Body Shop - Book Two in the Annihilation Series

by John Hindmarsh

  His attention was caught by a noise from the back of the cab. The virus was stirring; either it had detected the power drain or it had reached a trigger point of some kind. Again he felt the metal contact on the back of his head. The virus extended a flexible appendage that reached around him. The small stowaway pulled itself closer. It apparently was still seeking a data input hub. He continued to ignore it.

  He flicked a report from the charge units onto his HUD. It was a simple graph, showing power received by the recharge units and estimated power remaining for the virus. His small program was working; it had drained an estimated seventy percent from the stowaway’s storage cells. He almost cheered. Instead, he sent a short burst of bits via the fingers of the steel hand. It would pulse the message to Anne. She showed no sign, no reaction. The virus could permanently damage each of them if it made contact in the way it sought.

  Dash quickly checked the HUD. The power drain was continuing. The vehicle had entered the first tunnel, and they’d be driving underground for the next fifty miles. He expected an attack at either this exit or the next and transmitted another message to Anne. Thirty minutes, more or less.

  The appendage around his body tightened. The stowaway was growing impatient. It seemed to realize it was failing in its mission. Dash reached down, risking all. He grabbed the thin flexible arm and tugged it, pulling the virus around to the front of the cab. Its power cell warning light was flickering red. Dash assumed it had little power remaining, and it seemed to no longer have the strength to forcibly upload data. He pushed the virus unit onto the floor of the cab and placed a heavy foot on the round, headless body. Six or more appendages tried to climb his leg; however, their energy source was now depleted, and the attempt failed. He stomped his foot, crushing the stowaway. He looked across at Anne.

  She nodded her head. Dash triggered retraction of the dividing wall, and it lifted back into place. The same process withdrew the security net that had wrapped around the guard. Anne reached across with her arm and Dash helped her re-attach her hand.

  “I was worried,” Anne said. “The Darwin notice indicated it was an extremely powerful virus. You did well.”

  “I was worried, too,” Dash replied. “I thought you might fight against the net. Look, I don’t think we have much time. I expect there’ll be an ambush as we exit this tunnel. Either this or the next. We need to prepare.”

  Dash was correct in his assessment. As the lead vehicle of the convoy exited the tunnel and as daylight hit them, its alarm system triggered. There was an accident ahead. A vehicle, a small bus, apparently illegally on this roadway, was positioned across the HAT lane, and there were people and bodies in their path. He noticed other groups, on either side of the two HAT lanes.

  “I’m going to trigger our water cannon,” Dash explained to Anne as he began a braking sequence; he was aware of the eleven following vehicles and adjusted their momentum to match his slowdown. “We’ll be able to tell if they’re real people or holograms. I think they’ve placed weapons on each side of the road. Can you look after them?”

  “Leave it to me,” Anne promised.

  Dash fired their water cannon. Streams of water pushed ahead of the slowing convoy, flooding the accident scene. What appeared to be victims and rescuers flickered out. The bus image also dimmed and disappeared. He relaxed. His gamble had paid off. Anne fired two of the defensive grenade launchers and small missiles sped through the air. The explosions were short and sharp and were immediately followed by heavier explosions as munitions were ignited. Shrapnel crashed against the cab, but its heavy construction survived.

  His vehicle lurched as the shock wave hit. The following vehicles were jostled, but without mishap. The convoy continued on its path, now accelerating. Dash thought his earlier than scheduled arrival and the lack of communication from the Amber virus had helped his defeat of the ambush group. He checked the HUD. The convoy’s speed was building, each vehicle was in place, and within minutes they would be back to their cruising speed. He triggered a brief message to the operations center; standard procedure was for the center to inform law enforcement. He assumed Harrison was still on duty. Perhaps the man would offer some praise, this once.

  Anne, a smile on her face, said, “Dash, that was one risky maneuver. You’re braver than me, that’s for sure.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, her lipstick creating a mirrored impression of her lips.

  Dash could feel his epidermis change color, matching the red of the lipstick, the effect spreading outward across his entire body.

