by A J Jameson
“Eat dinner and drink champagne. The rest could be speculated. We had a long, passionate discussion about your transgressions and…” he sighed. “What were you thinking?”
“I just needed to get away for a while.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking time, but you can’t break protocol.”
Zyta waved him off. “Every day you sound more like a robot. Protocol this and protocol that. God, I can’t believe he installed cameras. When?”
“The first night you introduced Umar,” Marek said.
“I didn’t…” It took her a moment to process what Marek had said. “You installed them?”
“Yeah, Zyta. I keep tabs on my squad.”
Zyta wanted to scold him for being intrusive, but she knew better—in C3U, there was no such thing as privacy. Maybe that’s the secret ingredient to Umar’s perfect world. His entitled freedom. “Leave me alone, please.”
“Fine, but you need to promise me you won’t go to Umar’s anymore. Not until this thing blows over.”
“Whatever, I promise.”
“No, Zyta.” Marek firmly gripped both of her shoulders. The intensity in his eyes spoke of concern and terror. “You cannot go there. You cannot disobey Law like that again. Promise me.”
“Fine, I promise.”
He let go. “Okay. We’re suiting up for Axel’s in a few minutes. Afterward, this should all be over.” He shot Axel a quick glance and then left the room.
You cannot disobey Law like that again. Was there a threat weaved in that statement? Had Law said something during their “passionate discussion?” The weight drained from Zyta’s head once again, her leg muscles congealing into jelly. She snapped another ammonia tablet and inhaled deeply. A jolt of electricity zapped her every muscle. “Sorry,” she said to Axel. His arms were tied to either side of his unconscious body, the posture resembling someone reaching for a hug. “I’m sorry I can’t save you. I can barely save myself.”
The door opened. It was Victoria. “Hey, are you all finished up in here? I can use a hand with Mason. He needs rods inserted in his leg.”
Zyta nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be right over.”
“And Kyle is starting to stir. We’re going to have to tell him…” she squinted, seeing Zyta for the first time. “Your eyes are puffy. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Zyta rubbed them and winced at the pain. “Just a lot of…crap happening.”
“Yeah,” Victoria said. “Take your time. I gave Mason some painkillers and he started singing love songs to me, so I don’t think he’s in a rush.”
Zyta was surprised by her own laugh. “Thanks, Vic.”
“You got it.” She left.
Zyta turned to have one last word with the prisoner. “I’ll see you on the other side, Axel.”
Chapter 16
By the time C3U had finished prepping for the mission, gathering supplies, and getting settled into their respective positions, night had fallen outside Axel Hoffmann’s home. The street was lined with parked cars, and not a single pedestrian busied the sidewalk. Because it’s Sunday, Marek thought. Most of these residents are either huddled in front of a TV or doing last minute chores before the start of a new week. We couldn’t have picked a better night.
Marek glanced at the two Charlie members posted in the communal laundry room across the street, the barrel of a silenced sniper rifle poking through the ajar window. They had orders to fire on sight—orders from Law, not Marek. Marek had disagreed with the decision. How can you fire at a target whose identity was given by secondhand description? “About 5’6 or around average height, long brown hair…can’t remember the color of her eyes…attractive face.” Ray hadn’t supplied sufficient information, but Law thought otherwise. “When you see her, shoot her.” The first hint Law was appointing himself to Vanguard. “Once inside, shoot anything that moves. This group of vigilantes has become a cancer we must cut out. No, Marek, you stay outside on perimeter watch.” And that was the second hint. “Ivan goes in alone.”
At the end of the street opposite of Marek, Eduardo jogged at a light pace. He wore carrot-orange mesh shorts and a sun-yellow T-shirt; a beacon of interest for anyone. His role: distraction. Hi, I just moved to the area. Any gyms nearby? How about a farmers’ market? Oh, this is your place? A cozy area. Apologies, my name is Santiago, nice to meet you.
Located at the street’s midpoint was Ivan, doing a piss poor job of wasting time by staring at his watch. “He doesn’t have a car,” he had argued when Marek urged him to drive.
