I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising

by Edward P. Cardillo

  “Well, I think he’s a freakin’ hero, if you ask me.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You suppose? He’s out there risking his ass to save all of us, and all you can say is you suppose?”

  “Like I said, I don’t really know anything about it.”

  The sheriff scratched the stubble on his face thoughtfully. “Who do you suppose watches his back?”

  ***

  “At first, these singular individuals were heralded as heroes, saints even,” Belmont continued, “but then they were feared, and eventually persecuted. This happened in Native American villages in the New World, in villages in Africa, the witch hysteria in Europe. These poor people were killed, their bodies desecrated in their graves for fear they’d return to prey on the living. What they failed to realize, Sergeant, was that these individuals were also gifts.”

  “So now I’m a gift.”

  “You can be, but only if you use your given talents for good. However, your government would have you use it to their ends.”

  “I don’t see stopping terrorists and drug traffickers as a bad thing.”

  “Then what’s next? Toppling dictatorships that the United States deems intolerable.”

  “I thought that’s what OIL was for, according to you and Yvette,” said Carl.

  “Yes, and now they’ve conveniently discarded us. So they use you and your drones to eradicate us…and ultimately take our place.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “It makes sense, Sergeant. We’ve served our purpose. We created an outside threat in ourselves so that your government could justify emergency powers: the Second Patriot Act. It is all but passed. Liberties will be lost, but for the sake of national security. Now, so that America’s hands aren’t dirty, it commissions a special unit of infantry drones to hunt us down and wipe us out. You, Sergeant, are America’s new saber, and you are being rattled. Your unit is the biggest thing since the nuke.”

  Carl was unsure of himself and the whole situation. Of course, the whole scenario made sense, but it sounded like paranoia, the fodder of whack-a-doo conspiracy theories. Then there was Major Lewis and his corruption. Until that all came to light, he would’ve never have believed that anything like that could have happened.

  “Sergeant, you do realize that you can never go back. Either way, you have been compromised. By now they will have figured out that you are with us. You now know the truth about our original purpose, about how we were used.”

  “It’s just OIL propaganda,” Carl said. “I don’t believe a word of it.”

  “But you murdered those poor men.”

  “I was unarmed. They know that.”

  “You could have taken the gun off of one of them,” Belmont said, “and then used it to kill them.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you are unstable, Sergeant. Because the army fears you. Now that they will have the green light to use RGT, you are no longer necessary.”

  “I thought you said I was going to be used to dethrone dictators and destabilize regimes,” Carl said.

  “That was before the UN Security Council’s resolution that your unit be used strictly for defense, and before you went AWOL.”

  Carl knew that Belmont wanted him to feel trapped, like joining them was his only option. It was at this point that Carl knew he had to kill Simon Belmont. It was only a matter of when.

  “So tell me about how you can help me…”

  Chapter 10

  Peter was losing patience.

  “Colonel.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “We’re running out of time. I can’t wait for this agent. We have to move now.”

  “Negative, Captain. You and Lieutenant Kettle must wait for an agent to arrive at each of your locations. It was one of the conditions under which the FBI even agreed to cooperate with us, even given the…special circumstance.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, every second that we wait, the objective is in danger.”

  “Hold your positions until the agents arrive at both scenes. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir. I still think we’d do better with some drones.”

  “Negative, Captain. Too risky, and the situation doesn’t call for them. The FBI is well equipped to handle this type of scenario.”

  The Waco siege from Peter’s high school history class popped into his head. “Even if Kettle and I each had one drone, maybe …the objective could communicate with us. Maybe they could track him down.”

  “That’s a negative, Captain. They’re not bloodhounds. We can’t have drones wandering the backyards of Texas sniffing out the objective. If the objective is compromised, those drones could turn on us. You, of all people, should be mindful of that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Over and out.”

  The sheriff walked over to where Peter was standing off to the side for privacy. “This man of yours, Captain Birdsall, he must’ve been kidnapped from the sound of the urgency in your voice.”

  “I can’t discuss it,” said Peter crossly.

  “You must be involved with the border if OIL took one of your men right here on our own soil.”

  Great. This yahoo wasn’t that dense after all.

  “From all of this urgency and immediate cooperation from the Feds,” he continued, “this soldier must be pretty damned important.”

  Just then, a Chrysler Intrigue with tinted windows pulled up. The clichés just kept on coming.

  “Looks like the FBI is on the scene,” Peter announced, happy to change the subject.

  Agent Grant stepped out of the car. Peter strode over, meeting him halfway. “You must be Agent Grant.”

  “And you must be Captain Birdsall.”

  “Our agent has arrived, Captain,” said Kettle from his location.

  “Copy that. Same here. Stand by.”

  “Roger.”

  The sheriff scampered over.

  “Sheriff Brody,” said Grant.

  “Agent Grant,” said Brody in return.

  “So you think the broken arrow is in one of these two locations we’ve been scouting, Captain?”

