Mastermind- Rise of the Trojan Horse

by Tom Wheeler

  “That would be a one-in-a-hundred-million chance, to be exact, given there were known androids walking the planet,” he said, smiling. “Who knows about this?”

  “Just you, me, and Crane, although the general said he was calling the president. He told me not to tell anyone, so please don’t put that in a report if you are asked,” I said as Dhilan rolled his eyes.

  “Is any of your memory returning, Dhilan?” I asked, since he appeared to be more human than mechanical.

  “I am remembering some of our repartee,” he said, smiling. “Do you know where I live?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you at my house?”

  “You told me to go to your house if anything happened to you,” I said, and he nodded.

  “So that is a yes?” he asked.

  “Yes. But someone else had been there before me. So far the police haven’t determined who.”

  “So you aren’t the one in the police report?” he asked, appearing to have searched the Internet for data.

  “Well, yes again, just not the only one. I went because you told me to. When I got there, it had already been ransacked.”

  Dhilan looked up at that.

  “Did you find my memories?”

  “No. Besides not knowing they existed until Dr. Mescher mentioned it, I’d never hold that from you—believe me.”

  “I heard about their suspicions about the code.”

  “Yeah. I’m in the middle of someone’s spider web. I thought General Crane was doing the search for your drive? Do you know what kind of device you used to store your memories?”

  “No. I haven’t heard from General Crane,” said Dhilan.

  “As soon as we get back to the States I will see if I can help.”

  “Do you have possession of the EMP?” asked Dhilan.

  “No, but I am familiar with yours. You are remembering,” I said with enthusiasm. “I had no reason to bring it, and it was too risky to take through TSA. Obviously I didn’t use it, either, but like I said, I am familiar with it. Why?”

  “Shoot her with an EMP and you’ll know if she is an android or not,” he said as my mind raced.

  “I’d shut down more than the android if I did that. Besides, you can’t just shoot someone in the middle of . . .”

  “Pull off her scalp,” he said matter-of-factly as the ding of the elevator rang at the lobby.

  “Crane told me to stand down,” I said as we walked off the elevator.

  “Good advice,” responded Dhilan.

  “Except if anyone catches wind that we know, she will disappear.”

  “Confront her. She is registered to attend Dr. Mescher’s session. Aren’t you planning on attending his discussion?” he asked as we stopped, ensuring nobody was listening. The same stoic look was etched on his face.

  “No, but I suppose I could. Capucine is attending,” I said, hit by a wave of nerves. “Huh, maybe you’re right.” I thought about the possibility for a second. “Will you be there?” I asked.

  “No, not until the president decides he is going to tell the world I have a computer in my brain.”

  “Speaking of your brain, how’s your head?”

  “Still feels like it’s exploding, but better than sitting in a hospital bed. I think I need to get some rest, even though it means missing the session.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said as Dhilan headed off in what appeared to be an unusual manner, not that I knew what normal was anymore for Dhilan. But he hadn’t shown the least bit of surprise when I’d suggested another android existed. He’s probably trying to figure out how to find his memories. I shook it off.

  

  109

  Ayesha Bonin

  Helsinki, Finland

  “You busy?” asked Roman Gagranovich by phone as Émilie du Châtelet, a.k.a. Rihanna, waited in her room at the Sokos Hotel Presidentti, working on her computer and awaiting orders. Her shoulder was throbbing again from the gunshot wound. She pressed on her ribs; they felt better than before.

  “You told me to stay put; I am busy doing just that,” she answered smartly.

  “I need you to fly to Estonia, pick up Ayesha Bonin, and bring her here.”

  “Who is Ayesha Bonin? Never mind, when?”

  “Is the Euro fueled?” Roman asked.

  “I doubt it. Why?”

  “I want you to have a full tank.”

  “Okay, I can do that. I take it you have an address besides Estonia and just across the gulf?” she asked.

  “Tallinn,” he said. “She lives in the Jahu apartments off Suur-Patarei, 205. You will be landing at the Tallinn Yacht Club next to the Tallinn Cruise Port.”

  “Will she be expecting me, or is this a kidnapping?” she asked sarcastically.

  “She will be expecting you, yes,” Roman said, disregarding her insolence.

  “Is there a safe place to land?”

  “Next to the boats there is an open parking lot. I’ll have her meet you there.”

  “You know this bird is like landing an aircraft carrier; it never goes unnoticed. You sure you don’t want to send a fast boat?”

  “No. Fly low, off the radar, be on time,” said Roman, “and I’ll pay you another $25,000 US.”

  “So she is someone of interest,” she said, standing up from the desk.

  “Not to you. Don’t speak with her, either,” he said.

  “My, my, picky, aren’t we? I’m not going to be shot at, am I?” asked Émilie.

  “Depends on your flying. Stay off the radar. It’s 55 miles. Shouldn’t take you more than 20 minutes each way,” he said, and she recalled the last time someone had told her a job would be a walk in the park—Ahmadi, who had never paid her what he owed her, although of course ultimately she’d been well paid. “Just be there at 1:30 a.m. She’ll be waiting.”

