Jersey City
Stone did not believe for a second that his show of cooperation would protect Avery and the others from Furst’s hired killers. Martiel might have been sincere with the offer, but Furst struck him as someone who kept his promises only as long as he had to in order to get what he wanted. He also knew that Kasey Kim and Greg Johns were more than capable of defending themselves, as they had already amply demonstrated. No, his apparent capitulation had nothing to do with forestalling that remote threat, but it was better that his captors believe it to be so.
Part of it was the desire to challenge Martiel. The self-styled Immortal was clearly enamored with his own intellectual prowess, but Stone wanted to see if he was as good as advertised, or merely a relentless narcissist. Furst had evidently accepted Martiel’s claims at face value, but it would take more than a thinly disguised anagram and some clever cryptographic puzzles to impress Stone.
But that wasn’t his primary reason for acceding to his captors’ demands either.
The truth of the matter was that Stone was burning with curiosity. Martiel’s desire to possess the Brazen Head was anomalous. It didn’t appear to fit the pattern, which made it an irresistible puzzle to Stone.
He knew better than to just ask. Martiel would continue to be coy about it, teasing him with hints that were more likely to misdirect than inform. But if he ignored the matter, showed no interest, Martiel would be unable to resist the impulse to brag about it.
He concentrated instead on the immediate task of testing Martiel’s planned attack on the global monetary system. After Furst left the room, he asked Martiel to talk him through it.
“Mystic has a built-in virtual trading feature,” Martiel had explained. “It’s a game mode that allows a user to run simulated trading sessions using real-world data. It’s more of a tutorial than anything else, but we’ll be using it to probe the market’s response to our incursion and test the effectiveness of Mystic’s own safeguards.”
“So all of your... What should I call them? Ringers?”
Martiel shrugged.
Stone continued. “They’re tied into the same simulation?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that going to be a little suspicious? Over a hundred users all simultaneously going into the tutorial mode in the middle of the trading day?”
Another shrug. “It’s not illegal. By the time anyone notices, if they notice at all, we’ll be well past the point where it matters.”
“That’s the real weakness in your plan, you know. The human factor. It all hinges on your ringers being able to carry out your instructions to the letter. Easy enough to do that in a simulation, but when it’s for real, when the pressure is on, there’s no telling how they’ll perform. They have a saying in the military: The battle plan is always the first casualty.”
“The ringers, as you call them, won’t have all that much to do. The trades are already set up. Their only role will be to give confirmation when the prompt comes up. It might be better to call them ‘yes men,’ since that’s all they’ll be doing. Clicking ‘yes.’”
Stone nodded equivocally. “All right, show me. Do a run through so I can see what it’s supposed to look like.”
Martiel opened an IRC chat window—evidently another built-in feature of Mystic—and typed a message:
TEST RUN IN 30 SECONDS. SAFE MODE ONLY. PLS CONFIRM
He hit send, and a moment later, the little box with the message began filling up with replies signaling that the message had been acknowledged by all the users in Martiel’s network.
Half a minute later, Stone watched the death of the global economy unfold in real time.
Although he was not entirely convinced of the urgency of the threat to his empire, Wayne Valero provided Tam with a complete list of hard-wired Mystic terminals in the Hudson River building—sixty-three of them in total, including the one assigned to Thom Martiel on the twenty-eighth floor—along with the necessary credentials to establish her and Sievers as IT technicians conducting routine maintenance and firmware updates to the terminals. Armed with the list and attired in khakis and blue polo shirts embroidered with the Iron River logo, Tam and Sievers visited them all, one by one, working their way up the forty-two-story tower.
Tam did not expect to find Stone and Martiel in front of one of those terminals or tied-up in the corner, but the “upgrade” they installed included a passive surveillance feature that would allow them to access the cameras and microphones in each terminal. The feed from each would be filtered through an automated facial recognition program which would immediately send an alert if either Stone or Martiel showed up.
Unfortunately, it was a tedious and time-consuming process.
“We need to pick up the pace,” Sievers observed as they started up the stairs to the twenty-fourth floor. “At this rate, we won’t be done before the close of business.”
“I don’t think these bankers necessarily keep banker’s hours,” Tam replied. “But you’re right. We might need to split up. Cover twice as much ground that way.”
Sievers made a face. “So I’d have to talk to these people?”
“Oh, what are you worried about? Just turn on the charm like you did with Valero.”
“What if they don’t want to talk about cars?”
