Blasphemy (42 page)

“Isabella!” Dolby cried, clutching the workstation with both hands.

Don’t lose it, Isabella
.

St. Vincent struggled with the console, slamming breaker circuits down. “Power’s been cut on Number One! How could it happen? Impossible!”

“The beam!” Kate cried, seizing a terminal. “It’s decollimating! I’m getting . . . a kink!”

Hazelius let out a cry. “Chen! That last message! I didn’t read it all! Did you get it?”

“I can’t find it!” Chen said. “I might have lost it—lost
everything
.”

“Capture the output to hard copy!” Hazelius roared.

Dolby forced the surrounding chaos out of his consciousness. Isabella wasn’t responding to any of his keyboard inputs. Something had happened—the p5s must have crashed. He turned to Edelstein. “Boot up the main computer. Ignore the startup procedures and testing sequences. Just turn the son of a bitch on.”

An electrical arc seared across the shattered remnants of the screen. A dull, shuddering explosion sounded deep in the cavern, and another. The sound of Isabella gyrated wildly, throbbing, humming, wobbling. The room filled with smoke.

“We’re creating a mini black hole,” Kate said softly.

“This is
unbelievable
!” Wardlaw screamed. “You know why you lost power on One? Those bastards out there just shot down the line . . . There’s a mob outside the door to Isabella . . . . Oh Christ, I’m losing the security cams—they route through the elevator . . . .”

The hiss of computer snow, then a row of screens went black.

“Oh no.”

More hissing and popping. The entire security station went dead, the warning lights winking out. Isabella moaned and wobbled.

“Are you printing it out?” Hazelius screamed at Chen.

“I’ve got it, now I’m trying to find a working printer!” She hammered on the keyboard, sweat pouring down her face.

“Oh my God . . . Don’t lose it, Rae.”

“Got it,” Chen yelled. “Printing!” She jumped up and raced across the room to a printer dump. She grabbed the paper as it spooled out, ripped it off. Hazelius grabbed it from her, folded it up and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The room shook with another muffled boom, throwing Dolby to the floor. The lights wavered, electrical arcs sizzled along the consoles. Isabella groaned deeply, as if in agony. Dolby pulled himself up and went back to his machine.

Ford grabbed his arm. “Ken! We’ve got to get out of here!”

Dolby shook him off and tried the code again.

CODE BYPASS ERROR

The main computer began to boot up its startup routines. Dolby yelled, “Alan! I told you to shut down the p5s!”

“Ken, forget it! We’re leaving!” It was Ford again.

Stay with me, Isabella
.

He continued working. He had to get through to Isabella. One way or another. He had to shut her down safely. The bad magnet was decohering. The two beams were wobbling offcenter in the pipe, kinking. If they touched the edge, or grazed each other . . .

“Dolby!” Hazelius gripped his shoulder. “You can’t save it! We’ve got to go!”

“Get away from me!” Dolby swung at Hazelius and missed. He turned back to the screen and was furious at what he saw. “Alan! God damn you, the p5s are still running! I told you to shut them down!”

There was no answer. He looked around, trying to locate Edelstein in the smoky room. He wiped his watery eyes and coughed. Smoke was everywhere. The Bridge was empty. Everyone had left.

He could save Isabella. He knew he could. And if he couldn’t—what was the point of living?

I’m here, Isabella. Just stay with me a moment more
.

RUSSELL EDDY HAD DONE IT. HE had killed. God had given him the strength. The battle was joined.

The killing of the sinner had been like plugging the crowd into an electric socket. They buzzed with excitement. Energized, Eddy strode to the great titanium door. He stood before it, turned, raised the gun. “
And the Antichrist had power to give life unto the image of the Beast
! Who will stand with me to confront the Antichrist?”

A roar of assent from the crowd.

“Who will stand with me to confront the Beast!”

Another delirious roar. Eddy felt a bolt of strength shoot through him.

“He is the Lawless One!”

Roar.

“The Wicked One!”

It thundered uncontrollably.

“In the name of God and His only begotten son, Jesus Christ, we will destroy him!”

The mob rushed the door en masse, but the titanium would not yield.

“Stand back!” Eddy shouted. “We’re going through this door!” He aimed his gun—but a hand grabbed his fist.

