Flicking

Hopefully by then Dorian would snap out of it and she wouldn’t have collapsed. And hopefully the shaking would take over again.

  As the taxi turned uptown, Andrea could hear the first of many sirens.

  This time she really had done something wrong.

  Lists

  “It can’t be avoided. We have to go there. I must use the Deep Node List to warn and find the others. I only have the USB key which contains the encryption code but not the list. I have nothing without the laptop.”

  “You’re crazed.” Andrea wasn’t sure that this version of Dorian was better than the glazed model he’d replaced. “They will be watching.”

  “I know how to get in. There is a service entrance. I tried before. Believe me.”

  “You don’t think the whore,” Andrea saw Dorian wince, but she didn’t care, “checked the hotel out the same way you did.” She’d been toughening herself inside. She could taste the shooting on her lips. She wasn’t a killer, she repeated under her breath for the hundredth time since she’d shot Tara. She had to, or they were both dead. It still didn’t convince her.

  “She was ignorant,” he said, shaking his head. “No, actually you are right. She knew exactly what she was doing.” He ran his hands though his hair twice quickly, jerking his arms. He put a finger to his lips, pacing the floor near the window. “We can’t—I can’t come up with a solution that doesn’t mean I get the list. They will all be dead.”

  “Can’t you warn them?”

  “And what will they believe?”

  “They trust you.”

  “We also need a place to stay. Someone to hide out with.”

  They’d been debating the wisdom of storming Dorian and Tara’s hotel room to retrieve his laptop for what felt like hours. Andrea thought it must surely be the most stupid idea ever invented, but she couldn’t convince Dorian to drop it. She felt it would have made much more sense to try to find the killers, and stop things from that side. There had to be a connection with what had happened at Melbox and all the killing. Once they’d figured that out, then they could stop it and save the remaining Deep Noders. That was her thinking. But the truth was that their only real connection to the killers was now herself dead, and the Deep Noders were clearly at risk.

  “We need to do this,” Dorian repeated for the nth time, seemingly trying to convince himself as much as her.

  What real options did they have? The plan seemed ridiculous, and almost certain to get them killed. Or at least get Dorian killed, but then waiting around for the killers to find them was probably much worse.

  Andrea threw her hands into the air. “Ok, we do it. I’ll wait in a taxi outside.” She grabbed her backpack, and walked out of the room.

  To Andrea, the drive cross-town felt surreal. The tall New York buildings rolled by slowly as a slightly dusty breeze wafted in the taxi windows. Dorian had talked about Ruutor and Striptz and nil8 and that if they didn’t do something quickly, they’d soon be dead. For her part, she felt bemused, as if watching herself from the outside. Wasn’t that the first sign of schizophrenia? She could see that girl, there, Andrea, yes, the one sitting on the fake leather taxi seat, butt sweating, hair in a drooping ponytail. Was that girl’s life going to be cut short in the next hour? Was this the day she was due to die?

  The muffled sounds of some baseball game blared from the speakers in the front of the cab.

  Andrea cleared her thoughts. It didn’t matter, they were saving those stupid pirate kids, even Dorian, god bless his sorry Italian ass. She executed her famous hair toss, slightly dampened by the ponytail, and poked Dorian in the shoulder. “Fuck it, brother, we’re going to save—everyone!” And she smiled. Determination surged through her. She sat up straighter, and pushed her fear aside.

  “I’ll be in; I’ll be out. Simple,” he smiled back.

  Dorian stopped the taxi a block after the rear service entrance of the hotel. “Don’t move,” he ordered Andrea and the cabbie. He walked back, hoping the driver didn’t notice anything odd. The walk cleared his head, leaving only the fact that he had to do this. No other option remained possible. Save his friends. Then run.

  He squeezed the door open, pretty sure he was not being followed, though he had to admit he had absolutely no idea what his enemies looked like. His only reference was a vadered voice.

  He walked nonchalantly to the service elevator without encountering anyone, punching the up key. A few moments later, he exited on his floor, to a loud rattling of the door. He padded down the hall, avoiding noise as much as possible, realizing suddenly, that he should have asked Andrea for her gun. Why the fuck had he forgotten to ask her? What was the point of all this planning if he didn’t actually prepare? Fuck. He needed to go back. No, that was crazy. Would give them more opportunities to see him. Just had to be quick, and hope, hope, hope, they weren’t in the room and if they were that he’d see them in time.

