by Thomas Fay
‘Fooled ya’ll before,’ the man said. His accent was noticeably different than when John had questioned him at the airport. It had a distinctly American twang to it.
‘Socrates, restrain him,’ John said.
His partner moved forwards. The man smiled. He lifted his left hand, revealing a compact handgun. John watched the weapon in slow motion as the man pulled the trigger. A single gunshot exploded in the confined space between the trucks as Socrates staggered backwards.
‘No!’
Thirty-Three
Raising his weapon, John pulled the trigger. The TK-900 Sentinel-issue rapid-fire handgun reacted instantly, unleashing half-a-dozen rounds in under a second. All six polycarbonate-coated high-velocity rounds found their target. The rogue agent crumpled to the ground.
John withdrew his phone and hit the emergency call button.
‘This is John Tesh, Sentinel, ID Alpha-101. Requesting immediate medical assistance at the—’
A hand closed around John’s shoulder causing him to drop his phone. It clattered to the ground and came to rest near one of the truck’s oversized tyres.
‘There is no need for that, John,’ Socrates said.
He appeared completely unharmed despite the bullet hole in his black shirt, in the centre of his chest. John fell back a step. He brought his handgun to bear on his partner.
‘Are you alright, John?’ Socrates asked.
John eyed his partner critically. The pieces finally slotted into place in his head: never blinked; fast, really, really fast; didn’t eat, didn’t drink; never got tired and now … had survived a bullet to the chest. He reached the only logical conclusion, despite how improbable it seemed.
‘You’re not human, are you?’ John asked.
Socrates shook his head.
‘No, John. While my exterior was designed to look like you, I am not like you.’
‘What are you?’
‘I am a synthetic life form, an android. Beneath this polycarbonate exterior is an alloy endoskeleton powered by a Flux Cell.’
John slowly lowered his handgun.
‘The Chief knew, didn’t he?’
‘Of course. I made it very clear what I was when I reported for duty at Sentinel HQ. The Chief, however, decided not to tell you. He, in fact, ordered me not to tell you. I do not understand why.’
John stared at Socrates for another sixty seconds. Then, holstering his handgun, he said, ‘At least that explains a lot. Like how I survived that car explosion. You pulled me clear, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, John. I was able to get you far enough away from the vehicle to prevent permanent damage.’
John nodded, his eyes staring at the Rainmaker’s fallen operative. One down. Four to go. His gaze travelled to Socrates. While his partner was not what he had expected, he was also not the fifth operative. Which meant they were still out there.
‘This opens up a lot of possibilities,’ John said.
‘What do you mean, John?’ Socrates asked.
‘I have plausible information that the people behind this are a highly trained and effective team of foreign operatives. They know we’re onto them. I suspect it won’t take them long to realise one of their operatives has been killed.’
‘I still fail to understand your meaning.’
‘They know the Sentinels and the Ruling Council are after them.’
‘I don’t see how this helps us?’
John smiled. For the first time since this had all started, he was beginning to see clearly.
‘What they don’t know is that they’re also being hunted by an android. That’s going to make things very interesting. For them.’
John picked up his phone. Miraculously the screen had survived. He found the number he wanted and hit dial. Fernali picked up on the second ring.
‘You alright?’ Fernali asked.
John looked at Socrates. His partner stood perfectly still. Now that he knew what he was, John could see the small tell-tale signs he’d missed before; Socrates’s breathing pattern never changed, he never blinked and even his hair appeared to be arranged the same way all the time.
‘Yes. One casualty. We need to get the body back to HQ and search him thoroughly. You close?’
‘Outside the distribution centre. Should we come in?’
‘Give me a minute to arrange access for you. We’re in the south-east corner, first row of trucks.’
‘On our way.’
John ended the call. He scrolled back to Councillor Green’s number and pressed dial. She answered on the first ring.
‘Yes?’
‘I need to arrange access to the distribution centre for two more Sentinels. Michael Fernali and James Streeter, they’re out the front.’
‘What happened?’
‘We confronted one of the operatives who was receiving hacked information from my phone. We had no choice but to use lethal force. The operative was killed. We’re going to take his body back to Sentinel HQ to see what we can learn.’
There was a momentary silence.
‘Alright, I’ve cleared the other Sentinels to access the facility and assist you. And John … ?’
‘Yes?’
‘You need to hurry. The UN Security Council meeting is tomorrow morning.’
‘I’m working on it.’
Thirty-Four
It took Fernali and Streeter five minutes to reach them. Both Sentinels were breathing heavily and perspiring freely in the heat of the summer sun. They found John and Socrates going through the rogue agent’s clothes, searching for clues. John straightened up when they arrived. He winced as his bruised body protested against the sudden movement. Fernali took in the scene with the trained eye of someone who had done this countless times before. He turned to John.
‘You don’t look so good. You should go back to HQ and let medical take a look at you,’ Fernali said.
‘No time,’ John said. He reached down and picked up the rogue agent’s phone. Turning around, he looked at Socrates.
‘What can you do with this?’ John asked.
