Body Shop - Book Two in the Annihilation Series

by John Hindmarsh

  The small convoy moved off, somewhat sedately, with the Drexel SUV in the lead. The following bus, with its load of military bots, was not going to break speed records.

  They were ten minutes into their journey when Bronwyn made contact. “Toby, our advance swarm detected a possible ambush by the brownshirts. Darwin identified an alternative route and is uploading it to the vehicles now. It will take you fifteen or twenty extra minutes once you get off 405. We’ll continue to monitor.”

  Toby acknowledged the message and leaned forward. “Drew, we’ve got a change of route. The vehicles should be all updated.”

  “Sure, boss. I had a quick message from Control to expect a change.”

  “Good.”

  The new route took them through burnt-out areas of Beverley Glen. The area was almost deserted. The two fires—one in 2017 and the second in 2021—had discouraged most homeowners who subsequently had sold out to speculators or developers; very few were arranging their own rebuilding of destroyed homes. The canyons looked like war zones with skeleton remains of once luxurious homes. The heavy black clouds and the soaking rain added to the dismal atmosphere.

  Ten minutes into the diversion Bronwyn said, “There are two brownshirts’ vehicles following you. I’ll keep you informed. The storm is making it difficult to track them. You could be at risk.”

  “Drew, we could be heading into trouble,” Toby said.

  “We’re ready for it.” The Drexel security operative sounded confident.

  Mars was silent, and Toby assumed the bot was receiving updates from Darwin or Bronwyn.

  Billie held his hand.

  Drew said, “If we encounter anything, I want both of you to remain in the Tesla. It’s armored and will provide far more protection than the clothes you’re wearing.”

  “Suits me,” Toby confirmed.

  “Me too,” Billie said. “I’ve had enough excitement to last a long time.”

  The anticipated ambush happened a mile further along the road. All the properties on either side of the road were burnt out; there was no sign of any construction or other activity. Neither Darwin nor Bronwyn had provided a warning, probably because of the storm conditions. Two heavy vehicles, shrouded in camouflage netting, were parked off the sides of the road, and as the small convoy approached, were driven out onto the road, blocking their way forward.

  The Tesla slowed and came to halt about a hundred yards or so away from the brownshirts’ blockade. The Drexel vanguard vehicle had stopped ten or more yards in front of the Tesla. There was enough room for a rapid U-turn; however, there was nothing to be gained from the maneuver as their exit was also blocked. The bus with the team of bots was an equal distance behind them. The brownshirts had cornered the convoy in a cutting, where both sides of the road were higher than the road itself, potentially providing them an advantage.

  “Whoever is behind also have blocked us,” Drew said.

  “My teams are moving into position,” Mars advised.

  There was an explosion of movement as bots left their vehicles; it was in the middle of a sudden heavy downpour. Four bots, two apiece, rushed the higher ground on either side of the road where the brownshirts had men in place. The rapid and deadly firefight that ensued was underscored by lightning flashes and rolling thunder. Other bots took up positions facing the blocking vehicles in front and behind; Toby thought they were digging small trenches for protection. Mars was the only bot to remain seated.

  Mars said, “We have control of the heights. We surprised the enemy—they weren’t ready for our assault.”

  Toby said, “Good. I confirm you can use deadly force.”

  “It was the only way to ensure your survival,” the bot replied. “Besides, the enemy fired first, and we acted in self-defense.”

  Toby didn’t debate the point; he thought Mars’ reply was acceptable. “Bronwyn, why didn’t you detect this ambush?”

  “The two trucks were heavily camouflaged and that made it difficult for us to detect them. They probably set vehicles in place early this morning—there were no signs of heat or movement when I dispatched a small swarm to check the road. This storm isn’t helping. I have two swarms on the way to assist Mars. They’ll arrive in less than five minutes.”

  Toby said, “Mars and his bots can destroy the trucks blocking us and whatever vehicles are behind us, but there’s a chance the leaders might flee in other vehicles. I don’t want them to escape.”

