I place the albums back to where I found them. “Thanks for the tip.” If there was ever a time I needed to butter up nugget-head this is it. “And thanks for the tea too. I don’t need anything else. You can go.”
He doesn’t move.
“I won’t touch any more albums if you’re worried,” I add.
“I’m not worried. For an Eater and Breather, you appear to be a fast learner.”
Eater and Breather?
Besides Dot, I’ve never heard another Bot use that term. Dot used it in a soft, endearing way. Hap uses it with utter contempt. I know Raine is his priority, even above the Secretary. Is that what this is all about? He resents me and the way I’ve wormed my way into her life? He must have been aware of every single night she went down the rope ladder to be with me. He used to be her lone confidante. Now she has another.
I take a step closer to him. “I’m not trying to replace you, Hap.”
“And that would be quite impossible, considering your abundant limitations.”
I grin. “I’ll remember that.”
For the first time I see the expression on his nugget-head change, his eyes narrowing like a cat that’s come to an understanding with a mouse, the closest thing I’ve seen to satisfaction on his face. He nods.
“Dorian has the night off,” he says. “So I’ll excuse myself now to finish preparing tonight’s refreshments.”
As soon as he leaves, I waste no time heading down to the lower level. How long do I have before Ra
ine returns? Ten minutes? Fifteen?
* * *
The Secretary’s office is in disarray, as though he left in a rush. Drawers and files are open. A half-finished drink still sits on his desk. His haste could be my gold mine. I race through the open files first, but there are only four memos that all seem to be standard bureaucratic transmittals. Trying to open up something else could be tricky, perhaps sending the whole system crashing, or setting off alarms if I touch the wrong file. Instead, I look through the drawers. Paper trails are rare these days, paper itself seldom used except for certain types of documents, and the only paper I find of consequence is a small handwritten note on a torn scrap of paper, yellow and brittle with age, that shows an address:
1407 Bridgemont, Cambridge
I compare it to notes on the Secretary’s desk where he jotted down some random tasks, including an appointment at 7:00 with LeGru. The handwriting doesn’t match. He didn’t write this note. I commit it to memory and put it back just as I found it, tucked in a corner of a lower drawer. I return to the files. I’ll have to take a chance and hope I don’t freeze or crash the whole system as I try to open additional files. My finger hovers over three possible folders identified with icons, no names. I briefly close my eyes. Concentrate, Locke, which one? I open my eyes and touch the one with a red triangle and hold my breath. A hundred subfolders spring into the air in front of me. A hundred. My eyes scan across them, bare titles that give little clue as to what’s inside. There isn’t time to hunt and peck. I zip my finger across the whole first row. A hundred more files fly into the air, the room a virtual littered mess of folders and files.
Time ticks wildly in my head. Seconds count. I scan as fast as I can and I’m almost to the end of the bottom row when I spot something. Blueprints for a lighting grid. I press it and a dozen more files open. Immediately I recognize the Old Library Building, but then something far more interesting—
“What are you doing?”
I look up. Raine is in the doorway.
What can I possibly say? I’m lost? Curious? I just stand there and she steps closer, her expression incredulous. “What are you doing?” she repeats.
“Raine, please, I can’t explain right now. Keep your voice down. I just need another minute to—”
She comes at me, screaming, “This is what you had to tell me? You were going to snoop through my father’s files? I can’t believe this! Get out! Get out!” She swipes at the open folders and I grab her by the wrist.
“I know this doesn’t look—”
“You’re nothing more than a spy! That’s all you ever were! Exactly what he warned me about! I was only a way for you to get to my father!” She reaches out with her other hand for the files but I pin her to my side.
“Please, Raine,” I whisper into her ear. “I need this information. You have to trust me.”
“Trust you? You’ve never done anything but lie to me! Let go! Let go of me right now!”
I miss half of everything else she’s yelling as I try to maintain my grip on her with my injured arm and read the file that I need. Arlington station—a lighting grid, two pressure points, another grid down the main tunnel—
She stomps on my foot. Her elbow finds my already cracked ribs. I let go, bending over the desk trying to breathe. She jumps away from me and spins, a river of anger and hatred spewing from her mouth.
“It all adds up now! Your sudden entrance into the Collective, all the questions about my father, the—” Her eyes widen impossibly larger. “Oh my God. That little Non-pact girl. She knew your name because you’re one of them.” She steps back like the thought horrifies her and she shakes her head. “I trusted you. I gave you—”