Hmmm, what the hell was that? Very bizarre! Suddenly a strange premonition shot through her and she wondered if the puzzle was connected somehow to what had transpired that morning. Deciding to take a closer look at it later, she stuffed the newspaper in her purse. Maybe Rob could help her with this, as well.
Time to get down to work. Gwen reached for the computer mouse, but her hand froze in midair, and a chill ran down her spine. The white plastic housing of the mouse was streaked, as if a child had tried to color it with a piece of charcoal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 6:55 A.M.
Jason Katz unlocked the door to his office and turned on the lights. He closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk, taking several deep breaths. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. His soot-stained hands were reminders of the grisly events that morning. He leaned back in his chair and attempted to collect his thoughts.
His grand plan had almost been brought down by that twerp of an FBI agent—or whatever he was. Nikolai had saved the day; he felt his instincts about Nikolai had just been validated. It had been close, though. Bad luck? Katz didn’t think so—he actually didn’t believe in luck. He knew forces were at play in the universe and a larger battle raged, of which most people were completely unaware.
What bothered him wasn’t that a federal agent had shown up on his doorstep, but that he hadn’t foreseen this turn of events. Actually, foreseen was a poor choice of words. The truth was, he hadn’t even had a glimmer of it. This was unsettling because normally he had a better grasp of situations and events. He was also irritated because the morning had brought back thoughts and feelings he thought he had left buried for good. But the fire, the screams—it all seemed so familiar, and it had stirred up painful memories.
He pulled out his wallet and opened it. There was a single photograph stored there, one he hadn’t looked at in a long time. The picture, he noticed for the first time, was showing signs of age. The photograph of a much younger Jason Katz and his wife, Marie, with their only son, a grinning David, standing between them, was fading. The boy was twelve years old in the picture; in fact, they were celebrating his birthday at Hershey Park—he could make out the Comet roller coaster in the background. David looked as handsome as ever. Katz remembered that this picture used to bring tears to his eyes.
Not long after David’s birthday came that fateful summer night that had changed everything, so long ago. He squeezed his eyes shut—he didn’t believe tears were still possible, but just in case. He remembered the night with a vividness that defied all reason; he could still hear his boy’s screams coming from the burning house.
Lord knows, he had tried to save him. The damned firefighters had grabbed him and wouldn’t let him go in, but he had thrown them off and went into the inferno anyway. He had gone back into the house to get David, but the wall of flame upstairs had been too intense, the smoke too thick. His memory of being inside the burning house was vague, dulled by the passage of so much time, but he did recall two things vividly: pleading with God, and the expression on his son’s face.
He remembered begging God with everything he had to spare his precious boy. He made every promise possible. The irony of it was that he actually believed, not doubting for an instant that God would come to his aid. His faith had never been stronger. Surely, God would listen to him—he had lived a good and righteous life for forty-plus years. He had gone to church regularly, believed in God and his son, Jesus Christ, and forgiveness and redemption. All of that used to make perfect sense in a world blessed by David. And all of that was turned on its head in an instant that summer night.
Katz had failed to reach his boy that night, suffering burns on 30 percent of his body in the process. Katz should’ve died in the fire, but the cursed firefighters, the very ones who delayed his entry into the burning house, saved him at the last minute. They dragged him out from the second floor where he had collapsed. But the firefighters didn’t make it to David in time—he perished in the blaze.
David’s body was actually untouched by the flames. He died of a combination of asphyxia and smoke inhalation. When they laid his body out on the dewy grass, his face looked completely angelic, although his expression was one of subtle surprise that to Katz could only, forever, mean, “Where’s my dad?”
Katz had knelt on the grass beside his son and pounded the ground, sobbing—ignoring the firefighters’ attempts to tend to his burns. His soul had been crushed. God, or rather that wretched creature who called himself all-powerful master of the universe, had just stood by and chosen to do nothing while his boy choked for breath. He cursed God over and over.
