Cyber Dawn (A Ben Raine Novel) (23 page)

Nothing.

From somewhere behind me, a door slammed shut.

I whirled around and fell to one knee. Sixty feet in the distance, I could see a flicker of light through the door’s small square window.

A flashlight beam.

My heart froze.

Somebody, most likely a guard, had entered the archive building.

I turned back around and again inspected the vault door, the keypad, and the touch screen. But no matter how closely I looked or how much I begged my system to hack in, nothing happened. The door remained locked tight.

With a deep sigh, I leaned against the heavy door and slid down to the ground. I was trapped with no route for escape. As soon as the guard sent a flashlight beam down the stark corridor, I was a goner.

My mind pored over the previous three days. Meeting Sarah. Sleeping in her apartment. Hacking CyberLife. Visiting Dr. Carter. Meeting Sarah. Sleeping in her apartment.

Best five hundred bucks I ever spent.

Suddenly, a memory jarred me.

The safe.

After my dad had installed the safe in his office, I just had to see what was in it. I entered every four-digit passcode I could think of. My dad’s birthday. My mom’s birthday. My dad’s ATM code. Eventually, after too many failures, the keypad locked up. My dad was angry because he had to call the manufacturer for the unlock code.

I swung back around and re-scanned the front of the vault door. Just above the keypad, a tiny metal plaque read:
MANUFACTURED BY SECURE DOOR TECHNOLOGIES INC.

Hack the website,
I thought.

I stared at my log and waited.

Come on. Come on. Do something!

A browser window opened on my HUD and the website for Secure Door Technologies appeared. I thought briefly about why Megan withheld the browser feature from me.
Would have been handy in history class, that’s for sure.

I scanned the homepage and found what I was looking for. Near the bottom, in small text, were the words:
CLIENT LOGIN

I stared at the text and blinked.

Suddenly, as if an auto-pilot kicked on, my system took over. I tried to keep up as it navigated around and opened and closed various windows. After a few moments, a new text-only screen appeared followed by line after line of programming code. Then, a new message popped up.

Database access granted.

I quickly ran a search for CyberLife Industries. A record appeared, followed by a long string of numbers. I dropped to one knee and started punching them into the keypad. When I finished, the screen flashed twice and displayed:

Administrator account reset. Enter new PIN.

Behind me the footsteps grew louder.

I quickly entered a new PIN code. Something I would remember.

12345678901234567890

Place fingers on the screen.

Damnit!

I put my hand on the touch screen. A white line appeared and began to trace my hand.

Come on!
I willed it.
Hurry!

Biometric scan complete.

A motor whirred from inside the wall. The door slowly swung open. When it was wide enough, I slipped through.

I counted the seconds as the large, heavy door closed behind me. I wondered whether it was possible for it to go any slower. Finally, it sealed shut and the whirring sound returned. A metal clank rang out as the vault door security bars slid back into place.

Breathing heavily, I turned around and faced the giant cavern. It was silent, other than the sound of my heart beating in my ears.

I took a step forward and triggered the cavern’s automatic lights. I watched as they cascaded on, one at a time, toward the rear of the cavern. It was a much larger space than I remembered. Row after row of shelves extended as far as I could see. The walls and ceiling were polished rock and the cavern felt cold and dry.

I took another tentative step forward and grinned.

36

I made my way down to the end of the aisle, scanning labels as I went. I reached the end and groaned.
Al
, for
Alpha
, was somewhere above. A ladder on wheels was attached to the shelving, so I rolled it to roughly where I thought
Alpha
would be, and climbed up. Three quarters of the way up the ladder, I knew I was in trouble. There were no shelves marked with an
Al
and none of the nearby containers had
Alpha
scrawled on them. In a moment of panic, I wondered if Merrick kept his top-secret files in a special room somewhere else in the archive.

Or not in the archive at all.

Did he destroy them?

I slid down the ladder and jogged the perimeter. When I reached the back, after spotting no doors or corridors leading to other rooms or vaults, I stopped and exhaled heavily. It was just after nine-thirty. I had been on the CyberLife campus for more than an hour. Time was running short.

I started around the final half of the cavern when a label caught my eye.

T

Carter called it the Alpha program. Titan was the official name. I ran down the aisle and found what I was looking for. A crate with
TITAN
scrawled on its label. Smaller text underneath read:
ROLLINS
.

I pulled out the container, surprised at how heavy it was. I set it on the ground and peeled off the plastic top. Inside was a pile of books, various notepads, office supplies, a stack of old DVD-ROMs, and, to my surprise, a long dead and decayed houseplant. I frowned and pulled out one of the notepads.

Meeting minutes.

Not finding anything useful, I dropped the notepad back in the container and continued digging. A small white box was full of business cards.

JANET ROLLINS, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT.

I looked at the labels on several other nearby crates.

RICHARDS. RILEY. STEVENS.

The crates are organized by employee,
I realized.

I snapped the lid back on and slid the container into its place on the shelf. I then pulled out the next one, rifled through it, and found the same type of materials. After checking several more containers from the bottom shelf, I had no reason not to believe Carter. It was clear security walked in and unceremoniously dumped each employee’s desk contents into a container. One of them even held a mummified sack lunch.

I stepped back and looked up and down the row. There were hundreds of containers marked
TITAN.
I was about to hit the next one on the bottom shelf when I realized I was going about it wrong. I didn’t need to search
every
container.

I walked along the aisle until I found the one I wanted.

CARTER.

Using another wheeled ladder, I climbed a third of the way up, pulled the container out, and carefully lowered it to the ground.

