Gray gazed out the limo’s window at the famed City of Light, made all the more glorious by its celebration of Christmas. Apparently, Paris was determined to outshine any other metropolis during this holiday season, intending to live up to its famous name.
Everywhere he looked, with every turn, Paris revealed more of its wondrous beauty. Window displays glittered with holiday decorations; magical manèges de No?l—Christmas carousels—spun at the hearts of parks or squares; skaters whisked under the stars across tiny ice rinks. Every lamp pole along the route had been wrapped in illuminated pine boughs, each window and roofline glowed with lights, transforming the street into something out of a fairy tale.
Earlier, their Cessna Citation X+ had landed at Orly, the smaller of Paris’s two international airports, the one closer to their destination. During their descent, the jet had passed over the Eiffel Tower, its iron skeleton lit up like some avant-garde Christmas tree. Around its base—spread like a sparkling skirt—was a vast winter holiday market centered on a giant spinning Ferris wheel.
Gray was not the only one who appreciated all this glorious pageantry. The entire city seemed to be enjoying this final night of the holiday. People bustled about, bundled in heavy coats. The limo driver braked as a group of boisterous carolers crossed Rue Gaston-Boissier, singing loudly on their way toward a celebration in a park surrounding a small Catholic church.
The sight of a children’s choir readying for a performance set Gray’s heart to pounding harder, knowing what the enemy—the ancient Crucibulum—planned for the city.
He had to turn away.
A large marble building filled the opposite side of the street. Carved under its roof, it stated LABORATOIRE NATIONAL DE METROLOGIE ET D’ESSAIS. Apparently, it was the home to one of France’s national laboratories—in this case, dedicated to the study of engineering, manufacturing, and measurement.
Gray gave a small shake of his head, wondering if fate had stopped them here for a reason, at this crossroad between religion and science. He glanced across the limo’s bench seat, which he shared with Father Bailey and Sister Beatrice, both members of the Thomas Church. Behind them, in the second row, Jason sat with Mara and Carly, young men and women of science. In the very back, Kowalski—all muscle and instinct—stretched his bulk across the limo’s third row.
All facets of humanity.
Gray remembered his earlier feeling of the tides of fate swirling around him, bringing him full circle from his first mission with Monsignor Vigor Verona to today. He sensed it even stronger now, almost as if there were some pattern to all of this he could not appreciate, that remained hidden.
Finally, the carolers cleared the way and the limo continued deeper into the 15th arrondissement of Paris. They were almost to their destination.
Seated next to him, Bailey cleared his throat as he watched the passing streets, the lights, the festivities. “I suspect the Crucible originally planned their attack for today, for Christmas, when they’d wreak the most havoc.”
“Likely it wasn’t just for that reason,” Gray added, having come to the same conclusion during their ninety-minute hop from Lisbon. “An attack on a major holiday would strike the city at its most vulnerable, when its defenses were lowered, when law enforcement was reduced to skeletal shifts and distracted by all the festivities.”
“It might also serve a symbolic role,” Bailey said. “To destroy a notoriously decadent city on the day our Lord was born.”
Gray nodded. “But if we’re right, even the enemy’s original timetable would’ve been tight. The Crucible had planned to steal Mara’s tech on the night of December twenty-first, which would leave them only four days to orchestrate this cyberattack. This suggests they had everything prearranged here in Paris. Setting up their dominoes in advance—just waiting to tip the first one once they had their hands on Mara’s work.”
“Which now they have.”
Gray nodded, waiting to see if Bailey could put the rest together on his own.
The priest suddenly turned his gaze from the streets to Gray. “You don’t think—no, of course, they would.”
Gray confirmed his fear. “Mara’s quick thinking four days ago certainly disrupted their plans. But if everything had been set up in Paris and remains in place, the enemy might still try their best to keep to their timetable. For all the reasons we just stated.”
“You think they’ll launch their cyberattack tonight.”
