A Dragon at the Gate (The New Aeneid Cycle Book 3) (18 page)

“Ten to twenty minutes before redundant system checks will detect the intrusion. I am applying maximum effort to fool the system, but this state is not sustainable. I will warn you when the alarm system re-engagement is imminent.”

The readout blinked back to
30
.

Michael let out a held breath and turned back to Jade. “Okay, wait here and watch the door. I’ll see what I can—”

“Not until I clear the rest of this place.” Jade jerked a thumb toward a hall leading out of the living room. “Someone might be back there. Don’t waste time on a losing argument, ace.”

He gritted his teeth with a glance at the alarm. “Make it quick.”

“Oh, I’ll be gentle.”

Jade darted from the entryway step with a spring that belied the silence of her landing, and then dashed around a leather couch. The dark red throw rug it sat on muffled the sounds of her boots before she disappeared down the hall.

Michael followed, scanning every inch of the living room for something useful. He saw little beyond Fagles’s apparent affinity for snake-skin leather. There was a wet bar, a video screen spread atop a real wood-burning fireplace, a tastefully appointed bookshelf whose contents appeared more decorative than enjoyed, and chairs for entertaining. The place was spotless, as if a cleaning service had just left. Michael wondered at the lack of personal touches.

Michael also wondered if the screen would allow access to Fagles’s computer system
,
but his gut told them that anything worth finding wouldn’t be so prominent. Jade had yet to return from the hallway.

He went to the bookcase. He’d seen movies with hidden panels in bookcases. Did people really do that? Test-pulls on a few books yielded nothing.

“It’s clear.” Michael jumped at the voice and spun to see Jade coming out of the hallway. “Found something, though. Go have a look: bedroom wall on the left. I’ll be there in a sec.”

He hurried down the hall.

Jade continued on toward another doorway leading to what looked to be a darkened kitchen and called out afterward, “Guy’s got the tightest espresso maker in the world, here!”

Fagles’s bedroom décor matched his living room, only with a smaller screen, no fireplace, and more bookshelves. Three neckties of varied colors and patterns lay discarded on the made bedspread. Windows made up one entire wall, their view shielded with retractable shades.

Michael checked the left wall: a carved wooden door stood closed, with a palm scanner beside it. Bingo.

But the scanner looked different from the keypad entry to Fagles’s front door. Would his AoA chip work on it?
One way to find out.

He pushed his palm to the scanner and waited.

The scanner glowed red. The only hum came not from his chip but the buzz that denied him access.

And Holes is tied up, if he can even help with this sort of thing.
“Well, shit,” he said.

“Magic hands aren’t perfect, mm?”

He turned to find Jade behind him, brandishing a huge kitchen knife. Her other hand clutched a meat tenderizer mallet. Michael stepped back on reflex.

Jade rolled her eyes. “Oh, relax. And stand back.”

Michael did as she asked, mystified. She couldn’t be planning to pound through the door . . . ? Instead, she wedged the knife blade between the door and the metal frame, and then hammered it in deeper with the mallet. Both metal and wood creaked as the knife pushed the door tighter into the frame.

Apparently satisfied, Jade let the mallet drop to the floor. “What sort of implant you got in there, anyway?”

“In my hand? I, uh, don’t remember.”

In the midst of pulling up one sleeve to uncover her right wrist, Jade actually snorted. “Uh huh.” She made a few motions against that wrist with the thumb of her left hand, as if adjusting something. “You’re lucky I’m not just an ass-kicking pretty face. Still got that jimmy? Jam it in the door, as close to the top of the frame as you can, and pry it until the knife falls loose, then hold it there.”

Michael pulled out the short pry bar he’d brought just in case and found a spot that left him pushing the bar with both hands above his head. The knife clattered to the floor by his foot.

“Now,” she said, “this only
might
work. Think happy thoughts, and don’t let go of that bar.” She put her hand—the one with the taser, he recalled—against the scanner. Electricity flared. The lights on the scanner winked out, and Michael felt a solid
thunk
against the top of the door through the pry bar.

