CHAPTER 06
Michael stood at his kitchen counter.
He was digging through a toolbox and inspecting various cutting devices when the doorbell rang. At first, he ignored it. He lived pretty far out. The only people who ever came to his door were Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons. Michael wasn’t into religion. And he had other, more pressing matters on his mind.
“Go away religious fanatics,” he said under his breath.
He could do this. He could save Rachel. At first, it would be like cutting through something that sure felt like human skin. He would just have to keep in mind that she wasn’t human, and she wouldn’t really feel the pain. He doubted there would be anything like blood or gore. After the flesh, there was probably a layer of metal or hard plastic. He would just follow whatever metal line or wiring extended down from the digital readout on the surface. Then he would…
The doorbell rang again.
“Persistent, aren’t we?”
When Michael opened the door, two men in dark blue uniforms stood on his front porch. They didn’t look like soul savers or Bible salesmen. They looked like soldiers. They were young, big and muscular, with closely cropped hair. Their eyes were flat and blank. They each had an insignia on their chests, which looked to Michael like an eye peering over a desk. Their uniforms puffed out slightly, as if they had an umpire’s padding under there.
Michael knew enough. They were wearing body armor.
Flat black guns were holstered at their waists.
One of them held a computer tablet in a big, thick hand. He referred to it, then looked up.
“Michael Simms?” he said.
Michael ran a hand through his hair. He sniffed slightly, as if he were tired, or maybe a little under the weather. He was painfully aware of his own fit, but thin body, his silly YOGA MAN shirt, his washed out jeans, and his bare feet. He had no military training. He hadn’t been in a fight since the fourth grade. The truth was, he had gotten by for much of his life on looks, and brains, and charm.
Charm wouldn’t persuade these men of anything. Michael was suddenly sorry he had opened the door. He stifled an urge to turn around and see what Rachel was doing back in the house.
It had been a beautiful day, the best in a long, long while. Then the bomb. And now this.
“Michael Simms?” the man said again.
“And you are?” Michael said.
“We’re doing a security check of the neighborhood. There was an incident last night you may have heard about. Now there’s a woman on the loose who is extremely dangerous. She was last seen not far from here. Do you know anything about this?”
Michael shrugged. Lying wasn’t really part of his skill set. He shook his head. “I have no idea. I haven’t noticed anything, but I’ve been asleep all day. I just got up. I was working late last night.”
“What do you do?” the soldier said. His flat eyes stared at Michael. Now Michael was very, very sorry he opened the door.
“Uh, I’m a bartender. I work sometimes at the Ritz-Carlton hotel bar downtown.”
The two of them, they were both staring at him.
“Listen, who are you guys?”
“You haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary?”
“I told you,” Michael said. “I was asleep.”
“Okay sir. Thank you for your time.”
The two men turned, almost in unison, and walked down the stairs. Michael looked, and for the first time noticed their black Jeep parked in his driveway circle. As they climbed in, they turned and stared at him. One of them pointed a finger at him like it was an imaginary gun. Then he smiled.
Michael went inside, closed the door and locked it. He slid the deadbolt. He went into the bedroom, but Rachel wasn’t there. He turned to his left, and there she was in a low crouch against the wall, nude, pointing her big rifle at the doorway.
At him. At Michael.
“Who were they?” she said.
“I don’t know. They said they were some kind of security.”
“Did they ask about me?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Rachel, look…”
She shook her head. “My name is Nine. What did you tell them?”
“I told them I was asleep all day. That I work nights as a bartender.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you work nights as a bartender?”
“No. Well, I used to. About 15 years ago.”
She let her head sink to the wooden floor. “Oh Jesus, Michael.”
* * *
Howard got the call on his encrypted line.
He didn’t know the voice he was talking to. It was a kid, but the kid sounded competent enough. They’d been going house to house all day, and they had stumbled upon something. It looked like they had found her.
“Where is she?” Howard said.
