“Do you see any of the robots?” Derek asked.
“Negative. Nothing to report,” Isaac said.
Bradbury said, “Still, you need to find shelter. The threat of danger has not passed. It’s inevitable they will seek confrontation.”
“I realize that Bradbury.”
“And yet, you continue to ignore us. Ursula and Octavia are coming toward you. Best that you find shelter now before they arrive.”
“Give me five more minutes,” Derek said.
“They’re still out there,” Isaac said.
Derek glanced around. “Are they headed toward us?”
“Negative. There’s still no physical sign of them,” Bradbury said.
“They cannot disappear.”
“Logically, no,” Isaac said. “But they’ve gone stealth.”
“Shit,” Derek said. “Cloaking devices?”
“Quite possible,” Bradbury replied.
That wasn’t something that he had even considered. ”Come on, let’s head to the crash site.”
A blast of red laser light shot through the air and grazed Derek’s shoulder. He winced in pain, dropped, and rolled in the red grit. His eyes searched the area around him while he clutched his burning shoulder. Smoke rose above the melted suit material and his blistered skin.
Looking around, he didn’t see anything other than his own robots.
Bradbury rushed toward him, grabbed and lifted him, and carried Derek toward the small opening between two giant slabs of rock in the Phobos crater. Another blast fired, but Bradbury’s back shielded Derek from further injury. The robot continued running, unaffected by the deflected laser.
Isaac followed Bradbury, but he ran in strategic sidesteps so he could attempt to locate from where the laser shots had been fired. Octavia and Ursula positioned themselves at the truck’s flatbed. Motionless, they scanned the terrain.
Derek held his shoulder and glanced around Bradbury. His enemy combatants must have cloaked themselves again, which was new technology he had been researching but had yet to master its utilization with his own robots. Of course he had never thought he’d need such technological advancements for his AI, either.
The thought prompted him to remember what his grandfather had once told him, “Be prepared for the unexpected at all times.”
Sound advice, but now he wished that he had equipped his robots with some time of anti-cloaking device to shatter the stealth ability of these foreign robots. Since his robots should have been the only ones on Mars, he never considered attempting to make such upgrades.
Bradbury carried Derek near the blackened edge of the massive, seven-mile high mountainous side of the Phobos remains. Feeling nauseous from the increasing pain in his shoulder, he’d barely noticed the tunnel that led into the rock wall.
Another laser blast cut through the air, struck Bradbury, and glanced off, striking the rocky ground behind them. Bradbury moved toward a tunnel-like opening and carried Derek into it. The worst part was he didn’t know how deep the tunnel might be, and once inside they were trapped and weaponless. Not exactly the way he had pictured his death to be.
22
Grayson’s huge bare fists pummeled the three hundred pound punching bag over and over. The vinyl covering of the bag was sunk in with some of the seams ruptured. Had he been hitting a man, his victim’s insides would have been mush.
Sweat beaded Grayson’s brow and his white undershirt was soaked. His face was crimson. Thirty minutes was normally his limit for such activity, but he was still going after forty-five minutes.
His earphone beeped, so he stopped hitting the bag. His chest heaved as he breathed through his mouth. Grabbing a towel off the weight machine behind him, he wiped away the streams of sweat from his face and the back of his neck.
A guard handed him a chilled bottle of water. The message on the earphone held no real urgency since the long delay between Earth and Mars. Most of his anger had subsided. He wanted a few minutes to cool down before listening to Jonas’ update.
Grayson had always worked hard for his money. The empire he had built existed solely because of his sometimes shrewd nature, but mostly because he was willing to take the risks whenever necessary. As he had told Senator Johnson, he had never begged or borrowed a dime from anyone. His monetary status as one of the richest men in the world came from his own doing. Not from outside sources. And if he could do it, hell anyone with half a brain should be able to repeat his success.
What he hated were those who thought they were entitled to benefit from someone else’s hard work without lifting a finger, breaking a sweat, or bleeding an occasional drop of blood. Whatever had happened to virtue and integrity?
So many wanted to benefit from his Mars settlements but none wanted to contribute their funds without also begging his assistance. And now, someone in Olympus Mons had stolen his prized shuttle, the Percival 3000.
Grayson wiped his face one last time. He took a deep breath and tossed the towel into a clothes hamper before attaching the earphone and clicking the button to playback the message.
“Mr. Grayson,” Jonas said, “We have discovered the identities of two of the three hijackers aboard the Percival 3000. One is our mechanic, Sylvia Perkins. Since she has extensive knowledge of how the shuttles operate, she is probably who piloted it out. Magnus Knight is a prisoner. His Sleeper Chip malfunctioned before we became aware that it needed to be replaced. The third person is someone we’ve yet to identify. All we know is that he resided at the Deimos Life Station the day before they stole your shuttle. After his arrival, he connected with Sylvia and Magnus, so we’re not certain if they had conspired prior to stealing the shuttle or if that was how the opportunity arose for them. I’ve tried contacting the Deimos Life Station without any success. The communication is somehow being blocked. I have no additional information for you. I will update as soon as I get the information.”
