The Robots of Gotham

by Todd McAulty

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t tell me that five minutes ago. So, I’m good with the search algorithm?”

  “Yes.” I heard Sergei start typing again. “Very good. Algorithm has flagged you ninety-eight point eight percent match with museum intruder.”

  “Ninety-eight point eight? Man, those must be my lucky socks.”

  Sergei took a minute to reply. “This is . . . interesting,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Military intelligence has just tasked search algorithm with control of drones. Sturgeon Building personnel are alerted to your presence, and are coordinating response with algorithm. Fortunately for us . . .” I heard more clicking. “I still have access to algorithm.”

  I stopped walking. That was fortunate. “What are they doing?”

  “Drones have informed algorithm you are trapped inside van.”

  “Sweet. What about soldiers?”

  “They are being assembled now. West door.”

  I started walking again. “How long?”

  More typing. “Soon.”

  I made my way to the west door. It was halfway along the west wall. I took up position behind a concrete barricade about fifteen yards away.

  “I’m in position,” I said.

  I cooled my heels in the shadows. At first it was a little nerve-racking—I was still pumped with adrenaline from the confrontation in the alley and expecting soldiers to burst out of the door at any minute. After five minutes, I eased out of my uncomfortable squat, stretching out my legs and letting my butt rest on the cool pavement.

  After ten minutes of waiting, I said, “Jesus, what kind of crack response team is this?”

  “They believe you are trapped,” said Sergei.

  “I could starve to death by the time they get here,” I complained.

  I watched more drones orbiting the building overhead. Damn, there were a lot of them.

  Something occurred to me as I sat in the shadows, waiting for an elite Venezuelan response team to get the hell out of bed and come arrest my ass. “Hey, how did you know the device would still work after the drones had already seen me?”

  “Explain,” said Sergei.

  “You said the device works by interfering with drone pattern recognition at the back end, right? So the drones had already spotted me and pattern-recognized me six ways to Sunday. How the hell does the device do its magic after that?”

  “You were out of sight of drone when you turned on device, yes?”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Drones had successfully identified you as museum intruder. But to reacquire target takes brand-new pattern recognition. Fresh vulnerabilities are exposed.”

  “Damn, they are dumb.”

  “Yes. But do not minimize the device . . . It is very sophisticated. I still do not understand everything it is doing.”

  Before I could ask him to elaborate, we were interrupted by the sound of a door slamming open and running feet.

  “We’re in business,” I said.

  The next forty-five seconds or so were pretty damn tense. Drones are sinister, ugly hunks of metal, and being trapped under that van was absolutely zero fun. But they’re also almost one hundred percent predictable, and the part of the plan where we outsmarted a bunch of dumb drones never really stressed me that much.

  This part of the plan was trickier. This part of the plan basically boiled down to: a bunch of soldiers run out of the building, and Barry avoids them all.

  Fortunately we had a few things working in our favor. For one thing, the search protocols for escaped prisoners are fairly basic. The soldiers would quickly form a perimeter around the alley and then expand that perimeter to secure the blocks around the building. Those protocols have one glaring flaw, however: they all assume the prisoner is trying to escape, not break into the building.

  I didn’t have to do much while this part of the plan played out—just hide quietly behind a barricade while a bunch of sleepyhead Venezuelans marched over to the alley to shoot me.

  After about a minute the footsteps faded away to the north, and I couldn’t hear any voices. I peeked over the barricade. The coast was clear—there were no soldiers near the door.

  “We’re clear,” I said. “You were right. They really do count on the drones to be their eyes and ears out here.”

  “Go,” said Sergei.

  I swung the backpack over my shoulder, gripped the crowbar, and sprinted for the door.

  This was another tricky phase of the plan. After thirty minutes of brainstorming fake medical passes and other scams, a crowbar was the best we could come up with to deal with the door. I had to pry it open as quickly as possible and get inside before any of the soldiers returned.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  “They left the damn door open.”

  I could hardly believe our luck. In their haste to shoot me, the team of Venezuelan killers had rushed out of the Sturgeon Building, leaving the west door ajar.

  I closed the distance in seconds. Far to the north, where the alley emerged, stood two soldiers with rifles at the ready. One had his back to me, but two feet ahead of him stood his partner, and he was turned in my direction. They were talking, and the one facing me was currently looking left, into the alley.

  I didn’t hesitate. I slipped into the building.

  “I’m in,” I said.

  “Door was fortunate,” said Sergei. “I still had concerns about crowbar.”

  “You need to stop reminding me how shitty our plan is,” I said.

  “Is good plan,” said Sergei reassuringly. “Solid plan.”

  “Thank you.”

  I needed a little confidence builder at this point. Because now we came to the most audacious part of our scheme: sneaking around one of the most secure and feared installations in North America . . . after we’d deliberately set off an alarm.

  It’s a good plan, I told myself. I love our plan.

  Sergei had managed to find a set of blueprints for the Sturgeon Building, dated 2072. Ten years out of date, but still useful. We had no idea how accurate they were today, now that the Venezuelans had modified the building to suit their purposes, but they’d been sufficient to formulate a crude plan of attack. Perhaps the most useful thing about them was that they showed the locations of all the internal cameras.

