by Wesley Cross
As they walked, the path became steeper and steeper, small rocks under their feet turning into bigger boulders. He remembered that they were ready to give up when he had first heard the sound. A low primal rumble that seemed to have been coming from the mountain itself. Intrigued, they pushed on. Before long the woods stepped aside and there it was. The tiniest of rainbows was hugging a small pond perched at the edge of the mountain. The water was falling onto the rocks, spilling from the cliff just twenty feet above them in a long, shimmering arc.
They took off their clothes and dove into the pool, gasping for air as the icy cold water engulfed their bodies. He remembered swimming across the little pond in a few powerful strokes, climbing the rocks and standing next to the waterfall.
He could see the girl floating on her back looking at him, her arms moving in a slow graceful motion, her white breasts moving in and out of the water. He stepped into the waterfall. It was the most powerful experience he’d ever had. It felt as if the freezing water was running through his body as if it were hollow. He opened his arms wide and let out a long primal yell.
That’s how it feels to be God, he thought.
The flow of energy disappeared as abruptly as always and yanked him from the memory. He stayed still for some time, listening to the soft humming of the machines. Finally, he heard the door open and the sound of high heels clicking on the cement filled the room.
A woman’s face appeared in his field of vision. Her gray hair was neatly tied into a ponytail, her stern features softened by the wrinkles around her eyes. She gave him a quick smile, as she always had during their sessions. His eyes followed her as she walked around the table, flicking switches and reading data off the sensors.
Finally, she finished the initial check and turned to face him. A quick smile flickered across her lips again.
“You seem to be in tip-top shape, as always,” she said pulling out a small tablet and opening a control program. “Shall we begin?”
He gave her a small nod of agreement.
“Alright then,” she tapped the start button, “here we go, Martin.”
• • •
The wig was driving Max crazy. It felt as if he had an airtight helmet on his head full of angry ants. It was worth it, though. He spent almost two hours in the morning putting it on, making sure it looked real.
The final touches were contact lenses that changed his eyes from bright blue to dark brown and tiny latex covers glued to his fingertips. He put on a dark olive baseball cap and looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t fool anyone who actually knew Andrew Davis, but if he was seen on any security video, or accidentally photographed, he could be easily confused with him.
Max got out of the cab two blocks away from Blackwater offices and walked the rest of the way. He instructed Andrew to leave the office at a quarter past twelve and come back just an hour later. That way he could go in right after Andrew left the building, and come out once he was done, making it look for anyone who checked the logs as if Davis forgot something in the office, but then left for lunch. Max positioned himself across the street just like the last time, watching the entrance to the building and checked the time.
12:14pm.
Andrew should be coming out any minute. Max leaned on the fence, pretending to watch the crowds. He tensed as he saw somebody emerge from the building, but then relaxed again when he saw a shock of gray hair. A few more minutes passed and a few more people came and went, but there was no sign of Andrew. Max checked the watch again.
12:27pm.
Motherfucker, he cursed under his breath. Where the hell are you?
He walked to a food card and bought himself a hot dog, then went back and leaned on the fence again. He took a few bites of the hot dog without tasting it.
12:42pm.
Did I miss him? he wondered, squinting at the people walking in front of the Blackwater building.
I swear, I’ll post your naked ass on every corner in Manhattan.
It was almost one o’clock when he finally spotted the slim figure of Andrew Davis moving through the crowd.
Max started moving. He jogged across the street prompting an angry honk from a bus, and slowed as he stepped onto the sidewalk.
He stepped through the revolving door and entered the lobby. The large open space with a fifty-foot cathedral ceiling made him feel as if he were under a microscope. The security desk seemed impossibly far. Max hunched a bit, imitating Davis’ posture and started to walk toward the guard. Small beads of perspiration were running down his neck. The ants under the wig were hard at work.
He nodded at the guard without looking at him and, without slowing down, swiped his card. The system beeped, but Max didn’t even pause to look at the guard’s monitor.
“Sir?”
Max continued to walk toward the elevator banks on his left.
“Excuse me, sir?”
He finally turned around to face the guard, prepared for the worst.
“I think you dropped this,” said the guard, smiling, a piece of white paper in his hand.
Max stared at the paper for a few seconds without seeing it, then took it.
“Thank you,” he managed and turned away.
“No problem.”
To Max’s delight, the elevator was empty, and he drew a few deep breaths trying to calm down. There was a tiny camera above the door, so he kept his head down, letting his baseball hat obscure most of his face. He looked at the piece of paper the guard had given him. It was a dry cleaning ticket issued to someone named Nichole Shapiro.
Nichole, Nichole, Nichole. He couldn’t stop the nervous giggle.
You almost gave me a heart attack.
The elevator chimed as it stopped on the 36th floor. Max pulled the hat deeper and confidently stepped out of the elevator.
