Flicking

streamed from the windows onto the deep blue carpet flecked with silver and glanced off the plastic walls and steel rails of the heavily designed interior. Not the most comfortable place he’d ever been.

  He jerked his watch into his line of sight for the nth time: 8:32am. When would the damn licenses arrive?

  It must have ben the eight hundredth time he’d glanced over, when the pretty blond woman at reception motioned for him.

  His muscles tensed, willing his body to run to the desk. No, he forced himself. He needed to clamp down. Be calm. This was the wrong moment to let his emotions go. Not now. No need to draw attention to us. He let his breathing slow and walked to the desk with what he hoped looked like a casual saunter.

  “Yes?” He placed his hands flat on the counter.

  “Two letters actually, sir,” the woman said.

  “Thanks.”

  He walked back to Andrea, ripping the envelopes open. Inside were the two driver’s licenses they’d managed to divert. He looked at the first one. Andrea’s hair was the right color, but her cheekbones and eyes were a bit off. Not too bad if you didn’t look closely. He pulled out the other credit card-sized license. It didn’t really look like him. His alter ego’s face was a bit too square. The eyes were a bit off. But if used with a usual quick wave of the ID, both would surely be fine. And, he reassured himself, at least the licenses were genuine. Nobody could call them fake.

  “We can go check the web site now,” he said to Andrea, handing her one of the licenses. “But let’s not forget about triangulation.”

  “You mean they pick a place at the center of all the internet cafes we go to, and that turns out to be where we are staying.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “I was the one who pointed that out to you.”

  “You did?”

  “Yup.”

  “I guess I’m pretty tired. Sorry.”

  “Look, look,” Andrea almost shouted.

  Dorian swiveled around from his half asleep slump, jerked awake. What looked like a GPS coordinate had appeared on the blog under the words “Cycle Trail.”

  They’d spent the better part of an hour in yet another dingy internet café, this time in the meat-packing district. Sagging and faded posters of idyllic scenes in some country he never bothered to figure out, adorned the walls, strafed by the same fluorescent glare they’d seen many times before.

  “He’s decided to trust us!” The words started tumbling out of his mouth. “He’s trusted us because he thinks something’s suspicious. I’m sure of it.” Dorian high-fived Andrea. “Quick, let’s put that up on a map.” He paused to grab a breath. “This is great. I’m so happy. I was really getting worried they’d all been killed. Thank god. Jesus, they really kept us waiting didn’t they?”

  Andrea nodded, firing up a second internet terminal in the next booth and plugged the coordinates into a map she pulled up in the browser. She peered at the screen, brows furrowed. “Looks like they are just outside of LA. Funny.” She looked over at Dorian. “Home Sweet Home.”

  “Yeah,” Dorian responded, not really taking in the irony. “Keep monitoring the coordinates. I’ll book us flights to LAX under the new IDs. What time is it now?” He looked down at his watch. Simultaneously, they both answered: “Ten past ten a m.” They both laughed excitedly.

  “There’s another one,” Andrea said typing. “Looks like they’re heading east, or north eastish.”

  Dorian busied himself booking flights and a rental car. First he created a new credit card in the American Express servers he’d commandeered what seemed like years earlier. He used the numbers to book the flights. That worked out pretty well. The rental car was easy, since they’d already created the Hertz #1 Club account. Just book it in.

  “They seem to be driving on major highways,” Andrea commented.

  “I’ve booked a flight for one p m. We need to leave here eleven twenty to get to the airport in time.”

  “I’ve got all my stuff. Do you have yours?” Andrea looked down at her backpack.

  “And the gun?” Dorian whispered.

  “Oh yeah.” There was no way they could bring the gun on the plane.

  Andrea looked up a shipping office that they could send the gun to in LA, finding one that would be open and take the same-day delivery. “Hope we arrive in time,” she muttered.

  She walked to the front of the internet cafe cum postal services store, coming back with a small box and some bubble wrap. She packed the pink gun and the extra ammunition inside, filling the gaps with the bubble wrap, while Dorian kept anxious watch for curious glances.

  “I’ve express mailed the box to myself, well, my you know,” she pointed to the fake ID when she came back from her second trip to the front of the store, “for same day pickup when we arrive. We just need to be at the shipping office before five.”

