“Yes, Jason?” He peered at me through my front door’s monitor.
“I’d like to send some flowers to Joseph Chen’s family. What floor do they live on?” I didn’t really want to send flowers; it would have been a disingenuous gesture given the truth, but more so because I wanted to monitor the family.
“I’m sorry, Jason,” Xiao Huang mumbled. “That’s, er, classified information.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been instructed by the building supervisor not to divulge any information about the Chens.” Xiao Huang appeared more pale in my monitor.
“Really,” I said. “Because I will come down and get the information from you personally if I have to.” I cast a knife at the wall target, and it hit with a satisfying thunk. Throwing two more in quick succession, I went on, “I don’t think either of us wants that.”
I saw the protrusion in Xiao Huang’s throat working. “The young Mr. Chen got sick, you see, and now they think his mother, Mrs. Chen, might have caught it too.”
“What floor, Huang?”
“The eightieth,” he said in a resigned voice.
“Thanks.”
“Yes, Jason. But I’d steer clear. They think it’s that killer flu strain going around.” He clicked off, the first time he’d ended an exchange between us first.
I collected the knives from the board and threw them again, then put on my suit and took the elevator to the eightieth floor. The Chen’s grand double doors were blocked with bright yellow tape. One panel stood open, and I glanced inside. Four people wearing orange hazmat suits were in the lavish living room. The government, or Jin’s people? Two walked toward the front door, and I quickly slipped back into the elevator, returning to my own apartment on the sixty-eighth floor.
I spent the next hour trawling the undernet for any news of Joseph Chen’s illness. Nothing. Since Daiyu knew about her friend falling sick, it made sense that Jin knew as well, and had intervened, quickly covering up the fact that a rich you who used his suits had caught the airborne avian flu. It was fine for the meis to get infected, but a you suffering the same fate would be poor business.
Even as I came to this conclusion, I saw an unmarked airambulance fly from the 101’s garage, disappearing into the horizon. I couldn’t tell Daiyu what I knew, and I decided not to tell my friends, either. What would it help? I’d just add it to my growing collection of misdeeds and personal sins.
Maybe by the end of all this, I wouldn’t be able to look anyone in the eye. Or maybe I’d do just that, and simply not care any longer.
? ? ?
The citadel was situated in the midst of run-down abandoned apartments and shuttered businesses. Only homeless, downtrodden meis came near the area—and even then, they remained hidden in the derelict hovels. It was a ten-story windowless five-sided structure made entirely of concrete, situated in a no-fly zone. That permit alone must have cost Jin a few million at least. The only way in on the ground floor, protected by thick steel doors, was manned by security guards 24/7. The rooftop was unguarded, except for a webwork of sensors protecting it.
Victor and I crouched under the shade of a gutted building. We had paid off the homeless meis who squatted there, giving them money every morning we had arrived, scoping out the citadel’s comings and goings. They took the money without a word. Some nodded wearily at us, not meeting our eyes. They were all filthy and disheveled, with that all-too-familiar hunger in their pinched faces. They left Victor and me alone after getting their daily payoff.
It was an unusually warm day in early February—humid, with thick brown smog blotting our anemic sun. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck, slid down between my shoulder blades. For once, I regretted wearing a black T-shirt and missed my temperature-controlled suit. Disgusted with myself, I drew a long breath of our polluted air, pungent with exhaust and the stench of urine. Then had to fight the urge to puke.
“What’s wrong with you?” Victor asked. He was dressed as sharp as ever, in a button-down short-sleeved white shirt, tucked neatly into dark gray pants.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s been a week already. Are you sure about this?”
Victor peered at me over his designer Italian sunglasses. “The generators are maintained monthly. The tech’s due to return soon.”
Before he finished speaking, a white van pulled up outside the citadel. The characters for LU’S SERVICE AND SUPPLIES were stenciled in blue across the side. A man in his thirties wearing a navy cap jumped out from the driver’s side and slammed his car door shut. He hurried toward the double steel doors, then pulled out his wallet to flash an ID at the door monitor. A few moments later, a security guard from the citadel emerged, dressed in a nondescript gray uniform.
“See?” Victor grinned and cracked his knuckles.
The security guard tramped toward the square concrete building that housed the backup generators adjacent to the citadel. We watched as he unlocked the thick steel door to the building with two different keys, then both men disappeared inside. The two keys were kept on a lanyard, the kind you could put around your neck. About forty minutes later, both men emerged from the generator building.
Victor pulled out the front of his tucked shirt, mussed up his perfect hair, and lurched out from where we had been hiding. By the time the guard had locked the generator building’s door again with both keys, Victor had already stumbled across the deserted street, weaving drunkenly and singing in a high-pitched voice. The guard was chatting to the technician in front of his van when Victor waved, before careening head on into the guard. The guard shoved him off, cursing loudly, and Victor veered away from the men to bounce against a tree, almost slipping to the ground. He cowered there, balled up.
I knew Victor had lifted the keys from the guard’s pocket and was now taking a 3-D scan of both keys. Sweat collected at my hairline, and I wiped my damp palms against my dark jeans. Vic was a pro, but I was still nervous as hell watching this go down. The man drove off in his van, and the guard disappeared back into the citadel. Victor teetered his way in the same direction, then doubled over, making loud retching noises. He put on such a good show, I was almost convinced he had been drinking. When he straightened, I saw that he had discreetly dropped the keys to the ground and proceeded to disappear down another dilapidated side alley. He had said he’d take a circuitous route back to me.
“Make sure the guard comes back out and finds those keys,” Victor had instructed. “If he doesn’t, go out and find them for him if you have to. Otherwise, they might change the locks and we’re screwed.”