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  “Let’s start over,” he said, still wearing that uber-confident smile. “No more bullshit. I did a little fudging on the D pass. And you’re right, Rory Connors was no help at all. I picked you because you seem to have the right qualifications.”

  “Which are?”

  “Exec-level personnel whom I might be able to charm into doing my bidding,” he said, beaming from ear to ear.

  “I have very little to do with Director Witherstone’s scheduling.”

  “This is important, Bel. I’m not here for some half-assed reason. I don’t want to lobby the man for a budget hike or persuade him to donate to the save-the-spotted-Wookie foundation.”

  The latter reference was mystifying. In any case, he was practically admitting that he was some kind of hustler. And faking a pass was a serious matter, possibly even a fireable offense.

  She saw nothing positive coming out of continuing the meeting. She was about to get up and escort him toward the door when his smile fell away, replaced by a pleading expression.

  “Please, Bel, listen to me for a moment. I have vital information. The director needs to hear it.”

  Her take on him took an even steeper plunge. She now suspected he had serious psychological issues. Maybe he was one of those delusional misfits who made outlandish claims in order to make themselves feel special.

  She didn’t get the impression he was dangerous. Still, it might be best to humor him to avoid any unpleasant confrontations. His D pass would expire in a few minutes and then he’d be out of time and out of her hair, either leaving voluntarily or being dragged away by Security.

  “Nick, why don’t you put this vital information in a memo? Leave it with me and I’ll pass it on to the appropriate department.”

  As she spoke she unrolled her thinpad until it stiffened. She pressed a palm against its back surface for biometric authorization but the pad was old and glitchy. She had to palm it three times before it unlocked.

  The pad wasn’t the latest technology, not even close. She would have loved to be using modern gear such as an implanted attagirl or a personal mech with synthetic bio enhancements. Even a data mitten would have been a step up the tech ladder. But those devices ran counter to E-Tech’s espoused goal of reining in scientific development and regulating unchecked technological growth.

  At least when it came to E-Tech’s top executives and administrators, such tech was discouraged if not outright forbidden. Less stringent limitations extended to the building’s staffers, who nonetheless were mandated to use primitive non-quantum computers with keyboards when at work. It wouldn’t look right in the public sphere if E-Tech officials and their staff, dedicated to such a noble cause, were employing state-of-the-art technology.

  Nick shook his head. “Memos won’t do in this situation. This information is incredibly sensitive. For reasons I’m not free to divulge, it must go straight to the director.”

  “And how did you come by this information?” She was barely paying attention to him now as she scanned this morning’s PDB, the private daily briefing limited to associate directors or higher.

  “One of my confidential informants gave it to me last night.”

  Bel hid her skepticism. E-Tech personnel were certainly known to use informants and CIs were the province of the Intelligence department. But it seemed unlikely that a programmer, a relatively low level position, would be gathering intel in the field.

  In fact, Nick’s entire spiel was ludicrous. She figured he was lying about having CIs. Maybe it was another aspect of a pathological and possibly delusional personality. Perhaps he had a substance-abuse problem.

  She took another sip of coffee while highlighting key sections of the PDB for later review. “Even if your information is as important as you say, it would first need to go through Mr Dominguez’s office.”

  “Not a good idea. First of all, it would have to pass through too many hands before it even reached my boss. That’s a prescription for unwanted disclosure.”

  “Uh huh. Well, perhaps in that case you should try voicing your concerns directly to someone in Security.”

  “I don’t like to speak out of turn but Security is dysfunctional. They’re not keeping their eye on the ball in terms of their fundamental responsibility of safeguarding E-Tech personnel.” He waved his lanyard at her. “Visitor’s passes in this day and age? Really? I understand our goal is to limit technology, but Security shouldn’t be relying on methods that were low-tech a century ago. If ever there was an E-Tech department that could benefit from a complete overhaul, they’re it.”

  What arrogance, Bel thought, not even bothering to respond to his outrageous statements. Besides, an item on the PDB had caught her eye, concerning an attempted coup in Oslo. Norway was one of the many midsized nations fully supportive of E-Tech’s goals. She sent a note to Maria Jose to keep abreast of the breaking story and start generating bullet points for E-Tech’s formal response.