  A roll of thunder blanketed Bronwyn’s reply.

  “Say again. It’s noisy here.”

  Bronwyn said, “I’ll use one of the swarms to disable all their vehicles. Mars can use the second swarm against the brownshirt fighters.”

  “Good.”

  The swarm bots were capable of speeds up to fifty miles an hour and could also hover. Each swarm bot was loaded with a small explosive device; these were triggered as either “detonate on command” or simply on impact. Of course, the result was the destruction of the small bot, too.

  “Mars, instruct the swarm bots to surround individual brownshirts; perhaps that way you can persuade them to surrender. Only use deadly force as a last resort.”

  Toby was hopeful that the brownshirts, at least the lower ranked recruits, would not wish to die. He peered out through the rain-swept front windshield. Drexel security guards had joined the bots, utilizing the small trenches that the bots had prepared for protection.

  “Drew, will your people be better off—”

  His question was interrupted by an explosion as Drexel’s vehicle, which the guards had exited only seconds before, was struck by a small missile. The shock wave reached and shook the Tesla. Immediately, the bots on either side of the road opened fire on the forward vehicles. One of the trucks burst into flames, which set off further explosions, violently rocking the Tesla.

  “That was their supply of missiles, I suspect,” Drew said.

  “Yes,” confirmed Mars. “We’ll take out the other truck, now.” The bot fusillade was repeated. Very little weapon fire was being returned by the brownshirts.

  “What do you think they were trying to do?” Billie asked.

  “Perhaps they wanted us alive,” suggested Toby.

  The Tesla was shaken by a burst of rapid automatic fire from behind the remaining vehicle. The protective armor held.

  “I suspect their intentions have changed,” Billie said.

  “Bronwyn, where are those swarms?”

  “Arriving now. The opposition has two vehicles parked further up the road, which one of my swarms is now attacking.” The roll of explosions merged with the thunder. “Ah, good. Both are on fire. I’ll target the remaining truck and the two vehicles in back of you.”

  More explosions and their shock waves rocked the Tesla.

  “What the hell is happening?” It was Rick, and Toby realized he’d forgotten to keep his friend informed.

  “You should be okay—your vehicle is armored.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for letting me know. A bot stayed with me although I think it wishes it was out there dealing with—what, brownshirts?”

  “A squad or two. Keep your head down. It could all be over in a few minutes.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me? I could’ve brought my cameras with me.”

  “Perhaps it’s better to not have videos of this.”

  Single shots and minor explosions came from the front where the remains of two heavy trucks were burning fitfully, sending clouds of smoke up to join with the dark clouds above.

  “Mars, what’s the current status?”

  “All enemy vehicles have been destroyed. The Drexel van is unusable. We’ll need to test our other vehicles to see if they’re mobile. Your friend Rick is safe. All security humans are safe although one has scratches from where he fell into a trench. I’ve lost one of my team, and two are damaged, but repairable.”

  “What about the brownshirts?”

  “Two are suffering from injuries caused by the explosions of their munitions. I have my me
dic treating them. They need hospital treatment or they’ll stop breathing. According to my team, all the other attackers have not survived their injuries.”

  “Thanks. Can your bots clear enough of the road for us to continue?”

  “I’ll check for you.”

  The rain drummed on the top of the Tesla. The storm had worsened. Sirens were sounding in the distance. Toby cursed under his breath. He hated publicity.

  “Drew, report in to your boss. If he has suggestions how to handle this, let me know.”

  He turned to Billie, “I’m sorry, this is not what I want for you.” Toby was worried that the attack would exacerbate Billie’s stresses.

  She smiled; there was an element of sadness in her expression. She said, “If Pitera has been killed by the bots, I’m happy. Saves me doing it myself.”

  Drew tested the Tesla. The vehicle moved forward without displaying any warning lights. He nodded to Toby, indicating their transport was usable.

