Daemon

by Daniel Suarez

  “Hold it. I’ve got two motorcycles inbound….” He stepped behind the fender of the car, putting the car hood between him and the approaching bikes. “They’re moving fast as hell.”

  “Where are they headed?”

  Suddenly a brilliant green laser light dazzled his eyes. He held up his hands against it, squinting. “Hang on, I’m being painted by something. I can’t see—”

  The roaring engines were suddenly on him and he heard a deep thwack. He was completely disoriented for several moments. As his vision cleared, he had a view from the ground—a view of his own headless, one-armed body slumping over the hood of the car ten feet away, then sliding onto the pavement.

  Back in the gaming pit, The Major was already gone. His voice came through on a nearby guard’s radio. “Perimeter-9! Do you copy?”

  Ross watched eight armed guards piling black bags onto the floor for transport. Two were staring at him with hard eyes—stun guns ready.

  “I guess I should have seen this coming.”

  Philips squeezed his shoulder. “I won’t let them do this to you, Jon. I have friends in Washington, too.”

  Suddenly the howl of racing engines echoed down the corridor behind the nearby ballistic doors. Everyone turned to see shadows streak along the corridor wall, then twin black motorcycles roared into view beyond the closed bulletproof glass doors. They raised robotic blade arms menacingly. The blades on the lead bike were already stained with blood.

  Everyone stepped back away from the doors. The Korr guards raised their weapons, clicking off their safeties. Ross pointed toward the far glass doors. “Let’s get to the roof. Now!”

  Philips stared at the machines beyond the sealed Lexan glass. The most exotic thing that the Daemon had spawned yet. “Jon, I’ve seen the word ‘Razorback’ listed in decrypted Daemon intercepts. This could—”

  A spiraling green light stabbed forth from the face of the lead bike, beaming through the ballistic glass into her eyes. She screamed and slammed her palms against her face, staggering back.

  Ross rushed forward and grabbed her. He pulled her behind the guards, who were also dazed by the light. “Don’t look at them! They have blinding weapons!”

  Then the ballistic doors slid open with their familiar hiss—and the roar of the advancing Razorbacks filled the cavernous gaming pit. Followed by gunfire and—almost immediately—bloodcurdling screams.

  Ross pulled on Philips’s arm. “Run!” The engine roar was deafening now as Ross guided Philips down the adjacent hall toward the open security control room door. There was only a smattering of gunfire now as the roar of the engines zigzagged across the room behind them. Smashing furniture. Ross risked a quick glance back behind them. Blood was spattered all over the walls and floor near the ballistic doors. A Korr guard was running toward him, firing blindly over his shoulder as a Razorback raised twin, bloody blades and screeched after him on the polished concrete, green laser spiraling. Ross turned away as a series of metallic ringing sounds, screams, and sharp thwacks accompanied the roar of engines.

  Ross reached the security control room door, half dragging the blinded Philips across the polished floor.

  “What’s happening, Jon? What’s happening?”

  “Keep moving!” He took another glance behind them as the same Razorback accelerated down the hallway in their direction. Ross looked away just as a laser light played across his face.

  He pulled Philips inside the control room, then dropped her on the floor and raced back toward the open control room door. He kicked the hollow steel door closed just as the Razorback screeched to a stop in front of it. He put a shoulder against the door and slammed it shut, locking it.

  Almost instantly a series of massive dents deformed the door, accompanied by the thunderous roar of a powerful engine. The pounding continued, deforming the door surface as Ross backed away from it.

  He felt Philips clutching for his leg. “Jon, I think I’m blind!”

  He glanced toward another door leading out the far side of the control room. He knelt next to her and shouted over the engine noise. “Nat, we can’t stay here!”

  She gripped her face, tears streaming down from between her fingers. “My eyes, Jon! They’re burning!”

  He grabbed her roughly. “Nat! Nat, listen to me!”

  She stopped. The Razorback’s pounding vibrated the floor.

  “It could be temporary.” He looked back at the door. “If we don’t leave here now, we’re going to die!”