“I know they will.”
Anticipating this, Gray had informed Director Crowe of the situation while flying here. He shared all that he’d learned, including the threat to Paris. In turn, Painter had alerted French intelligence services, who helped facilitate Sigma’s operations on the ground here. Grainy mug shots lifted from the library’s security footage were already being distributed throughout the city and outlying areas.
And more help was coming.
Gray checked his watch. By now, Monk should have landed at Villacoublay Air Base, a French military facility eight miles southwest of the city. His friend would rendezvous with Gray’s team at their rallying point here in the 15th arrondissement of Paris.
After another two turns along Paris’s decorated streets, their destination appeared ahead, a tower of glass and steel surrounded by black-iron gates. It was the headquarters for Orange S.A.—formerly known as France Télécom—the country’s largest telecommunication and Internet provider. The company ran France’s main network of communication, both cellular and landline, along with television service and broadband.
From this building’s infrastructure, a complex web spread throughout the city.
Gray intended to drop a spider into the heart of that digital web.
He looked over his shoulder at Mara Silviera.
He needed her skill and knowledge of her project to monitor every strand of this vast web, to watch for any vibration, any indication that her creation had been set loose here in the city—and if so, hopefully trace that quivering strand back to its source.
Mara noted his attention, her face lined with worry. Jason would lend his expertise in the task ahead, and Carly would be there, too. The ambassador’s daughter had insisted on coming, after assuring her father and sister that she was safe. At first, Gray had balked at bringing her, but now seeing Mara’s hand grasped tightly to Carly’s, he recognized how much Mara needed her friend’s support.
Too much was at stake not to gather every bit of aid. Mara would have the weight of the entire city on her shoulders this night, maybe the entire world.
She could not fail.
Still, Gray read the deeper fear in her haunted eyes.
For even this plan to work, there remained one unsurmountable danger. In order for Gray’s team to track the enemy’s location, they had to wait for one of those strands to begin vibrating, which would only happen if the Crucible started using Mara’s program, loosening it enough from its virtual prison to wreak havoc. And when that happened, there was a risk the demon could escape into the wider world. If that happened, there would be no stopping it.
As the limo drew to a stop at the curb, Mara stiffened in her seat.
Carly pulled her friend closer for a breath, whispering, “We’ve got this.”
Gray swung back around.
We sure as hell better.
10:02 P.M.
On the fourteenth floor of the telecom building, Mara typed furiously at a computer station. Everything she had requested had been prepared, awaiting her arrival in Paris.
Now it’s my turn.
Needing to concentrate, she asked to have this room to herself. The only two exceptions to her moratorium were Carly, who sat to one side of her, and Jason, who stood behind her, ready to lend his technical support.
A glass window on her left looked out onto the rest of the floor, a level devoted to Orange Labs, the company’s research-and-development division. Orange employed a network of technology centers and laboratories around the world, partnered with hundreds of universities, industries, and research institutes, run by multidisciplinary teams of engineers, software designers, and manufacturing experts. But on this Christmas night, only a handful of the lab’s CSIRT members—Computer Security Incident Response Team—were present, currently gathered around Commander Pierce and the others.
“How’s it going?” Carly asked.
“I’ve logged into my research files at the University of Coimbra,” Mara reported. “And downloaded the root code of my program. I’m now separating out unique packets, microkernels of basic code distinct to my earliest iterations of Eve that are still incorporated in the latest version.”
“Like a digital fingerprint of her,” Jason said.
“Exactly. I’ll be able to use those prints to search the Internet and the vast array of data flowing through Orange’s network and keep watch if a match pops up.”
Carly crossed her arms. “Then we can follow it to the bastards who murdered my mother.”
That’s the hope.
Mara worked quickly, fearing she was already too late. She had overheard the discussion between Father Bailey and Gray. The pair expected the Crucible to begin their cyberattack on Paris tonight.