Killswitch

by Cliff Hedley

  Next, the videos moved to something that was familiar-looking in a different way. It was a long-shot of a robot moving in to inspect a derelict vehicle in the middle of a desert road. The camera followed the robot moving out from a parked column of Humvees, all stopped near the entrance of a canyon. Moments later, it was obliterated. Chase felt a rising, twisted knot in his stomach. He was watching his own PackBot. Mojo.

  He could almost sense it coming. The next video showed a column of Humvees pull into a village and a girl standing perfectly still in the middle, while an EOD moved towards her. Chase was watching the Roadrunners and himself. A firefight erupted all around them. Distraction. He watched as he worked to free the girl, tried to move her out of the line of fire. Then a blinding flash vaporised her and sent him flying to the ground, writhing in agony. He felt sick, and felt a trembling in his arms as he realised he was clenching his fists, hard. He never had a chance.

  Grange looked over at him, sensing something was off. He had heard the story and had probably put two and two together. “Stop it,” he ordered the officer at the terminal. The video froze on screen, showing Chase lying on the ground and still on fire. “Are you OK?”

  Chase took a deep breath; the room was silent and all eyes were on him. He leaned forward on the lectern, gathering himself. “I thought some of these attacks, these methods, looked familiar. There’s always a pattern. A signature, or style, unique to each bomb-maker. I called it out to Grange after I saw the first park bombing. I’ve seen this first-hand, so to speak.” He pointed at the screen. “That’s me lying on the ground, burning. That’s how I lost my hands.”

  Dozens of eyes darted from Chase’s arms, to the screen and back.

  Chase was shaking.

  “Chase—,” Grange began.

  “I’m OK,” Chase said. He looked at the footage, trying to figure out where it was being shot from. It was elevated, so was likely a rooftop. It was from the side and almost behind where the Roadrunners had entered the village. As if whoever was filming had anticipated where Chase would move the girl to.

  “What you are looking at here, folks, is a well-orchestrated, coordinated attack. The fire-fight was an intended distraction. They knew I’d try to move the girl out of harm’s way. The whole thing was set up to suck me in and eliminate another EOD that they wouldn’t have to deal with. I think psychologically they chose the girl to show us that they could weaponise even the most innocent bystander. They wanted to scar anyone who saw that. Make them look everywhere, make them expect and fear every angle.’ The words ‘every angle’ resonated in his head, as if Lieutenant Tucker was saying them himself.

  He had a feeling of what he would see next. “Hit play for me.”

  The next video moved on to children playing in a park. It was shot from ground level, from a distance and was a wide shot of the group. As they ran past a row of shrubbery, an explosion tore through them, sending a white-grey column of smoke into the air.

  “Hit stop again, please.” The video froze on screen, with panicked people running in all directions in front of the camera. “The robot you saw was mine. They used an IED to blow it up. Old munitions shell rigged with a remote detonator, most likely. Next you saw them use distraction with the fire-fight, then they took me out with white phosphorus. They’d already taken out my PackBot but even then I probably would have gone in myself to try and help the girl. The next video looks like the Central Park bombing. That was likely a homemade gunpowder explosion, judging by the colour of the smoke. I’m guessing next up will be the Veterans Hospital bombing. That was an EFP array. Not as easy to make but a different kind of device again, for a different purpose — attacking vehicles, not so much people directly. They wanted that ambulance to trigger it.”

  He nodded to the officer at the terminal. “Hit play.”

  The footage rolled forward to a shot of the front of the Veterans Hospital. It looked as if it was being filmed from across the street. Chase came into view, walking towards the entrance as an ambulance made its way up the driveway. Chase looked up, started running and waving his arms but the ambulance moved on. As it passed one of the pillars near the entrance, an explosion rocked it and Chase became a blur as he was thrown out of sight into the garden.

  “OK. Stop.” Again, he felt the force-feedback rumble in his arms, telling him that he was subconsciously clenching his fists. Hard.

  “This is getting really personal. That blur disappearing into the garden is me. I was walking back to the hospital — my current home — when I spotted the EFP array. I was too late and couldn’t stop the ambulance. The driver thought I was probably some kind of loony running towards him flapping my arms. This is a different kind of device again. Not easy to get but somebody experienced could make it with the right gear. Be aware that you might need to head people off at the pass. Physically stop them from walking past or onto anything that looks like a trigger or device. I don’t care if you have to put your car on the sidewalk to do it, or you have to jump in front of traffic. It might be the only way to get them to stop.”

  He let that sink in for a minute.

  His audience sat in silence. All eyes were on him, then suddenly they weren’t. All the phones in the room started buzzing again. Grange checked his own phone, then looked up at Chase with a mix of fear and fury burning in his eyes. “There’s just been an explosion on the Staten Island Ferry. It’s on fire and taking on water, right where it passes the Statue of Liberty.”

  “Shit,” Chase said. “They’re stepping it up.”

