo them so he can keep appearances as normal as possible. Regardless, we should be prepared. Zoey, can you look up where we might get a hold of chloroform or something to knock them out?

My sister’s eyeing me across the table as though an alien presence has seized control of my body. I don’t know whether that’s due to the lie about my experience with guns or the admission that I’d be willing to use one.

Chloroform? Piper says. Logan, that can cause fatal cardiac arrhythmias. Anyway, it’s highly regulated.

Then maybe Zoey can find something else.

"No! You can’t go around knocking people out with random chemicals you learned about on Wikipedia. You could kill someone that way."

Bailey gives her several slow, deliberate blinks. "So, like, what do you think he should do? Shoot the guards?"

Of course not! Piper whips around to face her. Why are you guys giving me such a hard time?

Before I even realize what I’m doing, my hand is on Piper’s arm. I’m sorry. I appreciate that you don’t want anyone to get hurt. If it’s at all possible to avoid it, I will. But you have to understand, the odds are against us and we’re dealing with variables we can’t even begin to anticipate.

No chemicals, Piper says, pulling away. If you can get that close, you can tie them up or something.

I sigh. Okay. No chemicals.

So how are you going to get out of there with Jefferson? Bailey asks. It’s not like you can trot him through the lobby.

You could stash him in a laundry cart, Zoey suggests. That’s what they always do in movies.

That’s provided we could find a laundry cart and get it all the way to the parking garage without drawing suspicion, I say. You have to remember, we’ll be dressed as contractors.

Then how? Bailey asks.

Occum’s Razor says the simpler, the better, so we’ll put a hoodie on him and tell him to keep his head down.

Piper rubs the back of her neck. You really think people will fall for that?

Actually, it’s perfect, Bailey says. No one’s likely to look twice. And you’ll be there in the middle of the day. That’s the least busy time for a hotel. Other than housekeeping, there won’t be many people around.

Housekeeping won’t bother you. They’re on the fourteenth floor, Zoey says. When we all turn to stare at her, she shrugs. You asked me to do research.

What else have you learned?

Not much. I looked everywhere for a floor plan, but I didn’t find one. The best I could get was the room number for the Presidential Suite—1120. I couldn’t dig up anything on Quality One, either. I guess they’re not a real company.

Then we’ll have to hope the concierge won’t ask for credentials. I don’t like the idea of winging a detail this vital, but I can’t see any other option.

I can come up with something, Zoey says. You’ll just have to hope nobody looks too closely. So what are you going to do about a car?

I’ll use ours.

Her lips purse skeptically. Are you sure that’s a good idea? Maybe you should rent one.

I shake my head. You have to be twenty-one. Besides, the Toyota is perfect for the job. There’s plenty of room for Cooper to hide in back, and I can darken the windows so he won’t be spotted.

Yeah, Bailey says, but what’s your dad gonna do when the cops trace it to him and come knocking on his door?

They won’t. I’ll employ the same deception technique you’re going to use with me. I’ll swap out the license plates, put another bumper sticker over the Cooper ’63 one, and maybe pick up a couple of those tacky animated murals. I mulled this over on the way back from the Benson, and I’m fairly sure it will work. As Bailey said, it’s the little details people latch onto.

What about the Vehicle Tracking System? Zoey asks.

What about it? We’ll be gone before they can log in and trace us. When they run the plates from the images they get off the security camera, they’ll learn they don’t belong to us. They can try hunting down every gold Toyota Cypress in this area, but there are thousands of them, and Dad hasn’t registered ours in Oregon yet. I don’t see how they could connect us to the rescue.

Logan, Zoey says, giving me a how-can-I-explain-this-so-even-an-idiot-will-understand look. That’s not how it works. The computer in every vehicle has an electronic signature, and the government keeps track of where they’ve been. The cops don’t need to ‘log in.’ All they have to do is go through the record of who was near the Benson when the president escaped. It might take a long time, but eventually they’re going to figure out our car was there and realize it belongs to the people living in Piper’s old house. Don’t you think that’s going to look suspicious?

