Hellbent (Orphan X #3)(48)

He parked in the garage next to a decade-old Buick Enclave that had served him loyally. The garage door shuddered down, and then he and Joey were cocooned in darkness, safe.

He started to get out when she said, angrily, “What does it matter?”

“What?”

“Whether I kill someone?”

He took a moment to consider. “It changes you in ways you can’t understand. You’d never be able to have a normal life.”

“A normal life? So I can … what? Hang out at the mall? Go to prom? Take a thousand fucking selfies?”

Her voice held an anger he did not understand.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’d fit right in.”

“It’s about more than that,” he said. “We’ve talked about the Tenth Commandment. ‘Never let an innocent die.’ But maybe there’s another part to it: ‘Never let an innocent kill.’”

“I’m not an innocent.”

“No. But maybe we could get you back there.”

She did not seem satisfied with that.

She made no move to get out of the car. Sitting in the Prius, they stared through the windshield at nothing.

“I’m weak,” she said.

Her face cracked, contorting in grief, a flicker so fast that he’d have missed it if he’d blinked.

“Why do you think that?”

“I couldn’t pull the trigger on the guy in the duffel bag. I couldn’t do it at the rest stop either.”

“That’s not because you’re weak,” Evan said. “It’s because you’re stronger.”

“Than who?”

He hadn’t seen where the words were headed, not until now. He set his hands on the wheel, breathing the dark air.

“Than me,” he said.

*

For Evan, maintaining the safe houses was a part-time job. Every few days he watered the landscaping, cleared flyers off the porch, took in the mail, programmed the lighting-control systems. Each location had what Jack called “loadouts”—mission-essential gear and weapons.

He entered the Burbank house, disarming the alarm system. The interior was dark, hemmed in by trees, the backyard shaded by a steeply sloped hillside. The house always smelled slightly damp, moisture wicking up through the foundation.

Joey walked from room to room, mouth gaping. She came back into the living room, let the rucksack drop on the thick brown carpet along with a bag of junk food he’d bought her at the last gas station. Twizzlers and Red Bull, as promised, as well as instant ramen packs, Snickers bars, and sandwiches in triangular plastic containers.

“You just have houses everywhere?”

“Not everywhere.”

“Where do you live?”

“That’s off-limits.”

She held up her hands. “Whoa, cowboy. I got it. X’s place—off-limits. But how do you have so much money?”

“When I was operating, they set me up with an excess of resources. They wanted me to have no reason ever to be heard from. It was a huge investment, but it paid well.”

“Paid well?”

“How much is regime change worth?” Evan said.

Joey pursed her lips.

He said, “A well-placed bullet can change the direction of a nation. Tip the balance of power so a country’s interests align with ours.”

She shook her head as if shaking off the thoughts. “How has Van Sciver not tracked you down through your bank accounts?”

“He’s tried.”

“But you’re too good.”

“No. Jack was too good. He set everything up, taught me what I needed to know about keeping it untraceable.”

“But things have changed since then.”

“Right. I’ve refined the practices. After an unfortunate event last month, I diversified a little more. Bitcoin mining.”

She smiled. “Because it’s delinked from government regulation and oversight.”

“That’s right.”

“So. That’s why you can afford to have safe houses everywhere.”

“Not everywhere.”

She spun in a full circle, taking it all in. “And I can stay here?”

“Yes. And work.” Evan fired up the Dell laptop, set it on a round wooden table that, along with a mustard-colored couch, passed for the living-room furniture. “I need what’s in here. Getting Van Sciver? It’s a marathon, not a sprint. But we want to sprint the marathon. Understand?”

She folded her arms. “Let me explain to you what we’re looking at here. This Dell Inspiron is using a crazy strong encryption algorithm.”

“So you can’t brute-force the key?”

She gave a loud, graceless guffaw that was almost charming. “We’re talking a substitution-permutation cipher with a block size of sixty-four bits and key sizes up to two hundred and fifty-six bits. So no, we can’t brute-force the key unless you’ve got like a hundred or so years.”

“What’s the best way to get the key?”

“With a hammer from someone who knows it.”

“Joey.”

She sigh-groaned, sat down, and pulled the laptop over to her. “What’s your password to get online?”

He told her. Waited. Then asked, “What are you doing?”