V
(One hundred minutes before launch)
(Three hours and forty-five minutes before impact)
Dusk was slowly yielding to darkness, and the access road was gradually sinking into ever-deeper gloom.
The lights on Nick's car lit up the endless row of parked vehicles as he approached the warehouse complex.
He braked sharply when a group of giddy girls suddenly appeared in his field of view.
He waved at them with a smile and slowed, because the road had grown somewhat clogged with the young bodies of partygoers drifting quite leisurely toward Sljeme and the complex.
The impressive parking lot, now without the big trucks, was packed full of cars.
Nick even noticed several expensive motorcycles and their owners, who strutted around like turkeys, posing, or sat on them taking selfies.
A river of young people moved between the warehouse buildings and the parked vehicles toward the slopes of Sljeme and the entrance to the shelter.
Nick noted with satisfaction that everything was cordoned off with multicolored tapes that carried simple meanings.
Red you didn't cross, green you followed toward the entrance, and yellow tape marked an area you weren't allowed into but where you could step aside so as not to get in people's way.
He noticed that the parking areas were also marked with different colors and that people were given a small woven wristband of the matching color to indicate their parking spot.
For the lucky ones, of course, who'd found a parking spot or had turned up hours before the event.
The party was already starting out here; music blared from the vehicles, adding a chaotic note to the cacophony of sounds.
People laughed, talked, and drank. Alcohol flowed in streams, and here and there rose the heavy smoke of the intoxicating scent of marijuana.
Driving past these early birds, Nick noticed that for some of them the party was already over for the day.
They slept in their cars or vomited beside them, drawing either disgust or laughter from passersby.
Nick remembered the mass of cars on the access road and thought he'd have to organize a few guys to patrol it and make sure no one got hurt and nothing unpleasant happened.
There were always girls who changed their minds at the last moment and young men who reckoned a loud No meant a hidden Yes.
And such situations created problems no one needed.
Luckily, that happened rather rarely, because Nick watched such things closely so that his parties would have a reputation for being safe and fun.
Unable to give it any gas, he drove slowly, trailing a dancing little group of cheerful girls.
He caught the signals of one of the security guys, waving for him to bring the car over and leave it inside the warehouse, where he was probably saving spots for a handful of VIP guests.
Nick turned and entered the darkness of the warehouse.
He drove the car past the huge semitrailers that had brought the equipment needed for such a big party.
A few boxes of snacks and drinks still waited to be transported.
He noticed Tomi's van, from which a river of cables flowed, while on the roof sat several mobile-signal jammer antennas.
With those antennas and a few more electronic gadgets, Tomi could selectively block access to social networks.
They'd learned long ago that people's network access had to be limited to avoid thousands of uninvited guests as well as police raids.
Sharing content was done after the party, and everyone invited had agreed to that.
Tomi had his own system, which had proven very useful more than once when the ancient electronics in the shelter failed.
And there was a fixed price for the party footage, because such undertakings had to be financed somehow — or the relevant authorities bribed to look the other way.
For an introverted, scrawny guy with thick glasses, Tomi was well known in the partying world as one of the most sober minds, with the best equipment to be had.
Everyone wanted Tomi's gear at their parties, but no one wanted Tomi's presence.
Only Nick knew how to manage him and set him up in some hidden spot where he could do his work with the electronics in peace.
And he took good care that there were no girls nearby, so Tomi would stay clear-headed and effective, because he'd learned the hard way that Tomi was of no use if alcohol or a member of the fairer sex was around.
The warehouse was half full of expensive cars, and Nick's Renault stood out in such pricey company.
Though unsightly, it got the best spot in the lot and no one held it against him.
Nick loved his car's economy, its ability to squeeze into smaller spaces, and he didn't worry about someone denting his doors or breaking a mirror.
He saw all those downsides in Ana, who forever fussed over her Mercedes convertible.
She always watched where she parked, checked three times whether she'd locked it, and jumped up in a panic many a time when the screech of tires sounded somewhere nearby.
Though quite well-off, with a salary figure that would make people's heads spin, Ana possessively loved her car and poured tremendous money into sometimes superfluous equipment.
Nick remembered the time when, thanks to a sudden braking, the hot sauce he'd meant to season his sandwich with slipped from his hand.
The sauce spilled over the expensive fabric of the car seat, leaving a large stain on both the seat and Nick's jeans.
Ana huffed in irritation and rolled her eyes, but said nothing.
The next week, Nick noticed brand-new seats in the car, and the incident was never mentioned.
Still, from then on he was careful about how and what he ate in her car.
He noticed that her car still wasn't there.
Fashionably late, typical. He thought as he parked.
He put the keys away and joined the river of young people flowing toward the former atomic shelter.
***
Tomi was getting worked up. He gestured angrily and huffed at the technicians who, sweating, were connecting the last cables into the portable console Tomi always carried in his van.
