Golem Protocol: (Steward of the Apocalypse)

Golem Protocol

Steward of the Apocalypse

LINC HANSEN

Copyright © 2015 Linc Hansen

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 151775786X

ISBN-13: 978-1517757861

DEDICATION

For the three J’s in my life and Halz T too. Many thanks to the Death Zone Destroyers!

Thanks to Sandra and Mark for the encouragement.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I appreciate all the editorial work done by Paul Benson. My thanks to Gregory Harper for the cover design.

CHAPTER ONE

My life changed forever the moment Steve Blackthorne killed twenty thousand people with a single keystroke. Among the murdered was my father, a Nobel Prize-winning physicist. Steve assumed that he'd gotten away with it scot-free. He was wrong. He’d have to answer to me—Dane Stone, Dread Artificer of the Fifth Eminence. Don't let the dread part fool you; I'm a good guy.

I knew that Steve murdered my father in cold blood. There was just one tiny problem; I couldn’t prove it. That tiny problem led me to where I am today—hiding in a tiny utility closet on the forty-fourth floor of Blackthorne Tower. The closet is a mere fifteen feet from Steve’s sanctum.

I sent my awareness into my phone, not wanting the light from the screen to betray my presence. It was precisely 11:43 PM. The guard should be here any second.

Impatient, I took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. The utility room reeked of harsh chemicals and old rubber gloves. I peeked through the tiny gap of the door jam and watched the non-uniformed security guard make his rounds. He was right on time.

He held himself like a soldier gone to seed. He wore an old bomber jacket with water-damaged leather across the shoulders and a pair of blue Levi’s. The little hair that hadn't migrated clung to the bottom of his cranium. A couple days’ stubble covered his jaw, and a wicked scar marred his left cheek. He carried a sawed-off shotgun in his left hand and a Maglite in the other. In no hurry, he chomped his gum with relish. As he strolled past the utility room, his shadow stretched out behind him. He slowed at the end of the hallway and stopped. He remained there for a long moment.

Had he sensed me? I couldn’t see him through the crack anymore, but the chomping of his gum grew louder. I quickly locked the utility room door with a faint click. I hoped he didn’t hear the nearly imperceptible noise, but he shined the flashlight on the door. Light streamed through the crack into the utility room. The Maglite remained motionless for what seemed like a long time, and then he clomped directly towards my hiding place. He stopped chewing his gum. Perhaps the old adage about chewing gum and thinking at the same time had some merit after all. With the steely rasp of metal on metal, he screwed the flashlight onto the rail of the shotgun and pointed the 12-gauge at the door.

I swallowed silently, praying he wouldn’t blow a hole through the door.

He reached for the door handle and bore down on it, but it didn’t budge.

I know you’re in there, he said. So come on out before I make Swiss cheese out of you.

I didn’t move. I sighed. Worry began clawing at my calm.

He pumped a shell into the chamber and said, Last chance, punk.

Bioelectricity thrummed through me as if it had a will of its own. I forced it down. Time to be calm and collected. He isn't Steve. He's just doing his job.

Alright, don’t shoot me, I said, opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

On your knees, he said, his eyes really big.

I knelt down, holding my hands out away from my body, trying to seem as nonthreatening as possible.

Toss your ID badge onto the floor and no funny business, he said, sweat beading on his bald head as his left hand shook.

I slowly unclipped the ID badge from my belt and tossed it at his feet.

Dane Moses Stone, eh, he said, recognition showing on his face. You’re taller than I expected. Calm as a cucumber. I don’t understand why the boss is worried about you.

I gave him a wolfish grin.

Don’t know why the boss thought you’re worth 200K, he said. And I don’t care. Hug the wall, freak.

You don’t know much, do you? I said as I complied.

Tame as a kitten, you are, he said, reassuring himself. Good, now put your hands behind your head slowly. He nudged the base of my skull with the barrel.

