“BEGINNING COUNTDOWN: FIVE MINUTES TO SCRIPT ACTIVATON,” a digital voice echoed over the Titanhurst intercom speakers, causing both Haylie and Crowne to flinch.
“How did you get in here?” Crowne asked, taking on the unmistakable tone of an angry father.
“I’m not good at a lot of things,” Haylie replied, holding the pistol steady. “But I can always find a way in.”
“That’s going to get you in trouble one of these days,” Crowne said.
“Don’t you have someplace to be?” she asked, with a quick nod at the door. “Armageddon won’t just make itself, you know.”
“No, no, I’m fine right here,” Crowne said. “And Armageddon is such a loaded word. If you think about it … if you really think about it, the civilized world got along without power for thousands of years.” He lowered his hands slowly, the smile crawling back on his face. “A few more months shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
“You’re out of your mind,” Haylie said, fixing her grip on the pistol as sweat began to form on her palms. “And somehow I’m the only person left to stop you.”
“Out of my mind?” Crowne asked, beginning to slowly pace towards his desk, careful step over careful step. “Let me ask you this: who in their right mind would look at this world and think that we don’t need help? More political divisions than ever before, terrorism runs rampant, and we’re destroying our own earth while looking the other way. And I’m the madman that wants to fix things? The only one not saying ‘everything’s fine, please carry on?’ I don’t think so.”
“The world will always have problems,” Haylie said. “But that doesn’t justify what you’re trying to do.”
“There will always be problems, let’s all get together and hug and talk about them,” Crowne mimicked back, the anger growing in his voice. He’d finally reached his desk and leaned forward from its edge, one hand extended near the box at the center.
“But no one is fixing anything, Crash,” Crowne continued. “It’s still spinning in circles every day. Well, no more. NO MORE. If nothing else, history will say that I’m the man that said things have to change. I’m actually doing something to point our entire earth, our entire history, in the right direction. The world needs help. The world needs this.”
“There are better ways,” Haylie said. “Better ways than killing people.”
“I’m not killing anyone,” Crowne demanded. “I couldn’t do all this technical stuff—computer code and systems exploits—I couldn’t do it if I tried. Your brother is the one who is seeing the final commands through.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Haylie said, finding a tighter grip on the pistol.
“It’s true, you can ask him yourself. But you’ll have to put that silly gun down first. You Americans and your toys.” Crowne drummed the fingers of his left hand across the desktop, next to the wooden box.
“Tell me where my brother is.”
“He’s right down the hall, in the control room with his team,” Crowne said. “They’ve grown quite fond of him. He’s a natural leader, your brother.”
He’s messing with you. Caesar would never join up with a group like this … with a madman like Crowne.
“You’re going to take me there right now,” she said. “And I’m going to stop this whole thing.”
“I’d love to, Crash,” he said. “But I’m wondering if you’re even as good as you think you are. Here with your brother, you could learn. How’d you like to stop hiding? Stop running? Start leading.”
“FOUR MINUTES TO SCRIPT ACTIVATON,” the intercom announced.
“No thanks,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“I’m guessing you didn’t have any luck getting into my laptop?” he said. “I had Caesar build out the security on that machine. My password was garbage, but he fixed it up for me, locked down some other technical bits. Must have made things difficult for you and whatever your plan is here to stop The Project?”
“You’re right. I couldn’t get into your machine,” Haylie said, reaching with one hand into the pocket of her field jacket. She produced Crowne’s phone, flashed it at him like a magician showing the missing card in a Vegas act, and tossed it his way. “But getting into this was a piece of cake.”
The device flew across the room and hit Crowne in the stomach, clattering down to the hardwood floor. He let it lie there, his eyes still fixed on Haylie.
“I sent everything—a bunch of really interesting emails—over to the police,” Haylie said. “Detailed plans for The Project, communication with the main leaders across the globe, and everything I could find about Iceland. Now they’ve got everything they need to lock you away. But you’re right, I’m probably not very good at this stuff.”
Laughing, Crowne looked down at the phone, shaking his head in pity. “I’m afraid you still don’t get it,” he said. “In just a few minutes, the police will be as powerless as you and every other person in the world. Besides, you’re a felon—a dreg of society. They’ll never believe you.”
His eyes narrowed as he focused on her, pointing directly back into the mouth of the pistol. “Final offer—join us, or I’ll make sure that your life and the lives of each and every one of your scrawny little high school friends is a living hell over the next few months. The darkness will be tough on the world, but, oh my goodness, I’ll guarantee that it will be unbearable for you.”
“Joke’s on you, wanker,” Haylie said, standing firm. “I don’t have any high school friends.”
Crowne looked over to the clock, and then down to the cigar box. “Very well, then.”
As she tried her best to remain focused, her mind filled with a growing sound, a thumping bass rhythm—whump, whump, whump—that began to shake the floor under her feet. She saw Crowne freeze as he searched for the source of the noise. Then it dawned on her.
Looks like my backup is here.
