“How did you know?”
“JUST DO IT!”
Conner reacted, raised his M4 and put a bullet through the center of the man’s head.
The American fell forward into the rising flames. His corpse was incinerated in minutes. The smell of burning flesh was putrid to the senses.
Conner stepped back, away from the heat and fell to his knees. He sobbed, clenched his fists and cried to the heavens.
As if struck by a macabre epiphany, more pieces in the intricate puzzle came into focus.
The man he had just killed must have been Alan Irvine.
CHAPTER 39
Conner watched helpless as the dead American cooked in the roaring flames. McIntyre had hidden Alan Irvine here, isolated, away from prying eyes, and for some time. Protecting Irvine from the many assassins sent to kill him. No wonder the CIA man had distrusted Nahla and Conner when they had come asking questions. And yet in McIntyre’s last moments he had trusted them both to rescue Irvine. Only Conner had failed.
Then he remembered Nahla in the four-wheel drive.
He raced to her.
She remained behind the wheel, eyes closed and slumped against the window. Her skin was pale and clammy. Blood seeped everywhere soaking the seat red.
“Nahla!”
She opened her eyes, stared at him with unfocused pupils. “Hello Conner,” she said with a weak smile.
He examined her wounds. Several bullets had hit her in the chest and arm. She had lost a lot of blood. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You had… to save the man.”
Conner pressed against one wound to stop the flow of blood.
She winced and struggled. “Please don’t. It hurts too much.”
He pulled his hand away, red and sticky. “I’ll get you to a hospital. We’re only forty kilometers from the nearest town.”
With an effort she smiled. She touched his face with her own blood-soaked hand. “It’s over for me Conner.”
Tears streamed down his hot skin. He wasn’t ready to lose another friend.
“I never told you… Because I was afraid…”
“Don’t talk, Nahla. I will get you to a doctor.” He said the words, but he had no thoughts on what to do. Her many injuries were too grievous. She would be dead in minutes and no hospital was close enough to save her. “What didn’t you tell me?”
She smiled. “That I like girls.”
“What? You mean, like…?”
“Yes. That’s right Conner… I never acted on it. I was ashamed… But when I was around you, I felt like maybe… one day I could… You don’t care Conner, what anyone… thinks… of… you… I wanted… to be… just like… you—”
Her head slumped forward.
Conner felt for a pulse, for breath, anything. But there was nothing.
He pulled her close and hugged her. His tears streamed fast. Furious and confused, he tried to find sense in everything that had happened, but there was no sense. The world had turned to chaos. The problems facing billions of people were too big for just one man. He was an insignificant part of the uncertainty and terror unfolding around him. He had foolishly believed he could have fixed everything, but that was his ego talking. Conner had been so wrong.
He carried Nahla from the car and into one house. There he laid her out on a table and arranged her so she looked as peaceful as he could make her. The drip of blood still seeping from her wounds unsettled him, but there was nothing he could do about that. He didn’t know what else he should do for his friend. Leaving her for the desert to reclaim seem the most appropriate tribute to her memory.
When he felt able, he searched the houses. He took the M4 Carbine and loaded it with another magazine. He was expecting an encounter with more of the Islamic State killers, but he was alone.
Inside one house Conner found a bunk, a military grade laptop, a case of clothes, a box of files, crates of provisions and many containers of water. After quenching his thirst Conner went through the files. An American passport confirmed that the man was Alan Irvine. He had traveled across the globe since the passport’s issue. Prominent locations were the United States, the United Arab Emirates, India and Australia. There were photos of Irvine with two women, both attractive. One his age who must have been his wife and one who looked to be in her early thirties. The resemblance between the older and younger woman was obvious. Conner concluded they were mother and daughter. He pocketed the photo.
He searched further and discovered several data sticks. When he fired up the laptop it was already on and the screen unlocked. There was no Internet or Wi-Fi connection, so he searched the file directories, both on the laptop and on the discs.
He soon discovered a series of schematics, plans, pass codes, security protocols, system architecture drawings, lines of software and much more information concerning a secure data center in the outback of Australia, several hundred kilometers southeast of Darwin. Confirming much of what Conner had already suspected, the NSA had financed, project-managed, approved and built the data center. It was a cold consolation he finally had proof there had been an NSA connection to the global conspiracy Conner had been so desperate to expose.
One word kept popping up in all the files.
Shatterhand.
After an hour of investigation and shocked revelations, Conner concluded the NSA had built the secret facility using quantum computing technology to house a sophisticated artificial intelligence program called the Shatterhand Code. The AI’s core functioning — its ‘mind’ — could only existing using the quantum architecture running inside this facility. Kind of like the human mind existing only because there was a brain to power it. The data center’s design was a singularly located failsafe system. A means by which the NSA could shut down Shatterhand if they ever lost control of the AI program. Shut Shatterhand down there, and it went down everywhere.
Then another disturbing revelation hit Conner. The NSA were not the culprits behind the chaos the world was experiencing. A rogue artificial intelligence was, masquerading as the NSA.
Shatterhand.
