Maya woke up with a start at 5:32 a.m., the sound of a diesel engine echoing in the street. Her muscles were tense, her body in a state of constant alert. She had slept fitfully, every creak of the building pulling her back to the surface. The mattress smelled of mold and something else she preferred not to identify.
She got up, stretched, and checked her trap. The nylon thread was still in place, the stacked plates exactly how she'd left them. No one had come in during the night. But was the Tesla still there?
She moved to the window, gently pulling aside the grimy curtain. The street was empty, bathed in the pale light of dawn. No black Tesla. Either the driver had left, changed location, or worse — was inside the building.
Her burner phone buzzed. A message.
[Unknown Number]: You sleep poorly, Phoenix. Nightmares keep you awake.
Maya felt her blood run cold. Someone was watching her. Someone knew she hadn't slept well. She quickly typed her response.
[Maya]: Who are you? How did you get this number?
[Unknown Number]: Better questions would be: where am I and what do I want?
[Maya]: I don't have time for your bullshit games.
[Unknown Number]: Oh, but you have all the time in the world, darling. You're stuck in that dump, broke, alone. You really think Cipher_X didn't tell me you still owe him a thousand dollars?
Maya's heart pounded. She looked around, searching for a weapon, an escape. Her taser was in her back pocket, her Swiss Army knife in her right boot.
[Maya]: What do you want?
[Unknown Number]: A conversation. Face to face. Come downstairs, cross the street, and enter the café on the corner. Alone. If you try to run or call anyone, I'll post your real location on every underground forum on the West Coast. You'll be burned by noon.
Maya closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She had no choice. Whoever this was knew her hideout, her phone, probably her identity. Running would only delay the inevitable.
She grabbed the essentials — USB key, taser, knife — and left the apartment. As she exited the building, she scanned the street. The café on the corner was a small place with a faded red storefront: "Lucky's Diner." A few early customers sat behind the fogged-up windows.
She crossed the street and pushed open the glass door. A bell chimed softly. The inside smelled like bacon and strong coffee. A waitress in her fifties, dyed red hair and a stained apron, looked up from her magazine.
"Table for one?"
"I... I'm waiting for someone."
Maya chose a booth in the back, her back to the wall, facing the entrance. She ordered a black coffee and watched everyone who came in. A construction worker, helmet under his arm. A woman in a suit, phone glued to her ear. An elderly man with a crumpled newspaper.
Then the door opened to reveal someone she didn't expect to see.
Damien Cross. His appearance was disguised, but Maya could see through disguises.
He wore black jeans and a plain gray sweater. His brown hair was tousled, as if he'd been up all night. He approached her table without a word and sat across from her.
"Was that you? The message? The Tesla?"
"What Tesla?" Damien frowned. "I walked here. And yes, I sent the message. Sorry for the drama, but I had no other way to get your attention without you bolting."
"How did you get this number? How did you know where I was?"
"You underestimate how easy it is to trace a burner phone when your name is Damien Cross." He waved to the waitress. "Black coffee, please. And scrambled eggs."
Maya stared at him. "You're ordering food? Seriously?"
"I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. And I bet you haven't either. You've lost weight."
"How would you know that?"
"Because I've been watching you since you left the laundromat last night."
Maya's blood froze. "You're having me followed?"
"I'm protecting you." Damien placed his hands on the table, palms open. "Listen closely, Maya. Nexus Corp sent a team to find you. They identified your Folsom Street apartment two hours ago. If you go back, you're dead."
"Bullshit. You're manipulating me, trying to make me depend on you."
"Look out the window. See the man in the gray suit across the street? He's been pretending to read a newspaper for twenty minutes. He hasn't turned a single page."
Maya glanced discreetly. Sure enough, a man in his forties stood near a bus stop, newspaper open, eyes locked on the café.
"He could be one of your guys."
"In that case, why would I warn you?" The waitress brought Damien's coffee. He took a sip and grimaced. "This coffee's awful. How can you drink this?"
"I didn't grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth."
"Neither did I." His tone darkened. "You think I was born rich? That CrossVault fell into my lap?"
He pulled out his phone and slid a photo toward her. "This is Marcus Reid, head of security at Nexus Corp. Former marine, interrogation and target elimination specialist. He's been in San Francisco since last night with a three-man team."
In the photo, a bald man with cold eyes and a scar on his left cheek.
"How do you know this?"
"I have sources inside Nexus. Tommy wasn't the only one working for me there."
"Tommy didn't work for you. He was a student at MIT."
"He was a student at MIT and he worked for me. Those aren't mutually exclusive." Damien sighed. "Look, I know this is hard to believe. Your brother was brilliant, but he had debts. Serious gambling debts. I offered him a deal: infiltrate Nexus Corp, gather intel on their illegal ops, and I'd pay off his debts plus a bonus."
"Liar."
"He sent me encrypted reports every week. The last one was three days before he died. He said he'd found something huge, something that would blow everything up. That's why they killed him."
The waitress brought Damien's scrambled eggs. He didn't touch them.
"Even if I believed you, it doesn't change anything. You're a manipulator who uses people for your own gain."
"You're right." His honesty caught her off guard. "I manipulate, I use, I lie when necessary. Welcome to the real world, Maya. But there's a difference between me and Nexus Corp — they kill innocent people to protect profits. I only kill those who deserve it."
"You kill?"
"When there's no other choice." His green eyes hardened. "The world's not an ethics class at Stanford. There are monsters out there, and sometimes, you have to become one to stop them."
"What do you want from me?"