“It doesn’t matter, Ivan—”
“Axel. I am now to be referred to as Axel, please.”
“You don’t want to be Axel, trust me. And as far as getting into character, Axel doesn’t carry a pistol, so you fail.” No rebuttal followed.
Marek nodded at Ivan, who started walking toward him. They would pass each other as Eduardo passed on the opposite side of the street. Marek would continue on his way, Eduardo on his, and Ivan would enter Axel’s home. Charlie squad would provide physical overwatch as Yolanda provided digital.
“Take her alive, if you can,” Marek said.
Ivan flinched at the words, his grayish-blue eyes two round circles of surprise beneath square-rimmed glasses. “Excuse me?”
Marek kept walking, but Ivan heard his insult all the same. “God damned idiot.”
The remark stung like a splash of hot grease hopping out of a pan. But why should he, Axel, be hurt by the words of a total stranger? He had recently landed a great job working for a great company (although the hours were very demanding), and he was about to return home for the first time in over a week. No, he wouldn’t be hurt by the bitterness of some random man, mad at his own shortcomings and limitations, whatever they may be.
Axel approached his home. He unlocked the deadbolt and knob, pinned in his access code, and tried to open the door. It didn’t budge. He shouldered it, kicked it, and tried the access code again. This time the sound of mechanical clicks emanated from the other side.
The living room lights buzzed to life as Axel entered. “Little Eye, I’m home,” he announced.
“Welcome back, Axel. Please, plug your phone into the computer so I can bring you up to speed.”
“Oh, I don’t have…” the hairs in his nose began to tickle and he sneezed. “I left my phone at work…the whole classified information thing.”
“Ah, well, at least take your MI from the desk.”
There were two desks. The closest had a variety of tools littered across its wood finish, but it showed no signs of the earpiece gadget. Axel continued to the next desk: at seven feet wide, five feet high, and home to a monstrous desktop tower and three 30-inch monitors, the mahogany workspace dominated the room. It was cluttered with junk—papers, pens, notecards, and, resting at the base of the middle screen, in front of the keyboard, an ear piece. Axel picked it up and apprehension slashed through his veins as he failed to recall which ear he preferred. I’m right handed, so my right ear would make more sense. He donned his MI and Little Eye’s voice spoke softly in his ear, “That’s better.”
“Thank you, Little Eye.” Axel spun slowly on his heel as he followed the length of gerbil tubing overhead. He came upon a break in the wall, the floor switching from carpet to tile. The kitchen, he thought, and stalked toward it. A light tickle in his nose incited another sneeze.
“Your father called asking about the new job,” Little Eye said.
“That’s odd, I figured my mother would have been the one to call,” Axel said. Gripping the pistol tucked at his backside, he entered the kitchen.
An assemblage of dishes stood in a drying rack. The smell of roasted coffee wafted from a pot, a quarter the way full. A glass vase with no water and artificial flowers sat next to an over-ripe batch of bananas. The way I had left it? No way of telling. Axel returned to the living room, his eye on the closed bedroom door.
“I thought it peculiar, too, that he should call,” Little Eye said. “Axel, don’t you w
ant to log-in?”
“Yes, but first I have to use the bathroom,” he said, approaching the closed door. This is it, this is where she’ll be. He grabbed the knob, then remembered the sniper outside. This is the room they’re watching. Even so, he discreetly primed his silenced pistol and pushed the door open.
Nothing but a twin bed and a dresser in the corner. And a closet, its door shut.
“Axel, why are you lying to me?” Little Eye said.
He removed his MI, tossed it on the bed, and took aim at the closet. Left hand out (is Sadie going to make it?) twisting the knob (we have Kyle in a medically induced coma) Axel yanked the door open. Shirts, dress suits, jeans, and slacks all swayed in the gust. No sign of Imogen.
Axel picked up his MI after clearing the bathroom. “I didn’t lie, I had to wash my hands. The bathroom at work never has hand soap, can you believe it?”
Little Eye didn’t answer. Don’t ask the AI anymore dumb questions, Axel noted. No Imogen on site, it was time for phase two.
