by Russ Linton
So far, Drake had only borne out that observation. The man seemed distracted, flighty, and now either insane, overstressed, or both. A stable business partner he was not.
Yet, the technology was utterly, undeniably brilliant.
Once Drake had stormed outside, Kerin crossed the lobby to the concierge who was busy sweeping the remains of the cellphone into a dustbin.
“Excuse me.”
“Mr. Townsend, yes.” His eyes dropped to the shattered pile of circuitry and he swallowed. “Oh, yes, your colleague, he wanted me to extend his regrets. He had urgent matters…”
Kerin raised his palm and nodded. “No need. No need. However, do you mind?” He motioned to the bin.
The concierge gave him a puzzled look, but after a second gesture from Kerin, he raised the bin in the air. Townsend squinted and fished through the pieces, pulling out the phone’s SIM card. He smiled and added a large bill to the one peeking out of the concierge’s jacket.
“If my colleague returns, let him know the lobby was swept and the trash taken out, hm?”
The concierge frowned and considered the proposition. Another bill entered his jacket pocket.
“Of course, sir.”
Chapter 41
Clinging to Cuddles for hours in the blasting wind with no solid handholds went from fun to mind-numbingly painful a ways back. The deep emptiness of unlit wilderness below has transitioned into the spider-web lines of street lamps, growing denser at the core. We’ve been flying mostly south, that’s all I can tell. I have to wonder if I’m close to home.
I wish I would’ve swung by our old house one last time. It was right around the block. Eric said the bank took possession, fixed the hole, and sold it to a new couple. Three kids, a dog. On second thought, maybe I didn’t want to see that.
During the flight, I’ve tried to figure out more commands to send Cuddles. Breaking the “return home” command and dropping out of the sky like the two-ton hunk of metal she is sucked, so I gave that up.
I remember swearing I wouldn’t do it again, but the flight’s long, boring, even with the amazing view. Once again, not a lot of thought went into this plan. I decide to risk it again and see if I can get Cuddles to do some tricks.
This time my attempt is cut short even faster. I’m locked out. I no longer have control; somebody else does.
Frantic, I go back through the steps Eric drilled me on. The little bugs are still trying to find their way home, still tying up Cuddles’s resources, but my attempts to access their communications keep getting blocked by an external source, originating from the same address I’m blindly headed to. Skewering the Black Beetle with his own robot is now a distant dream. Living another day might be too.
I hang on tight. At any moment, whoever it is could probably introduce my face to the ground at terminal velocity. Either that, or let Cuddles do the job. But I can only clench my cheeks for so long before they get sore. The flight goes on, as scheduled.
From up here, I see a dark patch far to the west that might be the ocean. Below, the outskirts of a city races by. A sprawling campus comes into view surrounded on all sides by acres of woodland. Cuddles aims for a helipad on top of a four-story building. A small room with glass walls sits next to the helipad. The lights are on, glowing bright against the night sky in the room, empty except for an elevator. Not what I expected. Cuddles lands with a jolt and a dull clang.
So, here I am, on a rooftop in the middle of the night. Instead of whoever it was finishing me off, I’ve been allowed to arrive for my little showdown with the Black Beetle. At least I have a gun, which suddenly seems too small. I slide down Cuddles’s back leg.
My own legs shake uncontrollably. That’s from either the extended ride or the fear, but I don’t think I’m scared anymore, as dumb as that sounds. I feel… pumped. Alive.
An elevator chime drifts through the door and I move toward the glass. A kid walks out. Dark skin and large, alert eyes, his curly hair cut so close to his head that only a thicker strip down the middle reveals he even has any. Jeans, t-shirt; I’m not sure if this is a minion or the janitor, but there’s no way he’s the Black Beetle. Right? He leans against the glass door and eyes me, one hand on the door handle.
“Um, you’re a kid,” I say.
