The National Center for Preparedness, Detection, and Control of Infectious Diseases, or the NCPD-CID, probably thought that I would be thrilled with the accommodations they’d be providing me with while traveling to Bar Harbor, Maine just because I was a poor little bottom feeder in their eyes. I was sure they figured I would be grateful for an economy class plane ticket, a shoddy room in a two-star hotel, and a car deemed the worst model to have ever come out in 2008.
And they were right.
I actually hadn’t been on a plane since I was thirteen, when I came to the United States from Ireland. I didn’t remember too much about that plane ride; surely, I had slept through most of it. I couldn’t say I’d been excited to fly all those years ago, but that day, I was over the moon. Flying sure beat hitch hiking or backpacking, which is how I had become accustomed to getting around.
I always made it a habit to travel light because I was always on the move. But America was such a vast, overwhelming country for me; before that day, I’d never traveled outside the state. West Virginia technically had everything I needed anyway, but it sure as hell wasn’t a vacation land in any way, shape or form.
The semi-comfortable seats in coach were welcomed, as were the movies and music. It was only about a five-hour flight from Atlanta, Georgia, where the NCPD-CID’s main office was located, to Bar Harbor, Maine—just enough time for me to watch Hancock and You Don’t Mess with the Zohan—so I pulled out my earbuds and plugged them into my seat’s audio jack. I didn’t get to the movies much, but I had no issues pirating or streaming movies when I had some down time—which was hardly ever.
I didn’t have proper luggage, but my backpack was roomy enough to carry my laptop and seven outfits. Lucky for me, it was July, the warmest month of the year for Bar Harbor, and I had packed mostly tank tops and shorts. The temperatures were supposed to be between sixty and eighty degrees, so I had brought one light sweater to throw over my tank tops when the temperature was on the lower side. I only brought the old, beat up navy blue sneakers that I wore on the plane ride, and a slightly nicer black pair for when I’d have to infiltrate Acadia National Park. I was told to bring at least one nice outfit, but the best piece of clothing I could find in my wardrobe was the black ruffled shirt that I usually saved for dates—which were extremely few and far between. Pair that with shorts and my black semi-decent sneakers and I had a not-so-professional outfit, but it was the best I could come up with on such short notice. I wasn’t exactly sure why I needed an outfit like that in the first place, but I’m sure if I had shown them what I had, it wouldn’t have been up to par.
Okay, who was I kidding. Those were the only clothes I owned.
If all else failed and I needed something better, I hoped that Bar Harbor would have a cheap boutique where I could grab something. The guy who hired me had mentioned they’d be providing me with funds for my meals, but that he’d have to authorize payment for other things, like gas for the car; if they wanted me to have a professional outfit, I would think they wouldn’t mind footing the bill for one.
The guy from the NCPD-CID who had hired me, Eric Hanson, told me that when I got off the plane, there would be someone waiting for me, holding a sign with my name on it, and that person would be handing a car off to me. I had kept my composure well when he’d told me this at first, but inwardly, I had been flipping out.
My very own car? I barely had my license, even though I was in my early twenties at the time.
I didn’t want him to think I was excited about the trip, the car, or anything else, for that matter. Hanson had found me after one of his technicians intercepted a hacking I was conducting on their file inventory.
A client from a hacking site I received work through was going to pay me to search through the NCPD-CID’s private records for anything of interest. Any experienced hacker probably wouldn’t have taken the job. Hacking into government files was difficult alone; private files were a whole different level of hell. The person who requested this job probably knew that someone like me would be checking out the wanted section, though; someone willing to do anything for any amount of money. Getting a thousand dollars would have been like winning the lottery, and would have helped me get by for a long time. But, hacking was a competitive job market—and also illegal. So, between dodging the feds and doing my damndest to score the most attractive jobs, it was hard to keep a decent amount of funds in the bank to cover food and day-to-day expenses.
I had been so eager to get paid, however, that I failed to take extra precautions for security purposes. When shutting down a hack, I could usually clear my computer and the interceptor wouldn’t have enough time to get information on me to act. But that day, just enough time had passed for the individual to be able to track my IP address.
At the time, I’d been using the Couchsurfing app, where you could plan to stay with someone for up to three days, completely free of charge. When I found out about the app after I turned eighteen, it changed my entire life. I had done the research: with 29,643 hosts in West Virginia, where I lived, there were enough places for me to stay over the span of 247 years. My plan was to stop couch surfing in a few years, though; I hoped I would be able to save enough money to get my own apartment by then.
