The brink, p.15
The Brink, page 15
It didn’t help that they had no clear plan on how to get to Van Ness. Bowcut had done reconnaissance on the Foundation’s building in Paris, but the place was essentially a fortress. But perhaps it would be as easy as walking in the front door. The business card left in the van was clearly an invitation for Cafferty to pay Van Ness a visit. He knew he was being baited, but what choice did he have?
This entire operation was a gamble, pure and simple. In fact, this whole endeavor had always been one. They were just four (three) people with limited resources against a shadowy, multinational entity that had the upper hand in nearly every category: numbers, technology, money, and intelligence about the creatures. It was more than just a gamble, then—it was a long shot. One in which almost every outcome for Cafferty and his team meant their deaths . . . and the deaths of millions of others in London tonight, and perhaps millions more across the globe in subsequent days.
Even knowing all that, though—or, perhaps, because they knew that—no one in this van would have considered any other course of action. Their lives compared with several million didn’t need much time for deliberation. They had placed their chips on the table, and the wheel was going to spin however it spun.
But that didn’t mean they were going to just let the house take their money.
“Are the lasers charging?” Cafferty asked Bowcut in the back.
“We’ll be ready, Tom.”
“Get me in the room and I’ll waterboard a Foundation bitch if I got to,” Munoz insisted, half kidding.
Cafferty couldn’t help but smile, knowing that despite Diego’s words and violent past, he’d never stoop to the level of torture. The Brownsville man had more class and integrity than anyone Tom had ever met. More, the engineer’s penchant for optimism made him an invaluable member of the team. Even now, as they sped toward an impossible—and potentially deadly—situation, the fact that Munoz could crack jokes meant that hope wasn’t completely lost.
I only wish that Ellen could hear them and draw the same hope from Munoz’s quips that I am.
Cafferty’s phone rang in his hand, pulling him from the dark path those thoughts were about to lead him down.
“It’s the White House,” he said, surprised.
“Wasn’t it just you trying to call them?” Bowcut asked.
Cafferty threw her an uncertain look, even as he put the phone on speaker and answered. “This is Cafferty.”
“Tom, this is President Brogan. I’m here with Jim Swain, the director of national intelligence.”
“Hello, Madam President. My team is listening in as well. I’ve tried to reach you.”
“Tom, we need you and your team to get to Paris immediately.”
Cafferty shot a confused look at Bowcut and Munoz. “Madam President—we’re on our way there now.”
“You are?”
“Yes, Van Ness kidnapped my wife. I’m going after her.”
“My God, I’m sorry.”
“Madam President, there’s . . . more,” Cafferty said, stumbling with his words. “Van Ness has planted a thermonuclear bomb underneath London.”
“What? Jesus . . .”
“It detonates at midnight tonight, Greenwich Mean Time. There’s no way to stop the bomb unless we get to Van Ness’ detonators, which we’re hoping he has in Paris. We’ll get there.”
“We must tell the deputy prime minister immediately. There could be more bombs.”
“More bombs?” Bowcut said.
“Van Ness has threatened to kill millions of Americans if we don’t cooperate. We thought he might be bluffing, but now . . .”
“We told you to take him seriously. We told you the Foundation wasn’t a group to mess with. God, we told—”
“I know, Tom,” the president said in a resigned voice, cutting off Cafferty’s tirade of mounting frustration, just as Bowcut was putting her hand on his arm to calm him down. He took a shuddering breath, listening as Brogan continued.
“You were right, and you can’t believe how terrible it feels to sit in this seat, knowing we might have prevented this. But,” she said, more resolute than before, “that doesn’t mean we’re done fighting. While we have special forces moving into Paris, they’ll arrive too late. I hate to put this on your shoulders, but you need to do whatever it takes to stop Albert Van Ness. We will support you however we can. If we don’t hear from you before midnight, we’ll be forced to take overwhelming action. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“One other thing. President Reynolds is still alive. Van Ness is using him as a pawn to get what he wants. If you find out his location, you must let us know.”
Cafferty was caught off guard by this new information. He looked at Bowcut, who he was certain mirrored what must have been his own look of surprise. What was Van Ness’ end game? Was this all part of his plan?
“I understand, Madam President. That bomb under London can be detonated at any time. If the deputy prime minister evacuates London, there is a possibility that Van Ness might set the bomb off prematurely.”
“Understood. That might be a risk we have to take.”
“Madam President, is there any kind of intel or support you can give us? We’re flying a bit blind at the moment, and Van Ness is expecting us. I’d like to gain the upper hand in some way.”
“Tom, this is Jim Swain. We might have something that can help your team out.”
Cafferty and Bowcut locked eyes with each other, inquisitive. “We’re listening.”
“Now, this is highly classified. A reminder that it is top secret.”
Bowcut snorted.
“Did you say something?”
“With all due respect, sir,” Bowcut said, “with all the shit going down, you can shove your top secret up your ass.”
