Einstein Dog

by Craig Spence

  Unlikely, Hindquist thought.

  But the idea persisted. If you can make an outlandish plan work, you’ve got the best plan of all, he remembered, thinking of his own modus operandi. How often had he duped customs officials by concealing contraband in impossible places? Wasn’t the notion of an underground arms distribution and manufacturing plant in the middle of a suburban industrial park audacious?

  Yet he was standing in just such a facility.

  “I need to check inside the boxes,” he told himself.

  But opening each one would take hours and the enemy might be on the move already. He needed some way of checking the cargo quickly, something that could see inside the boxes . . . or smell the faintest trace of a human or canine presence.

  “Genie!” he thought. “She should have been here all along.”

  He jabbed the button on his hand radio. “Genie?” he barked. He waited a moment, listening to the empty static, then shouted, “Genie, can you hear me?”

  “I hear,” Genie responded at last.

  “I need you in the shipping area immediately. I think the enemy may be concealed inside one of the boxes. I need your nose to check out the cargo.”

  “I come.”

  “Hurry,” Hindquist urged. “Who knows what they might be up to?”

  Hindquist turned to the guard closest to him. “Go and keep an eye on the off-loaded cargo that’s been moved downstairs,” he ordered. “Check the boxes to see if any have been tampered with or opened.”

  “Yes, sir!” The man hustled down the ramp.

  Things were not going as expected and that made Hindquist nervous. Still no need for panic, but a heightened vigilance was definitely in order. He needed Genie now! “Where is she, damn it!” Hindquist scowled, continuing his pacing up and down the loading dock. More than five minutes had ticked by and still no Genie. Worse yet, neither she nor Charlie Gowler were responding to calls on their radios.

  Hindquist glanced at his watch: almost four o’clock. In an hour first light would redden the horizon; add half an hour to that and the early starters for AMOS’ day shift would begin straggling in. Hindquist didn’t like the look of it one bit. “You,” he summoned one of the guards. “Get down to R&D. See if you can find that moron Charlie Gowler or Genie. Tell the dog I want her up here now!”

  “Yes, sir!” The man snapped to attention.

  “Get going!” Hindquist yelled.

  Could something have happened to Genie? To Charlie?

  Could the intruders have surprised them?

  “Get a grip!” he told himself. A boy and his dog would be no match for a trained killing machine like Genie. Besides, all his intelligence indicated a reconnaissance infiltration, not an assault. They would have to be insane to think they could win even a partial victory in an out-and-out attack on AMOS.

  Still, Hindquist couldn’t ignore his shortness of breath and the clenched muscles in his chest and throat, signs of danger he trusted more than any of the evidence gathered by his operatives using their high-tech sensors.

  Something was not right.

  “Keep checking the cargo,” he ordered the guards supervising the unloading. But as he spun on his heels, Hindquist made up his mind. The enemy had slipped through. Unbelievable as it seemed, they’d managed to breach his security. Now he had to fall back, and quickly, too. AMOS was at its most vulnerable, with half the load down the ramp, half still in the truck, and the portal wide open. He could order an emergency containment, of course, closing AMOS down like a hydraulic clam.

  “Come now,” he scoffed to himself, marching down the ramp. “Don’t overreact.”

  “Have you discovered anything?” he shouted at the guard he’d sent down to check the cargo.

  “No, sir. Everything seems in order.”

  As usual, the load had been stacked hurriedly in a holding area at the foot of the ramp. Sorting for storage would take place later, once the portal had been sealed. The first priority was always to get the stuff off the truck and AMOS secured. That rule had been varied somewhat in order to check the pallets immediately as they came off the truck.

  Hindquist inspected the row in the holding area, tapping boxes as he went. Nothing unusual. No clues to suggest anything other than the components for rocket-propelled grenade launchers, laser-guided missiles, automatic rifles — the crates labeled as microscopes, scanners, and medical software.

  At the end of the row, Hindquist recognized the very first pallet that had come off the truck. It occurred to him that he might have miscalculated. He’d expected them to hide themselves farther into the load to avoid detection, but if he were planning an infiltration he would have concealed himself on one of the first pallets.