“You’ll think of something.”
She pushed open the door and started down the hallway, but when they reached the next location on the list—NFI Investment Management—they found the double glass doors locked and the space beyond dark and empty.
Sievers cupped his hands to the glass to shut out the ambient light from the hallway and peered through. “Nobody home,” he said. “Looks like they moved out.”
Tam took out her phone and dialed the contact number for NFI, but ended the call after getting the runaround from an automated answering service. She dialed a different number instead, and a few seconds later, an actual living person answered the call.
“Ms. Broderick,” Wayne Valero said, bypassing the formal greeting. “How goes the search?”
“We’ve hit a snag,” she admitted. “NFI Investments. They’re on the list, but the office appears to be vacant. Can you confirm that this address is correct?” She gave him the suite number.
“Wait one.” A long pause, and then he came back. “Not only is that the correct address, but I’m showing heavy data usage on one of the terminals registered to NFI. Are you certain you’re at that address?”
“Let me check that,” she told him and hit the mute button.
“I heard,” Sievers said. He produced a slim wallet containing a set of lockpicking tools and went to work. A few seconds later, the lock turned, and he pulled the door open.
Tam’s right hand found the grip of her holstered Makarov, but she did not draw it. Instead, she stepped into the dark space beyond and called out. “Anyone here? IT services.”
Her voice echoed from the bare walls. The office space wasn’t just devoid of human presence, but completely empty. There were no desks or chairs, no cubicles or workstations. Even the modular dividing walls had been removed, leaving a vast cavernous void. She gave up all pretense and drew the pistol before taking another step.
Sievers drew his weapon as well, along with a Mini Maglite which he shone into the shadowy far reaches of the empty room. There were a few doors along the perimeter—probably for permanent offices and restrooms—all of them propped open and likewise dark and silent.
Tam continued holding the pistol out with her right hand, while using her left to thumb-off the mute button on her phone. “Mr. Valero. There’s no one here at all. Is there any way the signal from the Mystic terminals could be rerouted?”
“The short answer is, ‘definitely not.’ The only way that might work is splicing the hard line, but that would have a noticeable effect on transfer speed, and I’m not detecting anything like that.”
“So what you’re saying is that the terminals are here somewhere. Where would I look for them?”
Valero breathed an audible sigh of consternation. “Is there a server room?”
“Server room?” Tam caught Sievers’ eye, nodded toward the doors in the back. He nodded in return and started toward them.
“We usually route our lines through the same conduit used for telephone or ISDN lines,” Valero continued. “There can be some flexibility with the exact placement of the terminals, but it will probably be within about a hundred feet of the server room.”
Sievers ducked into one of the open doorways but reappeared a moment later, shook his head and kept moving. He did the same at the next door, and the next after that, but when he emerged from the fourth door, he waved her forward. “I think this is it.”
“You found the terminals?” She reached the door before he could answer, and saw immediately that he had found only another empty room, this one barely larger than a closet.
“Not the terminals.” He shone his light at the back wall where several metal panels were mounted. “But I’ll bet this was the server room.”
“There’s nothing here now.”
Sievers stepped forward and began opening the panels, one at a time, revealing circuit breakers, ventilation ducts, and masses of wiring. “One of these is the hardline, right?”
Suddenly she understood. “They routed the wire to a different office.”
“That’s what I reckon,” Sievers said with a confident nod. “We’re close.”
Stone watched several iterations of the simulation before commenting. “You appear to have anticipated every response.”
“We’ve been working on this for a year and a half,” Martiel said, making no attempt to mask his pride. “We know what the most probable market countermeasures will be. What we can’t predict is the unpredictable. That’s what I want you to do. How would you stop this?” He paused and then added. “You have something, don’t you? Don’t hold back. Your friends’ lives depend on your cooperation.”
“I have some ideas, but I’ll need to put hands on, so to speak.”
“That’s why I brought you here.” Martiel scooted aside and gestured for Stone to take his place. “Just talk me through what you’re doing. And I will, of course, be watching so...” He left sentence hanging, the implication clear enough. Don’t try anything.
Stone began clicking through the toolbar menu, familiarizing himself with some of the features of the trading platform that he had not used during his earlier trading session with Martiel. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about,” he said. “The Immortal. Does that nom de guerre have some particular significance?”
Martiel chuckled. “A private joke.”
