2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) (48 page)

‘The FBI.’

‘Right,’ Steiner said, unsure if he was capable of such a feat.

‘Will that be a problem?’ Samson asked in concern. ‘I thought you were some kind of computer genius.’

‘Hardly.’

Samson shot him a look of anger.

‘But,’ Steiner continued, regretting his first response, ‘I am pretty good.’

‘Stop shovelling that false modesty crap, can you do it or not?’

‘Yes, with the right tools, I should be able to.’
What the hell
, Steiner thought to himself,
I already need to break into the GMRC system, why not the FBI too? In for a penny, as they say
. ‘May I ask what I will be doing inside their database?’

‘No!’

Samson’s expression and body language warned Steiner to leave well enough alone. With the conversation as dead as a nail in its door, Steiner got comfortable as they followed the back roads once more, this time their destination the so-called entertainment capital of the world. Steiner had never been to the desert locked city before; he’d always seen it as a crass, vulgar place, full of debauchery and feeding off, and promoting, the baser, uglier traits of the human race. Greed, excess, gambling, lust, it certainly lived up to its self-proclaimed billing of
Sin City
. Steiner planned on keeping his head down when it came to Samson’s mysterious and ill-timed quest, he just prayed his disappointment in this regard wasn’t going to be assured.

♦

Enormous hoardings pulsed with vibrant, three dimensional displays, advertising events and shows throughout the Las Vegas Strip and beyond. The cornucopia of hotels, casinos, arcades, theme parks and resorts dazzled and amazed, the fantastical architectural splendours weaving their web of beauty and creativity through a skyline built to shine, tempt and titillate on an unprecedented scale. Giant domes and enclosed avenues stretched out in all directions, overlooked by neon signs and sculptured landmarks, bringing with them an endless array of glitz and glamour.

Professor Steiner stared out of his window at the streets, throbbing with revellers and traffic, the noise of thousands upon thousands of people and vehicles only outdone by the pounding music pouring out from almost every other building they passed. Samson stopped the car at a red light and pedestrians streamed across in front of them, coming in from all directions. Ahead, a hotel of immense proportions dominated the horizon. Spinning into the dark sky from its rooftop was a spectacular display of searchlights and lasers, their rays arcing up like the contrails of angels and sprites.

A troop of performing artists cut a swathe along the sidewalk, catching Steiner’s eye. Their outlandish garb accentuated the rhythmic beat of their percussion instruments, which they played with a flamboyant vigour to the delight of the onlookers swept up in their wake. It seemed everyone here was trying to escape the dark, dull and often terrifying existence of the outside world. The sheer volume of people was staggering.
Yet another symptom of the dust cloud
, Steiner assumed. It was strange, though; getting into the city had been surprisingly easy, checkpoints lax and almost non-existent in places. It was if the GMRC protocols had been universally ignored by general consent. Las Vegas had always courted the impression of having laws unto itself and the arrival of AG5 had apparently done little to alter the tradition laid down in decades past.

Samson turned a corner, the bright lights reflecting in the highly polished, lustrous red paintwork of the Dodge Ram pick-up truck. They drove down the side street, the exhaust burbling a deep growl. Steiner noticed some admiring glances aimed their way. He felt a spark of annoyance that he wasn’t driving, then suppressed the feeling.
I have far more important things to think about than showing off
, Steiner chided himself, sending his suitably chastened ego to sulk in the deeper recesses of his mind.

‘Are we there yet?’ Steiner asked, his role of tormentor a pleasing distraction from the immense stresses he was under.

Samson didn’t reply, most likely as he didn’t have to. Pulling the car into an underground car park, the colonel found a suitable spot and turned the engine off, the keys rattling as he did so. Opening the door, he climbed out and Steiner did likewise.

Samson glared at Steiner and slammed his door shut, the noise echoing through the low ceilinged concrete structure. ‘I didn’t say you could come.’

Steiner shut his own door. ‘I’m not some child, Colonel, whom you can boss around. I go where I please.’

