The reporter shrugged and made some notes. Malloy tried to clear the screen, but a new message came on.
PLAYTIME.
The screen went blank. Malloy snatched up the radio and tried to call MACC, but the call wouldn't go through. The cell phone rang again. Malloy listened a few moments, and said, "I'll get right on it." He turned to Barnes, his face pale. "That was MACC. They say that the air-conditioning broke down in the nerve center. The communications are going haywire. No one knows where the squads are. Traffic lights have gone red all over town."
They were approaching Times Square. Hundreds of demonstrators, apparently unimpeded by the police, were pouring into the square from the side streets. The square was as crowded as New Year's Eve.
Malloy's cruiser moved slowly through the mob that surged around it. As they approached the old New York Times Building, the huge video screen stopped showing a Disney character and went black.
"Hey, look at that," Barnes said, pointing at the screen.
Big letters had appeared in white, streaming across the ABC News Spectacular sign.
GREETINGS, NEO-ANARCHISTS, FELLOW TRAVELERS AND TOURISTS. WE HAVE SHUT DOWN THE OPPRESSIVE ARMIES OF THE POWER ELITE. THIS IS A SMALL TASTE OF THE FUTURE. TODAY IT'S NEW YORK. NEXT WE'LL SHUT DOWN THE WORLD. CONVENE A SUMMIT CONFERENCE TO DISMANTLE THE FRAMEWORK OF GLOBALIZATION OR WE'LL DISMANTLE IT FOR YOU.
HAVE A NICE DAY!
A smiley face with horns appeared, then a single word:
LUCIFER.
"Who the hell is Lucifer?" Malloy said, staring through the windshield.
"Beats me," Barnes said. He reached for the door handle. "Thanks for the ride. I've got to file a story."
Then the word disappeared, and FRANK MALLOY appeared simultaneously on every sign of every size on the square. Panasonic. LG. NASDAQ.
Malloy cursed and scrambled out of the car. He scanned the milling crowd. Barnes had been swallowed up among the thousands of protesters. He muttered the name "Lucifer" and a chill ran up his spine. It came to him where he had seen the reporter's face. The pointed beard, the red hair and the V-angled brows and mouth and the green eyes had subconsciously reminded him of renderings he had seen of Satan.
As Malloy stood there wondering if had gone crazy, he was unaware that he was under the gaze of those same jade eyes. Barnes had stepped into the doorway of an office building where he could watch Malloy. He held a cell phone to his ear, and he was laughing.
"I just wanted you to know that your plan went off like clockwork. The city is in total breakdown."
"That's great," said the voice on the other end of the line. "Look, we've got to talk. It's important."
"Not now. Come out to the lighthouse, so I can thank you in person."
He tucked the phone in his pocket and gazed out at Times Square. A young man had thrown a brick through the front window of the Disney store. Others followed his example, and within minutes the sidewalks were littered with broken glass. A car was set on fire, sending black billowing smoke toward the heavens. The acrid stench of burning plastic and fabric filled the air. A guerrilla band was marching down the street, playing the theme from Bridge on the River Kwai. The music could barely be heard over the cacophony of honking car horns.
Barnes gazed at the scene with a beatific smile on his satanic face.
"Chaos," he murmured like a monk chanting his mantra. "Sweet, sweet chaos."
4
The deck lights were ablaze when the NUMA car carrying Austin and Zavala pulled up to the dock at Norfolk. Austin climbed the gangway with a jaunty step. He was happy to be going back to sea, and excited about sailing on the research vessel Peter Throckmorton, one of the newest ships in the NUMA fleet. He owed the mysterious Dr. Adler a debt for inviting him on the search expedition.
The 275-foot ship was named after one of the early pioneers in nautical archaeology. Throckmorton had proven that archaeological methods could work underwater, spurring a whole era of discovery. The ship was a seagoing workhorse. It was designed with versatility in mind, and its remote sensing equipment could just as easily explore an underwater city as a field of hypothermal ocean vents.
Like most research vessels, the Throckmorton was a seagoing platform from which scientists could launch vehicles and probes to carry out their experiments. Sprouting from the fantail and foredeck were the booms and cranes that could be used to deploy the various undersea probes and submersibles the ship carried. Power winches were located on the port and starboard sides.
One of the ship's officers greeted the NUMA men at the top of the gangway.
"Captain Cabral welcomes you aboard the Throckmorton and wishes you a pleasant trip."
Austin knew the captain, Tony Cabral, from other NUMA expeditions, and looked forward to seeing him again.
"Please thank the captain, and tell him we're pleased to be sailing under his command."