Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2) (38 page)

"Did you have any trouble getting the car?" Andrew said.

"Some," Tungsten said.

"You don't look hurt."

"I'm not."

Andrew waited for Tungsten to elaborate, but he remained silent.

Andrew's phone rang. The caller ID showed Frank Webster's number. Andrew accepted the call and put the phone in speaker mode so everybody could hear.

"How's it going in Las Vegas?" Webster said.

"We ran into some difficulties," Andrew said.

"That's unfortunate."

"Is there a specific reason why you called?"

"The Vault is being moved tonight," Webster said. "I was hoping you would catch Blake before then."

"No such luck."

"I don't know where the Army is taking the stuff. It's all hush-hush, top secret, cloak of night."

"Maybe we should ride along," Andrew said. "We might sense Blake coming."

"But then you'd know the location of the new Vault. That can't happen unless you're willing to die at the end of the operation."

"Uh, no."

"I didn't think so," Webster said.

Andrew checked his watch. "How much time do we have?"

"Several hours, I think. Put them to good use."

"We will. Is that all?"

"Yes," Webster said. "Bye."

Andrew put away his phone. "We need to figure out our next step."

"I may have something," Tonya said. "When I was inside Panetta's head, I glimpsed a few important memories. Give me a minute to pull them together."

Andrew looked out the window at a residential neighborhood. The single-story homes were generally small. Instead of grassy lawns, most houses used cacti or native bushes planted in gravel. The obvious goal was to save water, but he didn't like the aesthetics of a gravel front yard. The predominant colors were white, yellow, or light brown, but everything had a sun-bleached appearance.

"I remember two things," Tonya said. "First, Blake is doing some kind of construction project. He spent a lot of Panetta's money on land and materials."

"What the hell could he be constructing?" Charley said.

"I don't know. I didn't get any details except the project is costing millions. The other memory involves a company called SocialTech. It's important somehow. It will be our next stop."

Chapter Seventeen

"Attention!" a drill sergeant barked.

Fifty men in US Army uniforms snapped to attention in the fading light of a setting sun. They were standing on the sandy grounds of the Titan II missile complex owned by Blake. All fifty were freshly shaved and had neatly trimmed hair. In accordance with the Army standard, not a single beard or bushy mustache was in sight. Earrings and other piercings had also been removed. The uniforms and boots were all clean and properly sized. With their slim, athletic bodies, the men certainly had the appearance of real soldiers.

They weren't real though. They worked for Panetta, and Blake had selected them carefully for tonight's operation. They had spent all day marching in formation and learning their parts.

The drill sergeant was legitimate at least. Blake had brought him over from Mumford Army Base to teach the thugs how to behave like soldiers.

Blake watched with approval as the sergeant walked along the lines of men. The sergeant stopped occasionally to bark an order, and the men complied eagerly. All had been promised extremely generous pay if the operation succeeded. Like so many other promises Blake had made lately, it was a bald-faced lie.

"They look good," Phillip said.

Blake faced the boy who stood at his side. "Yes. The plan should work."

"If it doesn't?"

"We'll run away and try again when the heat dies down, I suppose."

"You're old," Phillip said. "You don't have many tries left."

"Thanks for mentioning that, kid."

Blake felt a pang of jealousy. Phillip had all of his abilities but none of his physical ailments. When Blake was rotting in the grave, Phillip would still be in the prime of his life. Sorcerers could do many wondrous things, but evading the grasp of old age and illness wasn't one of them. Chaos always won in the end.

Blake heard whispers and impolite chuckles, and he looked at his assassins off to the side. The entire squad, all six of them, were present. They had been real soldiers once and still looked the part. No doubt they thought the fake soldiers were an embarrassment.

Blake wondered if the six of them were a match for all fifty of Panetta's men. It was very possible. Blake had chosen the assassins for their legendary reputations as killers. They had taken contracts all over the world, and several major governments had issued arrest warrants. Now the assassins were Blake's pets.

