Kingdom Keepers IV(52)

“The Imagineers,” Finn said. “Engineering.”

“Yes. SOP,” he said, meaning standard operating procedure, “for an attempted raid on a server would be to send Security first and someone from Base, second. The Security guy makes sure the room’s clear. The guy from Base checks the server, runs virus-scanning software, studies and prints the log.”

“So?” Finn said.

Philby was already unplugging and collecting wires from the backs of other computer servers. Finn followed along like a lost dog.

“So we need the guy from Base to access the server,” Philby continued.

“I think we established that.”

“He has to enter a password,” Philby said. “The system’s master password is the only thing that can override a lockout. Look for a camera.”

“What?”

“A webcam. Usually little round balls about the size of a golf ball.”

“I know what a webcam looks like,” said Finn.

“So find one.”

“Where?”

“This is a giant room devoted to computers, and only computers. Somewhere in here are Security web-cams as well as personal webcams. Just find one!”

“You’re telling me Security can see us?”

“Probably. Could be. But there are hundreds, probably thousands of cameras around the Parks. They’re not going to focus on here unless we give them reason to. Until we give them reason to. That’s why I haven’t tried the password for the third time. First, we need a camera.”

The boys split up to search.

“Is that one in the ceiling?” Finn called out.

“Yeah, probably. But it’s too hard to deal with.”

Finn kept looking, ducking down another long aisle of stacks of electronic gear.

“Somewhere here,” Philby said, “There has to be…aha! I’ve got it!”

He’d found a freestanding webcam alongside a keyboard at one of the desks. He traced the USB cord and unplugged it.

When Philby got on a roll, there was no stopping him. His actions became frantic as he hurried with the webcam back to the DHI server. He dragged a chair into place, climbed up onto it, and placed the webcam on the top shelf, wedging it between a pair of speakers.

“Run the wire down the back there,” Philby directed Finn.

Finn did as he was told. Together, they worked furiously, running wires, changing the position of the camera. Finn still didn’t know what Philby was up to.

Philby double checked his phone and said, “No cell service, but it’s a good Wi-Fi signal down here.”

Philby handed his to phone Finn. “Can you see my hands?” he said, placing them on the keyboard.

Finn viewed the phone’s screen. It was the video image from the webcam Philby had installed. It showed the keyboard and Philby’s hands.

“Unreal,” Finn said. “Yeah, your hands and the keyboard.”

He took his phone back. “Check the cold room for hiding places,” he said, referring to a second server room with which the boys were familiar. “Room for both of us. It has to be good. We can’t be found.”

Finn entered a small room crowded with big, lumbering machines. The bigger and more sensitive electronics ran more efficiently when kept extremely cool. He found space behind a computer the size of vending machine.

“I’ve got something,” he called out.

“Stand by!” Philby called back. He used his phone to make a remote connection. He then tried his password for the third time. The computer bumped the access page and warned that access would now be denied for twenty-four hours.

He glanced at his watch. Given the past history of the DHIs and this server, he gave Base five minutes to respond.

* * *

It took only three minutes. A Security woman named Joyce Brighton, who’d worked Security for eleven years, the past three in the Utilidor, entered the server room with a cup of coffee in hand.

She glanced around, well aware that false alarms outnumbered real ones 20 to 1.

She surveyed the empty room, and reached for her radio. Then she stopped.

What on Earth was that foul odor?

It smelled like a Dumpster.

* * *

Philby and Finn remained hidden behind the towering rack of servers when the door to the supercooled room opened. Over the steady sound of the air conditioning and the computer fans could be heard a nose sniffing. Philby looked down at the brown muck and pieces of food and litter adhered to his clothing. Unfortunately, he’d already grown accustomed to the foul odor. Clearly the guard had picked up on it.

The nose worked the air in short little sniffs. The sound moved toward the two boys.

“What in heaven’s name is that smell?” said a woman softly to herself.