  Nick must have realized that she was now paying scant attention to him. He hopped off the armrest.

  “Bel, listen, thanks for your time. Really, I do appreciate it.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

  She offered a sympathetic smile and walked Nick out into the staff office. She’d certainly have to make some calls about him, let his supervisors in Intelligence know about his behavior and inform Security he was faking passes.

  Still, she didn’t want to see him get fired. Tier One programmers were exceedingly rare and valuable. E-Tech needed more of them, not less. Besides, there were far too many lost souls in the world. Better to try salvaging a person than dumping them out with the trash.

  Perhaps her complaints about him could be phrased in terms of a psych issue. E-Tech had good counseling programs for employees suffering from a range of maladies, from pharma abuse to chronic pessimism disease and everything in between. Maybe with some therapy and vacation time, Nick could return to his job and continue with the organization as a productive worker.

  As Bel guided him past Maria Jose’s desk, the emergency alarm blared. Every office computer automatically switched to the Security channel.

  “Oh, dear God in heaven,” Maria Jose whispered. “I think we’re being attacked.”

  Five

  Bel stood with Nick, riveted to Maria Jose’s laptop. The pulsating image of a red alert klaxon filled the screen, blinking in sync with sirens wailing here and throughout the building. What scant information was available appeared as a repeating crawl across the bottom.

  TWO INDIVIDUALS HAVE DISCHARGED WEAPONS IN THE MAIN LOBBY. SECURITY IS DEALING WITH THE INCIDENT. THE BUILDING IS IN LOCKDOWN. ALL PERSONNEL MUST REMAIN AT THEIR STATIONS.

  Bel tabbed an icon on her pad, muting the sirens in her office module. They could still be heard from other parts of the floor. Nick leaned over Maria Jose’s shoulder. “Switch to Security Channel One. We need to see the surveillance cameras.”

  Maria Jose shook her head. “I don’t think I can access any of the Security channels from–”

  She got no further. Nick shoved her wheeled chair off to the side and hunched over her computer. His fingers moved with blinding speed across the keyboard, in seconds accessing a root directory. More rapid-fire typing brought up SEC 1.

  The screen was segmented to show the views from a dozen key surveillance cams. Nick enlarged the one displaying a wide-angled overhead view of the lobby. Dozens of people were running in all directions. Although there was no audio, the level of pandemonium was obvious.

  Bel’s heart raced. Three guards, two males and a female, lay face down on the floor. Nick zoomed the camera down on one of the men. In the middle of his back, his uniform betrayed a smoldering hole.

  “Cohe wand,” Nick said. “The attacker is likely a Paratwa assassin.”

  The rest of Bel’s staff had left their desks and gathered around her computer. Several of the assistants let out frightened gasps.

  “Must be a Pa, not a Ma,” Nick mumbled, scanning through addi
tional cameras scattered throughout the building, searching for other signs of trouble.

  “Pa and Ma?” Bel asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Pinpoint assassination, not mass annihilation. If it was the latter, the Paratwa would have tried taking out the entire headquarters with a bomb or missile, or injecting lethal poison into the air handlers – something of that sort.”

  Bel’s youngest assistant, Renee, shook her head in confusion. “But why assassinate guards?”

  Nick threw a sharp glance at Bel. She grasped his meaning.

  “The guards weren’t the target,” she whispered. More than likely, the target or targets were high-ranking officials, E-Tech directors like herself.

  Nick continued rapidly scanning through the hundreds of surveillance cams throughout the building. Everywhere, people were moving fast, some panicked, others milling about in confusion. But there didn’t appear to be additional incidents or fatalities other than the three lobby guards. Updated info crawled across the screen.

  SECURITY CONFIRMS THE TWO ATTACKERS HAVE LEFT THE BUILDING. LOCKDOWN STATUS CONTINUES. ALL PERSONNEL MUST REMAIN AT THEIR STATIONS.

