Chapter 8 - Six MinutesPeople imagine heroism as choosing between good and evil.
That was the only way to describe it.
Janus connected to devices that had no business communicating with one another.
Bedside monitors.
Electronic charts.
Smart infusion pumps.
Employee badges.
Cameras.
Facial-recognition software installed for security.
Even wearable devices connected to hospital Wi-Fi.
Within minutes, the system knew who was inside Harbor Point.
More importantly, it knew what could hurt them.
A diabetic patient’s glucose instability.
A nurse’s allergy.
A veteran’s seizure history.
A surgeon’s heart condition.
Cole’s vestibular damage.
My own archived trauma profile.
Everything.
“This is illegal,” I said.
Keller gave a hollow laugh.
“Janus stopped caring about legal boundaries years ago.”
We reached the network control room.
Briggs and several agents were already there.
He pointed his weapon at Cross.
“You.”
Cross raised his hands.
Briggs’s face darkened.
“I’ve been looking for you for six months.”
“Then your people need better training.”
“Not helping.”
Keller stepped in.
“We have a bigger problem.”
Twenty monitors displayed lines of data.
One screen contained a list.
ACTIVE PRIORITY TARGETS
There were twelve names.
Cole Mercer.
Martin Keller.
Ethan Cross.
Thomas Briggs.
And me.
Eight others were people I did not recognize.
“Night Cell survivors?” I asked.
Cross nodded.
“One of them is here tonight?”
Briggs looked at the list.
“Three are.”
That meant someone had arranged this gathering.
Not random.
A trap.
The hospital had drawn us together.
Keller recruited me.
Cole was redirected here.
Briggs arrived after the lockdown.
Cross infiltrated as staff.
Someone had orchestrated all of it.
“Who benefits?” I asked.
Briggs answered.
“Apex.”
“Why gather everyone?”
Cross stared at the target list.
“To erase witnesses.”
The room went silent.
An alarm sounded.
Then another.
A nurse called over the radio.
“Patients are crashing!”
I ran.
The first patient was a fifty-eight-year-old man recovering from surgery.
His infusion pump had increased his medication dose without authorization.
We stopped it.
Next room.
Insulin pump.
Next.
Ventilator settings altered.
Janus wasn’t simply identifying vulnerabilities.
Someone had connected it to hospital equipment.
They were turning medicine into weapons.
I moved from room to room.
Nurses who had mocked me earlier suddenly followed every instruction I gave.
Melissa ran beside me.
“What do you need?”
“Disconnect smart devices from network.”
“How?”
“Physical cables. Wireless modules if removable.”
“That’ll disable monitoring.”
“Then use manual monitors.”
“On the whole floor?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
I looked at her.
“No. It’s difficult.”
Something in my expression changed her mind.
Within ten minutes, every available staff member was unplugging networked systems.
Old equipment came from storage.
Manual blood-pressure cuffs.
Portable oxygen units.
Mechanical controls.
We moved backward technologically to survive.
Derek sat handcuffed near security.
As I passed, he called out.
“Maya!”
I stopped.
He looked frightened.
“I know who paid me.”
That got my attention.
“Who?”
“I didn’t before.”
He nodded toward the screens.
“But I recognize one of the men.”
“Which man?”
“The guy who gave me the cash.”
He described him.
Tall.
Bald.
Expensive watch.
Scar under left eye.
Briggs heard.
He pulled out photos.
Derek pointed.
“That one.”
The name beneath the picture:
GRAHAM VOSS — CHIEF OPERATIONS OFFICER, APEX MERIDIAN HEALTH
Senior executive.
Not some rogue employee.
This went to the top.
Briggs called federal headquarters.
No response.
Cell network still unstable.
Cross joined us.
“We need local shutdown.”
Keller shook his head.
“Janus has independent power.”
“Where?”
“Old research wing.”
I frowned.
“Harbor Point doesn’t have a research wing.”