Samson muttered an obscenity and picked a large, army issue overcoat out of the rear seat – something he must have sourced back at the depot – and stalked away, pulling it on over his armour as he went. Steiner trotted to catch up. He’d decided he needed to stretch his legs; hours stuck in the vehicle had made them begin to cramp up. Secretly, something he didn’t want to admit even to himself, he’d also been seduced by the sights and sounds on their journey into the city, his previously held beliefs conveniently forgotten.

Samson pressed a button to call an elevator. ‘Just keep your mouth shut. The man I’m meeting does not suffer fools.’

Steiner followed Samson into the lift. ‘And yet he will suffer you,’ he said as the shiny gold doors closed behind him.

Samson ignored him and Steiner, not for the first time, questioned his own sanity at goading such a man. He couldn’t help himself, it seemed, he was hard-wired to mock and poke fun at the mean and the wicked. He abhorred bullies and Samson was a bully like no other. Perhaps it had something to do with being on the GMRC Directorate for so many years and the power that came with it, an invulnerability he’d grown accustomed to, perhaps? Whatever the reason, it was frightfully enjoyable, almost addictively so.

The music in the lift, a jaunty little number, seemed quite ridiculous with Samson standing there looking larger than life and as wicked as the skies were dark. A smile crept onto Steiner’s lips as he imagined Samson dancing to the tune.

‘Having fun?’ Samson asked querulously, looking down at him.

‘I am actually.’ Steiner’s smile broadened. ‘It’s been quite some time since I’ve had some R&R.’

At those words the doors opened and the two men walked from the lift, a wave of noise sweeping over them from the huge casino floor now in full view. Suspended over row upon row of gambling machines, magnificent gold chandeliers sparkled and shone, shinning down their bright light on everything and everyone beneath. Further away, various games of chance played out on tables of various shapes, colours and forms.

They paced down an aisle of luscious red carpet and people pressed in around them on all sides. Samson, who found it hard to keep his temper in check at the best of times, barged people out of his way like an ogre with a toothache.

Steiner slowed while Samson pressed ahead. ‘Why don’t I wait here?’

‘Fine,’ Samson said, barely looking back before being swallowed up by the human sea.

Steiner peeled away from the thoroughfare towards a row of slot machines. All were taken except one and Steiner positioned himself in front of it to watch those alongside play their respective games. Coin after coin disappeared from a plastic bucket held by a grey haired woman, ten years his senior, sitting on a stool to his right. As she fed in her money, pressing the transparent brightly lit plastic buttons with an unerring frequency, she glanced over to see him watching her.

‘Run out of money, honey?’ she asked in a Texan drawl.

‘Never had any to start with.’

The woman, dressed in a gaudy cardigan and a pair of mustard yellow corduroy trousers, dug into her stash and placed a handful of coins into Steiner’s hurriedly outstretched palms. He looked at her in surprise, her generosity unexpected.

The woman laughed happily. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ve got plenty more where this came from. Knock yourself out.’

Steiner gave her a nod of his head, his smile wide. ‘Much obliged.’

‘You’re welcome, honey,’ she said, already continuing her game.

Turning his attention to the machine Steiner inserted a coin and watched the small, different coloured fruits spin round and round until the four adjacent wheels each came to a stop in turn, accompanied by a small bleep. Steiner assessed the games functions and the various buttons that went with it. Feeding in some more coins one at a time, his money rapidly disappearing, it became apparent that he wasn’t about to win anytime soon. He now had two coins left and felt cheated and depressed at having lost it all, despite the fact it was not hard-earned, merely a kindly donation. ‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ he said to himself. The machines were clearly rigged to rinse a person of every dollar they possessed. He glanced back along the lines at the people playing, their static stare zombie-like in its addiction.

Looking at the machine, Steiner had an idea. He recalled a news story he’d heard when he’d been lecturing at the California Institute of Technology, thirty years earlier.
Was it that long?
he thought, never ceasing to be astounded by the ephemeral nature of time. The tale, if he remembered it correctly, told of a man hacking into the NSA database using an antiquated dial-up modem. The simplicity of the idea had amazed Steiner at the time, such a wonderfully constructed theory utilising outdated techniques to crack a high-tech and supposedly ultra-secure network – pure genius.

