Alli

by Kurt Zimmerman

  McGinty’s aide went to the Senator for advice. “What do you suggest we do about these demonstrators?” he asked. McGinty was in the middle of his mid-morning snack, consisting of brazed duck and caramelized yams, along with a few other side dishes and garnishments from the Senator’s private chef.

  “Don’t worry about them,” the Senator burped out. “I’ve notified the appropriate parties. They will be dealt with.” With that, the senator went back to his brunch.

  That evening, a chill went down the aide’s spine when he witnessed the six o’clock news replay of the out-of–control hit-and-run driver who plowed through a sea of protesters near the White House that afternoon.

  The President signed the bill around midnight that same evening, after the news cycle had wrapped up.

  Chapter Twenty

  Scaling the final two flights of stairs in the Call Center was easy and went quickly. Finding a single computer in a sea of thousands was a much more daunting task.

  The two investigators split up and continued their search. Less than twenty minutes had passed before something turned up. “Carl, I found her. Over here!” Randy was more than three-quarters of the way across the tenth floor. Carl made his way over to the computer unit. When he arrived, he saw Randy affectionately running his hand over the name and the number that was embossed on the top edge of the cube. Alli- 2027773773. Carl sat at the monitor and typed in the instructions to raise the viewing panel. The area next to the cube was bathed in a warm, white glow as the panel slid upward.

  Randy was almost afraid to look, but somehow, he had to bring this part of their “relationship” to a close. He forced himself to look in. What he saw inside the cube were the remains of a strikingly beautiful woman, probably in her mid to late thirties. Her head was shaved, and her soft, white skin ended below her shoulders, where a stainless steel plate covered the transition from human flesh to mechanical apparatus. There were several deep scars on the left side of her shoulder, probably the remnants of the trauma that ended her life.

  Randy dialed the numbers on the outside face of the cube. As the number rang, he noticed the eyes of the woman flutter back and forth beneath her eyelids, as if she were dreaming. The very faint sound of a mechanical compressor motor could be heard from within the base of the cube. The facial muscles around her mouth started moving.

  “Hello, my name is Alli, and I am your personal guide to the United States Government. To which Agency may I direct your call?”

  “Hello, Alli, its Randy.”

  Randy’s cellphone silently slipped from his hand as Alli’s eyes sprang open. She could not see or recognize him; her eyes stared straight ahead at the view screen in front of her. He gazed into the cube without a word. Something was wrong here. Terribly wrong. A sick, heavy feeling crept into Randy and constricted his gut as tightly as a determined mountain climber grips his only lifeline on a mountain’s edge. His mind refused to categorize what it was seeing. No. It can’t be, he thought. He tried, but he could not avert his eyes or turn away. He was staring at something familiar, but something lost long ago and gone forever. The woman’s pale blue eyes were unmistakable. Randy’s sick, heavy feeling disappeared as he mentally released the lifeline, and fell headlong off the cliff’s edge and into the abyss.

  The face in the cube belonged to Sarah.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carl Frazier was not the only Ameriplaxi employee whose alarm woke him that night. Normally, Fredrick Hightower II would have one of his “special” employees check on a late-night alarm trip, but this one came from a particularly troublesome computer unit on the tenth floor of his pet project. Fredrick would be responding to this alarm on his own, with two of his best backup people, of course.

  *****

  “Oh shit,” Carl whispered under his breath as he saw Randy slump to the floor. He reached for his friend and sat him up on the warm, rubberized floor panel. “Are you alright?”

  The color had gone out of Randy’s face, and he seemed as if he had seen a ghost.

  “Hello, Randy?” a small voice said from the floor. “Randy, are you there?” Carl picked up his friend’s phone and instinctively put it up to his own ear. “Hello, this is Carl.”

  “Carl?” the hesitant voice on the phone asked. “Carl Frazier?” It was Carl’s turn to be shocked. How would this Alli person know his name? The phone made a series of beeps, two clicks, and then went silent.