  That’s what I’d do. He tapped his forehead, deep in thought. I’d dump the contents of a box as far forward in the trailer as I could, where it wouldn’t be discovered until the end of the unloading process; then I’d stow myself in the empty box closest to the doors, where it would be unloaded first. That would give me an operational window before anyone suspected anything.

  He scrutinized the boxes on the first pallet. “Plausible,” he said examining the stack closely. The box would have to be on top of the pallet, he concluded, eyeing a wooden crate that did seem to be placed there as an afterthought. It had no product information on it, just labels: FRAGILE and THIS SIDE UP.

  Strange, he thought, walking round it. If a boy and his dog could manage to squeeze inside such a small space, they could easily be missed. Until you imagined them in there, folded up like a couple of lawn chairs, you would think the box too small for stowaways. Hindquist tapped the side of the crate, which answered with a hollow sound. “Empty?” he wondered.

  Then it came to him. He knew exactly how they’d got in. “They brought their own box,” he chortled. “Assembled it and got in during the ride from the waterfront . . . ”

  Suddenly someone was shouting from his radio speaker. “Mr. Hindquist! Mr. Hindquist!” the panicked voice cried.

  “What?” Hindquist snapped.

  “You better come down here, sir. It’s Charlie.”

  “What’s the oaf done now?”

  “He’s dead, sir.”

  Hindquist’s heart tightened like a fist.

  “Shot three times, as far as I can make out,” the guard reported.

  “And Genie?”

  “Not here, sir, and the other dogs are gone, too. All their cages are opened.”

  “Damn!” Hindquist cursed, his world spinning out of control. It was all he could do to keep from collapsing. Like a boxer blindsided by a left hook, he forced himself to stay on his feet. Keep fighting, moving, thinking.

  Charlie Gowler, dead? Who could have done it? Genie?

  He recoiled at the suggestion. “Can’t be!” he spat angrily.

  She had betrayed the others, her own siblings.

  To get them in here, you fool, his instincts thundered.

  “No!” he rejected the accusation bitterly. “I won’t believe it!” But as he stumbled past the gawking guard Hindquist realized he couldn’t dispel his suspicions.

  Could it have been Einstein and the boy? He laughed. They weren’t killers, either of them. If he’d had an opportunity to bring them up, they might have made first-class operatives, but they’d been ruined by the bumbling professor who had been, in a sense, father to them both. They could no more have murdered Charlie Gowler than Snow White could kill the Seven Dwarfs.

  Hindquist headed for the Research and Development sector.

  “Abort the shipment!” he ordered. “Get that truck out of here and seal the ramp. Now!”

  “You!” he shouted at one of the guards. “Go out and do a sweep of the wooded area southeast of the plant. Start from the knoll at the far end. If you find anyone, eliminate them.”

  “Sir?”

  “Eliminate them!” Hindquist barked.

  The only enemy operative unaccounted for was the girl, Ariel. Hindquist cursed himself for forgetting about
her. She was certain to be in on the plan, and he guessed her job would be mission backup.

  “All available units fan out in the warehouse area,” he yelled into his communications set. “We need to conduct a sweep back to R&D. Set weapons to kill. We’re looking for four SMART dogs and a boy.”

  “Sir?” the guard watching over the shipment called after him.

  “What?” Hindquist snapped.

  “Do you want me to join the search?”

  “No,” Hindquist ordered. “Stay here and guard this shipment. If anything moves in those boxes, shoot to kill.”

  As long as she didn’t move a muscle Ariel would not be detected by the AMOS security surveillance system. She lay in a hollow, watching the plant as the seconds ticked down. So far, so good.

  Her sense of calm was shattered by the snap of a twig and a distinct rustling in the underbrush behind and to her left. Someone was out there. By the sound of it they were looking for something . . . or someone.

