Wildcard (Warcross #2)(17)

Somehow, his physical appearance seems even more intimidating than his virtual one. I realize I’m clenching my fists and force myself to relax my hands. “I was doing fine with the Phoenix Riders,” I reply.

He nods. “And that’s why you’ve already told them everything you’re doing, right? That you’re here now?”

I narrow my eyes at his mocking tone. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“How long have you been with the Blackcoats? Were you the one who formed them? Or have you never been a loner?”

He puts his hands in his pockets in a gesture so reminiscent of Hideo that, for an instant, I feel like he’s the one here instead. “As long as I can remember,” he answers.

Now’s my chance. All the questions swirling in my mind sit on the edge of my tongue. My breath is suddenly short as the words pour out. “You’re Sasuke Tanaka. Aren’t you?”

My statement is greeted only by silence.

“You’re Hideo’s younger brother,” I urge him, as if he didn’t hear me the first time.

His eyes are absolutely devoid of any emotion. “I know,” he says.

I blink, thinking I’d misheard him. “You know?”

There’s something unusual about his eyes again, that empty stare. It’s as if what I’ve said means nothing. It seems irrelevant to him, like I’d revealed he was related to some faraway stranger he knows absolutely nothing about . . . and not the brother he’d grown up with, the brother who had destroyed his own life and mind out of grief for him. The brother he is now trying to stop.

“You—” My words falter, my voice turning incredulous as I look at him. “You’re Hideo’s brother. How can you know that and still talk like this?”

Again, no response. He looks completely unaffected by my words. Instead, he steps closer to me until we’re separated by a mere foot. “A blood relation is meaningless,” he finally replies. “Hideo’s my brother, but more importantly, he’s my mark.”

My mark. The words are harsh and cutting. I think back to the grin on young Sasuke’s face in Hideo’s Memory, when they were both at the park. I puzzle over the deep wounds that Sasuke left behind in Hideo and his family when he disappeared. This is a boy who had been loved deeply. Now he doesn’t seem to care at all.

“But—” I say, faltering, “what happened to you? You vanished when you were a little boy. Where did you go? Why are you called Zero?”

“Jax didn’t warn me about how curious you are,” he replies. “I guess this is what makes you a good bounty hunter.”

The way he’s responding reminds me of code stuck in an infinite loop, going round and round in useless circles, or politicians who know exactly how to evade a question they don’t want to answer. People who can turn a question on you to take the heat off themselves.

Maybe Zero doesn’t want to answer me. Maybe he doesn’t even know. Whatever the reason, I won’t be getting anything out of him voluntarily—nothing more than these piecemeal replies. I shove down the urge to keep pressing him. If he won’t tell me himself, then I’ll have to gather info on my own.

So I try a different kind of question. “What are you planning?” I force myself to say.

“We’re going to insert a virus into Hideo’s algorithm,” Zero says. He holds his hand out, and a glowing data packet appears over his palm. “The instant it’s in, it will trigger a chain reaction that deletes the algorithm entirely and cripples the NeuroLink itself. But to do this successfully, we have to launch it from inside Hideo’s own account, his actual mind. And we have to do this on the day of the closing ceremony, at the very moment when the beta lenses finally connect to the algorithm.”

I guess the rumor about when the beta lenses would convert to algorithm lenses is true, after all. It makes sense—theoretically, there’ll be a split-second delay when the beta lenses are hooked into the algorithm but not yet influenced by it. When it’s setting itself up. That’s the only chance they’ll get to insert a virus.

“And when, exactly, are the beta lenses connecting to the algorithm?” I ask.

“Right at the start of the closing ceremony’s game.”

I look sidelong at him. How does he know so much about Hideo’s plans? “So, I’m going to have to get into his mind,” I repeat. “Literally.”

“As literal as it gets,” Zero replies. “And the only way into the algorithm—into his mind—is for Hideo himself to allow it. That’s where you come in.”

“You want me to warm up to Hideo.”

“I want you to do whatever it takes.”

“He’ll never go for it,” I reply. “After our last encounter, I doubt he’ll ever want to see me again. He already suspects I’m out to stop him.”

“I think you underestimate his feelings for you.” He waves his hand once.

The world around us disappears, then wraps us both inside news footage of Hideo leaving an event while being swarmed on all sides by anxious reporters and fans. This is from two nights ago, after Hideo had announced the rematch between the Phoenix Riders and Team Andromeda.

His bodyguards shout and push, cutting a path for him, and a good many paces behind him walks Kenn, who looks pale and distraught. I’ve never seen the two of them like this, walking so far apart. As the security team forms a stern line in front of the crowds, one of the reporters shouts a question at Hideo.