Nahla gripped the front of the car.
Conner sped up and spun the wheel. Turned towards where the scant housing was the densest. His only chance was to lose them in the labyrinthine streets.
More bullets flew past. Several tore through the chassis. None hit them.
The pursuers kept coming. Conner flattened the accelerator but he couldn’t build speed. The engine wasn’t powerful and the fuel gauge dipped closer into the red. He dreaded to guess who the pursers might represent. His worst fear was Islamic State. If captured, their deaths would be horrific, prolonged and barbaric.
Conner ducked and weaved avoiding rubble and broken-down cars. He sped up where he could. Breaking only at the last minute before a tight turn.
The convoy kept coming. The narrow streets slowed them, forced them into a single file. At least the open-top pickup with the machine gun was no longer in the lead.
Conner took another corner too fast, scraped the paneling against a brick wall. Sparks flew behind them. The streets were getting narrower. These were not roads designed for modern vehicles.
He turned another corner. Soon he was scraping both sides of their car. The buildings closed in. Wedged in, the car ground to a halt. Dust filled the air and obscured everything.
Conner grabbed the M4 Carbine. He flicked off the safety and fired through the back window, shattering the glass into a thousand fragments.
Nahla screamed and cowered down low.
As the dust settled, he changed magazines and looked again. Bullets riddled the three men in the front pickup. Their slumped corpses gushed blood.
He turned to Nahla. “I’ll shoot out the front window. Turn away!”
She wouldn’t stop screaming but she turned to hide her face and hands.
Conner closed his eyes and fired. The windscreen exploded. When he looked again, most of the glass had blown outwards. The safety glass had fragmented into tiny pieces as it was supposed to.
Men shouted in Arabic behind them.
“Come on!” Conner climbed through the gap in the window. He pulled Nahla through. Her body shook.
A gunshot fired. He felt air rush past him. He fired his M4 again forcing the assailants to duck down.
Conner grabbed Nahla’s hand, and they ran down narrower and narrower streets between old stone buildings. They passed chickens and goats but no people.
After a few minutes of sprinting, they reached an open footfall field. On the opposite side was a high sandstone fence two meters high with a single wooden gate. The dusty, lifeless playing field was about two hundred meters across.
“We have to run to the other side.”
“Conner, we’ll be in the open?”
He shook his head. “We got a head start. But they’ll catch us if we stop. Let’s go.”
They took off, sprinted across the field.
A lone football lay in the dust.
They were halfway across the field when they heard cars.
Conner glanced back. Several of the pickups and Jeeps had found an alternative route through the narrow streets. Their number included the pickup with the machine gun.
Conner pulled Nahla and kept sprinting. Fifty meters. Forty.
A man fired an assault rifle. The surrounding ground exploded with dust.
Thirty meters.
Several of the men called out in high-pitch wails. Their Arabic words could have been calls for Jihad or cursing for all Conner knew.
Twenty meters. Ten.
More gunfire. Cars tearing up the football field trying to catch them.
They reached the door, flung it open and sprinted through.
Another field greeted them. Wheat grown to waist height, about three hundred meters square surrounded by the same two-meter-high fence. Four wooden gates in the center of each wall marked the four points of the compass.
Conner and Nahla ran to the center, then ducked down into the wheat.
They heard the pursuing cars racing around each side of the enclosure. Dust trails marked their progress. Within a minute the enemy combatants covered each gate.
“What now?” Nahla asked.
Conner shuddered. “I don’t know.”
Unless he acted soon, this would not end well.
A jet fighter screeched overhead. Low enough for Conner to see its U.S. markings. It fired a missile and then the aircraft disappeared from view. The pilot was engaged in a different battle several kilometers away.
The air strike gave Conner an idea.
He powered up the satellite phone and called the last number McIntyre had dialed.
“Code in?” came an American voice.
“Thomas McIntyre. Operation Monalisa Overdrive.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then the man on the other end responded with, “How can I help you Sir?”
Conner grinned and shrugged. He hadn’t expected the call to get through. “Can I call in an airstrike?”
“I need the coordinates Sir?”
Surprised at the offer of help and not sure how to respond, he looked to Nahla. She pointed to the GPS coordinates displayed on his phone. He repeated them to the American. “We’re in the middle of the field. Can you blow up everything surrounding us?”
“Of course, Sir,” he said with disdain.
“ETA?”
“ETA one minute.”
“Thanks.”
Conner disconnected. He heard the insurgents creeping through the fields towards them. They had not yet seen Nahla and Conner, but that wouldn’t last. One was walking straight at them. Conner fired his M4 on a short burst blowing out the man’s calves. The fanatic’s screams provided cover while they crouched low and scurried further through the fields. More of the insurgents fired in their rage. Conner could not guess how close the bullets were. It was only luck none hit them.
A jet fighter raced overhead at supersonic speeds. Several bombs ejected and fell earthwards. Conner pulled Nahla down as they covered their heads and ears. The explosions were sudden and deafening. The skies lit up in flames.
