Alana’s anger was firmly compressed within her shell. She continued without a hit of emotion, “When their operation fell apart, they became desperate. Their plan was shaky at best. They could have tried to flee immediately, cutting their losses. But they didn’t. Vengeance was clearly their primary motive, with escape secondary. After killing Gabriel, they planned to flee into Simi and then work their way back out on foot. They were then going to try to make it to Mexico, cross the border, and use the money they stole back from Kaloyanov to get back to Singapore, where they were going to try to contact their employers to get paid.” Alana paused before following with, “Tremblay was quick to make his plea deal in exchange for imprisonment here. I rather expect that he felt they were already dead men when they failed to deliver their cargo.”
Alana’s Vira pinged, “Chief Inspector, you have a call from Mister Robert Smith.”
Alana turned away, whispering, “Vira, put Smith on hold.” She then faced her audience, “Everybody take fifteen. When we get back, I’ll brief everyone on our next steps.”
Everyone took Alana’s missive to be dismissive, and the room emptied. She said, “Vira, answer Smith’s call.”
The incoming message was audio-only, and Bob Smith’s enthusiasm had not abated any since he had successfully defended Alana previously, “Hey, Chief Inspector? I’ve got some news for you.”
“Shoot.”
Smith said, “First, I looked into Gabriel’s records. The addition of the DNA profiles linking him to you and Aaron Stone is unusually timed, to say the least, but they are legitimate. Legally, you are his next of kin, and for all intents and purposes, the law thinks you’re his mom. He did not leave behind a living will, so whatever you decide to do about his condition will stand.”
“Go on.”
Smith continued, “Second, he was not carrying any resurrection insurance, and as far as I can find, he hasn’t been saved. Well, not in the sense that you and I are saved, at any rate.”
Alana asked, “Where does that leave him and me?”
Bob said, “It places the burden of any medical expenses to keep him on life support beyond seventy-two hours on you, and the hospital will not extend it without your order.”
“Anything else?”
“Not unless you know of a save file to resurrect him from.”
“Did the doctors say anything about how much it would cost to keep him hooked up beyond their deadline?”
Bob’s voice wavered a little, “I’m guessing about 4g’s a day, probably 2g’s if they move him out of ICU and into a regular ward. Can I ask you how you’re feeling about the situation?”
Alana said, “I barely knew the kid, but he called me about a case, and I can’t help but feel a bit responsible for his death. Back during the revolution, when we were advancing on DC, I had to open an emergency channel to one of our forward HQs to warn them that they were about to be flanked by a loyalist unit. We didn’t have a clear line of sight to their position to use a tight beam link, and there was no time to send a communications drone, so I had to break silence and broadcast the message in the clear. The unit’s commander replied, also on an open channel. I went out on a date with that man about a month before the war broke out. He shouldn’t have replied, but when he saw that the message was from me... He had to say hello. One minute later, an enemy artillery battery wiped his position off the map.”
Smith asked, “Will you be okay?”
Alana said, “I don’t know what to do. I’m numb to it. He wasn’t my son...as such. But I’m feeling it as if Gabriel belonged to an older sister; like he was my nephew. He’s a blood relative and I haven’t had one of those in over twenty years. I’ll need to think about it. Did they give you an exact time at which they’ll pull the plug?”
Smith said, “One AM Thursday morning.”
Alana nodded, despite the link being audio-only, “Understood. Expect to hear back from me sometime late tomorrow with my decision. Will that be enough time for you to execute any legal orders?”
Smith said, “Yes, ma’am, it will be. Call me when you’re ready.”
As Inspector Alvarez reentered the situation room and moved to retake his seat, Alana’s Vira pinged again, “You have a text message from Brett Crabtree.”
Alana said, “Display it.”
A virtual window appeared before her with the following message, “Ma’am, you were right. There’s something fishy in Robertson’s educational background. I’m going to check to see if it’s a connection to Veedock. Thanks for the tip.”