Several laptops were already switched on, their screens streaming heaps of data that no one but Tomi could understand.
He took a sip of apricot juice and inhaled deeply to calm himself.
"Leave the console on the table and nooo, don't touch the laptop, don't even go near it!" he shouted at one of the technicians. The last thing he needed was their fat fingers pressing some key. "There, set it down on that table and you can go."
The technicians did as he ordered, without argument.
Their minds were on the lower floors anyway, where the party was heating up, judging by the loud music that carried up from the maw into which the enormous elevator was lowering partygoers in batches of a few dozen.
Tomi thought the elevator was a pointless nuisance, because the descent to level 4 took a while, and the hydraulics of the ancient construction weren't in top form.
But the partygoers found it fascinating, and most of them amused themselves dancing or snapping selfies on the elevator platform, which was lit by multicolored floodlights, lending the whole picture the atmosphere of a man deep in the grip of LSD.
But he didn't dwell on it; his job was in the sensitive electronics housed in the security room Nick had ceded to him.
He kicked aside the cables dragging across the floor and sat down in Nick's chair in front of the security screens.
On the screen of one of the laptops he checked the program that looped a 30-minute recording of the empty warehouse where nothing happened.
He huffed with satisfaction, because he was the one who had suggested this method of fooling the video system to Nick.
He checked the cables to see whether they were properly connected and cast a glance at the security-system screens.
On the first three levels there wasn't much change, while the fourth was anything but calm.
Hundreds of people were having fun, lit by floodlights, dancing to beats inaudible to him.
Tomi admired the construction of the shelter, because in his eagle's nest, as he liked to call the security office, he felt nothing, apart from the occasional dying jolt of vibration when the elevator rose and settled onto its bed.
He peered through the large glazed wall toward the elevator.
A new batch of people had come down, while dozens more were barely being kept in check by a few massive security guys.
The trouble with today's youth was that they wanted to explore, and most of them would try to sneak off to explore the shelter.
Plenty of videos on YouTube stirred the exploring spirit in some who felt it was their privilege and duty to contribute their share of low-quality footage to the whole culture of modern explorers.
Luckily, the guys knew their job and expertly kept the crowd under control.
And Nick would have gone mad, too; he didn't like unauthorized footage circulating online.
Inviting so many people to one place would be a logistical nightmare for many.
But they were ready for anything: a few envelopes changed hands, a few tickets were given to influential people, and with a few more trifles, peace was secured for the duration of the party.
Nick insisted the element of surprise be reduced to a minimum.
Tomi laughed at the scene playing out right then by the elevator and adjusted his glasses for a better view.
You see, some guy had gotten angry at the security, who evidently wouldn't let him stand outside the zone cordoned off with red tape.
He gestured furiously and waved his arms, arguing with them.
Clearly it was some problem he'd created himself in order to stand out in the crowd, or, unused to crowds, to escape it.
Tomi watched as the beefy head of security carefully listened to the frothing young man, behind whom stood his dolled-up companion.
The whole show clearly amused everyone present as they waited for the elevator.
Nick really knew how to pick people, because the guard didn't lose his composure or pay any mind to the pointing fingers.
Only when the aggressor shoved him did he react.
With lightning speed he dropped him, slamming his face against the floor, pinned his arms, and pressed a knee to his spine.
His companion screamed and began flailing at the guard with her hands and expensive purse, and he paid her no mind at all.
He bent down to the immobilized man's head, whispered something in his ear, at which the man calmed and nodded.
Tomi, in his eagle's nest, didn't know what the guard had said, but he assumed it hadn't sounded good, because the now-pacified guy, freed from the grip, rose and headed for the exit.
He gestured to his surprised companion to follow, at which she hesitated, unsure.
You could see she was thinking, and, finally making a decision, she squeezed into the crowd that was watching the incident with amusement.
She vanished from the sight of the crestfallen man, who shouted something angrily and went outside through the shelter's open doors.
Tomi assumed the guy had wanted to impress his companion by flouting the rules and the security.
Typical of snobbish kids used to having everything and to everyone bowing before them.
And when his plan bore none of the desired fruit, he was left without the girl and without the fun.
Tomi turned back to the screens — everything was working as it should.
He got up, checked that the doors behind him were locked, checked the cables once more, tapped out something quickly, and returned to the chair in front of the console of screens.
People were still partying, and he pressed a button, switching cameras to survey the whole space.
He was looking for something specific, because he only skimmed over the footage of the party.
Now he was after the video from the cameras he'd secretly placed in the women's restroom.
They were well camouflaged — he was a professional, after all.
And good picture quality and, in the end, some good content could be well paid for on not-exactly-legal services and sites.
Tomi adjusted his glasses. In one of the stalls some interesting and fiery action had begun.
He leaned back in his chair with satisfaction and, aroused, unzipped his fly without taking his eyes off the screen.