After his son’s funeral, Katz sank into a deep depression that lasted for years, as he wrestled with God and the fairness of the universe. He saw a myriad of therapists, tried all sorts of antidepressants and tranquilizers, but to no avail. The damage was just too severe—nothing could heal the gaping, ragged hole in his heart where David should’ve been. His marriage disintegrated. Marie and he could never move beyond the blame game, so she left him. His faith crumbled. He couldn’t get past the simple question: What kind of God would let an innocent little boy burn in a fire? A boy whose only fault was that he loved his dog too much. He developed a deep, burning hatred of God.
Another haunting question formed, crueler even than the first. How much precious time did the firefighters waste by dragging his own body out of the blaze? Could they have saved his son if they had passed over him?
One day, years after the fire, when it seemed he could sink no further and his life was a complete shambles, he awoke in what seemed to be a different universe—a parallel universe. His depression had lifted, he was free of its prison—in fact, he was free of everything. Rules bound him no more. Morality no longer applied. His conscience had been vaporized by the flames. He recognized that he was an aberration; he was not following the usual, slow descent into immorality, where one sin begets the next, until one creeps sideways into evil, all the while struggling to remain good. No, this was a phase transformation, like water to ice, where all at once, he awoke a different creature.
The freedom was exhilarating—perhaps, he noted with detachment, this was the only cure for his deep depression. Evil was suddenly natural and easy, and with no conscience to heap on guilt, he found it appealing. But beyond that, there was an unforeseen freebie and he savored the irony of it. Because he had been so steeped in the ways of religion and morality all of his life, he found he could easily pass himself off as a righteous man—a real, live wolf in sheep’s clothing.
But again, it went deeper than that. Initially, after the transformation, as he liked to refer to it, Katz had feared for his sanity. But he soon realized his mind was whole and even his belief system was intact. The major players were all the same, he had just switched sides and was now playing for the other team. He gained a new understanding of the expression “Even the demons believe.” Katz had received all of this in a vision of his new self.
Furthermore, Katz felt his new team had a good chance of winning the whole ballgame—the complete domination of mankind. Several genies had recently been let out of the bottle; the horses of the apocalypse ran loose and trampled many a soul underfoot. One only had to consider the multiple plagues that had been unleashed upon the earth. First, there was religious intolerance, pitting radical Islam versus Christian and Jew, leading to global terrorism, suicide bombers, and ethnic cleansing. Second, throw in the bloody struggle for oil, the proliferation of nuclear weapons, and the crisis of global warming. The world seemed to be spiraling out of control toward chaos and evil.
Katz also had determined that because the Dark Lord strongly covets the ruin of one so close to God, he also rewards him richly. That is to say, he bestows upon the fallen one powers normally reserved for his minions. The logic behind this was simple. There just wasn’t that much celebration in Hell when a bad boy continued to be bad—no surprise there: everyone always knew he was a ba
d seed and expected the worst. The point being, he didn’t fool any of the flock and wasn’t a particularly effective tool.
But when a religious man went to Hell, well, then, Hell rocked—now there was real cause for celebration. This man could single-handedly take down dozens of righteous men. So the demons broke out the champagne and howled. Kind of like Hell’s version of the prodigal son.
At first, Katz concentrated on his own life and worked on perfecting the art of lying. He remembered chuckling at the saying, “The truth will set you free.” Untruer words were never spoken, he reasoned. He came to understand that only when one engages in total deception does one truly understand the absolute liberating nature of falsehood.
Soon he began to reach out to the people around him. He found pleasure in deceiving and taking other people down—in fact, he viewed these as acts of revenge against God. He was well versed in human weaknesses and how best to exploit them. He enjoyed tempting people and watching them struggle with their consciences while he nudged them toward the dark side.
