Seven Unholy Days (24 page)

47

11:12 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

YELLOW CREEK

             
“Everything this guy does,” Tark said, “means something to him. If we overlook anything we run the risk of missing important clues.”

“We’ve established that. What’s your point?”

“And two-sixteen is the pattern, right?”

“Yes.”

“But not the whole pattern, you see. We missed something.”

I sighed and motioned for him to get on with it.

“My point is this. It didn’t begin at precisely two-sixteen. Fact is, it began at two-sixteen and thirty-seven seconds. Since he does nothing by accident, why not two-sixteen on the mark?”

“Good find, Tark. Any idea on the significance of thirty-seven?”

“Hold your horses, there’s more. Now that we’re thinking in hours, minutes, and seconds, take a look at the times between the three states blacking out on Monday.”

I picked up the printout and looked. “I’ll be damned.”

“That may well be, but you can change that with a quick prayer,” Tark said.

I started to ask what he was talking about but it clicked and I moved on. “Mississippi went down at two-sixteen, thirty-seven seconds, then Alabama at two-eighteen-twenty-one, and finally Tennessee at two-twenty-one-nine. All two minutes sixteen s
econds apart. Amazing that we’ve missed this, but other than reinforcing two-sixteen, and by extension six-six-six, what’s the meaning?”

“Let’s move back to the importance of thirty-seven seconds. What was the first computer password you finally figured out after looking all night for it?”

“White horse.”

“Now take a look at this.” He shoved the Bible across the t
able to me and pointed to the top of the sixth chapter of Revelation. “Count the words,” he said. I counted, and then looked at him and shook my head. Word number thirty-seven was the ‘white’ in ‘white horse.’

1 And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.

2
 And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.

“Good work, Tark.” I had jotted the current clue on a scrap of paper and read it out loud: “Very good with the first. Nu
mber three will lead you home. You have three tries.”

“The white horse was the first horse and also the first pas
sword.”

I looked to the whiteboard that was still filled with our earl
ier scribbling about horses. “And the black horse was the third one, number three.” I started counting words.

“I’ve already counted it. The ‘black’ in ‘black horse’ is the hundred-forty-third word in chapter six, assuming he sticks to King James.” I headed to the control room with him in tight tow.

“Abdul, let’s try a password on that steg file,” I said. His fingertips hovered at the ready. “One four three.”

We held our breath as he slowly keyed it in and pressed ENTER. “That’s it!” Abdul said. An elaborate animation ran that showed four horses, one white, one red, one black, and one a creamy color. The horses came in from the corner of the screen, met in the middle, and dissolved into what looked like a digital clock set at 00:00. Underneath the clock a scroll opened up that said PRESS ENTER TO CONTINUE. Abdul looked to me for confirmation. I nodded and he hit the key.

An unearthly voice boomed from the computer speakers, “Thank you for your participation.” Then I noticed that the digits on the clock were no longer zeros. It now showed 00:53:14 and was counting down. I glanced at my watch and did the math, as if it was even necessary.

“It’s counting down to one-sixteen our time. Eastern time, that’s two-sixteen,” I said.

“But counting down to what?” Abdul said.

“The fifth seal,” I said.

48

12:18 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

YELLOW CREEK

             
I fired another email to Larry Bond:

Larry, a couple of things to report here. First, call off the cryptos. We solved the password. Turned out to be a numerical reference to a passage in Revelation. I’m attaching a file showing the breakdown so your people have all the knowledge we have. Bottom line is another event should be expected at 2:16 PM Eastern time.

Also recommend immediate, large scale follow-up on the issue of Jana Fulton’s
possible presence in Nebraska. I was told earlier that the Bureau and other agencies are concentrating their search for AC (our code name for the suspect) in NYC and LA, presumably because comm techs determined that only those two areas had access to a fiber backbone large enough to facilitate the communications that have taken place on the other side. That info is faulty. Research shows that Omaha, Nebraska is a site of massive fiber junctions. Most of the nation’s largest telemarketing (as seen on TV infomercial crap) fulfillment centers are located near Omaha. They started locating there because of low overhead and access to the comm lines that ran through the area due to its fairly central location. After a while, it became a major industry and accelerated the growth of fiber-comms in the area even more. Omaha has essentially the comms capability of NYC and LA.

This would likely be an attractive area for any clandestine operation, plus you must consider the fact that we now have a direct link (Jana Fulton) to the locale.

Will advise on further developments here.

Matt Decker

              With less than an hour remaining on the countdown, I walked outside to limber up. A big bank of dark clouds was rolling in from the west and bringing a cool breeze with it. It was the first time since getting there on Monday I had felt anything outdoors other than suffocating heat. I wound down the little asphalt path to the waterfront and sat on the edge of a concrete pier. It was a far cry from the water view I had back home, but it still soothed my ragged nerves.

