Read Online Sunfail by Steven Savile - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steven Savile
Tags: thriller, Science-Fiction
Ads: Link
wall. It would be easy to get lost in here with no recognizable landmarks. Every shadow and dark shape looked exactly the same, save for the structure damage caused by the explosives.
He reached a stairwell whose door was closing as he approached. Jake slipped his hand into the crack and caught it, listening for the soft footfalls ascending. He counted them before he pushed the door slowly open, wincing as it sighed on the hydraulic arm.
Time was the one commodity not being traded here.
Jake started climbing as quickly and quietly as he could. The sounds of the other man’s careful footsteps stopped. A door opened then closed, the rasp of it settling back into the frame echoing in the silence. Then the clatter of running feet filled the stairwell. The guy had thrown caution to the wind and was moving fast. That meant Jake needed to move faster. He could only hope the din would swallow the sound of his own ascent.
He charged up the stairs, taking them three at a time, hand on the rail for balance in the darkness, breathing hard before he was around the fourth landing.
More gunshots came as the last defenders of this financial Camelot fell.
He saw a chink of light up above him, on the next landing. A door opening.
It wasn’t natural light. A flashlight?
Jake slowed down. He didn’t want his own steps emerging as the other man’s faded. A bead of sweat broke and ran from his temple, trailing slowly down his cheek before it was absorbed into his neck. Nostrils flared, he fought to regulate his breathing. Everything was suddenly quiet. He didn’t like that.
Who the fuck brought a flashlight to a gunfight?
He rose up a single step, listening for the telltale signs of trouble. He clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. He banged it against his thigh, using the impact to mark time: another eleven count. Jake always added one for luck. That’s just the way he was.
On the count of eleven he moved, reaching for the door. He found the handle. What it opened onto was breathtaking.
Jake had never set foot inside the New York Stock Exchange before, never mind the trading floor; even so, he knew he was looking into the very heart of the building. It was an iconic sight, like the Empire State Building or the rectangle of Central Park seen from above. You didn’t need to have been inside to have seen it; the trading floor was on the news every day.
The room was enormous .
The ceilings were easily sixty feet high, with an array of overhead beams supporting lights and wires and cameras as if it were a concert stage, which, given the kinds of performance art that played out here, wasn’t a completely inappropriate analogy.
One wall was almost entirely green glass. Despite the fact that they were nearly opaque, the windows let in enough light for him to see the trading floor. There were nine dead men sprawled out in the center of it. Several large clusters of computers, workstations, and screens, built in a circle facing inward, dominated it. The walls were lined with more workstations with stools and chairs spaced haphazardly along them. Several massive screens hung from the ceiling at various points around the room, all dark now.
An enormous American flag dominated one wall. NYSE banners hung on either side of the flag.
It was an amazing place.
Jake could only imagine what it looked like normally, full of life, hundreds of people running, shouting buy and sell orders, waving frantically to relay information. There were no day traders barking orders. There was no stock ticker counting down the fiscal apocalypse. Suit jackets had been tossed carelessly over the backs of chairs, papers still piled on desks. He saw several Coke and Mountain Dew cans and takeout containers beside silent computers.
The corpses weren’t the only people on the trading floor. He saw the man he’d been following, and beyond him, the team he’d come here to intercept. The soft buzz of voices came from the room’s far side, directly
He reached a stairwell whose door was closing as he approached. Jake slipped his hand into the crack and caught it, listening for the soft footfalls ascending. He counted them before he pushed the door slowly open, wincing as it sighed on the hydraulic arm.
Time was the one commodity not being traded here.
Jake started climbing as quickly and quietly as he could. The sounds of the other man’s careful footsteps stopped. A door opened then closed, the rasp of it settling back into the frame echoing in the silence. Then the clatter of running feet filled the stairwell. The guy had thrown caution to the wind and was moving fast. That meant Jake needed to move faster. He could only hope the din would swallow the sound of his own ascent.
He charged up the stairs, taking them three at a time, hand on the rail for balance in the darkness, breathing hard before he was around the fourth landing.
More gunshots came as the last defenders of this financial Camelot fell.
He saw a chink of light up above him, on the next landing. A door opening.
It wasn’t natural light. A flashlight?
Jake slowed down. He didn’t want his own steps emerging as the other man’s faded. A bead of sweat broke and ran from his temple, trailing slowly down his cheek before it was absorbed into his neck. Nostrils flared, he fought to regulate his breathing. Everything was suddenly quiet. He didn’t like that.
Who the fuck brought a flashlight to a gunfight?
He rose up a single step, listening for the telltale signs of trouble. He clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. He banged it against his thigh, using the impact to mark time: another eleven count. Jake always added one for luck. That’s just the way he was.
On the count of eleven he moved, reaching for the door. He found the handle. What it opened onto was breathtaking.
Jake had never set foot inside the New York Stock Exchange before, never mind the trading floor; even so, he knew he was looking into the very heart of the building. It was an iconic sight, like the Empire State Building or the rectangle of Central Park seen from above. You didn’t need to have been inside to have seen it; the trading floor was on the news every day.
The room was enormous .
The ceilings were easily sixty feet high, with an array of overhead beams supporting lights and wires and cameras as if it were a concert stage, which, given the kinds of performance art that played out here, wasn’t a completely inappropriate analogy.
One wall was almost entirely green glass. Despite the fact that they were nearly opaque, the windows let in enough light for him to see the trading floor. There were nine dead men sprawled out in the center of it. Several large clusters of computers, workstations, and screens, built in a circle facing inward, dominated it. The walls were lined with more workstations with stools and chairs spaced haphazardly along them. Several massive screens hung from the ceiling at various points around the room, all dark now.
An enormous American flag dominated one wall. NYSE banners hung on either side of the flag.
It was an amazing place.
Jake could only imagine what it looked like normally, full of life, hundreds of people running, shouting buy and sell orders, waving frantically to relay information. There were no day traders barking orders. There was no stock ticker counting down the fiscal apocalypse. Suit jackets had been tossed carelessly over the backs of chairs, papers still piled on desks. He saw several Coke and Mountain Dew cans and takeout containers beside silent computers.
The corpses weren’t the only people on the trading floor. He saw the man he’d been following, and beyond him, the team he’d come here to intercept. The soft buzz of voices came from the room’s far side, directly
Similar Books