Conner counted to five before he raised his head above the crop line. A wall of fire surrounded him, Nahla and three of the surviving insurgents. The men were arguing and screaming at each other. They hadn’t noticed Conner. He wasted no time firing the M4 Carbine on full-automatic spray until he hit each of them. They were all down in seconds.
He felt both tense and unstable, like he wasn’t in control of his body. Yet he advanced forward. Several of the insurgents, some with bullet wounds and some with horrific burns screamed and begged for mercy. He ejected the spent magazine and loaded another. Then he went through the motions of executing each one with a single bullet to the head. He felt bits of who he was die each time he played the role of an executioner. His whole body shook.
The flames had dissipated since the strike but they were still burning inwards. He lifted Nahla up out of her curled, fetal position and forced her to stand. “Nahla, we need to move!”
“How can you do this, when there is so much death?”
“I just do it, that’s all.” He wished Nahla was more responsive, more able to look after herself. He was resenting her, then he reminded himself she had not chosen this situation.
He spied a gap in the flames and pulled her through. The ground underfoot was hot, and he was thankful for their sturdy boots. Otherwise they would have suffered blistering feet.
Once through the gate they discovered one of the insurgent’s four-wheel drives. A boy inside, only fifteen, trembled at the wheel as scared as they were.
Conner made a motion that the boy should run. He did so without argument, vanished into the streets.
Perhaps Conner should have taken the boy with them. But there was always the risk he was as fanatical as the men he sided with. The boy might have turned against them. Conner hated himself that he was relieved when the boy had run and was no longer his responsibility.
The four-wheel drive however was what they needed. A full tank of petrol with several
jerry cans and many large containers of water. The key was in the ignition. He ripped away the Islamic State flags and threw them into the fires.
“Get in.”
“Conner? How could you execute them like that?”
Conner felt sick just thinking about what he had done. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t that kind of man. But he was also exactly that kind of man.
He couldn’t think about it now. Now he had to survive. Keep them both alive.
“This vehicle will get us to safety, I promise.”
He helped her in then got in behind the wheel. He couldn’t believe their luck with MacIntyre’s code. For the briefest moment, he wondered if someone powerful was helping them from afar? Someone far above McIntyre’s paygrade.
Then he put that thought out of his mind and hit the road. They were still a long way from anywhere that was safe.
CHAPTER 36
Navi Mumbai, Maharashtra, India
Simon studied the data center through binoculars. An ordinary gray concrete building surrounded by farmlands, low mountains and semi-tropical scrub. The only access was a single asphalted road linked to the outskirts of Navi Mumbai. The encircling hills and mountains seemed deliberate, to hide the facility from prying eyes. A three-meter-high cyclone fence with barbwire enclosed the building. Security comprised a dozen CCTV cameras and two guards at the gatehouse armed with semi-automatic pistols. Nothing struck Simon as unusual or sinister. Yet he sensed nothing would be what it seemed.
“What are you thinking?” Rashid asked lying low on the earth next to him. Positioned on a nearby hill they had an expansive view overlooking the data center.
Simon bit his lips. “I don’t know Rashid. It looks straight-forward…”
“But…?”
“But if I were a super-powerful AI, and this facility was integral to my survival, I’d have provided more protection.”
“Maybe that protection exists but we can’t see it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You thinking drones and hidden sentry posts?”
Simon nodded. “And more. But if that was the case, they would have taken us out already.”
“Then we should strike now. Before Shatterhand mobilizes forces we can’t resist.”
Gritting his teeth, Simon reconciled they had no alternative. It was now or never. “All right, let’s do this. But let’s be careful. We’ll brief the others first.”
Half a kilometer behind waited their parked truck loaded with C-4 explosives and the rest of the team. The men scrambled back down the rocky hill regrouping with Casey, Clementine and Szymanski. Everyone wore body armor, carried semi-automatic pistols, face breathing masks and air bottles on the off-chance oxygen was evacuated from the data center during their break-in. While everyone readied their weapons, Wilks and Simon grabbed M4 Carbines with underslung grenade launchers for additional firepower. As the American special forces soldier had said, they were as ready as they would ever be.
Simon explained to the team what they had seen. “It looks simple, but we need to be alert in case we’ve missed something. We should move now before the situation changes. Everyone ready?”
His four companions made eye contact and nodded that they were.
“Good.” He checked in with Saanvi and Peri on their radios. The two women reported they had parked the four-wheel drives nearby. They were ready to race in and collect them when the data center was ready to blow.
Wilks got behind the wheel and started the engine. Simon got in next to him while Casey, Clementine and Szymanski jumped in the back. The cut on his arm throbbed. For the lasts couple of hours it had hurt every time he moved it.
They took the only road, following its winding path through the low hills. As the guard house came into view, the guards approached with handguns drawn. Simon was ready with the M4, fired a warning shot over their heads scaring them into submission. They dropped their weapons and surrendered.
Simon took away their radios and cell phones. Wilks bound them with zip lock cuffs.
“Anyone else inside?” Simon asked.
The men shook their heads. “No one Sir. Everything’s automated.”
Simon nodded. He ordered the guards to run out along the only road and not to look back. They didn’t argue and were soon on their way.