Grayson turned off the message. His mind raced with the information. He was no longer as upset as when the news first struck him. After all, what more could he actually do before they reached Earth? At which time, he’d unleash hell on these thieves. Until then, he had plenty of time to figure out an appropriate punishment—one that satisfied his need for revenge while ensuring that these individuals never double-crossed him or anyone else again.
23
Grayson sat behind his desk and listened to the latest update that Jonas Walker had sent to him. Due to technical problems, they were still unable to contact anyone on Deimos, which meant they still had no idea who the third person aboard the Percival 3000 was.
He looked at the young physically fit brunette standing at the side of his desk. She was his newest intern. She wore a tight miniskirt, net stockings that came a few inches above the knee, and a low cut top. Her dark eyes watched Grayson with a hint of flirty mischief, and when he noticed, she smiled and curled a strand of her hair with her index finger.
Grayson said, “Misty, I need you to find all of the staff and personnel files for the individuals stationed at the Deimos Life Station and print them out. Then run further background investigations for each one of them.”
“Sure,” she said, nodding. She winked. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Grayson?”
“After you run those background checks, print out a full list of the Deimos prisoner files, too. I need this information brought to me within the hour.”
Misty looked somewhat disappointed. “Yes, Mr. Grayson.”
“And yes,” he said. “There’s one more thing you can do.”
“Yes, Mr. Grayson? What’s that?”
“Invest in more professional dress suits. You’re working in a respectable office, not on some street corner.”
Misty’s eyes widened and her face flushed red. She turned and bolted toward the door. Her polished high heels clacked loudly as she walked. The bodyguard politely opened the door for her. She glanced back at Grayson and forced a smile, hoping that he was watching her. He wasn’t. An
aggravated sigh escaped her mouth, and she headed down the hallway.
The guard closed the door.
Grayson shook his head. “Damn. I’m beginning to wonder if the employment agency is sending me dedicated interns or groupies.”
The guard chuckled.
“Henry,” Grayson said. “I’m not joking. There’s a place for fun and a place for work. But don’t mix them. I expect workers to act and dress professionally.”
“Sorry.”
Grayson waved him off. “Don’t be. She’s a very attractive young lady, but she needs to know that if she wants to move past her internship position, she has to prove to me that she can do the job. Looks and dress are important but secondary. Intelligence and work ethic are primary.”
His desk intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Beatrice?” Grayson said.
“Viktor Baskov is here to see you.”
“Please send him in.”
Henry opened the door and in walked Viktor. He stood six four, thin, but rugged. His pocked face held no emotion. His solemn eyes were menacing. He walked stiffly across the room. This man was difficult to read, revealing no emotion, and with all the recent events on Mars and Deimos, Grayson didn’t need any additional problems to deal with.
Grayson stood and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Baskov.”
“Thank you,” Viktor said in his thick Russian accent.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
Grayson frowned. “You sure? I have vodka.”
“Maybe a little.”
Grayson motioned Henry. Henry walked over to the bar to pour the drink.
“Cigar?” Grayson asked.
Viktor shook his head. “No time.”
“How can I help you?”
“You know dat thing you wanted Parks to investigate?”
Grayson nodded, and his eyes narrowed.
Henry handed Viktor the drink.
Viktor nodded his appreciation. “I have information.”
Grayson grinned, but couldn’t hide his surprise and curiosity. “Okay?”
“You give me money dat you promised Parks for dis information?”
“Of course. Not sure why Parks hasn’t gotten back to me, but why do you have the information?”
“He snoop ‘round with wrong sort of people.”
“Is he dead?” Grayson asked.
Viktor sipped the vodka and shook his head. In his deep voice at a near whisper, he replied, “Oh no, no. He’s not dead, but probably wishes so.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, so why are you here?”
“To give you dat information you seek. But I need your word that I get money.”
“Certainly.”
“De whole million dollars?”
Grayson nodded.
“Good. Den. You have problem. Big problem.”
Grayson’s slight smile faded. Concern furrowed his brow. “What kind of problem?”
“Chinese sent rocket to Mars about a year ago.”
“That’s not new information to me. I’m well aware of that.”
“I know,” Viktor said. “It’s da package that went with de rocket. Dat be your problem.”
“Package? What kind of package?”
“Seems Chinese have sent some of their robots to Mars.”
Grayson frowned. “What?”
Viktor nodded. “And not an ordinary kind of robot. They sent heat-seeker Dra-0100s.”
“So these robots are on Mars right now?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
Viktor cleared his throat. “My guess is to . . . uh, kill your people.”
“All because I refused to allow them to use my landing bay?”
“Seems so.”
“Shit,” Grayson said.
“Told you, it big problem.”
Grayson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. His jaw tightened as he waited for Viktor to continue.
Viktor offered an even smile. “But Chinese possibly have deeper reason. You know how they are. Soviet Union has had contention with them for years.”
