Danger Close

by James P. Sumner

  “Why is that clear?” asked Rutherford, genuinely curious.

  Buchanan shrugged. “A single gunshot was perfectly timed so as to take advantage of four individuals being lined up in the crosshairs. That’s almost inhuman precision. Whoever pulled the trigger was an expert at the top of their game.”

  Rutherford frowned. “And how, exactly, can one bullet kill four people, Mr. Buchanan? I’m no… expert, as you put it, but surely, bullets stop when they hit something?”

  Again, Buchanan took a moment to measure his response. He was keen to not give anything away before he has any real answers.

  “It appeared the shooter was using advanced weapons technology,” he explained. “A form of munitions we haven’t seen before. It was able to do the level of damage we all saw on TV.”

  A low murmur of disapproval and concern rippled around the table. Buchanan quietly watched the men and women of the security council whisper among themselves.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please,” said Rutherford firmly.

  The chatter died down.

  He looked at Buchanan. “What, exactly, is the point of paying GlobaTech to do a job they have just admitted they are unprepared and ill-equipped to carry out?”

  Buchanan frowned. “I don’t recall admitting anything to that effect, sir.”

  “Mr. Buchanan, a world leader died while under your protection, via weaponry that, by your own admission, is more advanced than anything GlobaTech has ever seen. GlobaTech not only has the largest private military force in the world but is also widely-regarded as the world’s leading manufacturer and developer of weapons and technology. Mr. Buchanan, allow me to put this to you another way: if something like this could happen on your watch, what hope does anyone else have?”

  Buchanan shifted in his seat again. He was uncomfortable, jet-lagged, and smart enough to see the situation was getting away from him.

  “Mr. Rutherford, sir… GlobaTech has a presence in Paluga in a private capacity. We were hired by President Herrera himself. We were not acting on behalf of the United Nations, nor in the official capacity of Peacekeepers. I understand the consequences of what has happened and the ramifications of it. But this is still, technically, a private matter for GlobaTech to resolve. We are, of course, liaising with the Palugan military where necessary, but I fail to see why the security council feel inclined to get involved. To put it another way, sir: we were working on our own dime, not yours.”

  Rutherford smiled politely. He took no pleasure in his approach and felt sympathy toward Buchanan and GlobaTech. But he knew he must act with no emotion, no agenda, and with only the best interests of the U.N. in mind.

  “Mr. Buchanan, I understand the point you’re trying to make. I do. But understand that we would look to control the situation when any world leader died, regardless of how or why. Also, I would argue you were only approached by the Palugan government because of the position you hold on behalf of the U.N. The position your company is paid significantly for. So, by association, GlobaTech’s failure impacts the reputation of the United Nations. If the world begins to question its collective faith in our abilities, we must question our faith in yours.”

  Buchanan sat straight in his chair and rubbed a hand firmly over his face. “Mr. Rutherford, members of the security council… forgive my abruptness, but can you please get to why you really summoned me here? I have other matters that require my attention.”

  Rutherford remained patient. He chose to overlook Buchanan’s sharp tone, although his reply was equally spoken with a razor’s edge.

  “I’m sure you do, Mr. Buchanan. The main focus of this meeting was to establish what happened in Paluga and what GlobaTech’s involvement was in the tragic events. Now we know.” He shuffled the papers in front of him together and clasped his hands on top of them. “Mr. Buchanan, with immediate effect, GlobaTech Industries will no longer act as the Peacekeepers of these United Nations. The contract is hereby terminated and the funding pulled. The duty to uphold peace on a global scale will once again fall to our own security force, which will, as before, comprise of men and women put forward by the member nations.”

  Buchanan nodded slowly. It was as he had feared.

  “Furthermore,” continued Rutherford. “We will—”

  “I’m… I’m sorry,” said Buchanan, cutting him off. “This wasn’t on us. No one—not the Palugan military, the old U.N. Peacekeepers, even the United States military—could have done anything differently. Somebody wanted President Herrera dead. Nothing was going to stop that. There was no intel, no chatter, nothing that suggested such an attempt would be made on his life. This is a gross over-reaction on behalf of this council. I say that with the utmost respect, but it’s true. You’re panicking and trying to put out the first fire you’ve come across without looking at the full blaze.”

  “Mind your tone, Mr. Buchanan,” a woman to his right said sternly. “You’re concerned about nothing more than your company’s reputation, just as we have to be concerned with ours.”

  He turned to address her. “We’ve done our fair share for this world. I like to think we’ve earned the benefit of the doubt. I’m not concerned with my company’s reputation.”

  “Well, we are,” said Rutherford. “Your company, your logo, and your people are all over every news channel in the world. And the first thing anyone says when mentioning GlobaTech is to refer to them as U.N. Peacekeepers. You look bad, so we look bad.”

  Buchanan scoffed. “So, you’re essentially firing us as a PR stunt? Jesus Christ…”

  “You’ve been warned previously about your tone, Mr. Buchanan, and now I’m warning you. Do not speak out of turn again.”

  Buchanan held up a hand in silent apology.

