TWO SECURITY GUARDS HAD AN animated discussion as they walked through the Asgard building. One, younger and more gung ho about his job, was determined to check on something he thought was suspicious. The other, older and more interested in watching football on television, thought they were wasting their time.
The problem lay in the system that tracked employees as they moved through the facility. Like Olympus, Asgard was designed to be an “intelligent building.” Only, now it claimed François Fournier was currently in the server room, which didn’t make sense because he’d clocked out and left the building nearly three hours earlier.
“He can’t be here if he already went home,” complained the reluctant guard.
“Exactly,” replied the other. “That’s why we’re checking it out.”
“But it’s just a mistake,” said the older man. “A glitch.”
“Impossible,” said his partner. “This system doesn’t have glitches.”
They reached the server room, and the young man opened the door and called out, “Monsieur Fournier!”
When there was no response, the other replied, “See? I told you.”
That’s when the younger guard saw the footprint. It was dirt from a shoe. Brooklyn’s shoe, to be precise. And in a room that was otherwise spotless, it was impossible to ignore. He nodded toward it, and his partner was no longer reluctant. They stopped talking and used hand signals to communicate.
They also drew their weapons.
The servers continued to work, their fans humming, drives periodically spinning and then stopping. Despite this, however, there was an eerie calmness to the room.
Brooklyn and Sydney were both hidden beneath the false floor. The base of the room was raised to prevent possible flood damage and so that cables could run beneath the computers.
Paris had lifted two of the floor panels so they could nestle down among the wires, a high-tech version of the wormholes they’d used to get into the catacombs.
But he was too big to fit, so he’d searched the rows desperately looking for someplace to hide. He finally found a spot. There were empty racks built into the cabinets at the end of the eighth row, space for when Sinclair wanted to add more servers.
Paris managed to squeeze his body into one, but there was no door to the cabinet. If the guards stood at the end of the row and looked down the aisle, he’d be out of sight. But if they walked even halfway down, there’d be no way they’d miss him.
He tried to listen to their progress, but it was hard to hear anything above the din of the machines. He could see a shadow on the wall that let him know they were getting closer. He could also see the outline of a gun.
Meanwhile, under the floor, Sydney held her breath as the larger guard stepped onto the panel directly above her face. It dipped slightly, almost pressing against her nose.
Paris was paralyzed as he saw the shadow grow and realized one of them had almost reached his aisle. Even though the room was kept cold for the servers, he could feel droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. Then he had an idea. He wasn’t sure if it was good or if he was just desperate, but it was his last hope.
He waited for one of the larger drives to engage and spin, letting the noise cover the sound as he tossed François Fournier’s ID down the aisle.
When the older guard reached the row, Paris kept perfectly still. His mouth was beyond dry, and his heart was racing a thousand beats per second.
“Regardez là-bas!” the man called to his partner. “Look there!”
He took two steps down the aisle, but before he was close enough to spot Paris, he leaned over and picked up the ID.
The man let out a roaring laugh and put his pistol back in its holster. “Here is your François Fournier!” He held up the ID for the other man to see. “It must have fallen off while he was working.”
The younger man wasn’t completely convinced, but that was probably because he’d actually been excited about the chance to come face-to-face with criminals.
“Come on, let’s get back,” said the older man. “Maybe we can see the end of the PSG match.”
Reluctantly, the younger man holstered his weapon and followed his partner out of the room. He did stop momentarily at the door to look at the footprint again, but then left.
“I told you it was not a glitch,” he called out to the other guard. “It was a mistake by the employee. The computer never makes mistakes.”