01010100 (T) 01101000 (h) 01100101 (e) / 01110011 (s) 01100101 (e) 01100011 ( c) 01101111 (o) 01101110 (n) 01100100 (d)
01100100 (d) 01100001 (a) 01111001 (y) 00111010 [:]
01010010 (R) 01110101 (u) 01101110 (n) 01101110 (n) 01101001 (i) 01101110 (n) 01100111 (g)
01000010 (B) 01101100 (l) 01101001 (i) 01101110 (n) 01100100 (d)
I honestly didn't know what the hell I was doing; I was flying fucking blind, like a bat out of hell, only concerned with saving my own ass. I passed out on the plane, thankful I had splurged for extended leg room and lucked out by getting a relatively empty flight. Of course, I would be getting onto an extension later, but for now I was comfortable. Well, comfortable enough to nap for three hours into the flight (Or was it two? Passing over the time zones never did help me keep track of time.). I woke up every time someone passed by before shifting uneasily and falling back into a fitful sleep. I needed all the sleep I could get. Unfortunately, my desire to sleep was far outweighed by my need to board a connecting flight headed out of the country.
With two hours left until reaching New York, I woke up, not bothering to try to fall asleep again. It was like a damn conspiracy; paying so much money to get into a crowded (though this flight wasn't as bad) flying metal box to get from point A to point B just a little faster. Well, a hell of a lot faster than driving, though way more traceable. I had swapped identities, changed ages, my appearance, and my occupation. There was only so much I could do in such a limited time to make myself undetectable.
This trip, this entire incident with Millennium, was bringing back bad memories. When my mother and father had- no, this isn't anything like that. I massaged my temples, wishing I had had the foresight to bring medicine with me. It was doubtful that aspirin would have had much of an effect, but it might have been worth bringing. As soon as I get out of the country, and away with a new nationality, I'll be golden.
Sighing, I shift imperceptibly, wishing that I had the room to really stretch out my legs. When the stewardess, flight attendant, whatever the pc term is, walks by again, I order a bottle of water off her, wishing that I could have something to take the edge off my headache. Instead, I gulp greedily until all of the water is gone, putting the empty bottle in my carry on bag.
Thinking back on what happened, I don't think this is all about the code. It can't be. I can understand Millennium pursuing me and having me dealt with…but they wouldn't be so sloppy in getting the job done; or in hiring something else to get the job done, they wouldn't tolerate incompetence. It would be something quick and relatively painless, the only point being to rid the world of a prospective competitor. Which begs the question, who was chasing after the damn bus, and who the hell was responsible for blowing up my car? Because it detonated when someone else was breaking into it, which means that someone had found my car before they had and set the wires. How many people are involved in this, and with what agendas? Someone wants me dead and Millennium wants the mess cleaned up. They went to one of their clients to get me taken care of, but the car bomb just isn't Millennium's style. A hit and run maybe, or a "mugging" gone wrong, something blameless. But the car bomb? No…it just seems like revenge.
The only enemies I have are those who hold grudges against my parents, and most of those were business related, satisfied by their deaths. And I cut all ties with them when I used that last connection to get a new identity for myself, and forged papers. I barely know my old name, and now the one I've used for over six years is gone too. Well, the old name is in a box with the rest of it, untouched. It wouldn't have been too hard to find out who I was; the cover-up and the new identity were professional, and I didn't maintain communication with my parents' old associates, but…I still could have been found out so easily.
I was letting the past lie, assuming that no one would bother to track down the daughter of a dead hacker and a Mafioso. I can only go off of the assumption that someone knows who my parents are. If the Millennium didn't they sure as hell do now, and if I was meant to go the way of the car bomb, well, I can guess the person behind that knows too. If I can find out who is behind this, I can find out their motives, and after that, I'm not sticking around where I can be found. I've heard that Africa is nice this time of year.
I know where to start looking for answers, before I even leave the country. Fuck the connecting flight. If I take it, I have a feeling I'll be found. I refuse to go against my instincts, not when they kept me ready to get away in the first place. I won't cancel the flight, but I need to find someone to give my ticket to. I need someone to board that flight in my place. There has to be a way. If I pay enough, I'm sure a dark haired and dark eyed woman will want a trip overseas. I mean, the ticket is in my name. If I don't get on the flight, and they know I was going to, they'll think it's a red herring, or worse, they'll assume that I'm loose running around New York. I know what I can do with the ticket…upgrade it, and then give it to a lookalike getting on the same flight. It seems simple enough, if the odds are with me.
This whole thing makes it seem like the odds aren't with me. And I know that going to New York will raise a shit storm like no other. My mother didn't exactly leave her hometown with fond memories. If she ever had a warm fuzzy feeling about the place, it probably ended with- no; I refuse to think about it. At the moment I have enough to think about. The trouble I'm in, maybe it has to do with the circles my parents ran in, but I doubt it has much to do with her connections. The people they knew all knew each other, or had at least heard about each other, but the circles they ran in didn't look like a Venn diagram. The chances that this involves both parties…I don't fucking know anymore.
How else did my identity get discovered, if not through my mother's friend? My paperwork was flawless, like I came from nowhere, popped out of foster care as a dumpster baby and at sixteen got fed up and filed suit with the courts. The papers are as real as they get, 'obtained' off a girl that ended up getting shot dead in a drive-by shooting just days after she gained independence from being a ward of the state. There are no papers more real than those. The only people who knew about it were the dead girl and my mother's "uncle". I know just who told, and they will pay; if not for betraying me, then for betraying my dead mother's memory. And maybe in the process, I'll get some answers.