  “You know, picking someone up in an aircraft carrier at 1:30 in the morning is a bit suspicious, besides the fact that people will hear it. If you want to be more discreet, why not—”

  “Just do it,” interrupted Roman.

  “What if she’s not there?”

  “She’ll be there,” he said firmly.

  “I need to check on the bird now.”

  “Then go,” he said.

  “You told me to stay in my room.”

  “This takes priority. Just don’t putz around the hotel.”

  “What is putz?” asked Émilie.

  “Nothing, just do what I asked,” he said as Émilie shook her head, wondering why she kept working for people who needed to make clandestine meetings in the middle of the night as if it were normal. She began to gather her belongings and make her way to the hotel entrance to grab a cab to the airport. Moments later she got off the elevator to what appeared to be a mob of attendees all dressed professionally, as if they were trying to impress someone. Her brows lifting, she started moving through the crowd. Glancing around, her eyes locked on one person. She immediately looked down, heart racing as she moved hurriedly toward the exit, believing she had seen a ghost: Mason Thomas.

  What the heck is he doing here? she asked herself, wanting to run into his arms but knowing that alone could be the last thing she did before spending the rest of her life in prison. Did he see me? she wondered as she continued heading out the door and through the Kamppi Center, passing a set of stationary bikes and a metal public art configuration that looked like a bunch of connected empty cubes. Was that really him? she asked herself, seeing a cab far enough from the hotel not to be observed by anyone unless they were purposely watching her.

  Of all the . . . , she thought, jumping in the cab. As it pulled out, she looked back to check if anyone was watching her, but saw no one. She opened and closed her eyes hard. Was that even him? she mused again, knowing everything in her said it was, but such a
coincidence was too remarkable to conceive.

  “Mihin, rouva?” the driver asked.

  “I’m sorry, English or French?”

  “Where I take you?” he asked in broken English.

  “Meilahti Tower Hospital,” she said, her heart still racing, though she realized she was fortunate the chopper was at a hospital helipad rather than the Helsinki Airport, which was farther away and had many more eyes on it. Flying from a hospital at 1 a.m. was normal, at least for Medevac; landing at a yacht club was a different story. Her only problem now was waiting the several hours until she took off on her latest mystery trip. Her mind raced.

  What is Mason Thomas doing in Hel—? Oh, it’s a robotics conference. That was why he was in Iran months ago. It was him? It was! Mason Thomas is in Helsinki.

  

  110

  MARSS International Robotics Conference

  October 29

  Helsinki, Finland

  “Jonah?” I said, springing up out of the red leather chair in the lobby of the Sokos Hotel Presidentti and extending my hand toward Jonah Soul, chairman of Phoenix Corporation, on the third day of the conference.

  “Mason!” he replied with enthusiasm, taking my hand and glancing at the lady at the front desk standing ready to help the next guest. “I am so sorry I never got back to you. It’s been a—”

  “I know, a tragedy. I figured we could catch up here,” I said, careful with my words but also intentional. “How are you?”

  “It’s been difficult understanding that Jack was some kind of . . .” He stopped himself. “Never mind.”

  “Bad apple,” I said, finishing his sentence.

  “And Adam snapped,” he said, shaking his head as if still processing what had happened. “Anyway, you called me.”

  “Did the code I sent fix your issue?” I asked.

  “What code?” he said, pausing. My facial expression probably expressed my confusion. “Oh, right, yes, yes, it did, thank you. I’m sorry, with all that has happened . . .”

  “I understand. It just seemed important.”

  “Is that why you wanted to meet?”

  “I wanted you to know I was praying for you and that I am no longer full-time with NASA. If you need anything, let me know,” I said as we both sat down.

  “What happened?” he queried, appearing shocked.

  “Let’s just say Jack happened.”

  “I don’t follow,” said Jonah as a group of people entered the front door, heading past us toward the elevators.

  “I can’t and don’t want to talk about it,” I said, being honest. At least about that.

  “Richard Murphy is in charge now,” he said. “I’ve had a difficult time dealing with the loss of my two friends. I’m sure Richard would be interested in speaking with you,” he said as I bit my tongue. “Did Capucine make it?” he asked. “You two are dating, right?”

  “Yes, she did and yes, sort of. It’s a long distance between France and the United States. But she is at the conference. I understand you wanted to speak with her?”

  “Well, I doubt she has influence on the powers that be at Peugeot, at least as far as a merger with Phoenix is concerned, but I wanted to broach the subject with her.”

  “Really?” I said, having to concentrate on not asking him if Phoenix was tied to the Russians.

  “Obviously this is confidential. I would have to deny it if it became public. But with the issues we have had lately . . .”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Who knows, perhaps you will be working with her someday?”

  “Life happens, doesn’t it?” I said rhetorically.

  “Yes, Mason, it does,” he said. “Here, take my card and let her know I am in Helsinki until the end of the week. It wouldn’t take long. But I’d at least like to introduce myself. I hate to cut this short, but I am expected at a meeting in 10 minutes. Thank you for reaching out, Mason. I hope we stay in touch. And thank you for fixing our problem. I know you are as busy as everyone else.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you,” I said as he strode away. I looked at his card before tucking it in my pants pocket.

