As he moved through the corridors of the administration building, Gavin Stone felt like a passenger in his own body. He navigated the maze-like environs like a drop of water sliding down a windshield, following an invisible yet inevitable path that could not help but take him to his destination. He did not pause at each junction to consider which way to go; he simply knew, on an unconscious level, which direction would take him where he needed to go.
There was a logic to the layout of the complex, a mathematical pattern woven into the architecture of the place. It defied his ability to describe with words, and yet was so basic, so obvious, that he followed it with the certainty of a migrating bird winging south for the winter.
Though he had mocked Martiel for seeking the artificial enhancement of the nootropic steam from the Brazen Head, he could not argue that it was potent, particularly for someone with a highly-ordered brain.
Someone like himself.
He came to a set of unmarked double doors and knew instinctively that what he sought lay behind them, but when he pulled on the handle, the doors did not open for him.
Locked. Access denied.
Stone glanced down at the numeric keypad beside the door, taking note of the manufacturer and model. It was a commonly used brand, not the absolute best but adequate for internal security. The system utilized a proximity badge reader to automatically release the door for anyone with an RFID chip enabled employee ID card—like the kind Ray Spaulding had worn from a lanyard around his neck—but if for any reason the system could not read the card, the person could manually enter a unique code—typically four digits—to get through. There was also, Stone knew, a thirteen-digit setup code used by the manufacturer for reprogramming and installing firmware updates.
He effortlessly recalled the code for this particular system, keyed it in, and heard the satisfying click of the latch releasing.
The doors opened into a wide hallway that immediately began a gradual downward slope. A cool breeze wafted from the sunken corridor, and a barely perceptible energy seemed to flow through the air, which to Stone’s heightened senses felt like the buzzing of a swarm of mosquitoes. The hum grew louder with each step he took, confirming what he already knew to be true; he had found the underground passage connecting the administration building to the server building.
He quickened his pace, almost to a run.
Another set of double doors blocked access to the far end of the passage, but there were no security measures to overcome. He threw them wide and stepped into a vast enclosure that was as cold as the inside of a refrigerator.
Directly in front of him was an aisle, lined on either side with two-story high racks of computer hardware festooned with blinking LEDs. The aisle seemed to go on forever, stretching out to the vanishing point. A wide transverse aisle offered two other choices—left and right—but he knew that either direction would only mean more of the same, row after row after row of nearly identical computer servers, lined up like bookshelves in the world’s biggest library. Thick cables snaked up from the server banks, joining together on suspended metal racks overhead. Above that, mirroring the symmetry of the servers, were the pipes and ducts that constantly refreshed the coolant system without which the entire facility would overheat or worse, catch on fire. The white epoxy-coated floors reflected and distributed some of the light shining down from the high ceiling, but the interior was so enormous, so cavernous, as to convey the impression of gloom, and when combined with the chilly temperature, the effect was funereal, but the facility had not been designed with human comfort in mind. This was a world built for machines, and on a scale that made humans seem like ants standing beside a freeway.
And yet, it was an open book to Stone.
He gazed up at the suspended wiring, seeing it not simply as a way to transmit power and data, but as a nervous system—metal and fiber optic neurons connecting the individual cells of Mystic’s digital hive mind. The servers stored and indexed the data that not only managed investor assets but also informed the massive simulated reality where every conceivable outcome was examined. The decisions about what to do with that data, however, were handled elsewhere, and all of it was controlled by the operating system—Mystic’s brain.
He knew that some data facilities provided bicycles or motorized Segway scooters for maintenance technicians to reach far-flung destinations within the complex, but he did not see anything like that near the entrance and did not have the time to go looking. Besides, if he was right—and he knew he was—the master terminal was only about a quarter of a mile away. He did not need to follow the cables visually. A glance was enough to reveal the underlying mathematical pattern of the design. Guided by his internal GPS wayfinder, Stone took off again, running down the long aisle.
The master terminal was housed inside a glass cube. roughly forty feet on each side. The top of the enclosure was open, and high above it, the data lines came together in a thick tree trunk-like cluster that ran down to a bank of side-by-side processors, each the size of a household refrigerator. Alongside the processors was what appeared to be a simple computer workstation. Atop a utilitarian white desk. were dual flat screen monitors, one of which was filled with monochrome green text—computer code. The other displayed the all too familiar header of the Immortal Mysteries Forum. Hunched over the desk, furiously typing on the ergonomic keyboard, was the Immortal himself.
As Stone crossed the remaining few yards to the cube, he spotted a figure crumpled on the floor behind Martiel. It was Ray Spaulding, lying facedown in a small pool of blood.
Stone was momentarily taken aback. He had not expected Martiel to make good on his threat to kill the man. Despite his aggressiveness in leading the attack on the facility, he had not shown himself to be a killer of the up-close-and-personal variety. Had he misjudged his foe yet again?
After a moment or two, however, he saw the slight rise and fall of Spaulding’s chest. He was alive after all, bleeding from a scalp wound. Martiel had probably pistol-whipped him once he had what he wanted: access to the Mystic operating system.
Stone ran up to the glass door and grasped the pull handle. Locked, as expected. The keypad mounted beside it was different, not only a higher-quality unit but also equipped with a handprint scanner. He knew better than to try a bypass code; this system didn’t come with backdoors. Instead, he pounded his fists against the inch-thick glass and shouted.
Martiel’s head came up, and he glanced over his shoulder. His face registered surprise, but only for a fleeting moment, after which he grinned in triumph. He walked over to the door a pressed a button on the security panel. A crackle of static, and then his voice issued from a small speaker. “Too late, Gavin. You lose.”