“Inside a house, about five miles as the crow flies from where she was last seen. The house is only three miles from where we found the airboat with Darryl Blauer’s body.”
“How sure are we that this is it?”
“99%.”
“Anybody in there with her?”
“A guy, Michael Simms, 38 years old. That’s how we know we have the right place. He told our men he was asleep all day because he works nights. He said he was a bartender at the Ritz-Carlton. It doesn’t check out. He was lying. He’s a master carpenter. House builder. Get this, he builds eco-houses. Recycled materials. Solar power. That kind of thing. He hasn’t been a bartender since he was 23.”
Howard liked it. He liked the sound of this Michael Simms. He liked tree huggers. In general, you could run right over them.
“Military service?” he said.
“None.”
Even better. This guy was no Darryl Blauer, a man who would rather die than give them back their own property. A man they should have seen coming. If Blue had been a little more on the ball, they would have.
The thought of Blue gave Howard a moment of pause. He gazed out the window. The last pink and purple sliver of sunlight was fading from the sky. The ocean looked like a bruise. Blue was out there somewhere, hopefully running for his life.
“Weapons registered to him?” Howard said. “I don’t want any repeats of last night.”
“None.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any. Don’t get cocky.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll be careful.”
“Good. Then take her. Blow the door down. Blow the walls out. Blow the house to kingdom come. Whatever it takes. Just don’t damage the Sexbot. I want it taken fully functional. Got that?”
“Sir, last night the orders were…”
“Last night was last night. It didn’t go very well last night, did it? So the orders have changed. I want the Sexbot. I want it brought here to my house. And I want it undamaged. It’s a very expensive and very sensitive piece of equipment. Are we clear?”
“We’re clear. What about the guy? Michael Simms?”
Howard shook his head. “He’s dead. It’s very sad, but she already killed him before we got there. There was nothing we could do. See what I mean?”
“Uh, what about the press? Another death and it could look…”
“Damn the press,” Howard said. “That’s not your job. You let me worry about that. Just do what I tell you and get it done.”
“Yes, sir.”
Howard hung up the phone. Outside the window, night was here, black as smoke. He could see his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass that just a moment ago showed him the ocean. Two lovely Sexbots, dressed in sheer teddies, lounged on the furniture behind him. He smiled at himself. He was throwing a party tonight, and it was going to be fun. Only very special people were invited. And, as always, there were going to be pictures taken of all his guests, pictures that would come in handy in the months and years ahead.
Howard ran a tight ship. The sky was the limit for this company, and for Howard himself. For a second, he imagined a scenario where the President of the United States came to one of his parties and indulged himself. He imagined having photos of the President in naked repose with a few of the company’s most charming ladies.
It was a fleeting image, fading very quickly. One step at a time, he told himself. One step at a time.
He thought of that company soldier on the phone just now, and he smiled again, even broader than before. He liked it when other people had to call him sir for a change. There was more of that coming in the future.
“Girls,” he said to the two Sexbots. “Let’s get ready for the party, shall we?”
* * *
Nine was up and moving. There wasn’t much time.
“Do you have any women’s clothes around here?” she said to Michael.
He looked sheepish. He couldn’t meet her eyes. He gestured at a walk-in closet. “On the right side. I had someone living with me for a while last year. One day she left. I’ve kept her clothes, thinking she might come back for them. So far, she hasn’t.”
Nine went in there. Slinky dresses and lingerie. High heels. A pair of blue jeans. No good. She didn’t like jeans. Then she found a mostly sheer, skin-colored body stocking. That looked good. She put her feet in it and pulled it on over her body. It felt good. It felt right. It was sexy. It clung to her curves.
On the floor she found a pair of bright orange sneakers. Size 8 women’s. They fit. Each sneaker had a balled-up ankle-height running sock in it. It seemed that this woman had left abruptly. Just as Nine was about to do.
