“There are lots of ifs in our plan,” said Paul, reading her mind.
He was right of course. “It’s all we’ve got. Let’s make it work.”
They finished their cup of tea in silence. Ana sat there for a long while, trying to fathom how events would unfold. When she finally snapped out of her thoughts, it was pitch black outside.
She slipped out of the clinic, leaving Paul to a deep, troubled sleep on the sofa.
Chapter 16
Walscombe
Walscombe sat on his bed, wrists and ankles tied together, staring helplessly at the three intruders crowded around his small desk. Now, they were also his captors.
He was defeated. Bound and incapable of moving, he felt like he’d finally lost everything. This was somewhat surprising to him, because he had little to begin with, really.
He tried to ignore the throbbing pain on the right side of his face, where the hippie bastard’s tea had burned him, in the cafeteria. Idiot, he thought. You should have seen that coming. But the truth was, he wasn’t the suspicious type. Sure, his whole career had unfolded inside the realm of secrecy and suspicion, a career that ultimately led him to Atlantis. Yet, he was the trusting sort. Too trusting, as it turned out.
He observed the three of them. The kids tapping away at their keyboards, the old fart peering over their shoulders. From time to time, Jeremy would turn around and look at him. Just to let Walscombe know he was keeping an eye on their prisoner. Walscombe’s own gun held firmly in his hand.
Every time one of them moved, or shifted something on the desk, Walscombe found himself catching his breath. For some reason, he was terrified by the idea that they could knock Aubrey over. If she were to come crashing to the ground and break her tender little stem, Walscome knew he’d finally lose it. Go full I’m-Napoleon-batshit-Bonapart-crazy. He could feel it, his mind teetering on a string, about to plunge into the abyss.
Which probably means you’re already pretty insane, right? If your best friend is a plant, I mean.
He cleared his throat, just to get the voice in his head to shut up (see!? Voices in your head, dude. You are ma–).
He focussed his gaze on the kid they called Redpill (although at times he’d hear the other two call him ’Sean’). The young man had started the long, complicated process of hacking into Atlantis’s systems. Walscombe wasn’t sure they’d manage, but there was a chance. In any case, it was weirdly relaxing to observe this kid do his job. It often was, when watching people doing what they’re good at. Redpill was elsewhere, completely absorbed by his work—eyes sharp, fingers flying restlessly over the keyboard of his laptop. Jeremy knew better than to interrupt him. He just stood there, bent over their shoulders, studying the monitors with an irritating smirk on his lips.
God, Walscombe hated this man.
On the other hand, there was something about Redpill he really liked. He was quiet, and didn’t strike Walscombe as being fully invested in Jeremy’s plan. If he, Walscombe, had had a plan of his own, one to get him out of this mess (yeahrright), it would certainly have included this kid.
Regrettably, plans are for the optimistic. At that moment, Walscombe felt as optimistic as a stock broker the day of the impact. Plus, what was the point? He was a prisoner in his own–
A crackling sound from the loudspeakers made him jump. It came from his computer, where the irritating kid was working. He’s called Checkmate. Nice handle for an asshole kid, he thought, and suddenly wished he were playing chess with Ivan.
Jeremy let out a little triumphant chuckle. “Good job, boy,” he said, patting Checkmate’s shoulder. He tilted his ear towards the speakers, narrowing his eyes. Walscombe could hear indistinct sounds, a low chatter of what perhaps were voices. Finally, apparently happy with what he was hearing, Jeremy leaned forward, bringing his lips to the PC’s mic, a grimy dreadlock dangling over the desk.
“It’s Jeremy, guys,” he said, his face beaming. “We did it. We’re in.”
The satisfaction in his voice made Walscombe want to throw up. Or punch him. Or both, which, admittedly, would have been weird.
On the other end, there was a flurry of excitement. “Is that him?” someone asked. Then echoes of cheers and calls of ’they’re in! they’re in!’ There was a shuffling noise, and a voice poured out of the speakers. One Walscombe would recognise anywhere. It belonged to the man who had told him Ivan was dead. Possibly the one who had killed him.