He checked his watch. "We have hours of free time. The convoy might not get here until early morning."

He couldn't wait for the show to get started, and he had the jitters of an actor on opening night. So much planning and preparation had gone into tonight's operation. The road had been long and very bloody.

"Let's check the gadgets again," Phillip said.

"We've checked them three times."

"It's something to do, and we should also eat. We may have to skip meals tomorrow."

Blake nodded. They walked off together.

* * *

Tungsten parked in front of a small office building, and all the members of the team got out.

Andrew examined the building. Colored cement blocks stacked in interesting patterns formed the walls, and the natural colors reminded him of a sand painting. A small, plain sign read, "SocialTech, Inc." The landscaping was primarily rocks, cacti, and hardy little trees. The building had large windows, but reflective foil turned them into one-way mirrors. Andrew didn't see any special security aside from a surveillance camera over the front door.

"We're not sure what's going on in there," Tungsten said, "so be careful. Stick together."

The three sorcerers nodded.

Tonya was holding the Raven now. She was obviously reluctant to give the idol back to Andrew, and he hadn't pressed the issue. He knew he was on thin ice. The last thing he needed was an adversarial relationship with her.

The team went inside. A small reception area had brightly colored plastic furniture which reminded Andrew of jelly beans. The lights were aimed in odd, random directions. A desk had a spot for a receptionist, but the chair was empty.

"Hello?" Tungsten said. "Is anybody home?"

Andrew had seen plenty of cars in the parking lot, so somebody was in the building.

A red-haired girl burst through a door and entered the lobby. "Oh, hi!" she said. "Sorry. I was talking to somebody. Can I help you?"

"Certainly," Tonya said. "You can start by describing what kind of business you do here. Your website mentioned social media, but it was vague about the details."

"I'm not really the right person to ask," the girl said.

"You don't know?"

"I just answer the phone."

"Oh," Tonya said. "Can we talk to somebody who is better informed?"

"Who are you?"

"Potential customers. We need help managing our social media, and we have a big budget."

The girl furrowed her brow. "Let me get somebody." She left the room.

Andrew looked at the art on the walls while he waited. Posters showed generic images of social interaction such as children holding hands and honeybees in a hive. They were cheaply printed.

The receptionist returned with a man. He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and sandals. Words on the T-shirt read, "Somebody is following me."

"Hi," he said with a fake smile. "I'm Prescott. Can I help you?"

"Sure," Tonya said. "We might be customers, but first, we need to know more about your business. What do you do here exactly?"

"Social media engineering."

"That can mean different things."

"Maybe you should tell me your needs first," Prescott said, "and then I'll tell you whether we can fulfill them."

Andrew was getting impatient with the evasive answers. He looked at the Raven in Tonya's hand. He had to wait for guidance from her before he used any sorcery.

"It's a sensitive matter," Tonya said. "Mr. Panetta recommended you to us."

That name produced an immediate reaction in Prescott. He swallowed nervously and checked the door.

"Let's find a private conference room," he said.

He led the team into the main part of the office. The open interior was full of cubicles, and Andrew could see all the way to the far side of the building. Men and women working at computers occupied every cubicle. The workers had elaborate monitor configurations which included as many as six screens. Everybody was focused on their jobs. Ventilation fans were the only sound, and the quiet was creepy.

The group went to a conference room with glass walls. Andrew felt like a fish in a tank.

After everybody took a seat, Prescott said, "We have specialty services for friends of Mr. Panetta. We can influence public opinion or create a reputation for a reasonable fee."

"With social media?"

"We're the secret masters of social media. We turn the knobs that control what's trending."

"What about rumors?" Tonya said eagerly. "Can you spread them?"

"Of course. We worked on the mayoral election in San Francisco last fall and swung the polls by thirty points."

"The loser was accused of raping his niece."

Prescott smiled. "The best thing about the internet is how quickly a juicy story can go viral. Our experts at SocialTech can make that happen every time. We guarantee a million clicks or your money back."