  “If nothing goes wrong,” he scowled. That gave them two hours from scheduled arrival in LA to pick the package up. A bit tight.

  “We need to go,” Dorian said, glancing at his watch.

  “Look, they’re on smaller roads now. I think we’re close to a lock on their final location.”

  “We can always check when we get there.”

  “Just a few more minutes. That’s all it will take.”

  “I don’t want to miss the flight. Not to mention we’ve only got another ten minutes after which the killer bastards whoever they are should be able to lock into our location. I don’t want to wait for that.”

  “Look, they’re in Lake Arrowhead.” Andrea pointed to the screen.

  As Andrea plotted each coordinate, Dorian could almost picture the car driving along, 70mm stuck inside uneasily watching unfamiliar roads zip by the windows, surely wondering if he’d done the right thing. What had made 70mm decide to start sending them coordinates? What had triggered his suspicion? Hadn’t nil8 convinced him to go on the run? Was 70mm already a prisoner? Were all the Deep Noders already together? What would happen next?

  The latest coordinate printed out as 14 Culbertson Way, Lake Arrowhead, CA 92352 in the mapping software. The satellite picture showed what looked like an isolated house at the end of a dead end road. It was hard to tell how recent the map was.

  “This must be it,” Andrea said, clearly convinced, pointing at the screen. “We can go.” As she turned, another coordinate blinked onto the screen. “Hmm, that’s a bit different,” Andrea said.

  She plugged it in. The arrow pointed to a large stretch of desert just outside of Reno, Nevada. “No, that can’t be right.” She threw a worried look at Dorian. He shook his head. Had 70mm been screwing with them?

  “Let’s catch our flight,” he finally responded. What else could they do?

  “Wait a few more minutes. Let’s see if another coordinate comes through.”

  “You sure. We don’t have much time.”

  “Yes,” Andrea nodded her head.

  The minutes crept by. All he could feel was despair. Had all those coordinates been worthless? No, they had to keep on. This was their only hope. 70mm couldn’t have teleported that distance, what with technology where it was at. Dorian mustered a cold laugh.

  Meanwhile, Andrea ceaselessly drummed her fingers on the desk. The sound started to pound in Dorian’s head. No, best not to complain.

  Ten minutes passed, the second hand clicking around the watch face. “If we don’t leave now, there’s no chance we’ll make the flight,” he said finally. “We have to…”

  “Ok, let’s go.” Andrea’s face betrayed her worry.

  In the taxi to the airport Dorian had a thought. “What if that last coordinate was an end of file marker? Maybe he was telling us that no more coordinates would come.”

  “Do you think?”

  “Yes, in fact that makes total sense.”

  Andrea gave him a quick hug. “Good boy,” she smiled. The look on her face, however, couldn’t hide her doubt.

  They raced through the terminal in LAX, knowing it would be a miracle for them
to get the package that night. And by the time they’d picked up their rental car, there was no way, short of a helicopter, that they would make it to the shipping office in time. Dorian pounded the dashboard in annoyance. “Why can’t those damn airlines get their flights on time?” The words had been running in a loop through his head for the last twenty minutes. He’d probably bored Andrea to death by now, stating the obvious.

  “Tomorrow,” said Andrea, her voice flat.

  “We could always find a rock to bash them over the head,” Dorian suggested. “Then we wouldn’t need the gun.”

  “Even I’m not that crazy,” Andrea laughed.

  “True. Shit shit shit. I hope there’s still going to be time.”

  “We’ll go find a hotel in Pasadena,” Andrea said, steering the car, her lips pressed in a thin line. “So what about the others?”

  “The Deep Noders?”

  “Mmm. The one’s you haven’t told me about.” They’d avoided the topic on the flight. In fact, in the hopes of maintaining operational security, they’d avoided speaking about anything related to their current situation.

  “Well, there’s the ones we have to assume are dead.” The words sounded final, reminding Dorian that he still had no idea what had happened to his family. Had nil8 really killed them? It all seemed so far fetched. He looked over at Andrea as she drove. The thought popped into his head, almost to his surprise: impressive skill. He let his mind wander just a tiny bit. At least he wasn’t alone. But the thought pushed Tara into his mind, bringing an ache into the pit of his stomach. But Andrea couldn’t