The barrel remained there for a long moment and then dipped as he reached for the handcuffs. He slapped one over my right wrist, and as soon as the cuff touched me, I let the lightning in my veins surge through the cuffs and into the security guard.

Oh yeah, I nearly forgot to mention, I can do things that most people can’t. But we’ll get to that later.

I got up at the same time he was falling down. I didn’t bother trying to catch him. With a satisfying thump, he struck the carpet. I bent down and started searching for the handcuff key. It took me three pockets before I found it. The whole time the shotgun-toting guard lay there drooling into the carpet.

I snagged his radio off his belt and fished my phone out of my pocket. I pressed the radio button and then pressed play on my phone.

With a recording I’d collected a couple days ago, the bald guard’s voice stated, Floor forty-four is clear.

When he didn’t report in on the next floor, the guards would start searching for him.

I had roughly six minutes.

I’m committed now.

Even though this wasn’t part of my original plan, it worked out in my favor. Kicking the shotgun into the utility room, I grabbed the guard by the collar of his leather jacket and dragged him over to the door. The guard was heavier than he looked. Too many candy bars for him. I’d found half a Baby Ruth in one pocket.

I smiled. I took his ID badge and slapped it against the panel. Then I lifted his hand up to the scanner, and after a moment, the outer door buzzed and opened. I propped the door open with my backpack and dragged the security guard back to the utility room where I propped him up against the yellow mop bucket on wheels.

You’ll be fine-ish in twenty minutes or so, I said.

Hustling back to Steve’s office, I grabbed my backpack, letting the first door swing closed as I hurried to the second. I’d entered the small security area into Steve’s office. During normal hours, Steve’s bodyguards monitored comings and goings, but they left when Steve did.

From my reconnaissance, I knew that this door wouldn't be easily breached. I flexed my fingers and took out my ID badge. I wanted Steve to know I was coming after him. I wanted him to fear the name of Dane Moses Stone.

The only source of light came from the access panel next to the thick, steel security door with Steve Blackthorne CEO engraved on it. I had solid intel that proof of my father’s murder was on the hard drive in Steve’s personal safe.

I needed to get through this door fast.

My hands were cold and trembled slightly as I fought to compose myself. I’d have to use magic to breach his security system. Most wizards, or thaumaturgists, have anywhere from one to five branches of magic available to them. I had one that had never been discovered before. I call it digimathurgy. It allows me to communicate and manipulate technology and machines to varying degrees.

I touched the control pad with my left hand and poured my awareness into it. This security system was complicated, and I couldn’t afford any mistakes.

I closed my eyes and tried to prepare for the shock to my system. It’s always disorienting when I pour my awareness into software. It took me a moment before I recognized the infinite blackness, lit solely by a tiny flashing cursor. I’d entered into a DOS-based system.

No school like the old school.

I swiped my ID badge across the panel with my right hand and focused as the code rolled in front of my minds eye. As the software clamored to life and flashed in recognition, I lashed out and did the programming equivalent of massive blunt-force trauma to the program. It halted abruptly, and before it could move on to the validation sequence, I seized control.

Rushing forward, I shouldered aside most of the access protocols. The software began its reboot, and I halted before it sensed my intrusion. I sent a jolt of bioelectricity into the panel through my left hand and politely requested that the software skip the protocol for retinal scan and voice recognition.

The program paused for a pregnant moment and finally agreed. I tried to get it to complete the opening process, but the program halted on the final access protocol. In my mad dash I'd forgotten about the DNA verification and the body scan.

Crap! I started to sweat.

Calm down; you didn’t get to the Fifth Eminence by freaking out.

Before I had a chance to do it all again, the alarm would trigger, and a small army of gun-toting maniacs would be trying to put holes in me.

Angered at my slip up, I had to proceed before things got worse. I tried to nudge the program forward, but it wouldn’t budge. Programs can be stubborn just like people.

