I feel unprepared because I had to act on such short notice, and two people are still following me. Meaning, I need to be very tricky and get lost in the crowd to get my stuff into a box without them noticing. Also, Zeus might be combing through the surveillance systems to keep track of me.
That program really is the pest.
As the subway reaches Penn Station, I get wet hands, which is not good. My heart pounds faster because I know how difficult it’ll be, especially without mindful rehearsal and thorough preparation. I am very confident that I can fool the human eye; it is all about perception, but what makes me nervous is Zeus.
I know only what I found in Sutton’s data about Zeus, everything that had been kept quiet from the public. I don’t know whether it is already implemented, whether it works as intended, or what the recognition software’s capabilities are. So I expect the worst.
Meaning, I need to evade digital detection while keeping the Ella identity and losing the human tail.
That’ll be a fun night.
I get into Moynihan Train Hall at Penn Station and buy a sandwich, when I get an idea. I go to the in-person counter and buy a ticket for the latest Amtrak at 11:58 p.m., leaving for Philly, which lets me check my luggage with Amtrak.
I can therefore act in plain sight because I’ll visit a friend there. Not I, but Ella. I take Ella’s phone and text a contact that I’ve got the ticket. It runs into the dead anyway, because I set up fake friends with every personality I create.
Improvising it is.
I relax slightly when I have my backpack stored with Amtrak and get out of Moynihan Train Hall and walk over to Mojo’s tenminutes before I told Lilian I’d be there. I chose a table where I can see what is happening outside and also get away quickly.
Then I wait.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ear as I get more nervous by the minute. Whatever is going on with me, I haven’t been this nervous since the first job I did, and I’ve been on this for twelve years now. Twelve years of becoming the cold-blooded killer I needed to be for my revenge.
I glance at my watch, and the handle jumps to 10:03, exactly two hours later.
A black SUV comes to a halt in front of the bar, and I bite my lips.
I played her.
I made her bow.
Just the thought gives me a thrill.
A flutter in my chest.
Two of Lilian’s bodyguards check the surroundings and open the door for her. She wears another female suit, an ascot, a silken white shirt, and high-waist suit pants. High heels. Louboutins. Every day she combines the same set of clothes—it tells me how her wardrobe looks and what’s behind it. Ten sets of the same outfit in different colors. Organized, predictable, low effort, always perfect—that’s how she operates.
One of the bodyguards, Hannigan, follows her inside, as expected. He checks the room before he lets Lilian enter, and then she slides onto the seat opposite me. She looks tired and annoyed, but there is also this spark. A spark I know very well. The one I have when I am about to strike.
And Lilian thinks she’ll get Ella.
I smirk, self-sufficient, and wait for her to talk.
“Are you leaving?” she asks.
“Are you watching me?” I ask innocently.
“Liability,” says Lilian.
“I’m visiting a friend in Philly. Do I need to send you her resume?”
“Name is enough.”
I snort out. “You are a control freak, you know that, right?”
“I do, get used to it.”
She is in a very different mood, short answers, no humor, uptight, and I know she hates to get her feathers ruffled. It’s a game I’d love to play with her, if I didn’t have to kill her.
