by John Conroe
“Tara, are you aware that Zone War is transmitting live from inside the Johnsons’ armored vehicle and that they indicate that Zeus Global personnel are the true attackers?” the anchor replied.
“Ah, no. No I was not aware of that. Lindsey, what are they doing now?”
“Apparently, watching your broadcast from inside their LAV. The production company has, according to the producers, muted their conversation so as not to give away their strategy.”
“Lindsey, are they still on I-278 or did they get off?” Tara the reporter asked.
“Tara, they are continuing to approach the blockade point, not slowing down, and are bypassing all the off-ramps.”
“Okay, you heard the lady,” Brad said. “Time to plan our attack. If we’re going to get hacked by that AI of yours, Ajaya, we’re damned well going to use it.”
“No wonder you ruled the Zone,” JJ said, grinning. “Having Rikki on your side is a major game changer.”
“Yes, yes, it is,” I agreed.
Chapter 31
Shussman’s people were set up right on I-278. They must have blocked onloading traffic farther behind us on the highway because there wasn’t a single car on either side when I looked through the tiny armored windows. I was up front, standing on a slightly raised platform, holding a a Barret Light Fifty anti-material rifle whose barrel poked out the right-hand firing port. To my left, JJ also stood on a raised platform, his 11mm e-mag rifle pointing out the left-hand firing port. But while he faced forward, I faced the rear of the vehicle. The firing port turrets could turn three hundred and sixty degrees. In front of us were two new black SUVs, a black pickup truck with a blue tarp across the back, a robotic excavator, and two big self-driving dump trucks. Molded concrete construction barricades blocked off the entire width of the road ahead. My view showed just the two ominous black SUVs holding a steady position seventy-two meters behind us.
Martin was still watching his sensor screens and Brad was back in the commander’s chair, but neither of them were touching any controls. Sitting just ahead of JJ and me, Astrid slowed the heavy vehicle down as we closed on the concrete barricade and the men crouched down behind it.
The LAV came to a gradual stop and for a long moment, nothing happened.
“AJAYA GURUNG, ASTRID JOHNSON, BRAD JOHNSON, JEFFREY JAMES JOHNSON, AND MARTIN JOHNSON. POWER OFF YOUR VEHICLE AND SURRENDER YOURSELVES,” a bullhorn bellowed from behind us, Calvin Shussman’s voice in god mode.
Overhead, in a veritable cloud of machinery, countless news drones hovered or flew tight circles around the confrontation.
Brad reached forward and touched a button on his panel. “CALVIN SHUSSMAN, DROP YOUR WEAPONS. YOUR ASSAULT ON CIVILIAN AND LAW ENFORCEMENT PERSONNEL IS OVER. AS I SPEAK, OVERWHELMING VIDEO, AUDIO, AND EMAIL EVIDENCE IMPLICATING YOU IN THE DRONE NIGHT ATTACK CONSPIRACY IS DISSEMINATING TO THE WORLD VIA THE INTERNET.”
If I turned my head, I could watch the screen at Brad’s station, while JJ could do the same with his brother’s monitor. The rear camera on the LAV currently showed the same image I was watching through my high-powered rifle scope.
Shussman was talking on a phone, the bullhorn hanging from his right hand at his side. He gestured violently with the horn, clearly yelling into the phone. Finally, in a fit of rage, he threw the phone down and turned to one of his men, yelling some more.
With a shrug, the tactically attired operator lifted a long, slender tube from the back cargo area of one of the SUVs.
“Russian Rasputin Mark 4 anti-armor, triple warhead,” Martin announced casually.
“Hmm,” Brad acknowledged, pausing to take a sip of coffee from a stainless-steel mug.
“Dad, guy in the front group just pulled the tarp off the back of that truck. Looks like a HJ-12 Chinese Red Arrow,” Astrid reported.
“Good missile. Old but good,” JJ said. “I have a bead on the guy in front.”
“I’m clear on the Rasputin,” I said, thumbing my safety to off.