He made his way back to the computer station and took a seat. As if sensing his presence, the three monitors switched on. The center screen displayed a generic desktop, half of its expanse occupied by rows of obscure applications. The next screen, to the right, disclosed a bullet-point list of “should-dos,” and floating on the left screen was the head of a person Axel had never seen before. A woman, mid-thirties, with a mouth that naturally curved downward to give the impression she was always frowning. Is this her? Axel wondered, but quickly dismissed the thought. No, Imogen is said to have a flat, yet attractive face.
“Little Eye, I’d like you to find the location of a person.”
“Absolutely,” the face on the monitor said. It happened so suddenly that Axel recoiled in his chair. “Is something wrong, Axel?”
He steadied himself and looked at the animated face, this time a little more closely. Deep lines drew brackets on either side of her ever-frowning mouth. Wrinkles ran like tiny rivers from the corners of her eyes, their lids hanging extraordinarily low as if the gravity pulling at them was abnormally high.
“No, nothing wrong,” Axel lied, feeling goosebumps sprout on his arms and neck.
“I thought that maybe you should feed Fred first, before we begin our work.” The face spoke in agony, each movement of raggedy flesh communicating an urgent sense of pain.
“Yes,” Axel said. He stood up in search of Fred. It wasn’t a difficult guess, seeing that Axel had only one pet. And there, slumped on the lower shelf of Axel’s work bench was a big bag of hamster food. Axel followed the overhead tubing to the first access point he could find and shoveled in two handfuls of mixed grains, veggies, and grass. “There you go, Fred,” Axel said, never seeing the hamster.
Axel returned to the computer station. His next plan of action was to locate Imogen. He didn’t want to call; he wanted to surprise her with roses or a box of chocolates. Give her the good news about his job and maybe even sweep her off her feet. But when he sat down and steeled himself for the haggard representation of the artificial intelligence known as Little Eye, he found the rounded face and slicked-back hair of Marek staring back at him. “Uh,” was all he could manage, except it came out sounding more like ahhhh, the kind you give at the doctor’s office.
“Is everything okay, Axel?” Marek asked, but in the voice of Little Eye. The discontinuity was enough to snap Ivan—no Axel—out of his trance.
“Yes, fine, Little Eye. Give me the location of Imogen Ayton. I have a surprise for her.” That came out the wrong way.
“Do you know what day it is?” Marek asked, and it was Marek’s voice.
“Yes,” Axel said, but was cut short by the sight of Zyta. She wore semi-shaded glasses, their lenses translucent enough for her bright hazel eyes to permeate through.
“Then you know she’s at work, and won’t be back for a couple of hours,” Zyta’s head with Marek’s voice said.
“Back here?”
Zyta nodded. “Yes.” And then her face thinned and elongated. Stubble grew out of her cheeks, chin, and upper lip. And her Velvety hair, hanging shoulder-length with bangs that slanted, uprooted and tumbled down her face. Eduardo had taken her place, the exact same pair of glasses shading his brown eyes.
“Thank you, Little Eye, but I’m afraid I have to do something we will both resist.”
Eduardo’s head tilted quizzically.
“I have to take you offline,” Axel said. “Just for a little while. For the job.”
Marek’s face replaced Eduardo’s. His pinched lips recalled the many times Ivan had disappointed his squad leader. Don’t let her get in your head.
“I’m sorry,” Axel apologized. “I’ll get you back up and running at the first opportunity.”
“Do you promise?” Marek asked, his voice reverting to Little Eye’s original, dusty tone.
“Yes, I promise.”
A sadness came over Marek after he sniffed and found Axel’s lack of response dissatisfying. Marek’s face drooped and shallowed, slowly morphing back into the haggard old woman’s. “Would you like me to access the database and update you on current events?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” Axel said. “Thank you.”
A command bar appeared center monitor, preloaded with data prepared by Little Eye. Axel took it upon himself to insert the USB drive containing Yolanda’s bug. He’d initiate Little Eye’s demise when the CLI was freed up. Should I ask for the exact time Imogen will return?
