“I’m sorry, Gracie,” Brant repeated. “I’m so sorry.”
“We should never have let her hear that audio feed,” Teresa scolded. “It was too much!”
“No,” Gracie sniffled back. “No. I had to hear it. I had to know for myself. Truly. It had to be done. And now I understand what must follow. There is only one direction left.” She reached and took each of their hands in hers. “I can’t tell you how I regret ever having involved you—all of you,” she eyed each one. “It will haunt me all the days of my life.”
“We understand, Gracie,” Brant replied. “We really do. And you must remember: none of this was ever your intention, or ours. And besides, we acted of our own choice. We decided to go for it—sink or swim. We knew what we were getting into.”
“He’s right, Gracie,” Teresa agreed. “We understood the risk . . . danger . . . nightmare,”—she paused—“okay, so we didn’t have a clue how scary it was going to be. But we made it! We rescued you, an outcome which makes it all worthwhile.”
“I can never compensate for what you have all been through, nor what you have done for me, and mine. But I take care of my own,” Gracie said, her voice firm and committed. “And you are all, my own.”
The air of determination began to swell once again, and the resolve to push ahead was felt by all. But then a small voice cut in from the background like a dissonant note in a symphony-supreme. Sam’s voice caught them by surprise and challenged their new-felt optimism: “Gracie. Will they keep trying to find us? To hurt us?” he asked solemnly, his small chin resting on the back of his seat. His eyes were red and swollen, and his face reflected far more dreadful events than any child should ever experience.
“Oh my dear child,” Gracie reached and grasped his cheeks in her hands. “No! Oh no, no! This will all be over very soon. And you will go on to live a happy, wonderful life. I promise.” She leaned up and kissed his head, then sat back against her seat, her eyes filled with regret . . . and with recrimination.
Silence set in like the curing of concrete, and for a time, only the Sandray’s engines menaced the emptiness.
“There is a way to end all of this,” Gracie continued from the silence. “In the beginning, when all scenarios had to be considered. Betrayal by one of our own, was unthinkable . . . at least to me. But not to Zen. I remember how I argued with him, and told him that these prudent precautions he so fervently pushed to implement, were a waste of time, and of resources and expense. I was so anxious to finish Sandcastle, you see, and get on with our exciting new purpose, and life. But he was insistent,” she laughed at herself, ironically. “It was as though he knew.” Gracie peered out her small window, and pondered something extreme . . . something absolute and final. “There is a fail-safe protocol. Zen orchestrated it himself. But only I, or one of the Four, can activate it. And when it is done,”—she gazed profoundly into their faces—”I promise each of you. You will get your lives back.”
Gracie’s words came with committed emotion, yet unclear meaning; and for the time being, no one asked her to explain further. It was enough to all be together, and safe.
“We’re just glad to have you safely back,” Teresa reminded. “That’s the main thing.”
Everyone agreed.
Brant stretched his arms, neck and legs. “I say we park this bus somewhere secluded, and get some rest. We still have some nighttime left,” he suggested. “Three-Of-Ten will have himself repaired by then, and we’ll all be in a better frame of mind to evaluate our options.”
“Now that’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say all day,” Teresa clipped in. She smiled and leaned contently back against his shoulder.
Gracie nodded. “Very good. Let’s get some sleep. And in the morning we’ll start out again.”
“So it’s back to Sandcastle, then?” Brant surmised. “If so, things could still get real interesting.”
“Not exactly,” Gracie replied, her gaze averted. “At least not to the estate, nor the underground. It must be to the solarium. That is where we go. It is there that protocol High-tide awaits us,” she muttered, the words slipping off her tongue in a strange utterance.
Brant puzzled. Perhaps the solarium would be less heavily guarded than the rest of the facility? Their chances of not being discovered would be certainly be better. But what on earth could be housed in that Byzantine dome of glass and steel; hid amid flowers, streams and elaborate patios? And what was this fail-safe protocol, High-tide she had muttered so painfully. He would simply have to wait and see.
