Crossing Rubicon

by A J Blanc

  “Would you mind telling me your plan again? I must’ve forgotten that whole conversation we didn’t have,” Milo said through gritted teeth.

  “Take it easy. They don’t know what we look like. We can’t just go right toward them, they’ll make a run for it. I’m trying to get on the other side of them as non-threateningly as I can so we can box them in. Besides, I’m fairly certain the person Watson is talking with is Alena Sarne. How much more convenient for us could it be?”

  “They’re not some feral animals we’re trying to cage and donate to a zoo,” Milo reminded. “They’re highly trained intelligence agents, or at least Watson is. Besides, there’s a chance he got a look at us earlier in the…”

  Milo stopped short when he saw Watson taking off at a sprint in the direction of the nearest stairwell. While Hal was much closer to the man, he knew he’d never be able to catch him. “He’s on the move! Make yourself useful and get acquainted with her will ya? I’m gonna try and cut him off.”

  “How? Do you have superpowers you haven’t mentioned before? He’s already at the stairwell!”

  “None that would help us here,” Milo quipped. “But I do have a car on remote that can track him through the glass once I lock on to him.” As he dashed for the elevator, he flipped open his tablet and fired up the car’s remote app. Despite it being a top-of-the-line American luxury vehicle, it didn’t have much in the way of a surveillance package… or, more accurately, none whatsoever. It did however have a ‘find and follow’ feature typically used when an owner or renter doesn’t need a vehicle right away, but may need one at a moment’s notice. It can also be programed to follow another person for the same reasons once it locks on to their profile.

  The girl behind the desk was still on the phone with someone, so he was able to access the lift without delay. Milo swiftly waded through the technology-packed foyer and out the main doors. The mid-morning sun was already warming up the dry October air. The image on his tablet showed his car was approaching the glass-enclosed stairwell. He was thrilled to see that Watson was still inside, but nearly ran into a post allowing himself a moment to chortle at his good fortune.

  His Studebaker tracked Watson as he bounded down flights of steps four at a time. He had reached the bottom and burst out of the emergency exit as if he were running from fire. Since the Skyhawk wasn’t a police vehicle, it had none of the standard equipment an interceptor does, so Milo simply had the vehicle follow the man until the opportunity to be reunited with it presented itself. For now he was running down the sidewalk glued to his tablet; not too strange a sight to garner much attention.

  “How’s it going up there?” He asked through his subdermal communicator, somewhat winded.

  “Oh, um… good. Forgot you were there actually. We’re briefing each other with a healthy dose of contrition, but I’ll probably have to do a warm hand-off somewhere for her safety. How are things going on your end?”

  “I’m pursuing on foot while watching him carjack someone through my find and follow function. So all-in-all, it could be better. I didn’t want to have to do this, but I need to call this in before that woman who just had her car stolen does, and it comes out later that I did nothing to assist. This is the sort of thing that ruins promotion potential.”

  Milo heard the inductions of a protest from Hal, but switching channels to an emergency line cut the man off. Milo identified himself, and explained the situation to the dispatcher, as calmly as he could while still at a hasty jog. “He’s headed north, approaching the Virginia Street Bridge in a tan Packard. I’m in pursuit but requesting a vehicle deactivation.” The dispatcher acknowledged the request, but didn’t pledge action just yet. The owner of the soft, yet confident female voice was likely conferring with a supervisor, as well as locating nearby patrol units, Milo supposed.

  Remote vehicle deactivations were relatively common and harmless police actions that involved a forced shutdown on civilian cars. Through a series of codes, transmitted from various points around metropolitan centers, or from satellites in unincorporated areas, cars are essentially rendered unusable by turning off the electronics and mechanically locking the driver inside the vehicle. Another code, transmitted to responding officers, allows them to unlock the downed vehicle at their discretion.