She sat on the floor and pulled on the socks and sneakers. Then she jumped up and bounced in them a couple of times. They felt good. In case she had to run, she had the right shoes for it.
She walked out of the closet.
Michael’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “Wow. You look…”
She went to the gun on the table and picked it up. “Do you have a gun?”
He shook his head. “Me? No. It’s not my thing.”
She turned back to him. He was cute. There was no sense denying it. He was an awesome lover. He was God’s gift to the female race. It occurred to her that was probably why the body stocking lady had left so suddenly. When you’re God’s gift, you have to share it around. Not everyone is comfortable with that.
“I need to take my gun. I can’t leave it with you. Sorry about that. I also need to borrow your car.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The electric?”
She shook her head. “The Mustang. I need something that can go.”
“Hey, listen…”
She pointed the gun at him. She stuck her other hand out. “Keys.”
He stared at her. “Would you do it? Would you really shoot me? After we…”
“Michael, I like you very much. But I’m running out of time. Those men are coming back, and when they do, if I’m still here, you’re going to be very sorry. They won’t hesitate to shoot you. Whether I do it, or they do it, doesn’t really matter. So don’t test me, okay?”
He reached into the drawer of a small end table, picked up a set of keys, and put them in her hand. “That’s an expensive car. It’s my baby.”
She smiled. “I’ll be careful with it.”
“I hope so.”
She began to think through his options. “When I leave, they’ll come back for you. They’re not cops. They’re corporate security. Some of them are hired killers. If they find you here, they’ll probably kill you and say I did it. I think your best hope is to call 9-1-1, tell them I held you hostage, and that I just stole your car. Make it clear that I’m no longer here, but you’re still alive and in danger. You need an ambulance. You’re having a heart attack. Something like that. Do you have an attic?”
“I have a crawl space.”
“Is there a window?”
“A small one.”
“Can you fit through it?”
He smiled. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried.”
“Michael…”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I could squeeze through it if I had to.”
She nodded. “Okay. Good. Make sure all the doors are locked down here, then hide in the crawl space until the cops or an ambulance comes. The doors probably won’t matter, they’ll just blow them off the hinges, but it might buy you a few extra seconds. Don’t come out for any reason until you hear sirens approaching. Even then, wait for them to find you. If the house catches fire, crawl through the window and climb down to the ground.”
Michael just stared at her, his mouth slightly open.
“Okay?” she said.
“Why can’t I just come with you?”
She shook her head. “I wish you could, I’d like to keep you, but if you come with me, you’ll be dead inside three minutes. Really, this is the best way.”
“How will you survive?” he said. “You’re not a soldier. You’re not designed for battle.”
“Michael, do I really need to give you the stats? No, I’m not designed for battle. But put it this way. I’m 98% charged. At a full charge, I’m five times stronger than you. I can run three times as fast. My vision is like an eagle’s. My hearing is vastly better. So are my reflexes. I’m a technology expert, and I can shoot a man’s eye out at 25 yards. Those last two aren’t factory specs, but let’s just say they’re add-ons from my original designer. Plus, I could be pierced by ten bullets, and if none of them cut my wiring or hit my hard drive - which is wrapped in case-hardened steel, by the way - then I’ll just keep going.”
She tapped his skull. “You, on the other hand. One bullet here, and you’re finished.”
“What about the bomb?” he said.
“I don’t know. Something might turn up. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
He shrugged. “Okay. You win.”
She shook her head. “Believe me. I don’t win. There’s almost no possible scenario here where I don’t lose.”
He moved closer to her. They embraced. She felt his body against her sheer body suit. Immediately, the heat began to rise between them.
“I would have stayed,” she said.
He looked in her eyes. “I know. I would have liked that.” He paused, and his eyes lit up at an idea. “If you make it…”
She smiled. “Sure. But I wouldn’t wait up if I were you.”
He took her face in his hands, and they kissed, long and deep.
“I had a great day,” he said.
