Sequence

by Darren Wearmouth

  “Are you sure?”

  “Old Quentin was kind enough to lend us his chopper,” Michael said and smiled.

  Gray peered at a large LCD screen on the wall. A circle of green dots was displayed across Wyoming, surrounding the intended target.

  “Good, I spoke to Steven this morning and we’re on our production target. What’s the latest on Unit A?” Gray said.

  “She’s got the combination and will have the launch codes at the next available opportunity.”

  “Perfect. Thank you, Michael. You can’t say I didn’t try playing Mr. Nice.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  9 p.m., Day 3, Portland Safe House

  Zoe Vega parked her government-issue silver SUV in her usual space outside Director Hatfield’s off-grid Portland safe house.

  For the entire journey she’d had a bad feeling about this.

  Something about Murphy and Gray were just off. Although she hadn’t been in the field since her screw up, her instincts were still sharp. During her forced period of office work, she’d made sure she was on top of her training, made sure she was as good as she could be working on cold cases.

  She prided herself on her reactions and instincts, and something told her that there was more to those two than they projected.

  Somehow, the call from the director informing her of the disaster didn’t seem strange now that she’d had time to reflect on it. This whole idea of synthetically enhanced humans was just bizarre. It’s funny, she thought. When she’d first met Red and Blue, she’d considered them an advanced kind of robot. One heard all the time how they’d developed some humanlike robot in Japan or Silicon Valley. But now that she’d had time to work with them, and test them, they’d taken on an entirely more disturbing aspect.

  Just how much autonomy did these things have?

  Zoe waited as a gray-suited man came out of the safe house and approached her. He carried a clipboard and looked like a realtor. This part of town had been abandoned for years until the NSA bought it. For miles around there was nothing. That thought wasn’t encouraging.

  The man knocked on her window. She wound it down.

  “Agent Vega?” the man said, handing her a card with a code printed on the surface. One of the director’s shadow team. She handed hers to him in response.

  “Very good,” he said, opening the door for her. “If you would follow me.”

  “Agent Jursik,” Zoe said, having read his name on the ID. “What can you tell me about what happened here? The director said you guys were doing the cleanup. Anything I should know up front?”

  “We only do cleanup. The rest is all yours.”

  “Has anyone been in since the cleanup?”

  “You’re the first.”

  Jursik took her past the front door of the square two-story brick building and down the walkway. A metal side door was recessed into the side. He slid his ID card through the black box on the front and looked up to a camera attached to the ceiling. The electric lock chirped and he pushed the door open, holding it for her.

  Only darkness and the stench of blood and bleach greeted her. Fighting the gag reflex, she took a step inside and waited for her vision to acclimate. The beam of light on the floor turned black as Jursik closed the door behind them. She felt him move by her.

  “This way.”

  “I know my way around here,” Zoe said.

  Jursik took her through the familiar long maze of corridors. Zoe had memorized every square foot of this place. During the long hours of testing and reporting, it had almost been her second home for the last month.

  Eventually they came to the central observation room. Inside, a single office chair sat in front of a console desk, above which hung five OLED monitors showing the basement, kitchen, the training yard out back, the firing range, and a split-screen showing all various entry and exit points.

  “Do you have the video footage of the incident?” Zoe asked.

  “Loaded into the console,” Jursik said. “It’s… not pleasant.”

  “I think I can handle it, Agent.”

  She sat down, placing her notebook to the side, ready to make notes. Jursik stood behind her. She could feel his warm breath on her neck.

  “I’m okay here, Agent. You can go.”

  “There’s just one thing,” he said, hesitation in his voice. “The footage isn’t quite complete. There was some kind of disturbance at the time of the incident and we lost a lot of footage. I personally saw to it that everything we could salvage was prepared for you.”

  “How many have seen it?”

  “Just me.”

  Zoe turned in her chair to look at him. He was young. Younger than Zoe, but she could tell from his formal demeanor he was just what the director wanted: someone cold, rational, unquestioning. Someone who would follow orders. He didn’t have a hair out of place. Even his tie was perfectly square and the knot tied with great attention to detail.

  He was everything she wasn’t.

  “How many in your squad?” Zoe asked.

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Jursik said.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both. The simple truth is that I don’t know, but if I did, I couldn’t say.”

  Zoe had to wonder just how many other shadow ops the director was controlling. She’d thought she and Cooley and the five agents in the safe house were the only ones, but there was this guy and a mention of a squad, plus the cleanup group. Suddenly the director’s position looked different than merely the head of NSA. Even at the time when he’d selected her for this job, the observation and testing of the synthetics, she’d wondered if it was something that would normally come under his oversight. It seemed more the military’s gig than the NSA’s, but she’d needed a way back in and, despite her misgivings about the director, this had been a great opportunity.

  Or so she’d thought at the time.

  Now that there was blood spilled, her idea of climbing the career ladder seemed fraught with peril—both physical and political.

