Kathy Reichs - Code

“On Kiawah.” Shelton helped Hi get us back on track. “Ocean Course, hole eighteen, guarded by a wicked snare gun. The chemical equation in the pictogram was the key to finding it.”

“Bromomethane.” I scribbled. “The cloth resembled a monk’s robe, and was embroidered with a rising sun. That led us to Mepkin Abbey, the cemetery, and … what we found last.”

“The dead body,” Ben spat. “And the pit viper. And the envelope full of threats.”

I nodded. Wrote it all down.

“That’s it?” Hi grabbed my notebook and read out loud. “Castle Pinckney. Diesel fuel. Bromomethane. Kiawah Island. Saint Benedict. Mepkin Abbey. Not exactly hot leads.”

“Worthless.” Ben slumped back, arms across his chest. “Random useless facts.”

I sighed. Was he right?

Coop emerged from the back and padded to his corner. One more set of eyes watching me.

A very long moment passed.

Hi broke the silence. “Anyone think it’s odd that the final deadline is so specific?”

“What do you mean?” Shelton asked. “The timer was pretty specific, too.”

“But that just counted down.” Hi scooped up the Gamemaster’s most recent letter. “This message states a precise day and time—Friday at nine. Why the change in format?”

I wasn’t sure I saw Hi’s point. “We need to examine everything we know about the Gamemaster. Look for patterns, or common threads. Dots that we can connect.”

“No, we need to ID the corpse.” Shelton raised both palms. “That’s why you took the photo, right?”

“Of course.”

Just before bolting the crypt, I’d had an idea. It was a long shot, but a Hail Mary beats no play at all. Reaching into the sarcophagus, I’d turned the dead man and taken a picture of his face.

“We’ll do both,” I said. “Connect the dots, and find out who the victim is.”

“Both?” Hi looked skeptical. “How do we accomplish either?”

Though stumped on the first issue, I had a plan for the second. “There might be a way to figure out who’s in that coffin.”

The boys waited.

“Time for another trip to Loggerhead.”

CHAPTER 33

“WHY CAN’T WE just ask permission?” Shelton complained.

“Because there’s no good excuse.” I led the Virals along the trail from the dock to the LIRI compound. “Plus, I think Kit’s suspicious. Last time he sent Sundberg to spy on us. We can’t risk it.”

“We need full network access,” Hi pointed out. “Lab Six has a dedicated terminal, but without a valid password we can’t tap into the mainframe.”

I glanced at Shelton, who dodged my eye.

Just as I thought .

“Hi, you’re forgetting!” I clamped a hand on Shelton’s shoulder. “Our hacker friend here happens to be the son of LIRI’s IT guru. I bet he knows a backdoor code or two.”

“He does.” Ben’s voice came from behind me. “We’ve done it before.”

Shelton groaned. “Even so, our session will be logged. I can’t prevent that.”

“Security doesn’t checks those reports,” I assured him. “Not without a reason. We’ll be careful not to give them one.”

“They didn’t used to check,” Shelton countered. “We don’t know what Hudson does now.”

Good point .

I brushed it off. My plan was all we had.

Approaching the front gate, I got down to business. “Once inside, head straight for Lab Six. If anyone’s watching we walk right by, hit the annex vending machines, then double back.”

Our luck was good: the courtyard was empty. We beelined to our target and slipped through the doors. Inside the building, the lobby was dark. Even LIRI scientists hate working Sundays.

As I flipped the light switch, memories flooded back. Rusty dog tags. A whirring sonicator. A thick metal door.

Coop, locked in a cage, tubes running from his paw.

From their faces, I could tell the boys were thinking the same.

We’d contracted the supervirus, here, in this building. Our break-in six months earlier had started it all. Had triggered our evolution into something unique. Had made us Virals.

Goose bumps. So much had changed since that day.

Ben yanked on the doors leading to Lab Six. They didn’t budge.

“Locked?” I hadn’t planned for that.

“I didn’t bring my picks.” Shelton looked almost relieved.

“Another building?” Hi suggested. “Maybe try to wrangle Lab Two again?”

“Maybe.” We needed a quiet terminal, one that wouldn’t be observed. I was racking my brain for a likely spot when Shelton surprised me.

He pointed to the staircase. “What about up there?”

“Karsten’s lab?” That hadn’t occurred to me. “You think it’s still functional?”

“The secret, diabolical torture chamber that nearly caused a major scandal?” Hi looked dubious. “Pretty unlikely Kit would keep it running.”

Shelton shrugged. “It had a computer. I remember that much.”

“Worth a look.” Ben was already moving.

We followed him up the steps and down a dark hallway, retracing the path we took on that fateful May afternoon. Every stride triggered memories. Being soaked by the thunderstorm. Chasing the echo of a dog bark.

Déjà vu .

We reached the end of the hall.

My spirits plummeted.

The lab had been gutted.

The hulking security door was propped open and deactivated. The racks of medical supplies and scientific equipment were gone. All that remained were two file cabinets, a half-dozen folding chairs, and a battered wooden desk.

With a desktop computer centered on its surface.

“Hell-o, beautiful!” Shelton quickly assessed the wiring. “Extension cord. Check. Ethernet cable. Check. Let’s see if this baby still puts out.”

Shelton booted the PC while Hiram and I arranged chairs. After the hard drive sputtered to life, the monitor displayed LIRI’s intranet homepage.

“We’re live.” Shelton input a series of commands I didn’t follow. A new portal appeared. “I’ll log in under system maintenance and override the tracking protocols, but I can’t erase our session altogether.”

“That’s fine.” I scooted closer. “We only need the one application. Should I email the photo?”

“Give me a sec. Gotta open Gmail to receive.”

“Explain what we’re doing again.” Ben was standing behind me. “Some program scans the picture?”

“It’s called Spotter—Kit went on and on about it once.” I tried to remember his exact words. “The software uses facial recognition technology to match uploaded images to pictures on the Internet. The idea is simple, but Spotter’s techniques are cutting edge. Expensive too. Kit said most clients are security organizations, law enforcement, or part of the gaming industry.”

“So why would LIRI buy it?” Hi asked.

“Kit learned that the technology works just as effectively with primates. He wants to track the Loggerhead monkeys without tags or tattoos, and hopes facial recognition is the answer. It’s brilliant, actually. He’s going to hire professional wildlife photographers to build the database.”

“But today,” Shelton said, “we’ll use Spotter as its developers intended.”

Hi gave a thumbs-up. “To stalk people online!”

Ignoring him, Shelton tapped the screen. “Send the pic to this address, Tor.”

Pulling up the image killed any good vibes I’d been feeling. Reality crashed back. I was forwarding the image of a corpse.

My email blipped on-screen. Shelton dragged it to the desktop, then searched for Spotter on LIRI’s network. An imposing black-and-white start page welcomed us to the program.

“Seems simple.” Shelton’s lips moved as he read. “We upload the pic, select full Internet search, and click run. Then we wait.”