I thought furiously for a long moment and then smiled. Work this system just like the Swiss job I’d done a year or so back.

I’d have to risk it.

I didn't have all day to fiddle with this door. I placed my hand on the DNA scanner, and the system began running the code that initiated the matching sequence.

As soon as the code began, I began adding in snippets of my personal information.

Height: six feet three inches.

Weight: two hundred and thirty pounds.

Eye color: green

It went through the biometric information and then to body dimensions: nineteen-inch biceps and so on.

The only thing I couldn't alter to fit me was the actual DNA. Steve had been smart enough to encrypt that. So I began constructing a roadblock that released the door's locking mechanism. It was risky, and if it didn't work it would trip the alarm. Stealth wouldn't be an option at that point, and odds of me escaping alive went down drastically, but as they say Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

With my information added I hit enter, and the code came to life. I tried to hold still as the green lasers scanned me from every direction.

Scan complete: Access granted.

Only the DNA scan lay between me and proof of my father’s murder.

I placed my hand into the receptacle, and a needle pricked my finger.

The program was taking forever. I hoped my virtual roadblock would derail the code. The code raced towards me, for a fraction of a second it glitched and then continued on. I hunkered down, blocking the path that would deny me access. I waited for several seconds before I realized that it had taken the other path.

Had it approved my DNA?

The locking mechanism opened with a click, and I stepped inside. Steve’s office wasn’t what I’d pictured.

His office held high-end leather furniture. The couch had a new smell and feel about it. Right then and there I committed to see if it would double as a trampoline.

I placed my size twelve cowboy boot on the black cushion and stepped up on the expensive leather. I jumped just enough to clear the cushion. I landed with a loud creak. Unexpectedly, it shot me back up off the couch a fair bit. I couldn’t blame the couch for protesting; I’m no lightweight.

The motion sensor tripped, and I killed its signal to the alarm system. On the third jump, I heard something snap, and the leather cushion ripped under the heel of my worn cowboy boots.

I’d pay a lot of money to see Steve’s face when he saw his precious couch.

You're probably wondering why the sudden urge to test out a couch for trampoline usage? Well, that’s simple: I knew Steve never invited anyone to sit on it. Its only real purpose was to demean and deny his guests.

I tried to extract myself from the remains of the couch and tripped, sending a gilded frame with a picture of Steve’s fourth trophy wife—a former Victoria Secret model—to the ground with a crash. I winced, but since he was currently married to his fifth wife, I didn't feel too bad. The sleazeball was just showing off.

From my reconnaissance missions, I knew that the graveyard shift had come in a couple hours ago, and the employees had enough time to get settled into the mind-numbing, daily grind. My cameras informed me that the majority of the employees were busy doing as little as possible, waiting for their shifts to end.

Steve hadn’t made any attempt to hide the safe.

Overconfident? Sure. Look it up in the dictionary, and it will have a picture of Steve. The bad thing is, most the time he has good reasons to act that way. He had taken the time to make his security bulletproof. He prided himself on being a big-picture kind of guy. He’d made sure he’d covered all the angles. No normal mortal could make it past all of his precautions to rob him.

Praise the Almighty—normal is one thing I am not.

I tugged on my gloves and just for fun I skulked to the safe. I took my phone out of my pocket and checked the time: 11:53 PM.

Perfect. It’s late Saturday night, just on the cusp of becoming Sunday.

It’s go time!

Steve Blackthorne must have been expecting me, or someone like me, because my gift didn’t work on his safe. It was too old and had no digital soul for me to interact with.

Fine, I’d do it the hard way.

I stuck my phone up to the safe and slowly rolled the tumbler. I’d installed a sensitive microphone into my phone that could pick up the tiniest noise, just for this job. I spun the tumbler slowly and listened for the pin to fall.

The first pin fell on forty-one.

Back the other direction as slow as slow can be. The second pin fell on fourteen.