Socrates took the phone. He stared at it intently. His eyes suddenly blurred.
‘I have established a link with this unit. Tracing its last calls.’
Fernali’s eyes opened wide as Streeter fell back a step. Drawing his weapon, the young Sentinel pointed it at Socrates.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ he demanded.
John held his hand up.
‘Streeter, it’s okay. Just let me explain—’
‘Explain? What the hell was that? And … wait, is that a bullet hole. He’s been shot!’
John knew Fernali, knew the man would trust him. Streeter was a different story. He was young and he was relatively new. He realised there was an easy way to resolve this.
‘Socrates?’
‘Yes, John?’
‘Can you disarm Streeter? Don’t hurt him.’
Before John had even finished speaking, Socrates was moving. Fast. So fast that Streeter didn’t even manage to blink before Socrates had disarmed him. The young Sentinel fell back a step.
‘Care to explain, John?’ Fernali asked.
‘It seems the Chief has been holding out on us. Socrates is more than he seems. Much, much more. He’s an android. A … what did you call it? Synthetic endoskeleton powered by a Flux Cell.’
‘You’re joking, right?’ Fernali asked.
‘Afraid not. I’ve watched him take a bullet to the chest at point blank range. I’ve seen him move so fast the holoprojector refresh rate couldn’t keep up with him. And I’ve witnessed him hack into a Ruling Council UAV.’
Fernali considered his words. Shaking his head, he said, ‘Just when I thought I’d seen it all. So where did he come from?’
‘I do not know who created me or for what purpose. I only know that I was meant to report to the Sentinels for duty and explain what I was to your Chief,’ Socrates said.
‘Interesting,’ Fernali said.
‘Yes, but
we don’t have time for that right now. We need to use the advantage we have to track down these rogue operatives and figure out who’s behind this,’ John said. ‘Socrates, what have you found?’
Socrates’s eyes blurred again as he re-established the interface with the telephone he still held in his right hand. His left held Streeter’s rapid-fire handgun.
‘I have identified a recurring number which has both called and been dialled from this phone. It is a private number, heavily encrypted, but I believe I can trace it back to where the last call was made.’
John watched his partner closely. The revelation about Socrates answered some questions but it also posed many others. He would have to sit down with the Chief. There was a lot to discuss.
‘Anything?’ John asked.
‘One moment … yes, I have traced the call. It originated from the Intercontinental Hotel in the Iona CBD.’
‘The Intercontinental? Isn’t that where all the UN delegates are staying?’ Fernali asked.
‘Yes. I think we’re finally getting somewhere,’ John said.
‘Why?’
‘Because at least two of these rogue operatives are working for the UN. I suspect it’s a cover to allow them access to Iona. I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever is directing them is also here for the UN Security Council meeting.’
‘UN Security Council meeting? You’d better fill us in,’ Fernali said.
‘I will, later,’ John said. ‘Socrates, can you locate the phone once we’re in the hotel?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Let’s go. Can you two clean this up and get this guy back to HQ?’
Fernali nodded.
‘Go, we got this. Fill us in later.’
‘Will do. Socrates, give Streeter his gun back.’
The android reversed his grip on the weapon and handed it to Streeter, who reluctantly reached out and took it. His eyes never left Socrates as he checked the safety and holstered it.
‘Thanks,’ Streeter said.
Socrates said nothing as he followed John back through the distribution centre.
Thirty-Five
The city of Iona, formerly Sydney, was originally founded in 1788 as a penal colony. Although a relatively young city, it had grown significantly during its 256-year history. The riots of the Global Energy Crisis caused considerable destruction to the CBD and well-known landmarks. The annexation of the city by the Iona Corporation in 2039 and the subsequent influx of Iona technology and funds saw the city prosper and continue to grow. The skyscrapers in the CBD stood testament to that. They towered above John and Socrates as they exited the Eastern Distributor tunnel onto Shakespeare Place on the edge of the CBD.
‘What is all this?’ John exclaimed as he slammed the brakes on. Cars were backed up along Macquarie Street as uniformed police officers directed traffic.
‘I believe the traffic is the result of the closure of city streets in preparation for the UN meeting tomorrow morning,’ Socrates said.
‘This is going to make things interesting.’
John reached for his phone. He hit the speed dial for Sentinel HQ. The call was answered on the second ring. John identified himself according to protocol.
‘What do you need, Tesh?’ the operator asked.
‘The Chief.’
‘Patching you through now.’
There was a momentary silence.
‘Tesh? Where are you?’ the Chief demanded.
‘Stuck in traffic on the edge of the CBD. Socrates and I are following a solid lead but we’ve run into a bit of a traffic jam, literally.’
‘What do you need?’
‘To get to the Intercontinental Hotel.’
‘That’s going to be difficult, given all of the UN delegates are inside. It’s locked down tighter than Fort Knox.’
John grinned at the mention of the former gold depository.
‘Can you get us clearance, no questions asked?’
The Chief grunted.
‘You’d better be right about this, Tesh.’
‘I am. Trust me.’
