He nodded. “Yeah, craziest situation. What, ten critical power stations stand between us and the Stone Age? Six month black out?”
“Pretty much,” said Cohen. “It was nine of them. Out of fifty thousand. Which ones were classified of course, so no terrorists could get them. Unless—”
“Unless you’ve hacked into every computer on the planet and gotten your paws on the files.”
“Right. It would likely be down by now just from software attacks, but her crazy code seems to be slowing it. Maybe even turning the tide, she says.”
“That’s good, right?” He wove in and out of traffic, switching on the sirens to prompt cars out of their path.
Muffled sounds from the phone mixed with the wailing pitches. “Hold on, Angel. Yes, John, that’s good. And a lot of good news on that front. Angel says she’s working on a new iteration of her immune code, one she thinks will erase the worm once and for all. It can spread anywhere the worm has gone, using the worm to do so, and sterilize any machine that’s infected.”
“In time?”
Cohen shrugged. “She not done with it and Fawkes is putting things in overdrive.” There was more screaming from the phone as Cohen held it away from her ear. “Right! So, the bad news is that she’s convinced there’ll be a physical attack on the power grid, at what she’s calling a weak node.”
“And she knows this how?”
“She’s intercepting more and more information from Fawkes’ data stream, hacking more worm strains. She found blueprints, schematics for an assault strike on the power plant. It’s in Jersey, routes huge amounts of power from the US and Canada.” Angel called out loudly over the phone again. “And like Angel says, it was one of the weak links in the 2003 Northeast blackout. Caused by a software bug at a power plant, she reminds my battered ears.”
“Great,” said Savas, accelerating unconsciously. “They could already be there.”
“And at who knows what other weak nodes across the country,” said Miller from the back.
Savas shook his head. “No. I don’t understand how he built up the resources to do as much as he did, but they’re finite. It’s clear his supply chain is gone. I don’t think he planned to strike every weak grid point with a commando team. He couldn’t. Angel’s code might have just saved the lights.”
The ex-marine shook his head. “Nothing is certain, John.”
“We’ll see. But I do think this is because of Angel. I think he meant for the worm to throw wrenches into all the electrical machinery like the industrial plants. Machinery tearing itself apart, transformers exploding. But now he’s not sure anymore. His code might not be there or at enough locations. So he has to make sure, and the East Coast is the seat of government, finance. He’s sending all his assets to make sure.”
Holding the phone away from her ear again, Cohen nodded. “Angel agrees. She says you need to get Bonnie and Clyde on it.”
“Bonnie and — right. Okay, tell Angel we’ll call her back after we’ve explained things.”
Cohen smiled, closing the phone. “No need. She called them first. They’ve agreed and were waiting for your instructions.” The headlights of the car behind them blinked repeatedly. “I think she just informed them of your consent.”
Savas shook his head. “She’ll be running the damn place soon.”
The car behind pulled right and exited at an approaching turn-off, the black vehicle disappearing behind an overpass. Lopez and Houston were gone.
Poison spoke from the back of the car. “So, wait. Now it’s just us? I’m the bait for your trap and you three are going to face down all his killers?”
Cohen looked back in the review mirror at the frightened woman. “That’s right.”
“Well, fuck! Can’t you call in some cops or army or something?”
Cohen turned around and placed her arm on the chair. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, we’re in a war zone. There isn’t anyone who’s going to hand over troops or police to some obscure FBI division because they have some unsubstantiated theory about a crazed madman and are unilaterally going to test it by playing a dangerous trap-the-terrorist game with his ex-girlfriend.”
Poison simply gawked at her.
Cohen sighed. “We’re betting that he’s about out of muscle, and that most of it is headed to a power plant in Jersey.”
“Betting with our lives,” stressed Poison.
“Well, probably not yours, dear. He’s trying to rescue you from the monsters at the FBI, remember? You’ll be fine as long as some stray bullets don’t find you.” Her tone was impatient. “We’ll be the ones filled with steel.”
“Not if I can help it,” said Savas. “We’re going to set up carefully before we let that beacon out of the box. We’ll make them come to us and take heavy damage. If he’s as weak as we’re hoping, that might be enough.”
“Fawkes might not even come,” said Poison. “Could all be for nothing.”
“He’ll come,” said Savas.
“Why? He didn’t last time. He sent people, but he didn’t come. Why now?”
“Because you’re off site. Because of the last failure he won’t want to repeat. Because it’s almost over: The fifth of November is tomorrow. I don’t think he had much of a plan after that. Besides watching the world burn.”
Savas hammered the accelerator, Coney Island and the New York Aquarium flying past them. The engine howled.
“He’ll come.”
56
The electrical substation was located on the outskirts of Elizabeth, New Jersey. Houston had raced across Staten Island through a surreal apocalyptic landscape. Fires were raging around the ports, and Lopez thought he had seen Blackhawk helicopters launching missiles at boats and opening fire at the docks. Military vehicles from the National Guard were positioned at gateways — toll booths, tunnel and bridge entrances, certain exit ramps — but eerily, all were abandoned. News on their radio confirmed that rioting had spread through the tri-state area as essential functions continued to break down in the public and private sector. Law enforcement was completely overwhelmed.
They had crossed two bridges without incident, and were now speeding past Elizabeth and into a decayed urban wasteland of rusted warehouses and closed factories. The power lines around them were beginning to converge. The substation was near.
Lightfoote’s voice came over the speaker. Houston had wedged her phone inside a cup holder, the conical shape funneling the sound upwards and acting as a small megaphone.
“Power’s still up, so they haven’t hit it yet. Latest military data indicates a contingent of Guardsman are assigned there, maybe ten. The site was on a list to lock down in a national emergency. I don’t know if they made it or are still there, but if so, you have to warn them, prepare them.”
“And how do we do that without getting arrested?” asked Lopez. “They won’t let us get near, and if anyone tries to get our story verified, too many questions will be raised. We’ll be in a cell before nightfall.”
“I don’t know how!” cried Angel, “But we need all the help we can get. We don’t know how large Fawkes’ strike team is.”
“Mother of God,” whispered Lopez. “How many enemies do we have to fight?”
“Look, we’ll improvise,” Houston said. “Meanwhile, you were saying they would hit the transformers?”
“I’ve given myself a crash course in this the last few hours,” said Lightfoote. “Power from several coal and gas plants, and the nuke plant south of you, are funneled through the substation. To handle it, they have these enormous transformers that link up the lines coming in to the lines going out. Match up the power on them. For the size of the loads they’re dealing with here, these are giant things. We’re talking hundreds of tons, tens of thousands of gallons of fuel. This is one of the biggest in the country.”