Chapter 3

In Gallery 18, on the second floor of the San Diego Museum of Art, Priscilla was sitting on one of the benches, contentedly admiring a painting by Francesco Guardi.

Hans and Stefan were not with her. They were outside, waiting in front of the museum in the Plaza de Panama. This was the arrangement Priscilla insisted on whenever she visited this institution. She preferred not to have two hulking men following her wherever she went in here. It lessened the experience somehow, and it also drew attention to her. Besides, this was one of the finest art museums in California, not a motorcycle bar in Wyoming. There were guards and cameras everywhere, and the museum staff all knew who she was. What's more, if need be, she had a panic button which would summon Hans and Stefan instantly.

The Guardi painting was called The Rialto Bridge. It depicted—with incredible detail—a scene along the Grand Canal in Venice, in the 1770s. It was difficult not to admire Guardi's virtuoso display of talent in the way he was able to capture the chaos and bustle of what was happening in his painting. It wasn't a very large piece, yet in this small space Guardi had managed to create a realistic image jam-packed with such things as laundry hung out to dry from open windows, men straining against oars as they navigated their boats through the busy canal waters, old buildings with chunks of their masonry missing…

One could say it was the ugly side of Venice, and yet Guardi had somehow made it also seem beautiful.

"Visiting Venice again, huh, Ms. Kroyn?" a voice asked her.

Priscilla smiled and looked up at the security guard now standing next to her. Her name was Maven, and she was a middle-aged Black woman whom Priscilla knew had been with the museum for close to fifteen years. Maven was in charge of all the guards up on the second floor, and she and Priscilla had struck up something of a friendship over time. Not surprising since this gallery was the one Priscilla spent most of her time in when she visited the museum. In fact, she had donated three of the Renaissance-era paintings that were on display here from her private collection.

"What can I say, Ms. Booker?" Priscilla answered. She felt it was only right to refer to Maven thusly, with respect. Employee protocol at the museum was such that Maven wouldn't be allowed to call her Priscilla—especially because Priscilla was one of the major benefactors of this institution. "I love this painting."

"You know," Maven began, "if I had donated as many works as you have to this place, I would be spending my time visiting them."

Priscilla laughed.

"Eh, I grew up with many of those," she said. "I've seen them enough. But let me ask you something…do you think the next time I donate a painting, the director will let me take this one home in trade?"

Now Maven laughed.

"If anyone could convince her, I'm sure you could, Ms. Kroyn," Maven replied. "Enjoy Venice."

"Thank you," Priscilla replied.

Just then, she felt the other phone she had with her vibrate in the inner pocket of her jacket. She removed it. It was an Android phone that was much smaller than her personal iPhone. Other than the fact that it was on her person, there was nothing connecting her to it—no account, no contract…nothing.

She subtly glanced around, making sure none of the other visitors—or Maven…especially Maven—were near her, and then activated the screen.

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

The app that was connected to the little box Cyrus and his gang had activated in the IDC was telling her that all of the cameras were now off. For the first of three short instances…just to get the security people used to the idea. This way they wouldn't bat an eye when the fourth instance occurred, because that instance would be the important one.

She checked the time on the screen.

Right on schedule…

***

"Ready at the air system,"Vinny reported over the radio, his voice sounding in Cyrus's earpiece.

Cyrus checked the time. He had just deactivated the cameras for a third time—an outage that was meant to last two minutes. So far, no one from the command center had complained or tried to interrupt their work. Everything was proceeding as planned. The alarms were down— although security had no idea about that—the cameras were in their control, and now Vinny was about to ensure that the second floor would be evacuated.

In fifteen seconds, the two minutes were up, and he turned the cameras back on using the phone.

"Proceed at the air system," Cyrus told Vinny.

"Copy,"Vinny said.

"Alright, boys, let's go," he told the others. They gathered up their bags and headed out of the IDC. They had studied the layout of the sub-basement thoroughly, and knew where they needed to get to.

It was a door that led to a maintenance ladder which climbed up between the walls, providing access to other parts of the museum and some of its systems. Down here in the sub-basement, the door wasn't locked, but it was alarmed. Usually, a maintenance tech would have to enter a code using the keypad next to the door to turn off the alarm before they could enter and climb. But Oleg's work had rendered the alarm useless.