“So did I. It was the best sexual experience I’ve ever had. I mean that.”
“Coming from you…”
“You might be surprised.”
He pulled away and looked at her. She shook her head now. “No sense wondering, Michael. I’ve got to go. I’ll come back one day, if I can. I hope you’re still alive.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Nine turned, gun in hand, went down the staircase to the basement workshop, and walked through to the garage.
* * *
The sun had gone down. Night was here.
The assault team closed in.
Twenty men came in five armored SUVs. Eight men approached from the front, five through the woods on either flank. Two men, the team leaders, hung back at the cars as a viewing and command post. There was an airboat on the creek behind the house, with one driver and two sharpshooters on board.
The men all wore Kevlar body suits and helmets. The company had learned its lesson the night before. There would be no mistakes this time.
Four men crossed quietly in front of the two car garage. The lead man carried a thirty-pound steel battering ram, which should take the front door out in one or two swings. Each man after that had a flashbang stun grenade. Each man carried a shotgun. The plan was to blow the front door, then throw the flashbangs in. If the team was lucky, the blasts and the blinding light might disable the subjects, or might get them running to the back porch, where the snipers would take them out.
On the other hand, it might make them hole up, spoiling for a fight. The third man in line, a young guy named Kevin, wiped some sweat out of his eyes. It was another steamy evening. Truth be told, he was nervous.
He’d heard about how it went the night before. Nine men dead, seven injured, two in critical. He didn’t want to die, not for a job. He had spent four years in the U.S. Army, two full tours overseas, and he was willing to die for his country. But for a company that made sex toys? It seemed like a stretch.
He had a feeling in his bowels, a loose feeling like how it was before he went into a firefight. He could easily shit his pants. He smiled. Loose bowels were his good luck charm. He’d never gotten so much as a scratch in combat.
Stop it. Pay attention.
He brought his mind back to the present moment. The line of men leaned up against the garage door. The stairs were a right turn ten feet ahead. This had to happen fast. He pictured it in his mind. BAM! The door came down, and they threw their flash bangs. His would be second. Fall back, wait for the explosions, then rush in.
Somewhere nearby, there was a sound.
It was muffled, but it sounded like a powerful car engine. And it sounded like it was right on the other side of this garage door.
The guy in front of him looked back at Kevin. His eyes widened. They both turned and looked at the door.
* * *
Nine wasn’t fully-charged. She was turbo-charged.
She sat in the driver’s seat of the Mustang inside Michael’s closed garage. Parked next to her was the electric car, but she barely noticed it.
She had her gun, lying across the seat next to her. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. It was silent in here, but on the other side of the garage door, she could hear the men massing as they approached the house. A vehicle pulled up. Another. Another. They sounded like trucks.
Men were speaking in hushed tones. Someone was giving orders. The voices were too low for her to make out what was said. It was time, though. They were here for her, and it was time for her to go.
She turned the key in the ignition and the engine barked into life. There was no turning back now. She had a clicker that could open the garage door, but the door would rise too slowly. It would give them too much time to see her, and kill her.
No. She had to bust straight through.
She put the car in gear.
“Okay boys. Ready for me?”
She pressed the gas.
The tires shrieked on the concrete floor of the garage, and the car screamed forward, blasting through the door, knocking it down, splintering it into pieces. The car bucked over something, pieces of the door, speed bumps, she didn’t know, and she didn’t care.
To her right and left, men in black were running.
Ahead, dark SUVs were parked at an angle. Men took up positions behind them. Nine saw the muzzle flashes of their guns. She ducked, just as her windshield shattered inward. Tiny pellets of glass sprayed all over her.
She stomped on the gas, pressing it all the way. She watched over the top of the dash. The parked trucks zoomed toward her, like they were caught in a fast-moving river. The Mustang accelerated.
Men dove out of the way.
BOOM!
She crashed between the two SUVs, metal rending metal. For a moment, her car was stuck between the trucks.