“It’s great to hear from you, sir. How’s our friend Walscombe doing?”
Jeremy turned towards him. “He’s here on the bed, being a very good boy.” On the other end, they laughed.
“Watch out, that son of a bitch is smart.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Not as smart as he thinks.”
“When will phase two begin, sir?”
Jeremy leaned a hand on Redpill’s shoulder. “We’re working on it, lads. Hopefully, it won’t take too long.”
Walscombe listened as they exchanged a few more words, blood boiling in his veins. They were the people who had killed Ivan, and Jeremy was their best buddy, judging from the tone of this chat.
“Okay gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure talking to you,” Jeremy said, bringing the conversation to a close. “In fact, it’s been a pleasure knowing you. The end is near.”
“Yes, sir.” It sounded like the guy was moved to tears.
These guys are creepy as hell, thought Walscombe.
“Please pass the news on to the Warden. I’ll inform him via email as soon as phase two is complete, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate being briefed about our arrival, in the meantime.”
“Will do, sir.”
Jeremy nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “All right then. Adieu, lads.”
“Goodbye, sir. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”
“Same here.” Jeremy instructed Checkmate to close the conversation. Then, he let out a long sigh. Looking them all in the eyes, another one of his blood-curdling smiles on his lips, he said, “This is a great day for humanity. A great, great day.”
* * *
The call had yanked Sean out of his focus. He’d been busy probing the base’s defences, and they were every bit as good as he’d expected. That wasn’t always the case, in his experience. There had been colossal corporations and major national entities whose security systems were well below the ones he had running at home, in Bately. But here, in Atlantis, they had done things properly. Without the list of users and passwords Jeremy had provided them with, he doubted he’d even have managed to get as far as he had. Definitely not so soon.
But, as good as they were, these users didn’t have the necessary privileges to access the meaty parts of the base. He’d been running a port scanner on the local network’s machines, hoping to find a weak spot, when Jeremy had started talking to the guys on the other end. They were in Russia, according to the details Sean saw on the screen Checkmate had been working at.
The call had unsettled him. That farewell at the end had been so definitive. He wondered what Jeremy and that man had been talking about, but it was useless. Jeremy always spoke in riddles.
He threw a glance at Walscombe. The man, tied up like a hostage in a film, was looking at him. It wasn’t the first time they’d traded glances. Neither was it the first time Sean wished he could talk to Walscombe in private, even just for five minutes. But that was impossible. Plus, it was a stupid idea, really—what could they do, with Jeremy armed and Checkmate, his little poodle, obeying him blindly? Nothing. It was best to focus on the computer. Because however deceitful Jeremy could be, there was one thing he hadn’t lied about: this feat was an absolute hacker’s dream.
“How are you doing there, Sean?” asked Jeremy, suddenly close to him.
“All okay,” he said, quickly turning back to the screen. “But the security setup here is excellent. I mean, top notch. Obtaining full access is gonna be hard.”
“Well,” said Jeremy, “that’s where our little Yankee friend here comes in,
isn’t it?”
On the bed, Walscombe shook his head. Veins were pulsating on his temples. He ignored Jeremy and focussed on the two of them. Mostly on Sean. “Kids, you know what his plan is, right? You’re geniuses aren’t you? I’m sure you’ve worked it out, by now.”
Sean felt a knot in his throat. It was strange, but this was something he really didn’t want to think about. For him, what mattered was the hacking. He didn’t want to know what Jeremy’s objective was.
But you already do, don’t you?
Amazingly enough, the look on Checkmate’s face suggested he truly had no idea what they were doing there. Not for the first time, Sean wondered how such an idiot could also be a top class hacker.