  Randy spoke. “It’s Sarah, Carl. This is Sarah, the girl I almost married in college. Sarah.” Carl moved around to the open side of the cube.

  “That’s impossible.” Carl said the words, but his doubts were erased when he looked in. The girl was beautiful, and unmistakable. It was Sarah.

  Randy retrieved his phone from Carl’s shaking hand. The connection had been severed. Randy looked back into the unit and saw Sarah’s eyes closing. She seemed to be going back to sleep. Just as well, he thought. Sleep well. Sleep well, Sarah. I need time to think.

  “Un-freaking-believable,” Carl whispered as he stared off down the rows and rows of shiny black cubes. “Un-fucking-freaking-believable. I need to go see Hightower.”

  Carl was back on his feet and had a new purpose in his actions. “I’m going to Hightower right now. You coming?”

  Randy was still sitting on the floor, his shoulder leaning against Sarah’s cube, gazing in at her. “I’m staying here for a while- you go ahead.”

  Carl surveyed his friend. “Alright. Alright, fine. But don’t break anything until I get back. Understand?” Randy nodded his head as Carl strode off down the rows and rows of computer cabinets.

  Before Carl had made his way to the elevator, the doors parted. Hightower and his two friends had arrived.

  “What’s this all about, Carl?” Hightower demanded. “What brings you here after midnight?”

  Carl ignored the question. “You saved me a trip,” he said. “I’ve got a few questions about what’s going on around here.”

  Hightower motioned for his companions to stay by the elevator, and followed Carl over to where Randy was still sitting. “So now you’re bringing your friends in on our operation? What the hell are you thinking? This ain’t no damned peep show, you know.”

  “Listen Fredrick, this is serious. We’re not just dealing with organ donors here anymore. One of your subjects recognizes more than you think. She even remembered my last name!”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Carl- that’s impossible. This program is foolproof! Every brain synapse is being monitored. Old memories are suppressed and new identities have been installed. They can’t remember who you are; shit! They can’t even remember who they are! The system shuts down and communication is terminated whenever the synapse pathways go above a localized level. I designed the entire system, remember? There are safeguards in place to keep them from going back to their past.”

  “So, are they alive, or are they dead, Freddie? Or don’t you know? Maybe you’re not as smart as you think. One of your girls called me by my last name, before I told her who I was- she recognized my voice, you lame-brain! She remembered me!”

  “I know a few things, Carl. First, you need to get hold of yourself. This project has been cleared at the highest levels. And second, everyone connected to a computer in this room has been declared legally dead. Legally dead, Carl. And third, you need to be aware of what you have at stake here. Your fancy lifestyle can all go away in less than a heartbeat if you want to go up against me, pal. You and I are partners in all of this, remember? You’ve been in on this since the beginning.”

  “Something else you might want to know,” Hightower continued- “A law was signed a few hours ago that will expand this technology across all kinds of applications. ‘Commercial use’ of this technology will finally bridge the gap between man and his computer. All the boring, mundane phone jobs will be taken by these units, and they will be available to any company for less money than five years of worker salary would have cost them. No sick days, no v
acations, no medical leaves, and they work twenty hours a day! They can function indefinitely, with only a four-hour down time per day! The benefits are undeniable and irresistible!”

  Hightower’s speech was interrupted by a single gunshot that shattered the quiet on the entire floor. Randy was holding his Sig Saur as he stood up next to Sarah’s cube.

  Hightower’s men were approaching fast. “What the hell did you do, you idiot!” Hightower screamed a Randy. Everyone was converging on the gunshot.

  New energy had gripped Randy as he moved toward them.

  “I put Sarah to rest, you fucking monster, and you’re next!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Carl could not believe what had just happened, but, acting on instinct, jumped between Randy and Hightower.