A helmeted man appeared at her passenger window. He raised his gun butt, and smashed the window. More glass sprayed. Nine picked the gun up off her passenger seat, and fired it out the window. She didn’t aim. She just pulled the trigger. The man disappeared, blowing away like a leaf in autumn.
She floored the gas pedal again. Tires spun on blacktop. The Mustang turned sideways, ripping between the two trucks. The sides of her car shredded, peeling back. Then she was through. The car burst forward, gathering speed.
The back windshield shattered from a burst of gunfire.
She raced down the driveway, barely slowing as she made the 90 degree left turn onto the road. She barreled down the center line of two lane blacktop. Her headlights were out. Steam rose from her radiator.
She reached in front of her and pushed the crushed remains of the windshield out of her way. It fell off the hood of the car, splintering into a million tiny fragments as it bounced along the roadway.
The engine screamed. She was gaining speed. The needle of the speedometer hit 80, then 90, then 100. The car burst forward, its ride smoothing out, coming into its own at more than a hundred miles per hour.
Behind her, the pursuit vehicles appeared. She could see their headlights. Could they outrun this car? She didn’t think so.
Her robotic pupils expanded, taking in more light. Her sensors soaked up data. Pushed to their maximum, the pinnacle of their design, they monitored the sights and sounds around her. The car reached 110, then 120.
Nine took the curves of the road effortlessly, her concentration supreme. No human could achieve this kind of focus. The windshield was gone. She drove in the face of 120 mile an hour winds. Nine embraced the speed, the exhilaration.
She pushed the car on. 130 now.
140.
She smiled. She had blown right through them.
In the dark sky above her, she thought she heard the whirr of a helicopter.
* * *
Howard was drying off from the shower when the phone rang.
Steam filled his huge bathroom. It was all stonework and glass in there, and the water in the shower came down from overhead like an afternoon rain. Three Sexbots were with him in the shower. They were indeed waterproof.
He wrapped himself in a soft white towel and pulled out the wall stool. His heart skipped a beat as he pressed the green button on the phone. He hoped this person would tell him something good.
“Tell me,” he said.
“She broke through the lines,” the voice said. “There’s a high speed chase on a side road toward the city. Michael Simms owns a restored classic Mustang, a very fast car in the straightaway. She’s driving it. We’ve got three more dead, and two severely injured. We’re choppering them out to Sarasota Memorial right now.”
Howard sat in silence. This was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. When those men arrived at the hospital, the media were going to know about it. More media coverage was something the company couldn’t afford right now, and it was something that could end Howard’s career at Suncoast. The end might be ugly, and violent. His relationship with the Chairman was tenuous at best.
“I want a cordon around that house,” he said. “If the police come, you hold them off, even if that means a shootout, okay? They cannot come in. Also, do not bring the injured to Sarasota Memorial. Negative on that. Bring them to the company tower. I want our doctors to see them, not some staff member at a public hospital. Have medics ready on the helipad. We’ve got medical facilities downstairs.”
“Sir, we have a staff clinic downstairs. People get checkups and stress tests there. People get diet and exercise advice. These men have traumatic injuries.”
“Did you hear me?” Howard said.
“Yes.”
“Do what I say, or it’s your ass. Our doctors see those men. Understood?”
“Yes. Understood.”
“Good. Now what about the owner of the house?”
“We haven’t found him yet,” the voice said. “There’s some concern he may be in the car with her.”
“Jesus.”
“We have armed drones in the sky,” the voice said. “They’re right on top of her. This is all happening live, and there’s no police presence yet. We still have time to take out the car. We can blow it to hell, if we want.”
“Will that destroy the Sexbot unit?” Howard said.
“In all likelihood, yes.”
“Can they blow out the tires instead?”
“Yes. But the subject is going in excess of 100 miles per hour. If we blow the tires, that car’s going to get airborne.”
