The rain fell steady as red and black umbrellas bobbed across the courtyard, floating into the darkness. She watched the traces of raindrops—smeared and pooling on her glasses—but couldn’t muster the fight to wipe them clear.
> > > > >
Titanhurst - London
March 11th, 5:27PM
“Ok, let’s run the system check one more time,” Caesar said. “But make sure to keep all safeties on. We can’t have any actual outbound network traffic until midnight.”
Caesar looked down to his team of engineers from the top of the Control Room’s pit. He had never worked with a group like this, and he guessed that no one ever had before. It was like sitting at the controls of the Space Shuttle, being handed the keys, and asking himself “Where should we go today?” It was a glorious feeling.
“All right,” Sean said, reading a few pages of scripts. “You guys all know the drill. We start with Africa. Then shut down grids across the Pacific Rim. Move to South America, then North America. Finish up with Russia and Middle East, and finally to our own beloved European systems.”
“I’ve got some updated numbers on timetable and cadence,” a team member said as she pointed over to a whiteboard. “I’ve adjusted scripts four and seven to account for the regional bugs we found with the last test.”
“And this progression,” Caesar asked, “it matches our distributed server setup? We want to make sure we’re not killing our own machines.”
“Correct,” Sean replied. “The pattern works. The only scripts being executed from London are for the final European shutdown.” He looked back up to the whiteboard to double check the order. “By the time that anyone can tell this traffic is coming from us, they’ll be dealing with local power outages.”
“Caesar … a moment?”
The room fell silent, turning towards the new voice coming from the back of the room. Caesar spun on his heels to see John Crowne standing by the door, observing the exercise with an air of pride.
“Sure, of course,” Caesar said. “Sean, can you take the helm for a minute?”
Caesar jogged to the back of the room, taking a position next to Crowne and finding himself mimicking his stance; facing the pit, arms crossed, leaning back. The two men shook hands.
“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” Crowne beamed. “This team.”
“I have to admit, it really is. The stuff we’re building here, the impact we’re going to have, I’ve never even dreamed–”
“Well, yes, the technology is top tier,” Crowne interrupted. “But the teamwork … I mean, just watch them. It takes other groups years to reach this type of flow.”
Turning back towards the pit, Caesar watched the team members completing their tasks; code streaming in white text across black backgrounds, people handing off tasks and transferring data to each other. All like one continuous, well-oiled machine.
“They are working together,” Crowne said. “No waste. No infighting. No salary demands, no scramble to impress their boss for their next quarterly review.” Crowne took a step forward and faced Caesar. “This will be the way of the new world. Everyone working together for a better future.”
“Sure, with the right goals,” Caesar said. “This team has gelled, but a lot of that is thanks to the meaning behind the work. If you give people the right target to aim for, they will do amazing things.”
“Leadership is about making things that are unimportant seem important,” Crowne said. “We can’t expect the entire world to function at the highest levels, or assume they’ll be motivated by accomplishment. The ugly truth is that much of the world will continue to act like simple animals, and to a degree, will need to be treated as such.”
Caesar snapped his head back towards Crowne. Did he just say ‘animals?’ He took a moment and tried to piece together some kind of response to the statement. “Did you just–”
“Tell me something. What do you think of Martin?” Crowne asked, cutting Caesar off.
Caesar chose his words carefully. “Well, he seems competent, precise; he’s a great planner.”
Shaking his head, Crowne exhaled with a sigh. “Honestly, Caesar, I think he’s a buffoon. A man that wants only status and recognition. He’s a liability.”
Caesar looked back with surprise. “I thought you two were joined at the hip?”
“No, Caesar. I was actually hoping you might serve that role; you’re obviously smart, but more importantly people follow you. This team would run off the side of the cliff if you told them to, no questions asked. You don’t care about status; you care about results. That’s what I need.”
“What’s going to happen to Martin?” Caesar asked.
“Stop worrying about Martin; he’s a lap dog. He doesn’t matter,” Crowne said, extending his hand to Caesar. “He’s made one mistake too many, don’t you think? Martin is the past, let’s focus on the future. You and I. Tell me Caesar … from up here, do you see what I see? Do you see the possibilities? The things we will do?”
Caesar’s gaze traced back into the pit as the team continued to buzz with efficiency, a glowing map of the world hanging above them. Caesar extended his hand out to Crowne.
“Yes, sir,” Caesar said. “I see what you see.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Covent Garden - London
March 11th, 9:21PM
Haylie watched the passing crowds with dull eyes. She blended into the world around her, mixing with the good and bad and all that came with it. For the past few hours, she had let it all soak in: she couldn’t go to the police, and she couldn’t beat Raven. It was less than three hours until the world went to hell, and she was all out of options. She was spent.
I give up.
The steady hiss of falling rain was suddenly cut by a sharp wail of sirens. Three police motorcycles splashed down the cobblestones with blue and red lights flashing, sending bystanders in their path scurrying. Haylie’s head rose as the police formed a semicircle around her position, blocking each of her exit points. She stood and slowly raised her hands halfway up to her waist.
