by Ty Patterson
The scientist turned uneasy. He looked at Pilgrim for support who cleared his throat. ‘That could be a problem. Larry and I are the only ones who operate the dogs. No one else is trained and it’s not something that can be completed in a few hours or even a few days. These are expensive babies,’ he said nervously.
‘Toilet bowls. Idaho,’ Beth said ominously.
‘It’s not something in my control,’ a bead of sweat trickled down his face. ‘The learning curve is too steep to be covered in a short time.’
A meeting with Lebowski who hmmmed and looked thoughtful before answering. ‘Larry and Zack are right,’ he said. ‘We can’t risk giving those out to untrained operators.’
‘They’ll have to come with us, then,’ Zeb said firmly.
‘Come where?’ Pilgrim swallowed.
‘Colorado. Tonight. With thirty robots. You and Burt.’
‘What’s there?’
‘Need to know…heard of that?’ Bwana asked him.
‘You’ll return these intact?’ Lebowski spoke quickly before his researchers went into full-on panic mode.
‘I can’t guarantee that,’ Zeb said. ‘Look on the upside, though. They’re sure to get field-tested against heavy caliber weapons.’
‘There’ll be shooting?’ Burt squeaked.
‘You can count on it, son,’ Bear replied.
‘You’ll get a call,’ Zeb told Lebowski who looked uncertain. ‘Green lighting this.’
‘From whom?’
‘The National Security Advisor.’
‘You’ve got that kind of reach?’
‘Yeah. If you wish, I can get President Morgan to-’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ the scientist told him hastily.
‘One more thing. I need those thirty machines painted naturally. Like a pack of wild dogs. By this evening.’
Chapter Seventy-Eight
In Zeb’s hotel room, later, in Denver. Bwana and Bear angry at him. Beth and Meghan, thoughtful. Roger, Broker and Chloe, amused.
‘You wanted a bunch of dogs that could run and jump,’ the ebony-skinned operative demanded. ‘You got them. Now care to tell us the plan? Or are we going to some robot Olympics?’
Zeb’s lips twitched. His friend, angry, was a sight to behold. Bwana, in a cold fury? Now that was someone to stay clear off.
‘You got that ranch’s picture?’ he asked Beth who produced a photograph.
‘See this?’ Zeb pointed to the curved building. ‘All we know is its length. About three hundred yards. Its depth. About hundred-and-fifty feet. We don’t know anything else. Given that this is in the US, you can bet they’ll be wary of drones. So, we can’t use them to gather any intel. We don’t know whether they have any motion sensors around the house. Heck, they might have explosives in that approach.’
The approach was a manicured garden which had a pond, several stone benches, well-shaped trees, through which the drive wended its way to the entrance.
A similar yard at the rear. Mountains in the distance. A picturesque place as far away from the hustle of a city as money could buy. Lots of money.
‘The dogs will be our ears and eyes,’ Meghan guessed. ‘And, if we’re outnumbered, our backup.’
* * *
Back in Science In Motion’s complex that evening, as darkness fell.
Grim faces on them because another shooting had occurred, in New Mexico. Stoner Cavendish, a bouncer at a night club in Santa Fe had gunned down several Hispanic customers at a fast-food joint.
‘TOO MANY OF THEM!’ he had yelled. His last words as he himself was shot down by cops. Six people dead, one police officer critical.
It’s building up, Zeb thought as he pulled up in a parking space. The killings are happening almost every day. It’s as if Ahmed, Yefremov and that Chinese man are compensating for the loss of their Ukraine and Indonesian sites.
‘Are you ready?’ he snapped at Burt who along with Pilgrim was their welcoming party.
The researcher’s grin faded. Pilgrim flinched.
Don’t dump your rage on him, Zeb reprimanded himself. He placed a hand on the scientist’s shoulder and squeezed gently. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a long day and well, you must have heard of New Mexico.’
