Cress (The Lunar Chronicles #3) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,110
only time she’d ever sent a comm was when she talked to Cinder, using a link that couldn’t be traced or monitored. She knew intimately how much access Queen Levana had to Earth’s net and all those comms that Earthens mistakenly believed were private.
But she couldn’t dwell on that. What interest would Queen Levana have in a single comm link established between two small towns in north Africa? She was, no doubt, far too preoccupied with her plans for intergalactic dominance.
“Netscreen,” she whispered, “show hotels in Kufra.”
Her awkward pronunciation brought up a list of seven possible Kufras. She selected the one with the least distance from her current location and was then faced with the names of a dozen lodging options, their ads and contact information flashing on the sidebar. She scowled, reading each carefully. None of their names sounded familiar. “Show in map.” The city of Kufra spilled out across the screen, a satellite-taken photograph that, after a moment of squinting at the brown-tinted roads, began to breach the gaps in her memory. Then she spotted a courtyard outside one of the hotels and, after zooming into the photo, recognized a lemon tree standing against one wall. She dared to smile and tapped on the hotel’s contact information.
“Establish comm link.”
Within seconds she found herself staring at the same clerk who had checked in her and Thorne, with Jina’s help. She nearly collapsed with relief.
“Thank you for comming—”
“Shh!” Cress waved her arms, silencing the woman, and glanced at the man on the bed. He twitched, but only briefly.
“Sorry,” she whispered. The woman leaned closer toward the screen to hear her. “My friend is sleeping. I need to speak with a guest at your hotel. His name is Carswell Tho—Smith. I believe he’s in room eight?”
She was glad when the woman’s voice dropped low. “One moment.” She tapped something offscreen.
Cress jumped at a ping, but the man slept on. An alert appeared in the corner of the netscreen.
[97] NEW ALERTS REGARDING SEARCH “LINH CINDER.”
She blinked. Linh Cinder?
“I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, snapping Cress’s attention back to her. “Mr. Smith left the hotel yesterday evening after causing a commotion with some of our other guests.” Her eyes had become suspicious and she scanned the dark room with increased curiosity. “In fact, we’re currently undergoing an investigation, as some witnesses believe he may have been a wanted—”
Cress canceled the link. Her nerves were writhing beneath her skin and her lungs felt too small to take in all the air they needed.
Thorne wasn’t there. He’d had to run and now she had no idea how to find him and he was being hunted and he would be captured and she would never see him again.
The screen pinged again. The alerts on Linh Cinder had increased by two.
Linh Cinder. New Beijing. Paris. Rieux, France.
The sequence began to click.
Baffled, Cress pulled up the alerts. They were the same news stories she’d been wading through for weeks aboard the satellite. Criticisms and speculations and conspiracy theories and very little evidence. Still no confirmed sightings. Still no arrests made and not even a mention of Captain Thorne, despite what the hotel clerk had said.
And then her attention caught on a headline and her legs nearly buckled. She splayed her fingers on top of the desk to keep standing.
LUNAR ACCOMPLICE DMITRI ERLAND STILL EVADING AUTHORITIES
Dmitri Erland.
The Lunar doctor who had been on the letumosis research team. The doctor who had helped Cinder escape from prison. The doctor who was, perhaps, the second most-wanted fugitive on Earth, even more so than Thorne.
She knew it was him even before she’d pulled up his picture. This was why the old man had struck her as familiar. She had seen him before.
But … wasn’t he supposed to be on their side?
She was so engrossed with her unanswered questions that she didn’t hear the subtle creaking of the bed until a hand grabbed her.
Thirty-Nine
Cress squeaked as she was spun around. She found herself staring into a face that was both handsome and murderous, his eyes glowing in the light of the netscreen.
“Who are you?”
Her instinct was to scream, but she smothered it, choking off the noise until it was little more than a whimper. “I-I’m sorry for intruding,” she said. “I needed a netscreen. M-my friend is in danger and I needed to send a comm and—I’m so sorry, I promise I didn’t steal anything. P-please don’t call for the doctor. Please.”
He seemed to have stopped listening to her, instead sending his steely gaze