Agent Weber didn’t bat an eye. She merely continued to stare at him, almost as if he were a complete stranger. And even though he was in a stranger’s body, she’d seen him already. She’d come to visit him. And he deserved better treatment than this. Bryson and Sarah stirred in their seats but didn’t say anything.
“Please tell me what you came here to say,” Weber pronounced. “Patrick insisted it was important. The VNS doesn’t have time to play games with high schoolers, so be quick about it.”
This made Michael stand up. That pulse in his temples had become a jackhammer. “How can you—”
Sarah cut him off, her hand on his arm. He hadn’t noticed her move closer.
“Michael,” she said. “Let’s just tell her what we came to tell her. About Kaine, about the things on the news.”
“You really think I don’t know about Kaine?” Agent Weber said. “This is why you called on me?”
Michael’s anger turned into confusion. Why was she acting so strange? Did she not trust Bryson and Sarah yet?
“We were … kidnapped by Kaine,” Sarah said, staying amazingly calm. “He wanted us to work for him, to help him. He threatened us, and he took my parents.”
“And he promised us the worlds of the VirtNet,” Bryson added. “Immortality. Don’t forget that part.”
Sarah nodded. “That, too. If we did what he wanted. Someone helped us escape, and we’ve had weird things happen in the Wake, too. You obviously know Michael’s story, all about the Mortality Doctrine. And a lot of the crazy things happening in the news … it’s all related somehow. We … just wanted to talk to the VNS. I don’t understand why—”
“That’s enough,” Agent Weber said. Not loudly, but with authority. “I don’t need to hear any more, thank you.”
Michael was at a complete loss for words. On the screen, he saw Weber reach over and push something; then she told Patrick to come back to the room. The man was at the door a second later.
“Please escort our guests out of the building,” Agent Weber said to him. “I’ve never seen these people before in my life.”
The WallScreen went dark.
Chapter 11: Dark Visor
“You’re sure that’s her?” Sarah asked Michael after the cabbie had driven off from the VNS building. They were packed in the backseat like kindergartners on a bus, Bryson in the middle.
“Yes,” Michael answered. He tried to tamp down his anger—it wasn’t Sarah’s fault. “Her Aura in Lifeblood Deep looks almost exactly the same. It’s definitely her. Same name, same appearance. Plus, I saw her at Jackson Porter’s apartment. I know it’s her, and it’s a joke that she’s pretending we’ve never met.”
“Maybe she’s trying to cover her butt,” Bryson offered. “If she’s been in charge of finding Kaine and stopping the Mortality Doctrine, she’s done the crap job of the century. She may act like God’s gift to mankind, but you know she has bosses, and those bosses might kick her to the curb if she acts like old friends with her biggest failure. You.” He pointed at Michael. “No offense, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Michael responded with an eye roll. “None taken.”
Sarah wasn’t convinced. “It’s gotta be more than that. There’s no way she could just pretend she doesn’t know us and get away with it. Something weird’s going on.”
Michael agreed one hundred percent.
The cabbie suddenly swore and slowed down, pulling over to the side of the road. Then he slapped his steering wheel with both hands.
“What’s going on?” Bryson asked.
The cabbie turned to face them. “Damn hovercop.” He pointed upward as if they could see through his roof. “Flagged me down. It’s probably some bored doughnut chomper tryin’ to hit his quota.”
A bad seed sprouted in Michael’s stomach. What if the cop asked about the passengers, wanted to see their IDs? Calm down, he told himself. They’d checked and rechecked their fake accounts. They could fool some cop just trying to get through his day.
“Your face,” Sarah whispered to him. It seemed an odd thing to say.
“Huh?”
“It’s been plastered all over the NewsBops. What if the cop recognizes you?”
Before he could answer, the police hovercar descended in front of them and turned, the heat from its boosters shimmering in the air. The silvery machine landed on the asphalt with a soft thump and shut down with a fading whine of engines. Then it just sat there for several long, long moments.
“I swear they do this on purpose,” the cabbie grumbled from the front seat. “Those ratfaces just like to make you sweat. He’s probably in there sippin’ his coffee and talkin’ to a buddy on the Net. Sorry son of a …”
Michael tuned the guy out. That seed in his gut had blossomed into full-fledged panic, slicking the palms of his hands with sweat and making his throat feel stuffed with cotton. The waiting was going to drive him crazy.
Finally, the door of the cop car popped open and swiveled upward on its hinges. An armored man stepped out of the vehicle, his suit the standard bulky black of the police, the visor on his helmet pulled down to cover his face. Michael understood why cops in this part of the city wanted to protect themselves, but it still made him nervous. He had visions of this guy pulling him out of the car and beating him with those black gloves until he bled head to toe—the man looked more like a robotic monster than a human.
The cop walked around to the driver’s side of the cab and rapped on the window. The cabbie waited a beat before he rolled it down—probably just to prove that he could.
“What’s the problem, Officer?” he asked, his tone neutral, like he’d done this a thousand times. “There’s no way I was speeding, and I’ve got all my permits.”
The visor muffled the cop’s voice a bit, but it still had a menacing ring. “I need you to sit there and keep your mouth shut, sir. Think you can do that? Do you think you can do that for me? Sir?”
Michael could only see the back of the cabbie’s head, but the muscles along his neck tensed and he didn’t respond. At least, not vocally. Just a short, stiff nod.
“That’s better,” the cop replied. “Now I’m going to need your nice law-abiding passengers to step out of the car. And make it snappy.”