Wu said, “Look!”
He was leaning toward the windshield, pointing upward with a finger.
A drone was buzzing in toward the building, way up, at about roof level. Dangling below it was a big plastic drum, hanging from makeshift straps. Zoey’s first thought was that it was a bomb, but that couldn’t be right. Things hadn’t progressed to the Bomb Stage, had they?
It would be much later when Zoey found out what was supposed to have happened here. The barrel was full of a white, hot liquid, a rubberized sealant somebody had stolen from a nearby construction site, the same place where they were finding the loose bricks. Their big, hilarious plan was to crash it into the building, spattering the white goo down the facade. See, so it would look like somebody had ejaculated all over the face of the girl in the video loop. They presumably didn’t know that the material was highly flammable until it cured, or maybe they did know and didn’t care. Either way, the drone and barrel crashed into the building as planned, splattering the goo down the screen and then into the sparking hole where the brick had gone through earlier. The liquid ignited immediately, a curtain of flame whipping upward.
Zoey sucked in a breath. The crowd outside went wild.
The kid outside threw a brick at the van’s window, unintentionally hurling it right at Zoey’s skull. The brick bounced off without leaving a scratch. They’d have gotten the same result if the brick had been a shotgun blast. This confused the kid, plus everyone who saw it happen. They didn’t put together the fact that this meant the van was in fact an armored vehicle in disguise—the riot hive mind is not a genius—but rather felt the dumb frustration of a dog that can’t figure out how to open the toilet lid to get a drink. Several of the rioters ran over and started pushing on the van, rocking it, having decided that it’d be fun to tip it over.
Wu didn’t wait for an order from Zoey. He slammed on the accelerator, steered up onto the sidewalk, and drove right through the crowd. They hit one guy, hard, knocking him aside. Zoey felt it in her gut. They bounced down off the curb and got onto the street again, passing emergency vehicles whooshing in from the other direction. Professionals throwing themselves into danger on Zoey’s behalf.
She should be back there. This was her crisis, it should be her mess to clean up. And yet, they drove away, farther and farther from the danger, and Zoey said nothing. She reassured herself that ultimately she would pay the bill, that those emergency workers were doing their jobs, that everyone would understand.
She hated herself.
Will told Wu to stop somewhere. If they were being followed, he didn’t want to lead them all the way back to the estate and give up the identity of the cover vehicle. They wound up in the parking lot of a company called Life Partners, a place that rents friends you can hang out with or who’ll help around the house. The building was designed so that it appeared the entire structure was being held aloft by a crowd of smiling statues, each with one hand held above their head to bear the load, the other giving a thumbs-up.
Zoey watched the feed from the inn. The fire had melted huge chunks of the facade and the blaze had spread to the interior. Smoke was billowing out of several windows. Guards and employees were draining out of the building, fleeing the fire.
She was struggling to breathe. Wu was asking her things, expressing concern. She couldn’t really hear him. Will was watching her, saying nothing.
She looked at him and tried to steady her voice. “Is … is this my fault?”
“Why are you asking that question?”
“Why can’t you just say ‘no’ when I ask something like that? God.”
“You’re not a child,” said Will, gently. “I won’t treat you like one. You’re asking me if this was your fault because you want to know what emotion you’re supposed to be feeling right now. Are you supposed to be beating yourself up? Well, that’s the wrong question. The world doesn’t care about your emotions.”
“So what question should I be asking?”
“Whether or not you would do it differently next time. Everything that happens matters only in terms of what you can learn from it going forward.”
“Are you going to lecture me about how I should have had Tilley killed?”
“Would that have prevented this?”
“I don’t see how it would. Even if you’d made it look like an accident, like you said, they’d have found a way to blame me. Hell, for all we know his death was an accident and they’re still blaming me.”
“I agree.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You were right, I was wrong. My way would have made him a martyr, just a few weeks sooner.”
“So, what in the hell am I supposed to learn from a bunch of people going nuts and torching my building?”
“Some rioters in this world have a legitimate grievance. Do these?”
“No.”
“Are they rational in the demands they’re making of you?”
“I can’t even tell what their demands are.”
“So, we couldn’t have done anything to prevent this—they’re doing what they were already determined to do, for their own reasons. That means we move past self-doubt and don’t look back. Now the only question that matters is how do we fix it.”
“All right. How?”
“Are they organized?”
“It didn’t look organized.”
“It can be hard to tell from the outside sometimes. Chaos can be someone else’s goal.”
“Oh, wait, I just thought of a joke. Say the word ‘organized’ again.”
“Alonzo thinks a specific person is behind this. If so, we need to find out what their goal is.”
Zoey stared at the feed from the inn. Ambulances were on the scene.
“Do you think everyone got out?”
“Probably, crews were already on the scene when the fire started. I don’t have much hope for the building. I’m not saying it had no fire extinguishing systems, I’m sure it had something, but your father liked to invest in the parts of the building that boosted profits and inspectors used to be very easy to bribe.” He turned to Wu. “Arrange to switch to another vehicle, get us back to the estate.”
Zoey said, “What? No. We’re not done out here. We haven’t even solved our mystery.”
Will looked at her. “Are you sure?”
This was not asked in the way that, say, your mother would ask if you’re sure you don’t want dessert. It was asked the way you’d ask a scrawny mover if he’s sure your huge, expensive mirror isn’t too heavy for him to carry alone.
“Don’t ask me again.”
Will patched in the rest of the team again, the split screen taking over the main monitor. Everyone was in vehicles now, en route to somewhere.
“I want to know who’s behind this,” said Will, “and I want to know in the next five minutes.”
Budd said, “We just did a Bacon search on Blink of every unscrupulous rich asshole in the city—a list that, by the way, is longer than an elephant’s cocktail party anecdote—to see if anyone connected to anyone connected to one of them had ever interacted with Tilley. We got one hit, and it’s what I think you were about to say earlier, before we got interrupted. Two weeks ago, Tilley was seen speaking to an employee of Titus Chobb.”