Killswitch

by Cliff Hedley

  Chase nodded. “Well, I’m game if you are. I’d be a very happy guinea pig.”

  “The good news is, it’s already a work in progress.” Carlton pushed back from his desk and wheeled over to a workbench on the far side of the room. There was a pile of tools, wiring and various gadgets there, along with two new prosthetic arms. They were in pieces, with wires running loose from them and still nowhere near finished but Chase headed straight over to take a closer look.

  “I’m going to seal the motors and circuitry as well, so you’ll be able to shower yourself. No swimming, though.”

  “It’s going to feel weird showering by myself again. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I might get lonely.”

  “I’m sure the nurses will thank me,” Carlton quipped back.

  “Ouch. OK, so what about the fingers? Will I be able to use touch devices?”

  “Yes. I’m going to rubberise the whole palm-side of your hands. That way, you should get an improved grip and you won’t get an electric shock if you come into contact with any kind of static electricity or circuit.”

  Chase thought about that for a moment. Zero capacitance. I could have used that a few months ago.

  “I’m also working on improving the weave itself. I’m pretty happy with the software, which is working nicely. What I’m aiming for is to get finer wiring on the weave, which gives us more accurate vectors for nerve-mapping. That in turn should help improve your fine motor control but the other thing I thought you might be interested in is that ultimately we might be able to give you feedback from sensors in your palm and fingers — make it a two-way street.”

  Chase imagined gripping his bokken, or a real katana and the way that the handle felt in his hands. He had no feedback as to how hard he was gripping it with his current prosthetics, whether he was crushing the handle or close to dropping it. That had proved frustrating.

  “Holy shit! You mean I could feel things through my hands?”

  Carlton laughed. “That’s the idea. I’m trying to get you as close as possible to your original level of sensation and movement. I think we can use the interface to send signals in both directions but I’m still figuring it out. In the interim, this gen-two set I’m working on should take care of the movement part.”

  “Wow. That’s cool. Thank you.” Chase was grinning widely in anticipation.

  “Thank you for being a good guinea pig. Don’t forget, it’s still going to be a long road but we’re in this together.”

  “Will that be all for now?” Jane interrupted.

  “Yes, thanks. I believe you have someone waiting for you, Chase.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Jane said. “I’ll take him up to find Grange now.”

  “Tell him from me he’s welcome to visit again but to please leave the SWAT team behind next time.”

  Jane chuckled. “Will do.”

  ***

  Chase and Jane found Grange in the middle of a swarm of Bomb Squad members and forensic technicians, standing in the hospital’s wrecked reception. He was issuing commands as they set about analysing the scene of the destroyed ambulance outside the front doors and the impact of the blast all around it. He nodded as they approached, indicating that it was safe to come over.

  “Hello Harris, Chase.”

  “Hello, Lieutenant,” Chase responded, curiosity in his tone.

  “I’ll leave you boys to it,” Jane said and headed to what was left of the reception counter to look for records of more patients to check on. Chase admired her drive. She knew that help was needed and went about her work full throttle.

  Chase turned his attention back to Grange. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes. I was thinking about your offer to help and I want to take it. I could use a fresh set of eyes here, especially if whoever is behind this is using the tricks from your old neighbourhood.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I agree with your assessment about this being an EFP. What I’m worried about is finding more. I was hoping you could tell me your standard operating procedure for finding these things and brief my team.”

  “I can do that.”

  Chase felt a strange kind of rush, one that he hadn’t felt since he was last on active duty. The day that he lost his hands and the little girl. It wasn’t necessarily a good rush, like some party drug. It was as if his senses had all become hyper-alert, ready to take on whatever was out there.

  “It’s pretty simple. We would ride around in convoy, usually with me in front, looking for anything suspicious. If I saw anything, I’d go disable it before we moved ahead. I’d suggest that’s where we start — clearing the streets. Next, I’d go out on foot to clear the areas we can’t get to by car, like Central Park. There’s a hell of a lot of places to plant EFPs and IEDs in this city. Every manhole cover or piece of steel sheet on the roads or sidewalk could be used as a pressure trigger. Every tourist spot would have hundreds of civilian targets. The subway could be taken down with one or two backpacks. Any car or bus could have a bomb on board, maybe without the driver knowing. Frankly, sir, it scares the shit out of me.”

  “Me too, Chase. But I like your idea of a road patrol for starters. We’ve already been sweeping the Park. Nothing’s turned up there yet but it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. We just don’t have the people to patrol every inch of the park, let alone the whole of Manhattan. As for the subway, we’ve stepped up camera surveillance and officers are stationed at the major stops. Needless to say, the airspace around the city is locked down pretty tight. I think if they were going to hit us again, the streets would be the easiest target for them and the hardest for us to stop.”

  Chase sighed. “Agreed.”

  “I’m going to head back to the precinct. Would you mind riding along with me and giving a briefing there?”

  “No problem.” Both battery indicators on his arms were still in the green, so he had plenty of power left. He looked at his track pants and slightly sweaty T-shirt, raising an eyebrow at Grange.

  As if reading his mind, Grange said, “Don’t worry. It’s your brains I’m after, not your beauty.”