I sat very still, feeling the wind on the back of my head, watching the water in the canal move slowly downstream. Other than the generator several hundred yards away, the world was void of man-made sounds. Grasshoppers chirped. The flowing water made the soft sound that flowing water makes. No trucks whined on the highway, no contrails sliced the sky. I looked around and for the first time noticed that Mississippi was a beautiful place. Gently rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see, lush green pastures competing for space with thick forests. It was majestic, and I felt small again.

The life I had made for myself, the importance I had accorded to my own existence just five days earlier, seemed small and petty. For years, computers were my friends. Machines. Boxes of silicon and copper and steel and plastic. Money, money, and more money. People meant nothing to me beyond their ability to somehow enhance my own world. I remembered being a child and feeling very different. I closed my eyes and I could see Dad, standing proudly in his pulpit. A cantankerous old cat named Bernie who would purr in my lap and then bite me for no reason. Random bits and pieces ebbed and flowed through my mind. My life.

I laid back on the pier and looked up at the clouds roiling past, their churning, seething underbellies thick with shades of blue and almost-black, the wind growing stronger. And then the magnitude of what had happened that week began to sink in. Two million dead. Two million intricate worlds of hopes and dreams and loves and disappointments and victories and d
efeats. Gone. Why? It was the same question I asked when my father became a vegetable. A good man who loved and cared for others, yanked from this earth for no reason at all.

I was angry as hell. I pulled myself up, stretched my arms out and screamed to the sky, “What kind of sick God are you? What kind of God would take both my parents from me? What kind of God would let some sick bastard kill all these people? How can you call yourself God at all?”

12:45 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

DOUGLAS COUNTY JAIL

OMAHA, NEBRASKA

“Ms. Fulton?” The voice at the cell door startled her and she hit her head on the frame of the bunk above her as she jumped up.

“Yes?”

“I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We’re going to get you out of here and into our custody.”

A voice approached from the hall, reverberating as it drew nearer. “You’re not taking this prisoner anywhere. She’s being held on a variety of state charges.”

“Sheriff, we’re in a national state of emergency and I guara
ntee you my power supersedes yours concerning any person in this jail. We don’t have time for a turf war, and if you stand in the way of what I’m doing I’ll have my men come in here and put you in one of your own cells.”

“I’d like to see you try,” the sheriff said. He was right beside the agent now, towering a good six inches above the Federal man.

The agent yanked a radio from his belt, keyed it up, and spoke quickly. “All units inside immediately. We have a situation.”

“Don’t let them in here,” the sheriff shouted down the hall.

“Sir, that’ll be hard to pull off,” came a reply.

“Why is that, Deputy?”

“Because there are two of us and six of them and they have much bigger guns, sir.”

“Like I said, Sheriff, we don’t have time for this,” the FBI agent said. “This will be the last time I ask you politely. Open this door.”

The big man muttered but he unlocked the door, and Jana wasted no time moving through it. The agent took her by the arm and escorted her briskly down the hall and out of the cellblock into the lobby area of the jail. They were headed toward the outer door when Jana said, “Do we have time to get my things?”

The agent looked at the sheriff and the sheriff nodded to a deputy. Two minutes later Jana had her personal effects, which consisted of the late Dane Christian’s fatigue jacket, sans r
evolver.

As soon as they stepped outside Jana saw what the deputy had meant by “bigger guns.” There were four men and two women, all dressed in black tactical uniforms emblazoned with FBI in ten-inch yellow letters, and each armed with what looked like an assault rifle. They made their way to an unmarked car and the agent motioned for Jana to get in on the passenger side, front seat.

The agent left the parking lot with tires squealing, the rest of the crew in close formation behind the car in a black Suburban. “I’m glad to be out of there,” Jana said, “but I’d really like to know where we’re going.”

“No problem,” the man said with a smile as he hit the door locks. “We’re taking you back where you belong, whore.”

49

1:10 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

YELLOW CREEK

              After recovering from my encounter with insanity on the pier I came back into the control room and found Tark gone. Abdul said he ran home to check on Peggy, who was still sick.

“Matt Decker, you know something else?” Abdul said.

“Yeah?”

“I think there is more hidden in the file.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The entire file was nearly five megabytes. At first that didn’t seem unusual, because the animation is extensive and should be expected to be quite large, yes?”

“Sure,” I said. “And since it was in bitmap format, that made it even less efficient from a size perspective.”

“But it is not in bitmap. The original picture of the horse was altered from JPEG to bitmap. That is what first aroused our i
nterest. But the movie animation of the horses and the clock is a Flash file.”

He had my interest. Flash animations are very efficient with regard to file size. Very doubtful that animation would go five meg. “Go on.”

“Since I have nothing else to do except sit here and worry about my family, I have been trying to make my mind busy. So I started breaking down the encrypted file into its individual components. The original bitmap of the horse is around five-hundred-k. The Flash animation of the four horses and the clock is a little over three megabytes. That makes a total of about three-point-five megabytes. The encryption overhead itself might be another five-hundred-k at most, which means the total file size should be maybe four megabytes. Yet you can see here that the file is five megabytes. So my question is—”

“What’s that other meg,” I said. “Great eye, Abdul.”