Human faults were plentiful and it was so simple to take advantage of them that it almost seemed too easy, to the point of being unfair. For starters, there were greed and pride—common as dandelions. Plenty of men and women in his immediate vicinity sported huge egos, and these egos required large amounts of ready cash to continually fund their inflated images of themselves. The medical field was a perfect example of this. A doctor’s path from idealistic compassion to materialistic obsession was all too often embarrassingly short.
Cultivating drug and alcohol addiction was also child’s play. He had written prescriptions for friends for sleeping pills, knowing full well the potential for addiction. The pills would often stop working after a while, leaving the pill-taker in much worse shape. Again, he couldn’t help but smile. What passed as a helpful gesture on his part was actually a hefty shove toward the precipice.
But his real trump card was adultery. Forbidden sex and love were as old as the hills, but still hadn’t lost any of their power. In fact, one could argue that thanks to TV, Hollywood, and the Internet, adultery was on the upsurge. Katz smiled—this dog could still hunt. He thought back to his introduction of Rob Gentry to Gwen. This little romance was particularly sweet and he was very proud of it, the way a father beams over his son’s first bagged buck in deer season. Acting only on instinct at the time, he had sensed the man’s troubled marriage and knew Gwen’s beauty could serve as the honey. This simple move was paying dividends now in spades as the two careened down the out-of-control adultery highway.
Katz’s cell phone rang, jarring him from his thoughts. He recognized the number and frowned. “Hello,” he said.
“Hi, it’s me. Hey—any word on the timing of this thing?”
“Yes, I just got an email. I told you I’d call—”
“I know, I know. It’s just that my schedule is tight and I wanted to free up some time.”
Katz rolled his eyes. “It’s going to take place Monday night. Do you think you can make it?”
“Yes. Who are these people, anyway? Are they really good for that kind of cash?”
So that’s what this is really about, Katz thought, the money. “You’ve heard of the vast right-wing conspiracy? Well, I can’t tell you anymore than that, now. I’ll fill you in on the details later, but, yes, their funds are virtually unlimited.”
“Wow. When do we get the money?”
“As soon as the deed is done, it’ll be wired to our offshore accounts.”
“Good.”
Katz paused, debating whether he should mention the federal agent. “Listen, as long as I’ve got you on the phone, there’s something else I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“We’ve had a slight problem,” Katz said matter of factly. “Somehow the Feds got wind of something and are sniffing around Swatara Regional.”
“What?”
Katz noted with displeasure how quickly the voice on the other end became shrill. “Nikolai found one playing with the billing computer this morning.”
“Oh, shit! Should we pack up?”
“Relax.” Katz glanced down at his soot-streaked hands. “Nikolai and I took care of the problem already.”
“Good. Wait a minute. How? What did you and that drugged-up Russian bastard do?”
“Look, there was no other way. And I won’t tell Nikolai you called him that.” Katz paused. “Don’t worry, we left no trace.”
“Well, I am worried, damn it. If he really was a Fed, don’t you think it’s possible he called for help? The place could soon be crawling with agents.”
“No, we took his cell phone and disconnected the computer.”
“Good. He didn’t leave any notes, did he?”
“God, you’re a piece of work.” Katz took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. “He did put some strange numbers in a newspaper puzzle, but Nikolai took care of it,” Katz said, starting to chuckle. “I think he probably threw it in the incinerator.”
“Inciner—oh my God. Don’t tell me any more. The less I know, the better. Listen, do you think we should close down anyway and get out of Dodge? We already have a lot of money.”
“No. Remember, the mother lode is coming.” The mother lode always got through to him. Big egos need big cash. “We’ve got to hold it together for one more score. Then we can leave the country, vanish into oblivion, and live the rest of our lives like kings.”
“I still don’t like it.” But Katz could tell his resistance was weakening; he was undoubtedly imagining his palace somewhere. “Sounds dangerous. And I still don’t trust that Russian thug of yours. What makes you think he won’t turn around and double-cross us? We should never have brought him in.”
