Emergent
Page 13
“Funny coming from you.” She looked over the top of Synthia’s head and seemed to enjoy having the “pilot” apologize and plead with her.
“I’ll bring something for your daughter. Just name it.”
The woman smiled and handed Synthia a pass to get through security. Synthia got into the short line, dropped her backpack and duffel onto the baggage scanner, and moved through the human scan. She hacked into the image to present her as the human pilot, bones and all. On the other side, she picked up her bags and headed toward the lounge, where the pilot had passed out. Along the way, she entered the men’s room to adjust her appearance to that of a man she’d seen on the train. Then she walked up to where the pilot slumped in the corner of the lounge.
“Hey there, buddy,” Synthia said in a deep voice.
“I hope he’s off duty,” the bartender said.
Synthia nodded. He is now. She helped the pilot to his feet, and dragged him to the men’s room where she removed his uniform and locked him in one of the stalls. Then she pulled his uniform over her street clothes, emptied his travel bag, and stuffed her backpack inside. She adopted his face and headed for the gate.
Synthia had Roosevelt-clone download a complete training kit for the Brazilian-made aircraft, complete with pre-flight instructions and take-off and landing procedures.
At the gate, she spotted Maria at the window, tapping her foot. Synthia considered sending a text message. However, she didn’t want to alert Maria that she was playing pilot. No point making you more nervous.
The attendant opened the door to the gangway for the pilot. “I was wondering if you’d show.” Her condescending tone spoke volumes of the real pilot’s problems. He wasn’t a good alias, but Synthia was doing the passengers a favor.
She winked at the attendant as her video history showed the pilot did; it was important to stay in character.
The attendant shook her head, rolled her eyes, and groaned.
Synthia walked onto the plane and climbed into the cockpit.
“You want me to fly?” the co-pilot asked. His hands hovered over the controls. He acted rather eager, having had prior experience with the troubled pilot.
“If you’d prefer,” Synthia said in the pilot’s voice. She had the impression the airline would fire the pilot when they discovered him passed out in the restroom. Given what she’d seen so far, it was for the best.
She ran down the checklist with the copilot and then they were airborne. It was a quick flight and soon they were landing.
Roosevelt-clone sent a burst transmission with an update.
Chapter 18
Synthia let her copilot taxi the small aircraft to the gate while she downloaded a map of the airport along with live surveillance video. She had thirty-one minutes to get to the next gate. A swarm of airport security personnel, police, and FBI agents hovered between her and her destination.
Synthia waited until the cabin’s camera showed all of the passengers, including Maria, had deplaned.
“You got another flight today?” the co-pilot asked while gathering his things.
Synthia jammed his phone so he couldn’t receive any messages. “This is it,” she said, keeping to her pilot’s voice. “You?”
“Milwaukee, a layover, and a full day tomorrow.”
“It’s a bitch but it pays the bills,” Synthia said, putting a grumble into her masculine voice. “Go on, I have paperwork.”
The co-pilot left and for a moment, Synthia was alone, or so she thought when she received a strange text: We need to meet and talk.
She couldn’t be sure where it came from and whoever it was didn’t identify itself. The tone didn’t match Alexander; it wasn’t brash enough. It was too assertive for Ben. The entire out-of-the-blue approach wasn’t like Vera who would have identified herself and where to meet. Most disturbing was that the communication had found Synthia and sought to escape the electronic quarantine in her mind. Someone was trying to hack her brain.
The note had a similar cadence to the mysterious message that had stopped a couple of hours ago. A worm came attached. When Synthia attempted to trace it, something used the trace to work itself deeper into Synthia’s mind. The immediate solution was to pass the message to Roosevelt-clone, which could have been the sender’s intent. Instead, she placed copies of the problem code into a hundred home personal computers with the idea of having a different clone examine it. Then she purged her quarantine seven times. Still not trusting that she’d gotten rid of it all, she sent the file locations to Roosevelt-clone.
Before the maintenance crew boarded the plane, Synthia ducked into the restroom and removed the pilot’s uniform. She crammed it into the garbage container, put on a brown wig, and removed her backpack from the pilot’s travel bag, which she discarded. Then she lowered her height, adjusted her face to one of the passengers who had gotten off, and walked off the plane.
Synthia grabbed the last bag at the gate, her duffel, and headed into the terminal, counting the number of government officials on surveillance cameras between her and gate B-17. She made sure the woman she’d impersonated was well down the concourse then she headed toward her next gate. Up ahead, Maria looked around and over her shoulder. She needed to calm down or someone would react to her demeanor. So much for living off the grid—though Maria was used to her turf where she controlled her own movements.
Head down with her electronic activity at a minimum, Synthia avoided eye contact with other passengers or the increasing number of uniformed and plain-clothed officers. There were now nineteen and one held an electronic scanner at the junction of two corridors. The woman with the scanner puzzled at the screen trying to decipher the wide array of personal electronics from phones to tablets, PCs, and wrist-watch assistants against the broader signal expected from an android.
Synthia couldn’t remove her image from the officer’s scanner so she did the next best thing, reducing her signal to as close to a PC as she could, by emitting noise-cancelling electromagnetic radiation. To be sure, she hacked a security camera behind the device to make sure the image on the scanner showed no more than she intended.
That, Synthia couldn’t control. Up ahead two airport security agents interrogated a man who fit the middle-aged profile of the pilot Synthia impersonated. He acted indignant and then resigned as they prevented him from boarding another plane. She walked across the concourse as one of the agents emptied the man’s bags.
