F Wilson - Fatal Error

Relief morphed into exhilaration. Was he finally going to stop paying for that bank hack?

"You mean-?"

Belgiovene raised a hand. "Not here."

"What? Oh, right. Sure. Where?"

"It's best we talk in private. We will have to meet with people. It is a delicate procedure. Judicial egos are involved-not local, but federal. We keep our promises. You've delivered your end, so we'll deliver ours. We'll get this done."

Russ followed him toward the elevator, feeling lighter than air.

"I'm falling apart," Munir said.

They sat in his kitchen while they waited for the phone to ring, and he did feel as if he were crumbling, physically as well as emotionally.

"You're under unimaginable stress," Jack said as he bandaged Munir's hand in thick layers of gauze to make it look injured. "You've got a guy out there trying to break you."

"Well, he's succeeding."

"You can't let him win. You've got to hold on. You've got a wife and child somewhere out there depending on you."

He sensed Jack was not comfortable in the cheerleader role. And he shouldn't have been. He wasn't very good. Motivational speaking would not be a good alternate career choice.

"But what good am I to them? I'm not good for anything. This has made me realize how isolated the three of us have become. We became a self-sustaining unit: Barbara, Robby, and me. And now they're gone and I'm useless without them. You're all that's holding me together."

"I didn't sign on to hold anyone together," he said. "That's your responsibility."

After finishing the bandage, Jack rose and went to the refrigerator where he removed the bag with the amputated finger.

"Where are you going?" Munir said.

"The bathroom, to give this a little wash. We want this to be as convincing as possible, and you don't strike me as the type to have dirty fingernails."

Munir shook his head. Jack thought of everything.

When the call finally came, he ground his teeth at the sound of the hated voice. Jack stayed beside him, gripping his arm, steadying him as he listened through an earphone he had plugged into the answering machine. He had told Munir what to say, and had coached him on how to say it, how to sound.

"Well, Mooo-neeer. You got that finger for me?"

"Yes," he said in the choked voice he had rehearsed. "I have it."

The caller paused, as if surprised by the response.

"You did it? You really did it?"

"Yes. You gave me no choice."

"Well, I'll be damned. Hey, how come your voice sounds so funny?"

"Codeine. For the pain."

"Yeah. I'll bet that smarts. But that's okay. Pain's good for you. And just think: Your kid got through it without codeine."

Jack's grip on his arm tightened as Munir stiffened and began to rise. Jack pulled him back to a sitting position.

"Please don't hurt Robby anymore," Munir said, and this time he did not have to feign a choking voice. "I did what you asked me. Now please let them go."

"Not so fast, Mooo-neeer. How do I know you really cut that finger off? You wouldn't be bullshitting me now, would you?"

"Oh, please. I would not lie about something as important as this."

Yet I am lying, he thought. Forgive me, my son, if this goes wrong.

"Well, we'll just have to see about that, won't we? Here's what you do: Put your offering in a brown paper lunch bag and head downtown. Go to the mailbox on the corner of Lafayette and Astor. Leave the bag on top of the mailbox, then disappear. Got it?"

"Yes. Yes, I think so."

"Of course you do. Even a bonehead like you should be able to handle those instructions."

"But when should I do this?"

"Ten A.M. "

"This morning?" He glanced at his watch. "But it is almost nine-thirty!"

"Aaaay! And he can tell time too! What an intellect! Yeah, that's right, Mooo-neeer. And don't be late or I'll have to think you're lying to me. And we know what'll happen then, don't we."

"But what if-?"

"See you soon, Mooo-neeer."

The line went dead. His heart pounding, Munir fumbled the receiver back onto its cradle and turned to Jack.

"We must hurry! We have no time to waste!"

Jack nodded. "This guy's no dummy. He's not giving us a chance to set anything up."

"I'll need the… finger," Munir said. Even now, long after the shock of learning it was real, the thought of touching it made him queasy. "Could you please put it in the bag for me?"

Jack nodded. Munir led him to the kitchen and gave him a brown lunch bag. Jack dropped the finger inside and handed the sack back to him.

"You've got to arrive alone, so you go first. I'll go out the back way and follow a few minutes from now. If you don't see me around, don't worry. I'll be there. And whatever you do, follow his instructions-nothing else. Understand? Nothing else. I'll do the ad-libbing. Now get moving."

Munir fairly ran for the street, praying to Allah that it wouldn't take too long to find a taxi.

"Gentlemen, I have an announcement," Ernst said when Thompson and Szeto had seated themselves on the far side of his desk. "Valez has delivered the goods."

Thompson muttered, "About time."

Szeto simply nodded.

Ernst hadn't expected cheers, but had thought he'd see a little more enthusiasm than this.

"Come, come, gentlemen. This is excellent news."

Szeto said, "Not until we test code and see if it live up to expectations."

Ernst couldn't help smiling. "But we have. And it does."

Szeto straightened in his seat. "So soon?"

"Valez delivered it yesterday and our people have been testing it all night. It lives up to its advance press. It does everything we hoped and more. It's a work of genius, and it's all ours."

"And you have incorporated into Jihad?" Szeto said.

"Yes, and Jihad can slip past any firewall in existence."

Szeto pumped a fist. "Then we are set."

Ernst nodded. "We are testing and retesting, but I am assured that Jihad4/20 will be ready tonight."

Szeto sighed. "A big step. The High Council is sure this will speed Opus Omega?"

This was the story being fed to all lower echelon members of the Order working on Jihad. Like them, Szeto knew nothing about the Change. He was high enough to know about the One, but believed that bringing the One to power would simply put the Order in charge of his dominion, not end the world as he knew it.

"Of course they do." He quickly shifted the subject. "The Connell woman's brother. What do we do about him? Let him know we've found her, or keep him in the dark?"

"I have been thinking about that. Why do we not take photo we have and see what he says when we show to him?"

"Excellent idea. A sort of loyalty test. I like that. He's met Fournier. Use him. But right now, go make sure our Lebanese brother is on schedule with the video."

Nodding, Szeto rose and left.

Ernst glanced at Thompson who sat staring at his hands, strangely silent. "Mister Thompson… have you nothing to say?"

Was he worried that his Kickers would not be able to carry out their part of the plan?

"This is it, then?" he said, looking up. "We pull this off, the Others return?"

Thompson's late father had imparted a warped version of reality to his young son, and Thompson still clung to it. He believed that certain powerful beings-the Others-had been booted off the Earth and were trying to return, and would reward those who helped them regain their former status here. Its simplicity made it easy to grasp, but the truth was more nebulous. The Otherness was not a discrete being but rather a consciousness, a state of being.

"Not right away," Ernst said. "This will, in a sense, clear the path to a doorway which the One will open."

Thompson was the only one among all the Kickers who knew that bringing down the Internet was a means rather than an end. And among members of the Order, only the Inner Circles knew of the organization's connection to the One and to the Secret History.