Seven Unholy Days

by Jerry Hatchett

  I let go of his arm and turned him around to face me in as non-threatening a manner as was possible under the circumstances. I looked him in the eye and said, “There are a grand total of two people here to work on this problem right now, and I’ll ask you politely to step aside and let us go to work. If you have investigative questions you’d like to ask, you may ask them while we work. Is that a fair compromise?”

  He didn’t blink or flinch, but in his eyes I saw that it had been a long time since anyone challenged Special Agent Bob Rowe.

  Two more obvious agents walked in and were headed our way in a hurry. A stocky man with a trademark Bureau haircut and an anorexic-looking woman dressed in a navy blue power suit.

  “Everything okay here, Bob?” Stocky said to Rowe while he glared at me. Stocky’s wardrobe gave me pause. He was the first Bureau man I’d seen wearing twenty-five hundred dollars worth of work clothes. I wanted to see his file for sure.

  “Under control,” Rowe said. Then he turned back to me. “I’ll let you stay, Decker. For now.”

  “I appreciate that, Agent Rowe.”

  “You can assist.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I heard a commotion at the door. The second wave of the FBI invasion hit, four scraggly-looking cracker types—hackers are legitimate wizards despite the misuse of the word in the movies—loaded down with computer gear. One of the Bureau’s teams of criminal techs performing “rehab” work for the government as a way to avoid jail time. I had no doubt they recognized me.

  “My people will be handling the computer problems now,” Rowe said. I looked at Stocky, who was staring at me as if I were public enemy number one. Skinny was setting up shop in a corner.

  “There will be hell to pay for this stunt, Rowe. These guys know nothing about these systems.”

  “You’re a greedy fascist, dude,” one of the hackers said to me. “Information should be free.”

  “Whatever,” I said, then turned back to Rowe. “You can’t be serious about turning this bunch loose in here. You could have at least brought genuine Bureau pros.”

  “They’ll learn quickly enough. They may be a bunch of misfits but they’re the best of the best, the real experts in this game.” The label didn’t seem to bother them. They were busy unpacking gear.

  “You’re a real piece of work, Rowe.”

  “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw rocks, Decker.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “The Bureau has a long memory. We don’t think you’re so much a technology wizard as a technicality wizard.”

  “I see.”

  “I thought you would.”

  Abdul’s brow had scrunched up in a knot, his dark complexion reddening as he rose from his chair. “You are fools. Matt Decker is the—”

  “It’s okay, Abdul. Let’s help them out,” I said with a wink only he could see.

  “Yes, Matt Decker,” he said as he eased back down.

  11:51 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME

  After seeing the crew the FBI sent, I was double-glad I hadn’t mentioned the email to them. I shuddered at the thought of the Pierced Nose Gang running roughshod through my laptop. No, keeping that message out of their hands and minds was working just fine, especially when there was nothing to gain from exposing it. For the moment, 69 was a dead end and there were more pressing issues at hand.

  “Mr. Decker, Mr. Tarkleton on the blue line for you,” the secretary said over the intercom.

  I took the call in the lounge, out of earshot of Rowe and his posse. “Decker here.”

  “Matthew, any headway?”

  “No. The FBI showed up with a bunch of cyber-thugs and put them to work. They’re giving me a pretty hard time about being here. Still haven’t heard from Fulton.”

  “Are they crazy? Do they know who you are?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Why would they not want you on this case?”

  “I’ve made a few enemies in the FBI over the years, Tark. Nothing worth talking about, but law enforcement grudges run long and deep.”

  “I’m apt to make some enemies myself as soon as I can get back but in the meantime we have another problem. The administrator of the hospital in Tupelo is a friend of mine and he just called me on my cell phone. Their generator is still down and the part to repair it is two days away. They have patients who are going to die soon without surgery. We have to get this grid back up, even if we have to do it manually.”

  “Tell them to expect power in thirty to forty-five minutes.” I hung up the phone. Maybe other hospitals were faring better with their emergency power, but I had to deal with what was in my face.

  Back in the control room, the crackers were finding out they weren’t quite so sharp when faced with state-of-the-art code instead of the shoddy corporate servers they were accustomed to plundering. I managed a few moments of pride until I remembered I was locked out too.

  I leaned over and whispered to Abdul, “Every power plant in our district is still operational, right?”

  “Yes. The power is still available but simply cannot pass through the grid switches to be in delivery.”

  “Let’s get ready to manually engage Central Grid One.”

  A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yes sir.”

  “Dude, this is some radical code. You need to clue us in on this stuff,” the head cracker said. He had neon green hair and at least a pound of metal in his face.

  “I don’t have time to baby-sit you. Besides, you’re the real experts, right?”

  Stocky heard the exchange and plodded over to my station. “Honcho, I’d advise you to start cooperating with our people in a hurry.”

  “We haven’t been introduced yet,” I said as I extended my hand. “I’m Matt Decker.”