  “Thank God,” a male staffer whispered. “It’s over.”

  Nick shook his head. “What happened in the lobby was a diversion. That Paratwa acted as a decoy to send Security people scrambling to the wrong location. The main event’s yet to come. The real assassin is elsewhere.”

  Renee let out a frightened squeal and popped a lime-green cracker in her mouth. Bel forbade the ingestion of baws at work. But considering the circumstances, she wasn’t going to stop a staffer from distracting herself by chewing on subliminal ads.

  Nick switched SEC 1 to display the cameras covering the elevators. Most of the compartments were empty. The handful that were occupied showed small groups of nervous passengers. Many were probably wondering why the elevators had stopped, trapping them between floors.

  “Elevators automatically go into lockdown,” Bel said. “Standard Security protocol.”

  “Yeah, I know, but there’s one I can’t access. What’s today’s entry code for the Exec?”

  Bel hesitated. She wasn’t supposed to reveal the code.

  “What is it? Quickly!”

  “Delorean Eighty-Five.”

  Nick typed in the words, followed by an additional jumble of letters and numerals that came too fast for Bel to make sense of. An overhead view from inside a plush elevator filled the screen. The walls were covered in weep fabric that cycled through a pleasing array of greens and blues. Exec was an express elevator reserved for the director, associate directors and the Board of Regents. It normally accessed only three floors: the lobby and the executive levels, fifty-six and fifty-seven.

  The compartment had stopped between floors thirty-eight and thirty-nine. There were two occupants, men in dark gray business suits. One was tall and skinny with a side ponytail, his coal-black hair wrenched to the left and attached to a gold ringlet hanging from his earlobe. His companion was shorter and had the shaved head and unnaturally pale skin of an albino dye job. The pair stood motionless, arms hanging at their sides. Bel didn’t recognize them but the building housed thousands of employees. Most were strangers to her.

  Nick zoomed in. She noted that both men were tapping the index and middle fingers of their left hands against their pants legs, as if impatient for the lockdown to end.

  He panned the camera to the elevator’s small control panel. An odd device with the shape and patterns of one of those old Rubik’s cubes appeared to be magnetically attached. The small squares of the pocket-sized device were cycling through what appeared to be a random array of colors.

  “What is that thing?” a staffer whispered.

  “QKI,” Nick said. “Quantum keystone interloper, a powerful override device. He used it to access the elevator. And he’s now using it to bypass the lockdown.”

  “I didn’t think that was possible,” Bel said.

  “Pretty much anything’s possible for a Paratwa assassin with access to the most advanced technologies.”

  Renee let out another squeal. “An assassin? It’s coming up here?”

  “Nothing much down on fifty-six but conference rooms and exec support services. So yeah, I’d say this floor is his target.”

  Renee burst into tears. Several of the others, both female and male, looked ready to join in. Bel knew that despite the wonderful qualities and dedication of her staff, all hailed from comfortable upper-class backgrounds. As far as she’d been able to ascertain, none of them had ever set foot outside the borders of secured cities to witness firsthand life’s grittier and more dangerous aspects. Deadly threats were something they only read about or viewed online via their newsphere and entertainment platforms, or experienced as safe adventures via full-immersion VR.

  Nick hopped up onto a chair next to Bel and Renee so that he towered over them. “All right, everybody, eyes on me. Listen up. We have a bit of time to prepare. The assassin who hit the lobby must have mistimed the attack. The elevator went into lockdown a few seconds earlier than planned, before it could reach our floor.”

  “How long?” Bel asked, trying to quell her anxiety and keep her voice from shaking.

  “A minute or two at the most. The QKI will be scanning trillions of codes for the sequence to bypass the lockdown and that takes a bit of time. But as soon as it hits paydirt, the elevator will start up again.”

  “I don’t want to die,” Renee sobbed. Her face suddenly brightened. “At least not without enjoying the opportunity to buy the new 2096 Swiftlane Cruiser, the very latest in automated vehicular–”

  Nick smacked Renee across the face. Other staffers gasped, shocked by Nick’s act. But Bel realized the slap had served its purpose, neutralizing the recently ingested blast ad and forcing the young woman’s attention back where it belonged, in the frightening here and now.