  The sound of deforming metal reinforced his argument.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “Where are we?”

  He shouted over the deafening roar of the Razorback. “Security control room!”

  She nodded. “We can make it to the back gate!”

  He helped her to her feet, and they headed to the door on the far side of the small room.

  One of the Razorback’s steel falchions pierced through the door and wrenched free as the engine roared again.

  She stopped him. “The perimeter doors. We need to trip the breakers back on.”

  “I’ll get it. Just go! Follow the left wall.” He pushed her through the door, then turned. Jagged holes had been torn into the sheet metal of the other door. Part of it was broken away, and he could see one of the Razorback’s gnarled, twisted blade arms through the slits. It paused for a moment, then he heard a ping sound, and the twisted blades spun free like disposable razors, clattering onto the concrete floor in the hallway outside.

  Ross rushed to the breaker boxes. He stole a glance at the bank of camera monitors on the control board. One showed the Razorback in the hallway outside, reaching around to its side. A metal click-clack, and the arms rose with fresh, gleaming blades.

  “Son of a bitch…” He opened a panel marked Perimeter and tripped all the breakers back on. He raced back to the far door, looking behind just as the Razorback smashed the door in. He turned away as its laser painted him, and it roared across the room. Ross slammed the new door behind them, and the pounding started almost immediately.

  A Bell Jet Ranger chopper hovered inches above the cluttered roof of Building Twenty-Nine. The helicopter was electric blue with a bold yellow logo for Golden Gate Heli-Tours. The Major rose from his kneeling position and scurried toward it at a crouch. A crewmember wearing a Korr flak vest pulled him inside. The Major leaned toward the helmeted pilot, who nodded in his direction. The crewman handed The Major a closed-circuit headset, and The Major slipped it on.

  The pilot’s voice came over the headphones, “What’s the situation here, Major?”

  “I need to get topside. We’ve got a Daemon operative escaping into the city and a federal officer in pursuit. Where’s my kit?”

  “Case on the floor, sir.”

  The Major pointed at the crewmember and copilot in turn, but spoke to the pilot. “These people, off.”

  Both men looked to the pilot, who simply said, “You heard the man. Take the next chopper out.”

  They unbuckled themselves and with a hesitant look jumped down onto the roof.

  The Major shouted. “Go!”

  The pilot yanked on the stick, and the chopper ascended rapidly, making corkscrews of the columns of black smoke.

  Chapter 44:// Revelation

  Merritt accelerated down an Oakland retail strip. Damaged vehicles littered the way. On the motorcycle, he was able to slip past the bottlenecks of wreckage and whipped past several damaged patrol cars to take the lead in the pursuit. Up ahead he could see Loki’s pack of cars, and he could see the silver BMW itself, protected by its personal guard detail. A minivan suddenly bucked up and tumbled out of the way as a horrendous crash came to Merritt’s ears.

  This guy was a psycho.

  A city motorcycle cop raced up on Merritt’s right. Merritt shouted over to him and held his badge up on a chain. “FBI!” He used military hand signals to indicate the target.

  The motorcycle cop nodded and brought his big bike racing ahead past Merritt.
/>   “Hey!”

  Suddenly twin sedans streaked in from side streets, crushing the motorcycle cop between them with a horrific crash.

  Merritt averted his head as he powered through the flying debris and smoke. He emerged on the other side to see nothing but flames behind him.

  Gragg looked into his HUD glasses to see multiple police cars screeching onto the street several blocks back, rack lights flashing. He crashed another one of his AutoM8s into a civilian’s subcompact, smashing it out of the way and sending it spinning up onto the sidewalk. He left a trail of destruction behind him as the police lights zigzagged between wrecked vehicles, falling behind fast. But more sirens could be heard ahead and to either side of him. They were starting to cordon him off. Choppers were no doubt en route.

  He smiled to himself. More AutoM8s were streaming in to aid him. He felt the presence of over a hundred now—some more valuable than others.

  Another BMW 740 screeching in from a side street suddenly joined Gragg’s car. This BMW was scarlet red. The pack expanded automatically to encompass it.