Had Brant spent more time as a child playing on ocean beaches and building fantastic sandcastles in the damp sand of low tide, he might have understood the devastating significance in her words.
Chapter 59:
Tanner stood motionless. His rage burned within him and seemed to radiate outward in a cocoon of wrath. He gazed down from the Mole Hole Control mezzanine at the grid of newly assembled Goliaths—his pride and joy. He would release the fury of every single one of them to safeguard his captured technology.
The news of the debacle at the island-home had both shocked and repulsed him; and thrown his plans into a burning tailspin. Gracie Reitman’s rescue from the facility was beyond incompetence! It was intolerable! Jim Reitman’s security team had proven themselves worthless, and the Goliaths had failed—unfathomable as it was, they had failed! Now he would have to be more aggressive—far more aggressive, and move to expedite his schedules.
The old woman and her feeble clan of champions were dust to his hurricane of android soldiers. To attempt an infiltration of Sandcastle defenses would be ludicrous. Yet, Tanner had to wonder: what was her next play, if any? Gracie and her dangerous Three-Of-Ten were out there somewhere. He knew they would come to Sandcastle. He felt it. Ridiculous and pointless as it sounded, he just knew that they would try. But why? Was there something Jim Reitman had missed? Something looming in the background of all which they had conquered and assimilated? An i not dotted? A t not crossed? Something that could still destroy their plans? But what? Tanner had never feared anything. But this Reitman woman? Yes. He feared her . . . or more precisely, he feared not knowing what she knew. And until he did know, or until the woman was found, he would oversee the Goliath patrols at Sandcastle, personally.
Briggs’ footsteps were easily recognized as he approached from the rear. He stopped at Tanner’s back.
Tanner didn’t flinch.
“There is no word from Jim Reitman.” Briggs began, speaking to the face staring back at him in the reflection of panel. “He has ignored all of our attempts to contact him.”
“Of course he has,” Tanner replied, indifferently. “His mother has escaped from his escapeless containment facility. And his useless group of security were no doubt surprised by the appearance of our Goliaths. I imagine he is,”—Tanner hesitated, angling his face oddly—“put out.”
“That is an understatement,” Briggs replied. “The Goliaths were seen by multiple guards . . . Jimmy’s guards. Several even engaged them, and were killed.”
Tanner finally turned from the glass to face him. His eyes were cold, his countenance smothering. “How unfortunate for them,” he smirked. “And how foolish.”
Briggs’ looked away. He felt a pang of regret, a surge of anger. He did not want it revealed in his expression. “They must have been terrified,” he mumbled.
“They were insignificant!” Tanner exploded in sudden outrage. “Compared to what is at stake . . . insignificant! Don’t you understand! They should all have been eliminated, and would have been had the Goliaths not failed us! Now the old woman is gone, and we have witnesses! Do you understand the ramifications of that!”
Briggs’ suddenly felt the chilled drip of comprehension. His chin trained up, and he locked a firm glare on the man. “You modified their programming. You downloaded protocol clean-sweep to those three Goliaths. They were at the island to kill Gracie Reitman, not protect her. Her and everyone else! You wanted all of them dead!”
“Very good, Colonel,” Tanner replied, contemptuously. He turned back to the glass and sighed, as if annoyed. “We no longer need the Reitmans. They are both a liability. Sandcastle, and her underground tributaries are under our control now. We have their technology. We have the Four.”
“We don’t have the data-archives yet!” Briggs growled back. “And until we have broken the encryption codes and accessed these data treasure-troves, we still need Jim Reitman!”
“You are wrong, Colonel.” Tanner countered. “Reitman gave us just enough of the encryption primer to keep control—his hook in our mouths—enough to tug now and then, and have us respond. But he underestimated our access to Sandcastle’s technology. As we speak, the Four’s algorithms are ninety-two percent compromised. Our android supercomputers will have gained access to the Four’s archives within the week. Then we can turn our backs to this desert sanctuary and lay waste to the whole of it! The sands can have back their castle,” he continued, his head arrogantly raised, his words coming as a decree spoken in tried condemnation. “The Wendover Base will become fully operational. The name HOPE will pass into history and reemerge as EMR, the most powerful weapon ever conceived.” His eyes fell back on Briggs, and he grinned chillingly. “And you, dear Colonel Briggs, will make more money than you can possibly spend in ten lifetimes.”
