And codes would be sent to the team of software engineers who had designed what Cyrus called the Crash and Burn e-mail virus that would send hundreds of thousands of infected e-mails to the CDC, WHO, the NIH, FEMA, and dozens of other disaster response and management agencies. The viruses were unique and poised to launch in waves so that as one was taken down another would go out. None of the organizations would be totally disabled, but all that was required was confusion and slower reaction time. Once the Wave was in motion it would no longer matter what those organizations did. It would be too late.
In all, 163 people would receive a unique coded “go” order sent by the trigger device. The go order would arrive in a coded form, and if no cancel order was sent the program embedded in the message would automatically decode the message and present a clear and unambiguous order to proceed with the release. The fail-safe had been Otto’s idea. There had been too many delays to rely on an absolute go/no-go code signal. And Cyrus was, they both had to admit it, mad as a hatter. A lot of careful planning would be ruined by Cyrus sending a release order during one of his radical mood swings.
The code Cyrus was writing would be saved on a flash drive that had a miniature six-digit keypad. The keypad code on this trigger device would be changed daily by Otto, whose memory was sharper than Cyrus’s, and they both knew it. They still had to decide between them who would wear the trigger device on a lanyard around his neck. Cyrus felt that as the Extinction Wave was his idea it should be him. Otto agreed that Cyrus deserved to be the one to activate the trigger, but he did not trust Cyrus’s mood swings. The last thing they needed was for Cyrus to fly into a rage and smash it with a hammer or on a whim feed it to one of the tiger-hounds.
That could be sorted out later.
At the moment, however, Otto let himself become lost in the flow of Cyrus’s clever fingers as they constructed the release code and built its many variations. Otto smiled a dreamy smile as he watched this little bit of magic that would serve as the link between the dream of the New Order and its reality.
Chapter Seventy-Three
The terrain directly around the compound was less treacherous, so it only took twenty-two minutes to get into position. There was nothing from the Kid, so we waited. The next eight minutes crawled by. We listened for shouts or screams from inside the compound; we listened for gunfire; we listened for anything that would indicate that SAM had been discovered. The jungle, though far from silent, simply sounded like a jungle. And then suddenly there was a wail of a siren.
Then SAM’s voice whispered to me, “Cowboy…? Are you there?”
“We’re here, Kid. Where are you?”
“In the communications room. I started a fire in the laundry room at the other end of the compound. Everyone went running. I don’t have a lot of time before they come back.”
“Then let’s move this along.”
“All the cameras are on, but I can’t see you. Can you stand up or something?”
“Not a chance.” But I signaled to Bunny to shake a tree. He grabbed a slender palm, gave it a couple of quick jerks, and then moved off away in case it drew fire.
“Was that you?” the Kid asked.
“Yes. Now what do we do?”
“I’m the only one watching the monitors. You can rush the fence. Don’t worry; I just turned off the electricity.”
“We’re taking you on a lot of faith. You’d better not be screwing with us, kiddo,” I said. I didn’t mention that U.S. and British warplanes would reduce this island to floating debris if this was a trap. The boy seemed to have enough to worry about.
“I’m not. I swear.”
“Hold tight. Here we come.”
We came at the fence at a dead run, running in a well-spaced single file. Top reached the fence first and ran a scanner over it.
“Power’s definitely off. No signs of mines.”
Bunny produced a pair of long-necked nippers and began cutting the chain links. We repeated this at the second fence, then ran fast and low toward the cluster of utility sheds.
“There’s a stone path by the sheds,” SAM said, “but the guards always make sure not to step on it. I think it’s booby-trapped.”
Bunny flattened out by the flagstones and nodded up at me. “Pressure mines. Kid’s sharp.”
“We get through this,” Top said, “we can chip in and buy him a puppy.”
“Guards are coming,” SAM said in an urgent whisper. “To your right.”
We flattened out against the sheds. I had my rifle slung and held my Beretta 92F in both hands. It was fitted with a sound suppressor that you won’t find in a gun catalog. Unlike the models on the market, this had a special polymer baffling that made it absolutely silent. Not even the nifty little pfft sound. A toy from one of Church’s friends in the industry.
Two guards came around the corner. They were dressed in lightweight tropical shirts over cargo pants. They each carried a Heckler & Koch 416 and they were moving quickly, eyes cutting left and right with professional precision. An exterior grounds check was probably standard procedure with any emergency, and the fire SAM started must have been big enough to inspire caution.
I shot them both in the head.
Top and Bunny rushed out and dragged their bodies behind the sheds.
“Holy Jeez!” the Kid said.
“What’s our next move…?”
“There’s a door right at the corner of the first building. All of the buildings are connected to that one by hallways. I cut the alarms on all the doors and blanked out the cameras inside the buildings.”
“You’re making me like you, Kid. What do we do once we’re inside?”
“Um… okay, there are colored lines painted on all the floors. The blue line will bring you to the communications room, but you’re going to have to go through the maintenance pod and then the common room. It’s like a big lobby, with chairs and soda machines and a coffee bar. If you go straight across that, you’ll see the colored lines start again. Keep following that.”
“Roger that, Kid.”
“Wait!” There was some rustling noise and then he came back, breathless. “I think they’re coming back!”
“Can you lock yourself in until we get there?”
“The door’s just wood. They’ll kick it in.”
“Is your radio portable?”
“Yes. I rigged a headset.”
“Then get your ass out of there. Find someplace to hide. We’re going to have to make some noise.”
“God…”
“Are there any civilians we need to worry about? Any good guys?”
“Yes!” he said immediately. “The New Men. You’ll be able to spot them… they’re all dressed the same. Cotton pants and shirts with numbers on them. Please,” he begged, “don’t hurt any of them.”
“We’ll do our best, but if they offer resistance…”
“Believe me… they can’t.”
He said “can’t” rather than “won’t.” Interesting.
“Anyone else?”
“No… everyone else here is involved.”
“Then get out of there.”
“Okay, but… Cowboy? Watch out for the dogs.”
“What breed and how many?” I asked.
But all I got from the radio was a hiss of static.
“Okay,” I said to Bunny and Top, “pick your targets and check your fire. If anyone surrenders, let them. Otherwise, it’s Bad Day at Black Rock.”