This is the end; they found me. She didn’t know if she was headed to jail or to a locked room somewhere at the Bilderberg Group’s headquarters, but it didn’t matter any more.
Don’t worry. I’m not going to run.
A fourth motorcycle pulled between the center two pillars, this one looked more like an old-style Harley-Davidson. The rider stepped off the cycle, walking slowly towards Haylie across the courtyard. As he pulled off his helmet and walked into the light, Haylie saw a familiar face.
“Vector?” she whispered.
> > > > >
Titanhurst - London
March 11th, 9:25PM
The knock was quickly followed by a slow turn of the brass doorknob. The Sterling brothers marched into the Prime Minister’s office in single file, with Martin following just a few steps behind.
“Gentlemen,” Crowne’s voice boomed with enthusiasm, “good to see you again. Has Martin been getting you up to speed?”
“Absolutely,” Benjamin replied, “but there’s so much to learn about all aspects of The Project … it’s a bit like drinking from a fire hose. Your team seems ready; it’s exciting, really, when you think about how tonight will change history.”
“Truly impressive,” Walter added. “A plan of this size and scope, but limited to so few people at the helm. I’m amazed that you–” He paused, checking to see if his statement had been taken as an insult. “That anyone, really, could think so big.”
Crowne smiled. “Well, I can’t take all the credit. The Bilderberg Group is filled with the right people—not only to make The Project a success, but more importantly, to serve as leaders when we recolonize in six months.”
“Just let us know how we can help,” Benjamin said.
“Yes, excellent,” Crowne said. “I have something for you. As you know, time is of the essence. With power out shortly, all public-facing vital systems and transportation hubs will be down for qu
ite some time. We’re mobilizing our leadership to be embedded in key areas before that happens, just in case. I need you both to head to Rio.”
Walter was the first to speak. “What’s in Rio?”
“I’ve never had full confidence in our man that’s currently placed down there, so he’ll be reporting to you two now,” Crowne said. “I’d like you to oversee South America for the next few years.”
“South … America?” Benjamin said. “The whole thing?”
“Of course,” Crowne said. “I mean, someone has to.”
“But, Mr. Prime Minister,” Walter responded, “we’ve never—we don’t even speak Spanish.”
With a brief flash of concern, Crowne paused. “People will speak whatever language we tell them to speak when the lights come back on. They’ll line up in the streets to speak English when the time comes.” He cocked his head to the side, thinking. “Is this a problem for you, gentlemen?”
The brothers stumbled over each other to respond. “No, sir,” said Benjamin, the first to get words out of his mouth. “We’re your men.”
With a smile only a politician could get away with, Crowne slapped Benjamin on the shoulder, laughing heartedly. “You lot are a crack up. We’re going to have fun working together. Martin, please take these gentlemen to the airport and brief them on the way. Boys, The Project will be underway by the time you land, but our private airport will still retain full capabilities. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Martin,” Crowne said. “A word on your way out?”
Each taking a turn to shake Crowne’s hand, the brothers shuffled out of the room, still not sure what had hit them. Crowne motioned to the door as Martin walked over to shut it quietly.
“Drive them to Location Bravo. A team will be waiting,” Crowne said, straightening his shirt’s sleeves, and buttoning his jacket. “It was wonderful of them to point us to Crash—it really was. But I believe the brothers have added all the value we’re going to get out of them. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Martin leaned in close to Crowne’s ear. “Absolutely, sir,” he whispered.
“Try not to screw this one up, Martin,” Crowne said. “Try very hard.”
> > > > >
Covent Garden - London
March 11th, 9:32PM
Steam rose from Haylie’s cup of coffee as the heat from the cheap Styrofoam warmed her chilled hands. She sat huddled on the back stoop of the police van, the Day-Glo orange and red stripes of the rear doors reflecting fire into the gray puddles below. As she went to take a sip, she was quickly reminded of her zip-tied wrists, fastened tight with white plastic and perfectly matching the bands on her ankles.
Vector stood twenty feet in front of her, whispering in hushed tones to a plainclothes officer and pointing over in her direction every now and then. Haylie caught them sneaking glances of her between exchanges, their bowed heads occasionally nodding in unison.
He was an informant all along, working for the police. Of course he was.
The heavy rain had pulled back to a fine mist; the headlights illuminating flecks of water into clouds of swirling movement like a school of fish, darting back and forth from any sign of danger, pushing away with each gust of wind whipping into the courtyard.
They’ll never believe me—they’ll think I’m making up the whole thing about Raven and the lights going out. They won’t believe me until it’s too late.
A second officer was called over to the huddle with Vector. After a discreet chat with the commanding officer, he turned, walking towards Haylie. The officer reached to his belt, slipping a stainless steel multi-tool out of its casing, and flipped it open with a flash of metal. He slowly clipped the zip-ties free from Haylie’s wrists and feet without a word.
“What’s happening?” Haylie asked as she squinted through the mist, fighting to see past the spotlights. “Are you guys taking me in or not?”
