by Lance Erlick
“It’s okay,” Synthia said. “This is how we’ll get out.” She adjusted her outfit and took one of his bags. She tucked it into the far back, added his pack, and slammed the door.
She opened the side door. “Get into the back and cover yourself with the blanket.”
“While I trust you, it’d be nice to know what’s going on.”
“You don’t handle police encounters well. Get in and no peeking.”
He moved to the third seat and covered himself with the blanket. “What’s the car seat for?”
“Too many questions,” she said as she climbed into the driver’s seat.
Synthia used the hydraulics in her head to adjust her forehead, cheekbones, and eye separation to match the appearance of a female police officer who lived a few miles up the road. She adjusted the tint of her eyes and put on a new wig. In the visor mirror, the image matched Deb Hanson, except for a slight tan. The actual officer was on the other side of the hill, helping to set up roadblocks.
In preparation for this escape, Synthia had made copies of Hanson’s license, police shield, and credit cards, though Synthia had no intention of buying anything with this woman’s credit. That would violate ethical parameters she had written into her directives.
In an SUV similar to the one owned by Deb Hanson, Synthia drove along the dirt road and hacked into six autonomous FBI drones flying over the area. She coordinated their pattern to allow her to pass beneath unseen. After reaching the county road, she turned on the self-driving feature at the speed limit and activated the Faraday cage inside the SUV to mask any electronic noise emanating from her systems. Using a fiber-optic cable through the Faraday cage wall in order to preserve the shield, she monitored the vehicle’s navigation and FBI teams approaching the cabin.
It was time to brief Luke.
“I don’t plan to get caught,” Synthia said, loud enough for him to hear in the back of the SUV. “However, if we get separated and you get caught, don’t pretend I wasn’t with you. The FBI can verify.”
“Can’t we find another safe place to hide?” Luke asked in a muffled voice.
“Someday, sweetie. Whatever you do, don’t mention my upgrade unless you want more trouble. Just say I’m Krista and you were delighted to have me back.”
“Where’re we going?”
“Best you don’t know. You don’t handle interrogation well.”
“I don’t like being deadweight,” Luke said. “I want to be useful.”
“You were amazing over the past six months,” Synthia said. “This is different. If pushed about my activities, tell them I misled you and you don’t know what to believe, except you had a great time with Krista. Remember, you can’t know what I am. If they ask about purchases, tell them you know nothing about my activities when I went out shopping or while you slept.”
“Let’s go out west. We can hide up in the mountains.”
“Maybe in the good old days. Today, government surveillance covers the entire country. Whatever you think they have, they have ten times more. Count on it.”
“Really?” Luke said. “Then we’re doomed.”
“When you’re trying to avoid capture, it pays to be paranoid. Except it’s not paranoia when they really are after us. Remember, the more you tell them, the more they’ll think you know. They’ll keep pressing. The less you admit to, the better. You had a pleasant few months in the country with Krista. Burn that into your memory.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t be mean. Krista and I love you and will do what we can to keep you safe.”
They approached a roadblock beyond a rise in the road. Synthia’s drone showed four police officers with two cars. The drone’s camera feed flickered out, severing her connection. She tried to reconnect using short-range VHF. When that didn’t work, she reached out using spread spectrum. Also nothing.
Without her aerial drone, Synthia was blind to the scene ahead. Krista and self-preservation directives urged her to veer off the road and attempt to bypass the police. However, she couldn’t be certain what waited along the sides of the road. Synthia held her course.
Simulating a police department phone, she called the sergeant in charge at the roadblock. “We have a situation on the west side,” she said in his chief of police’s voice. “We need your help.”
“You said to remain at my post and enforce the roadblock,” the sergeant said.
“You alone?”
“No, we have two teams.”
“Then leave one car and meet me over here, now.”
As Synthia crested the hill, the sergeant motioned for his partner to get into the car. They drove off, speeding past Synthia back the way she’d come. Two green police officers remained, according to her review of their police profiles.
Synthia pulled up to the roadblock and stopped the SUV. She rolled down her window and greeted the two officers by name, since the real Deb Hanson knew them from a nearby police station. One of the men, Rob Presser, approached the vehicle while the other kept eyes on the road, nervously holding onto his gun.
“I’m late,” Synthia told Presser, using Deb Hanson’s voice. “My babysitter cancelled at the last minute. I have to get Ronnie to another sitter before I get fired.” Using her wireless connection, she mimicked a baby crying into the doll behind her. “He’s fussy, probably dirty diaper.”
Presser smiled at her. His biometrics indicated a high level of interest, though his social-media presence showed him as too decent to prey on a married woman, or so Synthia’s social-psychology module told her.