  Gragg motioned with one black-gloved hand, and the electro-polymer paint of his own BMW shifted from silver to red in a matter of seconds—even as the newly arrived red BMW transformed from red to silver. Gragg’s digital ink license plates flicked from California to Oregon vanity tags that read GECCO. In a flash, his BMW went into a power slide down a side street and left the main pack behind.

  Merritt was still trying to comprehend what he just saw. A decoy BMW had joined the pack, but then Loki’s BMW transformed right in front of Merritt’s eyes. Merritt leaned hard into the turn and gave chase. Loki’s car was now bright red—but he could still see the pockmarks from his earlier shots in the rear window. He cast a glance behind him to see several squad cars race past the intersection, still in pursuit of the original pack.

  Merritt turned back to face Loki, then he tapped his radio button. “Major! Major, this is Merritt. Do you copy?”

  The Major looked up from assembling a scoped SCAR-H sniper rifle in the passenger bay of the chopper. Merritt’s voice came over their encrypted radio frequency again, dissolving occasionally into static. “Major, this…Merritt…copy?”

  The Major keyed his mic. “Go ahead, Agent Merritt.”

  “Listen…police are pursuing a decoy BMW…car has…color, and is heading…” Static filled the channel.

  “You’re breaking up.”

  “Repeat…color. I’m giving chase.”

  “You’re catching interference from the AutoM8s. Fall back, Merritt.”

  “…police they’re…” At that the signal trailed off into static.

  The Major dropped the handset and spoke into his chopper headset. “We still receiving Merritt’s GPS coordinates?”

  The pilot nodded. “10-4, Major. Clear as a bell.”

  “Then the Daemon is using GPS, too. Get me over Merritt’s twenty.”

  Now out of the chase and heading through wide industrial streets, Gragg monitored a distant AutoM8’s video feed as the pack of cars he just left accelerated onto an elevated portion of the 880 Freeway, smashing cars out of their way. California Highway Patrol units took up the chase on the freeway. Gragg couldn’t help but smile. They were closing in.

  He accelerated the distant AutoM8 pack toward the elevated junction with Highway 260—and the retaining wall at the steep curve. “This ought to be interesting….”

  He selected the lead AutoM8 in the HUD and urged it on ahead of the others. Then he switched to video feed from a car farther back in the pack. The lead car screamed ahead like a missile, then crashed through the concrete retaining wall at a hundred miles an hour, spraying a vacant lot fifty feet below with pieces of concrete and twisted metal. The remaining pack, including the silver BMW, roared through the new gap in the wall and tumbled end over end through the air, smashing down on top of one another in a fiery wreck. The video feed turned to snow.

  Done. Gragg took a deep breath and felt himself coming down off the adrenaline surge. He could imagine the police stopping to look out over a tangled pile of burning wreckage, scratching their heads, as police are wont to do. It would take them days to figure out. The nearest police car’s GPS signal was a mile away.

  He did a quick postmortem: the Daemon Task Force had been neutralized. It might mean another level for him.

  A motorcycle streaked up alongside his car. The rider reached out with one hand, extending a submachine gun, and fired a short burst at Gragg’s tires.

  “What the hell?”

  Gragg raised his gloved hands to fire the nova light, but then realized his blacked-out windows would ruin the effect. His armored windows didn’t roll down either. “Son of a bitch.”

  Gragg motioned with his gloved hand and swerved the car toward the racing bike, but the bike was far more maneuverable. It ducked around to the right side of the car. Again, automatic gunfire cracked at his tires.

  Gragg shook his head. “Solid rubber, asshole.”

  He reached out into D-Space and started drawing from the surrounding horde—pulling dozens of remaining AutoM8s toward him. “You want to play? Then let’s play.”

  Ross and a Korr lieutenant peered through the recessed postern gate. Dozens of AutoM8s crisscrossed the tarmac, circling Building Twenty-Nine. Ross looked across the barren tarmac leading to the ship channel a hundred yards away. It was the longest hundred yards he’d ever seen.