Walscombe’s eyes drifted towards Jeremy, eyebrows drawn close. He spoke slowly, deliberately. “He wants to launch a nuclear strike, guys. That’s what Atlantis is—the heart and soul of the US nuclear arsenal. He wants you to bomb the shit out of…” for a second, Walscombe hesitates. “Out of whom, exactly, you maniac?”
“Let’s leave that matter for later, shall we?” Jeremy said to the two of them, his voice warm and reassuring.
Walscombe ignored him. “In any case, you won’t be able to control the missiles from my account. You’ll need another three admin, full-privilege Atlantis accounts, at least.”
“We’re working on that,” Checkmate interrupted him.
Walscombe shook his head, as if dealing with a rather thick-headed pupil. “But that’s only one part of the equation. Hell, did you think it was going to be as easy as that? This is the US of A, man. We do security properly.” He laughed. “You didn’t think it was going to be as easy as strolling in here and messing around on a computer, did you? Atlantis is only half of it. The other end is the White House, which, last time I checked, was a little mound of rubble thanks to our friend Colossus.”
“I sorted that out,” said Checkmate, hesitantly. He searched for Jeremy’s gaze, his approval. “Didn’t I, Jeremy?”
Sean’s jaw dropped almost exactly at the same time as Walscombe’s.
“That you did, lad.” Jeremy nodded, vitriol pouring from his eyes as he studied Walscombe. “But, as I said, let’s leave all that for later.”
There was silence. Sean could hardly bear the tension in the room. He returned to his work, to the clean, soothing world of code and problem-solving. While the port scanner did its job, he tapped into the Russian systems Checkmate had been working on. Jeremy had given them a few accounts to access there as well. But he hadn’t been as interested in that side of things, their focus was on Atlantis.
Sean decided to explore the account called ’Ivan,’ the same name he’d heard Walscombe mention, in the cafeteria. He ran a harmless list command in Ivan’s main folder. In the blink of an eye, the screen was populated with row upon row of files and folders.
He had an idea.
After a quick glance at the others (Jeremy and Walscombe were still staring each other down, while Checkmate was busy with his own probing efforts), he issued the same command again, this time filtering by anything containing ’walscombe’. He made sure to include hidden files.
And there it was.
A text file. It was named ’chess_moves.txt’: a suspiciously uninteresting name. Sean checked its creation date. It was the most recent file on the system.
Sean’s heart was beating fast. He shot another sideways glance at the others, then opened the file.
Walscombe,
Someone is here. They’ve broken in, and I doubt they want to make friends.
If their intentions are as dark as I suspect, I might not be able to stop them.
I’m enclosing the codes to the whole Russian nuclear arsenal. They will override any other user or command.
You’re in charge of the world now, my dear friend. Use this power wisely, you capitalist pig.
They’re coming. This might be my last message to you.
Thank you for the chess games.
It’s been an honour.
– I.
Sean tried to put himself in this man’s shoes. If someone—apparently Jeremy’s people—had broken into wherever Ivan was in order to kill him, he’d had to think fast. Creating an innocent-looking file, only half concealed, was one way of getting a message to Walscombe.
He swallowed. His finger shaking, Sean quickly copied the file over to his computer, deleting all traces of it on the remote system.
This was it. He finally had something he could use against Jeremy. But how?
“Okay. It’s time for a break. You’ve deserved it, boys,” the hippie said, startling him. “I think we should all have another cup of your rather revolting tea, Mr. Walscombe. Then, we’ll find a way to get you to give up your account details.”
As they got to their feet, Sean met Walscombe’s eyes. He gave the prisoner the slightest of nods. At first, Walscombe frowned, confused. Then, an instant later, he looked away, trying to act casual.
Sean wasn’t sure how he’d go about all this yet, but he had a chance, at least. I have an ally, he told himself.
Across the room, on his bed, Walscombe was thinking the same thing.
Chapter 17
Cathy
As Cathy awoke, the first feeling was warmth. Just that—the simple, enjoyable sense of comfort of lying next to someone you love. Edward was beside her, breathing steadily, an arm draped across her chest. Her heart warmed when she noticed he was in a terribly uncomfortable position, half leaning out of their narrow mattress, all so she could enjoy a little more room, a small slice of comfort.
