Code(7)

“It’ll only take a sec,” I said. “Lately Kit’s so busy, I almost never see him.”

It was true. In the two months since Kit had been named director he’d worked nonstop. Board meetings. Staff assemblies. Budget conferences. Though running himself ragged, Kit seemed happy. Ditto every worker at the institute.

On Loggerhead Island, Kit was practically a god.

When lack of funding had threatened to shut LIRI down, Kit’s generosity had saved the day. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

No one but Kit knew who’d really bankrolled the institute. That the boys and I had discovered and donated the she-pirate Anne Bonny’s lost treasure to LIRI. That those underfoot teenagers had actually kept LIRI’s doors open.

And the Virals were just fine with that.

The less scrutiny we received, the better.

“Wait here, boy.” I attached Coop’s rarely used leash and looped it around a railing beside the entrance. “No wolfdogs allowed.”

Coop dropped to his belly, chin on paws, disapproval clear in his eyes. At seventy pounds and still growing, he was a sizeable animal. His half-wolf pedigree gave him a fearsome look, right up until he licked your face. I suspected he’d spook a few squints while he waited for us to return.

No big deal. A little something to spice up their day.

Passing through hermetically sealed doors, we approached the security kiosk. The other half of LIRI’s frontline defense manned the desk. Sam was Carl’s polar opposite, skeleton gaunt and completely bald. Though older, and terminally sarcastic, he was usually the more congenial of the two.

“Ah, the vagrants return.” Sam’s lips twitched in a half smile. “Break anything expensive today?” He wasn’t holding a shooting or hunting magazine, which could only mean one thing—his new boss was nearby.

On cue, a voice boomed from an office behind Sam’s desk. “State your business.”

Security Chief David Hudson emerged. Forty-something, graying, hair buzzed to his scalp, Hudson had the unyielding glare of a bird of prey. His uniform was neatly pressed, his shoes and name tag gleaming.

After recent events, Kit had decided to completely overhaul LIRI’s security. New fences. New cameras. New locks. Updated protocols. Better equipment. And a hard-ass security supervisor to oversee it all. On the job less than a month, Hudson was proving to be Kit’s least popular upgrade.

“I need to see my father, Mr. Hudson,” I said politely. “Just a fast word.”

“Wait.” Hudson snatched a clipboard from the countertop. “Sign, please.”

“I really won’t be long,” I said, beaming my most disarming smile. “I don’t want to clutter your official records with a quick pop-in.”

Finger tap. “Sign.”

Locking my lips in the upright position, I scribbled my name. “Good?”

Hudson didn’t smile. Never did. “No side trips.”

Nodding obediently, we started toward the elevators.

“Halt!”

My eyes closed briefly before I turned. “Yes?”


“Just you.” Hudson’s gaze scanned Hi, Shelton, and Ben. “Unless these boys also have business?”

“Nope.” Ben walked back outside.

“Mr. Hudson,” I began, “we’re just going to—”

“It’s cool, Tory.” Shelton headed after Ben, a head-shaking Hi at his heels. “We’ll wait with Coop.”

“Thanks, guys. Five minutes, tops.” I raised my eyebrows at Hudson. He snapped off a curt nod.

I strode to the elevator, entered, and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

“No side trips!” Hudson barked again, as the doors slid shut.

“Jackass,” I muttered, before remembering Hudson’s cameras still tracked me.

The elevator stopped at the second floor, admitting two white-coated men. I knew the taller one by name.

“Hi, Anders.” I tried not to blush.

“Tory. Off to see the Wizard?”

With pale green eyes and curly brown hair, Anders Sundberg was easily LIRI’s most handsome employee. Just a shade past thirty, a former Olympic swimmer, he looked like a taller, buffer Justin Timberlake. In other words, pretty hot.

Anders had joined Kit’s marine biology team the previous summer, adding a specialization in sea turtle habitats. Since Kit’s promotion he’d been running the department on a provisional basis. His selection had ruffled some feathers among the senior PhDs, but, by all accounts, the guy was doing a good job. The position was his to lose.

“I’m assuming you mean Kit,” I said, “so yeah.”

“He’s the one behind the curtain, pulling all the strings.” Anders grinned. “The great and powerful Dr. Howard!”

The other man appeared a decade older than Anders. He had thinning black hair styled in a bad comb-over, close-set eyes, and a nose about an inch too long. His foot tapped impatiently as he waited for the doors to close.

“This barrel of laughs is Mike Iglehart.” Anders elbowed his companion. “Say hello to Tory Brennan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Iglehart said blandly. “Is there a field trip on the island or something? I don’t think you’re supposed to leave the group.”

He promptly lost interest, refocusing on Anders. “I need more bandwidth on the mainframe. The Triton program can only run half-time as it is. If we’re going—”