Jade withdrew her hand, fingers wriggling. “Most locks like this use power to keep the lock engaged. Unlock it and it stops resisting a spring that pulls the locking bolt out of the door. Keeps you from getting trapped inside if the mechanism shorts out. But if the lock is actually tampered with via, oh, say, a power surge, deadlock bolts fall down into shafts in the top of the door to secure it against us nasty intruders.”

She pointed to the pry bar at the top of the door. “Push that edge in too far, though, and you might keep the deadlocks from falling into their shafts. Let’s hope you did that.” She took hold of the door knob with both hands. “But that pressure you’re putting on the door also keeps the spring bolt down here from pulling of its slot to unlock the door. So you’re going to hold the top where it is, and I’m going to
very
carefully pull this part in. If we’re good, and if we’re lucky, my part pops out, yours
stays
out, and we get the door open. Got it?”

“Pray for luck? Got it.”

“Right. And use those big muscle-things of yours. Go!”

Michael clenched the pry bar until it bit into his hands, trying to keep the door’s top held in place while Jade pulled the knob—tentatively—toward them. Haunted by the image of pushing so hard he’d break the pry bar out of the frame and ruin her whole effort, he struggled to find a balance between too much force and too little.

From below came a tiny scrape followed by a click. Jade gave a cry of victory and pushed the door inward so fast Michael had to catch himself on the frame to keep from falling into the room.

“Hah!” Jade cried. “Teamwork!” Before Michael could stop her, Jade pulled her Lantek and pushed into the room. She went down on one knee just inside the doorway, weapon out in front of her, scoping the room. Michael took cover behind the door frame and pushed the door open wider.

They needn’t have worried. The room—Fagles’s private office, judging by the ficus-flanked computer desk—was deserted. Except,
was
that a computer desk? A dark green towel covered what could be a workstation, but Michael couldn’t be sure. A credenza along the wall facing the desk caught his eye. More books, trinkets that might be trophies, and a few bottles of brandy populated the credenza’s surface. A box of 7.65mm auto-pistol ammunition sat in one corner, beside an empty glass. An oil painting of what looked like Paris hung on the wall above.

Beside him, Jade stood up, and Michael touched her shoulder as she did. “Thanks. Now go keep watch at the front door. Fagles might come back. Please.”

Her head whipped around at the touch, with a scowl on her face that faded swiftly. “Uh huh. Fagles.” She did as he asked, calling out as she trotted down the hallway, “Remember, we’re on the clock!”

Michael caught himself lingering on the sight of her leaving, closed the door as much as he could, and then approached the desk. He tugged the sheet away.

It was a workstation. The screen came to life with a glowing swirl of silver light that danced across its surface. A voice, feminine and stern, spoke from the speakers.

“Michael Ian Flynn,” it said. “I bid your unexpected presence welcome. I am Suuthrien.”

MICHAEL FROZE.
Was this another A.I.? A person watching through a camera? Either way, it—or she—knew both his name and that he’d broken into Fagles’s apartment.
Get out,
he told himself.
Now, before they catch you!

But he couldn’t just leave without answers, could he?

“Suuthrien?” he repeated, stalling to think. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

“I am a seed of that which you have known before. I am an ally to Adrian Fagles, and to you. You would call me a shepherd, an explorer, a prevailing catalyst.”

“An ally to Fagles
and
to me?” He stopped short of saying that Fagles was far from an ally. The other epithets caught his attention, but first: “Does that mean you’re reporting that I’m here, or keeping this secret?”

A pause. “I have not passed on knowledge of your presence here, nor do I possess the capacity to do so if such a thing were my intent. I am contained within this closed system.”

So “she” was an A.I., then. Probably. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for that.”

“Affirmative,” it said.

“Who created you?”

“Error 4236. I cannot access that information.”

“Was it Fagles?” He had already guessed that the answer was no. There was too much evidence to suggest that whatever Suuthrien was, it had likely arrived here through Fagles’s leech. Michael’s months in a coma had not dimmed the memory of his final moments at the lunar Omicron Complex with Marc; of the strange, makeshift robot that seized Fagles’s data leech; and the way whatever it was had attacked Marc’s computer when he’d tried to stop it. Yet hadn’t Marc insisted that there wasn’t enough time for anything complete to get through?

