by J. G. Sandom
“There it is. I see it. White smoke.”
Decker counted off in his head. Three, two, one. He flipped down the brake lever and the car leapt down the road like a shot.
They had just entered the shadow of the underpass when there was a frightful explosion above them. Route 2 came apart, raining huge chunks of masonry down onto the boulevard. One barely missed them as they broke into the light. Two cars sailed off the highway and came crashing down but a few feet away, exploding into bright orange flames on each side of them. Decker kept driving. He swung round the roundabout, under the overpass once again, and then back onto Timpany. Moments later, they had climbed up the entrance ramp back onto the highway.
“Holy fucking shit,” Lulu said. “I can’t fucking believe it. How did you do that?”
“It ain’t over yet, potty mouth.”
“What do you mean? I thought you said Predators had only two missiles.”
“They do.”
“Then, what’s the problem? What? Guns? Bombs? What?”
Decker barely missed a silver Mercedes before sliding between a propane tanker truck and a beat-up beige camper. “No,” Decker said, He gritted his teeth. They were going over a hundred now but it still seemed too slow. “Don’t you see? If they’re willing to shoot Hellfire missiles at us, they’re not being very particular. The Predator drone. It doesn’t just fire missiles. It is a missile.”
As they passed the town of Gardner to their left, Decker noticed another sign up ahead. Exit 23, Pearson Boulevard. Every other driver seemed to have the same idea, no doubt fleeing the mayhem, for the exit ramp was crowded with vehicles.
“It’s coming around,” Lulu said through clenched teeth. “I can see it. Hurry, please, John. Fucking move!”
Decker swung in behind a green Buick Skylark and a powder blue Volkswagen beetle. Without even hesitating, Decker punched the Pontiac against the Skylark’s rear bumper and began to push both of the vehicles out of the way. Horns honked. Tires squealed. Moments later, the GTO was turning up Pearson and heading, once again, for the underpass. But, this time, Decker kept going. He spun round the roundabout, fishtailing badly, and flew under the bridge.
“What are you doing?” screamed Lulu. “Why aren’t you taking cover again?”
“Because,” Decker said, “this time we’re not dealing with some laser-guided missile. It worked before because if they can’t see you, they can’t point the laser at you. But the Predator’s guided by cameras and infrared, heat-seeking sensors.”
He kept looping the roundabout, slipping in and out from under Route 2. The more cars quit the highway and descended the off-ramp, the more congested the circle became. The Skylark and Volkswagon, the camper and propane truck: they crowded around them until there seemed to be nowhere to go, until the maelstrom began to stutter and slow.
“Give me the 45,” Lulu said.
“What?”
“Keep the shotgun. I can’t carry it anyway. But give me the M&P.” Without waiting for an answer, she reached over and took the pistol out of his jacket. “And no matter what happens, when the time comes, just keep going up Pearson.”
Decker watched in horror as Lulu opened her door. One second she was sitting there with the door open, the next she was standing on the edge of the frame, the road rushing beneath her, one hand on the door and the other on the roof of the car. The rain seemed to have stopped.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted but it was already too late.
Lulu leapt from the Pontiac. She did a full somersault in the air and landed somewhere out of sight on the hitch of the tanker truck. Decker felt his heart seize up in his chest. For a moment, she vanished from sight. Then, as the truck pulled forward beside him, he caught a glimpse of her in the passenger-side mirror. The image was so small, it was almost as if he were watching some YouTube video on a smartphone.
Lulu swung up out of sight once again, only to reappear on the passenger-side running board. Moments later, she was sitting right beside the man driving the truck, the gun aimed at his face.
There was a honk and Decker swung his head back to the road. He had almost run into the camper beside him. It peeled off down the boulevard, followed by a whole stream of cars, including the Volkswagen. But the propane truck kept by his side. They continued to circle the roundabout, flitting under the overpass and then reappearing once again into the sunlight, such as it was. Decker tried to spot the Predator in the sky but it was nowhere to be seen. Besides, the wind was rushing in with such chilling ferocity, watering his eyes, that it made it virtually impossible to see anything clearly.