Stone sensed there was a lot more to it than that, but decided not to press the issue. He opened the IRC chat window and typed in a message to everyone on the network, to let them know he was about to start another test run. As he typed, he said, “From what I can tell, this part of your plan is airtight. What happens after is another matter entirely. The market won’t behave predictably once panic sets in. The uncertainty will increase exponentially. You might not be able to achieve your desired outcome. People may not be as quick to embrace bitcoin as you think. Or you could push things over the brink. Start World War III.”
“You’re not wrong about the uncertainty. But the primary goal has always been leveling the playing field, bringing down this universal Ponzi scheme.”
“Does your friend know that?” Stone nodded in the direction of the door through which Furst had disappeared some time earlier. When Martiel glanced involuntarily in the same direction, Stone deleted the IRC message then clicked on the settings button. He scanned the dropdown menu until he found what he was looking for, clicked on it, and then quickly closed the window.
“He talks like a true believer,” Stone went on, “ready to sacrifice everything, but I think he expects to come out of this on top. I think you convinced him that’s going to happen.”
Martiel smiled. “Peter knows the risks. And he knows what he needs to do to ensure the optimal outcome.”
“Oh, right. The brass head gizmo.” He resisted the urge to ask about it, hoping that Martiel would volunteer the information, but when that did not happen, he changed the subject. “How did you two end up working together, anyway?”
“We have a mutual interest in a certain historic figure, albeit for very different reasons.”
Stone was about to ask the name of the historical figure in question—it probably wouldn’t mean anything to him, but the more he kept Martiel talking, the better his chances of figuring out what made the man tick—but before he could phrase the question, Furst stormed into the room.
“We have a problem,” he said. “Someone just broke into the office upstairs.”
“Broke in?” Martiel said. “What do you mean? That office is empty.”
“I know. They must be looking for him.” Furst pointed at Stone. “They know he’s still here.”
Martiel turned on Stone. “Get away from the computer,” he snapped, pulling the keyboard out of Stone’s reach.
Stone just held up hands to indicate that he wasn’t going to resist. “It wasn’t anything I did,” he said.
“You need to execute,” Furst said, his voice taut and urgent. “Now. Before it’s too late.”
Martiel shook his head. “No. Not until I have the Brazen Head.”
“And you will have it,” Furst hissed. “But you must do this now. We won’t get another chance.”
“You don’t understand. I need it. Without it...” He trailed off, as if unable to articulate that dire possibility. For the first time since the revelation of his true purpose, Martiel looked uncertain.
Why is the Brazen Head so important to him? Stone wondered again.
Furst growled in frustration then took out his phone and initiated a call. “Luc. You need to get it now. Do whatever it takes.”
“Wait,” Stone protested even as the other man was shoving the phone back into his pocket. “That wasn’t our deal. You said you’d let me talk to Avery. Convince her to give it up.”
“It is too late for that,” Furst shot back, then turned to Martiel. “Luc will have the Brazen Head in a matter of minutes. I will charter a plane for him. You will have it in eight hours’ time. That is a promise. But we have to do this now. They will be here in minutes. You have to execute before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late,” Stone countered. “Tam will pull the plug before you make a single trade.”
“No. You’re wrong.” Martiel shook his head and then bent over the keyboard. “She might be able to shut down this terminal, but once I send the command, the dominos will start to fall. You won’t be able to get to them all. Not in time.”
He opened the chat window, started typing.
“You won’t get away,” Stone persisted. He was stalling, trying to keep Martiel off balance. “She’ll be waiting for you.”
“Maybe we’ll use you as a hostage,” Furst said.
“Hah. If you knew Tam, you’d realize how stupid that idea is.”
“Quiet,” Martiel shouted. “I’m trying to work.”
His hands hovered above the keyboard, twitching with nervous energy, then he began typing, stabbing the keys with his fingers.
“Did it!” he shouted as he hit the final key and stepped away, pumping his fist in exultation. He then grabbed the keyboard with both hands, ripped its cord out of the computer, hurled it against the wall. Only then did he turned to Furst. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“What about him?” Furst jabbed a finger at Stone.
“Forget about him. There’s nothing he can do to stop it. We don’t need him now, and we can’t take him with us. I doubt we’d make it past the front door with him.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Furst replied, ominously. “He knows.”
Martiel stared at Stone for a moment, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. “Yes. He does.”
Without another word, the two men turned and headed for the exit, leaving Stone to stare helplessly at the computer screen, which still displayed the IRC message Martiel had just sent to the network. It was just one word:
EXECUTE