Goodfellow Vertical

1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-1-80336-400-1
Verlag: Titan Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 320 Seiten

A group of urbex explorers breaking into the world's tallest skyscraper in Moscow grapple with dangers from all sides in this pulse-pounding cinematic thriller for readers of Greg Hurwitz and Patrick Hoffman. Michael Foster, Cam Buckley and Maddie Acosta - all former activists in the infamous urbex crew Les Furies. Together they scaled buildings, broke into the spaces no-one else could, and chased a rush that still haunts them. Now though, Michael is stuck recovering from an injury, coding in a dead-end start-up, But Les Furies cannot hide forever. A journalist has uncovered Michael's identity and he is being sent anonymous videos of his time in the crew. When he discovers that Cam and Maddie are planning on reuniting the crew one last time, to scale the Korova Tower in Moscow, he is sceptical. But the tower has never been scaled before. Breaking into the world's tallest building on Russia Day is too good an opportunity to pass him by. But Michael is about to discover that the vertical city has another purpose, one far more sinister than he could have imagined, and this one final ride for Les Furies might well be the last thing any of them ever do.

Cody Goodfellow has written eight novels. His first two collections, Silent Weapons For Quiet Wars and All-Monster Action, each received the Wonderland Book Award. He wrote, co-produced and scored the short Lovecraftian films 'Stay At Home Dad' and 'Baby Got Bass.' As an actor, he has appeared in numerous short films, TV shows, music videos and commercials. He is a co-founder of Perilous Press, and lives in San Diego, California.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Goodfellow, Cody

Leseproben

PRELUDE

Igor long suspected that “the Boss”—his Avtorityet—knew of his strong aversion to high places. Why else would he have gifted Igor the “honor” of being that night’s official greeter; stationed like a common valet at this temporary rooftop helipad 190 floors above Moscow? This was either a deadly serious message, or just the Avtorityet messing with him for sport, as sadistic fucks like him were wont to do.

It was almost 3:00 a.m., the witching hour. And tonight’s coven would be arriving not on brooms, but rather combat-ready helicopters direct from the Kubinka military base. When you really wanted to impress, having the army on speed dial was a potent flex.

Perched on opposite sides of the roof, ten-story construction cranes faced each other like twin sentinels, silently beckoning to the approaching aircraft. Great effort had been made to ensure that tonight’s guests wouldn’t encounter each other prior to their arrival—be they old rivals, outright enemies or, worst of all, potential conspirators. None of them had more information than any of the others, and perhaps because of that, or just plain FOMO, all had immediately RSVP’d.

The helipad swayed slightly underfoot, jolting Igor with a sharp bolt of panic. He gasped hard, stricken by the reminder that he was nearly a kilometer above solid ground. But this was nothing compared to the slow-burning fear which had gnawed at his consciousness for months now, making it seem like there was no such thing as solid ground anymore. At least, not for him.

The first chopper emerged from the darkness without running lights, its shrouded rotors eerily muted. Whisper tech that actually works? thought Igor. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back to watch the large craft touch down with a jouncing thud. So it begins.

Four men emerged, flanked by a quartet of armed security. Each wore an impeccable black or gray suit, all specially tailored to accommodate their snakeskin cowboy boots.

Keeping his eyes down, Igor offered each guest a special custom-made earpiece. The devices would translate in real time whatever the wearer heard into their native languages. The AI-assisted software was still in beta, but Igor wasn’t worried about that end of it; the presentation itself—a slick video package—already had all the necessary language options.

The chopper dusted off and Igor ushered his charges onto the semi-exposed service platform that passed for an elevator–– hastily installed at the top of this giant lightning rod, like the conference room itself, for tonight’s entertainment. The next helicopter was already approaching.

With his stomach twisting into tighter and tighter knots, Igor managed to greet seven more VIP parties, all pretty much the same—rich and dangerous. Hiding behind a respectful smile, he diligently checked their earpieces before escorting the guests over to the elevator.

With the last chopper drifting off like a specter into the moonless sky, Igor felt a wave of relief, however brief. Now the hard part, he thought, checking his watch during the elevator’s slow descent to the 183rd floor. Once it had settled, he raised the safety gate and headed towards the conference room and its gauntlet of aggressively nondescript men in bulky black suits, earpieces and wraparound sunglasses—which Igor knew featured starlight and infrared sensors.

Two of them administered a rough pat down, acting like they’d never seen Igor prior to this moment, despite his working there all day. God, these fucking guys. But he mutely played the humble shestyorka, a nobody with nothing to hide, and thus was nothing to worry about. He almost believed it.