  She took a breath and focused on the task at hand: find out what happened here.

  “How much of the video did you analyze?” she asked Jursik.

  “None. Our orders were to recover the video and make it available for your investigation. Other than loading it into the console, we haven’t looked at it.”

  “You must have seen something of it,” she said.

  He fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Of course, but we haven’t analyzed it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve orders to carry out. The director asked me to inform you that he wants a progress report of the situation as soon as you’re done.”

  With that, he turned his back and left the room, closing the door behind him. At no point did the guy look comfortable when talking about the video. She didn’t believe for one moment that he and this other agent wouldn’t have watched it, but regardless, she had a report to deliver.

  Switching on the console’s operating system, the central monitor showed her the file system, inside of which were a number of folders holding the video files. They were numbered in sequence. She double-clicked on the first, grabbed a pen and waited for it to play.

  ***

  The footage started off with a blank screen.

  A few seconds later the image panned to the basement. No sound on this one, just visuals. Two agents, Smith and Blaine, were doing free weights. Blaine was grinning like a fool as always, no doubt talking smack about someone. Smith looked behind him and grinned as if laughing at Blaine’s joke.

  Then his expression changed. He dropped the barbell in his hand. One of the synthetics, the one Zoe had named Red, after her hair, shot into frame. She grabbed Smith by the throat and threw him across the room out of frame before dashing forward and slamming a barbell into Blaine’s head, crushing his skull.

  Red looked up at the camera, her face neutral.

  The video skipped to the kitchen. There was sound at this part: the usual sound of movement on the t
iled floor, the clank of cutlery and plates. Blue, the second synthetic Zoe had named for his intense eyes, sat at a table, his back to the camera. A shadow moved out of the frame. Blue stood and walked beyond the camera. The body of an agent smashed against the table. Zoe couldn’t tell who it had been because there was no head.

  Blue walked back into frame and stared up at the camera, his expression the same as Red’s. The timestamp on the video was exactly the same. While Blue just stared, in the background Zoe could hear gunfire and screams. Blue didn’t react for nearly thirty seconds, as though someone had just switched him off.

  When the screaming stopped, Blue pulled a small black device resembling a can of soda from the pocket of his fatigues. He depressed the top of the cylinder. A line of static appeared on the camera before the footage turned to snow.

  Zoe breathed out after unknowingly holding her breath for what seemed like an age. Her hands shook as she picked up the pen, ready to make some notes. But before she could put pen to paper, the video continued.

  Switching to the camera that covered the entry points, she saw two agents, Bosner and Jaynes, back away from Red and Blue before aiming shotguns at the two synthetics. They fired eight rounds between them before the synthetics fell, but not before Bosner was choked by Red.

  Jaynes took a vicious punch to the head before his final shot. Jaynes was the one in the hospital. Hopefully he’d make it and could explain why this had happened.

  Zoe scribbled some notes, but her head was swimming, the sounds of screams going round and round. When it was clear nothing else was on the video, she switched it off. But even as the video player shut down, she could still feel Blue’s and Red’s stares burning into her.

  It was so easy, she thought. The death, the butchering. What the hell were these synthetics really? In less than five minutes, Red and Blue had annihilated almost a full squad of highly trained agents, all with Marine Force Recon experience.

  The most troubling aspect was the fact that they seemed to act at the very same time despite being in separate rooms. She thought back to the earlier meeting and the revelation that Gray and Murphy were receiving a signal from them all along.

  Could they have instigated this attack? If they could receive signals from the synthetics, it didn’t take a genius to think they could also send instructions.

  What the hell had the director got involved with?

  She took a few deep breaths and regained her composure.

  She wrote out her report and then got up from the console room to inspect the rest of the compound. Even with the bodies taken away, the place resembled a slaughterhouse; blood covered the walls and the floor of each room. Trails led down corridors where bodies were dragged.

  She tiptoed around the blood and headed through the training room. The dumbbell that had been used to kill Blaine was still there. She moved through and into the kitchen.

  The table was still overturned as it was in the video. She tried to forget the image of the decapitated agent’s body crashing against it as if it were nothing but a rag doll.

  Thinking of Jaynes, she called Cooley. He’d be at the hospital by now. While the phone rang, she noticed the black cylinder Blue had used lying on the floor beneath a chair. Using a handkerchief from her pocket, she picked it up and inspected it. She recognized it instantly after seeing the insides: a portable EMP grenade. She’d worked for a brief time on military requisition and had shipped a bunch of these out to the Middle East. But this one didn’t look like a US-issue device.

  Cooley answered. “What you got, Vega?”

  “A bloodbath,” she said.

  “Fucking freakoids. Didn’t I always say there was something creepy with those damned things?”

  She had to admit, he’d called it from day one, but she’d put it down to his hideous and hateful personality rather than any insight. “How’s Jaynes?”

  “Kicked the bucket a few hours ago. Got nothing interesting from him at all. The cleanup squad has taken the body. It was a complete waste of my time.”