To participate, I had to bring a small gift, or treat my host to dinner whenever I changed places. Dining out with others could get pretty expensive, and I never had that kind of money to spare, so I usually just picked up the nicest trinket I could find at the dollar store closest to the host’s place. Apparently, other couch surfers didn’t do that as often because my hosts were always thrilled to receive a gift and gave me great reviews because of it; thank god, because I needed reviews like those to keep me going. Too many poor reviews would mean hosts wouldn’t welcome me into their homes, and my master plan would fall through completely.
Anyway, I was surprised the NCPD-CID found me because my entire Couchsurfing profile was fake: fake name, fake address, everything. The only real thing was my picture and I had made sure other people were in it; it was blurry, and you couldn’t get a good look at my face. Most people thought it was something artsy I was trying to do, but whatever made me inconspicuous was fine with me.
So, how were they able to nab me?
Apparently, when they mapped out my IP address, they used surveillance to watch me flee my host’s place, taking a snapshot of my face and cross referencing it. They found my foster care info and learned who I was, then they hacked my Couchsurfing profile to find out where I was going to stay next. All of this happened within the span of ten minutes, because in the fifteen minutes it took me to get to the new host’s house, the police were there waiting for me.
And all I could think was how much this was going to hurt my Couchsurfing reviews.
I thought I was going to be hauled off to jail for sure, no questions asked. They had too much proof against me, and even I knew it wasn’t smart to fight them. However, instead of being sent to prison, I was handcuffed and taken in a van to Atlanta, Georgia, to the office of the NCPD-CID. It had been a long nine-hour trip in the van with no food or drink, and I wondered if it was legal to do that. I was basically a prisoner, but even prisoners had rights.
Upon arriving at the office and being locked in a room with Hanson, I was uncuffed and offered a tuna melt sandwich and a bottle of water. I ignored it for a bit, but my growling stomach gave me away and I ate it in silence.
“Good, now that you are fed, we can get right down to it. My name is Eric Hanson; I’m the head of this department. Your name is Kathleen Boland and you tried to hack into our system, but we caught you. What were you trying to get?”
“I was hired to do it.”
“By whom?”
“I have no idea. The site I was contracted through is anonymous; I don’t know the person who requested the job. The clients pay the site, who holds the funds in escrow until the individuals they hire complete their jobs. If your IT guys could track me down that quickly, they should have the person who requested the job in no time.” I shrugged, taking another bite of the sandwich. It was pretty delicious, actually; the tuna was flavorful and not smothered in mayonnaise, like I hated.
“We will need the username of the person as well as the website you use, then.” Hanson had remained standing since I arrived, and it made me uncomfortable.
“Why? So, you guys can shut it down? People have to make a living somehow.”
“It’s illegal!” He slammed his fist on the table. I stared blankly at him.
Okay…try to go through this smartly, Kathleen. If you cooperate, it could make things easier for you.
“I will reveal it if it will get time off my sentence,” I said firmly. Hanson stared at me for a moment and then chuckled, finally sitting down.
“You’re not going to jail.”
“Wait, what?” I looked around, confused by the sight of the two police officers standing just outside the room. They hadn’t looked at me, though. They stood at attention and kept their eyes straight ahead.
“You are going to work for me now. As an informant.”
“You’re hiring me after I tried to hack you? I didn’t know the government was in the habit of hiring criminals to do their bidding,” I snickered. There was no way he was for real.
“The difference is, I’m not necessarily going to pay you to do it. You will do it, or you will go to jail. It is your choice.” Hanson narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair.
“Pfft. I’d rather go to jail. I’d probably be detained for what? Six months? Who knows how long you will want me to work for free.” I folded my arms over my chest.
“Actually, I could get you for first degree computer crime. When you hack into equipment costing over ten thousand dollars, which our computer systems are most definitely worth, you warrant yourself twenty years in prison and a fine of fifteen thousand dollars.” Hanson smiled deviously.
Shit.
“Listen, Kathy—”
“Don’t call me Kathy.” I glared at him. He knew I wasn’t ready to do twenty years in jail. And then to pay a fifteen thousand dollar fine when I got out? There was no way I could afford that. “How long would I have to work for you?”
“It depends on how you do on this project. If you do well, I’ll keep you on.”
“And if I don’t, you haul my ass to jail?”
“Not exactly…”
“What do you mean?” I didn’t like his tone. It sounded like I didn’t actually have a choice after all.