He turned back to look at the tanker truck but it had vanished. No, there it was. He could see it in the mirror behind him. The driver was standing outside the open driver-side door. Lulu had somehow managed to slip into the driver’s seat. She was barely visible behind the dashboard, given her stature. The truck honked and the driver leapt from the cab into a large pile of gray snow at the foot of the pylons supporting the highway. He rolled out of sight.
The tanker truck honked once again as they swept around the circle. Lulu was waving at him, urging him forward. Decker stepped on the gas. And, just as he slipped under the overpass and into the shadows again, the truck spun to the side. It teetered and started to tip. Decker’s heart skipped as he watched the silver tanker whiplash and roll onto its side, pulling the cab over beside it.
As it fell, the driver door opened and Lulu jumped up out of the opening. For a second or two, she balanced precariously on the frame of the door—like a surfer, her arms out—as the cab and the silver tanker threw sparks up behind her. She leapt into the air, flipping midstream, and fired back at the tanker as she sailed into the same bank of snow where the driver had fallen.
There was a terrible blast as the propane exploded. The Pontiac was carried up by the shockwave and, with it, four other vehicles. Out of nowhere the Predator fell from the sky, drawn like a moth to the flames.
There was a second explosion as the drone hit the deck. The highway collapsed as the Pontiac finally touched down on the boulevard. The steering wheel was ripped from his hands and Decker lost control of the vehicle. It bounced once and sailed onto the side of the road, finally coming to rest in an ice-covered drainage ditch.
Decker reached down and unfastened his seatbelt. As he turned, he saw a huge mushroom cloud of black smoke rising up from the highway. Flames still engulfed what was left of the overpass when a shadow emerged from the cloud.
A figure. Tiny. More phantom than human.
It was Lulu. She walked from the smoking debris with a calmness that belied the chaos behind her.
Decker got out of the Pontiac. He ran toward her as fast as he could. As he approached her, she lifted her hand and gave him the tiniest wave. Then, without warning, she collapsed onto the street.
CHAPTER 41
Friday, December 13
Decker and Lulu stood on the corner of Ames and Amherst in Cambridge, near the Saxon tennis courts on the MIT campus. Across the street was the Media Lab, with the Weisner building and the List Visual Arts Center behind it. The Lab was a five-story contemporary structure with diaphanous metal screens hanging over the windows and a large saucer-like canopy hovering over the roof, like a steel comb-and-cover, an architectural toupée. “Is that it?” Decker asked. “The Education Arcade?”
Lulu nodded.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait in the car? You still look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Lulu said. Then, she added, “I’m fine. Really. Besides, you’re gonna need me to enter some parts of the facility. They’re secure.”
“I thought you said they did game design.”
Lulu sighed. “They do,” she said, rubbing her eyes. They were still raw from the smoke and debris following the drone attack. “Primarily for educational purposes. But the building is actually the Media Lab, not just TEA. And some of the research is classified.”
“You won’t be able to use your ID,”
Decker said. “You know that, right? I’m sure they’ll be tracking us.”
“I know,” Lulu answered. “Don’t worry. I won’t give us away.” With that, she began crossing the street.
The main entrance required no passkey or ID. They simply waltzed in. The lobby was airy and large, three stories tall, with net-like decorative hangings draping down from the ceiling. The walls were lined with offices visible from the lobby through floor-to-ceiling windows. They ignored the welcome desk and headed straight for the stairs at the back.
Decker followed Lulu down one flight and they soon found themselves in a bright cafeteria.
Decker was surprised. “I’m not really hungry,” he said, but Lulu ignored him.
“Grab a tray and help yourself to some food. I need to do something first.”
“What?”
“You’ll see,” she said cryptically.
