“You keep pushing yourself like that, you're going to end up with rhabdo,” Andrea says from over by the computer, where she's been working for four hours. “I'd prefer to not have to drag you to the hospital on the back of my scooter.”
“You brought my car today,” I reply, dropping down into a burpee and kicking out before pulling back in and jumping, touching the beam that's over my head. I'd found the two rope handles that Katrina had tied around the beam yesterday for pullups, and realized there were so many little things I still wanted to find. “Besides, rhabdo mostly hits untrained individuals.”
“And athletes who refuse to accept that their bodies may not be as strong as their minds,” Andrea notes, turning back to the computer and typing away. “I'm just saying, don't kill yourself over there.”
I ignore her and finish my set, stopping when the world swims in front of my eyes and I'm fighting for my balance. Enough, it's enough for now... maybe I can do more later. “How's the process going?”
“I’ve nearly... got it!” she says, sticking her hands in the air.
I stagger over, sitting on the bed while Andrea clicks away madly with the mouse, typing occasionally. “You're not going to believe all that she's got here. Holy shit, I thought I had information.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, staring at the blanket while the world still swims. I lie back, and the spinning slows enough that I can focus on what Andrea's saying.
“I mean, I have gigs of data, lots of documents, and I thought I had a lot. But Katrina... it's going to take me a while, but this thing... she's got just one file folder named 'PDLC' here that has over a terabyte of data. That's like twenty full-length Blu-Ray movies of information.”
“What's it all say?” I ask, covering my eyes. It helps some more, and I think that maybe in a minute or two I might even be able to sit up. “I think I might puke.”
“That happens,” Andrea says dismissively. “As for the info... I haven't had time to go through this all yet. Like I said, if this was a movie, it'd run for about forty hours, just this one folder. I don't even know what the hell else is still on here. I need time.”
“Take all the time you need,” I reply, sitting up slowly. “Is the computer locked?”
Andrea taps, and shakes her head. “It can be. What do you want the password to be?”
I think for a minute, and know there's only one answer that fits. “Make it... Hagakure. It was her favorite book.”
Andrea types, then nods. “Done. First letter capitalized. Oniichan, I know that this is important to you, and it is to me too, but I've got some other work I need to get done. Can I leave this in your hands, to start going through the data?”
“Sure, I'll stick to the PDLC files only though.”
“Good. By the way, when I come back tomorrow, I'll bring another book for you to read. It's a good one on business evaluation.”
I give Andrea a confused look. “Why?”
Andrea grows serious as she gets up and grabs her backpack. “Jackson, we're going to take down Peter. But the best way you can honor Katrina... is to be everything she saw inside you, the same potential I see. I won't let you waste it.”
I barely sleep that night, absorbed by the data that I read. Andrea was right, Katrina's pure amount of gathered information is staggering. I start with the documents, mostly a lot of PDFs, but also text files, copied e-mails, and all sorts of other data. The names I see attached to each are disgusting, and I realize finally just how far deep down the rabbit hole I've been living.
He may not have been responsible for Katrina's father, but Peter's had at least a dozen other men killed. Some of them had families, and some of them were for simply business reasons. Some of them, perhaps the most disgusting ones, were ones he had killed merely because they pissed him off.
After my eyes go bleary from reading text, I switch to some of the audio and video files. I listen to intercepted conversations as Peter tells people what to do to maintain their criminal empires. Most of them sound like Katrina was using some sort of microphone or listening device to get them, and I wonder just how many years she crept around, gathering her data before she was sure she was ready to strike.
Finally, just before dawn, I drop off into a light doze, waking up when I hear someone knocking on the door again. I sit up, realizing I've spent the whole night in front of Katrina's computer, and check the time, seeing that it's nearly eight in the morning. I've only been asleep for about four hours.
“Yeah?” I ask at the door, opening the peephole. I see a black woman outside, tall and statuesque, with intense eyes and a solemn cast to her face. She's pretty, but she wears the same gravity on her face that I've come to recognize on my own face in the mirror. “Who are you?”