  “You won’t die,” Nick assured her. “Not if you listen to what I’m telling you and do exactly as I say.”

  He leaned down and gently squeezed her shoulders to take the sting out of his actions. Bel marveled at how composed he was, one of those rare individuals who grew calmer the more desperate the situation became. Even though she’d faced a few dire threats in the past, her chest was pounding madly. She figured she was doing only a bit better than her staffers from freaking out completely.

  “I doubt if the assassin is here for any of you,” Nick said. “It’s a Shonto Prong, a breed specializing in taking out high-value targets.”

  He threw another glance at Bel. Fear lanced through her as she realized the meaning of his look. An E-Tech associate director certainly met such criteria.

  “A Paratwa in assault mode is hyper-offensive. It operates at an elevated state of awareness, primarily keying off movement and sound. Anyone or anything in motion or making a lot of noise will be presumed to be an enemy. It will instantly attack them.”

  Paranoid thoughts ripped through Bel’s mind. How could he know all these things about binaries, even the name of the breed? Could Nick be involved somehow? Was he a traitor, secretly working for the Paratwa, his presence here this morning part of some complex plan?

  But even as the notions churned through her, common sense dictated they had no basis. She wasn’t sure why but she trusted this strange little man.

  “When it gets here,” Nick continued, “all of you need to be in nonthreatening positions. That means face down on the floor, arms outstretched, palms open. Make as little noise as possible and avoid looking at the tways. Above all, no swift movements.”

  He focused on Renee who had started crying again. “Listen, you’re going to be OK. Just do as I tell you. Got it?”

  She managed to wag her head and bring her tears under control.

  “Remember, keep still and no sounds. Even if you hear screams, gunfire or explosions from other parts of the floor, do not react. Do as I say and you will survive this.”

  Nick whipped his attention to Bel.


  “The Shonto Prong is almost certainly on a tight schedule. It will have gauged exactly how long it can stay up here before the nearest authorities arrive, at least those authorities it views as a potential threat.”

  Bel nodded. She figured that local cops were already onsite. But they would be of no help. In Philadelphia, as in most large municipalities, the labor agreement between the police union and city hall prohibited cops from attempting to fight Paratwa assassins. The cops didn’t want to die en masse in no-win situations, and municipalities didn’t want to lose a significant chunk of their police force in a single battle. They would set up a perimeter and handle crowd control but little else.

  “Your best shot is hiding,” Nick said. “Unless you’re the primary target, it won’t spend excess minutes searching for you.”

  For Bel, five words from his speech resonated. Unless you’re the primary target. If she was, any actions she took likely wouldn’t make the slightest difference.

  “The elevator’s moving,” Maria Jose hissed.

  “All right, everybody down,” Nick ordered.

  He grabbed Bel’s hand and practically dragged her toward her offices, pausing in the doorway to make sure the staff had followed his directions. Satisfied, he yanked Bel inside with him and slammed the door behind them.

  “OK, where are you going to hide?”

  The question caught her by surprise. From the moment the crisis began, Nick had been barking orders, on top of the situation. And now he was asking her for advice?

  “You know your suite better than anyone. Didn’t you ever play hide and seek as a kid?”

  She nodded, focused her thoughts. “There’s a small storage closet in the bathroom. The door is flush, has invisible hinges. Unless you know it’s there, you can’t tell from outside. I believe I can just squeeze in.”

  “Go for it.”

  She raced into the spacious bathroom, palmed a section of wall and slid it back. The closet was half-filled with clean towels. Nick pulled out the pile, stacked them beside the sink.

  Bel had to squat down and bring her knees up against her chest. Her dress rode up, providing Nick with an unflattering view. Making matters even more embarrassing, today she’d elected to wear a pair of fashionable Upeeps, the latest style in diaphanous panties. The closet was such a tight fit that she couldn’t do anything about it. She was mildly surprised that at a time like this she was worried about flashing him.