I got back into the elevator, trying to keep my face impassive as it descended toward the lobby. All I had to do was get out. The difficult part was done.
The doors slid open and two middle-aged employees got on. I nodded politely and shifted on my feet, tightening my hold on the toolbox. Sweat trickled beneath my jumpsuit and I wished I’d worn a lighter disguise.
The elevator paused at nearly every floor and I told myself it was lunchtime. Of course people were leaving the building for food. It only made sense. But it didn’t stop my treacherous heart from thudding. As the elevator filled, I pressed myself into a corner.
Finally, the doors gave a polite littledingand opened. The employees spilled out, chatting among themselves.
I breathed a little easier when I stepped into the lobby. I slipped through the bustle, angling myself through the front doors, and then I was outside.
Shoulders straight, I walked across the street toward the plumber’s van. The door slid open and I was all but dragged inside.
The shouting lasted for the better part of ten minutes.
I stood there while Warden uttered phrases like “out of bounds” and “stupid teenage girl” and “blew the whole operation.”
I looked at Prefect. He remained quiet the whole time, but his eyes spoke volumes. “Well?” he finally said, once Warden was out of breath. “What did you do?”
I smiled. And then I pointed at the screens. “That.”
Keith Stenc was walking back into the building.
He strolled through security, got onto the elevator, and went up to his office. He pulled out his expensive chair, sat down, and prepared to boot up his computer.
That was when he saw the note. He picked it up, frowned, and then put it down. He stood and went to the window, peering outside as though to find the plumber’s van in question.
Then the not-dog unfolded itself.
“No,” Warden breathed. “You—you didn’t.”
Stenc flinched, but the set of his mouth was one of surprise, not terror. He spoke a command. We couldn’t hear the audio, but I was sure the words were to shut down, go to sleep, something along those lines.
The dog did not lie down. It did not go to sleep. It took a step toward Stenc.
Stenc took a step back.
He said the command again, clearly enunciating.
And then the dog’s back lit up as the targeting sensor kicked in.
“Augusta,” said Prefect. “You did not.”
Stenc lunged to one side with an inaudible scream. The rail gun fired and a small spike buried itself in the wall. Drywall and dust flew into the air.
Stenc sprinted for the door, yanked it open, and rushed outside.
The not-dog followed.
In unison, Warden, Prefect, and Tweedledum all turned to gape at me.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I programmed it to only go after him.”
“That’s your idea of fine?” said Warden, aghast. “What part of ‘covert operation’ involves killing a billionaire in front of countless witnesses?”
“So it’d be fine if there were no witnesses?” I asked brightly.
Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, then she turned back to the screen.
The employees of Stenc Industries were clearly not expecting to see their boss run screaming through the office. They scattered like startled chickens—in all different directions, graceless and squawking with fear.
