Encrypted (52 page)

“Beauty before age,” Quirk said to Zach, happy to finally be out of the alley and into the interior of the Met
,
which had microfine
,
particle
-
filtered,
and
self-contained air flow. Pulling down his mask
,
Quirk took a nice
,
big gulp of sanitized air.

* * *

Ronnie set up shop just outside the European Masters’ gallery. The large
,
vaulted room held the bulk of the painting
s
they needed.
The
rest were scattered throughout the museum. Some were in the Islamic Ar
t W
ing,
the M
edieval
W
ing, and lastly
,
the new American Wing on the second floor. Those could wait until she “picked”
the
European Masters’ lock.

Sitting cross-legged on the cool cream tile, Ronnie cracked her knuckles. She’d picked this hallway since the security measures were minimal
because of
the guards
’
hourly physical inspections. Those guard
s
walked by at staggered intervals, supposedly random, but humans were human and built for routine. And the one gallery they
always
passed by was the European Masters. Therefore
,
the defenses couldn’t be too complicated
,
since they needed to be reset hourly.

However
,
any money the museum saved on protective measures in the hallway
,
they more than spent on the gallery’s interior defenses. First
,
Ronnie had to raise the large titanium lattice gate that blocked the entrance to the gallery. Actually opening the lattice would require only a few commands. Convincing the computer system that the gate was actually still down was quite another thing.

The damn gate had
something
like fifteen sensors hooked to it. Even the air movement created by the gate rising was monitored by micro-barometers. If she didn’t disable or trick each and every one of them, each and every inch
that
they opened the gate…well…they definitely would not have time to grab the entire set of paintings they needed.

And given the amount of “junk” code left, they needed as many symbols as possible. Whoever had created this cipher knew what they were doing. Because of the sophistication of the code, Ronnie knew that there were l
inch
pins embedded. Symbols that link
ed
to other symbols. Symbols that made sense of the cluster. The Elvis symbol represented one. There had to
be
more
,
though. This European gallery represented their best chance to find those invaluable l
inch
pins.

Ronnie was also b
eginning to formulate an idea
that there might be a cipher within a cipher. That the date of the painting might be nearly as important as the symbol itself. If they burned them in chronological sequence
,
would that reveal a deeper layer to the code?

Could she gain some insight into which of the locations held the best chance at harboring some of this elusive vaccine? Could it help her find a stash on
this
continent? Ronnie refused to think otherwise. There
had
to be a supply here.

True
,
the Hidden Hand was maniacal and believed in a horrific vision of the world that rattled her marrow, but they were by no means stupid.
Like
all secret organizations
,
they had to by their nature be small, compact,
and
cloistered. If they truly wished to bring about a new world order, they were going to have to deputize a bunch of collaborators. Such as Hitler did in France during the Second World War.

To remain
t
he Hidden Hand
,
they had to stay small. Which meant
that
they simply didn’t have the manpower to take over the world, even if its population had been decimated by three quarters. Therefore
,
they
must
have a stash of vaccines in America. They would
have
to inoculate these collaborators
,
and most importantly
,
their families
,
to have any leverage at all. At least that
was
what Ronnie chose to believe.

With renewed vigor, Ronnie pinged the gate’s defenses, calibrating her attack so
that
once
it
launched,
it
would be flawless.

* * *

Zach studied Ronnie as she typed and typed and typed. Her posture rigid, she was in “the zone,” that was for sure. Unlike other times
,
though, Quirk paced back and forth.

“What’s wrong?”

Quirk scowled. “She’s obsessing.”

“Um,” Zach commented as he checked on Francois, making sure
that
the old man stayed on
this
side of the gate’s defenses. “I thought that’s what she did.”

“Yes, when there are large number of factors to consider and correlate. But
this
? This is pure nerves.”

“How can you tell?”

Quirk showed him a screen, not that Zach could make heads or tails of it. “She isn’t calculating
how
to get in, she is calculating the
risk
to get in.”

“I don’t understand.” Actually
,
that was an understatement
,
but it did give Quirk pause.

More slowly
,
Quirk explained. “She keeps cycling scenarios over and over again, trying to get the risk of entry to zero. Which
,
of course…”

Yeah, Zach knew what little chance any of them had to achieve zero risk.

“But why
?
” Zach asked. “She’s used to this kind of pressure.”