He had studied the schematics of the building for a few days and now knew them by heart. It was almost like playing a video game. The short walk from the elevator was actually the most dangerous part as the hallway faced the main entrance of Blackwater offices in the t-shaped junction. The large glass doors were opening into a wide trading floor littered with small cubicles. Max quickly walked to the doors and made a left, heading toward the server room.
The room was locked by a simple eight-digit electronic lock. Effective against a curious janitor or a disgruntled employee, the lock wasn’t designed against a real attack. Max pulled out a small handheld device with a smart connector matching the lock’s port. Normally the port was used by the system administrator if it needed to be reset. Max’s device instantaneously overrode the system without creating a log entry. The lock thought it was still closed.
He quickly stepped into the server room, closing the door behind him. He left the lights off. Although he was still under time pressure and the job was much harder than picking a simple lock, he couldn’t help but feel a little relief. He was unlikely to be disturbed at this hour.
Max looked around. Two long tidy rows of servers were quietly humming in a dimly lit room. He walked by them until he came to the one that had a little panel with a folded keyboard and a small OLED display. Max opened the keyboard and the monitor came to life.
Hello there, he whispered and started working.
A place like Blackwater couldn’t be hacked from the outside without leaving some trail. Max didn’t like the idea of leaving any digital fingerprints that could land him and Jason in jail. However dangerous was his break-in it was well worth it. His fingers were furiously typing away, bringing down the server’s defenses in less than thirty seconds.
Once he was in, Max plugged in a small thumb drive and uploaded a tiny program. It had a pre-written report and a timed mechanism was going to release it next Monday morning, then it would publish the report originating from Davis’ computer, simultaneously deleting any trace of itself on the server.
Max pulled out the drive, closed the station, and looked at his watch. The entire operation took less than two minutes. As he turned around
to leave, the door opened wide and the lights came to life drowning the room in brilliant white light.
“Let’s double check it,” said somebody entering the room.
“I’d say we should have done it a long time ago,” answered another voice.
Max dropped onto all fours and, trying not to make any noise, scuttled to the end of the row in the middle. He made a corner just in time as two men stepped into the aisle in front of the access station where he’d been just few seconds ago. Max quietly sat on the floor at the end of the aisle and leaned on the side of one of the servers.
The machine was warm. There was nowhere else to hide.
CHAPTER 23
Chuck finished the drink and put the glass into the dirty sink. It made a clinking sound, and he involuntarily cringed, glancing in Mike’s direction, but Connelly was sound asleep. The fact that the guy was alive was nothing short of a miracle. Since Chuck was a kid he had an admiration for people who became Special Forces operators.
He always wanted to be one, but he was also honest with himself. He was athletic when he was younger, but those people were made from some rare stuff. It was easier to become an Olympian than qualify for Special Ops. That’s why at the end he opted for the police work. It was the next best thing.
Kowalsky watched the man for a few seconds. It was interesting to see one of them in the flesh. He was tall, but not too tall. Muscular, but not bodybuilder big. Some larger and meaner guys Chuck had arrested over the years would probably take their chances against a guy like that in a bar brawl.Boy, they would be in for a rude awakening.
He went outside and got a few breaths of cold air to clean his head, then cleaned the blood smudges on Connelly’s car and put some fresh snow on the dark spots in the driveway. Nobody would probably notice them from the outside, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. When he was done, he called his partner.
“This is Ryan,” said the voice on the other line.
“Hey, Bill,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is Chuck.”
“Hey, Mom,” the voice answered. “Can I call you back in five?”
“Of course,” he said and hung up the phone. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked around the yard for a few minutes trying to keep warm. For the first time in years he wished he had a cigarette. Finally, his phone rang.
“Hey, Chuck,” said Ryan in a hushed tone. “Sorry about before, but there’s a shit storm around here.”
“Oh yeah? What’s going on?”
“No one is quite sure but there are some people here in the precinct turning the place upside-down. Suits.”
“Suits, huh? What kind of suits?”
“Cheap suits,” said Bill, “the worst kind. Checking people’s stuff. Going through people’s desks. Searching for things on computers with some crazy looking gadgets. CIA kind of shit.”
“I don’t think it’s the CIA,” said Chuck. “I need you to meet someone and hear him out.”
“What’s going on, Chuck? I’m just six years away from my pension and I don’t like this shit at all.”
“Yeah, you’re going to like it even less. I’m afraid there might not be a pension for us after all.”
When Chuck left the trailer a few hours later Mike was still asleep.
The diner where they had agreed to meet was just six blocks from the junkyard, and Kowalsky opted for a walk to stretch his legs. He found Bill in the corner booth, his skinny frame hunched over a large mug of black steaming coffee that Ryan held with both hands.
“Hey,” said Chuck, sitting on the other side of the table.
“This is the shittiest coffee I’ve had all day,” said Bill, his handsome face creasing into a tired smile.
“That can’t be worse than in our break room.”
“What’s going on, Chuck? I mean, what the fuck is going on?”
“Coup-d’état,” said Kowalsky, “at least the initial phase.”
Bill Ryan blankly stared at his friend for some time.
