Some woman.

She had forgotten that particular detail in her rush to get moving. But was it a decoy? Had they used the voice synthesizer to disguise the person's real voice as a woman's? If it was a woman, that narrowed the list of possibilities by half.

The kids' pamphlets said kidnappers were likely male, friends or family, and she definitely didn't know any women capable of something like this.

She had no family in the area. They were all back in Virginia. Brian had come from a small clan of Winthrops in Washington. His parents had pa.s.sed. His sister lived in Des Moines. The rest of the aunts (and uncles and female cousins) stayed in the near-perpetual drizzle of Seattle. Her friends were sweethearts with children of their own. Her a.s.sistant Sh.e.l.ley, her coworkers, and all the rest of the women at LightPulse were good-natured and friendly. And she hadn't gotten a hint of resentment from any of them when she had been promoted to Vice President over some of the more seasoned employees. What would be their motivation?

It couldn't be anyone she knew, could it?

Behind closed doors, Sara...

No. No, no, no. It wasn't possible. n.o.body close. It had to be a stranger. Had to.

But what if it wasn't?

She drove up k.n.o.b Hill toward the Rose Gardens, getting closer and closer, rifling through the possibilities, checking off each woman she knew, dismissing them all for different reasons. Most would be at work, leading busy lives. Some were stay-at-home moms keeping control of toddler-induced bedlam with no time to plan a coordinated kidnapping.

That wouldn't stop any of them from making a phone call, but none of them have a reason. Not a single one of them would have any reason to do this...would they?

CHAPTER 5.

SARA.

Sara arrived at the Rose Gardens with a minute remaining on her deadline. She found a parking spot, got out, and left the keys in the ignition with the minivan running, as instructed.

She stood with her arms crossed, taking in the surroundings. She didn't know what she was looking for, but it seemed like the right thing to do. She'd only been there once before, twelve years ago. It was on her first date with Brian, and they'd come up here after lunch and a matinee showing of Gladiator.

It was also the place where they had shared their first kiss. If Brian did have anything to do with this, it would be an appropriate spot. She shoved the thought away. Creating red herrings for herself would only increase her tension, and she had to keep a clear head for what was coming.

In front of her, rose upon rose upon rose drank in the sunlight. Such a happy, peaceful existence they had, with nothing to do but sit around all day and be admired. Thousands of cars flocked here each month to admire the amazing expanse of flowers, and today was no different. The tourist season had the entire area full and the place was flooded with visitors wearing sandals over knee-high black socks and pink plastic sun visors. Milling about with their oohs and aahs, taking happy family photographs on their happy family vacations.

It was easy to be jealous.

Why such a crowded place? They wouldn't do anything here with so many people watching, would they?

She didn't have to wait long for her answer.

A white sedan with heavily tinted windows stopped in front of her. A tall man wearing a black ski mask, jeans, and a green hoodie leapt out, took two steps toward her, and thrust a piece of paper in her hand. He towered over her, but she caught a glimpse of piercing blue eyes in their fleeting connection. Then, as the white sedan pulled away, he moved past Sara and climbed into her minivan. The entire exchanged lasted less than five seconds, and the likelihood of someone noticing a masked man was minimal.

He backed out, almost clipped Sara's knees.

"Wait!" she said, but stopped short of screaming for help. That might break the rules of the game, whatever they were.

The messenger drove away, slipped off the ski mask. Sara tried to get a better look, but had little luck. The only thing she saw was the side of his face. A normal ear. A normal head. The strands of hair were short and dark. It could've been anyone, and it definitely wasn't someone she recognized, as if that were possible from such a quick glimpse.

Sara looked down at the folded slip of paper in her hand. Before she opened it, revealing whatever instructions awaited, she tried to examine it for any hints. The hand it had come from had been gloved, so fingerprints were out of the question. Folded, it was about three inches wide and three inches long. Standard white, no lines, taken from a printer. A crisp crease along the edge. Nothing extra, nothing like an identifying watermark.

It was just a stupid piece of paper.

A link between her and the game. A link between her and rescuing her children.

It felt dense, like holding a brick.

