Lost in his own thoughts for a minute, Kurt found himself looking off into the distance. His gaze settled on a large black bird, a crow, sitting in one of the planters at the end of the road. It tilted its head, looking back at him. There was something undeniably strange about that gaze. But before Kurt could say what, his attention was diverted by a high-pitched whine like that of an expensive remote-controlled car.
Kurt turned toward the offending sound and spotted a skateboard-sized object racing the wrong way up 10th Street and coming directly toward them. It had six small wheels—three on either side—and carried a large battery pack on the aft end. Up front, held in a hydraulic grip, was an Uzi submachine gun.
“Get down!” Kurt shouted.
He tackled Sandecker like the Secret Service agent Sandecker had suggested he pose as. The two of them hit the ground behind the nearest concrete planter, crashing to the sidewalk just as the six-wheeled vehicle opened fire.
A line of bullets stitched across the face of the planter, stopped effectively by its concrete and soil.
The remote-controlled killing machine stopped, pivoted and opened fire on the uniformed officer from the guardhouse. He went down in the midst of calling for backup.
As the officer fell, Agent Morris pulled out his weapon and blasted several rounds at the machine, hitting it twice.
The metal-clad killer was unaffected. It jerked to the side, recovered and then accelerated up onto the curb, darting between two of the planters and weaving around in search Kurt and Sandecker.
Kurt was unarmed, but that wasn’t going to keep him out of the battle. He grabbed a large stone from the landscaping materials and jumped up onto the planter. Spotting the agile little attacker, he hurled the stone downward as if he were spiking a football after a touchdown.
It recorded a direct hit, knocking the gun askew and sending the machine tumbling. It landed upside down, flailing for a moment like a beetle caught on its back, extending a wing in hopes of righting itself.
Not interested in seeing that happen, Kurt jumped and landed on the machine with both feet, bending the wing irreparably and kicking the Uzi free.
Before he could celebrate, the crow he’d spotted earlier flew his way, nearly clipping his face. He ducked and watched it fly off in the opposite direction. “Something evil about that bird,” he said.
There was no time to wonder what it might be. A second RC vehicle was racing their way. Instead of a gun, this one had a load of plastic explosives strapped on top. A third machine sped along behind it, armed with a pistol and peppering the sidewalk with covering gunfire.
By now the limo had screeched to a halt between the remaining orange cones. Morris pushed Sandecker toward the open door but took a bullet in the leg before he could climb in himself. He fell to the ground and Kurt went to help him, but he shoved Kurt away. “Get the Vice President out of here! Go! Go! Go!”
As Kurt dove into the limo, the driver stomped on the gas pedal. A cloud of white smoke billowed out behind them as the 650 horsepower turbo engine spun the big tires. The limo surged forward, but the plinking of shells hitting the bulletproof armor told them they hadn’t escaped yet.
They roared down 10th Street toward Pennsylvania Avenue. Fortunately, it was late enough that little traffic got in their way. Coming to the turn, the limo leaned, sliding, as it sped around the corner.
Righting the car, the driver called out an alert on his radio. “Immediate Code Four,” he shouted. “Pennsylvania Avenue, Government Two.”
Code 4 turned every streetlight in Washington red except for those programmed to allow a government vehicle to take a specific emergency route to a secure location. Government 2 meant the Vice President was on board.
A response in his earbud told him help was coming. “Backup is on the way,” he shouted to Kurt and Sandecker.
Kurt braced himself as the limo turned again. Seconds later a patrol car from the D.C. police force pulled onto the road beside them. It escorted them for a half a block before pulling out in front and then slowing down.
“Get out of the way,” the driver yelled in frustration.
Kurt looked through the partition and the front window, gazing into the squad car. He noticed something ominous. The car had no driver. “It’s a setup.”
The driver was confused. “What?”
“Turn!”
It was too late. The back window of the squad car shattered as a high-powered weapon mounted inside opened fire.
In a matter of seconds, the rapid-fire attack had scored a dozen hits, filling the windshield with pockmarks and cracks. The bulletproof polymer held, but the damage made it impossible to see.
The driver looked down, his eyes transitioning to a screen in the center console where the display from a camera showed the view ahead. To get away from the squad car, the driver cut to the right, aiming for a side street.
The turn was tight, too constricted for the limo to take at high speed. The big car slid out of control, skidding up onto the sidewalk and slamming a light pole side-on while hitting a parked car with its front end.
The double impact brought the limo to a sudden stop. Kurt and Sandecker were thrown about in the back. The driver was dazed but soon came to his senses.
“We can’t sit here,” Kurt shouted.
The driver understood. He restarted the stalled engine and got the vehicle moving again. They pulled away from the collapsed lamppost, bulldozed the parked car out of the way and pulled back onto the street.
They’d gone about a hundred feet when the driverless squad car appeared at the far end, turned and accelerated toward them.
“It must have circled the block after we crashed.”
The driver slammed on the brakes, put the big car in reverse and began to back up. Kurt glanced behind them and saw bad news. The speedy little remote-controlled vehicles had come racing around the corner. The one with the pistol began firing. The small-caliber bullets were stopped easily by the limo’s armor, but the explosives-laden machine was the real danger.
