Burn Code

Nine

Clenching a fist against the pain, I focused everything I had on remaining upright. I gulped a breath and aimed a punch at Paul. His only choice was to react in self-defense — for all he knew, I was passing malicious code. Then he’d belt me just for good measure.

I landed a blow across his jaw as the fire reached excruciating levels. His eyes widened in surprise and he scrambled to regain control. In a swift counter strike, he sent me to the ground and I felt the jack drop a wall of static around everything. The burn ceased and I gasped out a laugh from the floor.

“God, you’re crazy!” Paul crouched near me. “What the hell did you do that for?”

Half a minute passed and my eyes slipped shut in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

He stared at me, perplexed. “What is going on?”

“I don’t know how much time I have and whether he can circumvent the jack. If he can, I’m dead.”

“What?”

“Grendel.” I sat up, grabbing at the floor to keep the room from spinning. “He recoded my nanites, Paul. Now that he’s been cut off, I can tell you, but he was going to fry us both.”

“Christ.” He clutched at my shoulders.

“He used you as leverage. At the restaurant, he interfaced with you. Gained access to your shield.”

Paul shook his head. “That shouldn’t be possible. Those codes are scrambled daily.”

“He sent me the data you have stored.” I shoved at his arms as I remembered it all. The files. The notes. The damned videos.

“What data?”

I bit back tears. “The ones on me, you bastard! Your case files and recordings.”

“All my—?” Paul instantly sobered. “Cara, he didn’t get them out of me.”

“Of course he did! It was your notes. Everything you plotted out. Every recording.”

“No!” He shook his head. “You don’t understand! That was wiped after you were tried. Whatever I had is sealed in the data vault.”

I struggled to my knees and lashed out. My fist met his chest before I aimed higher. Swinging hard, I poured my anger into it. He jerked away and grabbed my wrist before it landed.

“Cara!” Twisting my arm in a joint lock, he held on.

I lacked any leverage in my left hand, but I struck out with it anyway. He readily blocked it.

“You sick fuck — you even recorded us in bed!”

“What?” Mortified, his eyes widened. “No, no Cara, I didn’t — I swear!”

“I don’t believe you!”

He glanced away, searching his memory, digital and analog. “I didn’t do those recordings — all I provided were case notes. They— oh, Christ.”

Paul’s mouth gaped open as some fragment slipped into place. “They wired me. Gave me a switch to make recordings whenever we discussed things pertaining to the case. It went directly to the vault. But God, I never recorded us together like that!”

He found my eyes again. “You have to believe me, Cara.”

I didn't care -- I just wanted to be away from him. I pulled against his grip, pushing on his arm with my free hand.

“Let me go!”

“Are you going to calm down?” Paul’s hand tightened its grip. “Or do I have to get out the handcuffs?”

Swearing, I pulled again. “Just let me go!”

Paul’s grip slowly loosened. He leveled a gaze of warning before completely letting me go.

“Believe me, Cara — I did not record us.” He stated flatly.

Not sure that I did, I held his gaze as I rubbed my wrist. But at least he had the decency to look ashamed.

“If what you say is true, you realize what this means, right?”

Paul nodded. “Grendel’s working with someone on the force.”

He sat back on his heels. “That’s how he accessed my shield. Whomever's on the inside knew the access code and relayed it.”

“Or did the inside man cut you off?”

“Not Grendel?”

“No.” I shook my head as the theories spun wild in my mind. “If an officer became corrupted or hacked in some way, could the central office give them a sleeper?”

Paul’s eyes widened at the prospect of that. “It certainly isn’t in the manual if they can, although it makes sense not to tell us.”

“I think you lucked out.”

“How’s that?”

“They wanted me to get you out of the way. Now that I’m jacked, I have no means to do it and they won’t themselves.”

“That doesn’t do you a lot of good.”

I gave him a rueful smile. “Keeps me alive. For now, anyway. I have an idea though.”

“Oh?” He looked hopeful.

“I need to go see the tattoo man.”

Paul nodded. “Whatever you’re going to do, make it quick. You’ll have twenty four hours before the jack reports itself. Then you’ll have a lot more to worry about.”

As I stood up, he reached out to clutch my hand. His thumb swirled over my wrist.

“Cara—”

“Don’t.” I pulled out of his grasp. “Just don’t.”