“I don’t know about that. The Soviets have been quite chummy with the Chinese lately.”
“Only for public show. While we display our friendship to the world, mainly to show threat to U.S., but deep down, we hate one another. At one time in history, Soviets battled U.S. in space race. That mellowed over time. Not so much with Chinese. They wish to dominate every market. They see you making fortunes and want their share.”
“Then they should find their own way. I owe them nothing.”
Lifting his right forefinger, Viktor replied, “This is a web of conspiracy, Mr. Grayson. Chinese have wanted to control international markets for decades. Now, interplanetary as well.”
“Damn.” Grayson stood and turned toward the tinted window. He ran a hand through his hair. “I have no way to stop them from destroying what I’ve invested so much time and money to preserve.”
“There is way,” Viktor said.
Grayson turned and faced him. His eyebrows rose with keen interest.
Viktor smiled. The expression looked foreign on this man’s hardened, scarred face. He had witnessed a lot of bad events during his lifetime, killed a lot of people without second thoughts or remorse, and most likely would continue doing so provided people paid enough money to hire him and keep him on their good side.
“You have a way?” Grayson asked.
“For da right price, we find a way.”
“And what is the ‘right price?’”
Viktor formed a bridge with his fingers and thought. “First, the million dollar for information ‘bout robots. Once that clears bank, I give you call with additional price.”
“Mr. Baskov . . . “
“Please, call me Viktor.”
“Viktor. You know my money’s good. I’m the richest man in the world.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Grayson. Dis I know. But I don’t work alone. I must discuss with my contact and see what is necessary. Understand?”
Grayson’s jaw tightened. After a few seconds, he nodded. “I understand.”
“You see. We don’t have de necessary device to stop those robots. To get it, we have to steal it.”
“From the Chinese?”
“Yes. That requires substantial cash upfront. Most loyal people give information if price is right. This avoids . . . de more violent options.”
Grayson nodded and met Viktor’s devious grin with one of his own. “Okay. How soon will you have an estimate?”
Viktor rubbed his chin, thinking. “Two days. I get you price in . . . two days. Deal?”
Grayson extended his hand to shake Viktor’s. Viktor shook Grayson’s hand firmly.
“Deal,” Grayson said. “Beatrice, my secretary, will set up the direct deposit for the million dollars at her desk.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grayson. It has been pleasure.”
“Not so much for me,” Grayson replied.
“How’s that?”
“Bad news is never a pleasure.”
“Ah,” Viktor said, nodding. “Dis is true. But we turn your bad news into good news. I assure you.”
“I look forward to hearing back from you,” Grayson said.
Viktor turned at the door. “Two days. I will call in two days.”
24
Boony stepped into the infirmary to speak with Dr. Lee. In the waiting room sat the two guards Magnus had roughed up and confined in his cell. From what she had heard, one of them was unconscious and in critical condition. Someone apparently had gotten the facts incorrect. Of course, since Magnus was a prisoner, it made sense, albeit unethically, for the guards to exaggerate their injuries in the report. She imagined these two guards were embarrassed that one prisoner had bested them at the same time. Magnus had crushed their egos, so apparently they hoped the other guards would make him suffer. But since Magnus had escaped Mars entirel
y, payback was now impossible.
She recognized these two guards from the Vortex. Both had hit on her without success on several occasions. Their looks had not turned her off during their initial approach, but their arrogant attitudes did. Both men were handsome in certain lights, but the all cocky, stuck on themselves stances signaled to her that other men made better company.
Matt’s right eye was swollen and dark purple. Cain’s arm was in a sling. Based upon Magnus’ size, their injuries were actually milder than she imagined them to be. He could have easily put these men into comas, or much worse, if that was what he had intended to do. She believed that he did only what was necessary to subdue them without inflicting any serious or permanent damage so he could escape. He held back, at least partially.
A malicious convicted murderer trying to escape wasn’t someone who left behind living witnesses, and even Jonas had mentioned about how these controlled miners had been some of the most vile, ruthless people in the penitentiary systems on Earth. Magnus didn’t fit that profile.
So who had framed Magnus on Earth and why?
That was what she hoped to find out.
Boony walked to the desk where a redheaded woman sat. Her nametag identified her as Mary.
“I need to speak to Dr. Lee.”
“Sign in,” the woman said, sliding a clipboard across the desk.
“I’m not here for any exam, and I don’t have time to wait,” Boony said. “I need to ask him a couple of questions.”
“About?”
“It’s not medical but it is confidential and doesn’t concern you.”
“You must still sign in,” Mary said.
Boony frowned and rested her hand on her gun. “Why don’t you get Jonas Walker on the phone?”
Mary stared at the gun and then looked into Boony’s cold hardened gaze. The fierceness of her eyes made Boony’s stature of little significance. It was an almost believable example of getting killed from someone’s icy glare.
Mary’s uneasiness was obvious, but before she replied, Dr. Lee peered out from his office, and offered a friendly smile. “Please, come on back.”
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