  That was odd, I thought to myself, although it is difficult to get a handle on people when others are dying.

  

  I woke up just before 5 a.m. the next day, inhaled a protein bar, threw on running gear, and headed to the lobby. It was fairly active for 5 a.m. but far from the normal racelike atmosphere of the conference, even though this was not where the conference was being held.

  “Bonjour, Mason,” said Capucine, already waiting in the lobby, wearing a long-sleeved pink running shirt that she had pulled over her knuckles.

  “Bonjour. Tu es prêt?” I asked, looking into her green eyes. They were beautiful. They were also a bit mysterious, I realized, thinking this was the first time I had noticed that look.

  “Jusqu’où allez-vous? Je dois être à une réunion à 8 heures,” she said, making sure I knew she had a meeting at 8:00.

  “Of course. This is like déjà vu,” I said as we made our way out the revolving door.

  “Did you have to say that, Mason? Last time we ran together . . .”

  “I know, we almost got killed. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Are you cold?” I asked, as goose bumps had risen on her perfectly formed legs.

  “Freezing,” she said, shivering top to bottom, likely a bit for effect.

  “It’s perfect running weather, 62 degrees.”

  “Except we are not running yet,” she replied, grabbing her right leg with her right hand and pulling her heel to her butt to stretch.

  “Let’s follow the water,” I said, peering into the morning darkness, as I lifted my left ankle to my rear, following her lead.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, switching legs.

  “If we follow Sillilaituri, which is to the left out the front door, we’ll come to the Merisatama-Havshamnen in a couple of miles.”

  “I heard that is beautiful,” she said. “In the light, anyway,” she added.

  “If we continue, our next stop is the South Harbor pier of the Helsinki Terminal. And, if we’re really ambitious, we can continue to Ehrenstrom and on to Market Square, where several cruise ships are resting.”

  “Just remember what I said, I have a meeting at 8:00, and my showers take a little longer than yours,” she said, smiling while shaking out her arms. We took off rather ambitiously for a run, not that I cared, but I knew we wouldn’t be able to keep this pace for long.

  “Mason, this is beautiful,” said Capucine as we arrived at the area known as Merisatama-Havshamnen. It was replete with red, green, and yellow townhouses on our left and a long trail of sailboats with red mooring anchors bobbing behind them on our right. We trotted by on the concrete walkway.

  “Yeah, makes me want to live here, although I suppose every place has its share of positive and negative traits.”

  “What are Helsinki’s negative traits?” she asked, fitting the phrases in between breaths.

  “Too cold,” I said, smiling. “In the winter, anyway.”

  Right now, though, the temperature was perfect, as was the morning, so we made our way to the Market Square.

  “Look, isn’t that the presidential palace and Helsinki City Hall?” I asked, gesturing toward the buildings adjacent to Market Square. I noticed a distant car that appeared out of character for the scene, although there was a group of American-made cars sitting together in one part of the market. “Hey, Capucine?” I asked, looking toward the car.

  “Don’t look at it, Mason,” she said. “Just act normal.”

  “Is it following us?” I asked as we continued to jog through the market, where huge sailboats were docked next to the concrete.

  “Yes,” she said, acting normal.

  “How long?”
>
  “Since we left the hotel.”

  111

  Followed

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked as we passed another of the hulking sailboats, my senses now on even higher alert as I heard every car, clink of a sailboat’s rigging, and gust of wind, and saw every movement.

  “If they wanted us, they would have already made a move. I want to see if I can get a license plate or description.”

  “How do you know they won’t try to nab us?”

  “Years of dealing with deceitful people. I don’t know if it is a blessing or a curse, since I noticed everything from the redhead at the front desk we walked by, to the black man smoking a cigarette out front, to the other man sitting in his car talking on his cell phone, to the man prepping his sailboat . . . to the woman in that car.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re obviously gifted. What do you want to do?”

  “I saw a restaurant en route,” she said. “Let’s turn around. I will act like I need a bathroom. Then I am going to exit out the back and see if I can get a plate.” My heart began racing.

  “Do you have a gun?” I asked.

  “Seriously? Where?” Capucine asked, looking me in the eyes with raised eyebrows. I looked her over, understanding her point.

  “You never know,” I said.

  “Oh, Mason. Let’s go.”

  We started jogging back where we came from as if that had been our intended route.

  My heart was beating out of my chest as we managed to find our way to the Voffeli & Kaffeli restaurant, the Helsinki version of Waffle House. A red sign in the window read “Open.”

  “Be careful, Capucine, you hear me?” I said, wondering if this was a good idea.

  “I’ll be fine, Mason,” she said as she walked inside the restaurant and disappeared, presumably making her way out the rear exit. I stretched as if I was waiting.

  Several moments passed as I acted like I was the impatient running partner wondering why his female counterpart was taking so long. I chose not to look at the car until I couldn’t wait any longer. The car was gone.