  Rutherford continued. “This isn’t a PR stunt, as you put it. This is the right thing to do to help restore faith in our organization. As is this: we are recommending to the office of the U.S. president that your government launches an investigation into GlobaTech Industries and that yourself and your board of directors are brought before a Senate hearing.”

  Buchanan leapt to his feet. “On what grounds?”

  “To answer for violations of competition laws and concerns about monopoly of industry, Mr. Buchanan. GlobaTech has had free reign to do whatever it pleases without restriction or culpability for too long. You have grown too big to be controlled or policed by your own country, and your arrogance has led to a prominent world leader being murdered in their own country while under your protection. No corporate entity should have as much power, influence, and freedom as your company does, and the United Nations will strongly urge your government to stop that.”

  Buchanan shook his head with disbelief. “This is… this is insane! How can you even…”

  He began pacing back and forth in front of the horseshoe table, clenching his fists to both express his frustration and manage his anger.

  Rutherford got to his feet. The rest of the council followed suit.

  “Mr. Buchanan, this meeting is over. I suggest you take the first flight to Washington. You should expect a call from the United States Justice Department in the morning.”

  The council members began to file out of the room, brushing past Buchanan. He stood rooted to the spot, speechless and shocked. He had been completely blindsided. He had suspected GlobaTech could be in trouble in the aftermath of the Palugan shooting. But this…

  He shook his head and reached for his phone. He had to let his team know. GlobaTech wasn’t going to just be shut down. They were about to be dissected.

  11

  The day had started out hot in southern California. Julie and Collins walked across the graveled and dusty compound. Their tops, already dark with sweat, clung to their bodies.

  Julie checked her watch. “Moses should be in his meeting now.”

  Collins shook his head disapprovingly. “How do ya think it’s going?”

  “I have no idea. He’ll call if he needs to. We have more pressing matters to attend to.�
��

  “Aye, this damn bullet kept me awake all night.”

  Julie grunted. “Yeah, same here. As if there wasn’t enough going on to keep us awake as it is.”

  They paused as a transport vehicle passed by. Overhead, a chopper emblazoned with the GlobaTech logo swooped down from behind the bordering mountains toward a landing pad. Collins watched it until it disappeared from his sight.

  He cleared his throat as the noise died down. “So, ah… I’ve been meaning to ask ya, Jules… how are ya holding up?”

  Julie smiled to herself before turning to look at him. She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m doing fine, Ray. Thank you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I’m where I need to be. I’m concerned about everything that’s happening, and I’m obviously worried about Jericho, but I’m good. It’s my job to look out for you, remember?”

  He smiled. “Aye, but still… it ain’t just about the job, ya know? I’m looking out for ya because, well… ya know.”

  She smiled again, broader this time. “I know. I appreciate it.”

  “Plus, Jerry would kill me if I didn’t keep an eye on ya.”

  “Probably…”

  They looked at each other and laughed, sharing a moment of reprieve that was all too brief.

  They made it to the armory and headed inside, striding hastily toward the testing area.

  In the far-left corner, tucked away from the bustle and noise of the ranges and behind a partition, was Devon’s personal workspace. It was a ten-by-ten block of floorspace positioned against shelving units which were overflowing with spare parts. The shelves formed two of the four walls. Plywood painted metal-gray formed the third wall, completing the U-shaped structure.

  Devon was hunched over his desk, a laptop open beside him.

  Collins and Julie stopped outside, and Collins knocked on the wall.

  “How ya doing there, Dev, my old friend?” he said.

  Devon didn’t look up. “What time is it?”

  “Just after nine,” said Julie.

  “P.M?”

  “A.M.”

  He finally tore his attention away from his desk to look at them. “Really? It’s tomorrow already?”

  Collins frowned. “Have ya been here all night, ya mad bastard?”

  “I guess so.” He reached for a cup on his desk and chugged the contents. “Check this out.”

  He turned the laptop so that they could both see the screen. It displayed a 3D wireframe model of the bullet Jericho had sent them. It was broken down and separated into several different parts, all positioned to fit together but spaced out.

  Devon pointed at the screen. “So, I wasn’t too far off with my initial assessment yesterday. It functions like a normal round but actually has a microchip inside it.”

  “Do you know what for?” asked Julie.

  He shook his head. “Not exactly. However, I can hazard a guess.”

  He tapped quickly on the laptop keys, manipulating the model of the bullet to turn it around.

  “I was right about this being cutting edge propulsion technology. The microchip, I think, is what acts as the ripcord. It must be activated after the bullet is fired, either automatically or manually via a remote of some kind.”

  “Sweet Jesus…” muttered Collins.

  Julie stared at the bullet lying on the desk. It was split vertically in two. The edges were ragged.

  “Devon, we saw what that thing can do from a good shot,” she said. “But just how dangerous is it?”

  Devon let out a long, heavy sigh, like a mechanic working out a quote. “Without rigorous testing, I can’t be sure of its actual limitations, but I know one thing—ain’t no body armor in the world that could stop it.”

  “Are ya serious?” asked Collins, his eyes wide with shock.

