“I’m sure you are,” the woman—what was her name? Inez?—said kindheartedly as she walked over to her own desk and got back to work.
The list was lengthy. Harmony threw up a small prayer to the God Alex believed in that she would be able to gain administrative access to all of them. The more she had access to, the more information there would be both for Alex and for her own people—and the more damage she could do to Saint Germain’s evil empire.
You feel happy. Like you ate the early-bird special for lunch. I can almost see the feathers in your teeth. Alex’s thought was very clear. That probably meant he was close by. She’d found that their ability to communicate improved with proximity.
Ugh. What an image. But you’re correct about one thing. Things are going well on this end. And with you?
So far, so good.
The urge to talk to Alex was strong, but she forced herself to remain businesslike. The sooner this was done, the sooner they could all leave.
Bingo! God, or someone, was smiling on her. She could gain access to all the servers. A little more experimentation showed that she was even allowed to remotely execute commands on any of the data servers from System 27 without having to log in or supply a password.
She stored the list of data servers in a flat file and then launched a third shell script to start the data-mining programs she and Miguel had hacked together from source code from various web-crawling applications that would look at the data and extract ASCII characters from desired files. The Spider was in her web and spinning away, gathering up information for a future meal.
As she watched, the program spawned itself, using what Miguel had called parallelization to mine multiple databases at once. This was something new for Harmony, and she felt a moment of anxiety. Miguel had promised that it would cause no spike in activity to alert the security crew that the system was under attack. Since her last prayer had worked so well, Harmony uttered another one that Miguel knew what he was doing.
People returned to their desks and began to work in a desultory fashion. A glance out the window showed Harmony that the fog had moved in and caused an early twilight that made her feel unsettled. She turned her back on it.
The computer chewed away steadily as the clock rolled on toward five, and Harmony began to worry that she would exceed the capacity of her portable drive. It became more difficult to feign calm and keep entering data into her spreadsheet.
The whirring finally stopped at 4:36.
Hands shaking, Harmony took the next step in the operation. Using the System 27 server configuration file as a reference, she called a simple shell script to probe the clinic’s data infrastructure to confirm that she could remotely execute a simple directory listing command on each of the servers within the corporate intranet. A quick browse through the names hinted at locations in South America, Africa, Asia, and Europe.
There were hundreds.
There was one other bit of news as well. Saint Germain had also, most unwisely, opted to keep his system backup tapes in a warehouse next to the clinic. Usually the backups were sent off-site for security reasons. If there was a fire or some natural disaster, people wanted their backup tapes to be somewhere far away from harm. But perhaps because of paranoia about having his illegal activities discovered, Saint Germain had elected to keep all his copies on site.
So, prayers were sometimes answered. This was good news and bad news, however. She would be able to cause a huge amount of damage to the corporation’s system and probably slow down their research for months, even years—especially if they managed to physically destroy all the backups. But the sheer number of servers also meant that the enemy was enormous, a hydra with so many heads that they would probably never be able to lop them all off with their limited resources, even with the help of her friends.
Harmony? Again Alex was in her mind. What’s wrong?
Nothing. Almost done, she thought back. She wasn’t yet able to convey complex technical thoughts to Alex, so didn’t try to explain about the servers. Do you remember the small gray building near the gate? That’s a warehouse where they keep backup computer files. Can you guys get inside and do your magnetic battery-draining thing? It will erase all the backup tapes. She concentrated on an image of the building.
I know it. If we can’t get in ourselves, then we’ll toss in a grenade, Alex promised.
Where are you now? she asked, suddenly concerned about Alex’s end of the operation. What she was doing was critically important, but so was the retrieval of Dippel’s hand. Morally, spiritually, psychically—however you looked at it—they couldn’t allow Saint Germain to re-create his father. Dippel had been bad enough in his first life, but if he were to live again, taught and nurtured by his insane, evil son, there was no knowing how much damage the genius could do.
Ninon and I are in the basement lab. We think we’ve found where they are cloning Dippel. Certainly they are cloning something. Several somethings.
Better you than me. Go with God. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.
From your thoughts to God’s ear. Alex sounded positive. This reassured Harmony.
She looked at the computer clock. 4:52. It was time.
Her hands were shaking as she launched her destroyer programs on each of the data-servers. The programs were configured to sleep for half an hour, after which time they would awake to wreak havoc on the clinic’s—all the clincs’—databases. Each program was designed to both destroy data and break server connections, which would—in theory—hide the severity of the attack from the other system administrators so they would be slow to make any efforts at containment.
Harmony waited until exactly five o’clock and then began gathering her belongings when the other employees did. She waited until no one was looking and then reached behind her computer and removed the flash card. She pretended to adjust her skirt and slipped the card into her waistband. It would be more secure in her bra, but there was no way she could put it there without making a trip to the bathroom, and she wanted to leave with the other employees.
On suddenly weak legs, she walked toward the elevators, smiling and answering polite questions about her first day. Yes, the job was very interesting. No, traffic was not a problem. There was an itch at the base of her skull and a twitchy feeling that said it was time to leave, which grew worse the longer they waited for the elevator. Things had gone extraordinarily well for her, and there were limits to how much luck any one person could enjoy.