  Having more eyes on the stolen car allowed Milo to halt his foot pursuit. He was finally back in his Stude and speeding after Watson when his mobile came alive once more. “Deputy Durron, deactivation has been authorized. There are two units approaching the vehicle from the north end of the bridge. Shutdown signal will be sent when they are within fifty meters.”

  “Copy dispatch. Please advise your units to contain only. It is imperative that the driver be placed into my custody.” Milo held his tongue in providing any more specific information on Watson. He dared not use words like ‘dangerous’ or ‘fugitive’ as their use might change the nature of police response protocol.

  The scene unfolded in front of him within seconds. The stolen Packard was canted across the bridge, blocking traffic from both directions, with one police air bike hovering a few meters away from the driver’s side door. The other was keeping southbound traffic at a safe distance. Milo was coming in for a soft landing far behind where Watson sat besieged when a loud pop made him slam on the brakes. He sat, suspended in midair, staring in awe at the spectacle before him.

  Somehow, Watson had managed to activate the emergency door release, propelling it clear from the car by several compressed air pockets within the frame, and striking the air bike with enough force to knock the officer from his perch.

  Before the air bike, as well as the officer, stopped moving, Watson was out of the Packard, sprinting straight toward the downed police vehicle. Milo knew that with the speed and maneuverability of an air bike, Watson would be nearly impossible to catch, so he piloted the Studebaker to intercept. The other Reno PD officer had also heard the door exploding and was racing to assist her fallen comrade.

  Milo was preparing to take position directly over the air bike when he witnessed Watson freeze in his tracks, and dramatically slump onto the street like a marionette with its strings cut. Milo drifted the car to the right and keenly watched Watson’s limp body for any sign of movement. Once he was content that it wasn’t a ruse, he landed to investigate further.

  As Milo approached the motionless form lying next to the inert air bike, he was challenged by the uninjured police officer. He identified himself and presented his credentials. After vacillating between him and his shiny new car, she was apparently satisfied enough to focus her efforts on her dismounted counterpart.

  Watson appeared to be peacefully sleeping at first glance. Milo advanced with his weapon drawn, in case the man had another trick up his proverbial sleeve. He nudged him with his foot and Watson flopped over onto his back like a rag doll. A quick inspection revealed no obvious signs of injury. Milo was turning to address the officer when he noticed a small pool of blood under the still figure’s head, so he circled around to locate its source.

  He eventually saw that blood had trickled from the right ear and eye, with the left eye looking disturbingly blood-shot as well. Milo straightened back up and sighed as he re-holstered his sidearm, thoroughly convinced it was not an act.

  ~

  Sonya watched the slow-paced cat and mouse game from a large assembly room, aptly named the ‘hunters den’ over the years. The space was both a training area and sparring arena to test the hunters’ mettle. There was a raised observation room set aside with modest seating, and a full view of the open area for trainers and other spectators to watch the goings-on, or judge any scored matches. The dull, beige room was considerably brighter and more comfortable than the training area, but whenever Sonya was in the Rosen building she spent nearly her entire visit in one or another corner of the den. Many of the hunters in fact could only be found there when in the building.

  The second round of The Game was not quite as enthralling as the first. Prisoner 74205 had s
hot down two of the four seekers and continued to make his way to the nearest safety ring, she guessed. She was certain Jack assumed as much, since it appeared to her that he was rushing to get ahead of his prey in the bowl-shaped zone.

  Sonya watched, hoping both for action and for 74… Hyde, to make it in one piece to the safety ring; knowing only one of those was going to happen. A blue light illuminated on the armrest of the chaise she currently inhabited, indicating an incoming internal call. “This is Kane, go.”

  “Ah yes, Ms. Kane. Mr. Hoberd can see you now in his office… if it’s a convenient time for you that is?”

  “Tell Joe I’ll be right up,” she interjected, promptly closing the channel on the procurement office assistant. She leapt up gracefully and made her way to the nearest lift. Jovan Hoberd, the Director of Asset Procurement, was a very quiet, shy, fortyish man who had a bit of a crush on Sonya. They only saw each other in passing every so often, but his puppy dog expressions gave him away at their first encounter. She intended to use that to her advantage.