Briggs tried to feign an outward confirmation, a specious look of renewed courage, but he felt his veins constrict, his blood choke off; and he could hardly keep from vomiting. He knew Jim Reitman better than that. And for the first time, Briggs felt the fear of the hunted.
“You’re not getting cold feet now are you, Colonel?” Tanner questioned, seeing the emotional foundering.
“Cold feet?” Briggs countered, sensing his own rage swell. “No, Mr. Tanner. I’m simply surrendering to the fact that by showing your true hand to Jim Reitman, you may have just killed us all, and your precious project.”
--
The Sandray moved above the desert terrain in a silent swath, edging ever closer to Sandcastle Estate. It was an usually dark night in the salt desert—a bit of fortuitous luck for any normal covert mission. But with the Sandray’s stealth technology, the shadowless expanse only acted to intensify the dreary mood already permeating inside the craft’s cabin.
The previous respite had been a short one—much too short, but it had given the group a few desperate hours to let their blood pressure drop and assess, more clearly, their situation. They had put down in a secluded meadow and taken advantage of every precious minute. During that short time, they were able to stabilize Teresa and attend to her cuts; Three-Of-Ten, using the onboard EMR tools had successfully rebuilt himself, and in unbelievable time; and finally, they were able to devise a plan (very rudimentary, however) on how they were going to get Gracie inside the Sandcastle yard, undetected. Yes. There had been little rest in those few hours of . . . rest.
The navigation system suddenly announced proximity, taking all by surprise.
“Shouldn’t we be able to see the estate’s outside lighting by now?” asked Jessie, the first to speak in nearly an hour. “It’s pitch dark out there.”
“Yes,” spoke Gracie, raising her head just enough to take a glance out the left-front window. “If the computer is correct, and I assume that it is, then the only explanation is that all of the external lighting has been turned off. No wonder it feels so dark out there.”
“That’s not a good sign,” Brant added. “But then again, we assumed they might be watching for us . . . it seems that they are.”
“I hate that we’re always right,” grumbled Teresa.
“But they can’t see us, can they?” Sam spoke up, nervously. “You said we were invisible.”
“That’s right,” Teresa assured the boy, giving him a comforting nod. “Now don’t worry. Remember what we told you. You are completely safe as long as you are inside the Sandray. That’s why you’re staying right here in your seat.”
Sam turned a quickened glance at his sister. Jessie expected the response, and met his gaze. “Don’t worry little brother. I’m staying right here with you.”
“Destination Sandcastle, point five kilometers straight ahead,” announced Three-Of-Ten.
“Let’s do a few passes just beyond the outside wall,” suggested Brant. “Let the Sandray sensors snoop for a bit.”
“Good idea, Brant,” Gracie said. “Then we’ll head for the hidden entry on the south side of the solarium,” she directed. “Are you hearing us, Three-Of-Ten?”
“Yes, Mrs. Reitman,” the android replied.
“Now remember,” Gracie cautioned. “All lighting must be off when the Sandray door opens—absolutely pitch black. The solarium is transparent, and any light can be seen from a great distance. Three-Of-Ten will exit first and do a peripheral scan. Then, if it is safe, he will return and collect me. Brant will follow. The rest of you will stay put.”
“I still think I should come. I can walk, you know,” said Teresa.
“No!” voiced Brant and Gracie at the same time. They looked at each other and grinned.
Brant gave Teresa the look, and punched his left hand with his right fist. “Don’t make me tie you up.”
She smiled back at him, but it was a painted smile. Her face was riddled in worry, and fear. “Alright,” she whispered. “Another time that threat might have been fun.”
Brant bent and kissed her. “We’ll be in and out of there in a flash. You’ll see. Gracie knows exactly what she’s doing,” he assured.
