“Holy crap,” the closer one had time to say just before Sandra hit him in the face with the stock of her machine gun. The other jerked his pistol up and fired. The bullet zinged over Sandra’s head as she kicked out, fast and low, at the shooter’ knee. He fell sideways with a cry of pain and his second shot went wild. Sandra rolled across the ground, glancing back to check on the first guy. He was rising from his knees and reaching for the gun he’d dropped. She kept rolling, caught up the sub-machine gun and fired. The man went down screaming and a bullet ricocheted off the wall beside her. She turned her gun towards the second man. He was down on one knee, with his gun pointing at her and his hands shaking. As soon as he saw her gun swing his way, he threw down his own and put up his hands, begging her not to shoot him.
She climbed to her feet. The pain in her side was screeching in her brain. She had to tense up that half of her body against it, or else let it consume her. She should just shoot this bastard and get on with things. She didn’t have time for this. But she couldn’t.
“Give me your communication device.”
“My what?”
“From your fucking ear, arsehole!”
Quickly, he reached up and pulled it out. “I think you broke my leg,” he whined as he handed it to her. She took it, dropped it on the floor, and ground it under her boot.
“Where’s the garage?” she asked.
“The garage?”
She pushed the barrel of her gun in his face. He pointed with a trembling arm. “It’s round there. The low building at the end of the house.”
In her ear she could hear people talking about the shots they’d just heard, organizing themselves to come and investigate. “Where’s the other bot?” someone asked.
“Nearly there.”
Shit!
She ran. The end of the house seemed a long way off but she had to reach it and be out of sight before the killbot appeared. She was almost there when the little machine came rolling around the corner right in front of her. She came to a skidding, heart-thumping stop, almost running into it. The bot, traveling at top speed, targeted her with its four main weapons, then suddenly turned them away as it swerved around her and rolled past. Astonished by her luck, she stood like a dummy and watched it sprint along the path towards the man she had left behind her. When it was about ten meters from him, it opened fire, almost tearing him in half with its heavy machine gun.
Sandra backed away, but the bot did not turn and pursue her. It’s the earpiece, she thought. You have one. He didn’t. The robot’s using them as friend or foe transponders. She kept moving until she was round the corner, finally picking up speed. Ahead, she could see the back of what must be the garage block.
In her ear, Duvalle’s men were crowing, believing the bot had just killed her.
-oOo-
Cara and Jonah stood at the bottom of the stairwell, listening. Far above them, they heard a door open and footsteps clatter down the steps. Even so, Jonah took his time opening the outside door and peering out.
“OK, we’re good,” he whispered. They crept out into the floodlit night, closing the door quietly behind them. “This way,” he hissed, and they ran like eloping lovers from the big house towards the garage block.
The front of the block was a series of six up-and-over doors, all closed. They entered the garage through a side door. Enough light poured in through the windows to reveal a double row of cars and vans. The vans were dark green with the Temple of the Measurers’ logo on them. The cars were a mixture of anonymous black SUVs and brightly-colored muscle cars. Jonah ignored them all and made straight for a large, silver-gray antique, so old, it must be petrol-driven, Cara thought. She noticed the badge on the tall, chrome grille at the front of the car. It said “Rolls Royce”, which meant nothing to her. Jonah opened the driver’s door and leaned inside, burrowing down under the dash.
“Why this pile of old junk?” she asked. Surely one of the muscle cars would be faster.
“It’s the heaviest pile of old junk in here,” he said. “We’re gonna need that. Also …” The engine purred into life and he pulled himself out from under the steering wheel. “It’s got the kind of engine I can start without a digital security bypass kit.”
“Jesus,” she said, wrinkling her nose. The old car was stinking up the place.
“Please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Jonah said. “Can you drive?”
There was a burst of machine gun fire from outside. It seemed far away.
Cara shook her head. “Not that old thing.” She didn’t bother explaining that, where she came from, nobody “drove” cars anymore. They just went where you told them to go.
Jonah looked unhappy. “OK, then. You’re going to have to open the door so I can drive it out of here.”
She felt the fear tightening her chest again. They could be out there, waiting. She looked at the big, awkward, garage door. It would make a lot of noise when she pushed it up. People would hear. People would come running.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Just lift it a crack at first and take a look. If it’s clear, push it all the way. I’ll drive out, you jump in, and we’re away. It’ll be over in a few seconds.” He sat in the driver’s seat and fiddled with something inside. “OK, Cara. Take a look.”
She looked at the levers and wires on the inside of the door and then turned the handle. It slid a couple of bars out of their housings in the door frame. Then she got down on the floor and pushed the bas of the door forwards. It moved easily and almost silently—for which she was immensely grateful—rising a handspan from the ground. Outside, she could see part of the house and the drive. There was no-one there. No voices, no gunshots.
“Is it clear?” Jonah whispered. She looked back at him. His face was starting to look strained, she thought. She felt her stomach knot.
“I—I can’t see everywhere,” she said. “I don’t know.”
“That’s OK,” he said. “As long as you can’t see anyone. Open the door, Cara. We need to get moving.”
