68

IT started with only a trickle at first. Only one person entered the park in the late afternoon. Then another. They knew they were there for the same reason from the masks they wore.

The unmistakable long white face with rosy cheeks. The upturned ends of the mustache and skinny goatee. The pointy nose, and perfectly raised eyebrows. They both wore the same mask that depicted Guy Fawkes. The same mask that symbolized the well-known network of activists and hacktivists, Anonymous. The two were joined by more, slowly at first. The tourists that were sitting idly around the space started to notice. The group started out small, but as it grew larger, the tourists became wary and started to step away.

Zuccotti Park was three thousand one hundred square meters of pavement, symmetrically furnished with granite benches and tables. Perfectly manicured trees with tall, skinny trunks and thick, green tops were spaced out perfectly amongst the various seating areas. It was the site of the first Occupy Wall Street movement in 2011 that had run through to 2012. Protests that focused on social and economic inequality. The ninety-nine percent oppressed fighting for their lives against the rich and powerful one percent. It had since been emptied and smaller subsequent protests had gained little traction.

The security guards posted at the site watched on as more and more masked individuals started coming into the park from all directions. Signs that read, 'How much debt do you have?' and 'You are not a loan!' started to speckle the growing group.

As the protesters became a crowd of about one hundred, the number of guards also increased. They brought out the barricades. News vans started to line the sidewalk as the police presence increased.

Hundreds became a thousand as the sun started to descend and the rectangular white lights set in the pavement of the park were turned on. 

The crowd of masks became two thousand plus and the signs and chanting became loud and in unison.

That was about the time when Steep and Chester started watching the crowd next to the Red Cube, a twenty eight foot tall sculpture that stood defiantly on one of its corners. They were safer there, across the street from the madness. Some of Steep's agents were patrolling the crowd, fruitlessly looking for members of the crew. Steep sensed that Chester had some of his people doing the same, either in uniform or dressed in plain clothes. Even after asking, Steep wasn't offered any courtesy of knowing who they were.

Ivan and the other analysts remained at the office to monitor surveillance cameras in the area. Ivan had also been keeping an eye on the data at Experfax. Over the last few days, he had found evidence that the same was happening at Equirian and UnionTrans. Still no explanation as to how. Still no explanation as to when.

If Roman was as clever as Steep thought he was, today would have been the choice day for something like that to happen. Independence Day. The day that America, as a country, declared its independence from the oppression of the British Empire.

He watched the signs across the street, reflecting what the crew might have been trying to do. Was it something that had grown as a grassroots movement on its own, or was it instigated by the crew for cover? Was this protest a slap in the face?

He listened to his earpiece as his agents relayed that their positions were clear.

He keyed his mic and said, "Just keep at a distance and focus on who we're looking for. Do not, I repeat, do not get involved in the actual protest or anything related. Let the locals handle anything that's not our subs."

Everyone returned a copy. Chester was a few feet away from him, but could tell that he was managing his team the same way.

The crowd of Guy Fawkes faces started to overflow the barricades containing the park. The image was surreal. He felt that the chanting had become louder. Around him, the crowd of spectators was also growing. What was normally a steady flow of pedestrians was now at a standstill.

Before Steep realized it, the crowd across the street started to move, and the volume of the chanting kept getting louder.

He keyed his mic, "What's going on? Why are they letting them out of the barricades?"

After a few seconds, Summers responded, "There's an approved protest march scheduled. Permits state they are going to walk down Liberty Street, around the Fed and back up Maiden Lane."

"What the hell are they thinking?" He watched as police officers stopped traffic, allowing the protesters to flow down the emptied street. The officers yelled only when there were strays that veered from the crowd, but it seemed orderly.

It couldn't have been more perfect. Liberty Street would pass right in front of Bryce Kingston's apartment building. He could tell Chester may have been thinking the same thing, but only just realized it. He was speaking into his mic in what looked like panic. The spectator crowd had become so congested that Steep could no longer maneuver around.

"I need eyes on the marchers. Does someone have eyes on the apartment?" He waited for a response, but the protesters chants were so loud where he was, he couldn't imagine what it was like in the thick of the mass of people. "I repeat. Do we have eyes on the apartment?"

"Negative. We'll make our way there, but it's going to take us a while."