“I don’t think so,” Stone retorted. “You’re out of time. If you leave now, you just might be able to escape.”
“Escape? Why on earth would I want to do that?” Martiel shook his head, still grinning. “That’s not how this is going to end, Stone. My people are coming to retake control of the facility. Your friends failed. The cavalry isn’t coming. The authorities aren’t going to let anyone else in until it’s too late. Besides, I’m almost done. It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a little boost, isn’t it? But I’m glad you’re here. It makes my victory that much sweeter.”
Stone started to hurl another impotent rejoinder at the glass, but Martiel had already turned away. Stone kicked the glass, but if the other man heard, he gave no indication.
Stone was close enough now to read the lines of computer code on the master terminal display screen. Mystic was a Unix-like system, which even under normal circumstances, he could read almost as effortlessly as plain English. With his brain still energized by the Brazen Head’s psychedelic vapors, he didn’t even have to think about what he was seeing. He simply knew.
Martiel was changing the security of the operating system, removing the restrictions that had necessitated the invasion of the facility, and doing so in such a way that his actions could not be easily reversed. It would take Valero’s technicians days, perhaps even weeks to figure out what he had done and restore it to its original configuration, allowing Martiel and Furst plenty of time to wreck the world’s monetary system and usher in their new world order.
The other screen revealed how Martiel was using the Immortal Mysteries Forum to communicate with his network of followers, not only coordinating his human assets in the financial sector, but also the armed protesters laying siege to the Iron River facility.
The latter were closing in on the complex.
Stone pounded the glass again, this time paying attention to the way it vibrated under his fist. He glanced around, looking for a tool, a fire axe or something to either smash the glass or force the lock, but there was nothing with which to even improvise a battering ram, and even if there had been something like that, he knew it would be a futile effort. It would take considerably more force than he could supply to break it.
Think. He told himself. Can’t beat the lock. Can’t break through the glass. What’s left?
He looked around again, considering whether it might be possible to climb the cables, shinny over and then slide down the trunk into cube. Tam or Billy Sievers probably could have made the climb, but he didn’t have their strength or stamina, and even if he somehow succeeded, Martiel had a gun and would shoot him as soon as he cleared the wall.
Or would he?
Stone knew he had misjudged Martiel in the past, but he had spent the last nine hours studying the man’s behavior. Martiel had no compunction about ordering his acolytes to slaughter the innocent, but taking a life by his own hand might give him pause, particularly if the life in question was his sworn nemesis. Killing Stone would deprive Martiel of his greatest victory.
No, he wouldn’t pull the trigger. Stone was certain of that.
Stone still doubted that he could ascend forty-odd feet of insulated cable, but now he realized there was another way to stop Martiel’s mad plan. He had learned something else about the man; Martiel, for all his grandiose posturing, was a coward.
Stone backtracked to the nearest bank of servers, and without a moment’s hesitation, began climbing the rack like it was a ladder. The shelves bent and flexed as he climbed, circuit boards and panels crunching underfoot, but the racks bore his weight.
Martiel’s voice, barely audible over the persistent hum of the server farm, issued from the speaker again. “I understand that a place like this is a playground to men like you and me, but seriously, you’re torturing the metaphor.”
Stone didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even look his way. Another step up brought him high enough to clamber onto the top of the server assembly. He crawled forward until he was over the narrow gap between the back-to-back server stacks, and then rose to his feet.
“Seriously, Gavin,” Martiel said, “what are you up to? What can you possibly hope to accomplish up there?”
By way of an answer, Stone flexed his knees and wrapped his hands around the cables, gripping them like the stalk of a weed he intended to pull up by the roots, and then, with a heave, he wrenched them loose. A flash of blue light briefly illuminated the dark gap between the servers as the electrical supply tried to arc across the broken circuit, then all the lights in the stacked servers under him blinked out simultaneously.
“There are over ten thousand servers in here,” Martiel said. “Are you going to pull every plug?”
Stone cautiously held up the frayed wires, inspecting the ends and began peeling away the data transfer lines one by one until he was left with just two thick power cables, each wrapped in heavy duty insulation. He separated them, holding one in each hand, and gingerly brought them together. A loud snap and a flash of bright light. For just an instant, Stone could smell the sharp, clean odor of ozone, but the brisk circulation of cooled air whisked it away just as quickly.
Satisfied with the results, he at last turned and looked down at Martiel. “No, this should do the trick. I’m going to start a fire.”
“A fire?” Martiel scoffed. “In here? All that will do is trip the automated fire protection system.”
Stone nodded. “Exactly.”
Careful to avoid crossing the hot wires, Stone took the cables in his left hand and with his right, pulled his shirt up and over his head. The frigid air immediately raised gooseflesh all over his body and started his teeth chattering. He did his best to ignore the discomfort, knowing it would be only momentary, and instead knelt down and stuffed the shirt into the gap between the server stacks.
“You’ll flood this whole section of the building with heptafluoropropane gas,” Martiel said, his voice no longer as confident as it had been a few moments before.
“That’s right.” Stone took the cables in both hands again and brought them down close to the wadded-up piece of cotton-polyester blend fabric, hoping it would be flammable enough to ignite and trigger the fire suppression system.
“You’ll suffocate,” Martiel said.
“So will you. You might want to leave now.”
“Spaulding is in here with me.” A palpable measure of panic sounded in Martiel’s voice. “You’ll kill him.”
“Maybe,” Stone said, not looking up. “But that’s on you, not me.”
“You’re bluffing. I know you, Stone. You don’t want to die.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Stone said, and brought the cables together again, triggering another brilliant display and a fresh whiff of ozone. With a faint whooshing noise, the shirt burst into flames. “Time to find out if you really are Immortal.”