Free The Ragnarok Conspiracy by Erec Stebbins

to break this thing down.”
    Hernandez tugged on his arm and pointed across the room. Savas followed his hand to the end of the half-moon desk. Lightfoote sat there; somehow she had entered before they had come in, or perhaps she had floated in like some ghost without anyone noticing. As he looked at her, she paused her furious typing to raise a hand, eyes still on the screen, giving Savas the thumbs-up.
    Aside from Savas and Hernandez, the remaining members of Intel 1 were busy logging in and bringing up the system. Awaiting commands from Savas, some were already running the analysis software.
    â€œOK, folks, all I've got for the present is that there was an attack Midtown East by the UN. Rebecca, let's bring up the police and fire data. Angel, can you get a live satellite view up?”
    An enormous projection screen was draped over the far wall, some ten feet in front of the table. It flashed to life, showing five smallersub-divisions superimposed over a larger background. One screen, corresponding to Lightfoote's terminal, blinked and came to life, displaying a view from space. It quickly zoomed into the island of Manhattan just south of the Queensboro Bridge. Smoke obscured a region of several blocks near the United Nations building. Other screens flashed and showed a stream of text—emergency bulletins from several New York City agencies.
    â€œExcellent. Rebecca, why don't you run the link to Larry's office and dump the live feed. OK, what do we have folks?”
    In the time it took him to say these things, several of the other screens flashed on, revealing varied scenes. One was cutting between local and national coverage of the event on television. Another was funneling information from Internet search engines through one of Manuel's algorithms.
    â€œExplosive device, John,” Cohen called out, processing the information and integrating it faster than anyone. Lightfoote cut in, “Second Avenue, near the plaza. Can't see through the smoke.”
    An altered image of the scene displayed in false color revealed no obscuring smoke but rather illuminated solid structures—buildings, cars, and rubble—in an eerie green.
    â€œFiltering it through the IATIA satellite, looks like a hole…there!” King called out. Several intakes of breath were heard over the clacking of keyboards.
    â€œDamn,” said Savas. “Something was blown to hell and back.”
    Immediately, another image of the area occupied the screen controlled by Rideout. It showed the same region, in real color and without the hole.
    â€œSAT photo before the bombing, sometime last week,” Rideout chimed in. “It's the corner of Second and Forty-Sixth Street.”
    â€œOK, people, what is it? Let's find out what was in that hole.”
    Cohen leaned back. “John, fire department chatter confirms what we're seeing. There was a massive explosion. There is some severe damage, and there are reports of many injuries and secondary carnage from car fires and falling debris.”
    â€œWell, they've come back to visit again, folks, that much is clear. Anyone know what the hell they hit yet?”
    â€œGot it! It's a UN office building. 866 Second Avenue,” said Rideout. An image flashed, showing a tall, black-glass building. “Damn. I'm getting one international office located there after another: representatives from Ecuador, Greece, Guyana, Honduras, even the Saudi General Consulate…they're spread out on different floors and offices.”
    Miller muttered, “I don't think it's gonna matter what floor those poor bastards were on.”
    â€œNo, indeed,” echoed Savas. “OK, so, what we have is an attack on UN personnel, a UN building for all practical purposes, with enough shit to take the entire building down.”
    â€œStructural damage to neighboring buildings is minimal from both the SAT and chatter, John,” said Cohen.
    â€œOK. Your point?”
    â€œWell, they