  “I don’t want to shake your damn hand.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He bent down close enough for me to smell his foul breath. “I can’t wait for the day when I slap a pair of cuffs on your arrogant ass. And next time you won’t squirm away, you dirty bastard.”

  He did an about face and left, his face in a blood-red snarl, the tail of his Armani jacket flapping in his wake. Abdul looked at me with a questioning look but I just shrugged and said, “Let’s get busy.”

  It took us twenty-two minutes to make the checks and route all the circuit bypasses needed for a manual override grid engagement. Impressive work. I’d have to speak to Mr. Abidi about a more lucrative future for him when this was over. If he checked out straight, he’d be a bargain at triple his current salary.

  It was a risky move but people were in danger and I couldn’t sit on my hands. I sounded the countdown: “Five ... four ... three—”

  “Exactly what are you two counting down over there, Decker?” Rowe said.

  “While your boys were jacking around, we were getting ready to turn the power back on. That okay with you?”

  “You got it fixed?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “How’d you pull a bitchrod move like that? We can’t get past the first layer,” a cracker said.

  “Imagine that. Go play solitaire, son. Abdul, let’s go. Five ... four ... three ... two ... one—”

  The secretary burst through the door waving a piece of paper.

  “This better be important,” I said.

  “I think you’ll want to read this, Mr. Decker.”

  The fax was a printout of an email, forwarded to us by none other than the White House. The sender’s email address was all too familiar:

  FROM: I14_696938@hotmail.com

  TO: XEAGLE@WHITEHOUSE.GOV

  To the President of the United States:

  For too long, the United States’ arrogance has offended the world. Now you have only begun to pay. Your country will now be subject to a series of retributory occurrences as punishment for your transgressions and your iniquity. For what you have wrought, you will tremble mightily.

  I trust the reach of my power has been aptly demon
strated to all concerned. Any circumvention of my Decree of Darkness will result in consequences more harsh than those you already have in store. Ye have been duly warned.

  By the way, what do you think of your splendiferous power grid now?

  Rowe was dialing the phone by the time I stopped reading. He apparently had some priority codes that moved his calls through the phone system. “Bob Rowe onsite at Yellow Creek. What information do we have on that email ... yes ... I see ... come again ... well, there’s no need to go looking for him, he’s right here ... hold on.” He cupped the phone. “Decker, seems you were right. The Director just put out a bulletin for you to be located and brought in on the case. They’re patching this call through to him now.” He handed me the phone.

  “Matt Decker here.”

  “Hold for the director.”

  Ten seconds later, he was on the line. “Mr. Decker, this is Keen Brandon, director of the FBI. Have you been briefed on the situation?”

  “I haven’t been briefed per se, but I’ve been here at Central since it all began yesterday. I saw the three states drop, I’ve seen two murder victims, and I’ve been here nonstop since shortly after the main drop last night. Unless there’s something different going on elsewhere, I’m as up to speed as anyone.”

  “I see. Let me point out the fact that this email was sent to the President’s personal emailbox, which has an address that changes daily and is accessible only to a minute number of high-level officials. There’s obviously a well-placed agent in the system. Is there anything you can tell me that might help? This sonofabitch is obviously not through with us.”

  “The sabotage is sophisticated, very pro. Breaking it is doable but it’s taking some time. We were just about to manually engage a grid when the fax came in.”

  “Exactly what does that mean?”

  “We’re going to bypass the automated systems and manually switch this area back on.”

  “In other words, you’re about to circumvent the Decree of Darkness.”

  “I suppose we are. In light of this email, I’ll defer to your judgment on whether to proceed.”

  “I want the President to make that call, Mr. Decker. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve talked to him.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Director. I’ll await your call.”

  “Oh, and Mr. Decker?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Agent Rowe is one of our best agents. I trust he and his team are being helpful to you?”

  “Yes sir.” I looked at Rowe before continuing. “Agent Rowe and his team have been extremely helpful to us here.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Goodbye sir.” I hung the phone up and Rowe wiped the sweat off his red face with the sleeve of his once-crisp-but-now-soggy white button-down. He had pulled the suit jacket off sometime between eighty-five and ninety degrees on the thermometer at the front of the room.

  “Look, Decker—”

  “Mr. Decker, Mr. Tarkleton is back on the blue line for you,” the secretary said.

  Great. “Call me Matt, okay?” There was no need to rub his nose in it, especially since I wanted to stay in their loop as much as possible.

  “Okay, Matt,” Rowe said.

  I too the call. “Hello, Tark.”

  “Everybody’s ready here. How long before you engage the grid?”

  “We’ve had a complication here.”

  “Do not tell me that, Matthew. I’ve told the hospital power is coming.”

  “We were getting ready to engage when a fax came in from the White House. “ I read it to him.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he said. “I understand the bind you’re in, Matthew. Just remember real lives are at stake right now.”

  “Tark, I’ll do what I can.”

  10

  3:36 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  YELLOW CREEK

  Our internal network was working perfectly. It allowed Great American Electric and all four of the control centers to communicate in the absence of external power or networks. Two-way satellite links and a sophisticated private tunnel on the Internet made it work.