  The stalker stopped, scanned, then took a few more steps in her direction. Was he equipped with night vision goggles? Infra-red detection gear? Probably standard issue for AMOS, Ariel guessed. Was he out on a routine patrol? She doubted it. Genie was in charge of overall security for AMOS. She would have warned them if a patrol were scheduled.

  Wouldn’t she?

  “Of course she would,” Ariel muttered.

  She pressed herself into the shallow contour of the land, but the guard seemed to know where to look. Every step brought him closer to her hideout. No flashlight. That meant for sure he was wearing night vision gear.

  A voice droned inside his helmet. “No,” the guard said in response. “Nothing so far, Mr. Hindquist.”

  He was only a few paces away. Any second now he’d trip over her and set off the alarm; they’d close the ramp; the others would be trapped.

  Don’t panic, Ariel told herself. Think!

  She needed to create a diversion. Desperately, she groped around her leg. Anything, anything at all she could lay her hand on would do. Her fingers wrapped around an egg-sized rock. Slowly, so her motion would not be detected, she swiveled her head to the left. She made out the dark shape of the guard’s legs about five feet away. Wait! She forced herself to stay still. He’d stopped again to scan the terrain. She could tell by the way he shifted his weight which way the guard was peering. When she figured he was searching the shrubbery away from her she flipped the stone over her back, sending it arcing into the forest.

  He reacted just as she’d anticipated, turning and crouching, his weapon pointed toward the sound. Ariel sprang to her feet and lunged in one fluid motion, bringing her locked fists down like a hammer onto his neck. He crumpled forward. Ariel didn’t wait to see if he’d get up. With a ferocity that shocked her, she stomped on his neck again as if she were trying to kill a scorpion. The guard exhaled and lay still, face-down in the dirt.

  She didn’t have time to think about what she’d done. She wrenched the microphone off his helmet so the guard wouldn’t be able to alert Hindquist. Then she yanked his weapon out from under him and moved away.

  It was time to make her call.

  Bertrand and Einstein breathed a sigh of relief, though Hindquist’s tapping still rang in their ears. Just as he’d been about to discover them, he’d been called away.

  Gratitude immediately gave way to fear, however. Obviously their original plan had gone off the rails. Cap, Breeze, and Blizzard had been captured and somehow got loose in the plant. How? And what of Ariel? Where was she? And what about Hindquist’s order to seal the AMOS facility? If that happened, they’d be trapped like proverbial fish in a barrel. They needed to get out of their “coffin” fast.

  But what about the guard? “Shoot to kill!” Hindquist had ordered.

  What do we do?

  Sit tight and pray for an opening, Einstein counseled.

  What do you think’s going on?

  Well, obviously Cap and his team were taken and somehow escaped inside.

  Killing Charlie Gowler in the process, Bertrand shuddered.

  Genie’s work, Einstein pronounced grimly.

  On purpose?

  The SMART dog didn’t respond, letting the question answer itself. They both knew she’d been altered by her AMOS training. “Brainwashed” was the word Bertrand wanted to use. The descriptions of her brought out by Cap and the others bore little resemblance to the bright, inquisitive pup Hindquist had kidnapped all those months ago; Genie had become hard and lethal, capable of killing.

  And what about Ariel?

  Einstein had no answer.

  We have to escape!

  We’d be dead before we got out of the box. Getting ourselves killed isn’t going to do any good.

  But if they close the ramp, we’re dead anyway and we’ve got to warn Airee.

  The others know we’re here. They’ll come for us, Einstein predicted.

  Yeah, sure, Bertrand responded glumly.

  They slipped into a dejected silence. Each ticking second brought them closer to a fate that seemed inevitable. They were trapped and powerless.

  If only we could . . .

  Shhh! Einstein hissed.

  What, Einstein? What is it?

  Dogs. Can’t you feel it?

  Bertrand listened, scanning for something, anything. Then he felt it: a tickle at the verge of consciousness, moving stealthily along the line of boxes and crates.

  Breeze, Einstein said. And Blizzard. They’re both out there.

