Callsign: King - Book 3 - Blackout (A Jack Sigler - Chess Team Novella)

by Ellis, Sean; Robinson, Jeremy

  Fiona however understood. Alexander had been there; one thousand seven hundred-odd years ago, the immortal Hercules had witness these events, had actively participated in them. Fiona also understood all too well the power that could have been unleashed with something seemingly as commonplace as a chanted mantra.

  “A black hole is not simply super-condensed matter. If that were true, there would be little to fear from them. A black hole with the mass of a star would have the same gravity as the star itself—zero net change in the regional gravity equation. But at their core, black holes, and particularly micro black holes, consist of something called ‘strange matter.’ Strange matter appears to contravene the laws of physics governing the conservation of energy and matter. When strange matter interacts with normal matter—which is exactly what happens beyond the event horizon of a micro black hole—a change in mass occurs without the corresponding change in energy described by Einstein’s famous equation.”

  Alexander must have sensed Fiona’s confusion because he immediately left off the technical explanation. “When a black hole adds a ton of matter, its mass might increase by a thousand tons…or by nothing at all…depending on the specific frequency of the strange matter at that exact moment.

  “My hypothesis is that the monks’ chant found the specific acoustic frequency that cancelled out, and possibly even reversed, the strange matter reaction.”

  Realization dawned and the words were out before Fiona could stop herself. “They sang it to sleep.”

  A faint smile crossed Alexander’s rough visage and he nodded. “That’s exactly what they did.”

  “You’re serious about this,” Julia said. She glanced at Sara and then at Fiona. “And you believe him?”

  “I believe what happened in there,” Sara shot back. “So unless you’ve got a better answer…”

  “What did happen?” Fiona asked.

  “The black hole was dormant, but it had not destabilized. Instead, it simply lay there on the ground, smaller than even a mote of dust. The people of the region converted to Buddhism, and consecrated the ground where the struggle with the black hole had occurred. Hundreds of years later, they fashioned two enormous statues of the Buddha, the bodies carved from the sandstone cliffs and the features molded of a stucco. The black hole itself was incorporated into the stucco, perhaps intentionally, as a way to prevent it from accidentally being reawakened.”

  Julia sat up straight, realization finally dawning. “Until the Taliban came along and blew them up.”

  Alexander nodded. “It’s a wonder that the explosions didn’t reactivate the black hole.”

  “So what caused it to happen tonight?” Even as Fiona asked it, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. “You knew it was going to happen. That’s why you were here. That sound you were playing…that was a recording of monks chanting, wasn’t it?”

  Alexander nodded guiltily. “I arranged for the pieces of the Buddhas to be brought out of Afghanistan in hopes that I could identify and isolate the black hole. I thought that I had taken sufficient precautions—the recorded mantra, as you have so astutely deduced—but it seems I miscalculated.”

  Then a conspiratorial smile settled on his lips. “However, there may be—”

  A sudden cry from the courtyard interrupted him. His head swiveled to locate the source, and Fiona looked as well.

  A stampede was in progress. A group of museum patrons who had been huddled in a corner of the courtyard formed by the meeting of the Denon and Sully wings, was now moving as a panicked mass toward them. Behind them, Fiona saw what had prompted the terrified exodus.

  An enormous dark spot, easily ten feet high, had appeared on the exterior wall of the palace. Fiona knew that it was no mere shadow because there was no light source outside to create such a powerful contrast; indeed, the dark spot was only visible because, unlike the rest of the museum, it reflected not even a hint of moonlight. It was absolutely black, the complete absence of light. It was exactly what she imagined the black hole must look like.

  And it was moving.

  Fiona watched in stunned silence as the dark spot detached from the wall and began moving into the courtyard. She saw that it was not simply an amorphous void; there was the suggestion of a central shape, surrounded by radiating tendrils of darkness, which writhed like snakes in every direction. Her first thought was that it resembled an octopus or jellyfish. The tentacles wiggled out ahead of it, seeming to grasp the ground and pull it forward into the courtyard. As it advanced, Fiona saw that the part of the museum wall from which it had issued was gone. It hadn’t broken apart, but simply erased from existence as if it had evaporated into smoke.

