“They didn’t take him over,” said Anja. “Why did they not have an alert for when he popped up in their system?”
“I just barely logged in,” said Saif. “Maybe it . . . takes a while for my profile to pop up? Or maybe they’re not even watching anymore. Maybe it’s safe to use our djinnis again.”
“Too risky,” said Marisa. “Stay offline.”
“The order just entered Fung Noodle’s tracking system,” said Sahara. “I’m observing but don’t have any admin controls. Break out the Goblins.” Marisa blinked open her Goblin file and set them loose on Fung Noodle, helping Sahara break in. They cracked the main system by the time the food was ready, and hijacked the delivery nuli halfway to the Bluescreen warehouse. They mirrored its camera to the main screen on their wall, and watched as it flew across the city, houses and palm trees and uncountable autocars zooming away beneath it.
“This almost feels too easy,” said Anja. “I’m suspicious.”
“I bought dinner for four,” said Saif. “Told them it was the techs on the top floor. How far in do you think the nuli can get before they stop it?”
“I’ll be happy with a good look at the lobby,” said Bao. “Obviously more is better, and it is a warehouse—for all we know it’s open inside like a barn.”
“There it is,” said Marisa. She grabbed Saif’s hand without thinking, so nervous she rose up on her toes. “Work,” she whispered. “Just show us something we can use, that’s all I ask.”
Anja frowned, watching the screen as the nuli dropped down over the crowd of Tì Xū Dāo, heading for the front door. “Is that . . . ?”
“Nine hells,” said Marisa, so shocked she felt the world seem to spin away beneath her, crumbling into nothingness like she was back in NeverMind and reality had failed. Standing in the lobby was a tall blond man, agitated and scared, deep in conversation with a young Mexican man: well-dressed, devilishly handsome, and impossible to trust.
She found her voice again. “Omar.”
NINETEEN
“What are they saying?” asked Bao.
“I’m going to kill him,” said Sahara.
“You know him?” asked Saif.
“We—” Anja stammered, “we don’t know if he’s working with them. Maybe he’s there representing the Maldonados, negotiating a truce . . . or something . . .”
“Alone and unarmed?” asked Sahara. “Are you kidding?”
“What are they saying?” asked Bao again. “Marisa, can you get sound?”
“I . . .” Marisa felt helpless, but Bao’s question gave her focus; she couldn’t fathom finding Omar in the headquarters of their enemy, but manipulating a nuli to broadcast sound was simple and technical, something she could wrap her head around. “I think so. Hang on.” She blinked through the nuli’s remote admin controls, searching for a microphone, but found nothing. “The nuli doesn’t have anything.”
“Of course it does,” said Sahara. “There’s always a speaker you can use to talk to the restaurant.”
“It doesn’t have one,” said Marisa.
“What kind of backward nuli did you hack?” asked Anja.
“What else do we have?” said Sahara. “Is there another nuli nearby? I could send Camilla, but it’d be ten minutes just to get it there.”
“We don’t have time,” said Marisa. “Let’s use the . . . the Johara network again. I have Omar’s ID, we can activate his mic remotely.”
“That’s twice as illegal as the last thing we used their network for,” said Bao.
“Then cover me,” said Marisa, and blinked back into the Johara network.
Saif shook his head. “If Johara finds you snooping around in their system—”
“Already in,” said Mari.
Sahara growled, blinking rapidly to follow her. “Damn it, Mari, wait for me.”
“No time,” said Marisa, She opened the back door again and started flipping through the tech support system, looking for a remote link. “You’ll have to hide two connections—me to Johara, and Omar’s djinni to San Juanito.”
“I can’t work that fast,” said Sahara.
“Just get out!” yelled Saif. “You’ll get us all arrested!”
“I’ll help,” Anja said, and powered up her djinni.
“Anja, don’t!” Marisa shouted. “This is—”
“—too important to miss,” said Anja. “Now go!”
Marisa found the link, entered Omar’s ID, and routed it to the San Juanito wall screen. “Ready?”
Anja blinked a final time, and she and Sahara spoke almost in unison: “Go.”
Marisa activated Omar’s ambient mic, and connected the link.
“—and that’s unacceptable,” said the blond man. “Completely unacceptable.” He had a German accent, thicker than Anja’s but still easy to understand.
“That must be Nils,” said Sahara.
“You were supposed to provide protection,” said Nils. “That’s why we came to this neighborhood in the first place—because you said the local gang was under your thumb—”