  Sonya strode into the third floor office as if it were her own, walked right by the assistant whose name she could never remember, and sat in the form-chair facing Jovan’s desk like they were old acquaintances. “Making me wait almost two hours Joe? I thought we were friends?”

  The man was utterly flabbergasted. “I, uh… you’ve never been to my office before,” he stammered. “I was in the middle of something, plus I wasn’t sure it was a genuine request. What brings you up here anyway?” he asked, regaining some composure though barely looking her in the eye.

  “Well, with a welcome like that…” she teased. “I have a problem I was hoping you can help me with.”

  “Yes?” he breathed, heavy with desire.

  “I’d be ever so grateful if you’d permit a couple friends of mine to talk to you about the process of acquiring network contestants.”

  “Oh,” he huffed disappointedly, slumping into his plush leather seat that was much bigger than he was. “No I’m afraid not. I can’t even discuss that process with you, let alone outsiders.”

  Sonya leaned forward, and in a flinty voice said, “Not even me? Are you sure Joe? I can be very persuasive if I have to be, you know.”

  A dark, stern look crossed over the man’s face. She couldn’t tell if it was an attempt at confidence, or if he was afraid of what he was about to say.

  “Quite sure. In fact, Sonya, it’s been made abundantly clear to me that anyone not authorized to have information regarding this office are to be reported immediately, or face termination and legal action. I’m sorry to say that you are not on that very short authorization list. As much as I… respect you, I like my job and livelihood more.

  “Wait, what?” Sonya asked, dropping the siren routine. “You’re gonna report me for taking an interest in how the company finds my opponents?”

  “I’m afraid so. I don’t have much choice in the matter now, since at least two people here know we’re talking. I doubt you’re in much danger of punitive measures, but I certainly am. Perhaps next time we chat will be under more cordial circumstances. Good day Sonya.”

  With that, she departed Joe’s office to head back down to the den, feeling something she had never felt before. Was she just rejected? Or was the numb, disassociated feeling from guilt, for attempting to grift someone into doing her bidding, placing all the risk upon him? No, she thought. Definitely not guilt.

  Chapter Sixteen: Zenith

  Milo stood staring at the triage medical extractor as it loudly, but quickly, ascended to its cruising altitude and sped away to the nearest military hospital with the body of Raymus Watson. He watched until the craft had been swallowed up by the blue autumn sky, completely oblivious of Hal and Alena approaching solemnly from behind.

  Hal took a position next to him, mimicking his thoughtful pose. After a long moment he asked, “What did the Timmy doc say?”

  “Massive brain hemorrhage. Almost as if a small bomb went off inside his head. The medical resident shared her findings with a couple of other doctors. She’d never seen anything like it before,” came Milo’s monotone response without looking over toward his partner.

  Hal nodded unconsciously. He had tried to warn him, but the old network they were communicating on had a limited range, and he wasn’t fast enough to look up Milo’s mobile number in time to convey his warning. For several seconds they both stood watching a fixed point in the sky, which was now empty. Finally, Hal decided to tell the man what he knew about their mutual fugitives.

  “Since a sizable number of people implanted with an ASI often developed psychological issues, a sort-of failsafe was designed to protect the chain of command, and the general public. It works as a self-destruct in a way, by overloading the implant. The catch to that is you have to know a person’s exact location, down to a few meters, for it to be enabled.”

  Milo bowed his head at the realization. “And by calling the police I just handed over that location, because all cops have an accessible GPS tracker as a regular part of their uniform. They also transmit regular updates through police radio traffic, which is even easier to tap into.”

  “Whoa, whoa! You didn’t know. Don’t beat yourself up over doing what you thought was right. Besides, as smart as Watson was, I figured he found some way to alter his implant, or at least that particular feature… assuming he even knew about it that is,” Hal said, attempting to reassure the man. It didn’t seem to work though, as Milo turned and stared intently at him.