“It did.”
The hospital had been renovated fifteen years earlier.
A basement laboratory had been sealed.
Officially due to mold contamination.
Actually?
Janus.
Cross looked at me.
“You remember underground facilities.”
I glared.
“Don’t romanticize this.”
“I wasn’t.”
Cole signed:
Entrance?
Keller said, “Morgue.”
Of course it was.
Nothing good ever begins with the sentence “The entrance is through the morgue.”
We moved as a group.
Briggs.
Two agents.
Cross.
Cole.
Me.
Keller stayed behind because of his wound.
Before we left, he grabbed my arm.
“Maya.”
“What?”
“If you reach the core, there are two shutdown methods.”
“Which is easier?”
“Neither.”
“One requires administrator codes.”
“And the other?”
“Destroy the cooling system.”
“That sounds easier.”
“If the core overheats, it will trigger automatic data release.”
“Release where?”
“Every network location Janus has ever connected to.”
Cross overheard.
“That would expose thousands.”
Keller nodded.
“So don’t destroy it.”
Great.
We entered the morgue.
Cold stainless-steel drawers lined the walls.
At the far end, Cross removed a panel.
Behind it, stairs descended into darkness.
Cole touched my shoulder.
I looked back.
He signed:
You okay?
I almost lied.
Then didn’t.
No.
He nodded.
Me neither.
Oddly, that helped.
We descended.
Thirty feet below the hospital, the air changed.
Cooler.
Dryer.
The staircase opened into a facility that looked nothing like Harbor Point.
Concrete walls.
Secure doors.
Fiber-optic cables.
Military-grade hardware.
Janus had been sleeping beneath hundreds of patients for years.
A red light flashed.
AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED.
Cole removed the key.
Cross held out his hand.
“No.”
Cross sighed.
“We don’t have time.”
Cole signed.
I translated.
“He says that’s exactly why you’re not getting it.”
Cross almost smiled.
“Still stubborn.”
Cole smiled back.
Not friendly.
We reached the central chamber.
The main console lit automatically.
A face appeared on screen.
Graham Voss.
Apex executive.
He was sitting somewhere comfortable.
Wood-paneled office.
Glass of whiskey.
No concern.
“Good evening.”
Briggs raised his weapon at the screen.
Voss laughed.
“Agent Briggs. Commander Cross. Bishop. Sparrow. Impressive.”
My skin crawled.
He knew every name.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Janus.”
“You already have it.”
“No. I have access. You have authority.”
He meant the key.
“Why?”
“Because military architects built Janus with multi-party authentication. No single administrator could activate full predictive mode.”
Cross looked at Keller’s notes.
“How many parties?”
Voss smiled.
“Three.”
A realization hit me.
Cole’s key.
Cross.
And—
Voss looked directly at me.
“Sparrow.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t have a key.”
“You are the key.”
The console illuminated.
A biometric scanner rose from the surface.
Fingerprint.
Retina.
Voice.
Stress-response recognition.
My old biometric profile.
My body itself was one-third of the lock.
Cross swore.
I stepped backward.
“No.”
Voss smiled.
“You misunderstand.”
The screen split.
Hospital camera footage appeared.
Tasha.
Melissa.
Kyle.
Patients.
Dozens.
Then one room.
Pediatric floor.
Children.
Voss’s expression remained calm.
“Authenticate Janus.”
I stared.
“Or?”
“Every smart medical device connected to this hospital begins executing vulnerability protocols in six minutes.”
Cole grabbed the console.
Cross stared at the countdown.
05:59.
05:58.
Briggs said, “He’s bluffing.”
A ventilator alarm sounded over the radio.
Voss smiled.
“No, Agent Briggs.”
05:47.
05:46.
I looked at Cross.
Then Cole.
Then hundreds of lives on camera.
Voss leaned closer.
“Welcome back, Sparrow.”
May you like
05:32.
“Time to save everyone again.”
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