‘I understand,’ Burt nodded and then his eyes widened. ‘Those killings? Y’all are here because of them? What are you planning? Oh My God, I should’ve guessed. You’re SEALs? Delta? Some kind of –’
‘Larry, just lead us to your machines,’ Beth stopped him. Her eyes dark, reflecting the same quiet anger they all felt. She smiled briefly, letting the researcher know their fury wasn’t directed at him.
Burt and Pilgrim set off briskly, past several hangar-like buildings. ‘Labs, test areas,’ they described vaguely and came to a halt outside the last one, right at the back of the complex.
* * *
Thirty dogs on the concrete surface. Standing still, unlike any animal. Heads straight, only their blinking eyes showing that they were powered up. They smelled of fresh paint. Some of them grey, some of them brown, a few black.
‘You wanted a natural-looking pack,’ Burt gestured, ‘You got them.’
Zeb inspected the machines as the researcher said something about extra battery packs, longer network range. Do I call them dogs? Robots? Bots? Machines? Does it matter?
It didn’t, not in the light of New Mexico.
He turned to the researchers who looked at the operatives expectantly.
‘Dr. Lebowski?’
‘He said the call came. Everything’s good. And that he would be grateful if you brought us back alive.’
Zeb looked at him sharply. A glint in Burt’s eyes. Pilgrim hiding his smile.
There’s spirit in them. They’ll need it, once we go hot.
Bwana and Bear did their intimidation thing. They went close to the researchers who didn’t shrink. They placed large hands on their shoulders and still the men didn’t step back.
‘I’m sure,’ Bwana’s teeth flashed, ‘the good doctor said, bring back the dogs. They’re more important than you two.’
‘Uh –’ Pilgrim began then smiled sheepishly when Chloe chuckled, cue for the operatives to laugh.
‘You got your stuff? Your backpacks, whatever you need for a few days away?’ Meghan produced earpieces for the researchers, showed them how to wear the devices and tested them. ‘Wear them at all times, especially when we go hot.’
‘Hot?’ Burt blurted.
‘When guns go off,’ Roger told him.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Two SUVs and a large van, the bigger vehicle sandwiched between the smaller.
Zeb, Meghan and Bwana in the first. Burt and Pilgrim in the second along with Beth, Chloe and Bear. Broker and Roger in the third.
They headed out of Denver at ten pm. Once they left the city behind and hit the I-70 West, they opened up. A normally four-hour drive, they reached the small town at just after one am.
Grand Junction, so called because it was on the confluence of the Colorado and the Gunnison Rivers, near the middle of a thirty-mile valley, the Grand Valley.
The city was relatively small, just over sixty-thousand people, the largest employers were the school district, the state and county governments. The region’s economy had relied on natural gas but had been hit hard in the recession. It was rebounding, attracting businesses and private investors who saw the city’s potential as a gateway to the outdoors.
Beth had rented three houses on Elm Street, near Colorado Mesa University. Each one had four bedrooms and four baths, a large kitchen, spacious driveways. Bwana high-fived her when he inspected the residences, Chloe grinned.
They split. Zeb, Bear and Chloe in one house. The sisters and Broker and Roger in another. Bwana joined the researchers in the last house.
‘That van will be secure?’ Zeb asked Burt.
‘Yeah,’ the scientist thumped its side. ‘All kinds of lights and alarms will go off if anyone tampers with it. The dogs are de-activated
. Nothing will happen to them. In any case, I doubt this is a high-crime city,’ he sniggered. His smile vanished when eight operatives stared at him.
‘Sleep,’ Zeb told them. ‘Tomorrow we recon.’
* * *
Werner was awake while his bosses rested. Someone had to stand watch and be there to save the world. Oh, that was interesting. Meghan had tweaked the facial recognition program. She had inserted several lines of code and Werner chuckled and shook his head in admiration when he went through them.
The improvement created a database of disguises. It took any face, Ahmed’s for example, and generated thousands of phony looks for him. A wig. A beard. A bald look. Many permutations and combinations.
Smart, Werner thought. His job became easier…not that anything was hard for him, but now, all he had to do was compare Ahmed’s likely disguise against that database.
