David Leadbeater - Weapons of the Gods

“You’re incredibly fortunate,” he said. “Only eight others have ever see the lair of FrameHub.”

Again, her face twitched, but she somehow managed to stare around in awe. The trick was to remember that these hopeless, antisocial nerds were incredibly dangerous and didn’t care who they maimed or killed.

That was the trick.

Piranha led her out of an underground car park, through a door marked Staff Only, and then down an echoing, concrete stairwell, cold because it led underground. She shivered. Piranha looked up at her.

“Don’t worry. The basement’s hot as fuck because of all the equipment. It’s shielded down here too. Tons and tons of concrete and metal between us and the shitbricks up there.”

Karin struggled with that. “Shitbricks?”

“People.”

“Ahh, I see now.”

The staircase wound for a while. Rubbish and other debris had drifted down here from upstairs and sat in decaying piles. It became dark enough that Piranha had to produce a flashlight. Gang graffiti covered the walls, but was clearly old and flaking away. Many layers of dust covered the floor, marred only by their own footprints.

Piranha forced open another door, the metal creaking against protesting hinges. A square-shaped room lay on the other side, empty, and they crossed to one more door. This one looked to be in the same disrepair as the rest of the place, but Karin spied two well-hidden cameras. From a hidden panel in the wall, Piranha produced a small keypad.

“Our lair,” he said grandly.

Killers , Karin thought.

And on the other side, it was exactly as she’d imagined. As she remembered, to be fair, having once been a part of the hacker underground. A big, oblong-shaped room with several alcoves at the far end. A series of desks set out in one long row with banks of computer screens on top. Wires everywhere, snaking beneath the desks and across the floor, ending up in a series of electrical outlets, such a chaos of cables they would never be able to sort it out. Two rows of strip lights hung from the roof, illuminating the place and, set against the wall opposite the computer terminals were more tables full of laptops, three enormous refrigerators, microwaves and a drinks’ mixing station.

Everything a crazy, power-hungry geek could ask for.

The first thing she thought to ask was, “Where do you sleep?”

“Back there.” Piranha pointed toward the alcoves. “FrameHub never stops. It’s twenty-four-seven, so we take shifts, but share the cots back there.”

Un-fucking-likely.

Seven faces studied her, eyes wide. She thought about pointing out that FrameHub were not then in fact currently functioning twenty-four-seven, but flashed an open, nerdy smile instead.

“Hi, everyone!” She waved.

Most of them turned away quickly but one, with a little more presence, came over and introduced himself.

“Hey, I’m Barracuda.”

“Karin.” She nodded. “Karin Blake.”

“We should find you a proper name,” Barracuda said. “A real one. Think on it.”

“I will.”

“Anyway, we have to vet you first. Make sure you’re acceptable to FrameHub.”

Karin sensed trouble as all work came to a standstill once more and every face turned toward her. “And what does that entail?”

“Remove your clothes.”

She choked. “I’ll remove my clothes right after I remove your face, asshole.”

“We have to make sure you’re not wired,” Barracuda protested.

“So… wand me.”

Now Barracuda looked decidedly embarrassed. “We don’t have one, sorry.”

“You’re kidding?” Karin looked around the place. “The mighty FrameHub, feared by nations, don’t even have a wand? Look here, mate, if I were military or a cop do you think they wouldn’t have descended on you by now? It’s not like I would need a confession.” She gestured at the row of computers.

“Yeah, yeah.” Barracuda admitted defeat with a modicum of grace. “It was worth a try.”

Karin fought yet again to keep a straight face, but this time it was fury threatening to take hold, not mirth.

“Why don’t you show me what you do down here?”

I won’t be able to keep my hands from their pimply throats for long.

But she had to be sure they weren’t in the middle of something dreadful.

“First,” Barracuda led her to a brand-new computer, “you gotta prove yourself, and this is no joke. Turn this on and crack Morgan Sachs. You’ve got ten minutes.”

Karin sat down. “Ten minutes? Not Langley? Not the NSA?”

“We figure you would already have backdoors or worms planted there. I’d give you three minutes tops with government shit. Morgan Sachs is strong, but child’s play if you have the right skills. We have the right skills. Do you?”

Karin spent the next four minutes cracking the Wall Street bank, then sat back. “Are we cool now?”

“Wait.” An overweight geek reached across her, assaulting her senses with armpit stink. “We can augment our reserves with a bit of that.” He glided over hundreds of accounts, skimming small amounts right off the top.

“Subtle,” Karin said.

“Most people don’t check their statements,” Barracuda said. “And many of those that do only look for the larger amounts. Sachs might flag it, but they won’t find us.”

Karin spent some time wandering the desks, pretending to be impressed at most of the illegal misdeeds being perpetrated there. Some were reprehensible; FrameHub preying on everyday people just for fun, destroying lives at a whim. It reminded her of Tyler Webb and the atrocities he had committed, so it wasn’t a surprise when they asked her about him.

“We know you found his trove of secrets,” Barracuda said. “So, share.”

Karin sought to cement her standing and presence among them by making them wait. She walked over to the refrigerator and used their personal goods to make herself a coffee and a slice of toast. Then, she wandered back over to them, hooking out a chair from behind a desk and sitting down.

“You want to hear about Webb’s secrets? Listen up.”

An hour later she stopped, sat back.

“Wow,” Piranha said. “But we already knew about Tempest. We’re not interested in them.”

Karin feigned shock. “You know Tempest? How?”

“Because we have a plan of our own.” Piranha could contain it no longer. “We’re gonna take down America.”

The nervous excitement in the room was tangible, electric.

Karin knew right then that she had to discover what they were up to before taking them out. And that meant staying with them.

Damn it.

She drew out the remainder of the day, avoiding “beer o’clock” with the nerds and finding several opportunities to siphon off information. They rarely left the lair. They had more than one plot ongoing, but nothing as big as the one they called America. She spent the night with one eye open, lying uncomfortably on a cot and trying to avoid any contact with the sheets. Two others snoozed in nearby alcoves, snoring and talking in their sleep, restless.

The next morning, she roved the basement, storing every scrap of information related to the place, everything from external data storage boxes to plug points. Questions such as: “Do we have weapons?”, “Do we have an escape route?”, and “Do we have protection?” were asked and answered quickly. Piranha, Manta and Moray showed her what evils they were up to in their spare time and it was all she could do not to tear their heads off right there and then.

Ruining lives via social media, through doctored emails, messages and photoshopped prints. They lived for it, and utilized a points-scoring system to see who wrought the most damage. Their laughter grated on her nerves.