The door opened again and the remainder of Alana’s team reentered. Less than a minute later, all were reseated and ready to resume their briefing. Alana said, “Okay, now to today’s assignments.”
Alana pointed, “Mister Washington, check one last time on that wounded mercenary and make sure that if he wakes up, he’s secure. After that, head up to Precinct 5 and work with the local cops to locate Sal Kaloyanov’s corpse. Then find his warehouse and secure any cyborg bodies he hasn’t sold yet, along with any other evidence. Any questions before you’re dismissed?”
Washington replied, “No, ma’am.”
“Then you’re dismissed.” Alana then pointed to Detective Taggart, “You’re now on DI Alvarez’s team. Help him sort through the kidnap victims and get them ID’d.” Shifting her finger to Alvarez, she said, “Keep up the good work. Let me know immediately if you discover any victims who deviate from the patterns you’ve seen with the others. Otherwise, dismissed.”
Alvarez and Taggart stood, and left the room together, leaving Alana with Chief Bennett, Detective Rhys, and a random officer who silently and diligently manned the refreshment table. Before Alana could continue, Bennett’s cell phone rang, playing the dramatically bouncy theme song to the popular domestic spy thriller, ‘Danger Zone America,’ as its ring tone. Alana had never watched the television show herself, but Brett had told her that it was woefully deficient in its portrayal of reality and almost propagandistic in its heroic depiction of Security Division. Bennett stood and walked to the back corner of the room to take the call, but given the size of her remaining audience, she crossed her arms and decided to wait.
Bennett appeared to end his call, but he kept his phone out. He walked up to Alana and began, “SD finally figured out that we have more prisoners. That jackass Derringer wants them remanded to his custody, along with the black box from that Chinese limo. I told him that I’d have you call him about it.” He held up his phone and showed the number on the display to Alana.
Alana said, “Vira, snapshot.” Her vision seemed to blink momentarily, as if a camera shutter had clicked, the default feedback signal for capturing a still image with her internal camera. “I’ll call him after the briefing.”
Bennett sat down again, “Works for me.”
Rhys asked, “So, what are we going to do in aid of all this?”
Alana turned and cleared the whiteboard again. Then she reopened the folder containing information about the taxi company in Glendale. Among the image windows that appeared was a real-time overhead view from a camera drone. She said, pointing to the image of the taxi office and garage buildings, “With the Chief’s approval, I want to turn this place upside down and shake it until something falls out.”
Bennett stirred in his chair, “I’ve already placed the search warrant request, but tell me what you’re hoping to find.”
Alana clasped her hands behind her back and stared at the images, “There are twenty-two taxicabs parked in the lot. According to the purchase order, twenty-four cabs were bought. The garage has room for two more, and I want to confirm that they are in there. If they aren’t, I want to know where they went. If all the cabs are there, I want to turn them over to Srinu’s team and have them figure out whether the kidnap victims climbed into them or whether someone jumped out of the cabs and forced them inside.”
Bennett asked, “Do you think there are more mercenaries at large?”
Alana shook her head, “No, I don
’t. I’m almost expecting to find a squad of Joebots inside the garage with stun guns. But I won’t know unless I pry open the doors.”
Rhys added, “Were the mercenaries running the cabs?”
Alana clapped her hands together in front of her, “Ah! Good point. Tremblay said that his group only received the victims. The cabs delivered them, but they didn’t know who was controlling them. He did say that the retirees were all deactivated when they arrived.”
Bennett said, “I want a full raid plan in place and ready to go by two o’clock. That building is adjacent to Highway 1, and I want everything locked down by three. There’s an elementary school less than a mile from there—my granddaughter’s school, in case you were wondering how I know. If there’s a squad of Joebots tromping around, I don’t want any civilian casualties. Is that enough time?”
Alana said, “Send a SWAT team leader up ASAP and I’ll work the details out with him or her.”