She stood up. There was a rubber ball on a blue rope that she hadn’t noticed before. It dangled from near the top of the door. She could see that, if she pulled it, the door would swing up and open. She took a breath, grasped the ball, and pulled. The door shuddered and rattled but was wide open in a moment. She stepped out of the garage so she could see the parts of the house she had been unable to see from the inside, and stopped dead. Four men were standing there. Three of them had guns raised and aimed at her. The fourth was Duvalle, who smiled.
-oOo-
Sandra kept close to the house as she neared the garage block. She could see the front of the garages now—a row of big doors, one of them not quite closed. There was a gentle purring in the air, like some kind of engine was running. Had someone in the garage started a car? She saw the garage block had a side entrance. She could be there in a few seconds. It was open ground, but if she was fast …
Voices from the front of the house made her jam herself back against the wall with just a drainpipe for concealment. Four men came into view. They noticed the garage and its part-open door immediately.
“Beiden’s down,” someone said into the comm. The man sounded shaken and Sandra could imagine his horror at finding the bisected body behind the house. “And Samuel. I – I think the robot shot Beiden.”
“Someone got his earpiece,” one of the four men in front of her said. She recognized the speaker as Duvalle. “Somebody switch the robot off,” he ordered. “Everybody else switch off your earpieces. They’re listening in.”
Duvalle and his men advanced a couple of paces until they were standing so close to Sandra that she dared not breathe in case they heard her. With a rattle, the garage door began to open wide. The men shouldered their weapons. Sandra expected a car to come charging out of the garage but instead a tall, slender young woman stepped out, peering towards the house. Sandra recognized her daughter immediately, even in her long skirt.
She w
atched Cara stop, frozen with fear when she caught sight of Duvalle and his gunmen. She could have ducked back inside the garage, she could have been safe, but she just stood there, her mouth open in a little O of surprise.
“Shoot the little bitch,” Duvalle said.
Sandra stepped out from the wall and raised her gun, but she was too slow. All the gunmen had to do was squeeze the triggers on weapons they were already pointing. Fire erupted from three nozzles simultaneously. The noise hit Sandra like a fist.
In the corner of her eye, she saw a blur of movement where Cara stood. Something fast and incongruous. She squeezed her own trigger and emptied a full clip into Duvalle and his men. It took several seconds and she screamed as the gun roared and the people who had shot her daughter were torn to pieces. She wanted it to be her hands, her nails, her teeth, tearing up their flesh.
When the gun was empty, she let it fall on its lanyard and went to stand over the bloody, mangled corpses. She wished she could kill them all over again.
“Mummy?”
She twitched her head, trying to find the voice. But there was no Cara. That is … there was something. Something large and dark on the ground.
“Mummy!” It was almost a scream.
The dark figure on the ground was moving, splitting into two; a large man in a black suit, wet with blood, and Cara struggling out from under him.
Sandra ran to her daughter and dragged the dead man off her legs. She pulled Cara to her feet and they grasped one another in a bone-crushing embrace. Cara was babbling and crying, and Sandra felt herself sobbing too. Her mind was half-numb with the shock and relief.
“Why did he do that?”
“Who, darling?” The wild emotions were loosening their grip and Sandra began to consider their predicament again. They should get into the garage. People would be coming.
“Jonah. Him,” Cara wailed. “He didn’t have to do that.”
Sandra took a grip of Cara’s shoulders. She saw the car in the garage with its engine running and a shot of hope pulsed in her veins. “Come on.”
She dragged Cara into motion and got her into the car. Frantically, she studied the controls. Two pedals: accelerator and brake. Where the arcane knowledge came from she didn’t know or care. She pressed her foot down on the accelerator and the engine raced. The car didn’t move. She glanced over at Cara and saw her daughter watching her.
“Here,” she said, pushing the remote detonator into Cara’s hand. “When I say so, press all the green buttons.”
Sandra studied the instruments again. A dim recollection about gears and shifting gears and automatic gears. There was a gear stick, a gear lever, something like that. She found something that might serve and moved it. The car rolled forward. She pushed down the accelerator again and the car surged forward, out of the garage and towards the lawn. She grabbed the wheel and turned it. The car lurched to the side. She heard shots and a squeal of terror from Cara.
“Push the buttons!” she shouted, but dared not take her eyes away from the road. Explosions shook the air and flames leapt up around the mansion. The car bounced up onto the grass. Sandra kept her foot down on the pedal and swerved the car across the lawn and back onto the drive, off the drive and back onto it, all the while going faster and faster.
There was a needle twitching in a dial but she couldn’t take a close look. It was all she could do to keep the lurching, rolling antique pointing down the drive towards the gate.
Bullets rattled off the bodywork as she drove. The back window shattered. “Get down!” Sandra shouted, but Cara was already cowering low. “We’re going to hit the gate!”
The car was going fast now, so fast that if the gate did not break open, they’d surely be killed. It looked solid, but the car was heavy.
The old Rolls Royce hit the gates with a crash that ripped them from their hinges and wrapped them around the front of the car. The windscreen shattered and Sandra found herself slapped back against the seat, ears ringing, with the bizarre impression she had bounced off a big white balloon. The car was still racing along the road, showers of sparks and a banshee wail coming from the gate it was dragging. The Rolls spun around once, twice, and came to a juddering halt.