It takes a moment for her words to fully register. When they do, an icy shockwave rocks me to the core. I look at her in horror.

It’s no big deal, though, Zoey says, flipping her long blond hair out of her eyes. I can build a jammer. I’ll just need to stop for a few parts on the way home.

"Zoey, it is a big deal. They could have tracked us on one of our earlier missions. Why didn’t you mention this before?"

She shrugs. With the video, no one was watching yet, and with the trojan, it didn’t matter if anyone saw us.

But you had to know they’d trace the broadcast back to that weather station.

I guess I didn’t think of it. You’re supposed to be the mastermind. I’m just tech support.

I shut my eyes and draw a deep breath. This is bad. Very bad. Everyone counts on me to anticipate potential problems. How could I have missed something so vital?

It never occurred to me to worry about the tracking system, I say. I thought we’d be safe because of all the other vehicles pinging off the locator in that area.

Nope, Zoey quips. It doesn’t matter how many vehicles are around. They can identify each one and pinpoint it to within a hundred feet.

I sink against the back of the booth, the ice settling in my gut. Not only did I give our enemies a direct path to our door, I also implicated our father. No matter how despicable I might find what he did to Piper’s family, he doesn’t deserve to go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit.

I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Bailey says. If they were gonna bust us, they would’ve done it by now. Anyway, my dad says the whole vehicle tracking thing is a mess. After the secession, the U.S. said if we weren’t willing to pay some ginormous licensing fee for their software, we’d need to design our own. Jefferson’s never been too hot on getting in people’s business that way, so he keeps fighting with the politicians who are, and we never get a straight answer about what’s going on. Bottom line—we might have a network and we might not.

‘Might not’ isn’t good enough, I say.

Well, look at it this way. Sarto’s henchmen watched me for weeks. If the Vehicle Tracking System was working, don’t you think they’d have figured out I was spending an awful lot of time here?

Zoey gives me a humoring smile across the table. Don’t worry, Logan. I’m sure we’re okay, but I’ll build a jammer tonight just to be safe.

Her words are no comfort. I made a potentially devastating assumption that put all of us at risk. If I blew it this badly three weeks ago, how can I be sure I haven’t overlooked something just as important this time?

* * *

It’s impossible to sleep. I can’t stop running through scenarios in my head, scanning for potential snare-ups and oversights. There’s so much I don’t know. So many ways things could go wrong. How can I even begin to cover the bases? I’d thought the mission to upload the trojan to DeBrassie’s laptop was a nail-biter since it could have got us arrested or deported. But attempting to rescue Cooper could get us killed. And I’ve committed to letting Piper help.

At five o’clock, with the glow of dawn edging through my window, I give up trying to sleep and get out of bed. My head is full of mud, and there’s a burning sensation behind my eyes. Not a great set-up for our most difficult mission ever. The only good point I can see in any of this is that if we succeed, I can hand over the reins to Cooper. Before Zoey pointed out my blunder, I wasn’t sure I wanted to give up my position of leadership. Now, I’m not sure I deserved it to begin with.

It’s too early to do anything for the mission, so I read. I’ve gone through The Art of War so many times, I almost have it memorized. But I approach it the way a lot of people approach a holy text: to appreciate the truth and beauty of the ideas and remind myself of things I already know.

At six o’clock, my stomach informs me it’s time for breakfast. I go to the kitchen, where Dad is already at the table. The sight of him shatters my appetite. No matter how angry I’ve been, I don’t think I could forgive myself if my carelessness got him arrested. I fix a bowl of cereal and sit down.

Dad looks up from The Oregonian app on his tablet. I wouldn’t have expected you to be up this early during summer vacation.

I want to talk to you about something.

Oh?