There was silence on the White House end for a moment. Then President Brogan said, “Jim, just tell them what we know. We’ll worry about national security after we’re sure we still have a nation left to secure.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry. So, the thing is we’ve cracked the Foundation’s firewall and encryption to gain access to their computers.”
Incredulous, Diego chimed in. “How? I’ve been working on cracking that for over a year—their systems are literally impenetrable.”
“I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, Mr. Munoz, but we have access to some toys you wouldn’t believe. In this case, we used a quantum computer to crack the encryption.”
Swain was right—Diego couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But quantum computers are barely in their infancy—they’re more a myth than an actuality. Even if they did exist, there’s no way they could crack into anything in their current form,” Diego replied.
Munoz knew a lot about the subject. In theory, quantum computers could crunch numbers a hundred million times faster than a traditional computer, easily cracking the most advanced encryption available. The technology would literally change the world . . . in about a decade, which was how long it would take to build a working quantum computer.
To everyone’s surprise in the van, Swain chuckled.
“I’m glad some things are still classified. I assure you, though, that our quantum computer is not an infant. We will transmit to your team the details of how to gain access to the Foundation’s computers. Once inside, you’ll find details and schematics of their Paris headquarters that should help in your mission.”
“Thank you,” Cafferty said.
Bowcut looked up suddenly. “With your fancy computer, can you access their remote detonator? Turn it off?”
“Honestly? I doubt we’ll have the time. If there is such a device, it’s been kept separate, probably for this exact reason.”
“Damn.” She looked at Tom, shrugging. “Worth a shot.”
He nodded.
“One last thing, Tom.”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“Go save your wife. And make that asshole pay.”
He was processing all the new information when she said that, but in the back of his mind, those exact thoughts were ever present. He was going to save Ellen.
And Van Ness was going to pay.
With his life.
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time the team had arrived in Paris, Munoz had secretly combed through massive amounts of data from the Foundation’s network. He prayed this quantum computer was as smart as the director of national intelligence implied. Because if the Foundation knew he was rooting around inside its servers, the mission was over. It would slam down a new firewall, and the three of them would once again be flying blind. It wasn’t certain Munoz would find anything here that would help, anyway, but without this information—without something that gave Cafferty an edge—Tom’s unquestioning drive ensured he was as good as dead.
And so was Ellen, and probably Sarah and certainly the people of London.
So . . . no pressure, Diego, he thought.
The ferry ride and the drive to Paris had been relatively uneventful (although Sarah had to shout at Munoz to drive on the right side of the road a dozen times once he had taken the wheel). They had wended their way through the capital, and now the van was parked near the Parc du Champ de Mars. The Eiffel Tower’s wrought-iron lattice structure lay at the end of the long, thin area of parkland, reaching majestically into the cloudy sky. Commercial offices and stores lined the roads at either side. Bowcut studied the tallest building in the area—the only thing close to a skyscraper. It was the official headquarters for the Foundation for Human Advancement, conspicuously out in the open, considering its secret and sinister mission—further evidence that the French government had capitulated to Van Ness’ demands (“Not the first time France has given in to German pressure,” Munoz joked).
Twenty floors of black glass and steel, the Foundation was at odds with the nineteenth-century buildings that took up the rest of the boulevard. On the next block, a vintage Parisian café sat between two fashionable clothing outlets. But the trio’s eyes were drawn to this monstrosity, particularly its top floor and its grayed-out windows, which—according to the schematics—were designed that way to conceal the office of Albert Van Ness. The fact that he had gained planning permission to construct such an eyesore said a lot about his reach. The building was a monument of darkness in the City of Light.
During Bowcut’s surveillance over the past few months, the building appeared to be a normal office building—men and women in smart clothing working routine hours every day like any other job. But that’s where normality ended. No one entered or exited the building without passing through the most advanced full-body scanners and facial recognition Bowcut had ever seen. The building emanated a magnetic field from all sides, too, blocking any attempt to listen in on what was happening inside. Most peculiar, it was cut off from Paris’ electric grid entirely, it had its own water supply, and it was not connected to any external phone lines; rather, it utilized internal satellites. Basically, the building was spy-proof. One thing had been clear to Bowcut at the time—there was no way to sneak into that building undetected.
“Tell me you found something, Diego,” Sarah said, hoping the info Swain had given them provided an in for Tom.
“I found something,” he replied.
“What do you have?” Cafferty asked. “We’ve got less than eight hours before that bomb explodes. Can you get us into that building?”
“We’re not interested in getting into that building,” Diego replied.
“We’re not?” Bowcut asked.
“Nope. We need to get in there.”
Munoz pulled up schematics from Van Ness’ servers showing a massive underground operations center built hundreds of feet below the Foundation’s official headquarters.
“And, Tom,” Munoz continued, “you won’t believe this, but . . .”
Cafferty studied the schematics. “Jesus Christ,” he said.
“What?” Sarah asked.
“That deranged son of a bitch built a secret command center inside a massive creatures’ nest, underneath the heart of Paris. Look at this.”
The three studied the various schematics and details of the underground lair.
“Trust me—Van Ness isn’t in that office building. He’s down there,” Munoz said.