For years Conner had followed developments in AI, but he had not realized how advanced the technology had become. So much of what had happened these last few weeks now made sense. His enemy wasn’t human, but a ghost in the machine manipulating everything.
His satellite phone rang. The number showed a dial code from India.
Conner answered it. “Yes?”
“Conner Rafferty?”
He shuddered. It was eerie when someone far away knew who he was, and how to find him. “Yes, that’s me,” he said figuring he had nothing to lose at this point. The man already knew who Conner was and likely much more than that.
“That’s great,” said the man in his Australian accent. “Conner I’ve been looking for you for some time. I need your help?”
“My help?”
“Yes mate. I’ve a team ready, to take out Shatterhand once and for all. You know what Shatterhand is, right?”
Conner paused not sure what to say. He felt like a hundred cameras were on him and he was the star of a reality game show he didn’t know he was taking part in. “How do you know all this?”
“I’m with Clementine, and Casey Irvine. They’ve told me everything. You’re with Alan Irvine, Clementine’s husband, right?”
Conner couldn’t speak.
“Look mate, I know this is tough to take in. Believe me, I’m the same. I feel like I’m living inside some kind of nightmare I can’t wake from.”
“You’re Simon Ashcroft? That’s who I’m talking to, right?”
The Australian laughed. “That’s right Conner. I’m informed you have all the plans, security codes, etcetera we need to break into and destroy this Shatterhand complex, right?”
Stunned, Conner realized he was nodding, so he said, “Yeah, I do.”
“Fantastic! Get to Abu Dhabi International Airport. There’s a flight booked for you to Bengaluru, under the name Joseph Kaye.” He gave the n
ame of the airline and flight number. “There is a package waiting for you at the check-in counter, with an Irish passport under that name with matching credit cards. You think you can do all that?”
Conner considered his position. Realistically there were no other options. This could be the AI talking to him, pretending to be a friend to lure him into a trap and finally kill him. But if it wasn’t, and Simon Ashcroft was legitimate, Conner still hoped he might achieve something good out of this mess. Besides, Ashcroft was the last of the three men he had been tracking since departing Ireland. It felt wrong not to see his mission through to its bitter end.
If it was a trap, so be it, but if it wasn’t and he stopped Shatterhand once and for all, then this was a risk worth taking.
“Okay, give me two days,” he said knowing he still needed to drive the last hundred kilometers back to Abu Dhabi, “and I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER 40
Bengaluru, Karnataka, India
Casey was showering when Simon returned to their hotel room.
“It’s just me,” he announced so she wouldn’t fear he was an intruder.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called over the noise of the running water.
The shower was luxurious. Since their separation on the train there had been little opportunity to clean the grime and dirt from her skin and clothes. But this mid-range Bengaluru hotel offered every luxury she required. Soap, scrubs, nail files, moisturizers, shampoos and conditioners. After using every item twice on every applicable inch of her body she felt refreshed and feminine again.
Casey dried her skin then wrapped her damp hair in the towel. She looked for fresh clothes but discovered they were still drying from their earlier scrubbing and rinsing. Then she considered, why did she need clothes? Simon was always excited to see her naked. She enjoyed his eyes devouring her.
Removing the towel and wearing nothing but her scratched glasses, she stepped into the main room.
Simon waited on the balcony. City sounds wafted in from below of muffled traffic, distant street vendors and buzzing insects. Aromas were diesel scents, tropical mist and strong spices. Their hotel room’s lights were dim, and they were some distance from casual observation. The ambience gave her the courage to step onto the balcony, wrap her arms around Simon and kiss him hard.
“Wow,” he almost stumbled when he saw what she was wearing. “I like your outfit.”
She kissed him again. “I thought you might. Want a beer?”
He nodded.
Casey realized she was every heterosexual male’s fantasy right now. Wiggling her naked bottom, she danced over to the bar fridge. He followed her. She felt his eyes on her as she opened two Taj Mahal Indian Lagers. She gave one to Simon, then took the second and sat on his lap.
“Cheers,” she said.
“Cheers.”
They chinked bottles.
“How are the others?” Casey asked after they had both enjoyed their first sips.
“Better than I hoped.” Simon looked her up and down. “Your exhausted mom and Saanvi are fast asleep in the next room. Earlier Saanvi was worried about her husband and her boys. I told her about my daughters, and what GhostKnife had said about protecting them. I ended up assuring Saanvi that GhostKnife would do the same for her kids.”
“Did that help?”
“I think so,” Simon frowned. “She has a lot on her mind. But she’s sleeping now instead of worrying.”
Casey drank her beer and remembered the last two days. It had been a long drive across the Indian Peninsula. Their eyes itched and reddened from the ever-present smoky haze. The roads were chaotic with cars, bikes, people and domesticated animals. Trucks and buses forced their way past at any opportunity. Cow dropping smeared the roads. Worst was driving at night when the chaos seemed exacerbated. More disturbing where the thousands of funeral pyres burning across the country and the many more corpses of old and sick people left abandoned on the sides of the roads.