A loud thump broke my concentration. I couldn't place the noise. It wasn't the thump of a door closing or that of a heavy footfall. A thousand worries ricocheted around in my skull. I remained completely motionless, not even daring to breathe.

Had my antics with his stupid couch triggered something I’d been unaware of?

Worse, had I been discovered?

I slowly twisted my neck, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

What had I missed?

What hadn’t I considered?

Was the entire security detail just outside the doors waiting to gun me down?

Fear crawled over my skin like a thousand tiny cockroaches, and my hands started shaking from the adrenalin.

Cool air poured down on me. It took me a second, and then I sighed with relief. I’d been discovered by the air conditioning.

I took three slow breaths, trying to calm myself. It didn’t help much. I’d prepared thoroughly, but it’s always something small that fouls up an otherwise perfect plan. No one knew that better than me. I wiped a bead of sweat off my brow and silently berated myself.

Closing my eyes momentarily, I forced myself into a state of calm. My fingers returned to the tumbler, turning it at a geriatric turtle pace until the phone told me to start over. I’d missed the final pin with the racket from the air conditioning.

Great, I’d have to start over. I only had a couple of minutes at most before my boss, Ted, would miss me. I rushed to the first two numbers forty-one and then fourteen. Then back to the geriatric snail’s pace. The third pin finally fell into place. Then the tumbler became immobile. I’d successfully cracked the safe.

I mentally thumbed my nose at Steve.

I eased open the safe, and the skin on the back of my neck prickled. I'd triggered the silent alarm. I knew about the silent alarm and fumbled for it. It sped past. I struck out and tried to block it. I missed! In desperation I fumbled at the signal again, but the signal zipped right on by before I could stop it.

What?

It's harder than you think. Computers act in millionths of a second. No one, not even me, acts that fast. I had exactly seven minutes to get out of the building before the police arrived to search the entire skyscraper and everyone in it. If I got caught, it meant the hard drive I’d spent the last three years searching for was utterly wasted. The bad thing about this alarm, it tripped no matter what the thief did. Even if Steve opened the safe, the alarm triggered.

Unfortunately, security systems, in particular, don't like to be told what to do, so I had to tread carefully. Normally, my gift bypasses programs and protocols, but there's an exception to every rule.

I swung the safe door all the way open, and a whisper of air rushed into the safe.

A single page from an ancient grimoire drifted out of the safe.

I nearly tumbled over backward when I recognized the page for what it was. Steve’s hands were far dirtier than I had believed. The last time I had seen this page it had been hand stitched into the Grimoire of Malign Ministrations and Miracles. A book filled with secrets never meant to be seen by normal men and women.

How in the world had Steve overcome the protective spells that made the page unreadable, unintelligible, and nigh indestructible?

The page, along with the book, was the property of an ancient guild of peacekeepers known only as the Sisterhood.

No one messed with the Sisterhood.

The Sisterhood is much too careful and protective of powerful information, especially this page. I hadn’t come for it, but I couldn’t just leave it here. That would be akin to handing vials of nitroglycerin to a bunch of kindergarteners and sending them out to recess.

On the other hand, I couldn’t be caught with the page either. One of Steve’s personal security guards would help me out a window fifty stories up if they caught me with his page of the grimoire.

The page had a series of complex mathematical equations copied meticulously in brown ink. The margins of the page had several crude drawings and notes in a shaky handwriting I guessed to be Arabic.

Wait that wasn’t Arabic. . . .

It almost looked like the three eyes arranged in a triangle.

Could it be? Nah, no one was that stupid. Were they?

Could that be a poorly drawn Oculus?

If I scrunched up my eyes, the Oculus came into focus for a split second, and a horrifying sensation of defilement clung to me. I felt dirty, sullied, unclean. I needed a bath.

No one would assist that ancient horror.

Right?

The Lakgoth had been imprisoned for millennia; some other dark force must have subverted the Lakgoth’s greatest tool—the three-eyed symbol of the Oculus.