“Hold tight, both of you. Let’s see how this plays out,” Brad said. “Ajaya, your buddy is still on this, right?”
“Affirmative, Colonel Johnson. As you might say… I have this,” Rikki said through our headsets and, if our information was correct, live out into the rest of the world.
The hired killer in my sights lifted the heavy missile onto his shoulder and tucked his head down against the sight. Almost instantly, I heard an electrical hum and buzz on the roof of the LAV almost over my head.
“He’s fir—” I got out, and then flame gushed from the front of the missile. Immediately there came a ripping buzz from overhead and fire exploded all over the ground, air, and space in front of the shooter. Simultaneously, behind me and outside the armored vehicle, I heard and felt a single massive thump that shook the ground. “Oh yeah!” JJ yelled.
I looked away from the rifle scope, the glare too strong to look at, turning my head to watch Brad’s monitor. Split screens showed me the rearward missile shooter rolling around on the ground, his body engulfed in flames while the other monitor showed the back of the pickup smashed flat by the massive excavator bucket.
“Both anti-armor threats nullified,” Rikki reported.
Shussman was freaking out, yelling desperately at his people while moving for one of the two vehicles. I put the crosshairs on the hood of the left-hand car and fired, immediately moving the rifle to the hood of the second one and sending one more heavy round downrange.
Both vehicles’ hoods exploded upward as the big .50 caliber bullets easily penetrated the battery compartments, the front electric motors, and the heavy lead shielding that protected the passengers’ internal organs from excessive electromagnetic energy. People scrambled to get away from the cars and Shussman, himself, dove for the ground, hands covering the back of his head.
Above me, I heard the M-134 mini gun turn around on its gimbal mount, the spinning of the barrels loud enough to hear through the armor. Immediately, the shooters at the barricades dropped their weapons and went hands up.
Mere moments later, about a thousand cop cars careened into the space around us while a swarm of law enforcement drones swept into the sky above, forcing the news UAVs to pull back.
At that point, one of the big self-driver dump trucks suddenly started rolling forward, driving over and crushing one of the SUVs as it headed for us. The massive excavator lifted its bucket off the crushed pickup and knocked the truck over onto its side. The action was over.
Chapter 32
The cleanup was tedious. First we had to stand down the LAV, which actually meant having Rikki shut down the Ping weapons control unit he had taken over, as well as turning off the excavator.
City facilities personnel climbed into the cab of the still-running dump truck and shut it down.
Then we were all taken to police headquarters, where we were separated and interrogated for hours. Sarah Jarit got there in minutes flat, but even she couldn’t speed up the pace of the investigation. Brad Johnson had his own law firm on hand, so each of the Johnson clan was well represented.
“Okay, Ajaya, let’s go through it again,” my new personal nemesis, Detective Ophelia Satterly said.
“Is this really necessary, Detective?” Sarah interjected. “You’ve been through it with my client seven times by my count. He’s been assaulted and shot at all day long. He’s exhausted, hungry, and needs more nutrition than a stale cinnamon bun and burnt coffee.”
“We gave him bottled water too,” Satterly’s partner, Thad Affrond, said defensively.
Satterly, who was clearly in charge, looked from her partner to me and then to Sarah. She actually appeared to be considering it. “Alright. We have enough for the moment. But don’t go far, Mr. Gurung. This investigation isn’t over.”
Too tired to open my mouth, I just gave her a little nod. Then Sarah was leading me out of the interrogation room and down to the police garage, where she had parked.
“You’re not saying anything?” my attorney not
ed as we climbed into her car.
“Too tired. And really, what’s there to say? We defended ourselves as best we could.”
“Well, Ajaya, in this case, it is just how well you both defended yourselves that is part of the issue. And don’t forget, multiple NYPD officers died or were wounded in that attack. The department is up in arms, particularly because it was held back from responding by the feds. And none of this even touches what’s been happening outside the station’s walls.”
“Like what? Oh, wait, let me guess… Harper actually did release her evidence?”