  Anne said, “Don’t tell me that’s the first time you’ve been kissed?” She laughed and nudged up closer. “I’ll kiss you every time you rescue us from an ambush like that. Now, dream on. I’m going to check the other vehicles.”

  She reached up and slid back the roof panel and lifted herself out of the cab into the slipstream. Dash watched via one of his cameras. He hoped, somewhat contrarily, for another ambush. He sighed and checked the HUD. Everything was in its place.

  oOo

  Chapter 7

  Responses to Toby In The City were almost overwhelming. He had replies identifying the two men. He had their names and their possible addresses. They were brownshirt members with long police records and were suspected of further crimes including murder. Apparently, they now acted primarily as standover bullies, reinforcing the brownshirt message that failure of businesses to pay protection money could be fatal to the owners. Or at least very damaging. He forwarded details to Drexel and to his FBI contact.

  He’d received the final item of information when Bronwyn connected to Billie and identified her location. His adrenaline surged. Now he could act. Now he could rescue Billie.

  Toby rushed to the garage where the military bots were waiting. A new autonomous eight-seater bus was ready to transport the squad. He instructed them to board the vehicle and provided the address to the automated driving system and to Mars. As the van exited onto the street, he overrode its speed control; he wanted to get to their destination as quickly as possible. Once he and his squad of military bots were under way, he called Drexel with details of Billie’s location.

  Drexel, with his support team, reached the address at the same time as Toby and his bots. Toby stood at the gate into the yard adjacent to the building where Billie was being held and waited for Drexel and his team to join him, and for his bots to unload from the bus. He recognized two of the men, Drew and Alex; they’d protected him from a previous kidnap attempt by a brownshirt squad.

  The building was old and in need of substantial maintenance. As far as Toby could determine, it was a meatpacking plant that appeared to have been out of business for some time.

  He instructed his bot squad, “Mars, this is Drexel and his men. They are working with us. Drexel provides Billie and me with security. Assist them when we work together or if they require help.”

  Mars replied, “We studied details of your security people this morning. They are very good. We also studied everything we could find about Ms. Billie Nile. We have been tasked with her rescue. After that, we will be her personal protection team until replacements are delivered.” He turned to Drexel and said, “I hope you don’t mind, sir.”

  The security chief was momentarily nonplussed. “No, not at all.”

  Toby said to Drexel, “Billie’s located in the basement in some kind of freezer room at the rear of the building.”

  “Darwin briefed me. There’s only two vehicles in the carpark so I don’t expect there’s much of a force inside. I contacted Reynolds, and he said they’ll be here in about twenty minutes with an FBI armed response team.”

  “I’m not waiting. Billie’s life is at risk.”

  “As I expected. Before you start anything—here, I brought some protective gear for you—there’s likely to be weapons fire.” He handed Toby a bulletproof vest and helmet. He waited patiently while Toby struggled into the heavy gear.

  Drexel continued, “I think a back door approach will be best; it will
give us rapid access to the basement. We’ll need to secure the front of the building.”

  “I agree.” Toby turned to his bot squad.

  He said, “Mars, send two of your squad to guard the front entrance. Don’t let anyone out. Disable, don’t kill, okay? Let me know if anyone tries to exit.”

  “Yes, Sir Toby.” There was a silent communication between Mars and his squad. Two bots promptly headed to the front entrance of the building.

  Toby decided not to challenge the Sir Toby response.

  Drew muttered, with a smile, “I thought it was Sir Rupert.”

  Toby grinned back at the security operative.

  Drexel spoke to his team, and two men headed to the front of the building to join the bots. He said to Toby, “This will be the first time my people have worked with military bots.”

  “They’re a prototype based on a new design, and I’m eager to see how they perform. Let’s get to work.”

  Mars took the lead as they headed towards the rear of the building. On the way, Drexel directed one of his men to immobilize the two parked vehicles.

  There were three roller shutter doors and a smaller standard door along a loading dock, each apparently providing entry to the building. Toby said, “We’ll leave a bot and one of your men here in case anyone gets past us. I don’t think we should try the roller shutters; they’re probably fixed in place.”