As the operatives slept, he loaded the database with millions of disguises for Ahmed and Yefremov. Then searched once more for that Chinese voice. Found nothing. Sighed regretfully, drew out a Havana cigar and lit it.
* * *
Eleven am the next day. The two SUVs were bursting to their seams with the addition of Burt and Pilgrim. They had left the van behind in Grand Junction as they began their recon.
There was no danger that they would stand out because there were enough trucks and vehicles on the road as hikers and campers hit the trails.
Cliffs and mesas. Valleys and gorges. Colors, browns and reds and gorgeous golds on the leaves. Colorado’s great outdoors showed itself to them as Zeb led the drive to the ranch. Even the loquacious twins were silent as they took in the vastness and ruggedness of the land.
‘We should come here,’ Bwana told Roger, his comment audible in their earpieces.
‘We will, once we rid this country of these badasses,’ the Texan responded.
There were ranches and homesteads in the distance as the road climbed mountains and descended into valleys.
And then the Laird Ranch appeared. Or its boundary did. A barbed-wire fence ran parallel to the road, which was by then no better than a dirt track since they had left the road behind.
Boards at regular intervals, on the barrier, with a simple message.
Private Property. Keep Out.
Chapter Eighty
They drove for miles, following the fence, but the ranch didn’t come into view. Large trees, hillocks, obstructed the view.
‘It’s there, to our right,’ Meghan said in frustration as she checked a map application. ‘Four miles inside.’
Zeb drove up beneath the shade of an overhanging rock. He climbed out and hoisted his go bag and HK on his shoulder. ‘We need eyes-on.’ He went to the fence and snipped a hole with wire-cutters after confirming that it wasn’t electric.
‘Aren’t we going in?’ Pilgrim, asked, confused, when they made no move to enter through the opening.
‘No. We wait and see if they send any patrols.’ Beth replied. She searched the sky. No signs of drones.
‘We can fly a bird,’ she said.
‘Let’s not take that risk. They might detect it.’
‘Ours are stealth craft.’
‘Even so.’
An hour later, Zeb climbed through the opening. No alarms sounded. No shots were fired in their direction.
They broke into an easy, ground-eating jog, a pace that they could maintain for hours.
They could, but Burt and Pilgrim couldn’t and they had to stop for breathers every fifteen minutes. A mile forward, five hundred yards to the right, Meghan directed them, guiding them to where they could have a view of the front of the ranch building.
And there, after crawling over a rise, they got the first sighting.
‘Stay down,’ Bear hissed when Pilgrim attempted to stand. ‘Keep crawling until you get to that bush. Stay behind it.’
Sage grass and thickets. Clumps of bushes. Trees. The faint sound of flowing water in the distance. Zeb cocked his head when he heard it. It’s that stream that runs behind the building. It probably curves around here. He looked at Bwana and Roger who got his message. They drifted off to check it out. Water attracted animals. It also drew people. There could be a guard house in the vicinity. It had to be checked out.
Zeb bellied forward and found a depression behind thick undergrowth. Meghan to his right. Chloe to his left. Bear, Broker and Beth scattered further away. All of them with binos to their eyes, HKs to their sides just in case hostiles appeared.
He looked behind and stifled a laugh. Burt and Pilgrim were on their back, drawing great gulps of air, sweat cooling on their faces.
The ranch house jumped out in his sights when he turned back. A graceful arc, as the few photographs had indicated. Elevated wooden deck. A few steps connecting it to the dusty drive. Large trees on either side, but the front was devoid of any vegetation. Those trunks there…someone chopped them up. When these dudes took over the ranch? To get a clear line of sight?
‘Nothing here, Zeb,’ Roger, in their earpieces. ‘We’re going to follow this stream. See where it leads. We’ll try to get to the rear of the house.’
‘Copy that,’ Zeb acknowledged. He didn’t need to warn them to stay careful. The two of them can take down an entire city by themselves.
