False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(63)

I give him the sketch of Ensi to take back to headquarters, as well. He shakes his head in amazement. “This is what he looks like? Do you know how long we’ve been trying to find this out? This alone will help us so much.”

Good, I think. Maybe that’ll make it easier for the government to let my sister go. Regardless of what she might have done.

That night I’m strapped into the Chair yet again, to download more confidential information on the Ratel from the SFPD. Since I’ve been undercover, I haven’t seen another cop except in these scenes. But they’re there. They’ll be ringed around the Xanadu, hidden, supposedly lending whatever support they can, with another few stationed at the safe house. Though I know as well as Nazarin that if we’re truly in trouble at that party, they’re unlikely to go in and blow the SFPD’s cover. We have until Saturday to prepare me as much as possible.

We’ll be on our own.

The next day is Thursday. One week since my life turned upside down. It doesn’t seem possible. Nazarin is away for most of the day with more Ratel activities. More security. More drop-offs of Verve, to other Zealot lounges.

I wonder how far he goes when he’s undercover. How deeply does he play his role? Does he hurt people? His actions do, at the very least. By his delivering a weapon of a vial of Verve, someone will be harmed or killed. Soon, I’ll see what he does firsthand.

Soon, I might have to do some of it myself.

Will I be able to? I’ve prided myself on following the letter of the law since I left the Hearth and arrived in San Francisco. The crimes I may commit while undercover are sanctioned by the government, but I can’t help but fear they’ll find some legal loophole afterward. What if they don’t honor their side of the arrangement, and keep Tila locked up? Or throw me in with her? I know Verve’s secret. Will they want to cover up its true purpose?

I have a little ammunition in that regard that I’m keeping close. A week ago, I never would have considered these mercenary thoughts.

I read through Tila’s notes. I sit cross-legged on the floor, tilting my head back, eyes closed. I’ve read them so many times by now. They have so many things I need, like details of the relationships and hierarchies between the various members of the Ratel. There are smaller things, too, like what people like to drink, or their favorite foods—side effects of her training as a hostess. Tila recounts crimes she’s witnessed: people picking up packages full of Verve. Information gleaned from dreams. I know what businesses have Ratel members integrated into every level, gathering insider information to their advantage or bullying the owners to give them protection money. Some of this information is incriminating to the government. I know a few high-ranking officials who have tried Verve. A few members of Sudice as well. This is what I’ll keep close, to protect myself and Tila when this is all over.

Tila has written her suppositions about Verve—how if it becomes widespread, the Ratel could essentially create an army to do their bidding. The government, or Sudice, wouldn’t stand a chance. She also wonders what would happen if it fell into government hands. San Francisco sure can look beautiful, she writes, but it’s corrupt to the core with the Ratel and a government not much better. It’s all infested, like termites in rotting wood.

Her notes also seem to echo what Nazarin said outside Mirage—that there is unrest within the ranks of the Ratel. She mentions a young man who’s risen quickly through the ranks but still seems discontented:

Leo. White-blond hair. Black eyes. Has realized how much Ensi keeps at the top end and how little the others are rewarded. Can’t be sure if he’ll actually do anything about it yet. He’s cautious and methodical, but still a bit of an upstart. I figure he’s going to get himself killed sooner rather than later, before he can actually make any trouble. One to watch. Could be an ally.

There had been a drawing of him, too, in her sketchbook. Serious, intense.

“Oh, Tila,” I murmur aloud. She is in deep. She’s been doing this for months. And she’d come to my apartment, pretending she was only a hostess at Zenith. I should be hurt. I should be angry. It’s as if I’ve moved through that, to the other side. Now I’m only sad, disappointed, and still deeply afraid.

All day I read the notes, until I have everything memorized. I take breaks to practice in the gym using the virtual reality overlay, dodging imaginary foes, aiming imaginary weapons. I brainload as much as I can on hacking into implants and hiding information within them, with the hope that the government will not discover what I have hidden.

Thursday melts to Friday. Nazarin stumbles in close to dawn, and I wake slightly as he turns off my Chair. It’s only later that day I manage to build up my courage to tell him something in the notes I have to mention before we go to the party.

“I’m going to be Tested tomorrow at Xanadu,” I tell him over coffee.

He’s slept perhaps three hours, and looks drawn and haggard. At my words, he glances up sharply. “What makes you say something like that?”

“I’ve, um, found Tila’s notes at her place.” I give him handwritten, printed-out translations. I’ve left out the information about the government and Sudice, for our later protection, and a few other things where I didn’t understand what they meant and feared they could be dangerous. Everything else is there, and our handwriting is similar enough he doesn’t question it.