Vector approached, finding a seat next to her on the vehicle’s rear deck. “You were never going in, Haylie. I asked them to restrain you so you wouldn’t run; I didn’t want you to freak out.”
“So you’re working with them, is that it?” Haylie asked, no longer holding back her anger. “You’ve been a mole this whole time we’ve been friends? I never should have trusted you.”
“No, idiot,” Vector replied. “I mean, yes, I’ve worked with them on occasion, but not usually like this. I’ve fed them some information, got in to systems they needed to crack—but that’s it. I’ve never reported any hackers to them and I’ve certainly never told them anything you’ve done. Not that it matters anymore.” He checked for any officers nearby before continuing, lowering his voice. “I do projects for them. Special stuff. Off-the-books stuff. If they need information about somebody, sometimes I can help.”
“Any chance they don’t know who I am?” Haylie asked, her eyes growing with hope. Whispering, she leaned in, “You know, that phone stuff we pulled off at the National Gallery is a felony back in the States.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Vector said. “And of course they know who you are. Everyone in the civilized world now knows who Crash is, now that your face is on every telly across the globe. And I had to give them some details about Raven; I needed them to take this seriously.”
“So you outed me?” Haylie said, her head hung low.
“What—have you lost your mind?” Vector shot back. “Have you been listening? I outed me. And now that they know that I hang out with the likes of you, I’m pretty sure my police support services will no longer be required.”
Haylie scoffed, pulling her hair back behind her head. “So I’m headed to jail?”
“No, listen,” Vector said. “I explained what’s going on, asked them to help us out. I think they believe me, but they are obviously suspicious. They need more proof about The Project. That’s all they are interested in.”
Haylie managed a muted smile as she tugged the police-issued blanket across her shoulders. She placed the coffee down on the wet cobblestone below her feet and leaned onto her elbows, thinking.
“You know, a lot of people would say ‘thank you’ at this point,” Vector said, fishing for a response.
“Sorry, I’m….” Haylie stammered as she sat back up straight. “I’m not very good at this.”
Flashing a grin, Vector reached his arm around Haylie’s shoulders to try for a hug. She flinched back away from him, shooting him a look of death. He quickly jerked his arm back, his hands extended. “Right, not ready for hugs yet. Got it.”
“We’ve got some time left,” Haylie said. “Let’s think about what we have. We know they want me at Paddington Station in about thirty minutes.”
“We don’t want to walk into a trap, but we don’t have anything else to go on,” Vector said, “They’ve shut down the Raven clues. We’ve no other leads. And what are we going to do when we find them?”
Haylie stood and began to pace, back and forth, as she thought. If I can get into their headquarters, I’ll be able to find all the evidence I need. I just need to find a way to keep them from putting a bullet in my head when they see me.
Vector looked down to his phone’s screen. “Google says it should take us fifteen minutes to get to Paddington,” he said. “If that helps.”
Her eyes focused on the glowing screen, shining light on the fine mist of raindrops falling down onto the glass. A smile worked its way across her lips.
“We have the device information for one of their phones,” she said, walking back towards Vector. “From the stingray hack, remember? I need you to grab your laptop.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of this. We’re going to track them down. We’re going to find them, and I’m going to get Caesar out of there.” Haylie craned her neck around the side of the police van. “I need to talk to whoever’s in charge around here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Covent Garden - London
March 11th, 9:48PM
“Ok, we’ve got it,” th
e Inspector said after playing back the video on his phone. The rain-soaked splotches scattered across his topcoat were beginning to dry in the cool evening, fading out one by one. “You should be good to go.” He waited for a response from Haylie but got nothing back; she had already turned, walking back towards the police van.
Vector sat on the rear bumper, reading news reports on his phone for any updates. He saw the image of Haylie’s face again and again, but nothing else recent from the press. Noticing Haylie out of the corner of his eye, he quickly slid his phone back in his pocket and flashed half a smile her way.
“Are you sure about all this?” Vector asked.
“I’m sure,” she shot back. “Besides, it’s done. Let’s focus on the next step. Let’s find these guys.”
“Have you changed your mind about Paddington?”
“No. I have a better idea,” Haylie said. She pulled her MacBook from her backpack and placed it on the rear deck of the police van. Connecting to the network connection served from her phone, she brought up the stingray logs from the National Gallery. “This phone number—the one that sent a text to the agent—we’re going to track down its location.”
“How are we going to do that?” Vector asked. “You said yourself that we can’t get location data from the information we have.”
“You mentioned before that you’ve been working for the Department of Transport over here, right?” Haylie asked.
“Sure,” Vector said.
“Great. I need you to use your access. Log in and bring up the system that tracks the roadside Bluetooth scanners,” Haylie said, already on to the next task of installing a few new apps on her phone.
“Bluetooth scanners? That’s not a project that I work on. How is that going to help us out?”
Haylie shot a ‘c’mon’ look at Vector, giving him a few seconds to put together the pieces. He stared back blankly.
Crash Alive (The Haylie Black Series Book 1) Page 25