Hideout by Jack Heath (iphone ebook reader txt) 📕

and featureless except for the word Guards laser-etched on one side. They look like the headstones at Arlington. The boxes are black cardboard, about the right size for an engagement ring. But inside there’s foam rubber, the kind rifle scopes are packed in, with a slot just the right size for the drive.

I suppose they’re beautiful in the same way Zara is. Immaculate, but enigmatic. Small but dangerous.

‘I guess you have to find a compromise between presentation and price,’ I say, still barely paying attention to Cedric.

‘Wrong,’ Cedric says. ‘You have to go with one or the other. No compromise. You see, if everything is beautifully presented, if even opening the box is an experience, people respect that. But if looks homemade, people respect that, too. They like the authenticity of it. Or if it’s the cheapest in the market, you’ll make plenty of sales that way. But semiprofessional? Cheap-ish, classy-ish, authentic-ish? That’s the danger zone. There’s no market for that.’

I seal an envelope and stick on the address label. This one is going to the UK, but I’ve seen others headed for Germany, China, Brazil, Australia.

‘There’s no name on this one,’ I say.

Cedric waves a hand. ‘That’s fine. We don’t do signature on delivery.’

‘How do you stop the drives from going to the wrong people?’

Cedric gives me a funny look. ‘The password.’

I’d forgotten that I was supposed to be Lux, a long-time subscriber who would know that the drives are password-protected. I know it, too. I even know what his password was. I’m just distracted.

‘I’m not worried about other people finding out what’s on them,’ I say, thinking quickly. ‘I just thought if subscribers didn’t get their drives, they’d blame you. Us.’

Cedric shrugs. ‘What are they going to do, call the Federal Trade Commission?’ Then he looks anxious suddenly. Perhaps for a second he, too, forgot that Lux had been a subscriber. ‘Doesn’t happen often, though. Even if the subscriber doesn’t use their real name, we know who they are, who they vote for, what their religion is …’

‘How?’

Cedric doesn’t answer. He’s frowning at something on one of the monitors. ‘Goddamn. Look at these numbers.’

While he’s distracted, I grab a blank label and a pen, and scribble an address.

Dr Norman

1 Justice Park Drive

Houston, TX 77092

I finish just as Cedric turns back around with the next flash drive and address label.

‘What are you writing?’ he asks.

‘Torture ideas,’ I say quickly, covering the address with one hand.

‘For the new prisoner?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, you’d better move fast.’

I don’t know what he means by that. As he turns back to face his computer, I peel off one of my latex gloves and stick the label to one of the packages. I squeeze the package so my fingerprints are all over it.

‘How long does it take the packages to arrive?’ I ask.

Cedric shrugs. ‘Depends where they’re going. A week? Two?’

My heart sinks. Thistle and I can’t survive another week here. The cameras arrive tomorrow. And I don’t even know how often Dr Norman checks her mail at the FBI field office, or how long it will take her to figure out what’s going on. For all I know, she’s away on vacation right now.

Still, I remember Mrs Jefferson. Some things look impossible until you try them. On the back of Norman’s envelope, I quickly scribble the GPS coordinates that led me to this place, and my name. Then I bury it among the others, hoping no one will notice.

‘See, check this out.’ Cedric angles the monitor so I can see it. On the screen is a list of comments from the site:

—So excited to meet the new inmate! *does happy dance*

—The baby killer is an FBI agent?? Fucking DESTROY HER.

—Cut the FBI bitch’s head off.

—Rape her with her own gun.

It feels like I’m falling into a well. Cold stone all around, less and less daylight above.

But the comments aren’t even what Cedric is pointing at. Beneath them is a pie chart divided into six uneven slices. One slice, much bigger than the others, is labelled: Baby Killer.

I figure out what I’m looking at even as Cedric says the words.

‘Polling results.’ He hovers over the chart with the mouse. ‘The new prisoner is miles ahead of any of the others. Hundreds of votes. We only just got her, and the subscribers want us to kill her already? It’s like, learn some patience.’

I crush the arms of my chair in my hands.

‘Are you okay?’ Cedric says.

I open my mouth to talk, but it’s like something is lodged in my throat.

‘Lux?’

Just say something. If your cover gets blown, you can’t save her.

I fake a cough, which turns into a real coughing fit.

‘I get it. It’s a shock.’ Cedric gestures at the comments on the screen. ‘I’m not saying those bastards out in the slaughterhouse don’t deserve it. But sometimes the things the subscribers come up with …’ A shadow passes over his face.

‘Yeah.’ I look up at him, relieved that he understands. Maybe I have an ally here.

‘Oh, well,’ Cedric says, like it can’t be helped. Then he sits down at the computer and prints out another sheet of address labels.

I try to keep my voice steady. ‘When does voting close?’

‘Saturday. So if she wins—and it sure looks like she will—we’ll kill her on Sunday. Whatever you want to do to her, you’ll have to do before then.’

Today is Thursday. I have three days to get Thistle out of here.

Donnie appears in the doorway. He avoids looking at Cedric entirely and lasers right in on me. He’s holding a medieval battleaxe.

I try to look calm.

‘Lux,’ he says.

I clear my throat. ‘Yeah?’

‘You’re up.’

CHAPTER 28

She’s sweet, refined and always full of energy. People love her, but she