“Before your project gets started, I wanted to give you a big sendoff,” Haylie pointed to the remote on Crowne’s desk. “It’s your turn to flip on the TV. Any channel should do.”
Crowne stared back at Haylie for a cautious moment before grabbing the remote. He faced the screen over his desk, turning his back to Haylie, and pointed the remote towards the monitor.
“THREE MINUTES TO SCRIPT ACTIVATON,” rang across the intercom.
He clicked the power button.
> > > > >
The screen popped to life, showing a bright red ‘BREAKING NEWS’ banner scrolling across the bottom. A video of Crash played, showing her speaking into the camera while standing next to a police van. Crowne scowled, tapping at the volume button.
“….name is Haylie Black. I’m an American. You know me better by the name that has been in the press today: Crash.
I’m turning myself in to the authorities here in London. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, but nothing to the extent of what has been reported.”
Crowne stared deep into the screen, lost in the broadcast, as the remote control dangled from his hand.
“I’ve uncovered a plot headed up by Prime Minister Crowne to take control of the world with a handful of other leaders. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. And I have proof.
His group plans to cut all power and communications to the world as of midnight tonight. What he tested on Iceland, he’s about to unleash across the globe.
I’m not going to run. I’m working with the police to get all the information I can about Crowne’s plan. I’m done hiding.”
His face glowing bright red, Crowne quickly slid his hand to the cigar box, flipping the lid open.
“It doesn’t matter,” Crowne said calmly as he palmed the pistol, slowly, into his hand. “The Project is just a minute away. The new world is just a minute away. Just ask your brother….”
He turned, pointing the pistol into the center of the room. Crowne searched for his target as he realized what had just happened, his lungs fighting for air.
The door was open, still swinging loosely agai
nst the wall.
The girl was gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Titanhurst - London
March 11th, 11:57PM
Haylie raced down the hallway, her eyes darting between room markers as her heart pounded. Turn right at the end of the hall, then left, two doors down on the right. She kept repeating the instructions that Walter had given her as she ran. The plan was for Haylie to find Crowne’s phone, send the evidence to the police, and meet back up with the Sterling brothers at the Control Room.
Is the next one a right or a left?
“TWO MINUTES TO SCRIPT ACTIVATON,” the intercom sounded as Haylie increased her pace, fighting for oxygen. She hung a quick left and saw an open door just a few feet away. She ran in, seeing a room full of computer workstations and a team of engineers huddled over their keyboards, but her brother was nowhere to be found.
Where the hell is Caesar?
She paused in front of the engineering pit, looking up to the center screen looming high above the collection of workstations below. While the other monitors showed a combination of different data feeds, the main screen showed only a simple command line interface—bright green machine text on a dull, black background—running each line of a script, slowly scrolling the plain text as it progressed.
Haylie took a step forward, checking the code readout as it ended its initial test, now just displaying the name of the machine running the script next to a blinking cursor.
BlackBox:FinalPreCheck CBlack$
BlackBox? That’s Caesar’s MacBook. He’s running the main script from his machine … but where is he?
She darted out of the room and took a left—no, a right —as she tried her best to remember Walter’s directions to Caesar’s apartment. She flew down the staircase, her feet pounding on the marble, and turned the corner, sliding into the main floor hallway.
Room 76. Walter said Caesar’s apartment was in Room 76. Across from a painting of a raven.
Haylie ran down a dark downstairs hallway, searching the room numbers hanging next to each door.
But if the script is running from his computer, then Crowne must be right. Caesar must be with them. Or maybe they just grabbed his laptop to frame him, set him up. My God, why would he–
She slowed, panting and doubled over, as she saw the painting: a raven, perched on a pitch black tree branch, its back huddled over and hackles extended, crying out, ready to strike. Looking to her left, she saw the room marker she had been looking for: ‘Room 76.’
The door was open.
She crossed the threshold, shielding her eyes from the bright, white glow of the room. As her vision returned, her eyes fell on a man standing over a computer, typing away at the keyboard, with the familiar sound of keys clicking away.
“Caesar!” she screamed, running towards him and wrapping her arms around him.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, laughing and returning her hug with both arms. “You’re okay, right?”
“I’m fine,” Haylie said.
“I didn’t know if you’d get here in time,” Caesar said, turning back to his machine and resuming his frantic typing. “Just a few more edits to the script and we’ll be good. I’m glad you’re here … you get to see this happen yourself. It’s a big night.”
“ONE MINUTE TO SCRIPT ACTIVATON,” the intercom shouted.
Haylie angled herself between Caesar’s line of sight and the screen. “What are you doing? You know what this will mean, right?” she yelled as Caesar dodged around her.
“Stop it, Haylie,” Caesar said, pivoting his machine away from her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Just give me a minute, I’m going to finish what I started. You’re safe here with me.”
She welled with anger, grabbing for the computer as Caesar jerked it away. “I don’t want to be SAFE,” she yelled. “I’m all done sitting on the sidelines. We can stop this—pull the plug.”