  Toby said, “Good. Check with all your guys. Let’s see if we can get out of here.”

  Mars had assured him the two wounded brownshirts, now under cover, were being treated as best as they could manage. Drew had earlier suggested his control office request an ambulance.

  The sirens were closer.

  Mars said, “Our bus is drivable and it can hold all of my team plus two humans. The other Drexel people can travel in this Tesla and with your friend Rick. We’ll have a clear stretch of road in about two minutes.”

  “Drew, did you hear?”

  Drew nodded. He was discussing their exit with his team members. He finished the call and said, “We’re ready to move out. Our van is traceable of course, and law enforcement will ask questions. I’ve advised Control. They agree we should get you folks home in case more brownshirts are out there.”

  Mars said, “We made videos of their attack. If Toby agrees, we can give you copies to help discussions with law people.”

  Toby said, “We’ll view them first. Drew, tell Control once we’ve checked contents, we’ll send them copies. We’ll probably have something from the swarms that will help, too.” He wanted to review the files in case they contained information he’d prefer remained confidential.

  “Sounds good.”

  The sirens were very close.

  Mars said, “Toby, I’ll join my team in the bus. Let my team lead out of here in case the brownshirts set traps.”

  “Go. We’ll go second, Rick can follow us.”

  Bronwyn said to Toby, “I’ve checked videos and identified some of the deceased brownshirts. I can confirm Pitera is dead, plus some visitors from Washington D.C. One of those is Paul Young, whom Flocke appointed to head up his Storm Detachment. Flocke will be seeking revenge for his death, I’m sure.”

  “We’ll review and increase security if necessary. Set up a conference for tomorrow. I want Billie to have her own guard bots. Keep an eye on Flocke.”

  “I will.”

  Toby said to Drew, “I can confirm Pitera was killed. Also some Washington reinforcements, one of them very senior. Let Drexel know.”

  Drew nodded and reached for his cell phone.

  The now smaller convoy headed off. The bots had cleared enough room between the two wrecked trucks for the vehicles to drive through. The rain continued to fall in heavy sheets, blown by gusts of wind. Toby thought he saw red and blue lights flash in the distance when he looked back to check if Rick’s vehicle was following.

  He messaged Rick. “We can all relax when we arrive at Bel Air.”

  Rick returned a thumbs up.

  Once he was home, thought Toby, he’d talk to his FBI contact. That should satisfy law enforcement, although local law teams might be annoyed. With luck, he’d be able to avoid involvement with television news teams. He would consider a vblog for his Toby In The City followers and he knew Rick would want to produce a report for transmission on Travers TV. It was going to be a busy evening; not quite what he had envisaged. He reached over to Billie and held her hand. She turned her head and smiled.

  She said, “It will all work out.”

  oOo

  Chapter 12

  The news media were all over the attack, and when they couldn’t discover the facts resorted to creative embellishments. Billie had retired—she was suffering from shock and stress; the funeral followed by the brownshirts’ attack had worn through her resilience. Rick joined Toby to watch one of the major cable news channels, SkyV. Every so often, when the commentator made a wildly inaccurate guess, Toby flinched.

  Rick said, “Travers TV is broadcasting a series of videos of brownshirt attacks on small business here in LA. We’re interspersing more factual details of the ambush with some of these videos. The news channels are requesting clips from us.”

  Toby said, “Let them have the small business material. As long as the ambush vids don’t identify us, then you call release those.”

  “Good.”

  They both fell silent as Brian Edwards, one of SkyV’s more flamboyant talking heads, proceeded to describe the ambush. He was in the channel studio, seated at a glass-topped table with three other commentators.

  He said, “The heavy storm has prevented our chopper from getting anywhere near the scene of this alarming military-style firefight. There’s an element of lawlessness lose in Los Angeles—it’s bordering on terrorism—and law enforcement are failing in their duty. One of our television vans is at the scene.” The image changed to a scene of a line of law enforcement vehicles with blue and red lights flashing. Rain, blown by heavy winds, was sheeting across the road, and lightning flickered in the background. The remote scene cut out before the thunder rumbled, and the reporting focus returned to the studio.