“I want her,” Howard heard himself say. “Blow the tires. If the Sexbot survives the crash, it survives. If not, then so be it. Whatever’s left, functional or not, I want it. Disable the power source, and bring it here. To my house. Tonight.”
He rang off and sighed.
Susan really knew how to make herself a menace.
* * *
Fifty miles to the north, on the outskirts of Tampa, in a nondescript suburban office park, there was a squat four-story building. The building had no identifying markings of any kind. Two-dozen cars were parked in the lot outside, all of the cars late-model BMWs, Mercedes, Lexuses and the like.
On the fourth floor, in a corner of the building, the lights were on, shining like a beacon in the dark night.
Inside the fourth-floor office, a group of young men sat at work stations outfitted with as many as six computer monitors, beneath the glare of fluorescent lighting. Each man held a joystick controller in one hand, and a throttle in the other. The men, though in their late 20s and early 30s, were the kind who spent their working lives sitting at desks - soft, tending toward overweight, with pale skin. Many were unshaven, and their eyes were dark hollows. Their uniform seemed to be dress shirts and khaki pants. A few wore ties.
These were the robot drone pilots. The screens showed them the camera views from up to 100 drones currently in the sky over south Florida, as well as a handful buzzing the oil rigs out in the Gulf of Mexico.
They passed their days watching drug deals go down, watching the Coast Guard board speedboats off Miami, watching armed robbery suspects tearing down the highway with the police in hot pursuit, watching men cheat on their wives, watching women cheat on their husbands, watching turncoats sell company secrets in supermarket parking lots. They were the eyes in the sky, and they were always watching.
The detritus of junk food containers littered the areas around their stations. Big Mac wrappers, discarded energy drink cans, half-eaten Snickers bars. The men wore headsets and they stared intently into the screens in front of them. There was the buzz of near constant chatter.
The man’s name was Dave. The guys called him Red Bull, for his habit of downing as many as a dozen cans of the energy drink per day. One of the gofers had brought him a cheeseburger and fries from Wendy’s a little while ago, and he had inhaled them in three minutes. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry. His ever-present can of Red Bull was on a small shelf to his left. His mouth chewed a piece of gum, rapid-fire.
In this room, he was the ace. He had grown up on video games. He had spent six years at the U.S. military’s Central Command, just up the road, learning to wipe out camel jockeys from thousands of miles away. That was the best job he ever had. The only reason he left it was the pay. Nowadays he made about twice what he used to make, but there were days when he regretted the change.
Corporate spy work. There was no action whatsoever. He and his co-workers just sat here and watched the deals go down, day after day, night after night, but they never intervened. They never blew anyone away. To the extent possible, they never even revealed their presence.
But tonight was different. Tonight was his night.
He watched the speeding car, outlined in green below him. Ground speed: 134. He spun his video camera and looked back down the road. Headlights below and far back now, half a mile away. He brought the camera back and centered it on his prey.
His hand moved the joystick with a mind of its own. He was not conscious of controlling it. He’d been doing this for so long, it was all second nature. He thought something and the drone did it. He was very nearly one with the drone.
Around him in the air, the sky was busy with drones. Some were too close. He could see them zooming in and out of his view screens. Everybody was moving fast, punching it. Everybody wanted to be there.
Talking, talking, talking came over the headset. The other pilots in the room were excited. Chatterboxes. They were wired, nervous. A lot of them had never been in on something like this before.
A loud voice came over the headset. “Okay, okay, okay. Everybody shut the fuck up.” It was the team leader Craig. He was older, maybe 35. Ex-Navy. He sat about ten work stations away. The room went silent when he spoke.
“Red Bull, you with me?”
“I’m here.”
“You ready?”
“Born ready,” he said. He smiled. He snapped his gum faster. The gum was turning hard now. The flavor had gone out of it about ten minutes ago.
“Okay, I just got the word. We’re taking her out.”
A small cheer went over the line from the other work stations.