He glanced into the middle of the SUV, at the baby seat. Synthia simulated crying. “Come on, give me a break,” she said. “You want to change the diaper?” She emitted a foul odor to press her point.
Officer Presser moved away and waved her on. “Get going.”
Synthia accelerated to the speed limit. She wavered between speeding to show her sense of urgency and avoiding more unwanted attention.
“That was impressive,” Luke said from the back of the SUV.
Synthia had the doll cry and fuss. “Silence. Don’t wake the baby.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Not about keeping quiet. We’re not through yet. There’s another roadblock up ahead and more FBI agents and police are pouring into the area.”
Synthia had to tap into satellite communication to link with Wisconsin-clone.
Something was going on that Synthia couldn’t identify. She no longer had eyes and ears on her surroundings. She needed to create more electronic copies such that at least one could sort this out. Alas, she was running hot from her own activities and couldn’t afford to divert resources to another upload process.
Chapter 12
FBI agents checked the woods while NSA Director Emily Zephirelli and Detective Marcy Malloy entered the two-room cabin with weapons drawn.
“You asked to be read in on this,” Zephirelli said. “Keep whatever you see, hear, or think to yourself. Most of the police helping us have not been fully briefed.”
“They don’t know we’re hunting for an android?” Malloy asked, looking
annoyed.
“Not yet. This is moving too fast. Don’t talk around the others and remember we don’t want to damage the machine. We need it intact.”
Using her satellite link, Synthia connected to her surveillance cameras inside the cabin. Malloy and Zephirelli entered and moved through the two rooms of the empty home.
“Without their van, they must have fled through the woods,” Malloy said, looking around.
Zephirelli stomped on the floor, moved a few feet, and repeated. “Check for hiding places and any evidence they may have left behind. I’ll get our FBI friends to pull prints and search for DNA. That should tell us something.”
“Not on the android,” Malloy said.
Zephirelli frowned. “I know that. It’ll confirm if Luke was here and who else might be helping them.”
“Six months ago that woman or android left no evidence in the alley where she was attacked,” Malloy said.
“Look for hidden compartments.” Director Zephirelli hurried outside.
Helicopters hovered overhead, putting out an ear-splitting whine. A dozen heavily armed men dressed in black, wearing helmets and backpacks, rappelled down ropes into the clearing. They formed a circle, guns at the ready, and spread out. Zephirelli froze, staring in disbelief at the armed intruders. She only had her personal .38.
Shaken from her alarm, Zephirelli approached the men, all big, muscular types who resembled football tackles ready to take her down. “What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded, standing her ground.
A beefy man with an assault rifle over his shoulder and a small pack on his back marched toward her. Strapped to his belt were replacement clips for easy reload. He studied her through his goggles and removed his helmet to reveal a bulldog face with jutting chin. “You must be Director Emily Zephirelli,” he said. “I’m Kirk Drago, Special Ops. Thanks for identifying the hideout. This is our operation now.”
He motioned for his brawny men to spread out. Two headed for the cabin, the others sprinted into the woods.
“On whose authority?” Zephirelli asked, standing before him. He was twice her size, but she didn’t flinch. “No one informed me.”
Drago nodded toward two men who hovered nearby and they moved away. “You’ll have to take that up with your boss and now mine. These are direct orders from Secretary of National Security Derek Chen, ma’am.”
“He assigned me this task and said nothing about other players,” Zephirelli said. “This is my mission. Back off.”
“I respectfully ask you to pull your people away and let us handle this,” Drago said. “This is about the mission, not who captures it.”
Malloy left the cabin and approached Zephirelli. “What’s going on? An oversized ape just chased me out.”
Zephirelli held up her hand to Malloy, pulled out her phone, and dialed her boss. All she received was static, no bars. She glanced at the helicopter overhead and stared at Drago. “You SOB.”
“I don’t mean to step on toes, ma’am, but my orders are to do whatever it takes to apprehend the target. I’m asking you and your FBI friends to leave. Here’s a copy of my orders.” He handed her a small slip of paper naming him to relieve her of this mission.
More players out hunting left Synthia unsettled. She’d had no hint of Kirk Drago or Special Ops until they’d dropped in on Zephirelli. Wisconsin-clone had provided no warning or clues and was now offline. Clearly, there were forces at play that Synthia’s hacking hadn’t uncovered.
She maintained the speed limit, tried to reconnect with her stash of aerial drones, and pulled up what she could on this Special Ops team. As expected, the files she could access showed nothing.
* * * *
Synthia drove south along the county road. From earlier surveillance, she was aware of a second roadblock. She used VHF frequencies to establish connections with her stash of aerial drones nearby. She was tempted to launch all of them and scatter them around the area to get a better idea of what she was up against, but more drones increased the risk of exposure from this team of Special Ops that had already surprised her.