  Chase followed Grange to one of the Bomb Squad vans. Grange picked up the radio mounted on the dashboard and keyed the mic. “This is Grange. Heading back to the precinct now. I want all available personnel back in twenty for a briefing. The uniforms have the scene for now.”

  The big motor underneath them roared into life, reminding Chase for a moment of being in the front seat of Roadrunner One. Grange was focused on driving. Clearly he had seen plenty of action like this in his time. Chase wondered if he was ex-military, or what had led him into this line of work. He decided it was a question for another day. Right now, his main priority was to scan the road ahead and not get blown up. No time like the present to get back in the habit.

  A minute or two had passed as the armoured van rumbled up the road when Grange was first to break the silence. “Are you doing it now?”

  “Scanning the road? Yes.” His eyes never stopped moving, even as he spoke.

  Grange chuckled. “Me too.”

  “I heard your guys were some of the best around.”

  “They are.”

  “So why do you need me?”

  “I believe that humility in our line of work can save lives. I tell my team that they should never be afraid to get a fresh perspective. These are people that are trained in all the same ways you are. We have the best tech around and the same suits as you had in the Army. That said, my people are more used to identifying civilian-style guerrilla attacks. Terrorists with backpacks. What you have is fresh military experience and a perpetrator with an MO you may have seen before.”

  “I really hope not. About it being the same MO, I mean.”

  “If not, it’s the same kind of training. I’ve seen the videos that the insurgents in Afghan and Iraq
use for their own training. They even had their own top-five videos of IED hits on US military vehicles.”

  “Yeah,” Chase sighed. “I saw that too.”

  “Which makes me wonder if they’ll be doing the same thing here.”

  “Recording it, you mean?”

  “Exactly. After this one I expect Homeland and the FBI will be all over it. They’ve probably already started looking at local surveillance cameras to see what they can pick up. It’s pretty easy to film anything with a phone these days but if we can spot someone filming ahead of time, whether or not it’s the same person setting up the device, that would be a fairly strong indicator of prior knowledge.”

  “Surely they won’t be so dumb as to stand out in the open when they do it? Some of the work I’ve seen is downright evil but certainly not stupid. Hell, they pulled one over on me once and look at the result.” Chase lifted his hands to reinforce his point.

  “I don’t think these people are stupid,” Grange responded. “Anything but. We might get lucky is all I’m saying. You never know when a hidden shop-security camera, or ATM footage will catch someone out. These days, there are cameras everywhere. I can’t say I like the implications of that on our freedom but it sure as shit gets us the odd lucky break in law enforcement.”

  “Point noted.”

  Grange turned into a brick building with an open garage door and parked the van. The first thing Chase noticed was the smell. Not bad but that earthy smell all old brick buildings had. It was kept tidy and they were standing in what was clearly a secure off-street parking area.

  Grange led Chase up a set of stairs towards what looked like office space, or maybe an operations room. “You want to grab a coffee while we wait for the rest of the team to get back?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I hope you like it strong. The team here generally like it the consistency of crude oil.”

  Chase laughed. “There’s no other way to have it.”

  He followed Grange into the kitchen and took a seat while Grange messed around finding mugs and pouring two large helpings. There was no earthy brick smell here, just the strong scent of coffee filling the room as it bubbled and hissed away on a large percolator.

  “How do you have it?”

  “Just black, thanks.”

  “Good man. That always been the case, or did the Army form the habit?”

  “You sound like you speak from experience. Yes, I had it with milk and sugar once upon a time but when those are in short supply, or the milk won’t keep, you learn to appreciate it straight. After a while I tried to go back but I can’t stand the taste of either milk or sugar in it now.”

  Grange chuckled. “You picked it. Same story for me.”

  Outside there was the roar of another engine as a second Bomb Squad van entered the parking bay. Grange tilted his head slightly and nodded towards the door. “Sounds like the rest of the team are getting back. We’ll have enough time to finish these up before we go do the briefing.” He stared into his coffee for a minute, occasionally stopping to take a sip and breathing in the strong aroma. “I’m trying to wrap my head around the motive here,” he said. “But the ‘why’ question generally comes back to a tit-for-tat, if you’re right about this being a foreign operative. We’ve been in their home town blowing stuff up, so they come and do it to us.”

  Chase shrugged. “Yes and no. Sometimes I found it wasn’t the locals we were fighting but insurgents from all over who had come out of their way to fight.”

  “Either way, they felt strongly enough to go out of their way to pick that fight. Revenge, religious idealism, money — there’s always a reason.”

  “True that.”

  “So why here, why now?”

  “Maybe bringing the attack back to our soil. I guess if you were going to bring terror to the States, you’d target one of the most sensitive spots for us. Nobody in this country will forget nine-eleven and most people in this city lived through it. So even a smaller attack, or series of attacks, will put that fear back into people. It will have the desired effect far more quickly, because while New Yorkers are tough, they also have long memories. What we end up with is tension. The problem is, I’m not sure if that’s what they want, or if they’re building up to a much bigger end game.”