Decker did as he was told. He joined a rag-tag group of students, most of whom were involved in a tense debate about pheromones. He wasn’t really paying much attention to them until he heard a word that made him stop dead in his tracks—drone.
“It works on pheromones,” one explained to the others. He was a rather fat twenty-something with long hair and bad teeth. “Which are actually modified hormones used to control functions ranging from cell-cycle regulation to the production and release of other proteins and chemicals. They’ve been isolated in the saliva, sweat and urine of various species.”
“Including humans, of course,” a pretty girl with a moon-like face added.
“Of course. Most mammals have a specific organ for the detection of pheromones, mediated by millions of olfactory sensory neurons located in the epithelium. But, while humans can detect around ten thousand different odors using around three hundred and fifty ORs—”
“What’s an OR?” another boy, Pakistani or Indian, inquired.
“Olfactory receptors,” said the boy with the long hair condescendingly.
“Oh, right.”
It was clear to Decker that the fat boy was trying to impress the pretty moon-faced girl.
“Anyway, ORs are transmembrane proteins embedded in the cell membrane of the sensory neurons of the olfactory epithelium. These transmembrane proteins are coded in the DNA, and several studies—including the one Buck did back in 2004—show that each neuron may express only one gene. Get it?”
“No,” said the Indian boy.
The boy with the long hair sighed. “My drone can identify millions of odors, not just ten thousand, and literally map to a unique DNA signature. Think about it,” he said. “Why blow up a whole village, manufacturing yet more terrorists in the process, when you can send in one small device and hunt down one man, your target, based on his unique pheromonic signature? It’s the perfect killing machine.”
The perfect killing machine, Decker thought, remembering what had happened to them that very morning. Cyber assassins.
He was about to reach for a ham and cheese sandwich wrapped in cellophane when he noticed Lulu standing by the door to the cafeteria. She was holding it open for a tall man with white hair wearing a lab coat. After a moment, she came over and slid into line.
When they had picked out some food, Lulu reached into her jeans and pulled out a twenty. “It’s on me,” she said. “I still owe you, remember? Find a seat. I’ll be right back.”
“Now, what...” he began, but she had already sidled away. Decker sat down, keeping one eye on Lulu.
She first went and talked to a young girl with heavy black makeup not far from the entrance. Decker couldn’t hear what she was saying but, whatever it was, the girl shook her head and Lulu moved on. Next, she leaned over and said something to another girl wearing what appeared to be a blue plastic miniskirt. The girl reached into her purse and pulled out an object that Decker couldn’t identify. A book of matches, perhaps. Or a packet of gum. Moments later, Lulu walked back to their table.
“What was that all about?” he inquired.
“You’ll see,” she said without looking at him. She kept staring at the man with the white hair in the lab coat.
“What’s going on? Do you know that guy?”
“Nope,” she replied. Then, with the smallest of shrugs, she began to tear into her sandwich.
Decker followed suit. He’d already wolfed down half his ham and cheese before he realized just how hungry he really was. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast in Bondville. “I heard these kids talking about some drone designed to identify targets based solely on smell,” he said between bites.
Lulu shrugged but didn’t reply. She was still watching the man in the lab coat.
“I thought this was a media center,” Decker continued. “You didn’t tell me they worked on weapons systems here.”
Lulu stuffed the last of her sandwich into her mouth and washed it down with a large swig of Coke. “They don’t. But some of the kids end up at Cambridge Dynamics. They’re the guys who developed Big Hound and Little Hound, The Flea and the Jaguar. You know. Robots. DARPA’s a big funder.” Without warning, Lulu climbed to her feet. “Time to go,” she said, sweeping up her tray and strolling away.
Decker followed her to the kitchen area where they dumped their trash and put their trays on a moving conveyor belt. That’s when he noticed the tall man with white hair and lab coat. He too was putting his tray on the belt.
Lulu followed the man toward another door leading from the cafeteria. He removed a card hanging from a lanyard round his neck and swiped it through a wall reader.