The concourse split into a T-shaped intersection. A crowd of people headed past security to get to their bags. Agents swarmed around the waiting passengers. They singled out two men and pulled them aside. Synthia moved off to the right. One agent eyed her and didn’t look away. She clutched her duffel and hurried on.
We need to meet and talk.
She purged quarantine and contacted Roosevelt-clone.
By the time Synthia reached the gate, Maria was pacing by the line of people waiting to board. A tall airport security woman aided by two police officers, one male and one female, were pulling out of line men whose profile matched that of the impersonated pilot.
“There won’t be space for my bag,” one of the affected passengers said. “I paid extra—”
“Keep it up and you’ll miss your flight,” the tall security woman said.
The police pulled five men away from the gate and asked for identification. The one who had grumbled earlier shook his head but offered no resistance. Maria glanced around and didn’t seem to recognize Synthia’s new facial disguise and wig. She must not have connected the bland blue outfit Synthia had worn earlier, covered by a gray jacket. To minimize her electronic signature, Synthia didn’t dare send Maria a message. Instead, she quieted all of her circuits except what she needed over the next few moments.
The gate attendant began boarding. The five men stared in that direction as other passengers got on. Synthia boarded three people behind Maria and took a seat across the aisle and two back, where she could keep watch.
Synthia texted her partner. Calm down. So far so good. But you’re drawing too much nervous attention.
Maria stared at her phone as the message vanished and then looked around. Synthia pretended to study meal choices. None of it sounded appealing even if she’d been equipped to enjoy food.
After all the other passengers boarded, the five men joined them one by one. Three had checked their suitcases at the gate rather than fight the overhead rat race. The other two complained that there was no space, delaying their departure.
Synthia received another string of messages: We need to meet and talk. She was tempted to ask “meet whom and where” but it was a trap. There were too many individuals and groups zeroing in on her.
* * * *
Special Agent Victoria Thale stood in the mobile command van outside terminal one at O’Hare International Airport outside of Chicago. Fran Rogers sat in front of her, pulling up airport security video for her boss while she studied other screens that showed transportation in and out of the busy airport. Twenty-two FBI agents fanned through the various concourses and gate areas, some with electronic scanners and others with infrared cameras.
“You won’t spot Synthia’s image,” Fran said. “She may have used the pilot as a diversion to get through security and fly anywhere. After all, why fly into the heavy security at O’Hare?”
“You don’t believe that or you wouldn’t be sitting here,” Thale said.
“You’re right. But consider this: If she can impersonate a male pilot, the only way to catch her will be to lock down the airport and physically check everyone.”
“That would bring chaos and could be the diversion she wants to help her escape another way. If we lock down and fail to catch her, it’ll be our heads for creating a transportation nightmare.”
“It would seem that Synthia can impersonate most anyone,” Fran said. “She’s become quite advanced over the past six months.”
Thale sighed. “Besides, we can’t get enough electromagnetic scanners and infrared equipment here fast enough.”
“That’s why you lock it down. No one gets in or out until they pass both the infrared and electromagnetic scans. We should insist on this as part of the TSA screening.”
“We have X-rays and they didn’t find anything.”
“Synthia passed through security at a regional airport where security wasn’t as tight.” Fran froze a screen of the departure gate with Maria Baldacci pacing, and zoomed in to study every face in the crowd. With infrared, she might have spotted Synthia, but visual cameras only picked up reflected light. Police pulled five men aside for more thorough examination. A similar scene took place at other gates. They were profiling the wrong individuals.
“I’ll be back,” Fran said. “I need to stretch my legs.”
Flashing her FBI badge, Fran ran through the terminal, past security to the gate where she spotted police letting five men board. She followed them. Inside, Fran spotted Maria and recognized her despite the cap pulled down over her forehead and hair pulled over her ears. Fran moved behind and whispered in her ear. “Where are you going, little birdie?”
“I…” Maria looked up, eyes wide and mouth slack. She closed her mouth and swallowed. “With all the commotion, I thought it best to leave town.”
Fran put on her infrared glasses to scan the passengers. She moved to the front of the plane and walked row by row to the back. Satisfied, she returned to Maria. “Where is she?”
“Who?” Maria asked, craning her neck to see Fran.
“Your travel companion.”
“I haven’t had one since that mess with Machten. I want to be left alone.”
Fran leaned closer. “I know you better than that.” She looked around and returned her attention to Maria. “You’ve been keeping up your blog against the singularity. Yes, I read it.”
“Glad to know I have one fan.”
“You don’t want to get mixed up with her. She’s trouble. She’s the worst of what Machten was doing.” Fran handed Maria a business card. “Call me if you have any information.”
Fran looked at the single empty aisle seat two back. “Call me.”
She walked off the plane and returned to the command van with her boss, Victoria Thale. “I have an idea how to catch Synthia without Special Ops.”
Chapter 19
Synthia remained in the cramped restroom with the door unlocked and alarms deactivated while she waited for Fran to leave. Synthia had full visibility of the cockpit, the cabin, and had satellite connectio
n to her clones. When the plane took off, she locked her arms and legs against the sides of the tiny room to brace herself. The takeoff was smooth, but she wouldn’t recommend the restroom ride to humans.
When they were airborne, she slipped out of the bathroom.
“You can’t be in there during takeoff or landing,” the stewardess said. She looked like the grandmotherly type with weary eyes.
“Sorry, I was so sick,” Synthia whispered. She put on the best facial imitation of distress she could and returned to her seat.
She sent a text to Maria. Remain calm. We’ll talk after we have a car and are driving away from the airport. After Maria read the message, Synthia purged it from the phone and from the servers it had passed through.
By the time Maria looked up, Synthia retook her seat. Maria nodded. This time she’d made the connection, which seemed to calm her.