Then, the rest flooded in. The bare walls of the cell, the awareness of being a prisoner. Like every morning since she’d been locked up in here, she was hit hard by a sense of utter helplessness. No way to get out, no way to do anything at all but ponder the same old plans, before dismissing them again. As always, her first conscious thought was, We have to get out of here.
Neeson was already up, pacing around in the cell. Probably feeling exactly the same as she was. He smiled at her, “Good morning.”
“Hey,” she replied in a whisper, trying to let Edward enjoy a few extra minutes of sleep. “No news, I bet.”
Neeson shook his head. Cathy rose slowly, gently untangling herself from Edward’s embrace. As she got up, she heard noises coming from the corridor, outside. The creak of one of the old doors, the footsteps of one of the guards (it was surprising how she’d learned to distinguish them from the mere sound of their feet on the stone floor).
“Visitor!” the guard called out.
In the bed, Edward began to stir. Cathy and Neeson walked towards the bars that imprisoned them, and peered outside.
A wretched figure was walking behind the guard, its shoulders hunched as it dragged its feet along. It took her a few instants for Cathy to recognise him. Then, her heart filled with joy.
“Paul!”
* * *
They gathered around the bars, to listen to the priest’s story.
“What happened to your eye?” Cathy asked. Medical gauze was wrapped around his head, concealing his right eye. As she studied his face, she couldn’t help but feel a chill run down her spine. He looked terrible, as if he’d aged ten years since the last time she’d seen him.
Paul waved down the question. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. As he did so, she noticed the psoriasis on his hand. It was bad.
They gasped and sighed as he told them about the children, their time among the Pack. His voice was low, circumspect, wary of the guards walking up and down the corridor behind him. When they got too close, he momentarily changed the subject.
Cathy, Edward and Neeson had dozens of questions for him, and kept talking over one another, eager to know how he was doing, thirsty for news from the outside world.
“There’s little time,” he told them, and his voice lowered to barely more than a whisper. “It’s important, listen.” In fast, tense words, Paul told them about the boat and the impending ’wraith attack. As her eyes wi
dened in amazement, she listened as Paul revealed his plan to escape Bately. More than that, to escape England. Her heart began beating fast, and she felt both terrified and excited.
“When the attack begins, we’re going to meet here. Me, and Ana from the Pack.” He paused for a moment. “We have to warn Mathew and Lucy, I wasn’t sure where to find them.”
“They’re going to come in later,” Edward said. “We’ll get them up to speed.”
“Good,” continued Paul. “So… we’ll gather here and free you. Although, to be honest, I have no idea how we’ll do it.”
“We’ll find a way,” Neeson said. His voice was strong, confident. It was wonderful to hear it, thought Cathy. There was light at the end of the tunnel. A weak, shimmering light, but one she could clearly see. All sorts of things could go wrong, of course. But it was good to have a plan, however weak it was. It gave her hope.
She squeezed Paul’s hand. “Stay safe.”
He rose to leave. They shared smiles and said goodbye. Cathy watched him walk off, and was struck by the strange feeling that, despite his brave plan, Paul had the demeanour of someone who had given up, somehow.
He’s like a ghost, she thought, watching him stagger towards the door and out of view. Almost faded away.
Chapter 18
Ana
“Sixfingers is dead.”
Ana had just dragged herself out of bed after less than three hours of restless sleep. She stared blankly at Charlie, who shared Sixfingers’s shack with her. He stood at Ana’s door, eyes red with tears.
“What?” Ana asked. Was this a dream? “When?”
“Last night. We came looking for you, but you were out. Came by this morning, too, after digging out the grave. Knocked and knocked, but nothing.”
Ana closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose tight. She felt a massive headache building up. “Yes, I was… oh, never mind.”
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