studying at a friend’s house. Taking time off to see a movie that afternoon probably hadn’t been the best idea, especially since encoding the blueprints had taken longer than expected. Now he’d have to wait until tomorrow to program his data sniffing filters.
He glanced around. He was parked in his neighbor’s driveway again, along the curve leading up to the house so that he was hidden from both the street and the front door. It was risky using the same spot to log on every time, even with all the precautions he took to cover his tracks. But he’d grown weary of driving to remote parking lots and shivering in the cold, then packing up and moving every time a random car drove by. This was an acceptable risk, he told himself. And it would take a hacker on the level of him and Noa to access his laptop, even if they were parked right beside him.
Peter sighed. This was starting to feel like a real job. On top of everything else, there were three other PA cells out there, and he was supposed to keep track of all of them. He logged on to The Quad, and entered their official PERSEF0NE ARMY forum. There wasn’t much posted. The Northeast chapter reported that no kids had disappeared in a few weeks. Same with the Southeast. The Northwest was working on outreach, making sure street kids knew what to watch for. But none of the other chapters had a real operation on the horizon.
All quiet, in other words—which made Peter uneasy. Over the past four months, Project Persephone activity appeared to have decreased markedly. He liked to think that they’d forced the company to curtail the experiments, but he suspected they’d just succeeded in driving them further underground. Which was exactly why he had to get that sniffer program up and running.
Tomorrow , he told himself. Tonight, he had other things to worry about.
He hopped the P&D firewall and started digging through personnel files. He was searching for one in particular, a man he knew only as Mason. They’d had several run-ins months ago when he first stumbled across Project Persephone. Mason and his operatives had chased Noa and Peter through Boston for days. He’d threatened Peter’s parents. And Peter suspected he’d arranged the fire that killed his best friend, Cody, too.
Plus he’d kidnapped Amanda, leaving her drugged on a park bench with a message scrawled across her back in black Sharpie: TELL PETER HE WAS WARNED .
At first, Peter had assumed that was just another threat: Mason boasting that he could get to anyone Peter cared about.
But maybe it had been a declaration, not a threat. Mason could have infected Amanda with PEMA during the abduction.
Peter’s vision blurred with rage as he recalled Amanda shambling around the parking lot. Stage Two of the disease frequently involved repetitive patterns: walking in circles, avoiding other people, lapsing into sleep midsentence. And there were only four stages.
Peter breathed out hard, trying to calm down. He could be wrong—what he’d seen wasn’t definitive. He was tempted to talk to her about it, but Amanda had been so touchy and defensive lately, she probably wouldn’t handle it well.
Better to wait until he was sure. If something else happened, then he’d say something.
Regardless, it couldn’t hurt to check in on Mason; knowing about his recent activities would be valuable for PA, if nothing else. But previous searches of P&D’s database had been fruitless.
Peter cracked his knuckles, fleetingly wishing that Noa was with him. She was good at coming up with different angles on a problem. How would she go about finding Mason?
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. There was always a money trail, right? After all, Mason wouldn’t work for free. So how was P&D paying him?
He sucked in a breath sharply. Of course Mason wouldn’t be an official employee; he must be working as an independent contractor. Which meant that certain forms would have to be filed for taxes.
It took him all
He glanced around. He was parked in his neighbor’s driveway again, along the curve leading up to the house so that he was hidden from both the street and the front door. It was risky using the same spot to log on every time, even with all the precautions he took to cover his tracks. But he’d grown weary of driving to remote parking lots and shivering in the cold, then packing up and moving every time a random car drove by. This was an acceptable risk, he told himself. And it would take a hacker on the level of him and Noa to access his laptop, even if they were parked right beside him.
Peter sighed. This was starting to feel like a real job. On top of everything else, there were three other PA cells out there, and he was supposed to keep track of all of them. He logged on to The Quad, and entered their official PERSEF0NE ARMY forum. There wasn’t much posted. The Northeast chapter reported that no kids had disappeared in a few weeks. Same with the Southeast. The Northwest was working on outreach, making sure street kids knew what to watch for. But none of the other chapters had a real operation on the horizon.
All quiet, in other words—which made Peter uneasy. Over the past four months, Project Persephone activity appeared to have decreased markedly. He liked to think that they’d forced the company to curtail the experiments, but he suspected they’d just succeeded in driving them further underground. Which was exactly why he had to get that sniffer program up and running.
Tomorrow , he told himself. Tonight, he had other things to worry about.
He hopped the P&D firewall and started digging through personnel files. He was searching for one in particular, a man he knew only as Mason. They’d had several run-ins months ago when he first stumbled across Project Persephone. Mason and his operatives had chased Noa and Peter through Boston for days. He’d threatened Peter’s parents. And Peter suspected he’d arranged the fire that killed his best friend, Cody, too.
Plus he’d kidnapped Amanda, leaving her drugged on a park bench with a message scrawled across her back in black Sharpie: TELL PETER HE WAS WARNED .
At first, Peter had assumed that was just another threat: Mason boasting that he could get to anyone Peter cared about.
But maybe it had been a declaration, not a threat. Mason could have infected Amanda with PEMA during the abduction.
Peter’s vision blurred with rage as he recalled Amanda shambling around the parking lot. Stage Two of the disease frequently involved repetitive patterns: walking in circles, avoiding other people, lapsing into sleep midsentence. And there were only four stages.
Peter breathed out hard, trying to calm down. He could be wrong—what he’d seen wasn’t definitive. He was tempted to talk to her about it, but Amanda had been so touchy and defensive lately, she probably wouldn’t handle it well.
Better to wait until he was sure. If something else happened, then he’d say something.
Regardless, it couldn’t hurt to check in on Mason; knowing about his recent activities would be valuable for PA, if nothing else. But previous searches of P&D’s database had been fruitless.
Peter cracked his knuckles, fleetingly wishing that Noa was with him. She was good at coming up with different angles on a problem. How would she go about finding Mason?
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. There was always a money trail, right? After all, Mason wouldn’t work for free. So how was P&D paying him?
He sucked in a breath sharply. Of course Mason wouldn’t be an official employee; he must be working as an independent contractor. Which meant that certain forms would have to be filed for taxes.
It took him all
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