Ciphers by Matt Rogers (ereader with dictionary .txt) 📕

myself and my team gathered has led me to believe there are people in that building who currently have control of the power grid. I’m going to cut right to the chase — I’ve heard you’re the unofficial ballbuster on the force. Your word is law on the street. So right now I need you to round up every cop you can find and get them to that building.’

‘What do you want us to do when we get there?’

‘Establish a perimeter and await further instruction. I have my own men attempting a breach right now. You and your men are going to be there for backup.’

‘Okay.’

‘And, Jim,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t care less how you feel about it. You’ll do what I tell you because the president’s issued an executive order instructing you to do so. Understood?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. Then he added, ‘But you’re lucky I agree with you.’

‘Just trying to do the right thing.’

That seemed to lower his guard. He said, ‘I’ll round up as many men as I can.’

‘Thank you.’

‘How bad is this?’

She hesitated. Figured she could trust him. If there was anything she’d learned to appreciate in this business, it was people who didn’t bullshit. Those who cut right to the chase. She said, ‘It could get really bad.’

‘What do you know?’

‘The power companies have no control over the substations. They’ve been locked out. What you see now is just the beginning of how badly New York is going to succumb to panic. Right now that building is the key to saving tens of thousands of lives.’

‘It’s hackers or something?’

‘Yes,’ Violetta said. ‘They’re rogue. They’re not affiliated with any terrorist organisation — none of them have stepped forward to claim responsibility for this. They’re acting independently.’

‘And you’re sure they’re in the building?’

Violetta stared across the room at Alonzo, hunched over his desk, face illuminated by the harsh white glow of the three screens in front of him.

‘Yes,’ she lied.

‘How sure?’

‘Very.’

‘Then I’ll make sure I bring every cop in the city down on it.’

‘Thank you, Jim.’

The line went dead.

She hadn’t told Detective First Grade Jim Riordan that there was no guarantee the bank building was even populated. She hadn’t mentioned how little sense it would make if the rogue organisation’s remote HQ was located right in the heart of the grid they’d decimated. How inconvenient that would be for them. How nonsensical. Nothing added up…

…but they had no other leads.

That was the crux of it. If the building was empty, they were in the dark.

So, despite her personal attachment to one of the men she’d put in the line of fire, she hoped like hell both Will Slater and Jason King were in the process of getting shot at. If they weren’t, she truly had no idea what might happen.

A situation like this was unheard of in the modern era.

The only sound that permeated the space was the incessant clicking of computer mice and tapping of fingers on keys.

Trying, valiantly, to make progress.

She knew if they didn’t, society wouldn’t be the same.

43

Slater lay on his back for a few laboured breaths, then eased up into a crouch.

He listened hard.

There was the inevitable outcry of civilians caught too close to the gunfight. Men and women and children unaccustomed to the in-your-face violence of combat. Gunshots sounded a whole lot different in real life than in the movies. Especially those of a .50 cal rifle — probably a Barrett M82. To the untrained ear, the reports would have sounded like bomb detonations. They sure did to Slater, and he’d heard them a thousand times before. He couldn’t imagine the terror of inexperience in this realm.

Apart from the faint screams, he heard nothing. No approaching footsteps, no one reloading weapons, no crunch of glass underfoot. The lobby stayed silent, and as his hearing returned he picked up a faint plip-plip-plip from outside.

He scrunched up his features and listened harder.

Then it clicked.

Rain.

The skies had opened up.

Cold tension ran through him, constricting his insides. It would have been hard enough breaching the bank building with a clear forecast. Already he could hear the downpour intensifying, transitioning from a faint shower to a genuine storm within minutes. He usually thought he was above getting affected by his surroundings, but something about the mixture of darkness and foul weather churned his guts.

At least he was inside, where he could regroup and then—

What? he thought.

What the fuck can you feasibly do?

He slid his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and dialled King.

It rang for long seconds, on and on in the quiet of the lobby.

No answer.

He killed the call and put the phone back, then pressed two fingers into his eyes. The echoes of a splitting headache had come to life, deep in his skull. Obviously a side effect of trying to flush out the hangover so fast. Its remnants had finally caught up to him. He recognised that he couldn’t take the time to feel sorry for himself, and forced the pain aside.

Then he heard glass crunching underfoot.

A whole lot of it, actually, under multiple feet.

He stiffened.

Didn’t move a muscle.

The footsteps spread out, three sets heading in three directions. Slater heard one coming up the middle, another moving diagonally to the left, and the final set diagonally to the right. Surrounding the reception desk from multiple angles.

Shit, Slater thought.

They’re trained.

And they know where I am.

Waiting wouldn’t achieve anything. The longer he drew it out, the better setup they’d achieve when the gunfight finally kicked off. So he zoned in, narrowing his vision, discarding any point of focus that wasn’t completely necessary. It shrank his entire being to a single objective.

Survive.

He moved. Crept forward in the crouch, reaching the left-hand edge of the desk. The Glock stayed fixed to his palm, and he slipped a finger inside the trigger guard. Then he inched out into the open, so slowly it was barely perceptible. He kept the marble wall behind him close, making sure he blended into it. It worked. He was