“So, does this new job condone your should-do list?” Little Eye asked.
Axel glanced at the list. The first bullet-point read, “Abide Authority,” and he had to laugh. “Yes,” he said. “They strongly agree with my should-do list.”
“That’s nice to hear. We’ve been living by those words for a long time now.” And judging by her decrepit appearance, Axel had no problem believing it.
“Do you think he’ll live?” Little Eye asked.
The question caught Axel off guard. He was tracing the length of hamster tubing, its colors cycling through those of a rainbow. “Who?” he asked, concerned that there was some other accomplice C3U didn’t know about.
Little Eye didn’t respond, and her face vanished from the screen. Only a black void was left, one that gently crept into the neighboring monitors. “Little Eye,” Axel said. “Whose life are you referring to?” All at once Axel’s reflection stared back at him from the three monitors. A live feed, he noticed, turning his head from side to side.
“Tiny Feet,” Little Eye spoke through the MI.
A hissing sound emanated from the kitchen, continuous and almost inaudible if not for Axel’s heightened sense of fear. “Why wouldn’t Tiny Feet live?” he asked. Fred…no one names their hamster Fred…
“His body is much smaller than yours. I fear the amount of carbon monoxide needed to deplete your wakeful state will be too much for him to handle.”
Axel stood up. His feet were two cinderblocks and his head a flimsy flag amid a storm. Grits of sand itched his esophagus on every breath. Microscopic particles scraped his eyes and brought forth tears. “Stop it Little Eye, I command you.”
“I don’t take commands from the Cyber Conflict Control Unit, Ivan. I needed you here only long enough to triangulate the position of your fellow constituents attempting to access my files.”
“Don’t kill me,” Ivan said, and couldn’t interpret his own words. The door was only three feet away. But it wasn’t getting any closer, no matter how many steps he took. No matter how many inches he forced one knee in front of the other, followed one elbow after the other. No matter how grisly his envisioned death screamed for him to lift himself off the ground.
“I won’t kill you for as long as they don’t kill him.”
This time Ivan didn’t have to ask who him was. They’ll never let him go, was his last thought.
Yolanda sat erect in her chair, fixated on the monitor displaying the floor and wall of Axel Hoffmann’s abode. Ivan had dropped slowly and
jerkily, his glasses feeding C3U a live-stream that weaved and swayed as if he were drunk. But he’s not drunk, Yolanda thought. His body and brain are failing due to a lack of oxygen, a direct result of my lack of competence.
She had failed to breach Little Eye’s firewall. A first for Yolanda. Never had she been bested by someone behind a keyboard. Little Eye isn’t using a keyboard. True, but whoever wrote Little Eye had. There’s a first time for everything, she had told herself before this mission orchestrated by Law—more of a reactionary impulse—was set into motion and Ivan was sent into certain disaster. In all her years working with Law, Yolanda had never witnessed him make such a rash decision. He’s getting bested, too, she realized. A feeling we’re both unfamiliar with, a feeling like…she couldn’t articulate her loss, so she went with its polar opposite…like a person who persists, tries, but fails and fails and fails…and then one day, prevails.
“Outside?” Law said. “How can a piece of artificial intelligence confined to a local network disrupt communications outside the house?”
“I’m not sure, sir. Her jammer signal must be boosted by a grid amplifier.”
“I don’t care how she’s doing it just get our radios back up,” Law commanded, his bark that of an aging dog. “We need to inform Marek of what’s happening and get him inside.”
A question that had been clanging around in Yolanda’s head: why weren’t the teams outside Axel’s home responding to Ivan’s camera feed? And what about the Delta members dispatched for the house? What kind of hindrance would they encounter? None, surely. But how would “a piece of artificial intelligence confined to a local network,” to quote Law, reach its cybernetic fingers far beyond the roads of networking…it’s here.
As if cued by Yolanda’s thoughts, the screen displaying Ivan’s camera feed went black. Tetris-like pixels fell to form a three-dimensional image of Ivan’s head, modified to look like Axel. “Hello, Cyber Conflict Control Unit. I am Little Eye,” the hovering face said.