I push my cereal around with my spoon. Yes. I was hoping I could take Zoey to OMSI today. It’s a science museum down by the waterfront. They’ve got electric carts, so she wouldn’t have to walk, and—

Logan—

It’s just that this girl, Maddie, is going to be there. Zoey met her Friday night when we went to that movie in the park, and her mom invited us. You know how hard it is for Zoey to make friends. It’s easy to fabricate a believable alibi when you start with a kernel of truth. Especially if that kernel is emotionally loaded. With Zoey’s limited physical ability, and the fact that she’s missed so much school, it’s tough for her to get to know kids outside of a hospital setting. And after the first few tragic endings, she stopped trying there. It’s something that’s always troubled Dad.

You had her out all day yesterday.

This is different. Zoey doesn’t know any kids here in Portland, and she’s not going to risk getting close to the ones in the Doernbecher study.

Dad takes his time spreading butter over half an English muffin. I know I’m digging myself in deep, fabricating this Maddie girl who will never be able to follow up on the commitments I’ve made for her. But it will completely frost Zoey if she has to stay home while we rescue her hero. And I have my bases covered. She’ll stay with Bailey at the White Eagle. If anything should go wrong, Bailey will bring her home.

Dad sets down the butter knife. Okay, Logan, but don’t come to me tomorrow asking if you can take her to the zoo, or the forestry center, or hiking the Pacific Crest Trail.

I force myself to grin at his joke. Of course not. Thanks, Dad. Zoey’s really going to appreciate this.

I now have one less thing to worry about, but the thought isn’t at all reassuring.

Chapter 2

Logan

Once Dad’s gone, Zoey and I leave to find a quiet street where I can cover our political bumper sticker with a Portland Timbers one and swap out the license plates. Last night, I lifted only the fronts from two different vehicles in the Lloyd Center parking lot to reduce the risk of the losses being reported. I also picked up a hoodie, a tool box, and a roll of duct tape, and found a pair of handcuffs in a novelty store.

I’m a little worried about using Dad’s car, since there’s a possibility Sarto will order the police to pull over every gold Toyota Cypress they see, but I think the risk is minimal. He won’t want anyone knowing he abducted Cooper, which means he’ll likely employ his own men for the search. It would be more discreet to access a DMV list and do a quiet inquiry. And first, he has to realize our Toyota hasn’t left behind an electronic signature.

The morning is cool and overcast, so I’m wearing a light jacket, which will serve to hide Bailey’s gun. Earlier, I had a moment of panic when I realized I hadn’t given this detail any consideration. Even though the solution came quickly, I was left with one haunting thought. What else am I missing?

On the way to the White Eagle, Zoey explains that all I have to do is keep the jammer in the car, and it will render us invisible to the network. She’s in great spirits, excited at the prospect of meeting her hero and completely oblivious to my solemn mood. That’s just as well. Seeing her nervous would only feed my doubts.

By nine o’clock, we’re at the tavern. Piper meets us downstairs. Though her head is high and her shoulders squared, her front teeth are worrying at her lower lip.

Are you sure you want to do this? I ask.

I volunteered, didn’t I?

She regularly snipes at Bailey, but I’m not used to being on the receiving end. Thinking it best to direct my attention elsewhere, I grip my sister’s shoulder and steer her toward the steps. Let’s go upstairs and start getting ready.

When we’re seated at the powwow table, Zoey pulls four small cards from her pocket. I made you some IDs, but the company credentials are probably useless, since I don’t know what the Quality One logo is supposed to look like. I borrowed this one from an air conditioning business in Pennsylvania. She deals them out, along with the other two cards. Logan, I made your driver’s license an Idaho one, since that’s less likely to be recognized as fake. You can say you just moved to Portland. I didn’t figure it would work to do both of them that way, but since you’re supposed to do the talking, maybe they won’t ask for Piper’s. Neither one’s going to stand up to a close look, and especially not a scan, but if they don’t ask you to pull them out from behind the plastic windows in your wallets, you might be okay.

So we’re just hoping no one asks to see our ID, Piper says, not taking her eyes off the cards in her hand.

Pretty much.

It’s far from an ideal situation, but it isn’t like we have any better options. This entire mission is going to require a perfect storm of luck.

