The Immortality Code

by Douglas E. Richards

  The holographic projector was on a tripod just in front of the tree line, ten feet from where the impaled image of the physicist had appeared. It was black, with a main body the size of a basketball, and six projectors on the end of rods attached to it, each capable of precise positioning, so that the six projectors in combination could assume an almost unlimited number of possible configurations.

  “Do you recognize the model?”

  “Yes. It’s brand-new tech, but US operatives were able to smuggle one out of China last month.”

  “Do you know how it works?”

  “Affirmative. Not only that, but we found a backdoor way in. Meaning that I can program it to display scenes of your choosing.”

  “Outstanding!” said the commander.

  “There is a catch. To gain access, I’ll need someone to hit a reboot button on the device itself.”

  “Understood,” said Reed. “Lieutenant Quinlan,” he said, changing gears. “Give me a status report. How are you and your men?” He had wanted to check in with them the moment they had taken cover over a minute earlier but had been too busy to do so.

  “We’re all alive and well,” replied the lieutenant as the battle raged on around him, just slightly louder than it was where Reed was standing, thirty yards more distant from the action. “Thanks to your warning. A few injuries, but we’re all in fighting shape.”

  “Good. Keep returning fire. I know you heard my exchange with Eve. The Bloodhound feed just came in, and it looks like there are still fourteen entrenched soldiers, even after the five or six I took out. They’re now widely spread out. Meaning there’s no way our team can make it past them.”

  Reed paused. “But I’m betting that I can.”

  He went on to describe what he had in mind. “We’re playing capture the flag,” he continued, “and Allie Keane is the flag. The more you and your men can distract the enemy, the more likely I can slip behind their lines undetected. But don’t take any risks. You can’t create a diversion if you’re dead. So if one of you tries to be a hero, I’ll kill you myself.”

  “You aren’t going soft on us, are you, Commander?” said Quinlan, who punctuated the question by firing several rounds from his perch behind a tree. “You SEALs do have that reputation, you know.”

  Reed grinned, despite himself. “Just keep your heads on a swivel,” he said grimly. “And stay alive.”

  11

  The moment Reed ended his communication with his team, he had Eve send the Bloodhound drone on its original mission to find Allie Keane, and then removed his combat vest and shirt, so that he was wearing nothing but a white undershirt above the waist. He inserted a handgun into a holster on his hip, then another into a holster on his upper ankle, and slung his MK-52 assault rifle firmly around his back, all with great urgency. He slid under the van and quickly worked his feet and arms through straps affixed to the vehicle, pressing himself tightly against its raised undercarriage so that he’d be protected by a hidden carbyne cage. He’d be safer inside the vehicle, but the enemy would be watching, and he wanted to drop to the ground and roll away, unobserved.

  “Satellite coverage of the area is showing the launch of weaponized drones,” said Eve before he could give the order to move out. “Approximately hummingbird sized, of a type thought to contain octa-nitro-cubane payloads,” added the AI, referencing the most potent non-nuclear explosive known to mankind. “Estimate eighteen seconds until first explosion.”

  “Shit!” shouted the commander, his mind racing. “Blanket the area with spoofed GPS input. Make the drones think they’re suddenly twenty miles away from their targets.”

  “This will affect our drones also.”

  “Now!” screamed Reed. “Now, now, now!”

  “Done,” said the AI calmly. “The enemy drones are now flying off to the north, trying to get back to what they believe to be their target coordinates.”

  Reed blew out a long, relieved breath. That was too close. Weaponized drones were enormously effective, which is why the US military had paid so much attention to finding immediate countermeasures when they were detected. Once again, if not for Eve, they’d all be dead.

  “As I warned,” said Eve, “the Bloodhound drone is also receiving false GPS coordinates that are adversely affecting its navigation.”

  “Can’t you take control of it and set it straight?”

  “Affirmative. Assuming full control of navigation now.”

  “How hard was that?” Reed mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. The AI could be breathtakingly brilliant, but also maddeningly stupid. “Extend the van’s battering ram now.”

