The Ten Seconds Before the Fireworks Went Dark

In the back seat, someone lifted a compact device with a stubby antenna, aiming it toward the crowd and the broadcast tower. Then the SUV roof flashed. Four small drones launched out like a machine-made swarm, splitting in two directions, one toward the people and one toward the live-feed tower. Every screen still working on the waterfront flickered at once. The giant event board that had been showing the fireworks feed filled with white static, then a broken image forced its way through. It showed a man in a hard hat standing in some kind of underground room, server cabinets glowing behind him. The feed died after half a second. But Elias had seen enough. That was not a maintenance room. That was the Port Authority data floor. “Dad!”