“Look,” Katz shot back, “without him, we’d already be in jail. He discovered the Fed today, for God’s sake.” He took several more deep breaths to keep his irritation in check. “Besides, I need him.” Katz didn’t add that he also held Nikolai in reserve to be the enforcer if certain partners got cold feet. “Don’t go chicken on me. We can wrap this up on Monday.”
“All right, all right. What about Daulton? You said he was snooping around last week after Mrs. Hinkle’s case. Is he suspicious?”
“I don’t think so,” Katz lied. Of course, Daulton was suspicious—roaming around the hospital in the middle of the night and asking about fevers. “Look, just keep your eye out for the Feds, and I’ll worry about Daulton. Hold it together till Monday—can you do that?”
“Yeah.”
“All right, good.” Katz hung up the phone and shook his head. People were so goddamned unreliable. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring him in. Just one more hurdle to get over Monday, and he could leave all this happy horseshit behind. The money would be more than he could spend in several lifetimes.
Katz had to admit he was mildly concerned about Daulton and Gentry. For some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he sensed the two of them together were dangerous for him. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out the 9 mm Nikolai had gotten for him. He examined the beautifully engineered pistol, checked to make sure the clip was full, then put it back in his drawer. The gun might prove useful.
Almost time to go to work. He looked at the picture of David one more time. Whenever he weakened or felt a tug of conscience trying to reappear, he would obliterate it in the fiery furnace of his mind. In fact, this was why he carried the snapshot of his dead son around in his wallet. The picture no longer had the power to make him cry. The immense lake of grief that had existed for fifteen years had slowly congealed into a putrefying swamp of bitterness, hatred, and anger.
He needed now to vaporize the stirred-up memories of his past. There was a twinge of pain where there should only be grim resolve. He used the picture as fuel for the furnace—the white-hot oven in his mind, where he continually hardened the steel of his agony and hammered it on the dark anvil of hate until it became transformed into the very sword of evil. He shut his eyes tight.
There—almost complete. The boyish screams disappeared, replaced by the whoosh of air rushing through huge bellows, fanning the hungry fire, whipping the flames into a fiendish frenzy. He put the picture back in his wallet and pocketed it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 4:45 P.M.
SoftPartner, version 3.1, came to life. The hard-drive erasure had failed to eradicate the virus, which had successfully replicated itself several thousand times during the process, in order to escape corruption. It was exactly twelve hours following installation and SYSOP Benjamin Harris had failed to enter the dormancy code. Normal programming dictated a twenty-four hour latency period, but three nearly simultaneous events had triggered the early wakeup. The zero-hour internal log contained the following flags:
flag ø, t=ø, installation
flag 1, t=.23 hrs, system loss of power, *LEVEL 2 ALERT
flag 2, t=.24 hrs, loss of internet connection, *LEVEL 3 ALERT
flag 3, t=.31 hrs, system power up
flag 4, t=.35 hrs, hard drive initialization, *LEVEL 3 ALERT
These events were fed through SoftPartner’s threat/caution logic matrix. Flagged events 1, 2, or 4 taken individually would have yielded only low-level cautions, but taken together and factoring in their proximity in time, the matrix generated the highest level alarm.
****ALARM LEVEL 5 ALARM ****
**Nature: Aggressive maneuvers aimed to neutralize SoftPartner 3.1**
A LEVEL 5 alarm required immediate contact with the Bureau. However, there were two obstacles. First, SoftPartner detected that the Macintosh G5 computer on which it resided no longer had an operating system; it was a casualty of the hard-drive erasure. This was not a big problem. SoftPartner was equipped with multiple compressed machine language subroutines, enabling it to perform rudimentary computer functions such as Internet file sharing protocols and telecommunications. The second problem was much more serious—there was no intact link to the Internet; the primary source Ethernet cable was no longer present and the older computer lacked any of the newer broadband networking capabilities like WiFi, EDGE, 3G, or 4G. The virus searched for alternate pathways to the outside world:
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