  “What’s your name?” I said to Metal Face.

  “Neo, dude. As in The Matrix.”

  How clever. “Fine. Neo, how about you and your crew work these email headers and see if you can nail down a source?”

  “Sorry, dude. I don’t take orders from fascists.”

  “Game over,” one of his contemporaries said with a cackle.

  “Bitchin’ truth,” said another.

  “Agent Rowe,” I said loudly without taking my eyes off Neo. “I seem to be having a bit of trouble with your team. Would you please explain to your flaming friend that I’m about two seconds from pulling his arm off and shoving it up his narrow ass?”

  “Decker calls the computer shots. What he says, you do. Is that clear?” Rowe had become oddly cooperative since my chat with his boss.

  “Lighten up, dude. Just yanking your chain; no need to get bent,” Neo said.

  “Work the emails.” I slapped the printouts down in front of him. They murmured but went to work. I knew they wouldn’t find a source but their depth of penetration would show me what they could do, and the project would also keep them out of my way.

  “Guys, the Emergency Broadcast System is coming online in a couple of minutes,” Rowe said. He headed to the lounge, with me, Stocky, and Skinny close behind. Neo and his gang stood to follow. “Stay on the emails,” I said.

  Fox had the EBS crisis contract this year and their lead anchor was on the screen as we crowded into the room. “Before we begin our coverage, we have a request to pass on to everyone watching, or listening, since the audio feed is also available via radio. The vast majority of your fellow Americans do not have access to these broadcasts. Please spread the word to your neighbors as best you can. We’re all in this together and we appreciate your cooperation.

  “We’re telling you what we know, as we know it. The United States is at this moment without electrical power. To say the least, this is unprecedented. Power outages in the past, even the worst ones, were confined to cities or occasionally a geographic region, but we’ve never seen anything of this magnitude. Yesterday, three Southern states lost power at the same time. We have no official confirmation that this national failure is related to what happened down South, but we assume there’s a connection.

  “We will be covering the situation continuously. Since we are now operating under the auspices of the Emergency Broadcast System, there will be no commercial breaks. FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Association, has asked us to make it clear that steps are being taken to restore power as quickly as possible—”

  The intercom announced a call for me from the FBI Director. “Yes sir ... yes sir, we’re still ready to go here ... yes, there is a risk to the system with a manual override, but I think we can make it work ... understood ... goodbye sir ...

  “We have permission from the President to proceed with the override of this first grid. If we can make it work without damaging the system, we’re to draft detailed instructions and distribute them to the other centers. He wants the power back on and damn the threats of consequences.”

  I called Tark and gave him the news. Two minutes later we were rolling the countdown yet again. “Abdul, on my mark, five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... mark!” We simultaneously keyed in the final override codes. The command sequence scrolled across the monitors, ordering a series of twenty massive primary switches positioned throughout a seventy-five-mile radius to close their circuits. One by one they reported their status back to the system:

  PRSW12 COMMAND EXECUTED—CIRCUIT CLOSED

  PRSW07 COMMAND EXECUTED—CIRCUIT CLOSED

  PRSW16 COMMAND EXECUTED—CIRCUIT CLOSED

  …

  On the big screen, Mississippi was still dark. Then I saw a flicker of green, followed by another, and another. It was working; the sectors were coming back online. When Yellow Creek’s sector went hot
I heard the throaty air conditioning units rumble into life and a welcome dose of cool air followed shortly. I found the nearest vent and stood directly under it as a smattering of applause broke out among the crackers. They may not like me but they couldn’t help admiring our work.

  “Nice job, gentlemen,” Rowe said with a smile on his face.

  Stocky grunted, walked into an adjacent office he had commandeered, and slammed the door. I looked through the window as he flopped into a chair. He saw me watching and quickly closed the blinds, glaring at me until his beady eyes vanished behind the slats.

  11

  8:22 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  HART COMPLEX

  Abraham Hart and Dane Christian stood outside the bunker-in-a-barn, gazing west as the orange sun settled into the horizon on a canvas of painted clouds. After all the fine work he and Riff had done for Hart, Dane expected at least a token remark of consolation to acknowledge the loss of his only brother. He did not get one.

  Instead, he was again chastised for bringing a witness to the complex. After that, Hart had simply stopped talking and stared at him with those ice-blue eyes as they stood there in the middle of frigging nowhere.

  Even though they were supposed to be on the same team, Dane was wondering more and more if there was really anybody at all on the Hart team other than Hart. When he hired them a couple of years before, Hart had been friendly, charismatic. He understood how Hart attracted his gaggle of brainwashed believers. Over the past months, however, he became more and more distant, obsessed with the most intricate details, increasingly harsh to paid workers. The charm was now shown only to the volunteers. Riff had called them the worker ants.

  After staring at the sunset for five minutes or so, Hart closed his eyes and began to speak again, face still turned toward the sun. “You are certain the Central device is ready?”