  Philips sat in the corridor with several more Korr guards. A medic wound a bandage around her head to cover her injured eyes, while the others trained weapons on the short corridor behind them.

  Philips looked up blindly. “What’s the situation?”

  Ross and the lieutenant slammed the door with a clang and turned to face her. A roaring motorcycle engine, gunshots, and screams echoed through the interior halls.

  A guard stared down the corridor. “We can’t stay here, sirs.”

  “We need to run for it, Nat. Those Razorbacks appear to know the floor plan. They’re methodically clearing rooms.”

  The lieutenant piped in, “They’re armored, Doctor. Light weapons don’t stop them. At least not from the front.”

  She nodded gravely.

  “There’s a ship channel about a hundred yards away. If we can reach that, we should be safe.”

  Ross turned to the lieutenant and pointed toward what appeared to be dynamite sticks snugged into his web harness. “What are those?”

  The man glanced down. “Magnesium flares. To signal the medevac chopper. The radio was down for—”

  “Break ’em out. These AutoM8s probably target with infrared. Flares could distract them.”

  The lieutenant pulled out six flares. He handed three to Ross. “Just twist the top off and strike them. Like this…” He pantomimed the action.

  “Let’s test this.” Ross struck the flare several times before it ignited. He held it, hissing and popping in the corridor. It burned a brilliant red. “Open the door.”

  One guard heaved the heavy steel door open, and Ross hurled the flare as far as he could off to the right. He and several guards watched closely as an AutoM8 swerved to avoid it. Another swung wide around it.

  The lieutenant frowned. “So much for the infrared theory.”

  Philips looked toward his voice. “What’s happening?”

  Ross shook his head. “They’re not attracted to the flares, Nat. They’re avoiding them.”

  “Then they are using infrared. They’re looking for human heat signatures. The flares must look like a raging fire.”

  Ross and the lieutenant exchanged looks. Ross nodded and knelt next to her. “You’re right. We’re in business, Nat.” He removed his jacket and placed one empty sleeve in her hand, then grabbed the other one. “Don’t let go of this. I’ll guide you. We’ll use the flares to conceal our human heat signature. The tarmac is flat. Just follow me and move as fast as you can.”

  “How many AutoM8s are there?”

  “You don’t want to
know.”

  “Jon, I…” Her head darted to follow a roaring engine as it passed.

  “I know it sucks you can’t see. We’ll get you to a hospital, but we need to do this to have any chance at all. Just run with me. You ready?”

  She reluctantly nodded.

  Ross turned to the Korr lieutenant. “You and your men ready, Lieutenant?”

  A motorcycle engine revved and screams echoed behind them, punctuating his words. “Klausky, distribute these.” He passed the magnesium flares. “We travel in a group. Place these on our perimeter.”

  The guards struck flares. Ross lit one for himself. Finally the six of them stood there with five lit flares. Ross pulled in front of the lieutenant with Philips in tow and looked out at the stream of AutoM8s racing past, waiting for a gap. “Okay…now!”

  They bolted from the recessed doorway as a group and moved quickly across the tarmac—like deer running across a freeway.

  The lieutenant barked, “Close it up!”

  The nearest AutoM8s immediately screeched around and vectored toward them.

  The lieutenant threw out his arm. “Stop moving! Stop!”

  They all stopped, and the AutoM8 turned slightly aside, then roared past sixty feet to their left.

  The group stood back-to-back on the tarmac, flares hissing and AutoM8s racing past them.

  Ross shook his head. “Bad news, Nat; they’re apparently attracted to lateral movement as well.”

  She nodded behind her blindfold. “Fires don’t generally run around. I should have guessed Sobol would have more than one criterion.”

  The lieutenant pounded his helmeted forehead with his hand. “Hell of a time to realize that! Just fucking beautiful!” He looked back at the postern gate, already seventy feet behind them.

  Ross’s gaze followed a sedan racing past twenty feet away. “Okay. Let’s try this: let’s move slowly toward the water.”

  The lieutenant shook his head. “Back toward the postern gate.”