  “Put it down, Randy,” Carl ordered his friend as he opened his arms and approached Randy. “Let’s stop and figure this out before you go shooting anything else.” His pleading had little effect on Randy, and even less effect on Hightower’s two men, who were both approaching with guns drawn. As Randy lowered his weapon, Carl spun around, only to get a bullet in his shoulder from one of Hightower’s men! Randy sprang back into action, returning fire, and everyone dove for cover.

  “Stop shooting, you idiots!” Hightower screamed from behind one of his computers. “Stop shooting! There’s a billion dollars of delicate hardware in here!” Carl and Randy were staying under cover, but had quietly worked their way toward the elevator. The sound of the elevator doors closing brought Hightower and his men out of hiding.

  The card swipe at the stairs kept the two security men on the tenth floor until Hightower got over to swipe his card. By then, Randy and Carl had made their way to the third floor, and were taking the stairs down from there to the main level. Hightower’s security men on the first floor had been alerted, but they were watching the elevators as Randy and Carl snuck out the side door, next to the stairway.

  “I’m parked around the corner,” Carl yelled up toward Randy. “The yellow Corvette.” The bullet hole in his shoulder, and the extra one hundred and fifty pounds, were causing Carl to lag behind. Randy continued past Carl’s Corvette and went straight to the Hummer.

  “You have got to be kidding,” Randy yelled back. “That thing might be faster, but this thing is bullet-proof!” Randy jumped into the Hummer and had it running and ready to go by the time Carl caught up.

  Hightower arrived in the lobby in time to see Randy and Carl turn east on K Street and speed away. Hightower’s men were on the sidewalk, shooting after the disappearing Hummer. Another one of Hightower’s men was bringing up the car.

  Randy automatically ducked when he heard the rounds hitting the rear glass. “Bullet proof,” Carl reminded him. “Remember?”

  By then, there were several other groups of Hightower’s men on the lookout for the escaping Hummer. The dark streets of the nation’s capital were nearly empty. Randy steered right on 14th street, and planned on taking Constitution across to the I66, toward Langley. He knew some people he could trust there.

  The plan was interrupted by more gunshots from Randy’s left. Several tight spider-webs appeared in his side window. He could feel the air compressing into his ear as the shots landed in the clear, polycarbonate panel.

  Randy wheeled the Hummer hard to the right and then back left and accelerated down 14th, as a dark Crown Vic pulled in behind them. “Watch this,” Carl said, as he reached for the dash control to dispense a load of road tacks.

  “Wait!” Randy yelled, but it was too late. Carl had dispensed a load of twenty razor-sharp, four-inch spike clusters, designed to shred any tire they encountered. Unfortunately, they were travelling above sixty miles per hour when he pushed the button. The tacks hit the pavement and bounced along, all of them skittering off to the left or the right of the roadway.

  “What the hell?” Carl said, as he tried to look behind them, babying his wounded shoulder. “The damned things just bounced off the road!”

  “Didn’t you read your owner’s manual?” Randy screamed.

  Nobody reads the owner’s manuals,” Carl insisted.

  “If you had,” Randy said, “You would know the tacks won’t work if you are going over thirty miles an hour!”

  Randy slammed on the brakes, wheeled the big vehicle hard to the right, and shot down F Street. The Treasury was at the end of the street. Another pursuing car came around the corner toward them, directly in front of the Treasury Building. Randy punched the gas, cranked the wheel, and slid into a tire-smoking U-turn. “We’ll do this the old-fashioned way,” he said. He accelerated back, zigzagging toward the first two pursuing vehicles.

  As they accelerated toward the two chase cars on the narrow street, the drivers of the other vehicles had to make a quick decision. Either stay the course and take the Hummer on, or swerve into the buildings on their left or right.