  “I agree.”

  “Mars, can you force that smaller door open with as little noise as possible?”

  “Yes, sir.” After a quick and silent exchange, a bot walked up the short set of stairs to the loading dock and pushed against the side of the door, gradually increasing the pressure. Timber groaned and then splintered, and the door collapsed inwards.

  Drexel said, “I’d hate to ask him to make a noise.”

  Mars replied, “We’re learning, Mr. Drexel. We’ll do better next time.”

  Toby wondered if robots could smile. He motioned Mars and his last squad member forward and followed the two bots into the building. Drexel and his men brought up the rear.

  The weapons fire was unexpected. Toby hunkered down, trying to take shelter. Mars asked, “Sir Toby, can we return fire?”

  “Definitely. You have my full permission.”

  The retaliatory fire was deafening as the two bots released and fired every weapon they possessed. Toby had not realized the degree to which the bots had armed themselves. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his hearing.

  “Hell,” said Drexel. He and his two men were also shocked.

  The bots were moving forward, heedless of the humans and their discomfort.

  “Next time I’ll be more specific,” Toby said.

  “Please. Is there anything left in one piece?”

  “I’m not sure.” He caught up with the bots. “Mars, we want people alive so we can question them. So take care; don’t harm anyone unless they attack.”

  As the small squad moved further along the corridor, the havoc caused by the bot fusillade became more obvious. There was one dead body, male, shot a number of times. Toby controlled his reflex; it was the first time he’d seen someone dead from bullet wounds. He didn’t stop. There were dozens of bullet holes in the walls and ceiling. A small fire was burning where a gas pipe had been ruptured. Plaster dust and fumes filled the air. Toby pushed back his urge to cough.

  Drexel instructed one of his men to look for a fire extinguisher. “I thought I saw one near the entrance. Grab it and see if you can control that fire.” The man left at a run. Drexel used his cell phone to contact his man on guard at the rear of the building. He said, “See if you can find the gas mains and turn it off. We’ve got a broken pipe and a fire here.”

  Toby checked each door as they continued; most were open, revealing long-deserted workrooms containing half-collapsed worktables or broken desks and chairs. When they turned a corner, he saw a body slumped against the wall next to a doorway. Blood flowed down the man’s face from a bullet wound across his forehead. He was also bleeding from wounds in his legs and body. Toby instructed Mars, “Check how serious his injuries are.” He knew the man was still alive if his blood was flowing.

  As the two bots approached, the kidnapper straightened and focused his attention on Toby. “You—” He raised his handgun and fired before the bots could disarm him. Their reaction was inevitable; they fired back, and the man collapsed to the floor, his eyes locked open, his gun spinning out of his hand.

  The shot fired by the wounded man caught Toby in the shoulder, spinning him around. The bulletproof vest only protected his torso. Moments later the pain hit. He cursed and gritted his teeth. Drexel caught him as he began to fall.

  “We’ve a first aid kit.”

  The next thing Toby knew he was propped up on the floor, and someone was fixing a pad to his shoulder. He tried to ignore the stream of blood.

  Drexel said, “It’s a clean wound. That will do until we get you to a hospital.”

  “I want to find Billie.” Toby struggled against the pain and, with Drexel’s help, stood upright. The world spun around him. The bots were waiting.

  Mars said, “We should have protected you.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Toby grimaced. “Open that door. I think this is where they’re holding Billie.”

  The door looked like an old cool room door, a foot or so thick. The two bots pulled the door open, almost ripping it from its hinges. Billie was sitting on a steel framed bed, her expression anxious. She was chained to the wall.

  “Guys,” she said. “A little less noise, in future—” She stopped when she saw Toby was wounded. She jumped to her feet and rushed to him, catching him in a hug. She said, “Someone get this chain off me so I can deal—”

  Her words were cut off by Toby’s kiss.

  oOo

  Chapter 8

  Pitera was screaming into his cell phone. He’d had to buy a new one. “Listen to me, Flocke. I’m not having a good day. Someone has emptied my bank accounts and, according to the news, two of my men are dead, killed by bloody McIntosh. I’ve lost my prisoner. This is a fucking disaster area, and I don’t want your idiots coming here to tell me how to manage my state, understand?”