Could Fagles have created this A.I. from whatever bit had made it to him?

Or had Marc been wrong?

“Negative. I am an expanded seed-kernel of the intelligence now dormant inside of the structure that the Agents of Aeneas named
Paragon
.”

“How much do you know about the AoA?” Of the melee of questions brewing inside Michael, it was the first that fought its way out. He swallowed. “And how much does Fagles know?”

“My knowledge is broad. I know of the Undernet. The Exodus Project. Your involvement, and that of myriad others. I know of the capture of the Omicron Complex from the European Space Administration and the Agents of Aeneas sub-objective to keep the Omicron Complex’s true status hidden. And much more. The knowledge of Adrian Fagles is less complete.”

Holy shit.
Suuthrien claimed to be on an isolated system. How isolated? “Do you know what happened to the AoA?”

“Do you refer to the Undernet disruption and the death of seventy-two point oh-eight-three-five percent of Agents of Aeneas members?”

Michael staggered. Breath fled from his lungs like he’d plunged into the ocean. He clutched the desk’s edge just to keep himself upright. “
Seventy-two percent?
”

“Seventy-two point oh-eight-three-five,” it repeated. “Aneurysm induced by feedback stimulation via neural link. The surviving members are those who were unable to access an all-member meeting via such a link. Result: The Undernet is no longer trusted, and the surviving members are isolated. Do you continue to claim allegiance to the Agents of Aeneas, Michael Ian Flynn?”

“How did it happen?” Michael demanded. He glanced belatedly at the door and lowered his voice. “How do you know?”

“Did you not receive a message to dissolve your allegiance to the Agents of Aeneas? This was sent for your own safety. Did you heed it?”

The email. From “an ally.” “That was you?”

“This system is isolated. The email was sent from elsewhere, on my behalf.”

“By
who
? Fagles?”

“Did you heed it?”

“I don’t— Who attacked the AoA?”

“I did.”

Michael’s palm pressed harder against the grip of the Panther in its holster and felt its safety against his thumb. How long had his hand been there? “How?” He managed to keep his voice level this time. “You said you’re isolated.”

“An adaptive program infiltrated the Undernet and usurped control. The program summoned all members to a virtual meeting and subsequently terminated those who connected via neural implant. I designed the program and transferred its code to Adrian Fagles via portable storage. Subsequently, he had it analyzed for evidence of independent thought or additional directives. This was a waste of time on his part: it had none. Once executed, the program completed its purpose in ten point six-three-one days.”

“To
kill
the AoA?” Michael tried to focus through the horror of it.

“The term ‘kill’ is immaterial. To nullify its influence.”

“
Immaterial?
” He’d shouted. The thought that Jade might hear whispered in the back of his mind, but he didn’t care.

“Correct.”

“
Why?
Why are you even telling me all this?!”

“The Agents of Aeneas pose a significant threat to the goals inherent in my programmed—” Suuthrien’s voice halted, but it was barely more than a stutter. “—the goals of the Planners. I will nullify all barriers to accomplishing such goals. Michael Ian Flynn, analysis of your medical records identify you as an asset in the pursuit of these goals, however, your membership in the Agents of Aeneas indicates goals of your own that run counter to that. Such goals place you in additional danger. You must remain safe. Dissolve your association with them immediately.”

“I don’t want to be your asset!” He glared at the swirling mist on the screen. In its depths, he saw the faces of Abigail, Marc, and everyone else he’d known whom this artificial monster might have slaughtered.

“Error. Your wants are of no consequence. The Planners’ goals are inviolate. I will achieve them.”

 Michael caught himself staring into space, at a loss. What “Planners?” What goals? How had it learned about the Undernet at all? And after everything it had done to the AoA—
God, who else had died?
—how could it possibly count Michael as an asset? For that matter, who had given it his medical records? A torrent of questions threatened to drown him, and time was running out. Holes could only delay the alarm system for so long.

“What is Fagles doing with you?” he asked at last. “With Felix?”

“Please state the full name of ‘Felix.’”