Demon Accords 10: Rogues
Page 33
“They also found tracks similar to those produced by centipede drones. If you recall, we lost the entire supply of them after the Demidova attack,” Charlie said.
“The driver was carrying this picture on his body, and not a whole lot more besides weapons and a burner cell phone,” Mike said, handing the President a two-by-three-inch stained photo. The President recognized the subject.
“We think they were activated to snatch and grab the kid. Yet as soon as they began to move, they died to a man. Notice the photo, Mr. President. Taken by a 35mm camera and hand developed in a darkroom,” Mike said.
“Old school,” the President said.
“Old school is the only way to come at this. Let me lay it all out. Our killer grade-A program got schooled by a kid programmer. It became totally focused on that kid and the Demidova group. Then something else much bigger and badder killed it. Our nuclear weapons got locked out within hours of the events at Demidova tower. All the nuclear weapons in the world are likely in the same boat. The Chinese wanted this kid. Something rigged the New York City traffic system to take out their vehicle, then waited when they ran to the sewers. The driver’s body had a map of the local sewer manholes, so they likely had them marked for escape and evasion. The big baddie sent our own drones, which it now owns, to wipe them out, using their own escape plans against them.
“General Creek’s team ran into this kid in Maine. Seems he has a major hard-on for the girl werewolf, Reynolds. The kid, that is, not Tobias. One of the team got a facial recognition on the kid. Funny thing is the kid was on our watch list, but the speed with which alarms went off exceeded our protocols. By a lot. As if someone or something wanted senior officers to intervene before the situation could devolve.”
“During the mill episode, every drone in the area acted funny. Some of the reporters mentioned that the damned things seem to fly themselves, ignoring remote controls yet getting really amazing videos. Videos that show the kid and Reynolds in the best possible light. Then the Apache pilot pulled down on the kid. The entire avionics package, which was state-of-the-art and serviced two weeks prior, shit the bed. That happened at the exact moment the bird’s 30mm aimed at the kid.”
“You think they built a quantum computer and for some reason, it protects this kid?” the President asked.
“That’s our working hypothesis, but we don’t know. It’s impossible to guess what a true quantum computer would be like. How it would process data, how it would solve problems. Our best experts think quantum emergence is a singularity event. Something we can’t see past, something we can’t predict. We need more intelligence, more data, and this kid seems to be at the center of it. But if we learned anything from Anvil, we learned that drawing an AI’s attention is not healthy. And Anvil was somewhat protective of our own assets, which is logical. How would a quantum intelligence view its creators or programmers? Let me show you one more thing,” Charlie said, nodding to Donlon. The other man pulled a small battery-powered projector from a bag, strung film, and played it against the vault’s wall.
“The gunner was wearing a GoPro on his helmet. Completely isolated from any networks or Wi-fi. We had it copied to analog film. There’s no sound, but I’d direct you to observe the boy’s mouth. Here is where the engines cut out. See? He says something. A second later, the engines restart,” Charlie said.
“What did he say? I assume your people figured it out?” the President asked.
“He says no omega,” Charlie replied.
“Omega?” the President questioned.
“We think it’s the quantum computer. We’ve managed to get a few people into the Demidova tower lately. No electronic surveillance seems to work there, yet a few of them heard the name Omega spoken once or twice. Mostly by the IT people.”
“He told it no and it restarted the helicopter’s engines? It listens to him?” the President asked.
“That’s our working theory,” Charlie said.
The President turned to Nathan Stewart. “This kid goes to your school, right?”
“Sir, in a very real manner, the school was started for this kid. Gordon and Demidova first met him the same night I did—the night Gordon bombed New Hampshire. They came to me soon after and proposed funding a special school. They wanted Declan, and his girlfriend at the time, to go to it. They were mostly hands off, but Gordon insisted on hand-picking the boy’s roommate and deliberately surrounded him with the people who are now his closest friends. Sir, say what you want about Gordon, but he seems to have a sixth sense about people. Declan is near the top of his list,” Stewart said.
“So what’s our angle? Threaten the girlfriend? Pressure his family?” the President asked.
“Mr. President, you rarely take my advice on these things, but I would implore you to not make the same mistakes twice. If you push this kid, he will return the push with interest. And not only is it possible that he has more control over the country’s nuclear arsenal than we do, but he is a significant power in his own right. In the witch world, he’s a heavyweight. I watched the footage in the mill, sir. In my opinion, we could have stood back and let the kid and Miss Reynolds clean it out by themselves. A highly effective combat team, those two.”
“No sir, we need to come at this from a much different direction. He’s intelligent and extremely wary. He doesn’t trust easily, he doesn’t forgive, and he always gets better than even,” Stewart said.