  Broken arrow? Carl wasn’t a missing weapon. He was a soldier. “We have reason to believe that he might, Agent Grant.”

  “Enough to jeopardize two different operations, Captain?”

  “You know the stakes, Agent Grant.”

  Grant looked at the sheriff, who was in turn watching him expectantly for some indication of what all of this hoopla was about.

  “You’d better be right about this, Captain. I don’t like to waste ‘hard to come by’ intel on hunches.”

  “I understand,” said Peter gravely.

  “Okay,” said Grant. “I have two teams in place flanking the farm. Sheriff, your men will take the front. Captain, your squad will bring up the rear and take the barn on my signal. My teams will converge on the house. Brody, you’ll back us up.”

  Peter and Brody both nodded. Peter walked over to Sergeant Vassar.

  “Vassar.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re taking the squad around back, quietly. On Agent Grant’s signal, we take the barn.”

  “Yes, sir. Men, formation.”

  The squad got into a two-by-two column formation. Vassar gestured and they crept quietly behind him. Peter was beside Vassar. They silently snaked their way around the farm, passing one of Grant’s teams, using the trees and bushes as cover. It was dark and the moon was just a sliver of light in the sky covered by clouds.

  When they reached the rear of the farm, the barn was in clear view. Monochromatic in the night’s illumination, it loomed over a few bales of hay next to a wooden fence with wooden cross-beams forming an x underneath. It looked like a painting.

  Peter spotted two sentries walking a path around the barn and he signaled to Vassar. The farmhouse sat silently beyond the barn, towards the front of the property. Only a dim light was shining out of the kitchen window in the back.
>
  “Captain, are your men in position?” It was Grant.

  “Copy that.”

  This was it. The moment of truth. Peter prayed that his brother was in this house.

  “Hold position.”

  ***

  “I can provide you with the means to take your father back safely,” Belmont said.

  “Take him back,” Carl repeated. “You realize he’s at Guantanamo Bay.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “That’s a heavily fortified position. We can’t just waltz right in there and ask for my father back,” Carl snickered.

  “I never said anything about breaking in,” answered Belmont. “And who says we’re asking?”

  “Enough with the kung fu bullshit. If we’re not breaking in, then how are we getting my father out?”

  “You, Sergeant, were at Camp X-Ray. You know what is there.”

  “Holding cells and RGT, but I don’t see what that—”

  “You forgot something else,” Belmont said. “That is where your government creates and stores the drones.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Carl asked, already knowing the answer.

  “You will break your father out from the inside using the undead.” Belmont said it as if the answer was so obvious. “We will lend support from the outside.”

  Belmont was right. Major Lewis had told Carl before the Tora Bora mission where the drones were made. Camp X-Ray at Gitmo. Jesus, he was being held right next to them in a cell after his extraction from Pakistan, and he didn’t even realize it.

  “They may anticipate that move,” Carl said. “As you said, by now they know I’m with you. I’ve killed some locals…if they really believe I’ve gone rogue, it would follow that I’d make a move on Gitmo. They’d destroy the drones in Camp X-Ray or move them.”

  “Oh, I’m counting on them anticipating that move, but there is a more parsimonious move they can make instead of moving or destroying drones.”

  A chill went down Carl’s spine. “They’d never use the kill chip. It’s too premature.”

  “Once again, Sergeant, you overestimate your usefulness to them and underestimate your liability. With you out of the way, there would be no urgency to address the several hundred drones they have housed on the premises.”

  Carl thought of Peter. Of Fiona. Betancourt was a good man, just like Peter said. “Nice try, Belmont, but you don’t know the politics involved. It’s not that simple.”

  “And you’re not that expendable, is that it?”

  Carl steadied his heartbeat as he took stock of his surroundings. The time to make a move was coming. Belmont was going to lose patience or motivation at some point. Carl was going to have to find his opening and end this man. What better way to prove his loyalty to the brass and prove he hadn’t gone rogue?

  “I expect that you’re not going to do me the favor of helping return my father for free.”

  Belmont smiled collegially. “You know human nature well, Sergeant. We will want the RGT. It is dangerous in the hands of your government.”

  “They installed it in my father’s television. There are other prototypes. You would only be getting the original. Besides, you expect me to believe that it’s safe in your hands? Now, whenever you’d capture American operatives, you’d have something to interrogate them with. You could learn about future operations.”

  “We would use it to survive,” responded Belmont. “Evading capture or worse would certainly help our cause.”

  “And what is that again?” Carl asked.

  “To free the oppressed from their oppressors.”

  “Kind of like you did in Darfur,” Carl sneered. “I’m sure all of those women and children feel liberated.”

  “The RGT is a small price to pay for your father’s safety.” Belmont was trying to hit Carl where he lived. Make him forget about the bigger issues and focus on the ones close to his heart. This man was some piece of work.

  “How would we get the RGT out? The apparatus isn’t exactly portable,” Carl said, “it takes up half a room.”