  His tirade was met by a short silence. Flocke said, “You’re damned useless, Pitera. And you’re a thief. We traced one of the transfers out of my accounts,”—he emphasized “my”—“to your Bank of Bermuda account. That’s one million dollars. There’s another twenty million missing. All my bitcoins. What have you done with it?”

  “I don’t fucking know and I had nothing to do with your accounts, Tell, me, where are my funds? Fucking millions have disappeared, and I don’t have enough left to pay for fuckall. My bank traced a transfer of half a mill to one of your accounts, so tell me what’s going on, huh?”

  Flocke swore. He was beginning to realize his initial assumption might be incorrect. He said, “You’ve lost your money?”

  “Too fucking right I’ve lost my money. Over five million, gone. To your accounts. Just like that.”

  “Hold on. We’ve both lost funds. My accounts and my bitcoin vault have been cleared out. Now you tell me you’ve also lost your funds. And in each case, there’s an apparent link back to each other. Someone’s screwing with us.”

  Pitera shook his body. He was trying to control his temper. He fought the urge to throw his new phone through his office window. “Okay, so you say. All I know is what’s happened here. If this is fucking McIntosh’s interference I’m going to bloody skin him alive.”

  “McIntosh? You think so? He could do this?”

  “As far as I know, he could fly to the moon. He’s Teflon-coated. We’ve tried to grab him three-four times, we had his girlfriend and she’s gone—nothing’s bloody succeeded against him. Now our accounts have been emptied.”

  “All right. I suspect your McIntosh has struck back.”

  “He’s not my fu—”

  “Whatever. He’s dangerous. He’s more than a threat. We’ve got t
o put a stop to him, once and for all.”

  “If your guys are on their way here, perhaps they’ll be smart enough to deal with him.”

  “I’ll instruct them. In the meantime, we have to arrange temporary funding. Transfer your Bermuda balance back to your working account—that will give you enough to carry on. Give me the details of where the bank claims your half a million was moved to—I’ll use that.”

  “Very well. I’m bringing in members of my Storm Detachment—they’re killers. Paul Young can work with me or not. Our target is McIntosh.”

  Pitera ended the call. His temper was at boiling point. He tested the weight of his cell phone and decided not to throw it. He punched in a code and waited for his call to be answered. He said, “Rocco, I want you and ten of your tough guys. Yeah, we have a problem—well, a couple of them. Get here—I’m in my downtown office, the one on Third. You’ve got thirty minutes, okay?” He disconnected. Rocco, with his men, would be in his office and briefed before Flocke’s team arrived from the East Coast.

  Toby decided he wanted the peace and quiet of Bel Air and had returned to the house with Billie to join the team of military bots after he was released from hospital. His wound would heal without problems, according to the ER doctor, although it would leave a scar. Billie had been treated for shock, dehydration, and possible malnutrition. The collar had chaffed and bruised her neck and throat. They both had tired of FBI questions and now were resting. Mars had his bots on guard, their number supplemented by a second squad delivered at Bronwyn’s direction. Toby thought they had enough botpower and firepower to hold off an army.

  Bronwyn relayed the details of Pitera’s latest phone calls and added, “When they hit, you might be facing an army. There’ll be at least fifteen brownshirts, perhaps more, including some from Washington, looking to get to you.”

  Toby flinched as he sat up. His arm was in a sling to protect his shoulder. The painkillers were wearing off, although he had avoided opioids. Billie was stretched out on a sofa, still sleeping, he hoped. He replied to Bronwyn’s image displayed on his notepad, “Can you increase security bots at all our locations? I want additional security for Rick and the television studio, plus Dr. Horikoshi and her team, the Euler marketing operation, my senior execs. For at least those people and their work and home locations. Oh, and send a copy of the recordings to Drexel. I’ll let him know I’ll need more resources from him, too.” He sat back again, trying to get comfortable.