  They both thought better of a head-on with the Hummer, and hit opposite curbs. The first car jumped the sidewalk and crashed at an awkward angle, partially climbing the stairs leading up to Metropolitan Square. The other driver took a sharp left, narrowly missing the massive square columns, and crashing through the double glass doors, finally coming to a rest in the lobby of the Willard Hotel! Randy slammed on the brakes, and threw the vehicle into reverse. Four smoking times screamed for traction as the supercharged, 600 HP, four-wheel-drive Hummer reversed course and headed toward their remaining tail, backwards. The car that had just rounded the corner by the Treasury Building saw them coming, and slammed on their brakes. The resulting nose-down attitude of their car, combined with the tail-up attitude of the accelerating Hummer provided a set-up where the Hummer’s oversized tires mounted up on the hood of the car, and continued all the way over and down the other side of the car, flattening it to half its normal height!

  The Hummer bounced and landed on all fours as they wheeled around, accelerated, and turned right and back in their original direction, headed North on 15th Street.

  “We are too visible in this thing to get out of town,” Randy said. He looked over at Carl to see him slumped over in the seat next to him, holding his shoulder.

  ”Our first order of business has to be getting under cover and getting that shoulder looked at,” Randy told his friend. ‘But I suppose a quick hospital stop is out of the question.”

  “Call Michelle,” Carl suggested. “She has plenty of paramedic training; she will be able to patch me up temporarily.” Carl placed the call, using the number on the business card from Randy’s wallet.

  “Do you know its 2 o’clock in the morning?” a groggy Michelle said into the phone.

  “I’ve been shot- can you help?” Carl blurted out.

  “Depends- were you shot by a crazy man, a jealous man, or an angry woman?”

  “Crazy man. Listen, we have people after us, where can we meet? I forgot how much this getting shot shit hurts.”

  “Ask her if she can meet us at the Downtown Boxing Club on M Street, right away,” Randy decided, “it’s where I work out. Tell her it’s the grey block building just off Blagden Alley. We just passed it. We can double back and be there in seconds. I know how to get us into the place, and there’s a garage door on the alley side where we can pull in and hide the Hummer. We’ll wait for her there.”

  Randy circled back and pulled up next to the boxing club’s garage door. He grabbed the tire iron and a pair of wire clippers from his equipment box behind the seat. A quick snip of the phone line would stop any outgoing calls from the ancient alarm. The tire iron was used to spread the frame on the service door far enough to pop the lock. Once inside, it was an easy matter to raise the garage door. A quick search revealed a claxon as part of the alarm system, but the wire clippers quickly disconnected it from the circuit before it went off. There was a sparring ring set up just inside the door, but the Hummer easily pushed it farther into the building as it entered. Carl and Randy were quite confident their break-in went unobserved as they lowered the overhead door.r />
  Hightower and his two gunmen went after the Hummer, but were a minute or two behind. They put the word out to be on the lookout for Carl and Randy, but even with a dozen people watching around the DC area, the big, black Hummer had simply vanished. All the major highways were covered, but even with the sparse traffic that late at night, everyone was coming up empty.

  “They can’t be far away,” Hightower said, “or they would have been spotted. Keep circling the area. They must be holed up somewhere.” As he was speaking, a city-issued Taurus drove by.

  “Isn’t that Frazier’s ex?” One of Hightower’s long-term security men asked as Michelle Miller drove by. “And what’s she doing out this late?” “Let’s find out,” Hightower said. So they followed her.

  Meeting at the boxing club turned out to be a stroke of genius, since they had a large, well-stocked, first aid kit available. Michelle arrived within minutes. Randy noticed she looked as if she had just stopped by on her morning jog. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back revealing a genuinely concerned face as she approached Carl. He was sitting on the edge of one of the sparring rings, acting like it hurt more than it really did.

  “Looks like it’s a thru-and-thru, Carl,” Michelle diagnosed as she dressed the wound. “You were lucky. This could have been a lot worse. It might have splintered a bone or two, though. You really need to get it x-rayed.”

  “No time, kiddo,” Carl said. “Randy’s been doing some investigating this evening, and he discovered a few things that put him on the bad side of a very dangerous fellow, one Fredrick Hightower. I think Randy would have killed him, too, except I jumped in and got myself shot for my trouble.”