“I didn’t knock it offline ’cause I figured that would trigger some kind of alert. Like they’d think you died or something.”

“All right. So they can track me right now?”

“Not really. I played with it a little.”

“What does that mean, Bailey?”

“It means, you’re not really where you are.”

“Where am I?” she asks.

“Graceland?” Cole screams. “How the fuck did she get to Memphis?”

“Also, isn’t Graceland closed right now?” Fred asks.

“That’s not the point, Fred,” Scott barks.

The condition of Fred’s house already has Cole on the brink of rage. There’s a relatively secure fence, but most of the place is devoted to Fred’s living quarters. The room allocated to Charlotte and Luke’s surveillance is one tiny closet that can barely fit a chair. Inside, several flat-screen computer monitors broadcast feeds from the house’s kitchen and living room. There’s no live audio on either feed, and a separate computer’s set up to receive an alert if a certain buzzword’s spoken inside the house or on their cell phones, an alert that then allows Fred to access the archive of recorded conversations. There aren’t even any exterior views on the driveway or backyard. And even though there’s a rest area in the back of Fred’s house for the microdrone crew, their feed, when they’re dispatched, goes directly to their van.

He’s going to destroy Ed Baker. He’s going to destroy him, then drag his destroyed pieces through the streets whereupon he will urinate on them in front of his entire security team.

But for now he has to focus on Scott’s words, even though the effort’s a struggle. “There’s no way she got to Tennessee since we saw her this afternoon. The closest airports are both three hours away, and then on top of that’s the flight, which is, what, four hours?”

“And they’ve never played Elvis in that house once,” Fred says.

“Shut up, Fred,” Scott says.

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Someone’s playing with her blood trackers,” Cole says. “And they’re doing it so we’ll have a long, stupid, useless conversation about how to get from Altamira to Tennefuckingsee.”

Someone being my independent contractor.

He refuses to beat himself up over this.

He’d had no choice but to hire Bailey, and given the amazing job Bailey did finding Richard Davies, Cole isn’t ready to regret the decision yet. He never thought handling the kid would be easy, or entirely possible; he’s too brilliant and too unattached. But the way Cole saw it, he didn’t have a choice. No way in hell he could let a hacker with Bailey’s incredible skills just hang out on the edges of Project Bluebird 2.0, servicing Charley and Luke’s needs whenever he felt like it. Still, the terms of his deal were hardly favorable to Cole, and now he fears the reality of that is going to sink its teeth into his backside and take a nice, big bite.

“Playing with her blood trackers,” Fred says, as if each word is so heavy it pulls on his bottom lip. “That can’t be good. For her, I mean.”

“They’re not weaponized,” Cole says.

“Still, they’re in her blood, right? I don’t want anybody playing with something in my blood.”

“What’s the ground team relayed about her house since there are no fucking cameras on the exterior?”

“The lights are all on, but her car’s gone. When they noticed, they called in.”

“How did they not see her pull out?” Cole asks.

Fred says, “Because the car tracker’s also offline, and the ground team was using that and the blood trackers so they could stay out of sight up the street.”

“Well, apparently they weren’t using both, because they didn’t see her blood trackers suddenly went to Tennessee. Why’s that?”

Scott looks him right in the eye. “They’re not our best people. These are the guys who are supposed to hang out in restaurants and bars and eavesdrop and file a report if they hear any interesting gossip.”

“Thank you, Ed Baker,” Fred says quietly. “Wild guess is her cell phone surveillance has gone dark, too.”

“Digital service just confirmed that’s a yes,” Scott says.

Fred says, “So we’re being hacked? Is that what’s going on here?”

“We’re not being hacked,” Cole says, “technically speaking.”

Scott says, “I’m not sure I follow.”

“The call is coming from inside the house, gentlemen,” Cole says. “What? Nobody here likes horror movies?”

“My job’s scary enough, thanks,” Fred says.

At least he didn’t say my boss, Cole thinks.

“Launch the microdrones,” Cole says with a sigh.

“They’re useless at night,” Scott says.

“They’re not useless. They just don’t have night vision, which means they’re harder to navigate, especially when there’s tall buildings around. We’re not in Seattle anymore. Follow light sources. Stay in the valley. Avoid the mountains. Sweep Altamira until we find her Volvo.”

“What if she left town?” Fred asks.