Carlos couldn’t believe that was even an option. If it got to that point, he would do what he could to perform his duties. His job was to follow orders and enforce the law in a way that kept people safe, rather than putting them in danger. But that was a whole other level of crazy.
Chief Chaudhary continued, “So now we know it was Elysium, or a derivative, every officer will be carrying Elcam in case of an overdose. We’ve requisitioned doses for each of you and ask that you don’t hesitate to use them if you believe you’ve been affected again. Got it?”
A ripple of “Yes, sir” moved across the room.
“The creators of the Elysium app have contacted the city with a statement. They believe theymayhave been hacked.”
Someone snorted.
Chief Chaudhary noticed it and tipped his head. “Right. The statement says plainly that they believe the hack changed their base code, allowing whoever infiltrated their servers to push out suggestions to users.”
Someone swore.
Carlos agreed with the sentiment but wouldn’t have put it like that.
The chief said, “Of course, the app’s creators refused to even identify themselves or provide law enforcement with access to their tech for us to do our own investigation. But they did admit they may have been hacked. They are attempting to close the breach and shore up their security.”
Criminals who’d built an app that enhanced the user’s experience with the narcotic Elysium didn’t want lawenforcement to gather the evidence necessary to bring charges? So surprising.
Carlos almost rolled his eyes.
The group who created and ran the app, and others like it, referred to themselves as The Underground. A web-based collective who had more than just the app Dreamers used in their portfolio, they had their fingers in a lot of illegal pies—all kinds of companies—that made life lucrative for them. Of course, they didn’t want to give that up simply because it was the right thing to do.
Despite extensive investigations, no one had even identified a single member of the collective. But if the group had access to the darker side of society, maybe they were the ones who could find out for him who the Mother was. Once she was identified, he’d know if Luci really had been captured—or worse—and discover her fate finally.
He still had to touch base with the FBI agents doing surveillance on that house. Carlos hadn’t forgotten about it, but he had other pressing matters right now. Enough that he wondered if the Lord needed him focused elsewhere and watching out for Eliana, trusting that He had Luci’s situation under control.
Is that it, Lord? Do I need to trust You with it, rather than trying to solve the problem myself?
He prayed down the list of things forefront in his mind, clearing his head of the kind of worry that left him floundering about what to do next.
Chief Chaudhary continued, “Each of you needs to check in with your sergeant and touch base about your duties for the next week, but we can’t afford to have everyone on a desk. It’ll be on a case-by-case basis. And if your sergeant believes you’re overstating your ability to do your job—namely, if you’repretending you’re fine—then you’ll be shifted to a desk whether you like it or not. No yahoos.”
Someone groaned, but Carlos actually respected that decision.
He needed personal time off, which he’d already scheduled, so he should be good to go in a day or two. He typed out an email on his phone to that effect and sent it to his sergeant while the meeting wrapped up. Hopefully, he’d have answers about Luci by the time he was due back on shift. He saw a text from Eliana that everything was fine.
Everyone in the room started to disperse, so he sent back a thumbs-up.
Halstood caught him on the way out the door. “Some of us are going to watch the game at Smithy’s. Interested?”
Carlos looked at his watch. “Maybe next time.”
“Got it.” Halstood went back to his buddies.
A crowd had gathered in front of the elevator. Carlos’s sergeant replied before he managed to step on, riding down to the ground floor. He grabbed his duffel and checked out, marking himself off duty, and started walking through the front lobby, since it was closer to where he’d left his truck.
“Officer Ryson?”
He swung around to find the man, a short guy—five foot five tops—wearing slacks and a light-gray shirt with a shine to it. He wore transparent framed glasses and his hair was swept to the side. Clammy skin and a shadow of hair above his top lip.
“That is who you are, right?” The guy paused. “Carlos Ryson?”
Carlos nodded. “That’s right.” He had to step to the side while another officer walked a man in handcuffs past him, toward Holding.
“I’m Neil Lorne. I’m a journalist.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a phone, sliding a stylus pen from the side.“I’m writing a story about the Reverence Sisters Community. You were the one who found it, with all the residents missing. Correct?”
“I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”