“Our government is about to be overthrown,” explained Chuck.
“I know what it means, genius,” said Ryan. “I’m just trying to process it. No aliens then?”
“No aliens, pal.” Chuck shook his head. “No zombies either. Just good ol’ American greed.”
“Fuck, man. So what do you know?”
“A guy called me today,” said Chuck, waving the waitress off, “right after the captain suspended me. Said he wanted to meet. Sounded a little strange. I didn’t like it, but went anyway. It was someone going by the name Michael Connelly.”
“Shit man.”
“Yeah,” continued Kowalsky. “I found him in a trailer parked in a junkyard just few blocks from here. The guy is in pretty bad shape. Multiple gunshot wounds, few broken bones. But I think he’ll live. He might just be the toughest motherfucker I’ve seen.”
“Who’s he?”
“I’m not entirely clear on his story,” said Chuck. “He must’ve been some kind of black ops guy, but at some point he started working for Guardian Manufacturing. Don’t know if that was his own decision or part of the cover.”
“Guardian as in the Guardian?”
“Yep,” said Chuck, “the one and only. Long story short, he was recruited few years back by the ISCD, which stands for International Serious Crimes Directorate.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Neither have I, but he claims there’s a black ops division of the Interpol. He’s been gathering intelligence for them since. What he’s found is that Mr. Engel and a few other corporate executives have been building a network of shadow government. Politicians, tycoons, generals, intelligence officers, high-ranking members of the police force. They’ve been building it for years, and now the wheels are finally in motion to transition their powers from the shadows into the light. What’s worse, it seems that there’s more than one group vying for power. Connelly is aware of at least two of them. You know there’ve been a lot of skirmishes in the last few years that I thought were fought between corporations, but we were never able to prove it. I’m afraid we also might be standing on the brink of the war.”
Bill sat still for some time, gently swirling coffee in his mug.
“It’s a fascinating story,” he finally said, “shadow governments, black ops divisions of Interpol and revolutionaries. Is there a chance there’s a simpler explanation? Like the guy is in trouble and trying not to get arrested?”
“Really?” Chuck gave his partner a wounded look. “After all the stories you and I have heard over the years, you think I’m that gullible?”
“Alright, let’s say for a minute that I believe this story.” Bill held up a cautionary finger “And I’m not saying that I do. Not yet anyway. What do we do? Or, I guess a better question is, what could we do?”
“That would be tricky,” Chuck said. “I guess the first thing to do would be to find out who we can trust in the police department and who’s working for the bad guys. But most important, we’d need some powerful friends. There’s no way we can do this alone.”
“We should make a list of people who could be helpful and figure out how to approach them,” suggested Ryan.
“Agreed,” said Chuck, “but the first and most obvious step is to reach out to Connelly’s handlers at Interpol.”
“Let me use the loo,” said Bill, “and let’s go see your James Bond.”
Ryan paid for his coffee and they left the diner. The night has taken its hold of the city and the temperatures dropped. It was one of the coldest winters that Chuck could remember. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets as they walked back to the junkyard, the silence only disturbed by the crunch of snow under their boots.
The lights in the buildings on both sides of the street blinked a few times, then went out, plunging the neighborhood into complete darkness.
“That’s gonna suck,” said Chuck without breaking the stride.
“Yeah, I bet that you can use the calendar of scheduled brown-outs to predict
the coldest days of the year,” said Ryan, “but you can’t beat the view.”
Chuck looked up and whistled with appreciation. The clouds dissipated over the day, and now, not blocked by the light pollution of the big city, the winter sky was revealed in all its glory. He kept on glancing up as they walked along, marveling at the sight.
“It looked like this before we came here, and it’ll look like this long after we’re gone,” he said in a quiet voice.
Somewhere in the distance a man screamed. A few seconds later there was a quick rattle of gunfire.
“We might be gone sooner than you think,” said Ryan. The two men kept on walking.
CHAPTER 24
Jason poured himself another glass of scotch and looked at his watch. Max should have come back by now. The whole operation was supposed to take less than fifteen minutes. He downed the drink and put the glass on the countertop. His thoughts were a jumbled mess.
Jason went to the bathroom, put the phone on the marble counter, and opened a faucet of cold water. He closed the drain and, when the sink was full dunked his head in. It was as painful as it was refreshing. He stayed under for a few seconds and finally pulled his head out gasping for air. A strange man with a pair of bloodshot eyes and long wet hair looked back at him from the large mirror above the sink. He studied himself for a few seconds, touching his prominent second chin and brushing long wet hair out of his eyes.
The phone rang, making him jump.
“Hey, buddy,” he heard Max’s voice.
“What the hell took you so long?”
“Ran into some complications, that’s all. First, Davis left the building later than we’d agreed, and second, a couple of IT guys walked into the room just as I was about to split.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, it was intense,” Max said, chuckling, “but luckily they were there just for a minute and left without wandering around. I’m going to meet some lady friends, so I’ll see you tonight. Just wanted to give you an update.”