Andrew realized they had stumbled across the source of the rumors about the Vault. SocialTech had all the expertise and technology required for such a sophisticated job. He looked at Charley, and she nodded slightly. She had obviously reached the same conclusion.

"How does the process work exactly?" Tonya said. "Is it just a lot of posts and tweets?"

Prescott frowned. "Let's talk about your needs instead."

Andrew sensed Tonya drawing power from the seam in her hand. "No," she said. "Talk about SocialTech. How does it work?"

"It's a lot more than posts and tweets. We use hacked accounts to create false messages. We modify internet traffic while it's still in the backbone. We have moles in major media outlets. We wash all data through Chinese and Russian systems to hide our trail. Nobody is more effective at secretly manipulating public opinion than us."

"Are you in charge here?"

"That would be Mr. Meyer," Prescott said. "I'm his assistant."

"Take us to him." Sorcery gave her words an extra boost.

"Follow me."

They left the conference room and walked through the office again. Andrew looked at the people working in the cubicles. Their faces showed no emotion and their eyelids drooped, but the typing never stopped.

Meyer's office was even more impressive than Weasel's back in Washington. Meyer had twenty-four large monitors suspended by fishing line to create a continuous curved surface. The computers were hidden away making the room quiet. Meyer was sitting on a chair with more control levers than could possibly be useful.

Meyer himself was less imposing. His black hair desperately needed washing and trimming. He was wearing a gray jogging suit with a coffee stain on the front.

"Who are you?" he said as everybody entered the office.

Tungsten closed the door.

"Talk to us about
Montaña de la Serpiente
," Tonya said.

"What are you talking...?" Meyer said.

Her power surged before he could finish the sentence. Andrew admired how she handled mind-control. She didn't crush all resistance or tie her victims into psychological knots. She applied exactly enough pressure to prevent any kind of deception. She was firm yet gentle.

"He called himself Mr. Torvus," Meyer said, "but I don't think that was his real name. I met him only once. He paid me ten million dollars."

Tungsten whistled. "Nice work if you can get it."

"It was Panetta's money. Torvus had a list of rumors he wanted us to spread, all about that mountain. He warned us the FBI and the NSA would come looking, so I used my best tricks to hide my tracks."

"You did a good job," Tonya said. "If we hadn't cheated, we never would've found you."

Meyer raised his eyebrows. "You cheated?"

"Never mind. We're looking for Torvus. Do you know how to reach him?"

"No." Meyer shook his head. "I have no contact information."

Andrew didn't doubt Meyer was telling the truth. Tonya had him firmly in her grasp.

"There is some surveillance footage though," he added.

She perked up. "That might be useful."

He typed on one of his four keyboards. A video appeared on a computer monitor showing the SocialTech office from a high angle. Meyer and two other men were walking between the cubicles.

Andrew leaned in for a close look. One of the men was clearly Blake in a simple disguise. He had shaved his beard and had dyed his hair, but the shape of his face remained the same. He was wearing a black silk suit.

The last man was very tall and skinny. Red splotches marked his face.

"Who is that?" Andrew pointed.

"Maybe a bodyguard," Tungsten said. "It would make sense for Blake to have protection."

Tonya had Meyer replay the video a few times, but Andrew gleaned nothing useful beyond confirmation Blake was involved.

"OK," Tonya said. "You're going to end the rumor campaign immediately. The world must stop talking about
Montaña de la Serpiente
." She backed up the command with a burst of sorcery.

Meyer nodded. "No problem."

"Is that all?" She turned to Andrew and Charley.

"I think so," Charley said. "He can't help us find Blake."

Andrew had an idea. "You mentioned a big construction project in the car."

"That's right," Tonya said. "An expensive one."

"Paid for by Panetta." Andrew looked at Meyer. "Use your hackers to get into Panetta's accounting systems. Find out where his money is going. Look for a huge construction project started within the last few months."