  Alexander jumped to his feet and scooped Fiona up with one massive arm. “Run!”

  His shout galvanized Sara and Julia into action, and they followed as he darted out of the path of the onrushing crowd.

  The black shape continued forward, no faster than a jogging pace but relentless as a heat-seeking missile. Beyond the edge of the perimeter of the courtyard, the crowd began to disperse in all directions but the dark thing did not alter course to pursue any of them.

  Alexander halted as soon as they were clear of the mob, and he turned to observe the shape’s journey. From his embrace, Fiona saw that several other evacuees had stopped as well, their curiosity evidently overcoming the instinct to flee. A few, like bystanders viewing the aftermath of a traffic accident, actually began moving closer to the thing.

  “Stay back!” Alexander warned.

  His command went unheeded. One of the group, a boy perhaps only a couple years older than Fiona, with long stringy blond hair and numerous facial piercings, wearing low hanging plaid shorts and a Tony Hawk T-shirt, fell in behind the shape. He moved slowly, poised to run at the first sign of trouble, but when it became evident that the shape was oblivious to his presence, he quickened his step, matching its pace and peering into the lightless mass for some clue about its nature.

  A murmur of voices issued from the crowd, some echoing Alexander’s plea for caution, others—mostly from the teenager’s peer group—daring him to get closer. The boy raised a hand, testing the air, and sensing no peril, stepped around the moving shape and placed himself in its path.

  Fiona gasped as the shape engulfed the curious boy. For just a moment it paused as if the encounter had forced it to make a decision, but the tendrils resumed reaching out, pulling the shadowy mass forward. As it moved, the boy was revealed, standing motionless exactly as he had a few seconds before. Fiona waited for his reaction, hoping to see him give some indication that the black mass was harmless, half-expecting him to crumple lifelessly to the ground…but he did not move. He did not even seem to breathe.

  The dark shape cleared the courtyard and then abruptly shifted left, angling toward the open space separating the end of the Denon wing from the Jardin des Tuileries, and to all appearances, completely ignoring the shocked spectators.

  Fiona felt Alexander’s hold on her loosen, and after setting her down, he moved slowly toward where the impulsive teenager still stood statue still. Her own curiosity aroused, Fiona caught up to Alexander, her gaze now riveted on the motionless figure. She knew that her desire to discover the youth’s fate was little different from the urge that had prompted the young man to approach the nightmarish entity, but she had to know.

  Other museum patrons were closing on the spot, compelled by the same craving for answers and she heard one of them gasp. “My God. He’s been turned to stone.”

  Fiona saw it too. The boy had been transformed utterly. His appearance was unchanged; the color and texture of his skin, hair and clothes were as distinct and individual as they had been in life. But where once there had been a living organism of flesh and blood and bone, wrapped in clothes woven of cotton and synthetic fibers, there was now only a lifeless mannequin made of what looked like polished stone.

  Fiona shuddered and shrank into Alexander’s embrace. “That’s…horrible,” she said, choking back a sob
. “A black hole can do that?”

  For some reason, Alexander’s answer and the tone in which it was delivered was even more shocking to her than the curious youth’s fate. In a voice that verged on pure trepidation, the immortal Hercules answered simply: “I don’t know.”

  31.

  King did not bother with the doorknob, much less signal his presence with a knock. Instead, he delivered a decisive kick that slammed the flimsy door aside. Then he propelled Brown through the opening, into the control room, following close behind with the Uzi leveled. Chesler remained in the hallway, guarding the approach, though his vigilance was probably unnecessary. None of the Alpha Dog mercenaries had given the slightest indication that their employer’s fate mattered one bit; if Chesler’s defection was any indication, they all seemed to sense that working for Brainstorm was a dead end.

  Pradesh started at the intrusion, jolting upright in his chair, but otherwise made no move as King aimed the gun at him. The Indian hacker’s initial surprise quickly passed, his expression giving way to something that looked like satisfaction. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” he said with a chuckle.