It too was full of the same type of items as the others. Books, pencils, and paper clips. Typical office stuff. It wasn’t until the bottom that I found something interesting: a stack of journals held together by a large, thick rubber band.

I flipped through the first journal. Little of it made sense. They were dated, though, so I hurried through the newer ones hoping to uncover something relevant to the Alpha program. In the third journal, I found a piece of paper stuffed in between the pages. An email dated a week before my first surgery.

Dr. Merrick—My attempts to meet with you personally have failed. I know you are busy forming the team for the phase 2 Beta program, so please consider this email a record of my concerns. In reviewing the most recent batch of Alpha program candidates from Dr. Kaiser, I have some apprehensions. Like with the original pre-Alpha candidates, these newer ones have all been diagnosed with an extremely rare form of cancer. I did some research and determined that, the odds of these children, all roughly the same age, being diagnosed with this cancer in the same two-month period, are not only astronomical, but downright impossible. As you already know, I had some reservations with the original candidates that not all were as sick as Kaiser made them out to be. This most recent group has compounded my concerns to the point where I felt the need to approach you (again). I would like to discuss this as soon as possible. Perhaps before Alpha 7’s surgery on Monday? —Dr. Allen Carter

A wave of nausea hit my stomach. I grabbed the shelving to steady myself as I read the email three more times. Each time I came to the same conclusion.

I never had cancer.

There was little doubt now. Even Carter thought Kaiser was sending CyberLife healthy kids.

With shaky hands, I stuffed the letter into my pants pocket and the journals into my bag. I tossed the books and office supplies back into the plastic container, then dragged it up the ladder and into its original place on the shelf. I slid down and turned down the aisle, hoping the journals were enough.

As I turned down the outside of the cavern, another idea hit me. I ran to the back of the aisle of Titan containers and climbed the ladder to roughly where the R’s should be.

On the top shelf, I found it.

REYNOLDS.

I started to pull the container out when I realized my dilemma. Namely, the concept of gravity. I looked up and down the aisle to see if there was a mechanical lift sitting around. But other than me and the wheeled ladder, the aisle was empty.

I looked up at the ceiling. It was so close I could almost touch it. Another idea struck me. There was a gap of at least five feet between the top of the shelf and the ceiling.

Just enough room,
I thought.

I carefully pulled the container out and pushed it up the ladder to the top of the shelving. I climbed up after it, crouched under the cold rock ceiling, and quickly snapped the lid off.

I pored through the contents, which ended up being mostly the same type of stuff I found in the other boxes. I set them aside and grabbed a glass picture frame. I sat back on my knees and stared. It was a picture of Megan. She wore a long, black dress and had her arm around some guy in a military uniform. I wondered if it was her brother. Or maybe a boyfriend. She had rarely talked to me about her personal life.

A lump formed in my throat as my eyes lingered on the photo. I briefly thought about putting the picture in my bag, but instead placed it gently on the shelf next to the pile of books. The rest of the container was empty. I assumed that, since she wasn’t fired like the rest of the team, she had taken most of her stuff with her.

While I paused to catch my breath, I flipped absently through several of the books. I stopped when one didn’t feel right.

Too heavy.

The book wouldn’t open, so I inspected the covers and spine. Part of the paper had started to peel away. I finished the process with my fingernail, which revealed a piece of metal. With a frown, I pulled my new multi-tool out of my bag and used the screwdriver to pry at it. After a few seconds of work, the book popped open. Only it wasn’t a book. It was a box. Inside was a computer hard drive.

I pulled the drive out and inspected it. I didn’t know much about computer hardware, but had seen Megan mess with them a few times. If she had gone through the effort to hide it, it was important. I put it back into the fake book and placed it gently into my bag.

As I began to reload Megan’s container, the sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut echoed through the cavern.

I froze.

A few seconds later, I heard the unmistakable sound of a radio and male voices.

I was no longer alone.

37

“We are in the vault,” a male replied. “Something tripped the lights. We’re checking it out.”

The voice on the other end said, “Hurry it up, Jim. Automated sentries will be deployed at twenty-two hundred hours. Suggest you report back to your post ASAP.”

“Roger that.”

The sound of jogging footsteps echoed through the cavern. I was out of time.

I lay down and pushed myself flat onto the top of the metal shelving. My only hope was that the sharp angle would prevent the guards from seeing me. And the fact they were in a hurry to avoid whatever the automated sentries were.

“Damn sentries,” one of the guards said. “I don’t trust those things.”

The second guard snorted, and replied, “I hear ya. It’s only a matter of time before one shoots somebody.”

“Maybe that will convince Merrick they’re a bad idea.”

“Yeah, right,” said the first guard. “Not likely. You know how much he loves his pet projects.”

I peered over the side of the shelving. The guards were two aisles away and patrolling the outside of the cavern. From there, thanks to the bright lights I had apparently tripped, they were able to see down each row of shelves without actually walking down the row itself.

As the guards drew closer, I slid to the middle of the shelf. Megan’s crate was between me and them, providing some additional cover. Another half minute or so and the two men would be past my row and on their way back down the other side.

I held my breath.

“Hey, Scott,” said one guard, who I now assumed must be Jim. “Check that out. One of the crates is missing.”

I grimaced.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Scott replied. “Nobody has been in the vault today. We would have noticed a missing crate on our last rounds, right?”

Footsteps grew nearer. My heart raced.

I’m screwed.

“Should we call it in?” Jim asked.

“Not yet,” Scott answered. “Let’s check it out first. Might just be up there on the top of the shelving. I’ve seen researchers do that when they were too lazy to get the lift and bring it down.”