“Pastor, that revolver isn’t going to work.” A man in camouflage with an AR-15 assault rifle strapped to his back stepped forward. “You see that setup over there?” He pointed to three conical devices mounted on tripods, pointing at the door. “That’s a wall-breaching demolition kit, all set up and ready to blast. The soldiers here were intending to blow a hole in this door. They wanted to get into Isabella as well.”

“How do you know?”

“Mike Frost, former Fifth Special Forces Group.” He crushed Eddy’s hand.

“Break us in, Mike.”

Frost circled the device cautiously, peering at the metal cones. “This puppy’s already packed with C-4. Darn lucky a stray bullet didn’t hit one of these during the fight. Those wires connect them all together, and here are the detonators.” He picked up a small cylinder with a wire attached. There were three of them, and he carefully pushed each one deep into the C-4 and packed it all back around.

“Tell everyone to get back.
Way
back. To the side over there with their backs turned.”

Eddy quickly herded the milling crowd away from the setup. Frost played out the wires to their full length, flipped the cover off the detonator switch, and placed his finger on it.

“Cover your ears.”

FORD AND THE TEAM FOLLOWED WARDLAW into the computer room behind the Bridge. It was a long, barren room with gray walls and three rows of silent, gray plastic cabinets. It housed the fastest, most powerful supercomputer in the world. Its processors were humming, the discrete panels on each one clustered with blinking lights, most of which were red or yellow. At the far end was a single steel door.

Hazelius joined them. “Dolby won’t come.”

“We’ve got three problems,” Wardlaw said. “One: Isabella’s going to blow. Two: we’ve got an armed mob out there. And three: we can’t call for help.”

“What do we do?” Thibodeaux wailed.

“That steel door in the back leads into the old coal tunnels. We’ve got to get out of here. We need to put a big piece of that mountain between us and Isabella before she blows.”

“How do we get out of the coal tunnels?” Ford asked.

“At the far end,” Wardlaw said, “there’s an old vertical shaft that was turned into a gobshaft to pull methane out of the far end of the mine. There’s still an old hoist in there. It’s probably not usable. We’ll have to rig something.”

“Is that the best we can do?”

“It’s either that or go out the front door—into that mob.”

A silence.

The explosion that shook the computer room knocked Ford and the rest to their knees like they were pebbles in a tin can. The sound reverberated back and forth, the detonation rolling like thunder through the mountain. The lights in the room flickered and electrical arcs seared across the consoles. Ford struggled to his feet and helped Kate up.

“Was that Isabella?” Hazelius cried.

“If that was Isabella, we’d be dead,” said Wardlaw. “The mob just blew the titanium door.”

“Impossible!”

“Not if they used those military demolition charges.”

The Bridge door suddenly reverberated with the pummeling of fists. Ford listened. He could see Dolby in the Bridge laboring like a ghost in the smoke, hunched over his workstation.

“Hazelius!” came a muffled, high-pitched voice through the door. “You hear me,
Antichrist
? We’re coming to get you!”

PASTOR RUSSELL EDDY SCREAMED AT THE steel door. “Hazelius, you have blasphemed against God, against His name and them that dwell in heaven!”

The door was thick steel, and they had no more explosives. Firing into the lock with his revolver in this closed space would be ineffective and even insane.

The mob surged up against the door, pounding and screaming,

“Christians!” Eddy’s voice boomed out in the vast, cavernous space. “Listen to me, Christians!” The crowd fell into a restless silence, filled by the infernal wailing of the machine in the tunnel beyond. “Stand back from the door! We need to organize our attack!” He pointed. “On the other side of this cavern, there’s a stack of steel I-beams. I want the strongest men—and men only!—to hoist up one of those beams and batter this door down with it. The rest of you have an equally important task. Divide yourselves into two groups. I want the first group to go into the long circular tunnel, back there.” He pointed to the oval opening, awash in condensation. “Cut and sledgehammer the pipes, cables, and conduits feeding the supercomputer, the Beast!” He held up a piece of paper he had printed off the Internet. “Here’s a map of the Beast.” He pointed to a man who seemed calmer than the rest, who carried his weapon with ease, and who had an air of leadership. “This is yours. You lead them.”

“Yes, Pastor.”

