“But your djinni is off,” said Saif.
“Crap,” said Marisa, smacking her forhead. “I’m so used to having it; this is the worst.”
“I have a tablet,” said Saif, pulling a MoGan from his pocket. “Can we link it to this?”
Marisa took it, examining the slim rectangle. It was the same model as Omar’s, and she couldn’t help but shake her head. “Let me guess: you just use it for the speaker?”
“Yeah,” said Saif, furrowing his brow. “How’d you know?”
“Because all you rich boys are the same,” she said. “Bao, I can disable the ID on this MoGan and set up an ad hoc network with your phone. If we go a safe distance from the strip mall, there won’t be any storefronts to track our signal, and we should be completely undetectable.”
“We’re almost there,” said Bao, handing her the phone and hat. “Work quickly.”
Marisa fiddled with the devices until she found a way to link them with a hard line; the hat seemed adamantly opposed to any form of wireless communication. For good measure she patched in the microphone as well, and then linked them all to Saif’s tablet on a private, short-range network. The autocab let them out at the strip mall, a small stretch of busy shops and restaurants on the edge of a large industrial park. It looked like it contained many more complexes than just the Donato Center. They walked a quarter mile to find the right fence, hoping no one at the strip mall had paid enough attention to recognize them, and Bao set off to find the gate. Marisa hesitated a moment, staring at the tablet, then went online with it and created a dummy account in a chat program. She called the account Zora582, Sahara’s first-ever account name in Overworld, and used it to send Sahara a message.
“What are you doing?” asked Saif.
“Building a backup plan while Bao gets into position,” said Marisa. A response popped up from Sahara, and Marisa held up her finger. “Hang on a sec.” She opened the message.
You’re back online, wrote Sahara. Are you crazy?
My djinni’s still off, Marisa typed back. This is a tablet, far away from any ID readers. We’re spying on Saif’s supplier, and I need your help.
For what?
I want a nuli to follow the supplier. Look for something called the Donato Center.
Okay, sent Sahara. Aaaaaaaand . . . got it. And I’ve got Fang as well, I’ll patch her in.
Hey Mari, sent Fang. You’re having one hell of a day, aren’t you?
There’s a strip mall nearby with a bunch of fast food places, sent Marisa. I saw at least one that had delivery nulis. See if you can commandeer one of them for us to boss around.
Heh, sent Sahara. That’s ironic.
Don’t remind me. Marisa sent the final message to Sahara and looked up at Saif. “You doing okay?”
He touched his face. “I’ve been hit harder that that, believe it or not.”
“I don’t mean that,” said Marisa, though she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt—not just for having hurt him, but for knowing that he’d been hurt before. She inched closer. “I mean Bluescreen,” she said. “Being betrayed like that; being controlled. That’s . . . got to hurt a lot more than just a punch.”
Saif’s eyes twinkled with mischief, barely visible in the darkness. “That was ‘just a punch,’ huh? I’d hate to see what happens when you really attack someone.”
“I’ve got them,” said Bao, his voice whispering from the mic connection on the table. Marisa connected the audio to the chat program, so Sahara and Fang could listen in as well. “I’m about three buildings away,” said Bao. “Video feed coming now.” They waited, and after a moment a grainy, black-and-white image appeared on the screen. She saw a small car, she couldn’t tell what model, with a man leaning against it, but the image was so poor she couldn’t see what he was wearing, let alone what he looked like.
Another car pulled up in front of it, head-to-head. Marisa heard a click and a moment of static, and the newcomer spoke.
“Kindred!”
“Gomez!” said the first man. They shook hands, and one of them said something Marisa couldn’t quite make out.
“I missed that last part,” she said.
“I’m trying to get closer,” said Bao, and the image shook wildly as he walked forward.
That’s going to make me seasick, sent Fang.
“Don’t go too far,” said Marisa, “the network on this tablet only reaches out a hundred meters or so.”
I’m working on that nuli, sent Sahara. Fang, can you run interference?
On it, sent Fang.
Kindred opened his trunk and pulled out a bag. Gomez held up a bag of his own, and the two men traded.
Marisa nodded. “Bluescreen drives in exchange for . . . I have no idea. Dinner, maybe? What would you hand to a drug dealer?”
“It’s cash,” said Saif.