Quirk scoffed. “You are freaking kidding me, right?”

“What am I missing?”

“Um, the entire world depending on her?” Quirk explained. “I mean
,
if we try to hit a bank and we fail
,
the worst that happens is
that
other hackers make fun of us. But here?”

Zach got it.
Here
was a completely different ball game.

“Then what do we do?” he asked.

“
We
?” Quirk said backing up. “
We
don’t do anything. This is all you, in all your hotness glory.”

Zach frowned. His hotness or lack thereof had very little to do with convincing Ronnie to commit to an acknowledged less-than-perfect entry.

He crouched beside her, putting his hand on her knee.

“Hey.” Who knew if she couldn’t hear him
,
or just chose not to
?
“Ronnie,
darlin
’
,
we’ve got to get this party started.”

The slight shake of the head she gave him was better than nothing.

“Ronnie. Look at me.”

She just shook her head again. Gently
,
he reached out and tilted her chin up.

“Babe, you’ve got to pull the trigger.”

Her eyes refocused from the cyber world to this one. “But if I make the breach
,
and
—
”

“We,” Zach corrected. “
When
we
make the breach
,
we
could
set off the alarms.”

Worry seemed to weigh down her eyelids. “If we set off an alarm. Now? We’ll never have enough time.”

“No. No we won’t,” Zach agreed.

Ronnie scanned his face
,
seeming to wait for him to reassure her. But how could he? Zach was used to holding people’s lives in his hand. Perhaps not all of them all at once
,
but he knew the indecision that could tear at you. Do you shoot now
,
or wait? Will your inaction or action cause another’s death? There was no getting around it. Only getting through it.

“If we delay much longer
,
though, we will definitely be found.”

He cupped her cheek as she slowly nodded. Zach leaned in. Her courage and vulnerability
were
an intoxicating mixture. Before he could close the distance
,
a smile tugged on her lips.

“Not here
,
either,” she whispered.

Sure
,
disappointment stung, but at least Ronnie was back to herself.

* * *

Francois stood at the cold
,
steel gate. Just beyond the mesh were some of the world’s greatest works of art. Pristine. Provocative. Protected. But no more. Now many of them would enter into the realm of the hallowed.

The paintings glistened in the low light. Francois could almost imagine them whispering to each other the secrets of the past.

What had it felt like to take brush to canvas knowing your work would not just be displayed for generations, but physically
secure
for
generations to come
?
Francois paused. Perhaps he did. The wounds on his arms throbbed, reminding him of his duty.

So many years he thought himself mad. To be trapped with the knowledge of the apocalypse looming. To know that angels existed
,
but unable to prove their form. Now he was blessed
;
his doubt
had
evaporated. This was a time when good and evil stalked the earth, playing out their war through men such as he and
Lino
.

Francois glanced at the trio behind him. Good souls. Confused
,
and many times resistant souls, but good
,
nonetheless. For all their help
,
though, they still did not believe. They attempted to explain away the miracles dancing before their eyes with scientific this or mathematical that. Could they truly see this through to the end without faith? Without the faith that burned in his chest?

For little did they know, the worst was yet to come.

CHAPTER 23

Metropolitan Museum of Art

7:10
a
.
m
.,
E
ST

Quirk watched the security screen as the gallery’s gate rattled up along its tracks. So far
,
s
o good. Next to him
,
Ronnie fidgeted with a dozen different values. He wanted to tell her,
honey, it is going to blow the alarm or not
, but he kept silent. She looked to be in a punch-now, ask-questions-later mood.

For once
,
the dice rolled in their favor
,
and the gate went up without a hitch
,
a red flashing light
,
or people shooting at them.

He picked up the satchel with what remained of their bag of tricks when Ronnie’s hand flew up.

“Get back!” she yelled.

No one questioned her odd order. They all scramble
d
back from the open door.

Quirk scanned all the security feeds. Dam
n,
but one of the graphs was fluctuating from green up into the yellowish orange range. A guard noticed
,
and began studying the variable.

Temperature.

“Hold your breath,” Ronnie whispered
,
sucking in one of her own. Quirk gulped down some air and waited.

Ever so slowly
,
the colorful graph flickered into the orange, then back down to a canary yellow, then finally settled in a lovely
,
light forest green.

“Let it out slowly,” she instructed.