Swipe

this part—“you’re still at the center of it.”
    Every night Erin would sneak out to spy on the Dust in person, since as far as she could figure, it was the only way to listen in. She was always careful, she said, but still it made Logan nervous. “The alternative is that we lose track of their plans,” she’d tell Logan in response. “And then we’re back to square one, and you’ve disappeared within the week.”
    This reasoning didn’t make Logan any less nervous. But it did twist his arm into accepting the risks Erin was taking.
    “What about your dad?” Logan asked at the end of the week. “Can’t we go to him yet? We must have enough information at this point.”
    “What exactly do we have, Logan? That a group of kids is hanging out in an old stadium. Not exactly a crime, and certainly not one that leads us to Peck. It’s circumstantial.”
    “I don’t care. We need the support,” Logan said. “I mean, what’s your dad even been doing all month? We’re breathing down Peck’s neck, and, what? He’s twiddling his thumbs up in the Umbrella? If he’s so great an agent, you’d think he’d have caught the kid by now.”
    “I don’t know,” Erin said. “And I can’t ask him. All I know is, no matter how late I come home at night, he comes home later. He’s staying out of my hair, and he isn’t asking questions. That’s enough for now.”
    2
    At that very moment, fifty floors up in the glass of the Department of Marked Emergencies’ Umbrella, Mr. Arbitor looked over his intelligence on the tablescreen before him. A ring of agents encircled him, hanging on his every word.
    “We have a rogue agent on our hands, boys and girls. A kink in the plan.”
    “Police, you think?”
    “Not by a long shot. We had a security breach this month. Any o’ you suckers hear about that?”
    “No, sir,” they chimed. “No.”
    “I didn’t think so. But two days after I got here, we started picking up a sound feed from the Spokie playground in Central Park. Anyone wanna take credit for that? Anyone even notice it?”
    Silence.
    “Not one of you noticed the twenty-four-hour feed we’ve been getting of little kids in diapers running in circles around a wooden castle? No? None o’ you?”
    “We’ve been busy, sir.”
    “Busy doing what? Hm? You clearly haven’t been listening to the tape stream. You clearly haven’t been out bugging places—”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Because not one of you has brought to my attention the fact that earlier this month, approximately your salary’s worth of supplies was stolen from right under our noses !”
    The agents murmured nervously at the news.
    “When I heard the playground stream, I figured one of you clowns must’ve had a good idea. Last known whereabouts of Megan Steward . . . and a prime location for a private meeting . . . the perfect spot for a little strip of bug tape. So I checked the logbook. Figured a pat on the back must have been in order—for one of you fools, at least—for a little outside-the-box detective work. And yet, there’s no record of tape being placed in the park. In fact, there’s no record of tape being taken from storage whatsoever. So which one of you forgot to make a note of that, huh? Whose little oversight was that, hm?”
    Nervous glances. No one answered.
    “Come on, fess up.”
    Still nothing.
    “None of you. That’s what I thought. Because you know what else I found when I went up there to figure out what in Cylis’s name was going on around here?”
    Blank stares.
    “ Pounds of surveillance powder . . .” Mr. Arbitor snapped his fingers. “Gone. Two whole rolls of bug tape . . .” He snapped again. “Vanished. Flash pellets, smoke bombs, pepper spray, chloroform . . .” He snapped a third time, a fourth, a fifth. “Without a trace.” Mr. Arbitor looked every one of his subordinate agents in the eyes. “That’s not the work of a police officer. And if it also isn’t the work of my own men and women . . . then I’m afraid Spokie’s found itself a vigilante.” Mr. Arbitor shrugged theatrically. “But I checked the security logs. No signs of a break-in. None whatsoever. Every single instance of that elevator door opening and closing in as far back as that security record shows—is green.” Mr. Arbitor threw his hands up. “So I’m sorry to say, folks, that I’ve followed this path as far as it’ll take me. I don’t think I’m looking at a traitor among us. I might be