“I don’t love your tone, Nathan, but consider the point made. What’s our angle?”
“Sir, we need to infiltrate his group, befriend him. It’s going to take a very special asset to pull this off, but I believe that Michael here found just the person,” Stewart said, reaching into a briefcase and pulling out a folder. He chuckled. “Luckily, I’ve never really left old school behind,” he said, handing the folder to the President, who perused its contents.
“Brilliant. Kind of an underdog, though? And he’s apparently attached pretty strongly to his friends and that Reynolds girl,” President Garth said.
“Yes sir. Declan has a weakness for underdogs, and we aren’t trying to supplant any of the friends, just plant our own. We need intelligence, we need to make friends with him. I would suggest dropping any idea of charges, returning his and her gear, and maybe even publicly acknowledging their bravery. I’m told that the other kids at the school were pretty impressed with what they saw on the news. They have a saying: Never attack a witch in her own home. Declan and Stacia did that against a prepared witch and a pack of weres. Acknowledging their skill can’t hurt. Sir, consider this. If that computer is protecting him and it controls the world’s nuclear stockpile, we don’t have to worry about attack as long as he’s here among us.”
The President of the United States stood stock still, face frozen in the harsh light of the hissing propane lanterns. Finally, he nodded. “You may be right, Nathan. I’ll grant you things haven’t worked out with Gordon and Demidova. We’ll try things your way. But if we don’t get results, we’ll have to reevaluate.”
“Yes sir.”
“Alright. What are we going to call this mess?” the President asked.
“We’re thinking about Project Brutus,” Charlie suggested. “As in Marcus Brutus.”
“No man too powerful and all that? Good enough. Project Brutus it is,” the President agreed.
“We have a protocol written up, sir. We refer to the subject as the Kid. No names, nothing on electronic media of any kind. No subordinates except the asset’s handler. Nothing to be mentioned out loud. If any of you talk in your sleep, it’s time to wire your mouths shut,” Charlie said, looking around.
“Mention what out loud, Charlie? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Very good, Mr. President. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank me with results, gentlemen. Put this country back on top.”
“Yes sir.”
Epilogue
One month after the mill assault.
Los Vegas, Nevada
The club was pretty much flooded with customers from the time it opened at four p.m. till it shut down at seven a.m. Aaron Rider, the club’s owner, made more money in a week from his scantily clad dancers’ activities than the next three biggest strip clubs combined.
Part of his success was his hands-on approach. He personally interviewed and auditioned every dancer, DJ, bouncer, and bartender. No detail was too small for his attention. It helped that he was, by nature, ruthless and amoral.
“Aaron, there’s a girl here who wants to audition,” his personal bodyguard, Clark, told him as he strode back from checking the liquor inventories.
“Auditions are always scheduled, Clark. You know that?” he asked, puzzled. Clark had been with him for years and his scarred, battered face hid a surprising intelligence. Most figured him for nothing but three hundred pounds of muscle. It worked to Clark’s advantage and, therefore, Aaron’s.
“I know sir, but I think you should make an exception this time,” Clark said.
“Must be some piece of tail?” Aaron asked, curious.
“Well, she is, but there’s something about her. I’d feel better if we got her auditioning over with now,” Clark said.
“Wait, she’s hot but you don’t like her?” Aaron asked, coming to a stop to look at his giant assistant’s face.
“She gives me the creeps, and her kid is worse,” the giant said.
“Kid? What kind of stripper brings her kid to an audition? She knows this is a full-nude club, right?” Aaron asked, turning and walking faster toward his office.
“Of course sir. She had to walk by ten girls at least just to get near the offices.”
“Let’s go see this beauty and then throw her out. Why didn’t you turn her away?” Aaron asked.
“Something about her. I didn’t like her, but she’s really hot and there’s something different that’s hard to explain. I didn’t want to make a mistake,” Clark said.
They entered the administrative section of the building and moved toward Aaron’s office.
The outer office was empty, no wannabe-stripper or kid, and his secretary was off for the day. The doors to his personal office were open.
“You let her into my office?” Aaron demanded, angry.
“No boss, the doors were locked. I left them out here,” Clark said, worried. The big man moved ahead of his boss and entered the office first. Five steps into the room, he stopped dead. Aaron almost ran into him, side-stepping at the last moment.
As he came around the wide expanse of Clark’s body, a bizarre sight greeted him.
His expensive designer rug was pulled away from the floor in front of his desk and a kid of about ten was drawing a huge shape on the fake hardwood floor with what looked like sidewalk chalk. A young woman stood beside the boy, directing his work, her hands on jean-clad hips.
