The waiting is the hardest part. I pace behind Chill’s desk chair, watching his tablet over his shoulder. The call from Boreas came hours ago and I’m praying nothing went wrong. Our heads snap up at the quick rap on our door. Chill scrambles to his feet and we nearly trip each other in our rush to open it.
A crate fills the opening. The words “FRAGILE” and “THIS SIDE UP” obscure the ventilation holes drilled into the wood. Red-faced and sweating, Boreas wheels the dolly across the threshold and deposits the box in the middle of the room.
We stand back as Boreas takes a crowbar to the top corner of the crate. The nails creak as he pries it open and slides back the lid. The figure folded tightly inside uncoils himself, stretching on stiff legs and blinking against the light. A rush of hot air escaping the box with him.
Sweat drips from Julio Verano’s temples. His hair’s matted and damp, and perspiration drenches his shirt. Still, he looks exactly likeI’d always imagined he would, same as his surveillance pictures. What catches me off guard is the way he smells. Like sea water on sun-warmed skin and fresh-cut grass. Like every forgotten summer of my youth. Even if he didn’t look like he could carry Fleur out of here under one arm, I’d still want to punch him in the dimples.
“What took you so long?” I snap, impatient to make up for the hours we’ve lost. Julio grabs the shoulder strap of a long, black tactical case and thrusts it at me.
“Got held up in the airport.” He uses the hem of his shirt to mop his face, revealing another six-pack of reasons to hate him. As he climbs out of the crate, he gives Chill a cursory once-over. He doesn’t expend any more energy scrutinizing me. Julio’s in peak season. Chill, on the other hand, hasn’t taken a phys ed class since Reagan was in office, and I’m still green, only three weeks out of stasis. Julio could murder us in our dorm room and no one would ever know.
I shove the black bag at him. “Maybe if you hadn’t brought a rifle with you, you wouldn’t have held up security.”
“It’s not a rifle, you idiot. It’s a guitar. I stopped by my dorm room to pick up my stuff.” Julio eases the soft black case back into the crate.
Chill hands Boreas an envelope. Boreas fans through the contents before tossing me a set of keys. I catch them against my chest.
“South Dock Marina. Slip three,” he says, throwing two sets of cafeteria smocks and hair caps to Julio. “You have six hours to make it through the lock before low tide. Don’t be late.”
I stare after his balding head as it disappears into the hall. I spent most of my season cashing out stocks and selling off investments I’ve accrued over the years, consolidating earnings and interest until I hadenough to pay for the boat Boreas bought for us under an assumed name. In that envelope, he carries the wire transfer instructions for an offshore account containing what’s left of my entire life’s savings, minus the few thousand dollars I held back for food, fuel, and supplies for the trip.
“We don’t have much time,” Julio says, pulling on a smock that barely closes around his chest. He tucks his hair into his white cap and hands the other set to me. “Let’s get this over with before I change my mind. What’s the plan?”
Chill slides his arms into the straps of one of two backpacks containing everything we can afford to bring with us, which isn’t nearly enough. He grabs his tablet and swipes it on. “I wrote a dummy program that’ll broadcast Fleur’s vitals on a loop. From the Control Room, it’ll look like Fleur is comfy and sleeping. It should buy us at least a few hours before they figure out she’s gone. Once you make it to Fleur’s chamber, I’ll switch out the feeds. She should sleep like a baby through the whole thing. Woody’s going to set the other three charges. The power surges will be strong enough to take the stasis chambers offline at carefully timed intervals. Once the charges are set, he’ll meet us at the freight elevators. But...”
“But what? What’s wrong?” We have zero margin for error, and I don’t like the way he’s gnawing his lip.
Chill pushes up his glasses. He darts an uncertain glance around the room. “Once the stasis chambers go down, there’s no coming back. Our tablets, our transmitters... all of it has to stay down here. If we get separated, we’ll have no way to regroup. If anything happens—”
“Nothing’s going to happen.” I slide into my cafeteria scrubs.
“What about Amber?” Julio asks.
“Woody set up a rendezvous. She’s meeting us up top. Where’s Marie? I thought she was coming with you.”
Julio hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s in the box.”
Chill and I rush to the edge of the crate. Marie’s shaggy dark hair falls over her face, her head drooping against her chest. The guitar case is propped against the sleeve of her olive drab army jacket, and her wrists are bound around the backpack cradled in her lap. A wide strip of gray tape stretches across her mouth. The slight rise and fall of her silver dog tag necklace is the only clue she might be alive.
“What the hell did you do?” I sputter.
“I sedated her.”
Chill gawks at him. “This was not part of the plan!”
“I didn’t have any choice. She refused to come.”
“Then leave her here!” I shout. She made a choice. We all made a choice. By the time she wakes up, we’ll be long gone anyway.
“If we leave her here, she’s as good as dead, and I’m not taking responsibility for that.”
Chill looks like he might be sick. “Did you have to tie her up?”
Julio chuckles darkly. “You obviously don’t know Marie. She’snotgoing to be happy when she wakes up.”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Getting out of here with one unconscious body is going to be hard enough. But two? We’ll be lucky if we’re not arrested on kidnapping charges before we’re out of London.
Something rustles in the box. I look up as gray ball of fluff pokes its head from the backpack in Marie’s lap and taps her chin with his paw.