  “Extending ram,” confirmed Eve as a hydraulic system issued an unmistakable whir for several seconds.

  “Now take us to the holographic projector at best possible speed.”

  “Understood,” said Eve. The vehicle lurched forward as Reed glued himself to its undercarriage.

  The van gained speed and quickly passed the Green Berets’ positions, something that attracted the immediate attention of the enemy. Reed had been largely ignored by the mercenary force as they focused on the men who were firing on them, but this was true no longer. The enemy now attacked the fake Amazon van with a vengeance, unleashing a barrage of gunfire and grenades that was truly biblical in proportion.

  Reed hung on for his life as the vehicle was pummeled by so much incoming that the ground around it shook like an earthquake. Only the van’s tank-like weight kept it upright, and its outer Amazon coating was quickly shredded as incoming fire skinned the vehicle alive, revealing the carbyne-reinforced structure underneath. It was like a Terminator whose face had been torn off to reveal the gleaming, indestructible skeleton within.

  “Now!” shouted Reed, and right on cue his team stepped up their rate of fire and also began tossing grenades at enemy positions for the first time. They weren’t able to get them close enough to take out any enemy combatants, but since the purpose of this exercise was to distract the mercs from the van, that didn’t matter. The goal was simply shock and awe, and exploding grenades provided plenty of both.

  The van reached its destination at the edge of the woods, and Reed dropped to the ground and rolled to the holographic projector three feet away. He quickly found the reset button just below the main body, as Eve had indicated, and pressed it frantically.

  He remained down, hidden by the tall grass, for several agonizing seconds while the projector reset, leaving a back door open that Eve could exploit.

  “Implementing Operation Christine now,” said the AI.

  Reed’s eyes widened in awe as five holographic vans, identical in appearance to the smoking skeleton the real van had become, popped into existence out of thin air, spread out randomly near the real one. All six then appeared to race toward various hostile positions, with one of them doing so in reality.

  Reed waited several seconds until the Green Berets, the AI-controlled van, and the holograms were creating maximum havoc, then rolled the short remaining distance to the woods. As soon as he was surrounded by trees, he jumped to his feet and sprinted to the east, weaving in a jagged line in case someone was trying to put a bullet in his brain as he ran, a disquieting image that he couldn’t shake from his mind’s eye.

  Eve drove the real van forward according to plan, intent on hunting down and crashing into enemy combatants, going inside the tree line to do so. The vehicle and its battering ram had become an unstoppable five-ton instrument of death, driven by an unseen demon from the bowels of Hell. Reed could only imagine how panicked the mercs must be, retreating deeper into the woods to stay out of reach of the berserker van and its holographic cousins.

  “I’m now about fifty yards behind their lines,” Reed whispered to his team as he ran through the woods. “I had Eve call in an airstrike on the factory and surroundings,” he added. “Set to commence in exactly twenty-five minutes.” His breath and heart rate had increased, but SEALs tended to be in almost superhuman physical condition, and he was still able to
speak without too much trouble as he raced forward. “See to it that you’ve retreated a very healthy distance away by then,” he finished.

  “An airstrike, Commander?” said Quinlan warily. “Dr. Keane could still be in the kill box. And we’re on US soil.”

  “I’m convinced she’s at least half a mile away by now. The mercs are there to guard her retreat. They wouldn’t let her stay close and risk getting hit in the crossfire.”

  Quinlan was right about the strike being on US soil, but Reed couldn’t let that stop him. He’d be using black planes, flying below the radar. He had made sure several were scrambled toward South Dakota before he landed, just in case. They’d log this as a terrorist attack, which would give the military certain legal dispensations.

  “I respect your objections, Lieutenant,” added Reed. “I do. But we can’t let the CCP get away with creating a war zone in South Dakota. If they want a war, we’ll give them a war.”

  “Roger that,” said Quinlan. “Godspeed, Commander. Bring back Dr. Keane.”