  “Christ, Cooley, show some respect, man. These people were your colleagues.”

  “That’s the business, girl, get used to it. We’re expendable. You look out for number one.”

  “Oh, great. Nice to know you’ve got my back, partner.”

  “Anytime. So, what’s what over there? What went down?”

  “Personally, I think Gray has a lot to explain. Red and Blue went crazy at exactly the same time, despite being in different parts of the safe house. And the results were the same.”

  “Well, Murphy’s a creepy fucker, but you saw Gray; that guy’s scared of his own shadow. You really think they’d have the balls to order something like this? You know what I think?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “Russkies.”

  “What?”

  “It’s always the damned Russians, isn’t it? Wherever there’s weird shit going down, there’s always a Russkie at the heart of it. The synthetics were probably spies. How do we know Gray wasn’t just a distraction, a patsy?”

  “What?” Zoe shook her head. “He’s a U.S. citizen, born and bred here.” She couldn’t believe this crackpot theory just coming out of nowhere. “Chances are it’s a malfunction or something. There’s nothing to suggest the Russians are involved. Where the hell do you get this crazy stuff from?”

  “I’ve been in this game a lot longer than you. You get to see stuff. I’ve seen things that would make your toes curl.”

  “You’ve not even been out of the country, Earl. You were a pen pusher for the last fifteen years.”

  “Hey, I saw my fair slice of action. Why do you think the director picked me to head up this initiative?”

  “Um, he didn’t. That was my job. You’re supposed to assist me, remember?”

  “Assist you? I’m your senior. If you want to get ahead in this world, you’d do well to learn from your elders. Now listen up. I’m on my way to the safe house. I’ll run the report for you and get back to the director. We want to get this right.”

  Before Zoe could protest, Cooley had hung up.

  “Asshole,” she said.

  But the sight of the EMP grenade soon made her forget about Cooley. The director had to hear about this right away. Screw Cooley; this was her job.

  ***

  “Yes, Director, an EMP.”

  “Things have taken a turn for the worse. I need to speak with Gray. But in the meantime, Vega, I want you to do me a personal favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This needs wrapping up. I… we can’t afford this to get out. All of our heads would be on the chopping block for this. Your career will be over, and we’ll be facing the rest of our lives in prison.”

  “But what about the agents?”

  “I’m preparing a statement to their families. It’s being handled. Listen, Vega, you knew this was a side project. You knew the secrecy behind it. That was for a reason, and I don’t expect you to forget the terms of your contract. There’s a job that needs doing, and right now you’re the best I’ve got. You’re in line for an increased career trajectory if you handle this right. You understand me?”

  It was pure blackmail and she hated him for it. Hated herself for it. Basically she had to lie and cover up the deaths of people she considered her friends in order to further her career. But was there an alternative? Go public? They’d discredit her. He was the director of the NSA; he could fabricate anything he wanted.

  And then there was Cooley. That asshole would drop her in it as soon as he had a chance. Look after number one, he said. She understood perfectly. But if she couldn’t go public, the least she could do was see justice served for those agents by finding those responsible—and shut these damned synthetics down for good.

  “Vega, you there?”

  “Yes, Director.”

  “Well? Can I trust you on this, or do I have to—”

  “You can trust me, sir. You’ve got my full support. I just want ju
stice.”

  “And you’ll get it, but you have to do something for me first.”

  She steeled herself, waiting to find out how far she’d have to go.

  “Erase all evidence. All the agents involved with this are dead. No one else knows the synthetics were there apart from you, me, Cooley, and my cleanup crew. The latter are dealt with.”

  “What about Jursik?”

  “You don’t need to worry about him.”

  “And Cooley?”

  “He’s a personal friend; you can trust him. Work with him, Vega, not against him. He’s on his way to help you get rid of the video and any evidence. Anything you find relating to the synthetics at the safe house I want destroyed. You understand? Nothing can lead back to me… to us.”

  “I understand.”

  “Oh, Agent Vega, there’s one more thing.”

  She tried hard not to sigh audibly down the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “See if you can track down Devereaux. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him for the last day. He’s not answering and no one at his office has seen him. It’s probably nothing, but after this incident, I want any loose ends accounted for.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I know you will, Vega. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. I’ll ensure that. Stay calm, do your job, and all this will be over with.”

  The line disconnected before she could say anything else. With Hatfield’s words running around her head, she made her way out of the safe house and headed for her car. She covered the EMP grenade in her handkerchief and hid it under the spare tire in the back of her SUV. She considered making a backup of the video, but the console would make a record of it and Director Hatfield would know.

  She got in her car, switched the radio on and tried to let the inane sports talk distract her while she waited for Cooley to arrive. She’d let him be the one to delete the evidence.

  If this was going to go south, she’d make sure she wasn’t the one to go down for it. She had to look after number one.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  9:25 a.m., Day 3, New York City