Bennett stood and turned toward the door, “I don’t want any police casualties either. I’m authorizing anti-material weapons, tactical drones, and an ART squad for backup. I’ll monitor the raid from here. Get everything right this time.”
The raid team assembled in the situation room, with Alana designated as leader. Her plan was to preposition all of the assets, but to keep them in reserve while Alana and Rhys gained entry. With any luck, the SWAT team, drones, and police Joebots would not be needed.
As Alana led the other policemen out of the room, she left Chief Bennett behind. He was staring at the real-time satellite and traffic camera footage on the whiteboard. Bennett tried poking at some of the display controls, but he fidgeted, almost as if he was afraid of breaking something. Alana held the door for everyone else, and once she and Bennett were alone, she said, “I think it was a good thing that you were promoted to Chief before I was. It’s a very different skill set.”
Bennett replied, “How would you feel about taking over the district?”
Something in her superior’s tone gave it a hint of sincerity, “Are you planning on retiring soon, Chief?”
Bennett did not take his eyes off the screen, “I’m thinking about it. Just from my job, not into immortality. You be careful out there and don’t do anything to disqualify yourself. Just in case.”
Alana didn’t say anything. Given that the Chief was considering a job retirement before age seventy, Alana was struck with the idea that he might not be physically well. She didn’t really want the administrative job; it wasn’t her forte. However, the difference in her and Bennett’s salaries was a full figure. Were the promotion offered, she’d be stupid to reject it out of hand. With thirty-five years in the police, she was eligible for a pension, but the pension rules were different for cybernetic officers. The most recent contract between the policeman’s union and the government had imposed a hard cap of six months half-salary per year of service for a maximum of ten years, then a lump-sum payout equal to a full year’s pension at the end, with a resurrection insurance subsidy going away upon termination. To qualify for the full salary, Alana would have to remain in the higher pay bracket for at least three years; whether or not she could avoid being fired in that time without Bennett to cover for her was an open question. Her potential Social Security benefits had already been curtailed about five years after the revolution, when it was decided that a lump-sum benefit equal to ten years of the standard monthly benefit would be paid to cybernetic retirees. She now qualified for that, having worked until age seventy in cyborg years, but it only counted for eighteen of her living, working years, not for those that came after she died.
From the elevators down the hall, Rhys yelled, breaking Alana’s momentary reverie, “The train is now leaving the station!”
She pulled the door closed and jogged down the corridor, deftly dodging the handful of officers and administrative personnel who were clearly worried about colliding with an onrushing machine.
Tuesday, 11 July, 14:00
It took the police convoy the better part of an hour to move to their target location and deploy, even with the traffic control system diverting obstacles from their path. Two tactical drones were already circling overhead when Alana’s car pulled directly into the parking lot. The garage was two stories in height, with the adjoining office building topping out at one-and-a-half. All the doors, both solid and glass, were closed, and the windows were tinted an opaque white. The roof of both structures was lined with a gutter installation that was painted a bright orange that contrasted sharply with the red brickwork walls. Even for Los Angeles, it stood out. Alana and Rhys exited their car and waited beside it for the SWAT team to deploy. The black-clad troopers had grenade launchers slung over their shoulders, something they had not when battling the Chinese mech at the Port a week ago. An extra armored van with the words, “LAPD Automated Response Team,” pulled up to the curb and stopped, its cargo of Mk I Joebots ready to deploy from its rear hatch at a moment’s notice. Alana recognized the van’s driver as another cybernetic officer, but although she had seen him, she had never bothered to learn his name. He nodded and gave Alana a thumbs-up.
Alana said, “Vira, what kind of business was on this spot before the Flash-Drive Taxi Company took over?”
The virtual assistant replied, “The previous occupant was an automotive repair shop.”
“Did the new owners repaint it when they moved in?”
Her Vira said, “No,” adding weight to the theory that the entire business was a front for kidnapping cyborgs.
Rhys said, “Where do you want to start?”
Alana pointed to the office and strode towards the glass door, “There. Tighter quarters, but they’d be hard-pressed to hide a tank inside it.”