“Once we break down this door, I want the second group to follow me into the control room, seize the Antichrist, and destroy the equipment in there!”

A roar of approval. Already twenty men were manhandling an I-beam off the stack. The crowd parted as they came lumbering back, the I-beam aimed at the door.

“Go!” cried Eddy, standing aside. “Batter it down!”

“Batter it! Destroy it!”

The crowd parted and, at a slow jog, the men closed in on the door. The beam struck it with a massive thud, warping it inward. The beam was thrown back by the impact and the men staggered to hold it up.

“Again!” Eddy cried.

A MUFFLED CLANG SHOOK THE ROOM and the metal door reverberated from a massive blow. Ford struggled into the smoke, found Dolby, and grabbed his shoulder. “Ken, please,” he said, “for God’s sake come with us.”

“No. I’m sorry, Wyman,” Dolby said. “I’m staying here. I can . . . I can save Isabella.”

Ford could hear the shouts and screams of the mob outside the door. They were ramming it with something heavy. Buckling, it popped one of its hinge pins.

“You won’t make it. There’s no time.”

Through the door came the mob’s roar: “
Hazeliuuus! Antichriiist
!”

Dolby resumed his frantic work.

Kate came up behind Ford. “We’ve
got
to go.”

Ford turned and followed Kate into the back computer room. The others were crowding around the emergency exit while Wardlaw struggled to activate the security panel. He typed and retyped the code, his hand on the hand-reader next to the exit. The reader was dead.

Boom
! The door to the Bridge smacked down and tumbled across the floor. The roar of the mob swelled as they poured into the smoky Bridge.

A fusillade of shots followed, and Dolby screamed as he was cut down at his workstation.

“Where’s the Antichrist?” a man screamed. Ford rushed to the computer room door, shut it and locked it.

Wardlaw pulled out a regular key and yanked open a panel next to the door, exposing a second keyboard. He punched in a code. Nothing.

“They’re in the back room!”

“Batter down that door!”

On Wardlaw’s second try, the exit door opened with a smooth click. They piled through it into the damp, moldy darkness of the coal mine. Ford was the last out, pushing Kate ahead of him. A long, broad tunnel stretched out ahead, cribbed with rusting steel beams that held up a sagging, cracked ceiling. It smelled clammy and putrescent, like the petrified swamp it once was. Water dripped from the ceiling.

Wardlaw slammed the rear door and tried to lock it. But the locks were electronic and, with no power, dead.

A crashing boom thundered in the computer room, and the noise of the mob mounted. The battering ram had breached the computer door.

Wardlaw struggled to engage the locks, first using his magnetic card and then stabbing a code into the keypad.

“Ford, over here!”

Wardlaw pulled a second sidearm out of his waistband and handed it to Ford. It was a SIG-Sauer P229. “I’m going to try to hold them here. The mines back there are room-and-pillar construction. Everything connects. Keep going and bear to the left, bypassing the dead ends, until you hit the big room where the coal seam played out. It’s about three miles in. The gobshaft is in the far left corner. You can escape through it. Don’t wait for me—just get everyone the hell out. And take this, too.”

He shoved a Maglite into his hand.

“You can’t fight them off alone,” said Ford. “It’s suicide.”

“I can buy you time. It’s our only chance.”

“Tony—,” began Hazelius.

“Save yourself!”

“
Kill the Antichrist
!” came the muffled wail from behind the door. “
Kill him
!”

“
Run
!” Wardlaw roared.

They ran down the dark tunnel, Ford taking up the rear, splashing through puddles of water on the mine floor, the Maglite illuminating the way. He could hear pounding on the door, the screams of the mob, and the word “
Antichriiiist”
echoing down the tunnels. After a moment, several shots sounded. There were screams and more shots, the sounds of chaos and panic.

The tunnel was long and straight, with perpendicular tunnels every fifty feet going off to the right, opening into more parallel tunnels. The bituminous seam to the left squeezed down and had been abandoned before being fully mined out, leaving many dead-end tunnels, stopes, and a web of dark seams.

More gunshots came from behind, the sounds echoing crazily through the confined spaces. The air was dead and heavy, the walls gleaming with moisture, furred with white nitre. The tunnel took a broad turn. Ford caught up to Julie Thibodeaux, who was falling behind, slipped his arm around her, and tried to help her along.