“Yes. But I don’t know much, nowhere near enough. So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m taking you back to my place. My wife has dinner ready and we can all watch the news and catch up. You can spend the night in my guest room, then tomorrow go back to your apartment. Deal?”
I thought about my options, none of which seemed appealing, and finally gave her a nod. “Deal.”
She lived in a brownstone in an upscale part of Brooklyn, indicating that my retainer checks must have joined forces with quite a few others or else she must have married a doctor. Turns out she had married a doctor, an emergency room physician of Indian descent whose family curry recipe was almost the equal of Aama’s.
So after a shower and dozens of phone calls to my family and Astrid, who had also gotten free from police clutches, I sat down to dinner with Sarah and Hannah and we watched the news.
While I had been repeating my story to Detectives Satterly and Afrond for the billionth time, the rest of the country was dealing with the mountain of evidence that Harper had finally spilled into the internet.
Her mother, Dr. Wilks, had recorded several of the interactions she’d had with the people who ultimately launched Drone Night. Those recordings, along with reams of emails, telephone recordings, and several diary files that a few individuals kept on supposedly secure storage systems were more than enough to upend everything.
Thirteen people were directly implicated in the conspiracy, Shussman being one of five who orchestrated the straw purchase of the 25,000 combat drones, using some of the Gaia Group’s more militant members as ground agents, and then ultimately hired Harper’s mother to modify the programming of the Spiders.
Quite a few additional members of the conspiracy were directly or indirectly implicated by Harper’s evidence. It reached as high as the Joint Chiefs of Staff, multiple senators, congressmen, and multiple officials inside the current White House Administration.
In fact, it turned out that Shussman’s notebook computer, the one that I had retrieved from 55 Broadway, had contained damning information and he had inadvertently left it behind in his rush to exit the city on the night the attack was launched. I had, unknowingly, handed him the evidence that would have broken this story open months ago. He should have wiped it all clean as soon as he got it back but he’d tucked it away as insurance against his co-conspirators. Despite his best safeguards, its hard drive fell prey to Harper’s skills.
The release of the information had been accompanied by a letter from Harper describing how she had obtained all the information. She had found the conspirators by backtracking the money. She’d started with the companies whose stock performance did the very best in the years following the initial attack. The people funding those wonder companies had, in turn, made their massive war chests of cash by shorting the exact right companies at exactly the right time on the day before Drone Night. Several of those people had been Rocon clients, the company that Calvin Shussman had helped start and run. From there, Harper had just quietly infiltrated all the networks of the people who had benefited from such prescient investing, which included all of Rocon’s partners.
It had taken her time to bypass security software and firewalls, slowly gathering vast amounts of information that she’d then had to filter to find the real gold. But find it she had. We didn’t even make it halfway through dinner before Sarah was getting phone calls from the group of people who were, at her request, spearheading the first investigations and seeking to replace elements of the government. With this new exposure, it looked like the country was going to need to be restructured from the ground up.
I got a call from Astrid and took it while carrying dinner dishes to the kitchen. Sarah was on one of her own calls and Hannah was just staring at the wall, watching the news, mouth almost hanging open.
“Are you seeing all this on the news?” Astrid asked.
“Crazy, right?”
“AJ, it’s more than crazy. It’s so big, I’m not sure if the country can recover. Dad agrees. He wants all of us to head back north tomorrow. He doesn’t think it’s going to be safe here, or really anywhere. I mean, have you watched what Zone War is playing?”
“I didn’t even realize it was still on. What are they showing?” I asked.
“You kind of have to see it,” she said. I walked back into the dining area of the apartment. “Can I change this? There something I’m being told we need to see.”
Hannah just nodded, her expression curious. I activated the hand controls, as the house AI was disconnected, and changed it to the station that Zone War played on.
The screen changed instantly, filled with video of the standoff on the interstate. The bottom of the screen indicated a Dr. Aarav Laghari, PhD, Computer Science, Columbia University, was speaking.
“—in addition, you can see the moment the man with the Chinese missile starts to activate it, the excavator immediately goes live. It reacts far faster than a human could. So fast that there is no doubt in my mind that an AI is controlling it. Yet it doesn’t kill the shooter.”