With security behind him, Igor entered the hub of business suites and strode to the small tech room where he’d be running the presentation. Opening the door without knocking, he entered his control lair, a dimly lit room the size of a jail cell that adjoined the main conference space.

But instead of finding Feliks the audio tech bent over the mixing board and pretending to work, Igor was met by another obshchak, this one probably on loan from Wagner Security, who, being as large as he was menacing, easily took up most of the room. Feliks was practically cowering in the far corner by a metal cabinet, eyes wide. Igor felt his sense of authority pooling around his ankles like warm tar. Fuck me, now what…?

Igor flinched when the man leaned in close. “Igor Marinov,” the operative said, not really asking.

“Yes,” Igor managed, his senses returning. If the obshchak’s job was to keep everyone on their toes, mission one hundred percent accomplished.

The man handed Igor a black plastic snap case the size of a fat paperback. He knew what it was and snapped it open, revealing a trim silver Faraday bag. To Igor, it shone like an enchanted ring. Snug inside was a pair of military-grade USB drives—A & B, for the sake of redundancy.

Carefully removing drive A, Igor slotted it into the DLP video projector he’d field-tested earlier that day. The machine blinked to life, system diagnostics booting up. A few tense moments later, its LEDs blinked to steady green—the program file, the Digital Cinema Package, was fully loaded and ready to play.

“Good to go,” confirmed Igor in English, giving a quick thumbs up. He carefully removed the thumb drive and handed it back to the obshchak. After the man had returned both drives to their plastic coffin, he turned and left the room without a word, closing the door firmly behind him. Igor and Feliks exchanged looks, both deciding not to comment.

Situated near the projector was Igor’s air-gapped laptop, configured for controlling the lights and any other theatrical aspect of tonight’s presentation. After checking that it too was “good to go,” Igor stepped to the small observation window and scoped the conference room. The VIPs were warily enjoying themselves, their security teams deployed around the perimeter. Hopeful Miss Russia contestants circulated with silver trays, serving glasses of Bollinger and small-batch artisanal caviar. So far, so good, thought Igor. Everything appeared on schedule.

An Influencer DJ was stationed at stage right, mashing up classic club tracks, nothing too radical. When a runway-ready ingénue, surely another of the Boss’s girlfriends, took the low stage at the far end of the room, the DJ gave her a nod of recognition and seamlessly segued into a backing track as good as anything he’d been playing that evening. With sincere K-pop vibes, the woman broke into a sugary club song, riding the DJ’s beat. Not without talent, Igor noted.

Shooing Feliks from the mixing console, Igor again rechecked the projector and laptop. He needed time to think, and busy work freed up mental bandwidth. But he knew the really important decisions had already been made, most of which he hadn’t even been aware of at the time. It was the money that had led him here, but once he’d learned the project’s ultimate purpose, he’d been plotting a way to get out without being murdered. To not act would make him worse than the people he was working for. Now he had to find his nerve and see it through…

Her song concluded, the singer scampered off, getting a lurid hug along the way from the Avtorityet as he took over the stage. Flashing a wide toothy grin, he swiped a lock of hair out of his eyes and deployed a few well-honed smutty jokes, fortified with topical references. Igor had to admit, the Boss was really killing it.

With Feliks busy tracking down the source of a faint impedance hum, Igor surreptitiously copied the encrypted DCP, along with the digital key to unlock it, from the DLP unit onto his own military-grade USB drive, a much smaller one with better shielding. It hit the bottom of his pocket just as the Wagner operative appeared in the control room doorway and fixed Igor with a grim look. Feliks made a small sign of relief—the vague hum was now gone.

“Igor Marinov, be ready for my signal,” the obshchak said, stepping to the observation port. He peered out at the ballroom of VIPs, adding, “When I tell you, lower the lights and start the projection. But when I tell you. Understand?”

“I know the cues,” Igor muttered. “There’s no need to—”

The man turned to look Igor full in the face. “Do you really want the responsibility?” At that moment, Igor realized that this scary monster was actually cutting him a huge solid, shielding him from any blame if the show didn’t start on cue.

“Uh… no,” confirmed Igor sincerely. “You tell me when.”

From the stage, the Boss theatrically called for the house lights to go down. Igor stared at the security man, letting him know he was on full alert, ready to start.

“Go now,” the man announced.

Igor tapped the Enter key. Instantly, the presentation started, turning down the lights and starting up the video projector. Not to be left out, Feliks adjusted the sound level slightly; the hum was still gone.

Satisfied, the obshchak gave Igor a slight nod, like they were a team now, and silently left the room. After thirty seconds of awkward silence, Igor coughed. “OK, Feliks, looks like we’re good here,” Igor said. “I need a smoke after all this…...