  King ignored the attempt at banter. “Brainstorm’s finished,” he declared. “Shut it down.”

  Pradesh glanced at Brown, who had recovered from King’s shove and was now leaning against a bulkhead, glowering but saying nothing. Pradesh then looked back at King, smiling in a mockery of innocence. “Shut what down?” He gestured to the bank of monitor screens, all of which were dark. “There’s been some kind of blackout. I’m not connected to anything at the moment.”

  “You know goddamn well what I’m talking about. The quantum computers. You built them, you control them. Now turn them off.”

  Pradesh folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Why on Earth would I want to do that?”

  King stabbed the Uzi’s barrel at him menacingly. “A lot of reasons come to mind. Saving your lousy ass is probably first on the list.”

  Pradesh seemed unfazed, amused even. “You really have no idea what’s going on.”

  The hacker’s demeanor bothered King. This wasn’t false bravado or posturing; Pradesh did not appear to be the least bit troubled by the threat of violence. King chose his next move carefully. “I know that Brown—or rather Brown pretending to be Brainstorm—hired you to attack the global power network.” He glanced at the gambler, who remained defiant, giving no hint as to whether King’s supposition was on the mark. “You built that quantum computer to control a virus that could break down any security firewalls and adapt to any defensive measures. Impressive stuff. I’m sure you’re worth every penny he paid you, but I don’t think that check is going to clear.”

  “Money.” Pradesh scoffed. He glanced at Brown again, making no effort to hide his contempt. “Everybody in this world thinks that you can buy anything. That if you dangle enough money in front of someone, they’ll be your faithful dog.

  “You are correct in one respect. That’s exactly what Mr. Brown, or rather his somewhat comical alter-ego Brainstorm, hired me to do.” He then leaned forward conspiratorially. “But that’s not what I did.”

  King saw a look of surprise flash across Brown’s countenance, and barely managed to hide a similar reaction. He had misjudged Pradesh. Fortunately, the hacker appeared eager to boast about his accomplishments. King lowered the Uzi a notch and tried a different tack. “I thought that business about a quantum computer sounded like a lot of sci-fi horseshit. You conned, him right?”

  Pradesh’s visage went dark with barely restrained rage. “I did no such thing,” he said, enunciating each word to underscore his ire.

  King feigned a skeptical shrug to hide his satisfaction at how quickly Pradesh had taken the bait.

  “The quantum computer is a masterpiece, and more valuable than Brainstorm—” The hacker again made no effort to disguise his contempt, “—could possibly have realized. I could have done what he wanted in my sleep, but he was too ignorant to realize that. Instead, he gave me what I wanted; the money and resources to build the quantum computer. He never even suspected.”

  “You’re lying,” Brown said, his own anger rising. “The hardware was assembled at Jovian Technologies.”

  “Based on my specifications.”

  “I had your work checked independently. Every design, every line of code was reviewed. You did exactly what I hired you to do.”

  Pradesh dismissed him with a wave. “Your so-called experts had no idea what I was doing. They saw only what I allowed them to see.”

  King suddenly understood that, whatever Brown’s scheme had been—and he was now convinced that his earlier supposition about Brown’s plan to sabotage the power grid was correct—it had nothing at all to do with the phenomena he had earlier witnessed. The real threat was evidently something much worse.

  “Talk is cheap,” he interjected, maintaining his façade of disinterest. “What did you do, write a program to steal credit card numbers or something?”

  Pradesh’s seemed to choke on his rage, but then with an effort, mastered himself. “I’ll tell you what I did,” he said in a low voice. “You know who I am, right? What they call me?”

  King cocked his head sideways. “Shiva, right?”

  “Do you recall what Robert Oppenheimer said after the first atomic bomb test? ‘I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’ He was quoting from Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita, in reference to the Hindu deity—Shiva, the destroyer.” Pradesh snorted derisively. “Oppenheimer was arrogant. What did he do? Create a weapon that could destroy a city?”