  “I will,” said Reed emphatically as he continued to run. “And thanks for your help. I owe you and your men a stiff drink. You know, milk . . . lemonade—whatever it is you Purple Unicorns like to drink,” he added wryly, and was instantly rewarded by the sound of Quinlan’s hearty laugher.

  12

  Zachary Reed continued sprinting through the thick woods going east, assuming that Dr. Keane’s captor, or captors, would travel at least a mile away from the factory before exfiltration, just to be sure the helicopter they would undoubtedly use wasn’t seen.

  The woods were magnificent, but there seemed to be an inverse correlation between beauty and Reed’s progress. The more dense the terrain was with lush trees and thick foliage, with bright, beckoning flowers, and gnarly above-ground roots, the more pleasing to the eye—but the more difficult on the feet.

  He had already collected a number of small cuts on his hands and neck as he darted through branches and sharp vegetation with reckless abandon, focusing on keeping his speed and balance, and not spraining an ankle on the uneven terrain. The MK-52 was still pressed firmly against his back, which slowed him down, but not as much as if he would have elected to keep his packed combat vest on as well.

  If he could maintain his pace, he had a good chance of catching up to his targets in time for it to matter. They had been less than twenty minutes ahead when they had driven into the factory, and travel through the tunnel had to have been slow going. Even after they had emerged aboveground, Allie Keane was an unwilling victim who would have to be ushered forward at a careful, deliberate pace. Reed, by contrast, was racing through the woods as if he were on fire, praying that his target had maintained a due east heading, and that his drone could provide her precise location soon.

  “The Bloodhound drone has found Dr. Keane,” said Eve, right on cue. The feed from the drone now hovered in front of his eyes, showing the physicist along with directional arrows to her location, and the distance he needed to cover. “Adjust course thirty degrees to the north,” added the AI.

  He quickly changed direction and risked taking a prolonged look at the feed before returning his eyes to the path ahead. The drone was staying out of sight in front of a group of four—Allie Keane was in front, and three others, all Chinese, were forcing her onward from behind.

  It was his first good look at the trim physicist, who turned out to be more attractive than he had expected, and looked to be athletic as well, with dazzling green eyes that blazed with raw intelligence. He was encouraged to see her expression reflect an unmistakable resolve, a steadfast defiance. She was a civilian, but had the look of a warrior, one he knew had been beaten down by life six years earlier, and had given up, but only temporarily. She had found a way off the mat, and the fierce gleam in her eye indicated she would never give up without a fight again.

  A wave of adrenaline surged through the commander, and he allowed himself to be truly hopeful. His adversaries had gone to epic lengths to shake him, but he had hung on with the tenacity of a pit bull, and now Dr. Keane was just under half a mile away. Finally. And he was closing this distance in a hurry.

  “I have facial recognition matches for two of the three hostiles,” said Eve. “Captain Ye Wu and Lieutenant Zhou Lan. Both are operatives with South China Sword,” the AI added, referencing one of China’s elite special forces units. “Captain Ye appears to be the commanding officer of the three.”

  “How long until the airstrike?” he asked.

  “Sixteen minutes.”

  For the first time Reed began thinking about various strategies to free Dr. Keane from her captors. He was outnumbered and they were elite commandos, but he would have the advantage of surprise, and a drone that could feed him their movements.

  “The drone has picked up a faint audio pulse,” reported Eve, “at three thousand-fold amplification. NSA databanks identify this sound as characteristic of a Chinese Shadow Blade helicopter.”

  “Show its approach from the satellite feed.”

  “Unable to comply. The Shadow Blade is China’s newest stealth model. It’s impervious to radar and video cameras. Sound and line of sight are the only ways to detect and track it.”

  Reed cursed out loud. Another layer of the onion. Even if ten different parties had begun tracking Dr. Keane from her home, the odds that even one of them would be able to run the gauntlet of ruses and traps to get this far were minute. And yet they had still gone to the trouble of using a Shadow Blade for their exfiltration.

