The Drafter

CHAPTER

EIGHT

“The mic is at the thick end, see?” Matt said, his fraternity ring glinting on his chubby finger as he held the pliable wire out. Silas took it, slumping in the folding chair at the stupidity of it all. The SWAT-size van smelled like his first college apartment, and the snap of ozone, electronics, and locker-room BO curled his lips. He felt cramped even sitting in the oversize aisle, and the faint but insistent electronic whine of the floor-to-ceiling surveillance equipment went right through his head.

It didn’t help that he was mentally exhausted after an afternoon of putting his life on a shelf for who knew how long. Despite everyone’s belief that it was a three-hour job, Silas knew better. Acquiring her might take one night, but to bring her back successfully would take longer.

“On its own, it has a reach of about four feet,” Matt was saying, and Silas tuned out the slightly overweight tech geek, almost embarrassed at his enthusiasm. “That’s why you need the phone, see? Just coil it up in a pocket out of sight¸ and the phone will boost it to me.”

Just kill me now. Silas’s gaze slid to the white slab of plastic beside the duffel they’d prepped for him, the oversize phone looking out-of-date and clunky. “All the way out here to your van?” Silas said, but Matt didn’t recognize his sarcasm. The tech’s tie was loose about his neck, and the black pants and white shirt screamed off-the-rack. His index fingernail was notched to snap nicotine caps.

“It’s mostly one-way, but if we have something need-to-know, we’ll text. No wires behind your ears to give you away. Nice, huh?”

Silas sighed. His fingers were too big to hit the phone’s tiny buttons. Texting would be a pain in the ass. “Can I use my phone?” he asked, and the curly-haired tech started, aghast.

“No!” he blurted, as if Silas was being stupid. “It’s not just a phone. It’s full of stuff you need! God! Why do they keep sending me newbies?”

Silas rubbed his aching head as he imagined what Matt had wedged into the tiny bit of outdated electronics. Tracker, certainly, addresses for safe houses, contact numbers, and apps to find the nearest coffee shop. But it was too small for him to use, and if he tried, she’d realize he was something he wasn’t. Besides, his phone was glass, the technology light-years ahead of what the alliance had.

“Keep it,” he said, and Matt fell back into his rolling chair, vexed. “I’m not wearing a wire.”

Matt filled the silence with downing his Dew, making it into a show of frustration and disdain. “It would be better if you wore it. Sir.”

“Why don’t you just hang a sign around my neck saying ABDUCTOR?” Silas said, his voice growing louder. “You don’t think she’s going to see the buttons are too small for me to work? She is a finely tuned piece of paranoid intuition.”

“Only because we made her that way,” Matt said, and Silas leaned in, shoving the wire into Matt’s front shirt pocket.

“Then maybe I don’t want you hearing what I have to say. Everything you’ve given me is old tech and no-name brands. No one buys this stuff because it’s military crap. I’ll stick out.”

Expression dark, Matt pulled the wire out and dropped it into Silas’s open duffel. “That imported coat of yours will stick out worse. And the wire doesn’t need to be showing,” he added angrily. “It’s designed to coil up in a pocket. That’s why you need the booster.”

Impatient, Silas glanced at his watch. It was almost six. He’d been here an hour, and his first impression that they were going to get her killed hadn’t changed. “I didn’t say she’d see it,” he said, scanning the van for anything useful. “I said it would give me away. If I need you, I’ll call. On my phone. You have the number, right?”

“Yeah, I got your number,” Matt said sullenly, then sucked down another gulp of caffeine and sugar as he eyed Silas’s coat, carefully folded over the back of his chair.

Silas pulled the duffel closer and threw the coiled wire up into the driver’s seat. Pushing past the military gray sweats, he took out the tasteless, no-name running shoes. Like I’m going to run anywhere? The clink of medical vials drew his attention, and anger simmered as he recognized the heavy drugs. My God, they were butchers.

“You can keep these, too,” he said, dropping the vials on the counter in disgust.

Matt shifted his rolling chair back and forth in agitation. “How will you know she’s got the information if you don’t do a defrag?”

He didn’t want to get into her brain, afraid he might find himself there. “Maybe I can just ask her?” he said, ready to walk away. If they didn’t give him the freedom to do this right, it wasn’t going to work. “I can use this, though,” he said, leaning to take the slick touchpad hidden under a coffee-stained cup. It wasn’t glass, but he was betting it had this year’s operating system.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Matt protested, and Silas flipped it open, his eyebrows rising in pleasure. All the right apps in all the right places.

“So it’s not going to be bugged, then, is it?” Silas tucked it behind his coat. It was scratched enough to be real, and if it belonged to Matt, it would have everything he’d need.

“Give it back,” Matt demanded, afraid to force the issue.

“Soon as I’m done with it.” From outside, a car door slammed, then another. The flickering vid screen at the front showed a long black car and a tall woman in formal cocktail dress striding forward, flanked by her driver. Beyond the car was the river and one of Detroit’s casinos, looking dead in the low sun. “Someone’s at the door,” he said, and Matt spun at the sudden hammering. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">