His face pinches and he steps out, letting the door rattle closed behind him while he points a hand my direction. A crackle. A blur of motion. I fall rigid onto the helipad. Every muscle in my body tightens and contracts. My gun comes to mind, the robot, a million other things I should’ve done differently flash between pulses of pain.
“Stop!” I stutter.
The kid is standing over me with an expression of hatred. The pain fades. “It only stops because I want it to,” he says. He points the taser toward me and I see the wires trailing off into my leg.
“Fuck! Fuck! Hold on!”
He pulls the trigger.
I flop and drool and hurt.
The pain goes away.
“Wait! Wait! I’ve got information you want!”
His expression changes and he kneels down with a hungry stare. Closer, I see he’s wiry but bigger than me, although that’s not saying much, and has a hardened stare that overshadows his youthful features. A jagged scar wriggles behind a thin black collar on his neck as he asks, “What information?”
“I’ll only give it to the Black Beetle,” I say through convulsing breaths.
He checks the taser and my pulse explodes. “I should punish you again. I am not a kid. I am the Black Beetle’s wäras—I am his heir.”
“Man, whatever you want. Just take me to him.”
“Give me the information,” he demands and holds the taser up for me to see.
“No. Only—”
There’s no warning. No getting used to it. The same intense fire rages through my muscles and my body won’t respond. His face jerks by and I see the expression soften, briefly. I’m losing focus and the world starts to slip away into a watery, jittery mess of hurt. My head arches back and the light from the door streaks and separates forming an irregular, silver ring.
“Mom!” I gasp.
The pain stops. I’m in a pool of sweat, panting. The boy’s spotlight eyes stare, and there’s hesitation as he reels in the wires. I can’t put up a fight as he slips off my backpack.
I also can’t move while he pats me down. He finds the gun, pulls a knife from his boot, and cuts it free. My brain wants to panic—the gun taken, a knife inches from my junk—but I can’t move.
“You are lucky he asked to see you. I won’t throw you from the building.” He drags me up and puts a boot in my back, and I stumble toward the door. Once we’re in the room, he waves a badge clipped to his jeans at a card reader, and the elevator doors spring open. He shoves me in, and I slide down the back wall as he punches a button.
“You should never have stolen Black Beetle’s secrets.” He adjusts my backpack now slung over his shoulder.
“I don’t care about the secrets,” I groan.
“Why are you here then?”
“I want to know where my mom is. That’s all.”
The kid faces the elevator buttons, his arms crossed. He seems comfortable with the taser in his hand and Eric’s gun stuffed in his waistband. I can see he’s watching me in the chrome button panel.
“Weird accent. You aren’t from around here?” He responds to my question with more staring. “Heir, huh? Must be a big job.” My voice cracks as he turns around and I realize I’m watching the gun and the taser more than his face. I glance up and see his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t reply. “I cracked open one of his drones once. It was pretty sweet. You do that all the time, I bet.”
“Shut up.”
Great advice. Really good. But the mouth’s on autopilot again. “Sorry. Just thought I saw what looked like a Multicore Delta chipset in there…”
His taser hand twitches. Every muscle tenses and I’m in a ball, squinting with anticipation. The pain doesn’t follow. The taser is po
inted my way but he’s staring at the wall as he finally speaks, “There are many of the Black Beetle’s wonders inside the drones. He brings them life. Gives them purpose.”
The doors open and he steps back, keeping one foot in front of the sensor and leveling the taser. “Get up.”
Using the back wall for support, I slide to my feet and stagger forward. He yanks me into a deserted hallway. We walk in silence and each time I check over my shoulder gets me another rough push. At the end of the plain, white hallway is a set of black double doors engraved with a complex geometric pattern.
“Your gun is uncared for.” A click and a spin rattles over my shoulder. “Might not even fire.”
“Guess I’m lucky then. Right?” My nervous laughter has too much desperation.
He grabs my arm and gives the doors a slight push with his free hand. They noiselessly open inward and we step inside.