  He had once admired their professionalism, but now they were really beginning to piss him off.

  Reed glanced at the drone’s feed, which now showed the party of four emerging into a large circular gap in the woods, likely cleared out just the day before, which was plenty big enough, and level enough, for a Shadow Blade helicopter to land.

  “Based on steady increases in the volume of pulses, Commander, I estimate that the helicopter is approximately two minutes from Dr. Keane’s location, while you’re almost five minutes away. I advise you to increase speed.”

  “Thanks,” said Reed sarcastically, “that’s super helpful.”

  The commander felt panic rising within him. He wasn’t going to make it, after all. He might be able to shave a minute off his time, but he wasn’t running on a track, and the terrain wasn’t getting any easier to traverse. Being a few minutes tardy was the same as an eternity, because once Ye and his men lifted off with the physicist, the game was over, and China was the winner.

  Suddenly, a desperate idea exploded fully formed into Reed’s head. “Attack them with the drone,” he ordered.

  “How? It carries no weaponry.”

  “Have it broadcast the sounds of soldiers approaching. Make them think there’s an army after them. Run them away from the clearing. When they figure it out, dive-bomb them. Turn the damned thing into a dragonfly-sized angry gnat. Have it broadcast a screeching sound that will pierce through their brains. And have it fly by Keane’s ear and tell her to stall. Whatever it takes to buy me three minutes.”

  “Understood. Commencing attack now.”

  “I also want to hear what they’re saying to each other, translated into English.”

  Reed chewed up ground as fast as he could, risking a glance at the feed every few seconds to see the drone diversion play out. The Chinese commandos were initially run out of the clearing, as hoped. When they realized the sounds of an imminent attack were issuing from a drone, it showed itself and began lunging at them with great speed. They reacted in a panic, as if they were being attacked by an angry swarm of murder hornets.

  Allison Keane bolted away from the group, seizing the opportunity to make a run for it. But the Chinese captain, Ye Wu, hadn’t been as troubled by the faux attack as his men, and calmly shot the ground behind her with his handgun, screaming for her to halt.

  She turned back toward him and raised her hands in surrender, tears now beginning to run down her face. The drone detoured for a few seconds to fl
y by her right ear and then returned to its dive-bombing mission.

  “It’s harmless!” Ye shouted at his men in contempt, words that Eve instantly translated. “Ignore it! If it had weapons it would have used them. It can only harass us, nothing else.”

  He paused. “Bring her back to the clearing,” he added in Chinese. “Hurry! We need to get out of here before company arrives.”

  As they double-timed it back to the clearing, the Shadow Blade arrived and hovered thirty feet above the makeshift helipad, waiting for its passengers to show themselves before completing its landing. Reed was now close enough that he could just make out the aircraft off in the distance with his naked eye.

  But he was still almost two minutes out, and at least a minute away from having a good shot on the chopper—assuming it remained airborne.

  Allie Keane groaned and fell to the forest floor, clutching at her ankle as if it were severely sprained.

  Brilliant! Not only had she tried to run on her own, but she had heard the drone instruct her to stall, and was doing a great job of complying.

  “Get her up!” demanded Ye. “There’s no time for games. Carry her if you have to.”

  Two of the men bent down to lift her and transport her the short distance remaining to the clearing, but she screamed in pain and yanked herself from their grip and back to the ground.

  Undeterred, the men reached for her again, much less gently this time.

  “I think you’re faking, Dr. Keane,” said Ye angrily in passable English. “But delay us another second and I’ll break your ankle myself. Understood?”

  The physicist glared at him defiantly but allowed herself to be carried without further theatrics.

  Reed brought himself to an abrupt halt. He would have liked to have gotten closer, but it was now or never. If he didn’t cripple this bird, nothing else mattered.

  He unslung his MK-52, his breathing and heart both now racing, despite his fitness, and hastily worked to find an unobstructed path through branches to the sleek, crow-black helicopter still in the distance, mere seconds from descending.