When Alana reached the door, she tried to open it, but it was locked with an old-fashioned mechanical bolt that wouldn’t respond to police directives to open. She nodded to Rhys, who moved to the opposite side of the door and drew his sidearm. She drew hers as well, and struck the glass with the butt. The pistol left a small ding, but the window did not break. Rhys shrugged. Alana stepped away from her cover and made a forceful roundhouse kick to the center of the large pane, which popped out of its frame and slapped the interior floor.
The lights were on inside the room, which was a spacious office. A waiting area was set aside to the right of the doorway with several chairs, and a service counter with a waist-height swinging door controlled access to the desks beyond. Rhys pointed his pistol inside the room and followed closely behind it as he stepped through the portal. He turned left and swept that side of the space, while Alana followed, turning right. Both of them whipped their sidearms toward a side door that opened, admitting a Joebot in a private security uniform. The robot said, “Excuse me, but the office is closed for the day. I must ask you to leave—”
Alana shouted, “Vira, override that robot’s controls and shut it down!”
“—or I willllllll...” the robot’s voice faded as it stopped moving mid-stride.
Rhys holstered his pistol, “That was anticlimactic.”
Alana followed suit, opening her jacket and returning her firearm to its resting place, “It figures that the one time we arrive loaded for bear, it’s a teddy bear.”
Alana looked around the room, zooming in on the decorations and noting that the place had obviously not been dusted in months. An old-fashioned, printed calendar pinned to the back wall said that it was still December 2089, having not been updated for over six months. It was clear that when the taxi company moved in, they didn’t bother to remodel. She motioned for Rhys to withdraw, radioing, “Chief Inspector Graves to SWAT command, we’re pulling out of the building. There is one deactivated Joebot inside. Send in the bomb squad to sweep everything for IEDs, including the garage and all the cars. Signal the all-clear when it’s secured.”
Although the traffic control system prevented ‘rubbernecking,’ the impulse to and practice of humans to stop what they are doing to ogle at disasters, small groups of pedestrians w
ere gathering along the sidewalks to wonder at what was transpiring before them. A team of four traffic control Joebots arrived in a pair of squad cars just in time to begin corralling the onlookers, speaking in firm, yet not unfriendly monotone voices, “There is nothing to see here. Move along please.”
Knowing that there would be a long delay before the security teams could deploy and employ their bomb scanning robots, Alana crossed the five lanes of Highway 1 to visit a fish and chips restaurant. The establishment had somehow managed to survive the decades and steadily increasing restrictions on fat and sodium content that afflicted many public dining establishments since society’s war on obesity began over half-a-century ago. She ordered the least healthy fried fish platter she could find and plopped down at an empty booth. She began munching and crunching on the repast while Detective Rhys looked on with apparent curiosity. She said, between bites, “Don’t look at me like that.”
Rhys stared directly at her and said, “I’m not looking at you.”
“It’s not like...,” she finished inhaling her first fish plank and swallowed it, “...I can get fat.” Alana held up her hand with a big, steak fry pinned between her fingers, “Hang on, I’ve got a call.”
Alana turned away. Even though Rhys could only hear half of the conversation, he knew what it was about.
“Yes... Um, no, I can’t give a hundred percent confirmation right now. I’m in the middle of a huge case... No, it’s a different one. I can’t mention particulars...”
Alana looked at Rhys, as if begging for him to give her a reason to decline Edward Jenkins’ dinner invitation, saying rhetorically, “Am I still free tomorrow night? Let me check.”
Rhys merely smirked. Alana could not judge what he was really thinking behind his cybernetic facade. She paused a few seconds, and when Rhys said nothing, Alana continued, “Check back with me tomorrow afternoon... Yes, I know it will be short notice, but I’m a high-ranking... Good. Thank you for understanding. I’ll expect to hear from you again around five PM tomorrow... Good. I’ll talk to you then. Bye.”
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