After the stark hallway, this is closer to staring into space. A black hole, really. The walls are covered in thick charcoal panels, with a floor and ceiling that are only a marginally lighter shade of slate. A sleek desk lurks in the center of the room with a black leather office chair behind it. The desk top glows with the light of a dying star beneath its transparent surface. An oddly-designed chair, with chrome bars to support the seat and backrest, sits opposite the desk. Next to that is a table with a chess set.
I momentarily forget how hopeless the situation is. “Were they out of twirly mustaches at Villains-R-Us?”
Suddenly, my knee collapses. My face smacks into the floor. Blood pours out of my nose onto the hard tile. It’s broken for sure. The kid, heir to the king of dickheads, towers over me, speaking to the air. “He’s here, sir. He says he has the data.”
“Excellent. Make him comfortable. I will be there shortly. I have a special reward for you, Xamse,” replies an almost pleasant-sounding voice. Pleasant with the exception of a peculiar, twisted emphasis on the word “reward”. The cadence, the contempt, it all overrides any sort of disguise or distortion his battle armor might have offered. I’ve heard that same voice in my sleep for two years.
Release the boy and he will live. He can tell your husband what has happened today.
We’re about to be face-to-face, again, and none of this is going as planned.
Chapter 42
Head forward, I pinch my nose, staring at the puddle of crimson as it spreads into the cracks and crevices of the tile. The blood almost glows here, in this odd office, cave, lair; whatever the hell he thinks this is. Either I’ve walked onto a movie set, or this guy is truly an utter psycho. A voice at the door answers that question and I see Xamse turn to face him.
“Ah, our guest. I see you returned my drone with some modifications.” A balding man in a light gray business suit enters. He’s about average height, scrawny, and his prominent cheekbones support beady eyes. His mouth is small, almost too small for his face. He strides to his desk practically with a bounce in his step and sits on the edge. Blood drips into my open mouth.
“Now, let’s have a look at you,” he says and Xamse grabs a handful of my hair. His tiny mouth quirks upward and his pebble eyes move, though it’s hard to say where. “The spitting image of your father.” His head tilts sympathetically this time as he looks from head to toe. “Well, almost.”
This is him? I can’t say I’m impressed either.
Sensing my amazement, he grins. “Were you expecting someone else?” The man leans back and speaks to the wall behind him. “Computer, open vault.” A panel slides open and red light floods into the room, staining the darkness. In the exposed alcove stands the star of my nightmares.
“This, perhaps?” The beady eyes grow and draw closer while his words slice the air. “Yes. We’ve met before.”
Xamse steps away and I glance after him, trying to keep him from leaving me here, alone.
I swallow and search for my earlier bravado. “My mom.”
His strange eyes are predatory cold marbles like I’m at a taxidermist shop, holding a conversation with the mounted head of a wolf. “Oh? You came for her?”
I nod.
“Sorry to say, but I turned her over to my clients. You do know who they are, don’t you?”
I nod again.
“And you hoped to trade the data for her life?”
I nod again, helpless. Powerless.
“The laptop so cleverly attached to my drone doesn’t have the only copy of the data, does it?”
I shake my head and speak, but I already know what I’m about to say won’t have the impact I intended. “One more copy. Ready to go to the media.”
The tiny mouth gets larger than it should and yellowed, straight teeth show. “You play games?”
“Not your kind.”
Delicate hands reach to the side table, and the chess board glides between us. Detailed pewter pieces are arrayed on the board, each rank in the shape of a different insect. More smartass comments die under his withering stare. Xamse rolls the chair from behind the desk and the Black Beetle sits opposite me.
“Your father did say you liked chess.”
He reaches out and slides an ant-shaped pawn forward. Any coherent thought I once had, fades. I focus on the board, and heft a knight shaped like a wasp. It’s an old school, defensive strategy until I can figure out his weaknesses. Soon, more pieces buzz around the board as the game gets underway.