  I was in a narrow hallway at the rear of the building. A light above the outside door was flashing blue. If the plans were accurate, the main lobby was straight ahead, through two doors.

  Before I opened the first, it was time to shed my museum-intruder garb. We were playing for military intelligence cameras now, not drones hunting for a suspected war criminal. I took off my dinner jacket, cap, goggles, and scarf, and pulled the Venezuelan medical tunic and cap Sergei had given me out of the backpack, putting them on quickly. Sergei had even worked up a fake ID badge, although it was only cosmetic. Not much of a disguise, really, and it wouldn’t hold up to any kind of scrutiny. But all it had to do was fool observers from a distance.

  At the moment, I was just relieved to be out of the open. I folded up my dinner jacket, still damp from lying in pools of water under the van, and tucked it into the backpack. I’d have to dispose of it eventually. But I had one more use for it yet.

  When I was ready, I slipped through the inner door. I was in another long hallway, also deserted. To the right was the lobby—which was not likely to be deserted, and which I wanted to avoid if possible. I turned left, toward the north stairwell.

  I only made it thirty feet before I heard voices. I slowed but continued advancing. At the end of the corridor I crouched, and carefully peeked around the corner at the entrance to the stairwell. I pulled back immediately, beating a hasty retreat down the hall.

  “Trouble,” I said, when I was out of earshot. “There are two guards posted at the bottom of the west stairwell.”

  “Understood. Do you want directions to east stairs?” I heard Sergei typing again
, probably bringing up the blueprints.

  I thought for a second. “No. Odds are that’s going to be guarded as well.”

  That caught Sergei a little off guard. Our plan was to take the stairs for the first five floors, before risking the elevator. “There are not many other options.”

  “I’m going to have a look at the lobby.”

  “Lobby will certainly be guarded.”

  “I’m just going to look.”

  I cracked open the door at the end of the hallway and risked a look. The lobby layout was more or less as advertised by the blueprints. To my left was the first bank of elevators, serving floors thirty to fifty-eight. Past them, also on my left, was the second bank, serving floors two to twenty-nine.

  Beyond them, straight ahead, was a security checkpoint and then the lobby, high-ceilinged and dark.

  There were guards. Two that I could see, both at the checkpoint. They wore civilian garb, not AGRT uniforms. Security contractors, more than likely. I was in the secure part of the building, and both guards were facing away from me, toward the entrance to the building. As I watched, one more came into view, pacing by the windows. He was talking to the two at the checkpoint and occasionally glancing over his shoulder at something outside my field of vision.

  Both sets of elevators were out of sight, in alcoves to the left. Fortunately, it looked like they were out of sight of the guards as well. A four-second walk would get me to the elevators and past the guards.

  None of them had looked my way yet. “I think I can make it to the elevators,” I said.

  “Risky. We cannot guarantee elevator to roof is in service.”

  “It’s worth the risk. I don’t think I can talk my way past the guards at the stairs.”

  “Elevators have cameras.”

  “I’ll put the cap down over my face.”

  “Guards will be suspicious if they see you.”

  “They’re not going to see me.”

  Sergei considered for a moment. “Then I suggest you move quickly, before team outside reports you have escaped and they broaden search.”

  “Roger that.”

  I left the door cracked open just enough to watch the lobby, waiting for the right moment to make a move for the elevators. Every time I was ready to act, one of the guards at the checkpoint casually glanced over his shoulder, or another soldier came into view. After about three minutes, there was a chime from the second set of elevators, and a fresh group of five soldiers appeared. They were heavily armed, with sidearms and rifles. Their leader exchanged a nod with the guards at the checkpoint, and then began walking quickly.

  Straight toward me. “Shit,” I said.

  I pulled the door closed quietly, then bolted back down the corridor. There was a door on my right, and I didn’t bother to check where it led—I threw it open and dashed inside, crouching low in the darkness and leaving a tiny gap in the door so I could see the corridor.

  Sergei was patient enough to wait while the guards passed in the hallway, talking in low murmurs, before asking me to elaborate.

  “Five more soldiers,” I said. “Headed outside.”

  “They are expanding search already. They may post guards at the door.”

  Guards at the door would throw a wrench into our carefully planned strategy to exit the building. But we’d have to worry about that later. For now, I had my hands full trying to get off the first floor.

  When I was certain the guards were gone, I slipped out of the room and back to the door by the lobby. I peeked through and saw one of the guards just as he vanished toward the second batch of elevators. The other guard had his back to me, and the lobby was clear.

  Just one set of eyes left, and they were looking the wrong way. Now or never, I thought.

  I opened the door and made sure it closed quietly behind me. Fifty feet away, the guard stood with his hands on his hips, facing the windows. From here I could see that the big glass windows in the lobby had been reinforced with blast-resistant plexiglass. It was too dark to see outside, but a row of monitors, mounted high above the floor, showed the nearby streets—including the alley, which was swarming with soldiers.