  Grange nodded and moved to stand in front of the room. “Phones down, people. This is an escalation. They’ve started going for bigger, bolder public targets. Bigger spectacles to intimidate and to show that whatever security was around the ferry, or any other public place they go after, isn’t enough. We are going to escalate in response. No doubt across the city, security will already have been raised at every level possible to protect the public. The Bomb Squad will be out in force, so call us in if you see anything suspicious. We need to think about where they are likely to hit next — because there’s little doubt they will.

  “We stick with the plan. We do our part. Patrol the roads and public places. Keep sweeping for anything out of the ordinary. We might not get everything but we can minimise the impact. Remember what Chase has told you.” He scanned the room. “Any questions?”

  None came. “Get to it, then.”

  The room cleared quickly, a swarm of dark blue uniforms making their way to the door. “What now?” Chase asked Grange once they were alone.

  “We check in with the squad. There will already be a unit heading towards the ferry terminal but we’ve got to keep patrolling.”

  “You still need me? I don’t want to get in the way.”

  “Are you serious? You’re in these peoples’ heads. You’ve lived through this. You’re my best asset. Let’s go.”

  Grange threaded his way out of the briefing room and through the precinct floor, a cacophony of ringing phones and voices, to the van. Grange’s phone went as he took his position in the driver’s seat. Chase could hear only one side of the conversation.

  “OK, we’ll meet you there. See what you can find and have the rest of the team out sweeping the city. Nobody goes home until I say so. Call in anyone off-duty. Good.”

  He turned to Chase. “I have a top-notch team. They’re already ahead of us and everyone is out patrolling that isn’t already heading to the scene. Though how we get to the ferry, I have no idea. I guess the Coast Guard can take us out to it, or tow it to a dry dock if it’s got enough float left it in it. Otherwise, we can check out the terminal that it departed from last — which was the Manhattan end.”

  Chase sat pondering what the end game was. Was this another distraction? From what? What was the point? The big diesel roared to life and lurched forward. Moments later, the radio crackled and Grange scooped up the microphone witho
ut even looking for it. Chase figured he must have done that hundreds of times before. There was a brief exchange as he picked up but the conversation got to the point quickly.

  Sir, the Staten Island Ferry has sunk. The Coast Guard managed to get the survivors off but we don’t know how many are missing yet. The team on site is sweeping the terminal and looking at security footage from both sides. We need you to divert. We have reports of two more suspicious packages in public areas. One on the High Line near Twenty-second and the other on Broadway north of Times Square.”

  “Copy that. Keep those areas clear. We’re close to Broadway and we’ve got gear on board, so we’ll respond to that. Keep me informed on the High Line and anything else you see.”

  Yes, sir.

  “Where exactly on Broadway?”

  “Near the corner of Forty-ninth. Officers are on scene to cordon off the area. They’ll be ready for you.”

  “Good. Grange out.”

  Grange cast a knowing sideways look at Chase. A gritty resolve had settled over him, and Chase knew there was no way he would back down until the job was done.

  “What have we got on board?” Chase asked.

  “We’ve got a suit, Bottlers and BootBangers, and a robot.”

  “Good. We’ll probably need to use the robot for a controlled explosion but my gut says they’ll try to take it out with a remote once it’s within range.”

  “Agreed. I’m going to set up the bot and move it in, just like they expect. I need you to slip out quietly once we get on scene and start scanning the perimeter for anyone that looks like they might have the trigger, or is filming.”

  “Copy that.”

  Grange flicked on the lights and sirens and they cut a swathe through New York’s traffic, pushing their way towards Broadway. As they drew closer, Chase took in the scene in amazement. One of the busiest streets in the USA was deserted, save for the police cruisers parked on either side and across the entrance to the block. It was a surreal scene. Their lights flashed, giving the only sense of movement; there was no noise apart from the voices of officers talking to each other and the low chatter of their radios.

  Grange pulled up to the end of the block, and Chase quickly realised that his job would be easier than he thought. There was nobody around. The public were obviously smart enough to move away, as far and as quickly as they could. The city was under attack, fear was spreading and they were keeping themselves away from the risk of being the next victim. A couple of blocks down however, towards Times Square, it looked like business as usual. Traffic was moving and pedestrians, a lot of them, were going about their business. Just not right here. New Yorkers wouldn’t run and hide but they would be smart enough to steer clear of whatever risk they could. They were a stoic bunch and he had to admire them for it.

  Grange stepped down and went to speak with one of the officers controlling the scene. Chase got out and started scanning around. The street was clear, apart from the patrol cars. He looked up, scanning the windows of the floors that towered above the street, but could see nothing unusual. There were a few curious faces in the windows higher up occasionally braving a glance, but none that stood out. They were all regular, nervous-looking civilians.

  Next, he checked the street itself and could see what the officers were taking care to steer clear of. There was scaffolding spanning across the sidewalk as it often did around the city, keeping the sidewalk open as construction took place above it. Strapped to the outside of one of the scaffolding poles, was an unusual bulky box, facing the roadside. It was an EFP. He was glad that his message about scanning the roads and what to look for was getting out. Somebody had noticed it and shut the street down. Then he realised it was certainly a trap.