  Grange took a long sip. “Let’s hope not. But what if they want to step it up, from guerrilla tactics, to the big leagues. How would they inflict maximum casualties?”

  Chase thought for a moment. “I’ve always tried to put myself in the mind of the other guys. Asked myself where they would plant a device, how they would target me.” He took a sip of coffee. “If I was building up to something bigger, I’d be doing exactly what they’ve done already. Create fear. Start small, build uncertainty and slowly dial up the tension. If I can do that, I can start to change people’s behaviour. The way they move around the city, the way they look at each other. I could start to influence their movements, then I could start to herd them to where I wanted them.”

  “Like cattle.”

  “Exactly.”

  Done with their coffee, they walked along a corridor towards what looked like a large tactical briefing room. It was already full of New York’s finest. They stopped their chatter as soon as Grange walked into the room. Chase felt a few curious stares pass his way, both at the inclusion of a stranger in their midst and at his titanium arms.

  Grange walked to a lectern set up at the front. He motioned to Chase to follow him, so Chase took a position off to his side, while everyone else took their seats and waited for Grange to begin.

  “Thanks everyone for getting back here so quickly.” He looked at one of the men in the front row. “Do the uniforms have the scene locked down?”

  “Yes, sir, tight as a drum and the CSIs are all over it.”

  Grange nodded his approval. “I don’t need to tell you that we may be under attack. The Central Park bomb and the Veterans Hospital may only be the beginning. I hope like hell that the two were just coincidence but I’ve been around long enough to know better. Now if this does start to look like the work of terrorists, we need to be the front line of defence. I don’t have to tell you that Homeland and the FBI are already starting to get their backs up but until such a time as the National Guard gets called in to secure the streets, it’s up to us. The Park bomb could have been an amateur attempt and any disgruntled farmer or angry teenager could have put that together. But what we saw at the hospital was an EFP array. That’s not amateur-hour stuff. We also have a credible witness who not only saw it moments before the explosion but also the detonation and aftermath close-up. This is Master Sergeant Chase, US Army EOD.”

  Grange gestured towards Chase, who solemnly nodded to the assembled room full of people. “I’ve asked Master Sergeant Chase here not only because he was close to the blast but because he has recent combat experience in dealing with a range of devices, including EFPs. If we are in fact dealing with a string of terrorist attacks, he can give us a fresh update on operational tactics and what to watch out for. Like I always say, arrogance gets you killed. We should never be afraid to ask for fresh perspectives and outside expert advice. Master Sergeant, please fill us in.”

  Chase stepped forward. “Hello, everyone. Please feel free to call me Chase. I am recently retired as an EOD.” He held his hands up for effect. It was beginning to be a running joke, although not a very funny one.

  “My retirement was obviously not my choice but I have seen very recent action in Afghanistan. I approached the NYPD when I noticed that the profile of the Central Park detonation was more like a bomb than a gas leak. Then I was on the scene when the ambulance at the Veterans Hospital was hit by the EFP array. I did my best to stop it but I was too late. Needless to say, I take this very seriously and very personally. That hospital, for better or worse, is my home.

  “My message to you today is around tactical awaren
ess. This recent activity is beginning to look like the same kind of work as the insurgents I saw in Afghan. If that is the case, we may have a terrorist or cell of terrorists operating in New York capable of deploying a wide range of devices. The most recent activity I saw almost looked like they were testing us. Every device we came across was different. IEDs, EFPs, and even civilians rigged with vests. If I’m right and the worst-case scenario is in play here, there will be devices hidden in major thoroughfares. I’m talking busy streets, pedestrian walkways, anywhere they can expect people and vehicles to be.

  “The trick I used in Afghan was pretty simple — go the long way around. Avoid the obvious route. That won’t work in a city. Potentially every manhole cover, steel plate or fire hydrant could conceal a triggered device of some kind, ready for the next person or vehicle to move over or past it.

  “The next trick when in a vehicle convoy was to scan the road for anything — and I do mean anything — that could conceal an explosive device. We had to be hyper-vigilant. There is no such thing as pedantic here. A slightly different-coloured patch of dirt on the road could spell death. Any slight discolouration or bulge in a wall. That’s how I spotted the EFP at the hospital.”

  He scanned the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “You’re probably wondering about these.” He held his hands up again. “I have survived and disarmed hundreds of devices. This time, the other guys got the better of me. They were smart. They took out my PackBot first, so I had to go in by hand to disarm anything I found. I could still use Bottlers, so that was OK. Then they adapted again. They strapped a little girl with a harness and white phosphor.”

  He heard a couple of people suck in their breath. “They had adapted again. I thought I could help her and almost had her out of the vest. Disabled what I thought were all the backup triggers. One thing I hadn’t counted on was a capacitance switch. Just like a bedside lamp. They had a hidden circuit which was triggered when I touched the inside of the vest to take it off her. Maybe I was distracted, trying to handle it in the middle of a firefight. Maybe that was their plan. So for God’s sake, wear your gloves. Even if it means you lose some of your feeling. The girl got vaporised and so did my hands. My suit saved the rest of me. The point is, you can’t be too careful — these guys are a real threat.”