“If you take this job and anything goes wrong, as in, if you decide to not finish your duties, or if someone finds out about it, or anything like that, then you will be terminated.” Hanson’s eyes did not leave mine and they were blank.
“Terminated? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I will have to get rid of you. Your parents are already dead, and you have no close relatives, so that makes things fairly simple. You don’t seem to have any friends or anyone who might notice your disappearance, either. So, I would wipe your existence from the face of the Earth. Kathleen Boland would have never existed. I will frame it to look like you died in that gas explosion with your parents back in Ireland.”
What the fuck?
“You can’t do that!”
“Yes, I can. And I will. But you won’t have to worry about that if you don’t fail.” Hanson folded his hands over his stomach, with a smug look on his face.
I had been right: this wasn’t much of a choice. Either I go to jail for a quarter of my lifespan and then spend at least two years doing hacking jobs to pay for a job gone wrong, and that’s if I didn’t get caught again. There was no way I could get a job doing anything else; I was on the move way too much. And, at that point, would anyone even let me into his or her home? I could only imagine the review Ms. Lorraine left on my profile.
So, do I take the job, or go to jail? I can’t do twenty years in prison; there’s just no way. Maybe I could get out early on good behavior or something? But isn’t that only when most of your sentence has been served? I don’t think I could last that long, either.
“Before I decide, what’s the job?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s top secret government information that will only be revealed to you once you accept the position.”
“Well, are there any perks? You’re not exactly selling me on this here.”
“Perks? I guess there are some. I will pay for your stay and transportation in the state I need you to visit, and I will provide you with a car. The car will have a tracking device on it, though, and if you try to leave without prior authorization, you will be stopped. I will give you a $60 daily budget for meals, which will be placed on a card that only I have access to. You will not be able to withdraw money or use it for anything other than food or gas. If you try to make an unauthorized purchase, the card will be declined. If the car needs gas, you are to text a number and $40 will be transferred to the card, which you must use for gas that day, or it will be removed. You will never have more than $100 on the card at any one time. Again, as I said, this is not a paid job. The perk is that you’ll be doing this instead of going to jail.”
My own car? Sixty bucks a day for food?
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I said in the most composed voice I could muster at the time. On the inside, I was extremely excited.
“Good. To start with, your job is simple. You are to go to Acadia National Park in Maine and gain information about the staff who work there. Once you feel like you have all the information you can collect, I want you to report back to me. I will give you the next step in your assignment at that time.”
“Wait, that’s it? You’re paying for my food and lodging, and giving me a car, to get some info on a group of staff members that you could probably get yourself?”
“There is a difference between information collected on paper and seeing something firsthand. Take you, for example. I thought you would be difficult about this based on the information that was provided about you, but I must say, you’ve handled this much better than I anticipated. Besides, like I said, this is only the first part of your mission. The boys will escort you to the airport now. I’m guessing whatever you have with you is all you have?” Hanson’s eyes shifted to my backpack, which was lying at the feet of the officer outside the door. “I had it searched and it seems that you are all packed up for the trip. I put a tracker on your laptop as well.”
Pfft, like I can’t disable that and destroy it in a heartbeat.
“If the signal goes dead, so are you.”
Shit.
“If you are caught doing anything illegal on it, you will also be terminated.”
“God, you’re ready to kill me at any moment. Might as well put a detonator in my chest,” I sneered as the police officer entered to escort me out.
Before getting on the plane, I had been handed my backpack and a folder that had all the details that Hanson had collected on the park’s staff. Each person had ‘Shifter’ written on his or her profile.
Shifter? What the hell does that mean? That they’re shifty people? My eyes had settled on a muscular man with light brown eyes. Well, he’s cute.
Hanson had told me that I was to disguise myself as a tourist who was just there to see Acadia.
And that’s how I ended up on Flight 369 to Bar Harbor, Maine. When the plane finally touched down, there was indeed a man with a sign with my name on it standing next to a Toyota Corolla.
It was nothing special, just a plain silver sedan; it looked used enough, but without scratches or dents. It didn’t have that brand-new shine to it, but in my eyes, it was sparkling.
I had been told that I’d be staying at the Holiday Inn. I knew that since it was a hotel chain, I couldn’t expect anything fancy, but it beat looking for new places on Couchsurfing, that’s for sure.