“Thank you. Your nice words make me very proud.”

“No problem, my friend. Have you made any progress ge
tting deeper into the file?”

“Not yet, but I have only just begun.”

“Okay, let me know the moment you find anything.”

“Yes, Matt Decker.”

I walked into the outer office and found Andrea still dialing. “No luck reaching Alpine Village yet?” I said. She shook her head.

1:15:00 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

HART COMPLEX

The moment finally arrived. All around the control room, where so many had worked so hard for so long carrying out the orders of their Messiah, anticipation charged the air. All eyes were on the large monitor in the middle of the room as it counted down to the big event. No one in the room knew what the big event was; the details of this, like the premier event, had been closely guarded from virtually everyone, but the Messiah promised to reveal this one in time for them to understand what they would witness on the screen when the countdown was complete.

1:15:18—Abraham Hart faded into view. The video was re
corded in his chambers, him sitting at a desk with a large Bible laid open in front of him. The lighting was carefully orchestrated to feature him in his white suit as a shining light in the dark surroundings. He looked into the camera, smiled briefly, then looked down to the Bible.

1:15:24—He began to read: “And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held.” Hart closed the Bible and looked back into the camera.

1:15:35—“My dearest friends, thank you for your faithful service. Today thou shalt be in paradise, and after a little while, I shall join you there.”

1:15:42—The screen faded to black and then back to a large rendering of the countdown.
15 ... 14 ...

1:15:47—All around the room, confused faces looked to one another to see if anyone understood what they had just seen and heard from their master.

1:15:50—One man understood perfectly and left his desk in a run for the door. “Where are you going?” someone shouted.

1:15:55—The man frantically entered his code into the ke
ypad beside the door, and its screen scrolled the message, “Access Denied. Rest yet for a little season.”

1:15:59—“Oh Jesus Christ,” the man said as he hung his head.

1:16 CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

HART COMPLEX

The Suburban passed them and led the way to the main building of the complex. It was within twenty yards of the main building when a fireball billowed from every side of the building. Flames shot out far enough to engulf the big SUV and it left the road and overturned in a fiery heap. The explosion’s shock wave hit the windshield of the car Jana was in head on, shattering it into a thousand shards of safety glass. Jana ducked just in time for the glass bullets to go over her head but the driver’s reflexes weren’t quick enough. His hands left the wheel and grabbed his face as dozens of the projectiles hit. The car careened off the narrow asphalt road and came to a stop when Jana yanked the emergency brake handle between the seats.

She left the car and assessed the situation. No one made it out of the Suburban, which was by then fully involved in o
range flames. The driver of the car was shrieking in pain, blinded by glass in his eyes. The closest intact building was the storage shed she had hidden in earlier, fifty yards away. She sprinted to it and climbed up into the driver’s seat of the John Deere tractor inside. The key was in the ignition and moments later she was on the road with the tractor throttled wide open. She thanked her lucky stars for having been raised on a farm. The tractor was fitted with a front-end loader that was blocking her view. She stopped long enough to figure out how to lower its bucket and was again underway at full speed. She was off the grounds and back on the main road within two minutes.

With the benefit of daylight she could see that a narrow paved road intersected with the main road and paralleled the stretch of woods she had escaped through last night, or was it night before last? She turned onto the paved road, figuring that it would lead her to Hank Harrington’s house at the end of the woods. Fifteen minutes later, his house came into view. Without slowing she wheeled right and rumbled through the yard on the side of Hank’s house, pulling the lever to lower the bucket on the front of the tractor as she approached. The tractor didn’t have a speedometer, but she guessed her speed at about twenty miles per hour and braced herself for the impact as she plowed right through the wall and into his master bedroom.

Hank was still in bed when the John Deere hit, and she figured he peed the bed just like he peed his pants. He scrambled off the bed in boxer shorts, eyes the size of full moons as she shut the tractor down and made her way down and toward him. He backed up against the wall and Jana caught him square in the jaw with a roundhouse. She smelled ammonia and knew she’d been right. Hank slid down the wall and cowered his head with his hands.

“Hank, I don’t like you anymore,” Jana said. “And if you e
ver cross me again in any way whatsoever, I will kill you with my bare hands. Are you with me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Hank whimpered. “I’m afraid I can’t help you this time, though.”

“And just why is that?”

“Because my car is out of gas about a mile up the road. It made it that far back and I walked the rest of the way.”

“Hank, you’re just about worthless, you know that?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Thunder was still tied to the tree in the edge of the woods, waiting patiently. Jana unhitched him and walked him up to Hank’s house and right inside. “Hank, meet Thunder. He’s hungry. He can have cereal. Make sure he gets it.”

“I’m scared of large animals like that. Terrified!”

“Be more scared of me. When I come back, if Thunder ain’t happy, I ain’t happy. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She backed her tractor out of the wreckage of Hank’s bedroom and rumbled off, bound for Omaha once more.

              “Thank goodness I reached you,” Hank said to the 911 operator. “Listen, you won’t believe who’s headed back to Omaha.”