  King blinked at him. In drawing Pradesh out, he had unleashed the hacker’s inner madman. “But you can do better, right?”

  “I have done better. I have let loose the true destroyer of worlds.”

  “Do tell?”

  “A primordial black hole,” Pradesh said, almost reverently. “Dormant for centuries, hidden in a statue of the Buddha. I discovered how to awaken it.”

  King’s mind was racing to process what the Indian was saying. As much as he wanted to disbelieve, he knew better. The earthquake had followed Brown’s activation of the quantum phone by only a few minutes. That could not be a coincidence. As crazy as it sounded, Pradesh’s claim just might be true, yet he couldn’t let the hacker know that he believed every word. He turned to Brown and none-too-discreetly wiggled a finger beside his temple and mouthed the word: “Cuckoo.”

  “That’s why I needed a quantum computer,” Pradesh continued. “Something that functions on the same principles as the black hole itself. And it worked. The QC isolated the frequency that would activate the dormant black hole. But that’s only part of it. You see, the QC and the black hole are now linked together—mind and body, as it were. I didn’t just wake the destroyer up, I gave it a brain.”

  “You did all this yourself? Found a…what did you call it? A primordial black hole just laying around, and figured out how to turn it on? You’re a hacker.” He filled the word with disgust, as if describing something he might scrape off the sole of his shoe. “What do you know about black holes?”

  “I had some help. There are others who share my vision.”

  “And what exactly is your vision? What is it that you want? You said you don’t care about money? So what then?”

  “You really haven’t heard a thing I’ve said. I want to destroy. Everything.”

  King’s amazement at the boast momentarily overcame his ability to play act the skeptic. “For God’s sake, why?”

  “Because I can.” Pradesh’s simple reply revealed just how truly unhinged he had become. Then he continued in the same reverential tone. “Do you know what happens when you enter a black hole? You experience infinity. It is like looking into…no, it’s like being one with the mind of God.”

  King pondered what to do next. Pradesh had made no effort to deceive him or withhold information and he knew that with just a little more prompting, the man would volunteer the names of other members his
suicide/doomsday cult, but if the hacker’s claims were true, that knowledge would be of little benefit. He was running out of time. “Fine,” he declared, lowering the Uzi and taking out one of the improvised claymores he’d scavenged from the dead Russian commando. “I’ll just blow up your quantum computer.”

  Pradesh offered a coy smile. “The computer isn’t here. It doesn’t have a fixed location. That’s the beauty of it.”

  King immediately grasped the significance of the answer and recalled what he had overheard in Brown’s office. The phones! He switched the IED to his left hand and dug out the quantum device. “And what happens if I smash this?”

  A faint glimmer of anxiety rippled through Pradesh’s mask of confidence, and King pressed the point. “No, that wouldn’t be enough would it? I’d have to take out all of them, all ten.”

  Pradesh’s increasing discomfort verified King’s supposition. He started for the door, but at that instant, a scream—not one, but dozens of terrified cries—echoed through the corridor. Chesler ducked his head into the room, his eyes wide with apprehension. “Hey, man. I think something bad is happening up there.”

  Amid the sudden tumult, King heard laughter.

  “Too late,” Pradesh chortled. “It’s already here.”

  32.

  Suvorov slipped over the railing and dropped into a ready stance on the riverboat’s forward deck. Two more Spetsnaz commandos—all that remained of his original team—clambered over right behind him, their weapons at the ready. The boat was now eerily quiet; although the spacious deck at the aft end was crowded with passengers, the noise of the party that had masked the team’s previous entry was gone. Still, no one seemed to notice their arrival.

  He had followed King’s journey back to the riverboat from a distance. At first, this was due to his inability to take any action, stranded as he was in a boat with a shattered outboard. He had managed to contact the members of the team in the lead boat—thank goodness they had bought waterproof two-way radios—and arranged for them to come and get him. One of the men from the trailing boat had also radioed for help, his need slightly more urgent since he had a broken arm and treading water with only one good hand was rapidly wearing him out. That man’s teammate had not made contact, and Suvorov feared the worst.