I tried to reassure myself, but deep down inside I cringed at this omen of utter defilement and destruction.

Wave after wave of nausea passed into me.

Something powerful had sensed me and knew I was now aware of it.

This particular page in the blood-drenched hands of Steve Blackthorne changed everything.

I couldn’t focus.

The ramifications of the Oculus and this page being in Steve’s possession—I didn’t have time to deal with this right now. Up until this moment I wasn’t certain if Steve knew about magic, or if his men did. I knew Steve was aware now, and it would be best to assume his men did as well.

I needed to hurry if I wanted to get out of this alive. I set the page aside for a moment and searched for the hard drive. After three long years, I finally had it within reach. The whole point of stealing the blasted hard drive in the first place was to get answers to questions, not bring up more.

The safe’s interior smelled of cigars—Cubans, I assumed.

Illegal?

Yup, right up Steve’s alley. I shook my head. According to Steve, rules and laws don’t apply to him. Unfortunately, once again, he’s partially right. As a result of his money and connections, he’d gotten away with murder, repeatedly.

The hard drive leaned against the back wall of the steel safe. I tried to reach into the safe with both hands, but my shoulders bumped into the sides halting my movement abruptly.

I craned my neck away from the safe and reached in with one hand. I slid several bars of gold out of the way and managed to get two fingers on the hard drive. I wiggled it closer, and carefully brought it out.

Now I knew how Indiana Jones felt after stealing the golden idol. A measure of exultation mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation. Hurrying, I slid the stolen page into a next-day-air folder I'd prepared for the hard drive. No one would ever suspect their mail to work against them.

I stood slowly, stretching. The hard drive should contain top-secret research footage, but even with my gifts I couldn't tell yet. I wanted a backup in case the original hard drive didn't make it to Lynn. I plugged my adapted thumb drive into the hard drive and touched my fingers to the power slot of the hard drive. I focused and sent a small amount of electrical current into the drive and started the data transfer.

My phone vibrated once, nearly giving me a heart attack. I‘m not usually this jumpy, but then again I don’t make a habit of stealing from the world’s most dangerous men.

I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. With both of my hands busy I sent my awareness into my phone and read the text.

Hurry! Ted is looking for you. – Joe

I slid a dummy hard drive out of my backpack and placed it in the safe. I hoped they wouldn't notice the drive wasn't the same. Instead of video footage, the dummy drive contained a virus. The virus would execute if it were plugged in. It would crash their system, buying me time to get the heck out of Dodge.

I had exactly five minutes and twenty-two seconds to escape the building.

I’d prepared thoroughly for this day, and I hoped to pull off a miracle.

With a surge of power, I sent a simple command:

Send the visuals to my left eye.

Views from several different cameras flooded into my vision. It’s kind of like watching ten TV’s all stacked together. I picked the downstairs night watchman, and it filled my left eye. A pool of drool seeped out of his partially opened mouth as his arm cradled his head.

Nasty! At least I didn’t have to worry about him.

I mentally killed that camera and scanned through the others as I rushed out into the hall.

My attention focused on camera three as it flashed a proximity warning, and sure enough an enormous man in a flack jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans rushed up the stairs, toting an assault rifle.

Crap, I knew his type. He wouldn’t just slap handcuffs on a suspect; he’d opt for the less-paper-intensive route. By that I mean he’d pull the trigger, sending a burst of hot lead into my soft tissue, thereby securing for himself a hefty raise from Steve for my murder and the recovery of the hard drive. The only downside for him would be cleaning up the bloody mess.

My adrenalin spiked, and my stomach fell into my crappy, old, cowboy boots I always wore. Time to go to plan B. I raced to the elevator bay, desperately digging through my backpack, past some smoke grenades and other gadgets until my fingers found what I'd been searching for. I yanked out the crowbar and slammed it into the crack between the elevator doors. With a grunt of effort, I managed to pry them open. Just in the nick of time too. The motion sensor on camera four informed me that the guy in the flack jacket was right on top of me!