‘I’ve heard that before. Alright, park your car and proceed on foot. I’ll make sure you can clear all the relevant checkpoints.’
‘Thanks, Chief.’
‘And Tesh?’
‘Yes, Chief?’
‘Diplomatically.’
John laughed as the Chief hung up. He turned his indicator on and inched across the traffic to the parking spaces on the side of the road. Pulling over, he switched the engine off. Turning to Socrates, he said, ‘Let’s go.’
****
They reached the Macquarie Street entrance to the Intercontinental Hotel after clearing two security checkpoints. A pair of police officers in full riot gear stood next to the side entrance. The closest one held up his hand when they approached.
‘Halt, this is a restricted area.’
‘I know. John Tesh, Sentinel, ID Alpha-101.’
The officer checked his handheld computer. He looked at John. His gaze travelled to Socrates. Finally, he motioned them through.
‘You’re clear. Proceed through the cortile and you’ll reach the main elevators.’
‘Understood.’
John and Socrates walked through the open door. They found themselves inside the old Treasury building part of the hotel. The low decorative ceiling was supported by narrow columns, while a series of large archways showcased the original brickwork. A number of hotel patrons sat in dark-green high back chairs, reminiscent of the mad hatter’s tea party. Ignoring them, they passed through the archway at the far end into the cortile, the main courtyard linking the nineteenth century building with the late twentieth century part of the hotel.
‘Are you still tracking the source phone?’ John asked.
‘Yes. We are very close. That telephone is definitely in this building,’ Socrates said.
John was about to ask how Socrates was able to track a phone but decided against it. He wouldn’t understand the technical details and it was irrelevant. The fact that Socrates could do something that would normally require a lab full of techs made him an incredible field asset. Walking down a series of steps, John absently admired the meticulously restored parts of the hotel, including the original cage lift which had been relocated to the north-west corner of the courtyard. They reached the modern lobby of the hotel where they were confronted by two more armed police officers. Identifying themselves, they were allowed access to the lifts.
‘Which floor?’ John asked. They were standing inside one of the hotel lifts.
‘One moment,’ Socrates said. His eyes blurred. ‘Fifteen.’
John reached out and pressed the button. The lift doors closed and they ascended. John checked his handgun. Socrates stood perfectly still. The doors opened. The corridor was empty.
‘Which way?’ John asked.
‘Second door on the right. The telephone is inside.’
‘Follow me.’
They reached the door marked 1505. The plaque beneath the door number read: Executive Suite. Socrates positioned himself on the side of the door. John reached out and knocked. Once. Twice.
The door opened.
‘What are you doing here?’ John exclaimed.
Thirty-Six
The woman who opened the door was in her late twenties. She was dressed in an expensive tailored suit, navy blue in colour, with a white shirt. The top two buttons on her shirt were open. Her hair was long and blond, her eyes clear blue. Her expression was one of surprise.
‘John?’ she asked.
‘Lauren. What are you doing here?’ John asked.
‘Working. What’re you doing?’
‘The same. Is there anyone else in the room with you?’
‘Yes. I—’
‘Lauren, is there a problem?’ an unfamiliar voice interrupted them. An older woman, dressed in a black suit with a pale-blue shirt, stepped into the living room from the adjoining bedroom. Her voice had a strong accent. It reminded John of Lauren’s moth
er, so he automatically assumed she was from one of the Scandinavian countries.
‘No, Madam Ambassador. These men are Sentinels. I’m sure this is a routine matter,’ Lauren said, her voice taking on a distinct edge.
John cast a guarded glance at Socrates. The android nodded. The source telephone was in the room.
‘Madam Ambassador, my name is John Tesh. I’m with the Sentinels; this is my partner, Socrates. Forgive the intrusion but we need to search your room.’
‘Why?’
‘We have reason to believe there is a telephone in this room which was used to orchestrate several acts of sabotage across the city of Iona. May we have your permission to search your room?’
The ambassador smiled. It was a warm, inviting gesture. One that she had clearly honed through years of public service. It was designed to put people at ease. To make them trust her. To make them accept whatever she said.
‘I’m afraid my answer is no.’
‘Madam Ambassador, I really must insist.’
‘And I’m afraid that you have no jurisdiction here. I have complete diplomatic immunity, which extends to the contents of my room.’
John considered his options while Lauren glared at him. This was an unexpected turn of events. He could almost hear the Chief’s words telling him to handle things diplomatically. He decided to try a different tack.
‘Lauren, this is important,’ John said.
‘Don’t ask me to do this,’ Lauren said.
‘You know I wouldn’t normally but … they blew up my cruiser this morning. This has become very serious.’
Lauren’s eyes opened wider.
‘Oh my God, John. Are you alright?’ she asked.
‘I was lucky. It was close, too close. Which is why I need your help here.’
Lauren took a deep breath. She turned to the ambassador.
‘Madam Ambassador.’
‘Do you know this man?’ the ambassador asked.
‘Yes, unfortunately. He’s my husband.’
‘I assume he wouldn’t be asking this if it wasn’t important?’
