The project had been dead for twenty-two years. So why did its final file contain a photograph of her?
CHAPTER 5
The next morning, they drove to an abandoned television station outside Pittsburgh.
Ethan had been storing evidence there for years.
Old tapes.
Hard drives.
Newspaper archives.
Photographs.
Everything he had been unable to publish.
He placed a cassette on the table.
“This was recorded inside Bellwether in 2004.”
Nora frowned.
“How did you get it?”
“My brother sent it to me.”
The tape began.
Static.
Then voices.
Daniel Bennett.
Another man.
A woman.
Nora leaned closer.
Her father’s voice was unmistakable.
“We have eleven minutes missing.”
The other man replied:
“Delete the section.”
Daniel said:
“No.”
Silence.
Then the woman spoke.
“If you don’t, they’ll take your daughter.”
Nora stopped breathing.
The tape continued.
Daniel’s voice trembled.
“She’s three years old.”
“Exactly.”
Nora covered her mouth.
The recording ended.
She turned toward Ethan.
“My father had me at Bellwether.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Nora looked furious.
“Then find out.”
They spent six hours searching.
Near midnight, Ethan discovered an old database hidden on one of the drives.
There were thousands of names.
Dates.
Predictions.
Risk scores.
Locations.
Nora scanned the list.
Some people had been labeled:
HIGH PROBABILITY OF PUBLIC DISRUPTION.
Others:
RECOMMENDED INTERVENTION.
Nora’s stomach turned.
“What happened to these people?”
Ethan clicked one name.
A teacher.
She had been arrested during a protest.
Another was a union organizer.
Another was a college student.
Another was a journalist.
All had been flagged by Bellwether.
Then Nora saw something worse.
A child.
Her own name.
NORA BENNETT — SUBJECT 001.
She clicked.
The file opened.
Initial observation: prenatal.
Nora stared.
Prenatal.
The system had monitored her before she was born.
Then another line appeared.
Projected significance: EXTREME.
Nora whispered:
“Why?”
Ethan scrolled.
The final entry was dated six months before Bellwether closed.
Subject must survive.
Nothing else.
Nora looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Ethan’s face was pale.
“It means your father wasn’t protecting Bellwether.”
He closed the laptop.
“He was protecting you.”
Suddenly the lights went out.
A car engine roared outside.
Ethan grabbed the drive.
“Move.”
They ran toward the back door.
Before they reached it, the building exploded into darkness and smoke.
Someone had set the archive on fire.
And whoever did it wasn’t trying to destroy the evidence.
They were trying to destroy Nora.