He turned the corner and unloaded an entire clip at me.

Without pausing, I dove into the shaft. The thunderous noise from his assault rifle filled the space right behind me, and I dropped the crowbar. It clattered down the dark, elevator shaft after me.

I had the elevator wait four floors down so that no one could accidentally come to the floor and catch me red-handed. This time my planning didn’t help me

A fall that far would kill me.

Flailing, I reached for the greased elevator cable and clamped both hands down on it. My gloves began smoking as I slid down the partially greased cable. I slowed enough that I didn’t splatter all over the top of the elevator—but not enough to keep me from denting the control panel.

My knee struck the control panel with bone jarring force.

Ouch! That’ll leave a bruise. I stood up rubbing my knee.

The elevator doors above creaked. Men cussed at the elevator door as two sets of hands fought to pry them open. The hands that fought to open the outer elevator doors were getting closer. It dawned on me what was happening.

I was going up—headed right into their waiting arms.

Oh crap! I yanked my ruined glove off and slapped my right hand down on the elevator’s control box, the same one I just dented. I rammed my awareness into it and stopped the elevator abruptly in between floors.

The doors opened above me, and the assault rifle barrel jutted over the edge of the shaft. A red laser dot appeared on my chest, the dust in the shaft flickered through the red beam.

I sprang, gripping the ledge of floor forty-one, just out of the laser's path. A deafening boom shook the elevator shaft. Below me, I heard the wrenching sound of metal on metal and the pinging of the cable giving way. The elevator plummeted into blackness. Pulling myself up onto the tiny ledge, I snatched the wires leading to the elevator call button and mentally opened the doors. They slid open with a soft ding, and I grabbed my mini-camera off the wall.

No reason to leave any evidence.

Spinning on one heel, I dropped a smoke grenade and rushed to the stairs.

I pointed the camera at me as I raced down the stairs. I couldn't go back to my cube looking like I'd been in a battle. The jostled image showed me my untidy hair, a dark blond, typical of my bloodline. My shirt was covered in dust, and I had a smudge of grease on one cheek. I blinked once to get rid of the image and continued my frantic pace down the service stairs. Without breaking stride, I snatched another tiny camera off the wall and kept on moving.

So far, so good.

If my temporary boss, Ted, found out I was missing, it would make me the number one suspect when this fiasco was all over. If that were the case, nothing would stop Steve from coming after me and killing me.

After murdering 20,000 people, one more wouldn't bother his conscience at all. I kept hustling my way down the stairs, running as fast as I dared.

I sent a file from my phone to the main server. Seconds later the fire alarm went off, the red lights flashing over the exits. Just as I'd planned, the thirty-third-floor residents of Blackthorne Inc.’s call center stood up, their heads peering over the cubicle walls like a giant whack-a mole-game. I rushed through the cubicle maze, hunkered barely lower than the cube walls, and slid into my very own three-and-a-half walled prison.

I’d only been employed there for a few weeks. Getting past the initial security checks would have added more layers of complexity to what I already had to face.

The simple fix . . . get hired on at the call center. Which isn't very difficult, if you access their system and add your information to the group of new hires. The badge they handed me on my first day made my job easier as it automatically bypassed all the initial security clearance. I slapped on my headset, took two deep breaths, and resumed the call I'd placed on hold some minutes before.

Sorry for the hold, ma’am, I said as I accessed her computer through my virtual assistant, Tina.

For Tina, resolving virtually any software issue is mere child’s play.

I believe I’ve found the issue with your computer, I informed her. Yes, that’s great news. In the future, please don’t click on things that tell you that you won a prize. It doesn’t work that way. No, ma’am, you weren’t the millionth person on the site; and no, you didn’t win anything. Thank you for calling. Have a nice day!