They stood by the door and waited for Vinny, who arrived a few seconds later.

"Alright, let's go," Cyrus said, opening the door to the maintenance ladder. "Remember…quietly!"

He led the way up. It was a bit of a climb—all the way to the second floor—but he and the boys were in tiptop shape. On the way up, they passed dusty pipes and conduits, and—just like in the movies—they even witnessed a rat scurrying away.

Their destination was a small landing on the second floor. So small that only Cyrus and Luis—who had been right behind him—were able to stand on it. The others had to remain waiting on the ladder. There were more conduits here, as well as a circuit breaker panel, and some levers connected to thick cables.

Now it was a waiting game…

***

Erwin already wished this day was over. He was also wondering, What the fuck?

Were the planets aligned in some fucked up way?

Was there a full moon?

He thought for a moment, trying to remember what that other thing was people blamed fucked-up shit on…

Oh, right!

Was Mercury in retrograde? Whatever the hell that meant?

Erwin was in the security command center and even though it was still early in the afternoon, it had already been a Mercury-in-retrograde type of day. He had been a security guard here at the museum for twenty years, and couldn't remember many weirdo days like this.

First, the cameras and motion detectors had been going bonkers all day. They hadn't shut off, but they had been giving Erwin and the command center staff fits. The cameras—all of them, throughout the entire museum—had been randomly flashing bursts of static. At the same time, the motion detectors—again, all of them—had been displaying random warning messages on the monitoring screen. Things like System Not Responding, Error Code F49, and most annoyingly, ALERT! Motion Detected in Closed Gallery!

That last message made no sense. Number one: all of the galleries in the museum were open today. Number two: they were full of patrons, so of course there was motion detected.

These types of problems with the security system weren't enough to warrant closing the museum, however. Closing the museum—an institution which heavily relied on money from paying visitors—required drastic circumstances similar to those in Godzilla movies. Besides, Erwin knew from experience that glitches in the system were normal. A camera might suddenly conk out unexpectedly, for instance. An alarm on a vitrine would trigger for no good reason. Error messages would pop up suddenly, and then just as suddenly disappear, as though the system had fixed itself.

Things like that happened all the time.

But nothing like this.

Fortunately, the guys from the security company had arrived and were already working on troubleshooting the camera and motion detector problems down in the IDC room. Apparently it had something to do with a fucked-up software update that hadn't been debugged properly. The cameras had gone on and off a few times—as Bill had told them they would—but other than that, nothing else had happened. Erwin just hoped Overlord would get this all sorted out soon. In his eyes, it was just more evidence of how computers were fucking up the world.

In any case, now there was a new problem in Gallery 16, on the second floor.

One of the guards, Kellen, who was stationed there had radioed to report a strange smell.

"What kind of strange smell?" Erwin asked him now. He was wondering if there was a gas leak. That would warrant shutting down the museum.

"Honestly, boss…it smells like sewage," Kellen answered. Erwin then heard him cough. "It's, like, really bad. The visitors are complaining too."

Erwin sighed.

"Fine," he said. "Clear the gallery. Tell everyone it's closed till further notice."

"Copy," Kellen replied.

Erwin turned in his seat.

"Pull up Sixteen on the main screen," he instructed Tyrone.

Tyrone switched the video feed from Gallery 16 to the large main monitor, from the smaller ones at his station. Erwin watched as Kellen and Judy—the other guard stationed there—started guiding the visitors out, waving their arms like traffic cops. Some of the visitors had their shirts pulled up over their noses.

Just out of curiosity, he radioed Hal Robertson, the lead guard of the downstairs galleries.

"Control to Robertson," he said, "any of your guys report smelling anything down here?"

"Robertson," Hal replied. "Smelling?"

"Yeah, like a foul odor," Erwin told him.

"Negative, Control," Hal said. "It just smells like art and people."

Just to be sure, Erwin radioed other downstairs guards. They all reported no bad smells.

So it was isolated in Sixteen…

But just as he had that thought, another radio call came in.