“Tell me, how often have you made checkmate with a lone pawn?” We’re several moves in, and the Black Beetle twirls his own wasp knight before placing it behind an opening wall of pawns which he’s aggressively moved forward. He plays chess the same way he hunts Augments.
I reach for a stag beetle rook and castle, hiding behind my defenses.
“I must say, I’m shocked at your technical abilities.” Another of my pawns is swept off the board in a sacrificial move he makes with a pawn. “But you couldn’t have accomplished any of this without my nanomechs. Their performance has been most remarkable.”
They’re a serious security problem. That’s my take. I don’t get how Beetle thinks otherwise, but I can’t find the nerve to speak. The battle armor watches from the alcove. I’ve seen so many bug robots. Disabled, blinded and even rode them. But with the armored suit, every single detail matches my nightmare. I’m starting to see how reckless I’ve been. How easily any of them could pluck me from this chair and carry me into the sky.
The tap of a piece on the chess board brings me back.
“I never thought they would be so flexible, so skilled at infiltrating other systems and pursuing their tasks, my tasks.” My opponent sighs and his beady face is practically beaming.
Xamse slouches a bit behind the desk, his eyes studying the floor.
The change in the gun-happy kid’s demeanor loosens my jaw. I say as steadily as I can, “Where is my mom?”
“A shame, that. Your father finally surrendering. Unable, with all his power, to escape the fate that has awaited him for two years now.” He holds a praying mantis bishop above the board then replaces it, advancing another knight toward my defenses. I threaten with my own ant pawn and he backs away. “Your mother became another casualty.”
“What do you mean?”
“Collateral damage, they call it. When a bomb goes astray or a bullet misses the mark. A tragedy, really, but unavoidable in any war.”
“You killed her?” I stare him down, for the first time.
“Hardly. She was of value to my clients. And ultimately, I believe she may have had the information which led to locating your bunker. Given the situation,” his head casually tilts toward the board and he moves a piece but I don’t see which one, or even care, “it is much too late for her now.”
“So where is she!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Xamse’s stance shift.
A wolfish grin appears on the Black Beetle’s face. “Your move.”
“Fuck your games! Where is she! If you don’t tell me, that data is going to be sent to every major news outlet in the world
.”
The thin lips spread tight as he chuckles, “So much like him. Always trying to do the right thing.” I shrink back, confused by the reaction and he looks calmly over my shoulder. “Xamse, please prep the Battle Armor.”
“Yes, sir. Will you be going somewhere, sir?”
“Oh, no. Not me, Xamse. You.”
“Sir?” A sort of bewildered elation trembles in the kid’s throat.
“Educate our guest. What is the right thing, Xamse?”
“Your orders. The programs, sir.”
“Good. And you brought Mr. Harrington to me, as ordered. But there is one final mission the Black Beetle needs to carry out, and I want that to fall into your capable hands.”
“Yes, sir.” With long strides, Xamse crosses to the alcove, his hands shaking and his cheeks struggling to contain a grin. “I will make you proud, sir.”
The Black Beetle oozes forward. “Your move.”
The confidence and sheer will emanating from those creepy eyes forces me to turn back to the board. I’m holed up in the corner with my king and he has advanced on my position with his knights and a bishop. But there’s a weak spot. Right in the center. I move a knight into the gap.
He grunts and castles, moving his own king, some vicious looking bug I’ve never seen before. It’s his first defensive move, and now I see the weakness of his strategy. He’s intent on ruthless domination, so much so that he’s blind to the fact his pawns need to be reinforced to hold their aggressive center line. More pieces shuffle around the board and while he’s clearly ahead on body count, I’m holding the line.
“You see, Mr. Harrington,” Drake intones as he sweeps another of my pawns off the board. “I don’t care what the world thinks of the Black Beetle or the government. What I care about is whether it can be linked directly to me.”
“My friend knows the IP. He knows where the servers are. Knows exactly where I’ll be.”
“And what does that prove?” He sinks into the chair, his ankle resting on his knee and his fingers once again steepled under his chin beneath a gloating smile.