I stood up and caught a glimpse of Ted out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, he’d managed to escape the confines of his super reinforced office chair and was on the prowl. My nose had alerted me moments before that he had breached the stench perimeter. My rotund manager, Ted, rolled around the corner. His wrinkled khaki pants looked like they’d been balled up next to his bed all night long.

Ted spent every second away from the office as his true self. He lived his real life as a vaunted Death Knight in the world's largest MMORPG. As a result, hygiene and laundry had been given the bum’s rush out of Ted’s life. His khakis couldn’t contain his epic gut, his shirt was streaked with oil stains from whatever sandwich he’d been mauling. A thick leather belt on the last notch strained to keep his pants up. The furry, pale skin of his under-belly quivered and shook as he made his way over to our team’s area.

I shuddered in disgust. He smelled nearly as bad as an open sewer. He had all the elements crap, sour sweat, and just a hint of beer.

Ted and Steve were somehow related, and the fear of Steve’s wrath kept Ted employed. I know, right, who would have guessed Steve had a soft spot for family?

Joe, my coworker, had bet me twenty bucks it wouldn’t be more than twenty days before Ted showered; I‘d taken that bet. So far it’d been nineteen days. I'm pretty sure I have the twenty in the bag.

Two minutes, forty-five seconds left to vacate the building, Tina, my virtual assistant, informed me.

Joe, my unknowing alibi, looked relieved when he glanced over and saw that I was back in my cube.

So, you feelin’ better now? Joe asked as he peered over the cubicle wall, his eyes more than a little glassy.

I rubbed at the grease smudge on my cheek. Better, but the freaking fire alarm bugs. I gotta get out of here before I snap.

We had been acting as lookouts for each other so he could go smoke whenever he needed to, and so I would have a rock solid alibi.

Joe is addicted to pot. He refers to it as divine happiness and secretly thinks everyone enjoys an occasional toke. No way he’d narc on me. He had my back.

Ted waved us over, his underarm swaying violently from the motion.

We gotta leave the building, Ted said, gasping for breath between each word. Some lazy joker pulled the fire alarm, and the fire marshal has been called in to investigate. So . . . we can’t sit through this fire alarm like we did last time.

My anonymous email had paid off. I smiled to myself.

Think that’s funny? Ted asked. Huh, Dane?

Grabbing my backpack with its precious contents, I hustled over to Joan’s cube. She sat, her head lolling on the chair’s support, her eyes closed as she listened to some person vent about their computer. Joan is as sweet as sugar, but her bum leg made it hard for her to get around. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. If the fire alarm caused a panic and a mass exodus from the building, she might fall and break a hip, and I could never forgive myself. She wouldn’t live through a stampede of computer nerds.

Ted says we gotta leave, I told her.

Her penciled-on eyebrows raised dramatically.

Someone pulled the fire alarm, I explained. Let's get you to an elevator before they shut them down. One is out of order already.

I grabbed the wheeled office chair she sat in and rushed to the elevator. She held her knitting tightly in her hands, smiled, and said, I like it when strapping young men come and rescue me.

Of course you do, I said, grinning.

I pushed her past the mail drop and slid the packaged hard drive, along with the grimoire page, into the outgoing UPS mail. That morning I’d addressed it to, Lynn Tanner, who lives in California. She just happens to be an expert in decrypting data and is an old family friend.

The elevator doors reflected the dim light. I sniffed once and then again; Ted hadn’t breached the stench perimeter.

No stink. No Ted!

I jabbed the down button several times, because we all know that makes the elevator come faster. Joan shook her head slowly while staring at me.

Young man! she said in her best authoritarian manner. Do you need to go to the little boy’s room? You’ve been doing the pee pee dance ever since you were more than slightly discourteous to that poor elevator button. For heaven’s sake, what has it ever done to you?

I smiled and held perfectly still, disproving her theory.

One minute, two seconds left to vacate the building, Tina informed me.