The machine at which he stood had dual controls, button or voice activated. Switching to voice control, Steiner withdrew his small pocket computer and brought up an audio application. After some moments of trial and error he’d accessed the machine’s internal system, the hold and nudge buttons lighting up on his command, the simple tones omitted from his computer acting like keys on a keyboard. Figuring out the code to induce a jackpot was now a formality, with a final tap of his index finger the wheels spun round once more. Round and round, until, one by one, they displayed the same image of a bunch of red cherries. Sirens blared and flashing lights erupted from the top of the machine, which flashed and shook itself as coins spewed forth.

‘Oh my God, you did it!’ His female benefactor looked overjoyed at his success. ‘You won!’

Steiner grinned at her and slid his computer back into his pocket, the enemy vanquished. His pleasure at defeating the house was shorted-lived, however, when two pairs of hands clamped down on his arms to escort him away from the confused onlookers as the coins, still ejecting from the machine, now cascaded onto the floor itself.

Steiner soon found himself descending in an elevator. ‘Have I done something wrong, gentlemen?’ he asked, knowing all too well his own guilt.

The two bald-headed burly men, dressed in matching black suits, remained silent, their grip on him undiminished. On the breast pocket of each, the word ‘security’ had been embroidered in bold white lettering. Steiner was led down a cold, white-walled, basement corridor and into an area filled with a huge wallscreen, divided into scores of separate streams, all showing various parts of the casino, inside and out.

A man in a shirt and tie approached and addressed the two gorillas either side of Steiner, ‘Put him in holding room five.’

‘Yes, sir,’ one of the apes said, his cruel beady eyes looking at Steiner like a crocodile eyeing up its next gazelle at the watering hole.

Steiner was shoved into a grey, empty room, but rather than being left alone, ape one, the no-necked wonder that seemed to have some capacity for speech, remained with him.

Steiner raised an eyebrow. ‘Any chance of a drink?’

The man didn’t respond.

‘That’s a no, then.’ He sighed and removed his spectacles to clean the lenses.

Steiner didn’t have long to wait before a commotion outside the room lured the security guard away, the door opening and closing behind him. He heard people yelling, followed by loud thuds and crashes. Then silence. The door to the room opened again and Samson stood there glowering, before moving out of sight of the now vacant doorway. Steiner emerged from the small cell, his brief stay over, and looked around the room. The orderly office he’d glimpsed on his way in now looked like a raging bull had swept through it. The main screen was shattered and desks had been upended. The two security guards lay comatose on the floor, while three of their colleagues, equally prone, moved weakly, the occasional moan escaping their lips. Samson, meanwhile, ripped a piece of hardware from a server in the corner of the room and then stalked out, with Steiner following close behind.

‘I take it that’s the security footage from the casino?’ Steiner said as they made their way back down to the car park.

Samson stopped walking and held the hard drive up to Steiner’s face, his pent up fury making the device shake in his hand. ‘Are you trying to get us caught?’

It was Steiner’s turn to keep his thoughts to himself, much to Samson’s further disgust. Steiner knew he’d made a mistake; he needed to keep out of the limelight, not jump into it. Unfortunately he was used to having a team of people surrounding him, guiding his hand almost every step of the way. This was the first time in thirty years he‘d been effectively working alone, the conductor of his own music, so to speak. His enthusiasm, usually carefully directed, had been unleashed. He’d always known he possessed what bordered on a split personality; deadly serious, calm and in control while at work, and almost juvenile when at play. Now that Samson had put saving those in Steadfast on hiatus, Steiner found himself adrift; that was until the colonel had completed whatever business he felt compelled to undertake.

The two men got back into the pick-up and Samson drove them out onto the neon splashed streets. Steiner rubbed his tired eyes, the urgency to free those in Steadfast reasserting itself in the forefront of his mind. He knew it was easy to blame Samson for his own shortcomings; while the SFSD commander had derailed Steiner’s plan, he knew he couldn’t afford to let the gravitas of the situation escape him again, no matter how much he wished to temporarily unburden himself of his responsibilities.