  Chase did the math. There were most likely hundreds of vehicles that had passed it, without a detonation. Therefore, it had to be activated at the right time by whoever planted it.

  “Shit.”

  “What is it?” Grange asked as he walked back towards him.

  “It hasn’t detonated.”

  “And?”

  “And how many cars, buses and trucks do you think went past it, without setting it off? Hundreds, I’m guessing.”

  “So it’s a decoy?”

  “Or they are just going to be brazen now and switch it on only when the bot or one of us gets close.”

  “How will they know? I had a look around and there isn’t much of a crowd to hide in for the trigger man. Nobody is filming.”

  “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to find out. We’ve got to take that array out either way.”

  “Dammit.” Grange looked like he was going to boil over. Frustration was all over his face. “What are you thinking?”

  “BootBanger. Fight directional with directional. Drop it in with the bot but come in from the side. If it is an EFP, it can’t hit us if we’re not in front of it. If it gets remote-detonated, at least there’s all the construction framing and plywood behind it to contain in that direction.”

  “Agreed. I think maybe fifty-fifty it’s rigged as an EFP and they expect us to treat it that way. That said, I don’t see we have much of a choice.”

  Grange marched to the back of the van and began unloading the robot. It was bigger than the more mobile and lightweight PackBot that Chase had used in Afghanistan, and Grange needed to lower a ramp to roll it down. Chase was impressed at how quickly he was set up, already moving it forward with the remote control. It was quick and whirred its way effortlessly towards the scaffolding where the suspect EFP array was attached. Held by the mechanical arm on the front of the robot was a rectangular metallic case, which looked a lot like a regular briefcase — the BootBanger. Chase had used them himself in Afghanistan. Unlike the Bottler, which spread its disruptive blast of water in every direction, the BootBanger was directional. Chase had used it a number of times against suspicious vehicles and once against a Claymore anti-personnel mine.

  The police officers who had cordoned off and controlled the scene had pulled right back, letting Grange do his work. The EFP was mounted low and the street in front of it was clear. Chase figured that Grange should be able to come in at an angle from the side, thereby minimising frontal exposure to the array, where it would be lethal to human or machine. Grange did exactly that, and the image on his remote feed showed a closer view of the device and its construction. The close-up only made Chase more certain they were dealing with a real threat. It was a three-projectile box, cleanly manufactured and if it was anything like the ones he had seen before, it would be devastating.

  “I’m ninety-nine per cent sure that was put together by the same person as the one at the hospital. The layout and design look almost identical.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned if we let an ambulance drive past this one,” came Grange’s steely reply. He never took his eyes off the camera and controls.

  Chase scanned the street again. No obvious bystanders, nobody filming with a smartphone or anything else. No suspicious movements in the windows of the buildings around them. Rooftops all clear.

  Come on. Every angle. What am I missing?

  The robot was almost at the device. Grange was careful to keep his angle, sweeping as wide as possible. At worst from this position he would lose the arm of the robot from in front of the device if it went off early while he was placing the BootBanger. He was keeping the main body of the bot well to the side.

  Chase kept scanning.

  At the far end of the block, like this end, the police had the street blocked off. Nobody suspicious around. Still no movement up high. He could see people walking past the far end of the block towards Times Square but the ones with phones barely looked up as they walked by. No obvious filming going on. Chase figured that there had to be a tiny camera set up somewhere. Something that wouldn’t stick out. Or even a hijacked security camera. He wondered if they had the sophistication to hack into any of the sec
urity systems along the street.

  The wind had picked up a little bit but in between the gentle gusts he heard something familiar. A kind of whirring. It was there for a moment, then gone again. There, then gone. He kept looking all around, high, low, every angle. Then he realised what the answer was. A tiny movement, slipping above one of the rooftops. It was a much simpler solution.

  “Back it off! Dr—”

  He didn’t get to finish the sentence. A massive explosion rocked the street as both he and Grange instinctively dove for cover behind the van. The police at either end of the block were already ducked behind their patrol cars and sprawled to the ground too. From one side of the street, the construction scaffolding tore apart, collapsing the walkway. Pieces of tubular scaffolding launched skyward. The plywood walls and roof that had been set up splintered and tore through the air in every direction.

  The robot was obliterated. One of its tracks was hurled upwards as the machine was shredded into hundreds of twisted pieces of metal, all becoming shrapnel as they flew through the air. The BootBanger had been destroyed before Grange had a chance to use it.

  Chase peered out from behind the van, looking for the spot where he had seen the movement. “Are you OK?” he shouted at Grange, slightly deafened.

  “Yeah.” Grange shook his head as if to banish the ringing in his ears. “What was it?”

  “Drone. I was about to say drone. Like one of those hundred-dollar ones you can get at hobby shops. The kind with a camera on board. That’s how they were watching.”

  “Shit!” Grange fumed. “Are you telling me a hundred-dollar toy just destroyed a hundred-thousand-dollar robot?!”

  “Yep. We need to get word out. Get the team looking for drones and any recent sales of them.”