The elevator chimed and opened. I gently wheeled Joan into the elevator, pressed the ground floor button once, and then, just to show Joan, I began smashing the close door button furiously.

Hey, Dane! an out of breath Ted called to me, still deep in the maze of cubicles. Hold the elevator. I don’t wanna walk down all those stairs.

The thought of being in a tightly contained space with Ted triggered my gag reflex, which I firmly held in check. I flashed him a smile and waved, pretending I didn’t hear what he’d said.

I let off the close door button and put my hand up to my ear mouthing, What?

Joan took one look at him and muttered, No way in hell he’s riding with us, and began jabbing the close door button with her thumb as fast as her aged arm could manage. The elevator doors shrugged closed.

Praise the Lord! Joan said aloud. I detest him, bless his soul.

In case you are unfamiliar with old southern ladies the rule of thumb is: say whatever nasty thing you want about a person, and it is fine as long as you end with, Bless his soul.

Quick thinking with the button there, I said to Joan as the elevator lowered us to the ground floor in record time. See, I told you it works faster if you push the button a bunch of times.

Once we arrived on the ground floor, I put my hand on the control panel and told the elevator system to wait for fifteen minutes before sending any elevators up. As usual, the elevator agreed, happy to comply with my wishes. Sometimes computers are much easier to deal with than humans.

Nine seconds to be out of the building, Tina said.

Still seated on the office chair, Joan giggled from the thrill as we sped across the polished tile. She held onto the tan cushioned chair for dear life as I whisked her through the lobby past the security guard who’d just woken up. He was busy wiping up his pool of slobber, oblivious to everything going on around him, and we zipped out the front door.

I left the office chair spinning near the front doors, and I helped Joan to her maroon Buick. The short walk from the building left Joan winded. She has a handicap sticker. One of the many perks of being an old lady. Hey, sometimes it pays to do your good turn daily. I climbed into the passenger seat.

The whining of sirens grew louder as emergency response vehicles barreled toward the building we’d just exited.

Ted wanted to get rid of me because I'm old, Joan explained, her voice laced with contempt as she shifted the car into reverse. I do more work than three-quarters of the lazy employees there. I pray that the Almighty will have mercy on his gluttonous soul. May he have a heart attack on the last stair.

Why the last stair? I asked, cocking my head to one side.

I wouldn’t wish back pain of his magnitude on any of the nice looking young men who drive the ambulance, she replied, patting my hand then shifting into drive.

The police officers and firefighters ignored us as Joan drove her maroon Buick out onto the main road, moving at the sedate pace of those well into their golden years. She seemed to act as though we had all the time in the world.

The police quickly sealed the building off, keeping everyone that had been inside the building for questioning. A shouting match between a firefighter and a police officer broke out as they barked conflicting orders.

I sighed in relief. Joan patted my hand affectionately. I’d done it. I’d made it out of the building alive.

My stomach gurgled. Would you mind dropping me off over there at the Texaco station? All of a sudden I’m craving a snack.

You've been hanging out with that Joe too much, she said, disapproval plain on her face. What you've got is a bad case of the munchies.

She dropped me off and bid me farewell. I went in and got a celebratory 32-ounce fountain drink. They were all out of Code Red, so I got regular Dew. Slurping my drink and congratulating myself on my apparent flawless victory, I walked out of the gas station to find the huge barrel of a 10-gauge shotgun pointed right between my eyes.

I swallowed hard. From where I stood, I could have put my thumb down the barrel with room enough for my pinky.

Get into the car, thief! the spiky-haired man said, sliding the pump forward, chambering a shell in the mammoth shotgun.

CHAPTER TWO

There are three men in the United States that all sane men fear: the President of the United States, Steve Blackthorne, and Warren Blitzen. Lucky me; I’d been captured by one of Warren's thugs.

The spiky haired guy with the enormous 10-gauge tactical shotgun pointed at my skull