Within fifteen minutes, Bailey joins us. She takes off her backpack, pulls out a gun, and hands it to me, grip first. Here ya go, Cap’n. Glock nine millimeter. The magazine holds ten rounds, but it only takes a second to change, so I brought you a couple of spares. Unless you get in a huge firefight, you should be in good shape.

Piper stares at the weapon as if she’s expecting a spontaneous volley of bullets. When I take it and set it on the powwow table, her eyes follow it and stay there.

Now let’s get on to the disguises. Bailey digs into her pack and pulls out a pair of cowboy boots. Along with changing up your image, I figured these would make you taller.

The statement tears Piper’s gaze away from the gun.

I pull the boots on. They fit perfectly, and I make a mental note of it. Maybe I’ve been underestimating Bailey’s skill set.

The cowboy thing looks good on you, she says, producing khaki uniform shirts with embroidered nametags that read, Andy and Cheryl and handing them to us.

Piper shakes hers out, eyeing it skeptically. It could easily fit me.

They came from a thrift store, and there weren’t many with girls’ names, so I couldn’t be picky, Bailey says. I know it’s too big, but if you wear it open over a tank top, no one’s likely to notice.

Whatever you say.

Bailey glances from her to me, and I answer with a faint shake of my head. If Piper says she can do this, I believe her. Maybe becoming more engaged in what we’re doing will boot her out of the funk she’s been in.

Bailey’s forehead wrinkles momentarily, but she continues in a chipper tone. Okay, Logan, let’s get to it. She empties her backpack, placing everything on the table beside the gun. Brown hair dye. An artificial mustache. Sparkling apple cider to celebrate our inevitable success. Temporary tattoos—not the cheap type, but the good ones that look real.

The final item is a bag of quilt batting. For your beer belly, she says. Piper, is there an Ace bandage in the first aid kit I brought you? I’m going to need something to hold this in place.

I think so.

While Piper looks for the bandage, Bailey takes me into the kitchen to dye my hair. I know you’re worried about what your dad’s gonna think, she says as she guides my head under the warm water. So I made sure to get the stuff that washes out. It comes with a special shampoo that removes all the color.

Have you used it before?

Nope. But I have great faith in modern cosmetics.

She rubs in the gel, lets it sit the designated time, and then rinses out the excess.

Piper comes in while Bailey’s blowing my hair dry. She boosts herself up to sit on one of the counters without saying a word. Her face is ashen, her posture so rigid it almost hurts to look at her.

You know, you don’t have to do this, Bailey says over the hum of the hair dryer. I can be Cheryl.

No.

Bailey hesitates as if waiting for more, but that’s all Piper has to say. Okay then. She shuts off the dryer and reaches for the mustache. After adhering it, she sorts through her assortment of tattoos.

I need to wear my jacket to hide the gun, I say. So it’s probably not going to leave you a lot of options.

That’s okay. I can be creative. She tattoos a bracelet of barbed wire around my left wrist and a scorpion on the right side of my neck.

You better hope those come off, Zoey says from the doorway. Dad’s going to think you joined a gang or something.

Bailey steps back to admire her work. Perfect. Y’know, I think you might be even more scorching with brown hair.

My face fills with warmth, and Zoey snorts. I glance at Piper. She’s staring at the floor, a faint blush brightening her cheeks.

All righty, Bailey says, now we take a few points off your heat factor. She leads us out to the main room, where she tells me to remove my shirt. I have no problem doing this in front of her—she’s all business—but I’m surprisingly self-conscious with Piper watching.

Bailey pulls some batting from the bag, wads it up, and has me hold it to my bare stomach while she wraps the bandage around me. She doesn’t go overboard, just creates enough of a paunch to give me a less-fit look. I quickly put on Andy’s shirt, tuck it into my pants, and stand up straight, facing the girls. Well, do I look old enough to pass for a government contractor?

Definitely, Bailey says.

Maybe. If Cascadia’s desperate, Zoey adds.

Piper’s too busy fighting a smile to venture an opinion. At least she doesn’t look so scared anymore.

Unfortunately, I’m going to have to change that.