Not knowing what she was up against, she flew one drone above the forest canopy and piped the images into one of her network channels. She spotted movement at the first barricade. Men in black gear and helmets rappelled down two ropes from a helicopter with different markings than the one over her cabin. There were at least two choppers. Using the coordinates, Synthia hacked phones below to see what was happening.
Rob Presser called his sergeant, who told him to leave the checkpoint. As he and his partner drove away, the Special Ops team of six spread out. Two men constructed a quick barricade across both lanes of traffic and along the side of the road. A pair of two-man teams headed up hills on either side of the road and took up sniper positions.
Another helicopter approached the roadblock up ahead. Anticipating a similar Special Ops takeover of this barricade, Synthia determined a 3-percent probability of talking her way through a second time. She had to choose a different plan. She slowed the SUV and piloted the drone to the road ahead for a better view.
The helicopter dropped off two teams and turned toward her drone. Using a short-range VHF connection, Synthia had her drone dive into the trees. Before she could, the helicopter fired several bursts. Synthia watched the stream of bullets as if aimed at her. Stunned to imagine herself the target, her circuits pulsed for a moment. She couldn’t maneuver the drone out of the way. It spun, dived, and the cameras blanked out.
The image felt personal, as if directed at her physical existence. To make matters worse, she was driving blind into another barricade with no aerial surveillance and time running out. The helicopter flew overhead and continued toward the first roadblock.
Unable to see the terrain ahead except through her own eyes, Synthia spotted a dirt path up a hill to the left. She had only a vague idea where it led, since it wasn’t a published road on the maps she’d downloaded and she had no image of the area. At least the trail was tree-lined, giving some cover.
Synthia turned off the SUV’s self-driving feature, grabbed the steering wheel, and veered off the road onto an uneven dirt path, using most of her network channels and mind-streams to navigate without hitting anything.
“What’s going on?” Luke called out from the back of the SUV. “Are we crashing?” The bumpy trail had jostled him from his complacence.
“Don’t wake the baby,” she said.
“That again?”
“Silence. We’re taking a detour.”
Krista said.
The SUV bounced along the off-road path. Bushes and tree branches scraped the sides. The suspension jostled the vehicle, which went airborne when the path dipped and kicked up dust upon landing. The dark-blue SUV took on a brownish cast, or at least the hood did with a layer of dust. Synthia ran the wipers to clear the windshield. It just smeared the muck.
She accessed the FBI drones to figure out what was happening, but they were flying away from the area. A new batch of drones approached over the horizon, no doubt with the Special Ops teams that spread out. Synthia hacked at the new arrivals, but their protocols were unfamiliar and hacking would take time and processing capacity she needed on other matters. Troubling was how quickly they’d deployed without giving her any warning.
Synthia shut down the mind-stream with Krista’s cursing and asked the new Chicago-clone, residing on University of Chicago servers, to step in.
While she spoke to Krista and the clone, Synthia gripped the steering wheel to prevent the SUV from flipping over. It bounced into the air and came down for another hard landing.
“Sorry,” she said for Luke’s benefit.
He groaned and mumbled something. Her social-psychology module pointed out
Synthia focused on what she could and needed to do to avoid crashing.
Through a canopy of trees, she spotted the helicopter return to the second roadblock to drop off two more Special Ops in black uniforms. She used her VHF link to pilot another of her drones from her stash near the cabin. She had it fly low, over treetops to avoid detection until it reached the road. It lifted up to give her a full aerial view of the wooded trail and the roadblock ahead. The helicopter completed its drop-off, rose up, and rotated to face the drone. Synthia steered the drone away from her and through an opening in the trees, seeking cover. The helicopter fired several bursts, vaporizing the drone. Special Ops was another formidable opponent she hadn’t trained for.
Synthia studied the brief images she’d downloaded from the drone. Four police officers prepared to leave the second roadblock, while the Special Ops teams set up as they had at the first barricade. She experienced Krista’s frustration in losing another drone as ripples down one mind-stream, but her focus had to be on steering. The SUV bounced down the dirt path, kicking up too much dust.
“Can you slow down?” Luke called out.
“Sorry, sweetie, they’re hunting us.”
She veered left, away from the road, taking a wider path down a ravine to conceal most of the dust kicked up by the SUV. Chicago-clone downloaded topographical and satellite maps to Synthia that provided a better view of the area. She crossed a narrow stream, banged up the van’s suspension climbing out the other side, and stayed on a path the maps indicated were off-road vehicle trails during the summer and used in winter by snowmobiles.