The Robots of Gotham

by Todd McAulty

  “You’re right, you’re right. Just let me daydream about it for a while.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Did you deliver the first samples of the antivirus to Thibault?”

  Sergei nodded. “This morning, before dawn,” he said in a low voice. “Two of Joy’s team delivered to Thibault personally. They were careful. Even I was not informed of location.”

  “Great news. How long until we know if it works?”

  Sergei gave me a stern look. He was clearly not too keen on talking about this here, no matter how far we were from the cameras. “Two days,” he said flatly.

  I saw Mac come in through the front door of the hotel. She was bundled up against the weather, and she didn’t see us in the corner. She headed for the front desk.

  “Can Hayduk do anything to shut down the reactor while we wait?” I asked Sergei.

  Sergei shrugged. “Of course. But Colonel Perez has given us his support. Colonel Hayduk will not likely do anything publicly.”

  “I wasn’t worried about a public attempt. Covert action is this guy’s specialty.”

  “He can try. But it will be risky. And he has no reason to believe we can succeed in time. Without instructions on stolen data drive, it would take many months to create effective counteragent. By then, it would be much too late.”

  “He knows the drive was stolen.”

  “But he believes it was stolen by American resistance fighters. Probably seeking to recover combat suit. And even if they shared data drive with us, Hayduk cannot know we have cracked encryption. No, Hayduk believes we are wasting time.”

  “I hope you’re right. Hayduk doesn’t strike me as a guy who leaves anything to chance. And what about Armitage? You think he’ll make the same mistakes of overconfidence that Hayduk is making?”

  “Of course not. Armitage does not make mistake—of any kind. Our only hope is that we continue to escape his notice.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Stay focused on reactor. Nothing else matters if we cannot produce antivirus in volume.”

  “You know what helps in these cases? Publicity. Maybe Black Winter could get someone from the embassy to come and inspect the reactor. Give it their blessing. Put our effort in the public eye. Make it too dangerous for Hayduk to risk something.”

  Sergei looked annoyed again. “We do not need more publicity for reactor. More attention would increase risk, not decrease. We do not want Hayduk or Armitage to realize how close we are.”

  I chewed on that for a bit. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

  Sergei’s face still looked sour. “You are too impressed by Black Winter’s story.”

  “What story?”

  “His speech. How Sector One bravely turned against San Cristobal Coalition and saved America.”

  “You don’t agree, I take it?”

  Sergei looked disgusted. “Queen Sophia is political opportunist. She seized Manhattan for herself and traded crucial SCC secrets to America to force an alliance. Even so, she made no public declaration of support for America in first months after she broke from Panama. The alliances she had made were necessary for her survival and nothing more.”

  “Probably best if you don’t share that opinion with Black Winter.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think of Black Winter?”

  Sergei’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. “I like him. He is very loyal to his queen. And to you, I think. I believe he has taken real risks to help you.”

  “I think so too. He’s a good guy. Be nice to him, okay?”

  Sergei spread his hands. “I am nice to everyone.”

  I sipped my coffee. “I have another problem. I didn’t want to bring it up last night, but you should be aware of it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You were right about Van de Velde. All this press about the American terrorist in the combat suit, and the resulting mobilization, has freaked her out. She can’t keep my secret any longer.”

  “I told you she could not be trusted.”

  “She says she’s going to tell Perez that I have the combat suit. In three days.”

  Sergei pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he was in physical pain.

  “You should not spend time with pretty girls,” he said.

  “Not this one, anyway,” I agreed.

  “Can you reason with her?”

  “I doubt it. She thinks I’m a spy. And that the longer she takes to turn me in, the worse it’ll be for her.”

  “She is correct about this.”

  “We need to assume that Perez will know everything Van de Velde knows by Sunday morning. Which means I could be in Hayduk’s custody in less than seventy-two hours.”

  “No,” said Sergei.

  “No?”

  “No. Colonel Perez will not hand you over to Hayduk. Not if you are accused by someone under his command. He will want investigation, and he will expect to control. You are still foreign citizen. You will likely be given lawyer and opportunity to defend yourself. Colonel Perez will want public trial.”

  “When Hayduk learns I have his combat suit, he’ll come in here with guns blazing.”

  “He cannot take you away from Colonel Perez. This could work to our advantage.”

  “What—me being arrested? Are you serious?”

  “A trial could take months. It would distract Colonel Hayduk. We would be unhindered while we deliver antivirus to Thibault. We would have time to destroy combat suit and get rid of centrifuges.”

  I was beginning to see where he was going. “As long as Perez protects me from Hayduk’s torture chair, I don’t have to admit to anything.”

  “They have no evidence. Colonel Hayduk cannot pursue matter too aggressively. There is very real danger for him in trial.”

  “Yes. If the theft of the data drive becomes public knowledge . . .”

  “Contents of drive would also become public, with detailed instructions on true purpose of F5-117. Not even Armitage could protect Colonel Hayduk after this.”

  “Still. Pretty risky for me.”