  “Who would’ve made that call? To activate Watson’s failsafe? And why now? Why not when he was at Leavenworth, or when he got picked up after Belarus? You didn’t fill me in on the off-switch, can you at least humor me by answering those?”

  Hal was stung by that last comment but tried to not let it show. “Best guess, someone affiliated with Rosen pulled the plug after Watson outlived his usefulness with them. It wasn’t all in vain though. He uncovered some encouraging data on them that could put a nice bow on our mission…”

  “Our mission?” Milo interjected exasperatedly. “I hate to break it to you pal, but I’m not on any mission. I’m working a sanctioned OP with the code-name of Rubicon to retrieve three escapees, two of whom died right in front of me and the third may as well be dead. The way I see it, my part here is over.”

  Hal stood motionless, dumbfounded by what he just heard. Although their time together had been short, he thought he had gotten through to Milo to empathize with his fellow veterans. A bona fide confidant to partner with in the lonely life of espionage. But perhaps he underestimated fracturing the loyalty of the career government employee.

  “Do you think that name was chosen at random? I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the significance of the phrase ‘crossing the Rubicon.’ But in case you missed the subtle pronouncement, your so-called ‘sanctioned OP’ was Colonel Takbrite’s transition from a respected Army officer, to an asset in Rosen’s pocket. Him bringing on the Marshals was just a ploy to aid in leading those goons in red to the fugitives, and appease anyone else who may be watching the situation unfold.”

  “How do you know that? Still keeping things from me huh? That tactic may have worked to bait your hook before, but it’s wearing a bit thin…”

  “No! No, that’s not what’s happening here. Although I suspected he was into something unbecoming, I didn’t know the extent of his machinations until Alena informed me not fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t do this alone; he was simply an integral piece of the meticulously conceived plan by Rosen. Speaking of which, there’s still time to help Marcus, but we have to act quickly. Our chances of success go up with your help. But I’ll understand if you want to part ways here.”

  For several long moments Milo contemplated the offer. He could walk away right now with his hands clean of the whole affair, from both a legal and professional perspective. However, he knew himself. Despite being a life-long soldier, and celebrated instructor of Army doctrine, he was not unsympathetic to the moments w
here countermanding orders was the right thing to do. If there was anything to be done that could either help Hyde, or clear his name, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to simply leave, hands clean or not.

  “All right. Say I happen to stick around a bit longer; there will be a few conditions. I’ll want full disclosure on what the both of you know about Rosen, ASIs, and any data connecting them to your overall mission. Secondly, I want to be the one to make whatever command decisions may come our way from here on out, since I’m the only person here who has any legitimate authority. So to start things off on the right foot, what would my contribution entail exactly? How do we get Hyde out of the zone in time with a few articles of dirty laundry?”

  “It’s much more than that,” Alena spoke up. “The data Watson uncovered strikes directly at Rosen’s wallet; against people who would rather not be outed as backers. Not to mention shining a very bright light on some of their questionable recruitment methods, and overall shady dealings both here and abroad.”

  “Sounds good. What do you need me for then?”

  “Because of what Marcus said at the end of the first round,” Hal offered. “‘As the sun makes its zenith, so must I,’ Alena thinks, he’s referring to the long-considered defunct Zenith Electronics company…”

  “So, what? They’re going to invent the remote control again? You’re not selling this very well doc.”

  “My pessimism is wearing off on you. No, Watson must’ve told the others that the zone hard line comms network is of older Zenith tech, which is historically known to be susceptible to military-grade communicators, including implanted personal ones.”

  Milo stared at the man for a long moment. Hal’s point had finally clicked. “We can find him, and talk to him!” He said with a newfound zeal. Then his analytical side took back over. “Why didn’t Watson try to find him if he knew about the network’s backdoor? If that was the reason he came here…”