  What are they doing? Bertrand asked. He couldn’t piece together a pattern from the fragments of information his senses brought in. Einstein would have a better idea, though.

  Stalking the guard, Einstein reported. Breeze is going to distract him, Blizzard attack. As soon as they make their move, we break out. They’ll need help.

  Bertrand swallowed hard. Their lives depended on the success of Breeze and Blizzard’s plan. In that sickening moment Bertrand knew there was no choice but to kill or be killed, and he wanted more than anything to live.

  Now! They heard Breeze issue a signal to her partner.

  Immediately Bertrand could sense her moving away from the load, out into the open. A burst of automatic weapon fire crackled outside, followed instantly by a yelp.

  Out! Out! Einstein cried.

  They kicked and clawed the crate apart, emerging amid a flurry of broken panels into the lurid underworld light of AMOS. About ten metres in front of them the astonished guard swung his rifle away from Breeze toward the disintegrating box, terror disfiguring his young face. Before he could shoot a white form lunged at him from his blindside, knocking the guard off his feet and sending the rifle skittering across the floor.

  No! the guard cried as the fury descended upon him, tearing and slashing with claws and fangs.

  Bertrand clambered down from the pallet, scrambling on all fours to snatch up the guard’s rifle. “Stop!” he bellowed, pointing the thing in the general direction of the combatants. “Stop!” he commanded.

  The terrified guard looked into the barrel of the gun desperately. “Get him off!” he pleaded. “Get him off me!”

  Blizzard glared at Bertrand and growled, his lip curling. He seemed not to recognize his friend. Only after a few seconds did the fierceness dissipate, and even then it seemed to Bertrand that the dog backed away reluctantly.

  “Stan!” the guard’s radio squawked. “What the hell’s going on down there?”

  “They’re onto us upstairs,” Bertrand shouted. “Get Breeze. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Blizzard obeyed, fully recovered from his frenzy now.

  “Don’t kill me,” the guard begged.

  Let’s move, Einstein urged. They’ll be down here in a second.

  The next thing Bertrand knew they were running, all four of them. Breeze had been winged, but she could move more swiftly on three legs than any human could on two. It was Bertrand who slowed them down.

  “We’re going the wrong way,” he panted as
they loped along. “We have to get back to the ramp, disable it, keep them from sealing the place off.”

  Cap and Genie are already on that, Blizzard reported. What we need to do is buy them time.

  “How?”

  We need to create a diversion, Einstein said. Keep the guards too preoccupied to push the “Close” button.

  “Oh,” Bertrand said, not having a clue how they were going to do that.

  Gunfire and shouts of alarm echoed through the AMOS facility. Coming from the receiving area, Genie guessed.

  Blizzard and Breeze have made their move. It’s time we made ours. She said.

  They don’t have any guns, sister, and no way of shooting ’em even if they did, Cap responded. It’s not us doing the shooting; we’re the ones being shot at.

  If it had been anyone else snivelling and fretting, Genie would have ignored it. There was no room for sentiment in the middle of a firefight. But this was Cap: a hardened street dog, tough, independent, stoic. That he showed such tenderness, particularly for Einstein and the boy . . . it made Genie think.

  No, not think, feel. Forgotten emotions crowded in on her. Suddenly she was afraid. She shook herself violently, as if the strange sensation could be shed like water. But it couldn’t.

  Still, they had no choice.

  She fixed Cap with a sad gaze. We must stick to our plan, brother.

  He was on the verge of bolting, indecision quivering in every limb. Cap’s spirit demanded action. His nature would not allow him to go about his task methodically while others were in danger. Genie hesitated too, and thanked Cap for awakening her feelings . . . but she knew what was right and needed to be done. The iron in her soul would quiver but not bend. We must disable the ramp, brother, or AMOS and Hindquist will survive.

  Dammit, Genie!

  For our siblings and friends, as well as for us, we must push on.

  Isn’t there some other way out of here?

  Genie closed her eyes and sighed. She wanted to lie. Training, instinct, and better judgment all counselled against the truth, but she gritted her teeth and rejected deceit.