“Agreed. So how do we get in?”
“There’s no way we get in through the office building—security is too tight. And to get down to the command center, there’s a heavily guarded elevator shaft. We won’t even be able to get close.”
“I sense a but coming up,” Bowcut said.
“But . . .” Munoz continued smiling. “Half a mile away, there is an access port that secretly connects to the old catacombs deep below the city. It looks like an emergency hatch hidden right among the tombs.”
“Where?”
“Just east of the Crypt of the Sepulchral Lamp, down a passage on the right marked as private. There’s a single titanium door at the end with a combination wheel. Open that hatch, and the tunnel descends to the underground command center and to a loading bay. That’s how we can enter the facility.”
“How do we open the hatch?” Cafferty asked.
“You didn’t bring me along on this mission for my looks, did you?” Munoz said.
“Actually, we did,” Bowcut said. “We thought you being so ugly would distract the bad guys while we went about our business.”
Munoz laughed. “Fine—be that way. Now I’m not going to tell you what I found.”
“Diego . . .” Tom growled.
“Right. Anyway, it’s amazing what you can find if you dig deep enough,” Munoz said. He pulled up detailed tech specs for the hatch from the Foundation’s servers. He highlighted what seemed to be a random line of numbers:
0 4 3 0 4 6
“Four, thirty, forty-five.” Diego seemed particularly pleased when he said it.
“Do those numbers have any kind of significance?”
Diego, ever the conspiracy theorist, smiled. “Of course. It’s the day Hitler committed suicide in the Führerbunker: April 30, 1945.”
“Of course you would know that,” Bowcut muttered.
He seemed surprised. “Yes—it’s pretty common knowledge. You see, Hitler—”
“Focus, Diego,” Cafferty said, knowing how much Munoz liked discussing random trivia. “You said Hitler died in forty-five, though—this number is forty-six.”
“Right. A little more digging, and it turns out 1946 is when Otto Van Ness founded the Foundation for Human Advancement—exactly one year after Hitler’s suicide.”
An interesting coincidence, Cafferty thought. “And you think that’s the passcode?”
“Yes. It doesn’t make much sense to have included it in the plans, but what else could the numbers mean? And considering how Van Ness operates, it’s in line with the arrogant hubris he tends to display. Look at his building: it doesn’t blend in. Then look at the command center: it’s in the middle of a nest. Couple all that with the firewall, there’s no doubt he thinks he’s at the height of power . . . and cleverness.”
“Guess he didn’t count on you being cleverer,” Sarah said with a clap on Munoz’s shoulder. He smiled at the rare compliment from the normally taciturn ex-cop.
“Good work, Diego,” Cafferty said. “Let’s gear up and take out this cocky bastard.”
“One more thing,” Munoz interjected. “Um. There’s a reason no guards cover the hatch in the catacombs.”
Cafferty and Bowcut—who had been assembling their weapons in the back—stopped what they were doing and turned to listen to Diego.
“The hatch is considered secure because of what’s inside it.”
Cafferty had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew what Munoz was about to say.
“It seems that the tunnel connecting the hatch to the underground lair is . . .”
“Full of creatures,” Cafferty said, finishing Diego’s sentence for him.
Maybe Van Ness had the right to be so cocky.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Albert Van Ness relaxed in his wheelchair, gazing up at the screens in the operations center. One displayed BBC news footage of London being evacuated. He watched with cold indifference. At least they had a chance to flee the city, unlike the citizens of Dresden.
Let them flee. It won’t save the city, and the creatures will be destroyed along with it.
His conscience was clear—the Foundation wiping out yet another deadly nest, ultimately protecting humanity in the long run. The logic was undeniable.
The elevator’s mechanism cranked to life, and the transparent car plunged from ground level down its long glass shaft. He never grew tired of marveling at the Foundation’s feats of engineering.
Twenty staff members buzzed around their workstations, all ready to switch the video feeds and detonate the bombs of his choosing. Beyond the reinforced glass of the command center, the brightly lit nest with millions of creatures hiding in the shadows served as a constant reminder of the stakes.
Edwards exited the elevator, walked over, and sat next to him in the middle of the huge dome. Van Ness’ loyal number two stared at several overhead screens that had maps of America on them. One map had a blinking red light over Nebraska, the other South Dakota. Video feeds from the ground showed both states calm and tranquil, bathed in morning sunshine.
“You think President Brogan will take our offer?” Edwards asked.
“Doubtful. As my father always said, only the democratic nations’ hypocrisy outweighs their sense of self-worth. The next few minutes will dictate how much damage their egos will inflict on their own populations.”
Edwards glanced down at the desk’s digital clock. “Almost time, Albert.”
“This is the real start, my friend. The day we’ve talked about for years.”
“Yes, sir. Although . . .”
“Yes?”
“I want to urge caution when dealing with Brogan.”
Van Ness slowly turned his wheelchair toward him. “I beg your pardon?”
“There is the possibility that no matter what we do, Brogan still decides to strike back, and hard. Our actions could harden her stance and backfire on us.”
