Sneak (Swipe Series)

work this afternoon.”
    “Amazing,” Erin said enviously. “How did she find him? Do you know?”
    “That was your brilliant wording, Erin. The cryptic note you ‘accidentally’ left visible on your tablet. Nothing more. She came right to the underpass and headed Logan off early on during his escape. After a brief encounter with our agents, Logan and Hailey were identified, and the two of them were allowed to leave.”
    “Logan didn’t find that . . . strange?”
    “They had a plausible enough means of escape.” Mr. Arbitor smirked. “Disguises and alibis and all that. It was cute, I’m told.”
    “But Logan didn’t even catch on that he being was followed? That doesn’t sound like him . . .”
    “Ah. He wasn’t followed,” Mr. Arbitor corrected. “Once we had his initial coordinates, we were able to lock on by satellite surveillance.” He pulled up another few files now, dragging them across the tabletop with his fingers. With a series of double taps, he zoomed in from an orbital shot all the way down to a close-up on two teenagers biking and riding a rollerstick through the woods.
    “Wow . . . ,” Erin said, amazed and a little scared by the technology of it.
    “I know. Tastes good to be on the winning side, doesn’t it?” Mr. Arbitor winked at her. Erin took another sip of nanocoffee and gagged on its bitterness. She didn’t answer her father. “Anyway, Hailey played right into our plan,” he continued. “She’s already led us to a farm where some pretty interesting things are going down. It’s legitimate—Marked—owned by a woman named Jean Meloy.”
    “You think they took it over? Or do you think Jean Meloy is a traitor?”
    “Hard to say. Regardless, it appears Hailey and Logan have, at last, led us to Peck. And his band of misers. Exactly as you predicted.”
    “So what now?” Erin asked. “What’s next?”
    She looked around the Umbrella as she asked it. Agents across the floor were suiting up in full DOME-tech armor, strapping on vests, helmets, boots . . . loading weapons and holstering ammunition . . .
    “Let me do this,” Erin said suddenly. “You don’t need all these people.”
    “We’re not taking any chances this time, Erin. Everyone goes.”
    “But they’ll see us coming. You’ll scare them away!”
    “Erin, no. We’re through sneaking around now. We move in, and we take them. Brute force.”
    “You’ll prompt a struggle. Dad, people could die.”
    “Beggars could die, Erin. Beggars could die.”
    Erin was frantic now, pleading. “Dad, listen to me. If you insist on bringing backup, fine, but send me in first. Alone. I can do this. I can talk to Logan. I’m sure he’s scared. I’m sure he doesn’t want any of this. I can . . . I can convince him. I can get you the Dust. Logan, Peck, and all the rest. I can get you everyone. Peacefully. Just give me the chance to negotiate, Dad. Let me do this.”
    “Absolutely not,” Mr. Arbitor said. “The grown-ups are handling this now.”
    “But you grown-ups are making a mistake! The Dust aren’t masterminds—they’re kids. And I can get through to them. I’m sure I can!”
    “Erin. Enough.”
    “Listen to reason!”
    “Listen to me . You’ve played your part in this mission, Erin. You’ve played it very well. But your part is over now. And I’m not interested in your opinions on what to do next.”
    “It’ll end badly,” Erin said. “What you’re about to do—it will end badly!”
    “Nonsense. We’re simply bringing these kids in for questioning. No reason for anyone to get hurt.” Mr. Arbitor smiled. “Trust me. This is a simple storm-and-capture operation. We want everyone alive just as much as you do.”
    But Erin couldn’t help noticing that only one man among the crowd was equipped with magnecuffs.
    And he only carried two pairs.
    6
    It was no more than a pop , the sound that broke the December night. It was distant . . . falling oddly flat against the farm’s wide-open field. Like a pebble dropped into a pond.
    From where Peck sat looking out the stable door, it was nothing but a little burst of light through the farmhouse window. It was a pinprick in the canvas of paint-black sky, easy to miss, easy to ignore . . .
    It was the sound of a twig breaking, of a toe stubbed against a table leg.
    But the sound was a gunshot. It was the sound of Papa Hayes’s death.
    Peck turned and looked over his huddle, all sleeping in the hay and the dirt. “Wake up,” he said.