  I strode, as quickly as I dared, toward the near bank of elevators. I was two steps away when I heard a shout from the lobby—and running footsteps.

  I didn’t stop to see what was happening. I dashed into the alcove, slid up against a wall, and froze. Then I listened for the sound of guards running toward me.

  I heard running, but not in my direction. There was a shouted question from the guard, and an answering voice from the lobby. Something was happening at the far end of the lobby.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and took four quick steps into a waiting elevator. Once inside, I kept my head low and tugged the cap down over my face, concealing myself from the camera. I punched the button for the fifty-ninth floor.

  There were more voices in the lobby now. A new voice was shouting questions, and I heard the guard reply. I moved as far to the right as I could, keeping out of sight.

  “Something is happening,” Sergei said.

  “I know. I can hear shouts in the lobby.”

  “The drones are getting new instructions.”

  The doors began to close. Somewhere surprisingly near, there was another shout and then running footsteps.

  The doors closed, and the elevator started to ascend.

  I let out a long breath. “I’m on the way up,” I said.

  “Remain quiet in elevator,” said Sergei. “You do not want voice recorded.”

  Whoops, I thought.

  More fast typing from Sergei. “Drones have started to search nearby streets,” he said. “Soldiers have completed search of van. No sign of intruder.”

  I needed to talk to Sergei about the monitors in the lobby. If they had cameras on the alley, then the guards had almost certainly seen me walk away from the van. And if they’d seen me do that, they had to know I was inside the building. It wouldn’t take them long to figure out where I was.

  I opened my mouth, prepared to risk having my voice recorded, when I realized the elevator was slowing down.

  I glanced at the control panel. We were on the thirty-fourth floor. Nowhere near the fifty-ninth. Had they found me already?

  I gripped the crowbar and took a step backwards, ready for whatever might come through the doors.

  The elevator stopped. The doors slid open.

  Two guys in suits stepped in. They were deep in conversation. Both spoke lightly accented English, but I couldn’t place the accent immediately. Australian maybe?

  “—locked down everything. I cannot even get access to financial data,” said the first suit. He turned and jammed the button for the thirty-sixth floor impatiently with his thumb.

  “Yeah, the whole building is in a security lockdown,” said the second. He was a little older, curly white hair against a black scalp. “You hear what happened?”

  “No,” said the first.

  “A Venezuelan prisoner escaped.”

  “Escaped?”

  “Yeah. Threw a metal rod or something through a door, walked right out of the building. Saw it on the security feed.”

  “Seriously? Shit, I didn’t think anyone ever escaped Hayduk’s goons. How do you think he got out?”

  “No idea, but you can bet Hayduk has locked down everything below the fifteenth floor.”

  “Did he get away?”

  “Not yet. Apparently he’s trapped in the alley.”

  “Damn.”

  The first suit’s eyes shifted, regarding me. The second one turned, taking notice of me for the first time.

  I probably looked a little unorthodox, standing next to them with my cap pulled down and clutching a crowbar. They stared at me uncomfortably for a few seconds.

  “Hey,” said the first suit.

  “You know what’s going on?” the second asked me.

  I stared at them.

  They exchanged looks. The first suit shifted nervously.


  “Are you, uh,” he said. “Are you with the AGRT?”

  He looked at me expectantly. I stayed silent.

  “He probably doesn’t speak English,” said the second suit.

  “Huh?”

  “He’s with a Venezuelan medical unit. Look at his uniform.”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah,” said the second. He relaxed a little.

  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened onto a brightly lit, carpeted hall. They stepped out of the elevator.

  “Well, good luck catching that guy,” said the first suit awkwardly.

  “Sí,” I said.

  The doors closed, and the elevator continued to ascend.

  It reached the fifty-ninth floor, which was dark and gloomy. No carpet, and no bright lights. I stepped out, and waited until the elevator doors closed again before speaking.

  “Sergei,” I said.

  “Da.”

  “The guards in the lobby—they had monitors that showed the alley. And one of the guys who just rode in the elevator with me said he saw someone break through the door on the first floor on a ‘security feed.’ ”

  “Not unexpected. We knew about cameras.”

  “Sergei, if they had cameras in the alley, the guards must have seen me escape the van. The Venezuelans know I’m inside the building. It won’t take them long to find me—in fact, they probably know where I am right now.”

  “Nyet.”

  “Nyet? Why nyet?”

  “If soldiers knew you had escaped van, they would have searched for you when they left building.”

  Well, that was true, I suppose. But—

  “You need not be concerned with cameras. Only security guards watch cameras, and they have no authority over soldiers. You need to be concerned with Venezuelan Military Intelligence. They rely on drones.”

  “The drones are clueless. The Venezuelans will check the cameras eventually.”

  “Da. But not for some time. Drones are more mobile and more versatile than cameras. The Venezuelans will ignore cameras until they discover drones have been deceived.”

  “And what happens then?”

  “By then, you will be long gone.”

  Once again, Sergei’s confidence calmed me. “Okay,” I said. I pulled the backpack off my shoulder, and set the crowbar down. “Let’s get this done.”