Striker cursed out loud.

“I can do this,” he muttered to himself.

He pounded away at the keys again, annoyed. He was sitting at the kitchen table, boots stretched out between the broken pieces of a mixer and what might be one of Zealot’s teeth. In front of him was the laptop—which, from the lock screen photo of the three insufferable brats, he deduced belonged to the mother.

The login password was no trouble. The mom had written it on a sticky note that was taped to the laptops underside. Everything after that, though, refused to unlock. It was impossible to open even a single program without having to enter some administration key or pin number, and the normal password didn’t work for any of them.

“Probably to keep the stupid kids out,” Striker muttered.

He had never been much good when it came to all this hacking business. Most of the time, he left this sort of thing to Phantom, who took time to research things and put them into practice instead of giving up after a few tries. He had shown Striker a few tips and tricks, though, including how use a modified I.D. key to override most computers’ general security systems. Striker tried it on the laptop, and so far, it’d gotten him into the family medical documents, which were boring and dismal—except for one detail.

The mother was ill. Quite ill, from the looks of it. She had been in and out of the hospital a couple times already this year, and now she was on heavy medication. Even if she had gotten away, she wouldn’t last long out there without having to ask for help.

Striker pulled out his phone again and started texting to Phantom.

CHECK THE HOSPITALS. THE MOTHER IS SICK.

He paused.

ACTUALLY HAVE KLICK DO IT. I’LL NEED YOU BACK HERE SOON.

The message sent, and he set his phone on the table beside him. He clicked out of the medical records and instead went back to scouring the computer files for anything that might be useful. The modified key had flagged a large folder titled simply ‘Pictures’ as having an unusual amount of encrypted information.

He opened the folder. Inside were a thousand-odd photos, but also a link to a program called ‘GuardianAngel.’ Striker lifted his eyebrow and double clicked it—unsurprised when a login screen popped up. Just then, his phone buzzed.

WILL DO, Phantom texted back.

Striker picked up his phone again.

HOW DOES KEY ACCESS ENCRYPTED LOGINS?

There were a few minutes of silence before Phantom sent a long reply. It included instructions to open the command function and type a long code. He said it would upload a de-scrambler, or something. Striker didn’t really care—he just did his best to follow the instructions.

It took him a couple tries, but soon he found himself staring at a cliché green loading bar that said ‘UPLOADING PROGRAM: UNLIMITED_ACCESS/PHANTOM.ENCRYPTION

Striker rolled his eyes.

All at once, GuardianAngel sprang to life. A new window popped open and turned everything black for a couple seconds before loading a grid with white lines. At first, Striker wasn’t sure what it meant, but then two white dots blipped in the corner. It swished to hover over them. Whatever they were, they were on the move.

Two names appeared: ‘Abel, Wes’.

Then: Outbound train line 3, east; starting point: Amity Station.

Striker shut the lid, stood up, and scooped up his phone.

“Call Phantom.”

“Already here,” a voice said behind him.

Striker spun, hand already on his gun, but Phantom held up his hands.

“Easy,” Phantom said. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me clomping in. And before you ask, I’m sorry. It’s another dead run. They’re not out there.”

“Of course not,” Striker said, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “They’re on their way out of the city on outbound train line three, headed east. Come on.”

He stuffed the laptop into his backpack again and then strode past Phantom toward the door. His second-in-command leapt after him, stammering.

“What? How do you know?” Phantom asked.

“She had a tracking app on her laptop, probably set to the kids’ phones. Get the men ready and then put them on the next bullet-sub to Jadesport. That’s the next station on that line. I’ll cover all the ticket expenses later.

“What about us?”

“We’ll go in my Charger.”

“A car? You don’t think that’s going to be suspicious?”

“It’s certainly been long enough since I used it for anything. Besides, we’re going to need it once we get there, especially if we need to make a quick getaway. The rest of the team can scatter, but we’ll need to be ready to go.”

“As long as you’re sure…”

“We’re on the chase again. No thanks to you or the men.”

Phantom huffed. “Right. So where are you keeping the thing this time?”

“A parking garage near the starship station. Why haven’t you called the team yet?”

Phantom fell a few paces back and started murmuring orders into his phone. By now, they were on the street, having locked the small house behind them. It was a little after noon, and the usual lunch crowd was still swarming in the streets. None of them spared Striker or Phantom a second glance. Everyone was too focused on avoiding everybody else, staring at their phones, elbowing their way into food truck lines, darting across the street before the signals turned. Amidst the rushing masses, another two darkly-clothed figures were just specks of dirt.

Which, for people like Striker and Phantom, was perfect.

Striker inhaled, smiling. At last, they had a lead. Two days without word was almost unacceptable—almost, given the size of this city—but C.D. had been expressing a subdued but genuine rage each time Striker checked in with no news. At the rate they had been going, their eighteen million would hardly be more than a few hundred thousand by the end of the week. And that wouldn’t last more than a month or two, split up between the whole team. Some of the other members liked being able to afford decent housing between jobs, no matter how much Striker and Phantom discouraged them from doing anything that could attract attention. Downgrading certainly wouldn’t make them happy.

At least it will finally get C.D. off my back, Striker thought.

Phantom jogged back to his side, shouldering his way past other pedestrians.

“They’re on their way to the station,” Phantom said. “I told them we don’t have time to take separate trains, so they’ll have to settle for separate cars.”

“Good enough, as long as they keep their mouths shut. What about you? Ready for some air conditioning and some good radio?”

“I guess. You’re awfully chipper.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? We have a lead.”

“After two days. We’re severely behind schedule.”

“Lighten up. It’ll all be done within twenty-four hours. Let me check in.”

He fished his phone back out and pressed ‘redial.’ Tongue-lashings weren’t out of the question yet, but at least now he finally had good news. With luck, he could convince C.D. to bump the pay back up to at least a portion of the original amount. He’d need it himself if he was going to be driving the Charger around for more than a day or two. Gas was a money-vortex.

The phone vibrated a few times before C.D. picked up.

“Yes?”

“It’s Striker. We’ll have the kids by sunrise.”