They both turned to look at him and Clark, and he took a sharp breath. The girl was young, real young. Maybe nineteen, perhaps even younger. Beautiful. Caramel skin, black hair, and dark chocolate eyes. A dynamite figure in designer jeans and a tight bodysuit top that highlighted her assets.
The kid, who looked to be ten, had to be her brother, as she was simply too young to be the mother. He too had black hair, but lighter skin and eyes that caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise.
“Clark, get them the fuck outta here,” he said, his anger overcoming his initial shock.
“This audition is permanently over, Miss…”
“Lou,” she said, her voice soft and accented. “You can call me Lou. And it’s not an audition. It’s an interview. I’m interviewing you, Aaron Rider,” she said, smiling slightly.
Clark was bearing down on the boy, who had simply gone back to work on the floor, his back to the two men.
Disturbed beyond words by the invasion, the vandalism, and temporary loss of control, Aaron focused on his bodyguard as the giant reached down to grab the boy’s neck in one massive hand. That’s why he had a clear view of what happened next. Or at least as clear as anyone could have had.
Clark’s hand never actually touched the boy. Instead, the boy went from kneeling with his back to them to standing fluidly and facing them. To climbing Clark’s outstretched arm like a gym rope, his fingers formed into claws that left bloody pinpricks in the bouncer’s white dress shirt as he swarmed up the man. Time slowed, but the boy moved faster than Aaron could keep up with. Up on Clark’s shoulder, behind his head, gripping the giant’s face with a twisted hand that cut deep into flesh, grabbing the back of the head with the other, locking his legs over the bodyguard’s shoulders and twisting with absolutely impossible strength.
The running joke was that Clark had no neck, just a head mounted on a body. The kid’s twist proved the joke wrong—a sharp snap announced the location and destruction of the giant’s neck bones.
Clark’s head was twisted back toward Aaron and he died with a shocked expression. The kid released his leg hold and fell backward toward the ground. His body twisted around in another impossible move, like a cat righting itself, his feet now aimed for the floor, his right hand hooking the back of the dead man’s shirt collar, pulling the massive body down . It landed in the dead center of the hand-drawn circle, bouncing twice before settling, while the boy touched down so lightly, he hardly had to flex his legs.
Aaron, shocked completely out of his normally decisive mindframe, turned to look at the girl. She was smiling proudly. She made a pulling gesture at Aaron, and he instantly couldn’t breathe. All the air ripped itself from his lungs. Immediately, his vision started to swim, spots forming.
“I’ve chosen your club, Aaron. It has the perfect combination of income, depravity, and desperation for my purposes. My son, Dragan, needs a certain atmosphere of moral decrepitude and sin to reach his full potential. I need resources and space to prepare my defenses. There’s only so much time before we’re found, you know. But enough of that. I’m satisfied. The Painted Horse it is. Now, the only question is… do you want to live to see how this turns out?” she asked.
He was going dark quickly, on his knees and choking almost quietly. He managed to nod.
She gestured and his air came back, flooding into his lungs as fast as it had left. He gulped huge swallows of air, unable to do anything but watch as she approached the dead body of his oldest employee. She pulled something from a bag on the floor. Something bloody.
“You have such a fascinating variety of reptiles here in Nevada. I like reptiles; much sturdier nervous system than mammals. Of course, I’m more familiar with the water moccasins and alligators of the bayou than these desert dwellers, like this Western Diamondback, but it should do fine,” she said in her curious accent. Now that she mentioned bayou, he thought there was some Louisiana patois in her voice.
She gestured at the boy. Instantly, he was bent over Clark’s body, his right arm flashing down the back. The white shirt split and went red, the skin underneath parting like tissue under the claws that Aaron could see sprouting from the kid’s fingers. He put both hands on either side of the cut and easily pulled the opening apart.
“The best place is just under the lowest thoracic ganglion, snuggled up close to the celiac plexus. You’d probably call it the solar plexus,” she said
, casually squatting down and reaching into the wound held open by the boy.
She looked in as she put the bloody bundle inside Clark’s back, then looked up and away, clearly feeling her way to her objective. Satisfied, she stood up, letting her bloody hand hang by her side, drops of red spattering the floor. The boy let go of the wound, which snapped back closed, then shot over to the desk, returning with Aaron’s stapler. Within moments, the wound was stapled shut and the boy retreated to the girl’s side, taking her bloody hand in his. The shift from killer to child was sudden and completely incongruous, slamming Aaron’s shattered worldview with another blow.
The girl started to chant, her eyes closed, and Aaron shifted slightly on his knees, maybe some instinct to stand and flee awakening.
The boy’s head whipped around and two cold, reptilian eyes locked onto him, freezing his body before he could think to do it himself.