  At the door, he put his card key in the slot. Schickt, the lock rasped back. He ducked down, opening the door with a smooth motion, pushing against the spring that held it in place. Silence, and everything in place. He crept in on hands and knees, muscles ready to spring into action. Nope, nobody in the bathroom.

  He kept the door open with his toe as he extended into the room from the corridor, sliding on his belly. He poked his head into the room. His toe slipped as he tried to get his grip back, then the door slammed shut. His heart jumped. adrenaline springing him to his feet. Without a thought, he charged to the other side of the room, jumping onto the bed and over it.

  No one. The room was empty.

  Ok, he’d get the laptop and be gone. He thought about grabbing his suitcase, but decided against it. He went to the closet where the laptop was. He opened the door.

  “What the hell is going on?” Andrea said, she flipped over to have a better look out of the back window. She saw two burly men run into the service entrance. Why were they in such a hurry she wondered. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t as if they were firemen, was it?

  Shit, the realization hit, she knew exactly why they were there. They must have bugged his room. How else could they know? Hopefully they didn’t have someone else inside. She ground her teeth. How would she warn him?

  “Hey sir!” She banged on the Plexiglas divider to the cabbie. “I need to borrow your cell phone.”

  “Use your own.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “I lost it, you prick. I’ll pay you, god damn it. Just give it to me right now. I don’t have any time to lose.”

  The cabbie hesitated.

  “This is life or death, I’m not kidding,” she screamed.

  “Ok, ok.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old Nokia, and handed it to Andrea through the plexiglass divider.

  She dialed four-one-one and pressed the green button.

  “What city please?”

  “New York.”

  “What is the name of the caller you’d like to reach?”

  “Grossmount Hotel, please.”

  “Should I dial that for you, it will be fifty cents extra?”

  “Yes. Goddamn it yes.”

  After a few rings. “Grossmount Hotel, how can I help you?”

  “Can you connect me to Dorian’s room?”

  “I’m sorry. Do you have a last name?”

  “Dorian.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I don’t know! I’m sorry.” Andrea breathed deeply. “Ok, he’s an Italian guy, with a blond short-haired girlfriend.” What a lame excuse for a plan. She pounded the seat of the cab. How likely was it this bored guy remember them?

  “Oh yes. I do know who you are talking about. Dorian—let me connect you.”

  “Thanks.”

  The line clicked. Then clicked again. It simply wouldn’t connect the call. What kind of cell phone did this guy have? Should she grab some guy on the street. She looked around for someone somewhere with a better phone. Nobody. Just little ticking sounds
on the line.

  She heard a ring. Thank god!

  Two rings.

  Three rings.

  Three rings. Should he answer it? Dorian turned. No. He focused back on the closet. Where the hell was the laptop? It was just missing. Did Tara move it? He really should get the phone.

  Four rings. Ok, yes, he better get the phone. He turned, and picked it up. “Hello.”

  “It’s Andrea. Thank god you answered. They’re coming. Get out of there now.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Get out now.”

  “Ok.” Adrenaline surged again through Dorian. He ran to the door of the room, knocking his knee on a sharp edge of the bed. His knee buckled, then picked up again. He ripped the door open, and looked in the hall. Nothing. He ran for the emergency stairs, hoping that wasn’t the way they, whoever they were, were coming. He passed the service elevator, and heard the doors begin to rattle open. He pushed through the doors and into the stairwell.

  “That’s him,” he heard from behind as he scrambled down the stairwell, his feet sliding as he rounded each landing. Eight floors to go.

  He’d made it about four storeys when he heard the door above fling open. He didn’t turn. A loud explosion echoed a few flights up, the same sound he’d heard twice in the alleyway where Tara died. They were shooting at him. He continued to run, his feet skipping steps with each stride. He knew he could slip and easily break a leg with each lunged stride, but his feet seemed to know what to do, landing safely after sailing through the air.

  Another shot splintered a banister ahead of him, something