“Forward,” Kurt shouted.
“But the other car—”
“Go forward now!”
The driver slammed on the brakes and shifted gears again. He stomped on the gas pedal once more, but the heavy limousine was not nimble enough to avoid its fate. The attacker raced under the chassis and detonated its payload of explosives.
CHAPTER 50
The explosion shook the block like thunder. The dark side street lit up with an orange fireball that engulfed the Vice President’s limousine and the parked cars around it. Several exploded in flames as their gas tanks ruptured.
Had there been any onlookers, they would have seen that the limo was burning and damaged beyond repair. The wheels had been blown out sideways, the drivetrain hopelessly mangled. Every metal surface had been buckled in one way or another and every window scarred by fissures.
What an observer wouldn’t have seen were Kurt, Sandecker and the driver still alive and kicking, protected from the blast by the armor cladding the underside of the passenger compartment. The V-shaped configuration of the armor allowed it to compress into the body of the car, absorbing the blast as it simultaneously directed the force of the blast outward and away from it. The design was a lesson learned from the fight against IEDs in the Gulf War. It just saved the lives of the three men inside.
Kurt was the first to regain his senses. With his ears ringing, he raised his head, looking around to assess the damage. The flicker of orange light outside told him they were on fire while the bent roof panels and other damage inside told him they wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.
He checked on Sandecker. “Are you okay?”
Sandecker had hit his head and was bleeding from a gash at the hairline. Other than that, he looked untouched. Even his bow tie remained perfectly in position. “More angry than hurt.”
“That makes two of us.” He couldn’t get to the driver, but the silence from up front told him the man had been injured worse
than either he or the Vice President.
“You have anything in this car besides cigars and blood?”
Sandecker pointed to a section of the seating. Kurt pulled up a cushion and found a weapons locker. Inside were two Heckler & Koch SP5K machine pistols.
“Backup has to be coming soon,” Sandecker said.
Kurt pulled out one of the tactical weapons and made sure it was loaded, with a bullet in the chamber. “Not that I should be giving orders, but if you could get on the radio and direct the reinforcements to go after that squad car.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going outside to hunt that six-wheeled robot and any friends it might have brought along with it.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“This car is almost a tank, but not quite,” Kurt said. “We won’t survive another blast like that. Time to take the fight to the street.”
Kicking the door open, Kurt felt the heat of the lingering flames and smelled the stench of burning rubber. He heard the sound of police sirens and helicopters coming in from the distance. The cavalry was on its way, but it would be too long before they arrived.
Looking through the smoke, he searched for any sign of the little machines that had attacked them. Obviously, the bomb-carrying vehicle was gone, having obliterated itself in the explosion, but the gun-toting one could still be out there. And there was no way of knowing how many of the remote-controlled machines had been dispatched in the first place.
With his gun raised, Kurt searched through the wreckage, watching for any sign of movement. He quickly realized he was being watched as well. Across the street, sitting on the roof of a demolished car, was the same crow he’d seen outside the FBI building.
As soon as its eyes focused on him, the remote-controlled weapon in the fake police car began firing.
Kurt dove back inside the limo and slammed the door. The shells put three huge dents in the armor, but the multiple levels of plating still held.
“Either that bird has risen up against us or we’re being watched by a mechanical contrivance,” he said.
Sandecker cast him an odd glance and then turned his attention back to the radio. He was speaking with the pilot of the nearest military helicopter, barking orders like he’d done in his younger days. “That’s right,” he said. “Engage the police car.”
The pilot asked a question that didn’t sit well with the VP.
“I don’t care if it is the Metro PD,” Sandecker said. “We’re taking direct fire from it.”
The sound of a helicopter crossing above filled the street. It was followed shortly thereafter by a hail of gunfire and a minor explosion as the phony police car’s gas tank ruptured and exploded.
“Target has been eliminated,” a voice over the radio said.
“Great job,” Sandecker said.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Kurt said. “Those little remotes are still out there.”
“Drones and RC cars,” Sandecker said, shaking his head. “You’d think they’d come up with a more dignified way to attack the Vice President.”
“Don’t want to sound like an egomaniac,” Kurt said, “but I think I’m the target.”
“You?”
“Remember those arms dealers I told you about?” Kurt asked. “I’m betting this is their doing. Probably tied to the files we just borrowed from the FBI.”
“You’re probably right,” Sandecker said.
“Sorry for endangering you,” Kurt said, “but I’m about to turn the tables on them.”
“And how’s that?”
An idea had dawned on Kurt. One so devious it made him proud. “I’m going to give them another chance to shoot at me.”
With Sandecker looking on, Kurt reached for the files Ms. Curtis had copied from the Archives. Shuffling through them, he grabbed the FBI file, the one that Hoover’s men had written before they knew the truth.
Next, he opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bag of Sandecker’s blood and stuffed it down inside an inner pocket of his tuxedo.
The look on Sandecker’s face told him all he needed to know. “You can’t be serious.”
“Can you think of a better plan?” Kurt asked.
“I can hardly think of a worse one,” Sandecker said. “But, good luck.”