"Command, this is Booker, in Eighteen," the voice of Maven Booker said. "I got some kinda smell happening in here…"

Erwin leaned forward.

"What kind of smell?" he asked.

"Like…sewage," Maven said.

"You sure it's not coming from Sixteen?" Erwin pressed. "They just reported the same thing."

"Negative, Command," Maven answered. "This is much too strong to be coming from across the rotunda."

"Command, this is Horvath, in Seventeen," Cindy Horvath's voice said.

"Let me guess," Erwin began with a sigh, "a smell?"

"Really bad!" Cindy told him, coughing.

A sewage smell…

What could be causing that?

There were no public restrooms upstairs. In fact, there wasn't a toilet of any kind up there. But then again, this was an old building, built in the 1920s…who knew what kind of screwball configuration the pipes in this joint were arranged in?

He tried to think…

The last major plumbing problem the museum had was in the rotunda ladies room here on the ground floor, about a year ago. Other than that, nothing. Nonetheless, he instructed two of the downstairs guards—a male and a female—to check the restrooms…the ones in the rotunda, and the ones just off Gallery 14. He then keyed the communications system so that his next words would be picked up by all the guards.

"All stations, this is Control," he said. "I'm closing the upstairs galleries. All of them. All staff are to escort visitors downstairs and then do a sweep to ensure everyone is gone. Then return to the command center for reassignment."

Normally, if the upstairs had to be closed for any reason, he'd leave guards in the galleries. But if the smell was as bad as had been reported, what good was a guard if they were puking up their breakfast?

He would need to get in touch with Amanda—the assistant director. She was working today in the administration offices. An announcement would have to be made to all the visitors that upstairs was off limits. With an entire floor closed down, he was sure Amanda was going to have to authorize vouchers for free or half-priced admission on a future visit. Hell, she was probably going to have to refund the admission price for those folks who were upstairs now. Never something a museum suit enjoyed doing.

A sewage smell…

That fell under the purview of Facilities Management. He picked up a phone and called that department.

***

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Kroyn," Maven said, coughing. "I don't know what's going on."

Priscilla was also coughing.

That stuff she had provided Cyrus and his gang was surprisingly potent. It wasn't actually sewage, simply a compound of chemicals created by the scientist she had procured it from, but she had certainly gotten her money's worth.

She and the others were being escorted out of Gallery 18 by Maven and another security guard.

"Is the entire museum being closed?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," Maven told her. "Just upstairs."

"Well," Priscilla said after coughing twice, "maybe I could salvage the rest of my visit downstairs."

On the first floor, at the foot of the ornate staircase in the rotunda, Priscilla stood off to one side, appearing to be scrolling through something on her iPhone. What she was actually doing, however, was counting.

There were nine security guards stationed upstairs. Once she and the other visitors had been escorted out of the galleries, she knew that the guards would then sweep the entire level, making sure no one had stayed behind. Eventually, all nine guards hurried downstairs, each of them looking the worse for wear, covering their noses with handkerchiefs or their sleeves.

Patience…patience…

As expected, an important-looking woman emerged from the door leading to the security command center. She was accompanied by a balding man in a guard's uniform, and another man wearing the uniform of the museum's maintenance crew.

The three of them passed by her and headed up the stairs to the second floor. However, almost as quickly as they went up, they came back down.

"Oh god, that's bad!" Priscilla heard the woman say in a strained voice as they passed by her a second time." She had her hand positioned under her nose. "Keep everyone out of there!"

"Yes, ma'am," the guard said.

The three of them stopped about ten feet from Priscilla, but didn't take any notice of her.

"I don't smell it down here, though," the woman said. "That's good at least." She turned to the maintenance guy. "What the hell?" she prodded.

"It's gotta be plumbing," the man said. "Although, there's a possibility that it's something from the outside. I've had the ground floor air control cranked up. That will create a positive pressure layer that will keep whatever that smell is from creeping down here. In the meantime, we're gonna check the waste removal system in the basement. That's the logical starting point."

"Good," the woman said. "Seriously…no one goes up there until we get this sorted out!"

"Yes, ma'am," the guard said again.

Priscilla—still pretending to be interested in what her phone was displaying—nodded to herself.

Showtime…