We probably ought to go over the plan, I say, making Piper’s almost-smile disappear. She gives me her full attention, and I go on. "Once we get to the parking garage, we’ll enter the Benson through the tunnel. You’ll follow me to the concierge desk, where I’ll announce that we’re there to work on the security system and ask for a keycard.

"I fully expect to encounter a guard at some point. If I were Sarto, I’d put one in the elevator so nobody could get to the eleventh floor by mistake or through a technical glitch. Our disguises should be just as convincing to the guard as to the concierge, but if he gets suspicious, we’ll have to restrain him. I’ll step in close, pull my gun, and tell him not to move. You’ll use duct tape to secure his wrists and ankles and cover his mouth.

When we get to the eleventh floor, I’ll go get Cooper while you stay in the elevator, using the stop button to prevent the car from being called away.

Piper’s staring at me, paralyzed again. What if I’m wrong in believing she can handle this?

Piper, I say, are you prepared to do all that?

She looks into my eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods.

Good. I’ll try to be as quick as I can, but since I’ll have to look for the room number, it might take some time. When I bring Cooper back to the elevator, we’ll get the hoodie on him and hustle him out to the parking garage.

Got it, Piper says.

There’s one more thing. It’s entirely possible they’ll have implanted a tracking device under his skin. You should be prepared to cut it out.

No problem.

Bailey laughs. Yeah, I’m sure Piper won’t have any trouble with that.

I silence her with a look as I pull my jacket on over my shirt. The duct tape is already in the left pocket. I pick up the gun and un-holster it so I can transfer it to the right.

Uh uh, Bailey says. That’s one of those inside-the-pants holsters. It’s designed to be discreet.

Your dad has a concealed carry permit?

Well, yeah. Here in Cascadia, we’re not so uptight about guns. Except for Piper, maybe. Bailey demonstrates how to attach the holster to the back of my belt, with the gun tucked inside my jeans. I cover the grip with my jacket.

Oh, that’ll be safe, Piper says.

Yeah, Zoey adds. He could shoot his butt off.

Bailey rolls her eyes. Relax. The cops do this all the time.

The lump of the holster is uncomfortable against my hip, but it’s far better than carrying the gun in my jacket, where it would weigh down my pocket and take extra time to get to.

At least wait until we’re at the Benson to stick that thing in your pants, Piper says. What if it goes off when you’re getting in the car?

Bailey sighs. It has a safety, Piper. Unless you have your finger squarely on the trigger, it can’t fire.

I pull out the gun, release the magazine, and rack the slide to visually confirm that the chamber’s empty before taking a few minutes to practice my draw. The motion isn’t as intuitive as it is with the equipment in my VR games, but I feel reasonably confident I’ll be able to get the job done if necessary. I reload the gun, holster it, and put the spare magazines in my jacket pocket.

Okay, Piper, your turn, Bailey says, tossing the work shirt at her.

Piper pulls it on over her tank top. This looks stupid. Totally unprofessional. No one’s going to believe I’m a contractor.

Then spruce it up a little. Bailey ties the ends of the shirt at Piper’s stomach. See? Now it’s stylish.

Stylish doesn’t necessarily equate with professional, Bailey.

If you’re stylish, no one cares if you look professional. Trust me. Now let me do your makeup.

Relenting, Piper takes a seat. So what are we going to do about Cooper recognizing us? I think it would be a good idea to blindfold him. And we should come up with fake names—maybe go by the ones on our shirts.

The comment is so unexpected, it takes me a moment to respond. Piper, he’s not the enemy. He’s as much a victim as you are.

I still don’t trust him.

Well, I do. And blindfolding him would complicate our escape.

Piper closes her eyes and takes a breath. Fine.

Anyway, you better get used to the idea, Bailey adds, digging makeup out of her purse. Jefferson’s going to be your roommate from now on.

Piper glares at her. Don’t remind me.

* * *

Sarto’s email indicated he’d be sending someone to pick up Cooper at two o’clock, so I plan to be there at one. It might be easier to explain arriving only half an hour early, but I don’t want to risk bumping into Sarto’s