Inside the single piece of paper were an infinite number of possibilities, an infinite number of outcomes. The thought reminded Sara of the instruction manual that came with the open-world, open-adventure setting of Juggernaut 2, in which players were presented with thousands of options as they grew their characters from bas.e.m.e.nt-dwelling couch potatoes into heavily armed, alien-slaying behemoths. Hundreds of different quests were offered as ways to increase their strength and agility, to gather up bigger and stronger weapons, to live out fantasies of turning themselves into something they could never become in real life. It didn't matter where they went or what route they took to get there, as long as the main quest was completed: save Earth.

But Sara's game had a different objective, one that couldn't be outlined with fancy fonts and clear directions.

She opened the folded paper and read: FIND SHAKESPEARE.

Find Shakespeare? Really? That's it? What does that even mean, find Shakespeare?

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, and she knew it wouldn't be easy, but this? These two words of confusing...nothingness?

Where in the h.e.l.l were the real guidelines? It wasn't like the games she was familiar with. The games she had tested for LightPulse for months and years at a time. The games that had a distinct mission with accomplishable goals that you could mark off of a checklist. A save point where you were allowed unlimited do-overs, and could attack the game again with new knowledge about the possible outcomes.

LightPulse worked hard at creating an acceptable level of artificial intelligence for the enemy combatants, but technology only allowed so much. And in the end, the objectives were the same. Go here, do this, pull that lever, jump over the gap, kill that two-headed, slimy alien with saliva-coated fangs and dual laser pistols. Destroy the mothership.

Real world, Sara. Real world, different game. No easy rules. If you screw up, you can't go back to the save point and start over.

Find Shakespeare.

Two words that held no meaning to her. Did it mean that she should find a collection of his plays? Would she have to walk back to the library? She tried to remember if there were any productions going on somewhere in town, or an exhibit at a museum.

Precious seconds faded away and nothing came to mind.

They sent me here for a reason. Shakespeare. Shakespeare. Find Shakespeare. A rose by any other name... Romeo and Juliet? Is that right? Shakespeare...roses...roses... Isn't there...

A faint memory skittered across her mind. She spun around, searching, searching, and then ran into the garden entrance, down the pathway, and then stopped in front of the park map. An arrow pointed the way to the Shakespeare Garden.

From where she stood, her destination was in the back right corner of the park.

She moved. Not quite walking, not quite running. If it mattered, if it was a condition of the game, she didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. Would any of these people remember a harried woman in a rush? Doubtful. They were too wrapped up in ogling the flowers and taking pictures to see that she was one heartbeat away from frantic.

Stay calm. How does that saying about the duck go? Calm on the surface, paddling like h.e.l.l underneath? If there's an endgame, you can beat it.

But why a game? That has to mean something. Okay, it has to be someone that knows you work at LightPulse. This whole game thing isn't a coincidence.

She pa.s.sed the spot where Brian had first leaned in, where she had first closed her eyes. Under different circ.u.mstances, she would've stopped and taken a minute to say a little prayer for his return. But living in the past and tossing a coin into the wishing well of the future wouldn't get her any closer to recovering what she had left of him. And that was Lacey, Callie, and Jacob.

They were all that mattered.

She approached the Shakespeare Garden and slowed to a walk. The nervousness of stepping into a place that was too quiet was second nature to her after spending thousands of hours testing games. Step into a quiet, unsuspecting room looking for a reward, and enemies would inevitably attack.

But no such ambush awaited her. She stood near the entrance, and saw that the foot traffic within the Shakespeare Garden was light, and none of the flower-gazers appeared interested in her or her arrival.

Now what? Do I just wait? Should I squawk like a chicken and flap my arms, you s.h.i.theads?

Rather than making a fool of herself, she announced, "I'm here," into the open s.p.a.ce.

A middle-aged couple nearby gave her a curious look, then an older gentleman responded with an energetic, "Congratulations!"

Smarta.s.s.

She stood in place, waiting. Waiting. Waiting long enough to think that she could've been wrong, and this wasn't the Shakespeare she was supposed to find. The m.u.f.fled sound of a ringing phone came from somewhere behind her. She expected one of the men or women nearby to answer, but it kept beckoning.

