Finally, I opened the doorway to the tunnels, and in walked Brie and Dorrie.
“What’s wrong?” Brie attitude was all business. She took in the situation. “Joan?”
Joan hung her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Joan, it’s okay. It’s all right.” I reassured her again.
“I know. I know.” She turned to Brie. “I freaked out.” She gazed up at us. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’ve got plenty of time, if we leave now.”
“Nina—” The tone of Dorrie’s voice scared me. “There’s been a change in plans,” Dorrie said. “Japan isn’t—”
A knock on the storeroom door stopped us in our tracks.
“Go. I’ll get rid of whoever it is,” I whispered, motioning Brie and Dorrie to hide behind a pile of packing boxes. Joan was officially logged in as my visitor, so it’d be odd if she disappeared as well, but I couldn’t risk anyone finding her. I pushed her to follow Brie and Dorrie behind the boxes. I went to the door and looked through the viewer. It was a security guard. I cracked the door open. “I’m sorry, Martin’s not here today, can I—”
“You’ve got a visitor.” The guard stepped aside to reveal Kasimir Lessig standing there.
“Miss Oberon,” he said. “Not looking nearly as appealing as when we last met. Worrying adds years and wrinkles, you know.” He patted my cheek and sauntered past me into the room.
“Was there a problem with the information I gave you?” I glared at Lessig.
“Manners, Miss Oberon. Manners.”
“The information,” I said to Lessig, “was it not what you expected?”
“Oh, I haven’t even seen it yet. Angelo, stellar assistant that he is, offered you a ride to work so you wouldn’t be late. You declined. He thought that odd. So did I. Since I was just across the street, I thought I’d see if something was wrong. Is there something wrong?
“No. I’d rather be late than accept a ride from Mr. Fassbinder. I don’t like him.” Or you, I added in my head.
“Honesty. How refreshing. He doesn’t care for you either. Oh, but I suppose I should be careful what I say—me, of all people! After all, wouldn’t want it on News at Eleven.” He laughed and waved his hand around to reference the surveillance. “Lucky for me, I control News at Eleven.”
It dawned on me that Lessig didn’t know that this room had a surveillance block. One that I could control. If I could get Lessig to admit to his lies and his blackmail… could Dorrie record it, maybe even broadcast it through Rogue Radio? It might be too late to help me, but she could give it to the NonCons after I was gone. But how could I tip her off?
“No worries here,” I countered, trying hard to keep my voice airy and light. “This room is surveillance-free to protect the art. Talk all you want. No one’s recording this.” I hoped that would be enough.
“Oh, little girl, no place is free of surveillance, except perhaps my penthouse and your current place of residence.” He raised his eyebrows. “Besides, you think you can fool me?” Lessig snorted.
“Fine, if you don’t believe me, try to contact Angelo on your PAV,” I said. “It won’t work.”
He took out his receiver, frowned, then put it back. “Well, then. Shall we have a frank heart-to-heart?”
“Why not?” Dorrie’s PAV wouldn’t work with the surveillance shields up either. I’d have to turn them off. Acting nonchalant, I perched on the corner of my desk, keeping the lever hidden from Lessig’s view. Leaning on my arm, I pushed it down. What I hadn’t anticipated was a single beep, probably indicating satellite connection.
Lessig jerked his head around. “What was that?”
“What was what?” I shrugged.
“That electronic beep.” His eyes narrowed. “Nina, Nina. Are you trying to pull a fast one on me?”
“You mean the temperature control? The thermostat is automatic—it beeps when the temperature changes. You know, to safeguard the art. I don’t even notice it anymore.” I got off the desk and approached him. “Listen,” I said, “I held up my end of the bargain. I spied on Jonathan Jenkins—”
“I have yet to see if that information is valuable. I’ve been waiting for years to set up Jenkins. Never liked him. Never liked anyone who was friends with your father.”
“You said you’d get my grandfather out of custody, if I did what you wanted. I did it. Now, I want my grandfather back.” My voice sounded steely, but I was shaking inside.
“Your grandfather.” Lessig wet his lips. “Alan Oberon’s father.” He cocked his head. “I think you must have misheard me. I can’t imagine helping anyone who’s related to Alan Oberon. Ever.”
His pointed stare was infuriating. “You promised me—you said, if I spied on the Jenkinses, you’d save my grandfather!” My heart thumped in my chest, and anger raged through me. I knew something like this would be coming, but I didn’t realize the sheer fury I would feel at hearing him say it out loud. “I should’ve known not to trust you, not after you spread those lies about my mother and the fake FeLS station.”
“Lies?” His eyes bored into me. “And just what do you know about FeLS that I don’t?” He grabbed my arm.
I jerked it away. “Since we’re being honest, Mister Lessig”—I practically spat the words out—“I know all about FeLS. My mom’s the one who found out the truth about the government’s liaison program—that it was a sex-slavery ring. And I know you lied about her involvement in it.”
“Ah, yes. The perks of being the most trusted newscaster in the Americas. The face of Media. I can show whatever I want, say whatever I want, and people believe me. Fake space station”—he snapped his fingers—“no problem. Sex-slavery ring? Pin the scandal on Ed Chamus and your mother. Piece. Of. Cake. The basic details on FeLS were true—nice of Jenkins to give me that information—but I couldn’t let the world know that we were trafficking girls through FeLS, let alone who the girls went to. Can you imagine what would happen if I let the idiots in our society know that their most trusted leaders had a taste for virginal sex-teens? So I created the rest of the story—the fake space station, Chamus being the ringleader. All of it.”
“You made those Alerts up? You are sick.”
“Sick? Little girl. What I am is the most powerful man in the world. I can make or break anyone.” A smile twisted across his face. “I could even bring down the GC president if I wanted to. That old pervert loves the FeLS girls. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve got the vids to prove it.”
Suddenly, there was a furious pounding on the door. Fass-binder’s voice came through, screaming, “Kasimir! Stop! Shut up!”
Lessig spun around, and I raced back to the wall. He flung open the door, and Fassbinder stumbled into the room, flailing to keep his balance.
“Kasimir—she’s broadcasting this. It’s all over the airwaves. Everything. FAVs. PAVs. Alerts. Everything!”
“What? There’s no reception in—” The realization dawned on him. I looked around for an escape, but he was too quick. With murder in his eyes, he yanked me to him. Searing pain stabbed through my shoulder, but I bit back a scream. “Turn it off!” he yelled. “Now!”
“I’m not recording anything! Look, I’m not doing anything!” I held out my PAV, and he brushed it aside.
“You lying bitch! No worries, Miss Oberon? We’ll see about that. Angelo, get the old man on the view.” He twisted me closer, wrenching my shoulder more. “See this?”
I looked at the screen of his PAV. It was Pops in a transchair, those same tubes pumping liquid into his arms.