  Devon nodded. “You have any idea how hard it was to break that sonofabitch open? It’s made from a complex alloy—part silver, part titanium, part graphene. I had to use a diamond drill bit just to make a dent.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Julie vacantly.

  “I honest to God wish it were, Miss Fisher. That bullet will only stop when it loses velocity and the laws of gravity take effect, like any bullet. Except, thanks to its microchip, it will take three or four times longer than a normal round for either of those things to happen. And even when they do… well… you’ve seen it yourself. The bullet stays intact. If these things ever make it onto the black market, they will change warfare forever.”

  Julie and Collins stared at each other. The horror on their faces was mirrored back to themselves.

  “We can’t let that happen,” said Julie. “We have to find who made it and who fired it.”

  “Well, that might be the only bit of good news I have for you,” said Devon. “Not taking into account the technology needed to actually make one of those things… the materials alone would mean each individual bullet would likely cost five or six thousand bucks.”

  Julie let out a low whistle. “Not exactly priced for mass production. I guess that is good news. Any ideas who made it?”

  Devon shook his head and sat down. He leaned back in his chair and rested a leg up on the corner of his desk. He picked up one half of the bullet and began spinning it around idly between his finger and thumb.

  “None,” he said. “And see, that’s the really strange thing about it.”

  “That’s the strange thing?” said Collins. “Not the fact it’s a near-mythical bullet seemingly forged in Satan’s armory?”

  Devon ignored him. “If I’d made that… if I had invented and created a bullet that was the single greatest step forward in munitions since the atomic bomb… I’d want everyone to know.”

  Julie frowned. “Really?”

  “Are you kidding? Not only would it make me rich beyond my wildest dreams, either legitimately or on the black market, but I’d be famous the world over. If I were the kind of person who would try to make something like that and actually succeed, I’d take out an ad on a billboard in Times Square.”

  “So, what’s that have to do with the bullet?”

  “Engineers sign their work. Even if it’s microscopic, they will leave a name or an ID number somewhere, so you know whose work you’re looking at. But that thing is so clean, it’s surgical.”

  Collins stroked his chin, feeling the coarse, two-day growth scratch against his palm. “So, what ya saying is, why would ya design something that would make ya rich, then not admit it?”

  “Exactly.”

  Julie paced away, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, we’ve hit a dead end with the bullet. What about the gun? Whatever fired that thing had to have been custom too, right?”

  Devon shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Again, I can’t even begin to imagine the tech needed to fire that bullet. It’s certainly way beyond anything we have here.”

  “What about anything ya got cookin’?” asked Collins. “Any top-secret R and D projects we don’t know about?”

  Devon looked at him, measuring his response. “We probably have several things in development that you don’t know about, Mr. Collins. If you don’t know what they are, that’s an intentional decision made way above my pay grade. But without getting myself fired, I can confirm nothing we’re working on is remotely close to this.”

  Collins nodded. “Fair enough, Dev.”

  Julie looked at Collins and nodded. Then she looked at Devon. “Thanks for this. Sorry it kept you awake all night.”

  He waved her comment away. “Been a long time since I had something this meaty to focus on. It’s fine.”

  “Keep working on it. Reverse engineer it as best you can. Just remember, no one knows we have that, and it needs to stay that way.”

  Devon nodded. “Of course.”

  “Take it easy, Dev,” said Collins.

  He and Julie turned and left, walking at a disillusioned amble across the testing range.

  “Now what, Boss Lady?” he as
ked as they approached the stairs.

  Julie sighed. “Now… I need a coffee.”

  12

  GlobaTech’s Santa Clarita compound was the size of a small town. As such, it had many of the same features—including accommodation, supermarkets, and coffee shops.

  Julie and Collins stood in the shade of a tree outside the on-site apartment complex where they both resided. They sipped coffee as they looked out at their own, private world unfolding around them.

  Collins looked at his plastic cup curiously before taking a sip. He wasn’t one for coffee, but Julie was buying, and he had never turned down a free drink in his life. It was strange, though. He knew it was supposed to be coffee, yet it tasted like ice cream.

  Beside him, Julie watched as he processed the vanilla latte and smiled to herself momentarily. She sipped her own drink and allowed her mind to wander. It danced around the plethora of problems she currently faced, trying to make sense of them. It drifted to Jericho, who was trapped thousands of miles away in a hostile environment. It rested on a memory of her father, whom she hadn’t had time to mourn.

  Collins sighed. A mixture of confusion and resignation. “Okay, Jules… what the hell am I drinking? Honestly.”

  “It’s a vanilla latte, dumbass,” she replied playfully.

  “Coffee shouldn’t taste like dessert. This is weird.”

  “Just put it in your face and stop moaning, will you?”

  He sighed again. “Fine.”

  Julie took out her phone and called a number from her contacts. She placed the phone to her ear as she leaned against the tree trunk.

  “Jerry?” asked Collins.

  “Moses,” she replied. “Hopefully. If the council meeting has lasted this long, no way is it good news.”

  “Aye…” muttered Collins. He paced away slowly, gazing around as he sipped more of his coffee.

  The call was answered.