A bird chirped. Another one scolded it. A squirrel nosed its way out of hiding and looked at them inquisitively. This was its territory. What were they doing there? It chattered at them angrily and turned its back on them in disgust when they didn’t respond. A snore from behind. Burt, who had taken the opportunity to snooze.
Hours passed. No movement around the house. No one came out, no vehicles drove up.
Vehicles? Where are they? Zeb scanned the sides of the building and spotted nothing.
‘We’re five hundred yards behind the house. Doesn’t look like we have tripped any alarms.’ Bwana, satisfaction in his voice. ‘Three trucks. Two SUVs. Doesn’t look like they’ve been used recently. We can see dust on them. There are more buildings here, but that ranch house? There are definitely people inside. We can see shadows moving behind the windows.’
There are several of them, Zeb noted. Large glass panes in wood frames. About five feet from the ground and six or seven feet tall. Three feet wide. None of them open. But no movement visible from this side.
‘Are they one-way?’ he asked his team, those who were with him.
‘Nah,’ Chloe replied after a while. ‘I can see through one of them. There’s a wall painting. Some kind of landscape.’
‘What about cameras? I haven’t spotted any.’
‘We did,’ Roger smirked. ‘They’re hidden in the guttering around the roof. Watch those pipes closely and you’ll just about make them out.’
‘What would we do without you two?’
‘Lost!’ Bwana said emphatically.
More watching for another couple of hours after which Zeb called off the surveillance.
‘Something bothers me,’ Beth said on the way back. ‘Why isn’t there better security? That fence should have been electrified. Alarmed. They should have sent guards to inspect it when we cut the wire. Sensors in the ground to give us away. Nothing like that happened.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Zeb scratched the stubble on his chin and broke off to overtake a slow-moving camping van.
‘He’s still thinking,’ Beth relayed when someone tapped in their mic.
‘This place is so remote,’ Zeb ignored the smirking grin on Meghan’s face. ‘Why would they need to go all out like that? They know that Indonesia and Ukraine have gone down. And they might have thought of beefing up security, but this ranch’s two hundred acres. Setting up a good system will take time.’
‘Well,’ Roger drawled. ‘Only one way to find out.’
Chapter Eighty-One
Werner didn’t alert the sisters immediately. He ran checks and then more checks. Better to be sure than to waste team resources on a wild hunt. But there was no mistaking those images, captured
at LAX.
He noted the flight timings. One was a British Airways flight, but it was also used as a connecting flight by Saudia. And that mustache, wig, that was identical to what he had generated for Riyaz Khaled Ahmed.
Werner tried to search for airport images in Riyadh, but those Saudis…they never shared anything. Or rather, they shared selectively. Nope. Nothing there. But was he sure that was his man?
Now, what about that other image that had alerted him.
This one was a few hours later. American Airlines, which was connected to a BA flight from Domodedovo Airport in Moscow. This dude was blond, shoulder-length hair. Blue eyes.
Ha! Sidor Yefremov could try all he wanted but he couldn’t beat the world’s best AI.
Could Werner track their identities? The aliases they used? Sure, he could. He had access to all the Western airlines databases. Getting into the flight manifests was a piece of cake.
The Russian was traveling as Ryan Kasper. Permanent address in L.A. A talent scout for one of the production houses in Hollywood. Werner looked that address up. It was a high-luxe apartment in Beverly Hills, owned by some shell company.
And Riyaz Khalid Ahmed was masquerading as Eli Cohen, an importer of Californian wine. He had an office in Jerusalem, a bank account that had transactions, but the trail turned murky once Werner started digging. A home address, but that place had been demolished last year and a high-rise had gone up in its place.
Werner leaned back and closed his eyes. Yeah, he was sure the two men were the targets. There were more details that he had dug up, which confirmed his conclusion.
Where did they go from LAX, however? He searched more databases. Hotel records, car rentals, other flights. He came up with nothing.
They would have changed disguises again and hired private jets or cars under a different name.
Yeah, that could be it. Would Beth and Meghan come to the same conclusion as him?