Is that for me?

The sound was close. She pivoted around to look for it, saw the Shakespeare plaque on the brick wall. A bust of the great bard and a quote that read, Of all flowers, methinks a rose is best.

Below it sat an inconspicuous collection of twigs, leaves, and small rocks. She knelt down, rummaged through the pile and uncovered a silver, older model flip-phone.

She flipped it open, answering with a subdued, "I'm-I'm here."

"Welcome to the first level, Sara. I like to call it...Humiliation."

CHAPTER 6.

SARA.

"There will be three levels. One for each child. Complete all three successfully and you may win."

"I may win?"

"That depends on whether or not your prince and princesses are in another castle." The voice giggled, and digitized, it sounded even more sinister.

Sara caught the Super Mario reference. It had been one of her favorite games as a child. The long hours she spent mastering it, collecting coins and squashing mushrooms, were some of the happiest memories from her youth, but also some of the most maddening. Screams of frustration, followed by flying Nintendo controllers and a broken television screen had resulted in more than one grounding and innumerable parental sanctions against playing it, but they never lasted long, because her parents couldn't resist the squeals of delight when she was winning.

She surveyed the area around her. No one was paying attention. She said, "Listen, I don't know who you are-"

"No, Sara, you listen."

A short silence, followed by an "Owww!"

Her son this time.

It made her feel dizzy.

The voice said, "Did you hear that?"

Sara ground her teeth. "Yes."

"Try to defy me again. I dare you."

"I won't. I-I promise. Just don't hurt him again. Please?"

"That depends on how you play the game, Sara. There are rules, and in this case, they're not meant to be broken. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but what-can I ask what they are?"

"You'll figure them out as you play. Be aware, mistakes are costly, and there are no breakaways in this game."

Breakaways. What did that mean? Breakaways? That's a Juggernautterm.

Sara's mind raced. This twisted chick on the other end of the line, whoever she was, was familiar enough with their flagship game to know that a 'breakaway' was a power-up bonus that allowed a player to set off a mini-bomb and obliterate everything within a city block, thus evading capture or death from an advancing army of alien beasts.

If it's a she.

But was the mention of it a slip-up? Or was it intentional? Was it enough to be a clue?

LightPulse prided itself on their strong female following. Just because one of them was acquainted enough with the product to use a recognizable term didn't mean a d.a.m.n thing. That narrowed the possibilities down to thousands and thousands of women all across the world. Especially in j.a.pan. The current trend in the j.a.panese sub-culture of gamer girls was to get tattoos of their avatars on their lower backs, and to call them insane fans was an understatement.

But it was nothing concrete. The net was too wide.

Then, a revelation opened up in her mind like a house window during a hurricane.

The breakaway feature wasn't being introduced until the third installment of Juggernaut was released. Which was still in development. Which was still under lock and key. Which was still protected by non-disclosure agreements throughout the whole company.

It's somebody from LightPulse. Holy s.h.i.t, that mini-bomb idea was Teddy's!

As the blast of information shook her like she'd been hit by a mini-bomb herself, the voice interrupted her thoughts. "Now, are you ready to begin the first level?"

What Sara wanted to say was, 'Is that you, Teddy?' but rather than revealing what she suspected, she replied, "I obviously don't have a choice."

"You're right, you don't. Now listen closely, because the instructions for each level will only be given once. Your phone is being monitored. Do not try to make any calls. Keep it with you at all times and answer it as soon as it rings."

"Whatever you say."

"You are being watched. You are being followed. Don't try to figure out who it is, because that would be a waste of time. It could be the old man holding his wife's hand about twenty feet to your left."

Sara looked around. It was the same smarta.s.s who had said, 'Congratulations!' and she seethed at him, however unlikely it was that he was involved. Her tormentor was trying to make a point. There were unseen eyes focusing on her right now from somewhere in the vicinity. The hair on her arms stood up.

"Trust me, Sara, any attempts to deviate from the game's objectives will result in consequences that these little angels will not enjoy. I can a.s.sure you."

Sara wished there was a bench nearby. She needed to sit down. She said, "Whatever you say, I'll do it."