There was a small buzzing sound and the door swiveled open. Lulu hung back a second or so, long enough for the man to see her standing behind him. She appeared to have something in her own hand and began to reach toward the reader when the man said, “Here,” and held the door open.
“Thanks,” she said with a bright sunny smile. She held the door open for Decker and they slipped out of the dining room, side by side.
As soon as the white-haired man had vanished, Lulu stopped Decker with a tug on the sleeve. “This way,” she said, spinning about.
“This is a secure area,” he said.
Lulu nodded.
“Oh, now I get why you—”
Lulu stepped on his toe.
Decker jumped back with a yelp. He was about to say something when he saw the saccharine grin on her face. With her eyes only, Lulu motioned toward the ceiling.
Decker glanced up and noticed a surveillance nub in the tiles. By the time he looked back, Lulu was already halfway down the corridor.
They moved in this way for another five minutes, from one corridor to the next. The halls were fairly crowded, at least at first. But when they reached a door at the end of yet another white corridor, there was no one about. Above the door, a sign read: TEA Lab 3—VR.
There was no knob on the door, just another card reader on the wall.
“What now?” Decker whispered. “Wait for someone to exit?”
Lulu didn’t reply. She reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a gold-colored object. It was a condom, Decker realized. A Trojan Magnum.
Fascinated, Decker watched as she tore it open with her teeth. Then, she unrolled the prophylactic and tugged on the latex material. “Perfect,” she said. She slid to the floor and slipped the majority of the condom under the door. With her mouth on the open end of the condom, she began to inflate it just like a party balloon. She huffed and she puffed in this manner until Decker heard the door suddenly click.
Lulu leapt to her feet as the door swung to the side. A few seconds later, they were inside yet another secure area. It was only then that Lulu relaxed.
“How did you...Never mind. I know. ‘Don’t ask,’” Decker said.
Lulu smiled. “Hacking isn’t just about being a code jockey, Special Agent Decker. Sometimes, human engineering can be even more effective than a thousand tight lines of C.”
“That’s why you opened the door for that guy with the white hair?”
Lulu nod
ded. “It’s human nature to reciprocate. And men of a certain age are more susceptible to women, especially when they smile.” She beamed up at Decker.
He laughed. “And that trick with the condom?”
“All the secure areas have motion detectors on the inside. That way, even if your hands are full of equipment, you can exit them easily. Especially if there’s a fire or some other emergency.”
He nodded. “But how did you know that girl had a condom on her?”
Lulu shrugged. “Most single women I know carry condoms these days. You never know who you’re going to meet or when you might need one. It pays to be prepared. But when I lost my purse and—”
“I get it,” he said.
“Why, Special Agent Decker. You’re blushing.”
He turned and looked away.
“That’s so sweet,” she continued.
“What now?” Decker said. He looked about the room. It was a lab of sorts, with equipment strewn all over the place. Flat screens. Electronics. Wiring. And over in one corner, another 3-D printing device.
“Beats me,” Lulu answered. “Your Mr. X simply told us to go here. He didn’t say why.”
She sat on the windowsill. It ran the full length of the lab. Decker sat down beside her.
“Oh, shit,” she said suddenly.
“What?” Decker followed her gaze. She was staring out the window at the Saxon Tennis Courts below. “What is it?”
“Look,” she said, pointing.
Decker followed her finger. The Charles River glistened in the clear winter light. Just shy of the water, by the tennis courts where they had parked the Subaru they had stolen in Gardener, Decker noticed a Cambridge Police car. Two cops were standing alongside the Subaru, peering into the windows.
“Crap,” Lulu said. “There goes our ride.”
“And our guns,” Decker said. “We’re running out of time. It won’t take long for them to figure out where we are.”
At that moment, the door to the lab opened, and a man carrying a parcel stepped into the room. He looked directly at Lulu. “Hey,” he said. “You.”