On a positive note no one had followed them. It seemed their enemy had lost their trail. Casey, Simon and the others had kept off all forms of electronic communication since Mumbai and abandoned anything that might have tracked them. This included cell phones and GPS devices embedded in their four-wheel drives, which Simon and Peri seemed to know how to disable. The two former agents had even gone as far as switching license plates with other cars on a twice-daily basis to confuse any surveillance they might be under. Until they met with Rafferty in the morning, this was as safe as they would get. Casey might as well enjoy the moment.
She ran her hand through Simon’s thick, dark hair. “It must worry you sick, about Katie and Rebecca?”
Simon nodded. He did look worried. “I have to trust they are being looked after,” he said with a frown. “If there’s one lesson I’ve learned since losing you, it’s that I have to trust this sentient machine has our interests at heart. Otherwise, we might as well just give up.”
She took his face in her hand and stared into his deep, soulful eyes. She loved that he was so in touch with his emotions and wasn’t afraid to talk about his feelings. Few men could, especially not her ex-boyfriend. She wondered if Simon had always been like this, or was he only like this with her?
“GhostKnife has saved us many times, Simon,” she said in all seriousness. “The AI has proved repeatedly it’s on our side. I’m sure your children’s protection is a top priority.”
Simon nodded and looked away. She rubbed his neck until he looked at her again.
“Peri isn’t in her room,” Simon admitted interrupting the tender moment, as if Peri’s absence was his fault. “She headed out.”
Casey frowned. “Why did she do that? It’s a risk, separating.”
“Transport, she said. Says she knows people who can get us out of India?”
“Who?” Casey asked.
“Oil executives. It seems the Secret Service has special relationships with some big U.S. petrochemical companies. They fly the President and Vice-President on their corporate jets when the Government wants no one to know their movements.”
Casey nodded. “Why would they help us? We’re nobody?”
“Peri thinks she has sway.”
“Well, I hope she’s right. Where would a petrochemical company fly us, anyway?”
Simon shrugged. “I’m hoping when we meet this Conner Rafferty tomorrow, he might know.”
“You trust this man we’ve never met?”
“No, but I trust GhostKnife is sending Rafferty to us for a good reason. Besides, it’s getting too risky for us in India. We should get out anyway.”
“And always run away?”
Simon shook his head. “No, Casey. Not away, but towards. We have a target now. One we might take out once and for all.” It was his turn to run his fingers through her dark, damp hair falling over her bare shoulder. “What’s bothering you about all this?”
She looked away. “I’m worried how this will all end.”
She hadn’t expected to interrogate Simon on his motives, for she trusted him. But she worried that too much about their situation might be fabricated. They might not know the full truth about anything yet, or ever. They might walk into another trap. She worried Simon was too trusting.
“Simon, I guess I’m still scared.”
“Well, you’re hiding it well. And you have every right to worry. I’m worried too.”
His words were comforting despite his fear. “Do you trust Peri?” she asked.
Casey had not decided how she felt about the disgraced American Secret Service agent. From one perspective Peri was a no-nonsense operative, efficient, calculating and good at strategy. She was better at most tasks than anyone else in their group, including Simon who was more akin to making things up as he went, acting on instinct rather than logic. Peri was also aloof, unfriendly and suspicious. Which meant she wasn’t fitting in and getting everyone off side.
Peri had lost more than most; the President and her colleagues in Afghanistan, a clo
se friend in Berlin and most of her special operations team. Paul Szymanski’s death seemed to have hit her the hardest. The NSA man had seemed to be the only person she had trusted since the ‘Shatterhand Incident’, as they were now calling it. Casey suspected physically Peri was coping, but emotional she might be on the brink of a major breakdown. That could spell disaster for all. Her aloofness a mere mask to her real emotions.
“I think Peri is as human as the rest of us,” Simon answered after a moment of deliberation. “We’re all worried. She as much as the rest of us. There is no precedent for any of this, and none of us know how this will end.”
“You’re right there.”
His fingers traced the length of her bare leg from her ankle to the inside of her hip. “And considering that something like two billion people are now dead across the globe, that’s a hard concept to get our heads around. It will not end well for most people, regardless of which AI ends up on top.”
She felt an overwhelming urge to kiss Simon, so she did. First on the forehead, then on the eyelids, and then on the mouth. Simon’s natural ability to articulate his emotions was attractive. Casey had never encountered this trait in her past partners. She had never felt the urge to make love to a man as much as she desired Simon right now.
“Deep down inside me,” she whispered in his ear, “I trust GhostKnife too. Everything will work out for the best Simon. I know it.”
She stood, put out her hand for him to take.
He took it.
She led him to the bed and pulled back the covers. Then she lay down.
He slipped from his clothes and climbed on top of her, kissed her with uncontrolled passion.
They made love until it exhausted them. Then she fell into the most restful sleep she’d ever experienced. His muscular arms wrapped around her, keeping her safe.
CHAPTER 41
Kempegowda International Airport, Karnataka, India
Strike Matrix Page 28
