The story was the best thing she’d ever written, or so she told herself. All the evidence she’d stolen from her would-be Casanova had checked out, at least as far as she could tell. The files linked the aliens to a hundred different lobbyist organisations and a number of prominent politicians. And the most prominent of them was serving as the President of the United States. Jayne rubbed tired eyes and asked herself if she was really certain she wanted to upload the story. It would mark her out for death if the aliens caught up with her…
She shook her head. The aliens had already tried to kill her — and they would not relent just because she’d withheld a certain story. They’d probably expect that she’d flee from Washington, but that wouldn’t stop them hunting her down. Killing her before she had a chance to break the story would keep it buried forever, or at least long enough to ensure that it no longer mattered. If they’d been prepared to destroy an entire city to avenge the death of one of their people, they would certainly be willing to kill her to prevent her from blackening their name still further.
“No,” she told herself firmly. “The die has to be cast.”
Opening her suitcase, she produced her second computer. It had taken nearly an hour to set the program up the way she wanted it, but with the aliens in control of much of the internet there was no other choice. Humans tended to believe that the internet was nothing more than a vast mass of computers — and in one sense that was perfectly accurate — yet most messages and postings went through a series of servers. The alien-built servers would almost certainly hold her message while waiting for the aliens to check it for themselves, or simply wipe it from the system. They used a similar capability to eradicate junk mail, something that would have made them folk heroes if they hadn’t been trying to enslave the entire world.
Smiling at the thought, she pulled a USB stick from the first computer and jammed it into the second. The program she’d created went online at once, starting the long process of distributing the message to every underground forum and news hub she knew existed. It would be picked up and redistributed by other computer experts, who would alter the message slightly to prevent the aliens from tracking all copies down and eradicating it from the internet. And if the aliens did, by some dark miracle, succeed in wiping all copies off the known net, the copies she’d sent to hidden forums would survive and start being distributed again in a week. They’d have no way to block the message permanently.
Standing up, she picked up her bag and headed for the door. The money she’d taken from the oaf had bought her a reasonably good room, in a building that didn’t ask too many questions. She had actually booked in for three days, something that might keep them from recognising that she was gone until it was too late. They’d been paid in advance for the room, anyway, she reminded herself; a price that would have been outrageous in gentler times. There was no need to feel guilty over leaving them to explain themselves to the police or the aliens when they turned up — and they would. Jayne had no doubt of it.
She walked out of the elevator, nodded to the doorman, and strode out onto Washington’s streets. She didn’t look back.
Julius Davenant pursed his lips in annoyance when the call came through from his superiors. He’d been busy enjoying a nice period of R&R when they’d called him, but he knew better than to defy the aliens. Now he knew who he’d been working for, he knew that any failure to follow orders — or to fail in his task — would have serious consequences. And besides, the target was a young woman. He always enjoyed chasing and killing young women. It was just a shame that only a handful of assignments included that particular chore.
The message had told him her exact location — a motel called the Abbot Belfry, whatever the hell that was — but he knew better than to expect her to stay there. This wasn’t the days when bloggers hadn’t known that someone was tracking them down and killing anyone who was too outspokenly anti-alien; these days, they knew to run and hide as soon as they posted to the internet. It had, according to some of the forums he’d visited from time to time, improved the general tone of internet debates no end. Davenant just couldn’t see why anyone would bother getting worked up about what someone else said on the internet. It wasn’t that important or significant.
Standing just outside the motel, he mentally put himself into his target’s shoes. Where would she go? According to the briefing, she had had the sense not to go anywhere near her friends, family or people she might have known from the BAN. It was wise of her, as they were all being watched by remote bugs. He was still considering possible options when his cell phone rang again. The target had been spotted by a CCTV camera in a nearby eatery, the owner blissfully unaware that his security system had been hijacked by the aliens. She probably thought that she was safe.
Checking the gun and ID badge in his pocket, Davenant started to walk slowly towards the eatery. There’d be time to check it out carefully before he went into the place and finished off his target. And then he might even stop off for some lunch.
Jayne had been lucky to find the eatery. It seemed that one of the owner’s sons worked for the aliens — directly or indirectly, no one seemed to know — and he had the pull to organise delivery of fresh food and drink. Jayne polished off a plate of bacon, eggs and sausages, feeling slightly guilty as she finished eating and smacked her lips together. There were people in Washington who had never known a day’s hunger in their lives, but were starving now. A few more weeks of this and any will to resist the aliens would be broken.
Someone — she couldn’t remember who — had died because he’d had his back to the entrance and his enemy had shot him before he’d even realised that he was there. She hadn’t made that mistake. She’d taken a seat that allowed her to see whoever was coming into the building, long before they could hope to see her. Jayne was just on the verge of leaving when she saw someone approaching the door. Somehow — she wasn’t sure how — she knew that he was dangerous. Standing up, she headed for the toilets, silently praying that he wouldn’t recognise her from her back. She felt a tingle at the back of her neck as she heard the door opening behind her, but the blow she was half-expecting failed to materialise. Instead of going into the toilets — where she knew she could be trapped easily — she headed to the third door, which opened into the kitchen. A young man — barely old enough to shave — looked up at her in surprise. Customers were not supposed to enter the kitchen.
Jayne looked down at him, ensuring that she revealed enough cleavage to fluster anyone male. “Is there a second way out of here?”
The man — the boy — frowned. “I’m not supposed to…”
Jayne held out a ten dollar note, although there was no way of knowing precisely what it was worth at the moment. “My ex is behind me,” she lied smoothly. “I can’t let him see my face, or he’ll kick up a right fuss…”
Either the money or the sob story clinched it. “Just walk right out of there,” the boy said, pointing to a half-opened door in the far wall. “Turn left and you’ll come back to the street.”
“Thanks,” Jayne said. She passed him the note and hurried towards the door. It opened onto an alleyway, allowing her to slip past a pile of containers and rubbish bins. A small mob of cats were clawing at the bins, uncovering food that had been thrown out and been left to rot. Jayne shuddered as she passed the cats and kept moving. How long would it be before the citizens of Washington were scavenging in the waste bins for something to eat?