Half-stunned, Sandra reached over to Cara to check if she was OK. Cara stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. Only then did Sandra take a look outside. The car was side-on to the mansion. Through the shattered gate, she saw men running up the drive towards them. She struggled to get her gun to ward them off, only then remembering it was empty. The spare clips were in her bag and her bag was … Back in the garage. The men slowed as they approached, probably calculating that Sandra should be shooting at them by now. Her only option was to get herself and Cara out the other side of the car and run for it.
Gunfire broke out all around them. Too close to be from Duvalle’s men. She instinctively threw herself across Cara, but no bullets were hitting the car. Then she heard the door open behind her. She twisted to face it, knife in hand.
“Woah. Steady girl.” She blinked in astonishment at Polanski’s smiling face. “The cavalry’s arrived.”
Chapter 22: Parameters
With a sinking heart, Sandra looked over the resurrected lob site. “I was hoping I’d done more damage,” she said.
No-one commented. The woman bandaging her burns kept her head down and worked steadily. Sandra had been relieved when the woman fetched a military first aid kit instead of the old rags and Vaseline Sandra had imagined. The kit had high quality burn repair patches and sterile bandages. When the woman applied a local anesthetic spray, Sandra could have kissed her.
“I’ll fetch you some clothes,” her nurse said when she’d finished.
“Just a jumper would be fine,” Sandra called after her.
Polanski entered the room a few seconds later.
“Where’s Cara?” she asked, standing up to face him. They had been separated and taken back to the Shanty in separate cars.
“She’s with her father. She’s fine.”
“What the hell were you doing outside Duvalle’s place with a platoon of guerrillas?”
“We went to get Cara.”
Sandra’s dismay deepened at this confirmation of her worst fears.
“I killed Duvalle.”
Polanski’s eyebrows went up, but all he said was, “A minor complication. They’ll blame me. But then, they would have done anyway. It won’t matter in a few hours’ time.”
Her fingers curled into fists. She felt like smashing him in the face. “All right. So you’ve got Cara, and that means you’ve got me. You want me to set up your lob, but we both know that will kill me and Cara and Jay anyway. So what’s my incentive?”
He gave a tight smile. “Right to the heart of it as usual. You know, you’re a fascinating woman. If we’d met under different circumstances …”
“Cut the bullshit. However we’d met, you’d still be a low-life creep with delusions of adequacy. Give me the deal or get out of my face.”
He looked like he wanted to hit her. She checked to see where Peter was, just in case she had to lay out the boy’s hero. “All right,” Polanski said. “The deal. You make sure this contraption delivers me just where I want it to, and you and your daughter can leave as soon as the lob is activated.”
“And Jay.”
“Of course, Jay too.”
“Not good enough.”
“What?”
“We’ll need a car.”
“Fine. Take a car. Better yet, Peter is driving to Philadelphia straight after the lob. You can go with him.”
“No.”
“No?”
“We want our own car. I don’t trust the Boy Wonder as far as I could throw him.”
He was growing impatient. Clearly it didn’t matter to him much either way. His planning stopped at the lob. “All right, you get your own car.”
“Good. I want Cara and Jay waiting in it and ready to go. You’ll need to get someone to show Jay how to drive it.” Her ey
es held his, steady and fierce. “You know how easily I could sabotage this whole thing if I wanted to, don’t you, once you let me loose on that software?”
“I’ll set it up. Anything else?”
“Yes, you’re a fool. You don’t have to do it this way. Have your revolution. I’m all for it. I’ll cheer you on. But not like this. You destroy the whole city and it’ll leave a stain of blood you’ll never wash off.”
“The whole city?”
They both turned to find Sandra’s nurse standing there with a bundle of clothes in her arms.
“She means the city center,” Polanski said. “Here, let me take those.” He smiled. “Thank you. That’s all for now.”
When the woman went away, frowning to herself, Sandra said, “She’ll die too. Does she have children?”
Polanski’s reply was savage. “How many people did you kill tonight? And for what? To get one single child out of the clutches of these people. One.” He made a cutting gesture with his hand. His expression was pure contempt. “You have your deal. Get on with your work.”
Sandra watched him stride out of the room. I didn’t kill one person who wasn’t trying to hurt my daughter, she thought. Not one of them was innocent. Yet his condemnation had upset her more than she could explain. “I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you, you bastard,” she shouted to the empty doorway.
-oOo-
After Cara had finished crying, Jay got her to tell him what had happened at Duvalle’s mansion. He listened in amazement, remembering that feeling of awe and astonishment from the first time he had worked with Sandra.
“So she’s here, in the building?” Jay asked, finding his heartbeat quickening. Polanski had removed his gag so that he could talk to Cara, but he and she were tied hand and foot.
Cara nodded, miserable and exhausted. “Polanski’s got us all now.”
“He’s planning a timesplash. A big one.”
“Like London?”
Jay shook his head. “Like Beijing. Like Mexico City.”
True Path Page 22