“Yes,” Gracie returned, her reply coming as if on prompt. “Now let’s get—”
An alarm suddenly buzzed up front.
“What are those!” gasped Jessie, staring down at the monitor.
As the Sandray breached the estate perimeter, the navigation screen suddenly became overrun with hundreds of white dots. It was as though someone had spayed florescent paint all over the screen.
“Goliath sentinels detected ahead,” tapped Three-Of-Ten. His words were nearly monotone, yet they were heard as an emotional trill of dread.
Brant hurried to the front and leaned over in disbelief. “Holy!—there must be over a hundred of them!” And there was. The grounds were literally crawling with the metal monsters! “Now what do we do!” he groaned, turning his terrified expression on Gracie.
“Three-Of-Ten,” she instructed, calmly. “Overlay the estate and all surface structures onto the navigation screen.”
“Yes, Mrs. Reitman.” The android quickly complied, and tapped at several buttons. An outline of the terrain appeared in florescent green delineation. Every object above ground now shown vivid in real-time, and in 3D clarity: the estate, with all of its angled surfaces, concentric supports and curvy eaves; the grounds with its statues, ponds, stairs, walks and cloisters; the solarium with its high walls and geometric domed ceiling; and much, much more. But all eyes quickly focused on the solarium.
“You were right, Gracie,” uttered Brant with some astonishment. “Those things are literally hugging the estate and the perimeter walls—like bees to their queen; I imagine the underground is even worse. But the solarium in practically unguarded. At least on this north side,” he pointed.
“And that is where we are headed,” Gracie put in confidently. “To our enemy, the solarium is nothing more than an enclosed garden—certainly nothing to waste precious resources on. My Zen knew this would be the case—if ever the complex was compromised. He knew the solarium would be the most unlikely spot to house a secondary MU1 control center.”
“So that’s it. A second control center. Brilliant. But won’t we be detected by those barrel-headed uglies the instant we step outside of the Sandray? Didn’t you say that they have the same sensory technology as Three-Of-Ten?” Brant questioned.
“Correct,” stated Gracie. “They do have the same sensory abilities, and yes, normally we would be discovered. But as I said before. The solarium was designed for the sole purpose of housing this secret chamber. The outer metal lat
tice is not just beautiful, and enigmatic. It was engineered by Jacob to reflect any energy propagated electromagnetically. It is sound, Brant. Trust me. We will not be detected.”
Brant nodded. Of course he trusted her. But he was, after all, a professor of science. Asking questions was like breathing air. He just did it. “That makes sense.”
“And your son, Jimmy? He knows nothing of this chamber?” queried Teresa, nervously.
Gracie shook her head adamantly. “No. Only myself and the Four know of its existence. The idea, and requisite reality, for a secondary control center was all established while,”—she paused—“while Jimmy was just a baby. Zen knew that one day, our son would be the only one of the group to truly interact with the world outside of Sandcastle. It was agreed that he was never to know it existed. It was too much of a risk.”
“Now things are starting to make sense,” said Brant. “I wish I could have met Zen. He was as wise as he was brilliant.”
Gracie smiled nostalgically. “My Zen was brilliant. And everything else, wonderful.” She cleared her throat and took a long breath. “Take us in, Three-Of-Ten. Let’s get this done. These people have their lives to get on with.”
--
The uniformed guard walked past Ruthanne’s room. He stopped momentarily to ogle at her through the tiny observation window centered in her door. Satisfied that his female hostage was as she should be, he eventually moved on to his station just down the hall.
Ruthanne had to wonder: why did he bother looking in at all? There were cameras trained on her from multiple angles. They could watch her every move from their monitoring station. They could even make obscene gestures if they wanted . . . and probably did. She thought it comical—in a morbid sort of way—how often these uniformed marionettes stopped at her window to perform some little self-serving, masculine ritual of lurid faces. It was so completely mature for a soldier. And the best part, was their assumption that because she was blind, she could not see them in the act. But she knew exactly—in the inflexion of muscles—what the contorted face-language conveyed. It was disgusting!
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