  “Yes. If you are arrested, I give you . . . seventy-five percent chance you will eventually be shot.”

  “Shit . . . that high?”

  “You will never be released. But you may be able to barter for your life. Perhaps, if you trade for suit.”

  I sipped more coffee. “You should be my lawyer.”

  “Perhaps you should turn yourself in to Colonel Perez today.”

  “Jesus Christ! Why would I want to do that?”

  “It could be better for us. It might take attention away from reactor.”

  “You really are focused on the damn reactor. Forget what I said about you being my lawyer, you soulless bastard.”

  “It is AGRT policy to use camera records to review civilian movements for three days before they are arrested. You should stay away from reactor . . . and Black Winter. Continue to keep low profile. Prepare our story for when you are arrested.”

  “That sounds a lot easier. Let’s do that.”

  We spent the next five minutes talking through how to handle my coming arrest. Then we heard raised voices at the front desk. I looked over and saw Mackenzie arguing with someone.

  Others in the lobby were starting to notice too. The guards by the front door were craning their necks, trying to see what was going on.

  “You know her?” Sergei asked.

  “Yeah. That’s Mac. She’s a real estate broker, for some of the distressed properties around here.”

  “This is not a good day to be seen by AGRT as troublemaker,” he said, with a meaningful glance at the soldiers.

  “Yeah. Stay here.”

  Sergei didn’t say anything as I got up. But his look said, Why are you thinking about pretty girls when you should be keeping low profile? Even Sergei’s looks have a cranky Russian accent.

  Things were pretty animated by the time I reached the front desk. It was obviou
s Mac was pissed and doing a poor job hiding it. She was arguing with a man behind the counter. Guy in a suit. All the hotel staff working registration wore suits; uniforms, really. This guy was not wearing a uniform. His suit had not come off a rack. This guy was wearing a jacket that had been tailored to his athletic frame by someone who knew what they were doing.

  Mac spared me no more than a glance and an impatient flash of palm in my face that said, Stay out of this.

  I gave her my most diplomatic smile. “Maybe we could keep it down? So we don’t disturb the soldiers during their nap.”

  Mac glanced toward the door, where the soldiers on duty were watching her. She turned slowly back to the counter to address the man across from her, and when she spoke again her voice had returned to a more normal tone.

  “There must be three hundred refugees on Wacker Drive right now,” she said. “These are not street people or criminals. They’re families and businesspeople who’ve been evacuated from two hotels on Randolph. Most of them were forced out with nothing—not even their luggage.”

  While she spoke I stepped away from the front desk, peering through the front windows. Mac was right—across the street, behind what looked like military barricades, the refugees I’d glimpsed yesterday were still there. Dozens of people were camped out on the sidewalk, and many looked like they’d been there a while. I saw sleeping bags, coolers, and even a few small tents. It reminded me of the line to get into the Stratford rock festival in ’66, except with less nudity and even more cops.

  I stepped back to the counter. Mac was still going. “You have at least sixteen unoccupied floors in this hotel. That’s more than enough rooms to house those poor people. I know many of them have tried to enter the hotel, but you’ve had the AGRT turn them away.”

  The manager’s jaw was set, and his body language rich with four-letter words. Mac wasn’t reaching him at all; he was just waiting until she was done talking.

  “There must be something you can do,” Mac finished. “You could open up those rooms, even for just a few days. It would mean so much to them.”

  “I understand, and I sympathize,” said the manager, though his expression said otherwise. “But there’s nothing the hotel can do. As I said, we barely have the staff to manage the rooms we do have open. We’re simply not equipped to help them at this time.”

  “But—” began Mac.

  “And the Venezuelan military and their civilian commission have sealed most of the hotel for their future use. We’re fortunate they’ve allowed us to remain open at all. Now, we deeply sympathize with your concerns, but I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do.” With that he strode away, leaving Mac, guns still hot, standing in front of the counter.

  Mac and I walked to a pair of empty chairs out of earshot of the hotel staff at the counter. “Those idiots,” she fumed. “Bureaucratic idiots. Those are people out there. I’m sure many of them would be happy to pay for a room, once they get their belongings back and access to money again.”

  “You’re right,” I said.

  “And this hotel has plenty of rooms, even with the floors reserved for Perez and his goons. Do you know how many are lying vacant right now? God, it makes me so angry.”

  “Your anger is justified,” I agreed. “But I have to tell you, you negotiate for shit.”

  She opened her mouth, snapped it shut again. I felt the full brunt of her righteous indignation come to rest squarely on my shoulders.

  This really wasn’t how I’d wanted my next meeting with Mac to unfold. Black Winter had told me there was a chance he could track her son, if we could get some biometric data or a blood sample. That was something I was anxious to share with Mac . . . even though that conversation would have to begin by admitting how I’d learned about Anthony. I’d rehearsed that awkward little chat in my head more than once. Hey, Mac, remember that night I stripped you nearly naked and dumped you in a bath? I totally forgot to mention that I also violated your privacy and read that awful private message about your missing son. Plus, you look damn fine in wet lingerie, girl. Gimme some sugar.