Wilks drove the truck through the gate destroying it. He parked close to the data center’s main wall. Clementine, Szymanski and Casey jumped from the back and they regrouped.
Casey said, “Compared to what we’ve gone through, this seems too easy.”
“I agree,” responded her mother.
Wilks kept his eyes peeled scanning for threats. He was looking everywhere else but at the team while they conversed. “We have enough C-4 to turn this place into a crater. Why risk entering when we have no intelligence on resistance we might meet inside?”
Simon shook his head. “We need Casey to test if she can shut Shatterhand down. See if she can affect the AI not just here, but in its distributed state.”
“Simon’s right,” Clementine added. “We can’t think of this AI as a physical entity. It can be many places all at once. Millions of places. We have to strike in multiple locations where we can, and this is how we do it.”
Rashid nodded, but he didn’t look happy. “Just thought you should know the risks.” He rubbed his fractured arm secured inside its cast. Simon considered how much pain he must be in. Simon’s wound throbbed, but it wasn’t as serious as Wilks’ injury. Yet Wilks was soldiering on as if the wound was nothing.
“Let’s stick to the plan,” Simon responded. “Rashid, you wait here to blow the place when we return.”
“Roger that.”
The main entrance was a steel door with biometric and keypad locks. Wilks placed a charged detonator and set the timer for five seconds. Enough time for everyone to find cover. The lock blew but triggered an ear-piercing klaxon alarm.
Simon, Clementine, Szymanski and Casey fitted their breathing apparatus and entered; guns ready. Jets of inert gas were already pumping into the interior retarding any attempts they might have planned in burning down the servers. The only lighting was red, flashed in a frequency that made Simon nauseous. The others were also likely affected, but they pushed on.
Szymanski led the way. He seemed to know what he was doing and soon led them to the rows upon rows of databanks. “That’s a login terminal,” he yelled over the incessant klaxons. He pointed to a monitor and keyboard accessible through the cage encasing the server. After a few minutes of furious keystrokes, he announced, “I’ve hacked the first layer, but the next level of code is nothing like I’ve ever seen.”
“Okay, it will have to do.” Simon turned to Casey and held her on the shoulder. “You ready for this?”
She nodded. She looked terrified.
“Casey, you’re the only one who can do this!”
“I know.”
Casey approached the screen. She stared into it.
The screen went blank.
The red flashing lights, the klaxon and the venting gases, all vanished.
They plunged into darkness.
“I think you did it, honey,” Clementine encouraged in the inky blackness.
Simon and Szymanski soon had their penlights on. Faces lit up in shadowy yellow hues. The caged databanks were still and silent. There wasn’t even the hum of air conditioning units.
“I think she has!” Szymanski exclaimed.
“You didn’t think it would work, Paul?” Simon asked.
Szymanski scratched his head. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Simon nodded in agreement. “You did great Casey.”
“Thanks,” she whispered. She seemed more surprised than any of them. “So, this was why Shatterhand was hunting me?”
“Yes, it was,” Clementine rubbed her daughter’s back. “I’m sorry Honey.”
“Mom, is it over?”
Clementine sobbed. “I don’t know Honey, but this is a g
ood start. If nothing else we’re fighting back. We’re bringing the battle to the enemy.”
“We should leave,” Simon said.
Outside, nothing looked any different from when they had entered the data center, except for a distant flock of birds in the blue skies. Simon didn’t know why he expected a change, or why he needed a sign, that they had done something right. But if examined from a different perspective, everything had changed. No one was trying to kill him or Casey anymore. Perhaps it was all over. Perhaps they could all go home now and he could be with his children again, Alicia and Rebecca. How long had it been since he had last seen his daughters? Would they accept Casey into his life if he brought her home with him? Would Casey accept Simon, now she had had a moment to reflect on life events? Rather than react to the threats thrown at her on a daily occurrence?
“Have a look at this?” Wilks approached interrupting Simon’s thoughts. He pointed to several crates in a warehouse built against the data center he had been examining. In his hand was what looked to be a robotic limb. “You won’t fucking believe this.”
Before Simon stepped closer, he scanned their surroundings again. The flock of birds seemed closer, but that was the only difference. There were no threats coming for them. For the first time in a long time, he felt ‘safe’.
“What did you find?”
Szymanski and Clementine were already at the crate, pulling out components. They were snapping pieces together building some kind of machine.
Casey frowned as she watched. “It looks like a metal dog?”
“A robotic dog,” Wilks offered.
It soon resembled a lean metal canine constructed of sharp, angular edges. Instead of a head, it had a telescopic lens built into a transparent casing.
Casey stepped back from it. “It looks creepy.”
“It’s not unprecedented,” Szymanski offered. “Corporations all over the world are building robots like these. They can walk, run, jump, perform back flips and even open doors.”
“Why would a data center need these?” she asked with a shudder.
“Sentries,” Wilks answered. “These robots are the next generation in drone technology. Killing machines operated by drivers on the other side of the globe. Same way aerial drones are.”
Strike Matrix Page 26