Ignoring her shouting, Caesar scanned the output of the test script.
Haylie took a few steps back as her eyes turned from relief, now heavy with worry as she watched him work, testing scripts and double-checking his code.
This can’t be happening.
“You … you’re actually doing this?” Haylie stammered, pointing at Caesar’s laptop with a shaking finger. “You’re … part of this? The Project?”
“It’s not like that,” Caesar said, absorbed in his code. “You don’t understand.”
“THIRTY SECONDS TO SCRIPT ACTIVATON,” the intercom shouted.
“You sound just like Crowne!” Haylie screamed. “You need to stop this. You used to tell me its all about ‘shades of gray’—well this isn’t. This is black and white. This is wrong. You can’t do this.” She ran towards him, extending her hands in the direction of the keyboard.
“Stop!” Caesar yelled, pushing her back away from the machine. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Haylie tripped backwards, falling to the floor, only able to look up as Caesar typed, flicking his eyes up to the clock in the corner of the screen as he added the final lines of code.
“I’m going to see this through,” he said. “The script’s already been set to run, you can’t change that. I just need to make a few changes … so it’s perfect. You’ll see.”
Watching in horror, Haylie thought back to everything that she had struggled through in the past week: Cecil Rhodes and hidden riddles and Mozart. She remembered the taste of dirt in her mouth from the Bohemian Grove; her heart raced all over again replaying the sight of a wall of glass, shattered and falling into the Morgan Library’s Reading Room below her feet.
It was all for nothing.
The seconds ticked away as she drifted into a daze, getting lost in the dance of Caesar’s fingers flying across the keyboard. The chorus of mechanical taps built into something more, something organic. A stream of sound that hypnotized her and took her back in time.
It transported her back to nights in her house past bedtime, after her Mom or Dad had said goodnight. Back to nights with the lights out and the door closed, drifting off to sleep to the sound of her brother working away down the hall, typing away at the keys. Those nights were filled with dreams of possibility—What could he be building? And what could I be building? —as she fell away to her dreams.
But now, that was all gone.
“Here we go,” Caesar said, taking a step back from his laptop to admire his work.
“PROJECT INITIATION SEQUENCE COMPLETE,” the intercom sounded, echoing in the halls, the apartment, and Haylie’s mind.
She watched as Caesar stood, watching his work fire off command after command.
And then the lights went out.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Titanhurst - London
March 12th, 12:00AM
Sprinting, flying down the halls of Titanhurst, Crowne made his way towards the control room.
No one can stop this. It’s over. It’s done. And I’m certainly not going to be stopped by some bird with a laptop. I’m guessing she’s already been picked up by one of the guards.
Let’s get on with it.
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He daydreamed his victory walk into the control room, filled with engineers finally seeing the fruits of their labor. Slapping each other on the back, cheers of joy, fist bumps. And for him—the architect, the mastermind—he would be the man of the hour for sure. For sure.
But suddenly, the hallway fell dark.
Crowne stopped, standing dead in his tracks. He waited and listened, hearing shouts from rooms down the hall, but no whirling of vents or computers or … anything. He waited for someone to flip the circuit breaker back on, or for the reserve power to kick in. But there was nothing.
Just calm, dead, ringing silence.
Something’s gone wrong.
“Everyone to the Control Room!” Crowne screamed down the empty hallway. He pulled his phone from his pocket, illuminating the screen and using it to gu
ide his way past doorways and corners, his eyes fighting to make out the details every few feet. Sudden bursts of shouting grew from outside the windows, mixed with the sounds of breaking glass.
I can’t see a bloody thing.
Stumbling past stunned guards, Crowne bumped into an unknowing man from the side and spun haphazardly into the hard plaster corner. He sprinted forward, thumping step after step down the hall, pushing against each wall with his hands to aid his movement, struggling to keep his momentum.
“Get to your stations!” he yelled. “Somebody turn the lights back on!”
He took a sharp left into the Control Room. Stopping to catch his breath, he pushed off the door frame with his forearm to stand straight back up. His gaze falling down to his other hand, Crowne realized he was still clutching his pistol, pointed down at the floor.
He looked up to see the Control Room completely dark and unconnected to the rest of the world.
“Caesar!” Crowne yelled into the room. “Give me a status! How long until the fix is in place?”
As his pulse raced, he fought for gasps of breath, searching the darkness to find a small group of engineers huddled on the far side of the room. They all stared back at Crowne, past the glow of their screens, running on battery power. The monitors that adorned the walls, normally alive with data and video feeds from around the world, sat dark and dead.
“The network’s down, sir … and Caesar’s gone,” said one of the engineers, taking a few careful steps back from Crowne. “Caesar and Sean—they grabbed some team members and their laptops; they all left together.”
Crowne shook his head. “No, no—that’s not possible, we need to get back online. The Project has begun … we need our systems back online RIGHT NOW!” He stomped along the rows of desks, pistol hanging from his hand, searching in the darkness.
Crash Alive (The Haylie Black Series Book 1) Page 28