  Edwards continued, “However, the police won’t let anyone near the crime scene. The road is blocked off for three hundred yards or so. We understand that more than fifty bodies have been recovered, and an unknown number of injured people, some innocent bystanders, have been taken to local hospitals. We’re trying to get details.”

  Toby interjected, “He’s into hyperbole tonight. Mars counted eighteen dead and two injured.”

  The studio presented a blurred image of Pitera, and Edwards commented, “Some of the bodies have been identified as members of the brownshirts organization including their Californian leader, a so-called colonel, Joseph Pitera. We’ll report details on Pitera later. The brownshirts are headquartered in Washington D. C., and their alleged national leader is George Flocke. There are ten or more burnt-out vehicles at the crime scene, one of which is owned by a local security firm. We’ve approached them for a statement.”

  He was interrupted by another reporter who was seated at the table. He faced the camera and said, “We have a news flash. We’ve been advised that billionaire Toby McIntosh late this afternoon apparently was the victim of an ambush by the brownshirt criminal organization. McIntosh, if viewers recall, recently inherited his uncle’s business and wealth when he, Nate Travers, disappeared. There are whispers that the same criminal organization might be involved in that disappearance. We’re receiving material from Travers TV covering both the criminal activities of these brownshirts and the ambush of McIntosh and his security team returning from a family funeral. These are startling events.”

  The camera returned to Edwards. “We’re going to run some of the Travers TV clips. We cannot vouch for the accuracy of this material. However, we’ve previously found Travers TV videos to be reliable and honest.”

  The first clip showed the missile hitting the Drexel security vehicle and its destruction. Edwards, in a voice-over, said, “We’ve been informed this vehicle is owned by the firm providing security to Toby McIntosh and to his family. It apparently was destroyed by a missile fired by the criminal brownshirt team who set up the ambush.”

  The focus returned to the studio and the commentators around the table. Edwards said to the reporter seated across the table, “Well, JD, that looks clear-cut. Terrorism in Los Angeles. When will law enforceme
nt get to grips with these criminals?”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Brian. Previous Travers material has been accurate, and we have no reason to question their material tonight.”

  Another commentator raised her hand; she had a sour expression on her face.

  Edwards said, “Yes, Shelley?”

  “Oh, damn,” said Rick. “They’ve got that idiot on. She’s looking for revenge.”

  Toby said nothing. He had devastated Shelley Summers when she tried to railroad his interview with false material a month or so prior.

  Shelley Summers said, “I’m not totally sure who the criminals are in this little fracas. I’ve met Toby McIntosh.”

  “Ouch!” Rick said.

  “If you’re suggesting McIntosh is a criminal, I totally disagree. More, I’ll have you removed.” Edwards was digging in.

  Summers put on her very innocent expression. “What? No, of course not. It’s simply that we need to verify—”

  “Of course. JD, have you met Toby?”

  “Yes. A very nice man. He was shattered when he learned of his uncle’s disappearance. From what I’ve seen, he’s been successful in taking over control of the Euler organization.”

  “We still should check out this McIntosh. The uncle was not always honest in his business—”

  “Shelley, I know you tried to de-rail an interview with McIntosh using false material. I’ll request you leave, now. No, I gave you a chance—you’re out.”

  A studio guard and another person quickly moved to the table and helped Ms. Summers towards the exit. The camera moved away after it was obvious she was extremely angry.

  Edwards put on his friendly face and looked into the camera, “We apologize for that, folks. Now back to the news. We’ve heard there is at least one person in intensive care—allegedly a brownshirt member—as a result of the terrorist attack on Toby McIntosh. We’re trying to get in contact with Mr. McIntosh; however, I believe he and his family and friends are in a state of shock following this major assault.”