Tam was just about to ask Corey to remotely release the doors to the server building when a loud claxon alarm sounded. She keyed the push-to-talk button on her phone and shouted to be heard over the din. “Corey, what’s happening?”
“The fire suppression system in the server building has been activated,” Corey replied.
“And what does that mean? Is there a fire?”
Was this Martiel’s plan, she wondered, to destroy the Mystic server farm if he could not take control of it?
“I’m not sure, but you can’t go in there. The air in there is filled with a halocarbon gas compound that displaces oxygen.”
“I need to know what’s going on in there. Are there any cameras you can tap into? And while you’re at it, can you shut that alarm off?”
The claxons ceased abruptly, supplying an answer to the latter request, but that was where her luck ended. “Most of our video surveillance is outside,” Valero said, over the comm-link. “There aren’t any cameras in the server building.”
Tam clenched her fists in frustration, but before she could put what she was feeling into words, another voice came over the line. “Tam, it’s me.” Avery still sounded a little out of it. “I’ve got the Brazen Head. I mean, I’m here with it. It’s still cooling down. I’m trying to find some oven mitts to—”
“Avery, what about Stone? Is he there?”
“No. I don’t know where he is.”
Tam did know. “He’s in the server building. He must have pulled the fire alarm to stop Martiel. I need to get in there, Corey.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him. Not until the gas cycles out.”
“How long will that take?”
She was halfway through the question when the latch mechanism clicked.
“The release is localized, so the concentration will be higher the closer you get to the source,” Valero said. “The suppressant isn’t toxic at concentrations of less than nine percent. I still think you should wait a bit, but you should be okay as long as you get in and out quick.” Then he added, “Provided there isn’t an actual fire.”
“I don’t know if you’ll get reception in there,” Corey said. “I’m going to text you the floor plan of the server building.”
“Got it.” Tam opened the door and started down the long passage to the server building at a fast jog. When she opened the second set of doors, she half expected to find a charred stinking ruin beyond, but instead saw only endless aisles of computer servers. There was no sign that any disturbance had occurred, and not even a hint of smoke in the air. Given the immensity of the place, that was hardly a surprise; the server building made the Superdome feel like a broom closet.
She opened the message with the layout schematic, orienting it in the same direction she was facing and plotted the most direct route to the master terminal, which thankfully was almost a straight shot. As she progressed, she noticed a distinctly pungent odor in the air and fainter still, the smell of burnt plastic and ozone. She knew she should probably slow down and take only shallow breaths, but the knowledge that Stone might be unconscious and suffocating compelled her to move even faster, breathing in more of the potentially tainted air.
Her heart skipped a beat when she spied a misshapen lump on the floor directly ahead. It was definitely a body, but a closer look revealed the face of a stranger—almost certainly the site manager, Ray Spaulding. He was alive and breathing but unconscious, though Tam guessed this had more to do with the still bleeding head wound than exposure to the fire suppressant gas. A long smear of blood continuing up the aisle suggested that someone had dragged him away from the gas-saturated area.
“Stone,” Tam muttered, hopeful. But where was he?
She stepped around Spaulding and kept going, following the blood trail to the glass enclosure where the master terminal was located. The room was empty, the door wide open.
The sharp smell was even stronger here, stinging Tam’s eyes. She buried her mouth and nose in the curve of her shoulder, hoping that the fabric of her shirt would give her at least a little protection from the gas, and went in.
On the workstation desk, the dual-screen display was still displaying the last activity. One screen was blank except for two words in glowing green monochrome.
CHANGES SAVED
A knot of dread twisted Tam’s gut.
I’m too late, she thought.
The other screen was showing the Immortal Mysteries Forum, and in one corner, a private message pop-up window displayed a text conversation between the Immortal and one of his supporters. Tam’s gaze flashed to the last transmitted message, and then she spun on her heel and raced from the room.
Billy Sievers watched as a silver Ford F150 pickup, outfitted with a six-inch suspension lift kit, rolled past the gatehouse at the entry point to the compound and then slowly but relentlessly advanced toward the first of the K-rails blocking the road. When the reinforced front bumper kissed the corner of the barrier, the driver put on the brakes. Sievers didn’t need to be in the cab to know that the man was shifting the four-wheel-drive gear box to low range. A moment later, the truck began inching forward again, and this time the concrete barrier moved as well, scraping across the pavement and opening a gap wide enough for the vehicle to pass through, at which point the truck moved out of the field of view of the security camera supplying the live feed to the monitor Sievers was viewing at the security station in the lobby. With the big Ford out of the way, Sievers could see the long line of vehicles waiting behind it, many of them also pickups, their beds fully loaded with armed men wearing Carhartts and camouflage.