“Are you saying that the excavator was being run by Ajaya’s AI, Rikki Tikki?” Cade Callow replied.
“I have no way of knowing the answer to that, Cade. All I can tell you is that the machine destroyed the weapon mere microseconds before a launch. And if you notice, the automatic weapon mounted on the top of the armored military vehicle shot a very precise burst of rounds and destroyed the other missile at the moment it launched. It did that without a single round hitting a human. Now, the shooter was injured by the exploding missile but he wasn’t, according to all reports that I have seen so far, hit by any bullets. Again, it happened too fast for a human to control.”
“Dr. Laghari, I’ve spoken at great length with Ajaya Gurung about his drone and the AI that ran it. It’s very clear that that AI was uploaded to the internet to hunt the Spider AI. Now, as you earlier pointed out, the dump truck attempted to run over the Johnsons’ LAV, but the excavator also stopped it. Was this an example of the two AIs fighting?”
“If your theory regarding the young man’s drone software is correct, then it seems at least possible that what we’re seeing is open AI warfare in the streets of New York.”
“I have some more footage for you to look at, Doctor,” Cade said. The screen immediately was filled with aerial footage at the dockside. “This is footage we obtained from the Red Hook Container Terminal this afternoon. As you can see, there is what appears to be a firefight underway in and around the on-shore containers. But right here… there, did you see that? The ship crane launched a container. Just spun around and threw it. Now, about here, it does it again. Next you’ll see the shore side gantry drop a container toward two people who we believe to be Ajaya Gurung and Astrid Johnson.”
The video played further, showing reach stackers racing for us while the deck cranes catapulted more containers.
“This too, Cade, appears to be a battle between the AI units,” the computer expert said.
“My question, Doctor, is why does the Plum Blossom Spider AI appear to be actively hunting Ajaya Gurung? Because that’s what it looks like. Wherever Ajaya goes, the Spider attempts to suborn systems near him and then attempts to kill him, with his drone AI, Rikki, showing up to stop it.”
“I can see your point. However, Cade, in that last piece you played, I believe the ship’s deck cranes started throwing before any of the dockside equipment became hostile. In
that case, it seems his AI was working to protect him and the Spider showed up after, maybe drawn by the drone AI.”
“Interesting take on it, Doctor. You may be right. But either way, you seem to be agreeing that it is computer warfare?”
“Oh, yes, Cade. It certainly appears that way, although I wouldn’t call it computer warfare but software warfare. It’s the programs that are in conflict. And I only hedge myself because I’m a scientist and I don’t like to assume things, but based on what we’re seeing elsewhere, it seems highly, highly probable that this is, in fact, two highly sophisticated programs battling for dominance.”
“What do you mean by the phrase ‘what we’re seeing elsewhere?’”
“Cade, there are signs, if you know to recognize them, all over the world of this battle. The government, what’s left of it, has been excellent in linking the world’s best and brightest experts to combat this invasive AI. It’s been spreading everywhere, but then again, so has the Drone AI.”
“Rikki, Doctor… its name is Rikki. Named for the guardian mongoose in Rudyard Kipling’s tale.”
“Hmm, so far that seems to be a very apt name. To this point, it has been very effective in slowing—and some cases stopping—the Spider program.”
“What do you mean so far?”
“Cade, these two programs are spreading the same way that viruses and malware spreads. By copying themselves onto new systems. Whenever you copy a program, you introduce the risk of an error or mistake entering the copy. Much like biological cells mutate or get damaged when undergoing cellular mitosis, the same idea can happen with programs. By now, these programs have made millions of copies of themselves. Statistically, it seems improbable that no errors have been introduced in at least some of these copies.”
“What would these glitches or errors do, Doctor?”
“No way to know, Cade. Most of them may be minor, but others might make the whole program fail, or might introduce new lines of code or even remove some code. The result might be a lack of efficiency or complete failure, or even a change in the core program mission parameters.”