Alex? I’m on my way out, she thought.
But Alex didn’t answer.
Alex?
When the elevator still hadn’t appeared five minutes later, the other employees muttered about the frequent electronic failures that happened in the building and decided it might be best to take the stairs. Not wanting to be conspicuous, Harmony went with them.
Electronic failures? In a research clinic where they would have backup sources of power?
Alex! Answer me!
She hung to the back of the crowd and didn’t exit from the lobby when the others did. Pretending for the guards that she had forgotten something, she began fishing through her bag and then, with a huge sigh, she turned around and went back into the stairwell. The flesh of her back quivered, expecting to feel a guard’s hand clapped on her shoulder, but no one stopped her.
Instead of going back upstairs, she headed down to the basement where the labs were.
She silently yelled at herself with every step, arguing that she was changing the plan and taking a huge risk, but a part of her was certain that Alex was in trouble. Everyone seemed to think the elevator’s going out was routine, but it might be routine because Saint Germain came to the clinic a lot. And the last time Alex had disappeared from her psychic radar, it was because Saint Germain had come to the island. Could her inability to find him be because Saint Germain—or a clone—had arrived at the clinic and was jamming her brainwaves? She had to know.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I don’t feel any
psychics about. They are relying mainly on cameras for security,” Alex said. A small burst of energy and he knew that the cameras in the hospital lobby would briefly fuzz while they passed, not that either he or Ninon looked at all like their usual selves. “That’s lucky for us.”
“Very lucky—too lucky perhaps. It makes me uneasy.” Ninon’s Spanish was flawless. Her appearance was less so. She was wearing some sort of makeup that made her appear a bit gray and unattractive. Her hair was contained under a gray wig. With the addition of a lab coat, she looked like a cranky scientist who had spent too many years indoors squinting through a microscope.
“Good. This wouldn’t be a great moment for either of us to get too cocky.” Alex scanned the auras of the visitors in the lobby. They were a uniform, passive gray-blue. The employees seemed either bored or brainwashed.
Ninon’s smile was dry.
“Some of us were just born that way—and thank God for it. Your Harmony is quite amazing too. Miguel is most impressed with her skills.”
“Miguel is rather out of the ordinary as well.” Alex smiled politely at the guards near the door and gave them a mental push. It took slightly more effort than it had with the guard at the gate since there were two of them, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t manage.
“That’s a neat trick,” Ninon said as the two men stared into the distance. Their facial muscles were not slack, but their gaze was blank. “I wish I had the knack. Your capacity for mind-speech is astonishing.”
“I’ve always found it useful.” Alex took another deep breath, trying to scent the enemy. All remained clear. He reiterated the plan. “I’ll take the stairs, you use the elevator. Check in with me as you go. See you in three hours. I don’t care if you discover King Solomon’s lost mines, don’t be late getting back here. We’re looking for the hand—but just looking. We can’t risk taking it until Harmony is ready to move. And we should leave at the shift change regardless.” Alex didn’t look at her as he spoke; his eyes were moving slowly over the crowd, still trying to sense danger. Like Ninon, a part of him distrusted the ease of their entry.
“I understand. We are all prepared to be patient.” Ninon moved off with two nurses, walking slowly, managing to convey the impression of an older woman troubled by arthritis. She even managed to transform her aura from vibrant violet to pale lilac. Alex allowed himself to imagine her on stage. How he would have loved to direct her in one of his plays. She would have made a magnificent leading lady.
They had studied a layout of this hospital, whose plans were a matter of public record if one paid enough for them, which Brice had done as part of their advance preparations. Alex’s objective was the atomic medicine lab on in the first level of the basement. It was one of two places that interested them. The other was the bio-labs where most of the cloning experiments were done. Alex would have preferred to go there instead, but had agreed that Saint Germain might have warned his staff to be on the lookout for a man of his height and weight. Any outsider would be noticed, but an old woman with arthritis would not be seen to be as much of a threat.
Alex broke away from a group of white-coated technicians arguing about a soccer game and walked boldly to the door that led into the stairwell. A sign on the door said it was for emergency use only, but he pressed the bar firmly and gave a shove. He was pleased when it opened, and especially pleased that it did so without triggering an alarm. Fire codes were being obeyed and the emergency exits were unlocked during business hours.
He went slowly down the stairs, which had cameras installed on the landings, making an effort to move like Dr. Sanchez whose badge he wore. Among Byron’s skills was an ability to pickpocket, and the poet had had no difficulty in liberating a couple of badges from the night shift as they headed for their automobiles the evening before. He’d had a nice selection of male candidates to choose from, but had seen only one woman. That was why Ninon was wigged and wearing heavy makeup.