“The sheep of America will rest easy tonight,” said “Bones” Bonebrake, who was standing behind Sievers. Bones was looking over his shoulder which posed no difficulty for the towering Cherokee Indian and former Navy SEAL.
“How’s that?”
“All the rednecks are here,” growled Bones.
“Bones hates rednecks,” explained Willis Sanders. “I ain’t got much love for them, neither.”
“Good for the sheep,” Sievers said, with a nod, “bad for us.”
“We might be outnumbered,” Maddock said, “but there’s only one way in here, and that door is only wide enough to let in one or two in at a time. It’s a chokepoint. That takes away their biggest advantage.”
“Just like the Battle of Thermopylae,” someone else suggested.
Bones shook his head. “Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine, Professor?”
Pete Chapman shrugged. “You know me, always looking for that silver lining.”
Despite the dire circumstances, Sievers allowed himself a grin. It felt good to be surrounded by fellow warriors, especially in the face of such overwhelming odds. He imagined the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae had drawn strength from a similar camaraderie.
Right before they all got slaughtered.
And yet, part of him could not help but identify with the men outside. He didn’t agree with their narrow xenophobic and downright ignorant worldview, but he knew where it came from because he came from a similar place, culturally speaking. He also understood why Tam had looked for an alternative to simply going in with guns blazing. He would have preferred a less-lethal solution to this problem as well, but if the local authorities didn’t intervene soon, there would be bloodshed. Theirs and his.
Sievers squeezed the pistol grip of the AR-15 he had taken from one of Martiel’s assault team. They were past the point of using stun guns and beanbag rounds. Whatever happened now would be a clear-cut case of self-defense, though he doubted any of them would survive to defend that decision.
“Here they come,” Professor announced.
Sievers brought his gaze back to the monitor. The big Ford must have cleared the last of the K-rails because now a procession of vehicles moved through the surveillance camera’s field of view.
Maddock switched to a different camera—one mounted in the parking area right outside the building—which showed the approaching army, about two dozen vehicles, and possibly as many as eighty men, all loaded for bear and spoiling for a fight.
“Looks like we’re on our own,” Maddock said, taking a knee at one corner of the desk and raising his captured rifle to his shoulder.
“Always wondered what it felt like to be at the Alamo,” Sievers muttered, assuming a similar stance at the opposite corner.
He could still see the display screen in the corner of his eye. The procession of vehicles was flowing down the road, and the lead trucks turning toward the solitary entrance and then going right past it, making room for those behind it or possibly trying to establish perimeter security.
Sievers placed the butt of the assault rifle against his shoulder, lined the front sight post up with the door, and flipped the fire selector from “safe” to “single.”
And waited.
“Any day now,” Bones muttered.
Sievers checked the monitor again. The cars and trucks were all stopped now, spaced out at intervals of forty or fifty feet, and armed men were piling out, their weapons at the ready, but they did not appear to be organizing for an assault. Instead, they simply remained where they were, in a defensive posture.
And then, for no apparent reason, they lowered their weapons and climbed back into the waiting vehicles, and then as swiftly as it had arrived, the procession snaked away, heading back down the narrow road out of the complex.
“What the hell?” Bones said. “Maddock, did you forget to put on deodorant this morning?”
Sievers ignored the banter, safed his rifle and rose to his feet, not quite able to believe what he was seeing. He kept watching until the last vehicle disappeared from view.
“Thinks it’s some kind of trick?” he asked, looking over at Maddock. “A staged retreat to draw us out?”
“I don’t know about you guys,” Bones said, “but I’m fine right here.”
Maddock took out his phone. “Matt, what’s happening out there?”
“They’re hightailing,” Barnaby replied. “Maybe somebody warned them off.”
“We’re never that lucky,” Maddock said.
As if to offer confirmation, an out of breath Tam Broderick burst from the door behind them. “Stop them!” she panted.
Bones snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Tam,” Sievers said, “It’s over. They’re bugging out.”
But Tam shook her head and then, as if it explained everything, said. “They’ve got Stone.”