  “Where do you think they’re taking your father’s television?” Belmont pointed out. “We just need the television and the main unit’s hard drive for interpretation of the retinal scanner in the television. We can fill in the rest.”

  “In order to accomplish that, someone will have to be going in,” Carl said.

  “They don’t just keep me around for my good looks,” quipped Night Stalker.

  “He is a specialist in infiltration, espionage, and sabotage,” Belmont stated with sinister pride. “Besides being a world class assassin.”

  “You’re just a jack-of-all-trades, aren’t you, Night Crawler,” Carl jeered.

  “You just worry about your daddy,” responded Night Stalker. “Leave the rest to the professional.”

  “How do we get my father out anyway?”

  “We’ll have a cigarette boat waiting,” Belmont said. “They won’t know what hit them. They’ll be too busy dealing with the drones to track you and your father.”

  Carl thought of Fiona. She was in there, too. She was involved in planting the RGT in his father’s television. She was in charge of monitoring him. She was partly to blame.

  He thought back to the therapy sessions with Fiona in her office at Fort Bliss. All of the personal conversations, things shared in confidence, their conspiring to kill the traitorous Major Lewis…Was Carl now being dealt with as a traitor?

  He thought about the night they met at Frisky’s, before he was in the Infantry Drone Program, when he was still an egghead college student—nerdy, weak, and shy with women. Now look at what the army made him—a monster, a damned freak.

  He was supposed to be out hunting those responsible for his mother’s death, and instead, he was becoming a killer. Now the army was afraid of him. Afraid enough to put a kill chip in his skull. Afraid enough to plant borderline illegal technology into his father’s house to spy on him. Then they took his father.

  Carl put his helmeted head in his hands.

  “When does all of this go down?”

  ***

  “Okay, move in.”

  It was time. Peter signaled to Vassar, who in turn signaled to the rest of the squad. He said a little prayer that his brother was somewhere on this farm. Law enforcement had cast their net. If Carl wasn’t here or in Beeville, he was lost. They’d be out of leads.

  They began to move in on the barn…the old fashioned way. No drones, just men. Live flesh, blood, and bone. They crept low across the field towards the wooden fence. The two sentries were walking away from them, their backs turned on the approaching squad.

  In the distance, gunshots came from the farmhouse. It was going down. The sentries peered in the direction of the farmhouse but then turned and ran back towards the barn.

  Two privates intercepted them. The sentries were placed in plastic restraint strips and gagged. Peter signaled and they moved in on the barn. Peter held up two fingers and pointed up.

  Vassar selected two men and they stepped forward. One gave the other a boost up onto the roof. That soldier then pulled the other up. They crept over to a window, slid it open, slipped in silently, and positioned themselves on the loft above.

  Peter positioned the squad on either side of the large barn doors. He signaled for his men to hold their position as the night popped in the distance with volleys traded between sides.

  “It appears to be some kind of lab,” one of the privates whispered over his mini-com from his position on the loft.

  “Give ‘em gas,” Peter whispered into his mini-com.

  They heard the thump of two tear gas grenades and yelling from inside the barn. There was thrashing around and shouts and the doors flew open. Peter’s squad plucked the men as they ran out covering their faces, ten in total.

  They were thrown to the ground and bound. There was what could only be cursing in another language, something between Arabic and French. Maybe both.

  “Any sign of the object
ive inside?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “Sergeant Vassar, clear the barn.”

  “Yes, sir. MASKS.”

  Vassar and the squad put on their gas masks and then entered the barn, rifles raised. There were folding tables in the center of the barn with various parts lying on them. Bomb parts. Several minutes passed as Peter covered the prisoners and checked his watch. The popping in the distance had stopped.

  “All clear, sir. The objective isn’t in the barn.”

  Dammit.

  “This is Grant. We’ve cleared the farmhouse. No sign of your man.”

  Apparently, they had moved in on a bomb-making cell. A good move, but not their primary objective. He had to call it in to Betancourt.

  “Colonel. Captain Birdsall reporting.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “The objective was not at the farm. Repeat. The objective was not at the farm.”

  “Lieutenant Kettle reported in a few moments ago. The objective wasn’t at his location either. Return to base immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Peter pulled off his helmet and ran his hands through his thinning crew cut. That was it. They were back at square one. These were their two biggest leads, and neither produced Carl. If OIL had him, they had him in a location unknown to the intelligence community and local law enforcement.

  With the net in place, there was little chance that Carl was getting out of this alive. At this point, whoever was holding him, their best bet was to kill him and dump the body. It was their only way out of it. There was no way they were slipping him past any of the checkpoints undetected.

  Statistically, they had 48 hours from Carl’s abduction. After that, the chances of finding him shrank from slim to none.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Vassar offered.

  “We have our orders,” Peter said harshly. “Back to base.”

  ***

  “We would have to move quickly,” Belmont stated, “to take them off guard.”

  Suddenly Night Stalker’s mini-com was buzzing. He looked down at it and read the screen.

  “What is it?” Belmont asked.