The door opened easily at the base of the stairs, and in rushed a small gasp of chemical-smelling air. It was an assault on his keen nose, but that was all that confronted Alex; he had the corridor beyond all to himself. There weren’t even any security cameras to bother with near the stairs, so Alex allowed his stride to lengthen. The maps on the walls said he was headed in the right direction. Patologia, Deposito de Cadaveres, and Radioterapia were all ahead. He questioned the taste of their layout. It couldn’t be good for a cancer patient to have to walk past pathology and the morgue to get to their treatments. On the other hand, it made a lot of sense if the clinic wasn’t actually treating very many sick people. He suspected the latter was the case.
The long white corridor was empty of life and even sound. Alex looked about carefully as he walked, not caring for the heavy shielding he could sense in the walls. And just as he had expected, the basement’s atomic-medicine department wasn’t a popular destination for the clinic’s patients. There was no staff present either. Saint Germain wasn’t curing anyone down here. There wasn’t even a nurse manning the lobby desk, just the first of a new series of security cameras facing the morgue. This made things at once easier and more difficult for Alex. More people meant more human eyes to fool. Fewer people meant he had to deal with more of the electronic eyes that controlled the cameras that tracked up and down the corridors. There would be no hiding in a crowd.
Alex decided it might be best to take them all out at once rather than sequentially. It seemed more believable that an entire system would fail than one camera after another. He gave a hard psychic push, willing the cameras and any alarms attached to them to stop working, and then, trusting they had, he forced himself to walk toward the first door, making his steps as silent as possible so as not to disturb the utter quiet of the corridor labeled Radioterapia. His senses were now on full alert, looking for those psychic trails that he sensed all around him. He didn’t see anything definite, but the whole place reeked of Saint Germain’s evil. Even the strong odor of antiseptics couldn’t entirely hide it.
Luxury ended where the real work began. The nuclear lab techs—veal, when they were present—were herded into small white rooms with large windows opening onto the corridor where they would have no privacy. They worked at long counters covered in shrouded machinery. There were no private offices. That was unfortunate. He could read people, but not machines.
Alex went on, uninterested until he reached the records room. Here was something he could warm to—words on paper. He touched the door, trying to sense if there was any alarm attached. He felt nothing, so he pushed open the steel door and eased into the murky space, peering intently at the desk even as he readied excuses for his intrusion if someone was napping in the dark. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wipe out some poor secretary’s mind, but his brain was ready for it. He was also prepared for any monsters he might find. Odds were against his having been spotted by the cameras and someone ordering that he be met by a pack of ghouls or zombies. Keeping ghouls would be a crazy thing to do in a hospital filled with people. But his experiences with Saint Germain had convinced him of the man’s insane lack of caution.
The room was happily empty of people, dead or alive. Alex set about examining the office. Ignoring the computer for the time being, he started in on the shelves of files where hundreds of patients’ records were stored. The sections were divided by color. He knew that these couldn’t be all the records for the hospital, just the ones before computers had been installed, but it still seemed far too many for a free health clinic outside of town. It also made him nervous that most of the folders bore numbers instead of names.
He had opened his first blue file and was reading about radiation treatments being performed on surgically altered bodies when the first contact with Harmony tickled the nerve-ending in his neck.
And let the games begin. She sounded pleased. Even smug. In spite of the danger, he had to smile.
Harmony?
We just caught a break. I’ll explain later. I’m good to go. He caught an impression of a
blue computer screen and knew she was doing something technical. Their conversation was distracting her and should be kept short, though he felt better being in contact with her.
Already? A look at the wall clock said that a fair amount of time had passed while he had been exploring and reading. That surprised him, but he should have expected it. He was underground and couldn’t feel the movement of the sun as he did on the surface.
Yes. Can you finish up your end today? I need to know how long a fuse to put on my little cyber firecracker.
Yes. We’re on our way now. He was positive.
I’m installing the device. Wish me luck.
Good luck.
She had been fast—maybe too fast for the others. Alex needed to let them know what was happening, especially Ninon. The others were on the outside, which presented its own dangers, but Ninon was right in the lion’s den and preparing to steal the beast’s dinner. It required more effort because of the lead shielding, but Alex reached out for Ninon and let her know that Harmony had begun infiltrating the computer system. Her response was harder to understand, probably because of the shielding and because they had had less time to practice what Ninon called mind-speech, but he knew she understood what was happening.
Alex searched, but he couldn’t find anything about toxic-waste disposal for Harmony’s people and it was almost time for him to leave and begin a tour of the morgue. The physical records were tempting. The information he found in them was damning. The atrocities they documented were right up there with Nazi experiments and would command the attention of anyone who was shown them. But he didn’t want to burden himself with a lot of folders. So he began skim-reading files, committing details to memory. This wouldn’t be physical proof that they could lay before anyone else, but at least he would know what had happened.
I’m in. It’s a go. Harmony sounded less excited and more focused. She was talking more to herself than to him. Alex didn’t answer. He didn’t want her distracted from her work. The thought of what she was doing still terrified him. She wasn’t like the rest of them. They were stronger since their alteration—could take a bullet, even several, and still live. She was touching, beautifully, humanly frail. So instead of talking to her as he wished, Alex kept reading, growing ever more appalled at the stories of these poor people who had come to the clinic for help and been used in Saint Germain’s experiments.
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