Damn…this car does not do well with inclines… I thought, struggling up the hill to the inn. I had gone from sixty-five miles per hour right down to twenty-five miles per hour and I couldn’t get the car back up to speed without slamming the gas pedal to the floor. Even then, I only climbed the hill at thirty miles per hour. It was very obviously built for reliability, but even that was questionable.
Great. They gave me a fucking mom car.
When I arrived at the inn, it seemed like a regular chain hotel with flowers on the balconies. In the parking lot, I noticed a van sporting the inn’s logo, but no other visitors seemed to be in sight—it was 11pm, though.
I parked the car and proceeded into the hotel lobby, where I spotted a large sitting area with a beige tweed sectional and an L-shaped front desk with stations for two receptionists. I couldn’t imagine when it would ever get busy enough for there to be more than one receptionist needed; the town was so small. You could probably drive around the whole thing in an hour tops judging by the look of it on the drive there.
“Hi. I’m here to check in.”
“Name please?” The receptionist had wire-framed glasses over her hazel eyes and a shoulder length brunette bob. She wore what I assumed to be the hotel uniform, but I could only see the top half. It was sort of bougie, like a uniform I would think a higher-rated hotel would have their employees wear, but I guess that had to get their ratings up somehow. It was a whimsical buttoned top with vertical stripes, a tied scarf and a chocolate-colored vest, and at first, I thought it was quite ugly, but the longer I looked at it, the more I thought it was kind of cute. Her gold name tag showed that her name was Nancy.
“Kathleen Boland.”
“Ah yes, you will be just down the hall to your left. Room forty-nine.” She handed me a key to the room and I took it graciously. When I arrived at my room, I was taken aback by how nice it looked. There was a queen-sized bed by the large sliding glass door with a white leather headboard and crisp sheets with sky blue accents. Two Cherrywood nightstands saddled each side of the bed and a painting of boats in Bar Harbor hung above it. Blue and beige curtains cascaded from either side of the glass door, which opened onto a small balcony with a pair of Adirondack chairs.
“Thank god there’s air conditioning in here,” I said aloud, flipping it on and programming it to seventy degrees. It was seventy-eight at the time, and it was going to get as warm as eighty degrees as the week progressed, so I was definitely going to need a way to cool down.
I checked the closet and noticed an iron and ironing board inside. Pfft. Like I’ll need those.
I peeked into the bathroom and ignored the hairdryer, which I also had no use for; I doubted it would work well with my curls. The mini fridge was stocked with water bottles, and I grabbed one, taking a healthy swig from it. A coffee/tea maker sat on top of the mini fridge along with a basket of assorted packets of each, and I was thankful for that. I would definitely need a hit of caffeine in the morning before I drove over to the park.
But what am I going to do? I couldn’t log on to the hacking site because there was a chip in my laptop, and I imagined there was also one on my phone, so there wasn’t much I could do on those without the Hanson analyzing everything. But if I didn’t touch either of them, he wouldn’t be able to gain more information on me as well. I guess I could watch some television.
Just then, the phone in the room rang. My head shot in its direction.
Maybe there was an issue at the front desk? I’ve barely been in here for ten minutes…
I thought about not answering, but my politeness won over.
“Hello?”
“I hope the room and car are to your liking.” I heard Hanson’s smug voice on the other line.
“They are adequate, thank you.” There was no way I was going to tell him how happy I was to have a room like the one I would be staying in. I was happy about the car, but after driving it, I realized it was not much to get excited over.
“Well, you can’t expect five-star treatment for a first-degree criminal.” I could hear the shrug and amusement in his voice. I was really starting to hate him. I didn’t answer him and waited for a while. He never said anything, so finally, I broke the silence.
“Is there any reason you’re calling?”
“Yes. I mostly just wanted to make sure you got to the room safely.”
Yeah, right.
“Well I have, thank you, and I’m quite tired. I’d like to go to bed, so if that’s—”
“Just make sure you go to the park tomorrow to start your research.”
“Will do.” I almost slammed down the receiver. I had just spoken with him that very same day; I certainly didn’t need to be reminded of the task. If he called in the morning, I decided I wasn’t going to answer. I didn’t need a baby sitter.
I turned on the television and was happy to see the hotel provided HBO and Showtime. The first season of True Blood was playing as the late night special and I had been meaning to stream it when I had time, but I could at least watch the first episode and see if I liked it. That was if I didn’t fall asleep while watching it.
I was enjoying it, but after half an hour, my eyes grew heavy and I drifted off in the middle of the episode.