Kurt shouldered the buckled door open and got out once again. He stepped away from the vehicle with the gun in one hand, the file in the other. Moving through the smoke, he acted jumpy, turning this way and that, as if expecting to get attacked at any second.
He knew the crow was watching him but ignored it, looking instead for any sign of the six-wheeled killing machine.
A shadow flickered in front of the streetlamp as the black bird took flight. At the same moment, the distinctive whine of the RC’s motor sounded on the far side of the limousine.
Kurt spun around, spotting the machine as it appeared from behind the wrecked limo. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger, firing just as the remote-controlled machine locked onto him and fired.
Kurt’s shot was accurate, piercing the machine’s electrical gearbox and knocking it sideways just as it triggered its own weapon. The return fire flew wide off to the left, but Kurt pretended otherwise, lurching to the side and spinning around.
To anyone watching, it looked as if he’d been hit dead center. He dropped the pistol as he fell, stumbling forward but also thumping his chest hard enough to break the bag of Sandecker’s blood.
The punch, delivered quickly and as if he were reacting to being hit, was almost unnoticeable, but the impact tore the IV bag and sent Sandecker’s blood streaming down Kurt’s white tuxedo shirt.
Kurt took another stumbling step to make it look good and then fell on his side. The hardest part was hitting the ground without doing anything to break his fall.
Lying there, eyes half open, Kurt saw that the remote-controlled machine was dead but that the crow was still staring at him. He topped off his theatrics by reaching for the file he’d dropped and allowing his hand to fall short of it, then going completely still.
Several blocks away, still in the back of the Tesla, Fydor watched the events on-screen via the camera eyes of the mechanical bird.
“He’s down,” he said to Xandra. “Austin is down. Finally.” He sighed deeply. “I thought they were going to escape. I really thought they were going to get away.”
Helicopters thundered overhead, heading toward the wrecked limousine. Police cars raced in from every direction, lights flashing frantically, sirens wailing.
“Finish him,” Xandra ordered. “Quickly. We need proof of his death for payment.”
Fydor tried to hit Kurt with another blast from the Uzi but found the remote unit unresponsive. “The RCs are out,” he said. “All three of them. Austin must have hit the last one as he went down.”
“What about the squad car?”
“Obliterated from above,” Fydor said. “Like we will be if we don’t get out of here.”
“We’re not leaving without proof,” she insisted. “Use the bird. Get a close-up of Austin’s body.”
Fydor switched screens and took control of the black bird. He directed it to swoop down onto the blacktop beside Austin’s prone body. It hopped into the air, glided from its perch and flew down, landing six feet from where Kurt lay. Drifting smoke obscuring the view.
“Closer,” Xandra said.
Fydor moved the crow forward. The image resolved as the gap shrunk. Both Fydor and Xandra stared at the screen. They saw Kurt in full color, saw his awkward positioning, the blood-soaked tuxedo shirt, the half-open eyes. The truth was obvious.
“Now can we get out of here?” Fydor asked.
Xandra hesitated. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to something beyond Kurt’s outstretched hand. “Over there.”
“It looks like a file folder,” Fydor said. “It must be what they went to the FBI building to retrieve.”
“Grab it,” she ordered. “Barlow will almost
certainly pay extra for it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quickly!”
Kurt lay in the street, holding his breath and remaining still. He saw the mechanical crow swoop down and land, watched as it hopped closer and studied him. He knew it was fake—no living bird would walk through smoke and fire—but it looked and moved so realistically, it would have been easy to forget.
It came up to him, studied him for a second and then turned its perfect bird-like head, focusing on his outstretched hand and the file on the ground.
With two quick hops the crow reached the folder, used its beak to lift the edge and then gripped the file tightly with a mechanical claw. With the dossier held securely, the bird stretched out its wings and began flapping them wildly. It hopped in the air, swooped low along the street and then climbed higher as it picked up speed. Passing the end of the street, the black device vanished into the dark of night.
Kurt took a shallow breath but remained where he was. He resisted the urge to grin—too much damage had been done for that—but for the first time since spotting the trawler off the coast of Scotland he knew he’d gained the upper hand. And all because of a mechanical bird.
CHAPTER 51
NUMA headquarters, Washington, D.C.
“You’re playing a dangerous game here.”
Kurt looked across the desk to Rudi Gunn. He’d just finished laying out his plan to deal with the Bloodstone Group once and for all. He hadn’t expected Rudi to like it, but ultimately Rudi was a pragmatist. Kurt was counting on him.
“We’re not going to get another chance like this,” Kurt told him.
“Why take a chance at all?” Rudi asked. “Why not toss the ball back over to Interpol and MI5 where it belongs? Ask the FBI to look into it?”
Kurt leaned back. Despite two showers and fresh clothes, he could still smell the acrid aroma of explosives and burnt rubber from the previous night. “Interpol is a paper tiger,” he said. “And MI5 isn’t going to be much help here in America. As for the FBI, aside from one of their archivists, they consider me and my opinions about as valuable as a week-old newspaper.”
Journey of the Pharaohs - NUMA Files Series 17 (2020) Page 25