For a second, Rachel couldn’t make sense of the words. Then she said, "I shot him."

"He was seen in Virginia. That's verified. He's putting his company back together."

"In the head," she said.

"He's alive, Rachel," Jason told her, his voice gentle.

Rachel frowned at him, then looked back to the laptop screen. "So arrest him."

"On what charge? They swept the whole mess under a rug."

"I thought you're some kind of powerhouse. You people don't need charges."

"We do against other powerhouses. Your father isn't as well-positioned as he used to be. He's in ... disfavor. God help us if he ever gets out from under that cloud. But he still has connections."

Rachel tapped the table, trying to think over the roar of her pulse in her ears. Her father, still alive? No. Impossible. She'd killed him. She'd hated herself every day for five years for killing him.

Impossible. Except she'd seen so many impossible things.

She felt something like terror and something like relief--and didn’t know which was worse. No. This couldn't be true. If her father had lived, he would've come for her … or for Audrey. So he was dead. Unless something was holding him back.

And Rachel only knew one thing that could hold her father back.

She thought about that for a minute, then looked at Senator Theroux's face on the laptop screen. What did the woman want from her? She didn't know. But nobody gave away a 'Get Out of Jail Free Card.' Not to someone like Rachel. Even if her father was alive, they wouldn't just let her walk. Not without what Umlaut said, 'unwinding her situation.' And there was still attempted murder, arson, assault, and the rest of it.

So whatever the senator wanted, it was big.

"You don’t trust me," the senator said.

"Why would I?"

"I arranged your release from prison."

"You're trying to put me in your debt."

"Is it working?"

Rachel didn't answer for a moment, lost in the possibility that her father was still alive. Walking around somewhere. Her father, who'd taught her everything she knew. Walking and talking and breathing and planning. Weaving his webs.

"Sure," she finally said.

"But?"

Rachel looked at her hands. "I can do my time."

"You are everything I've been led to believe," the senator said, with a dry smile. "The Driggers, if we're reading them correctly, claim you’re the only person who can stop Boone. Your father. So I tucked this elevator maintenance office under the aegis of a rather obscure section of the Homeland Security Department, I arranged you an official rank and clearance and--"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Wait, stop. You’re recruiting me from prison into Homeland Security?"

"I arranged cramped office space and limited funding and some minor support, that’s all. It’s easy to derail a few million dollars and a few hundred square feet. A great number of people owe me favors. This elevator repair shop is off the normal organizational charts. You’ll get an ID and a paycheck, you’ll liaise through Jason and report directly to an oversight committee of which I am the sole member."

"Is that legal?"

The senator’s lips thinned. "It’s not illegal. Jason, show her the papers."

"Yes, Senator," he said, and opened a metal attaché case on the table.

Inside, Rachel saw paperwork in her name, a passport and bank account information, a lease for an apartment and five IDs including a government pass and a federal concealed carry permit. And a Glock, with two spare magazines.

She touched the pistol’s grip. "You’re serious."

"Indeed," the Senator said.

"What’s the job?"

"Long-term? Keep an eye on Boone--and others like him."

"Others?"

The senator nodded. "Other actives. Any 'inerts' who are their allies. Actives, inerts .... isn't there a third category?"

"Not really," Rachel said, feeling a twinge of anxiety at the lie. There was a third category, at least in theory. Terminals. "So what’s Boone planning?"

"That’s your job, finding out."

"Me? I don't have any powers. What you see is what you get."

"Good," the senator said. "I want one of us in charge. A normal person."

Rachel looked to Jason. "That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me."

"You’ll find a few changes of clothes in the suitcase," the senator said. "Jason bought them."

Rachel glanced at the black wheelie suitcase, then at Umlaut, who flushed again for some reason.

"Your flight leaves in--" the senator continued.

"My flight?" Rachel said. "I need to talk to Audrey."

"Use Jason’s cell phone."

"I haven't said yes, yet."

"There's no time to play games," the senator told her. "We need you now."

"Why?"

"Because what I just described is your 'long-term' job. Right now, there’s an emergency. The clock is ticking. The Driggers are expecting a bombing campaign in Manattan."

"That doesn't sound like my father."

"Maybe it's his old crew. From what I've heard, they're not entirely sane."

"Well, not all of them, no. And one of them's getting into explosives?"

"Strapping vests to civilians, that’s what we think."

Rachel felt a sudden chill. "Suicide bombers?"

"That’s right."

"What's the target?"

"The analysts expect a series of suicide bombers. First one, then two." The senator’s face looked suddenly haggard. "Then a hundred. The attacks will paralyze the city, the stock exchange, crash the economy."

"Probably kill a few people, too. What’re the demands? I mean, why?"

"We don’t know. All we have is cryptic messages from the Driggers, half-deciphered. They make the Oracle of Delphi look straightforward."

Rachel didn't respond, too busy thinking about hundred suicide bombers in New Park City. It was too much, whatever the Driggers said. She couldn’t handle this by herself. "Bring the feds in."

"And tell them what?" the senator asked, her voice sharp. "That a family of backwoods yokels who I'm detaining without judicial oversight seems to be indicating that you're the only person who can stop this?"

"I'm--I'm untrained, senator. I've been inside since I was seventeen."

"Believe me, Rachel, I wish I had another choice."

"I don't have driver's license," Rachel said. "I've never paid for myself in a restaurant that didn't have plastic silverware. I've never taken a selfie. What if I say no?"

"You're not going to say no."

"Because I'm afraid of serving my time?"

"Because we deciphered a new message from the Driggers this morning." The senator inclined her head. "Jason?"

Umlaut told Rachel, "This is our lead analyst."

He tapped on the keyboard and a recorded voice said: "The message reads, 'Get Rachel Kravitz now, or watch Manattan burn. Massacres in the streets, ten thousand people torn apart in the first two hours. Tell her to start in the psych wards. You need Kravitz. Nobody else can stop this.'"

Rachel pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes. The senator was right. She couldn't stand aside while innocent people died.

She couldn’t stand by and let her father win.