“Shut the fuck up, I said. I want it quiet over this line. I don’t want to hear a fucking word from anybody. Except you, Red.”
“Okay,” Red Bull said.
“All right, so what do you need from me?”
Red Bull thought about it. He watched the car take a slight bend in the road, and slow down from 127 to 123. Barely slowing at all. The road straightened out, and the car went right back up to 130. The girl could drive. As he watched, another drone crossed his vision, just below him.
“Can you back these assholes up a bit? I got people on my elbows, above me, under me, all over me out here. I need some room.”
A drop of sweat ran down his forehead and into his eye. He wiped it away.
“Done,” said the team leader. “Back up, assholes. You heard the man. Everybody back. All the way back. If I see you within 50 meters of Red, I’m docking your pay for the night. Got it? That’s starting now.”
A few grumbles came over the line. But they backed up.
Red Bull moved the drone into position, above the car and a little behind it. He put the cross hairs on it. He moved the drone’s bottom-mounted machine gun into place.
Everybody was watching him. Everybody was looking at that car. He was on stage. All eyes on me.
“What are we doing?” he said. “You want me to take the gas tank?”
“No, no. Hit the tires. We’re taking the car off the road. We’re not blowing it up.”
Red Bull shook his head.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t like to criticize. He moved the drone again, speeding up and taking it out to the left, changing position. He came around the side of the car. He put the cross hairs on the left front tire.
The car went over a small rise, and he lost the tire from his sights for a few seconds. Then he put the cross hairs right back on there.
“I’ve acquired the target,” he said. “Just say when.”
“Whenever you’re ready. Fire at will.”
* * *
Nine was supremely concentrated on the road.
She was going very fast, the wind howling in her face through the empty windshield. The huge engine of the Mustang screamed. She glanced into the rear view mirror. The other cars were falling back. She was losing them.
Yes!
For the first time, she began to think ahead. Where to go? In ten minutes, she would make it to the city limits.
The more of a nuisance she could make herself, the better her chances. She pictured herself driving the car straight downtown, crashing it through a fancy art gallery window. Then taking the gun and fighting it out with them on the streets. The police would come. The company wouldn’t want that. They would want to do it all in silence, sweep everything under the rug.
She thought of how it would be talking to the police. On their own, they’d never believe her. They’d think she was a piece of evidence, and they wouldn’t act in time. They’d probably put her out in a field where she could safely detonate.
Hmmm. Maybe she could take hostages inside a building, and allow a newspaper reporter in for an interview. She could get her story out to the world. With a reporter there, and the real story out, maybe then the police would come in and disarm the bomb. If they even knew how.
She pressed the accelerator and zoomed up over a low rise. She glanced back again. The pursuit cars were falling all the way back now.
She began to smile. She was going to make it. She was going to find someone who could help her. The police, an encryption expert, someone…
She heard the whirr of a helicopter again, somewhere above her. Slowly, the smile faded. It turned into a frown.
The drones. They were up there, all over the black sky.
The cars had fallen back because the drones…
* * *
Red Bull narrowed the cross hairs. He zoomed in on the left front tire.
“Okay,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “Everybody take it easy…”
He fired a burst, .338 caliber ammunition, traveling 2,600 feet per second. He saw the tire pop, a tiny spark of green light. The car traveled another few feet, then flew into the air, back end over front.
It flipped a few times then log rolled on its side, sparks flying, the car bounding down the road at 100 miles per hour, chunks of metal flying everywhere. It hit a tree by the side of the road. The back half of the car sliced off, but the cockpit kept going, spun around, and slid to a halt further up the road.
A loud cheer went up all around the room and over his head set.
Someone clapped him on the back. He hadn’t known anyone was standing behind him. He turned and it was Craig, the team leader, grinning from ear to ear. Craig raised his arms above his head, as though he were signaling a touchdown in football.
“Man!” Red Bull said. It had been a while since he was in the game, and it felt good to be back. “Did you guys see that?”
* * *