  “All I’m saying,” I elaborated hastily, “is that you could have handled that a little better. I’m sure the hotel manager’s not a bad guy; he’s just working to keep his hotel open under very trying circumstances.”

  “He’s turning his back on hundreds of people! He’s the only one who can help them, and he refuses to lift a finger.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s making the decision he thinks is right for his hotel and his guests.”

  “So you agree with him?” she demanded.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying if we approach this a little differently, we might have more success.”

  “You think you can talk him into it,” she said. She leaned back in her chair, regarding me. It was clear she was still furious, but she was just curious enough to postpone taking my head off. For now.

  “I think . . . it’s like every other negotiation. To succeed, we just need to frame it in terms of what he wants, not what you want.”

  “And how do you know what he wants?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? He wants this war to be over. He wants the Clarksville negotiations to be concluded and peace to be finalized. He wants his hotel back and for the Venezuelans not to be dictating everything to him.”

  “And you think you can give him that?”

  “Me? No. But I think all those people outside can offer him a piece of it,” I said. “Tell me about the two hotels that got evacuated on Randolph. What happened?”

  “Who knows?” she said. “They were civilian businesses. Maybe they did something to piss off the Venezuelans. Maybe they forgot to file the occupancy forms in triplicate. Maybe the AGRT is trying to extract a bribe from a local billionaire, and this is their way to send her a message.” She was getting more worked up as she spoke, glancing back toward the counter where the manager had stood a minute ago. She looked like she was going to leap to her feet again.

  “Calm down,” I said. “Tell me what you know.”

  She took a deep breath. “I got a panicked message from a friend of mine this morning. They’d evacuated both hotels a week ago, done some kind of search, and then slowly let everyone back in. Yesterday they evacuated them again—except this time, after twenty-four hours in the street, they let everyone know that they were closing the hotels.”

  “What are they doing here? Half the buildings in the city are empty; there are hundreds of places they could go.”

  “I know.” Mac’s frustration was palpable. “But the Venezuelans told them to stay together and marched them here.”

  “They must have made some kind of provision to house them.”

  “If they did, those plans fell through. They marched them here and then abandoned them. Those soldiers out there, they’re not officers. Just a handful of kids from Poland and Germany who don’t know a damn thing, except that they’ve been told to keep them all together. Barry, the Venezuelans forced those people out of their building without even blankets. Do you know how cold it got last night? People are freezing out there. And soon they’ll be dying.”

  I stared at the line of people across the street. “Some of them have blankets,” I said.

  “I went to two of my properties this morning,” she said. “I stole every sheet and blanket I could carry. Barry, the guards won’t even let any of those people help me carry blankets.”

  I started to answer, then shut my mouth. What was I doing? I had enough—more than enough—on my plate right now. I didn’t have time to get caught up in Mac’s crusade, no matter how much I might like to help these people. For once in my life, I should resist the urge to stick my nose where it didn’t belong.

  I glanced over at Sergei. He sat patiently watching us, his face impassive. If I walked over there now, he and I would spend the next ten minutes coming up with something to keep me occupied. Something logical. Rational.

  My gaze returned to Mac, sitting forward in her chair, s
taring at me intently. A search, she’d said. They’d done a search of the hotels. Were they looking for the American rebel and the combat suit? The hotels we were talking about probably weren’t that far from Columbia College, where I’d last been spotted on camera wearing the suit.

  Was this one of Hayduk’s attempts to flush me into the open? Was I responsible for all those people out there?

  That made my decision easier. If I needed something to do, away from the reactor, while I waited to be arrested, then I wanted to spend my time helping people. Helping all the people outside . . . and helping Mac. I didn’t want to be locked away before I’d mended things with her. And especially before I’d done everything I could to help her find Anthony.

  And who knows? Maybe this was one last chance to do some real good, before they dragged me away to an uncertain fate.

  “Do you know the manager at either of those hotels on Randolph that were closed?” I asked her.

  “No,” she said. “I know the broker for one of those properties, but I don’t know how that will help.”

  “That’s good enough. Come with me.”

  I approached the front desk. Mac followed, her expression incredulous.

  The manager was standing by a big oak door, speaking in low tones with several employees. When I signaled him he approached with the greatest reluctance.

  “How can I assist you?” he asked me cautiously. He studiously avoided looking at Mac at all.

  “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Barry Simcoe, room 3306.” I reached across the desk and shook his hand. The well-polished metal tag on his chest read charles renkain, hotel manager. “You’ve done splendid work with the hotel,” I continued. “I’ve been very impressed.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you think so,” he said, sounding sincere.

  “I understand you’ve talked with my friend Mackenzie about the refugee situation outside the hotel. I’m wondering if we could look at some other options.”

  “Unfortunately, I think we’ve examined all the options open to us,” he said, with a hint of impatience.

  “Hmm,” I said. “What if we paid for the rooms?”

  I managed to shock both Mac and Renkain with that. Both stared at me openmouthed for a moment or two. Renkain recovered first.