I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising Page 22

  “You will have to trust me.”

  “Forgive my hesitation. I want Captain London and her detail to deliver it so she can confirm that it is in fact the RGT.”

  “That is acceptable.”

  “I want to make the exchange in the prison yard.”

  “So you can lock my messengers in, seize the RGT, and your snipers can take them out? I think not.”

  “I’m trying to play ball with you, Kafka, but I need certain reassurances.”

  “We will make the exchange just outside the front wall of the prison. Neutral ground.”

  “That’s hardly neutral ground, Kafka. You have control of the outside.”

  “You can cover the exchange with your snipers on the wall.”

  “I want Captain London and her detail unescorted. When I get the nod from her, I will send out your detainee.”

  “What is to prevent you from taking Captain London and keeping the detainee, Major? How about I send in an escort, promise they will not harm anyone—your snipers can see to that—and my escort takes custody of the detainee.”

  “I have a better idea, Kafka. Send Captain London and her detail forward with the RGT and, given her nod of confirmation, I will send out your detainee to walk right past her as she walks inside.”

  “Fine. And don’t think, Major, that I don’t have snipers of my own.”

  “You haven’t told me who the detainee is.”

  “Bartholomew Birdsall.”

  “Bartholomew Birdsall? What in God’s name do you want with him?”

  “No questions, Major. You have fifteen minutes.”

  “Kafka, I need more time. We have to locate him and then prep him.”

  “Twenty minutes. If you are a minute late, I eviscerate Captain London and her detail and take off with the RGT. Their blood will be on your hands.”

  “No need to make threats. We’ll have him out in twenty minutes.”

  Kafka ended the transmission.

  “Jesus,” said Gauger, “is that detainee even a terrorist?”

  “No,” said Lyons. “It’s Peter and Carl Birdsall’s father. He must want Barry Birdsall for leverage. But for what?”

  “Giving up the RGT wasn’t in the plan,” said Night Stalker to Kafka.

  “Shut up and bring me Captain London,” croaked Kafka through his helmet.

  Night Stalker walked over to where Captain London was being held at gunpoint by a few other OIL operatives. “Captain, Kafka wishes to speak with you.”

  The OIL operatives parted to allow her to pass through. Night Stalker grabbed her by the arm and yanked her over to where Kafka was standing.

  “Watch it, asshole,” she snapped.

  “Night Stalker, no need to be impolite,” Kafka said in his tinny voice.

  “What is this, Halloween?” chided Fiona.

  “Captain London,” said Kafka with some amusement, cocking his head sideways, “you have served your country well.”

  “Oh yeah? And what the hell are you supposed to be?”

  “An admirer, Captain. You have sacrificed much for your country. I’ve seen it in your dreams.”

  Fiona’s skin went cold. How could he possibly know her dreams? Nightmares were more like it.

  “How is your Nana?” Kafka asked with feigned sincerity.

  Fiona’s eyes went wide. It was impossible. “How could you possibly know?” she gasped.

  “Why Fiona, I’m that thing scratching on the other side of the door. I’m the creeping inevitability that you cannot escape.”

  She looked at him horrified. None of this made any sense. “How were you able to coordinate the drones?”

  “That’s my little secret, Captain,” teased Kafka, “but I do have good news for you. You and the RGT are being traded for a detainee.”

  “Which one?” she asked.

  “Does it really matter?” he responded.

  She just looked at him.

  “Bartholomew Birdsall,” he said.

  “Holy shit,” she said. “Carl? Is that you?”

  Kafka gestured for one of the OIL operatives to approach. He was holding the RGT components, the interface and the motherboard, and a knapsack. Kafka snatched the knapsack and handed it to Fiona. “Put this on.”

  Fiona took the knapsack tentatively and slid into the shoulder straps. Kafka held up the RGT components. “You will be taking these back into the prison.” He spun her around so she was facing away from him. She felt him unzip the knapsack and place the components inside. He then zipped it back up and spun her back around.

  “You know, Carl, I never meant for any of this…”

  “Life is filled with disappointments,” said Kafka icily.

  “Where are you going to take your father? What kind of life is he going to have on the run?”

  “He’ll make due.”

  “Do you think he’ll want to go with you seeing what you’ve become? Your brother has been sick over your termination.”

  Kafka saw something amongst the drones. Or at least he thought he did. He saw his doppelgänger with a toothy, savage grin. He looked less human than the last time he saw him. He blinked and the man was gone.

  “You and my brother were both part of what I have become. So I guess I should really be thanking you.”

  “So you’re with OIL now? Really? The ones who murdered your mother?”

  “Funny, they were there for me when you, Peter, and Betancourt tried to murder me.”

  She reached out and grabbed his arm, squeezing imploringly. “Carl, I had nothing to do with that. You have to believe me.”

  Night Stalker walked up to Kafka. “I hate to break up this reunion, but they are sending Birdsall out.”

  Kafka nodded. “Fiona, you are going to lead your detail up to the front gate. Their spotters will be watching and will expect confirmation that I’ve given you the RGT. You will nod the confirmation. When they send out Birdsall, you and your detail will walk past him and into the prison facility.”

  “It’s not too late, Carl. You can turn yourself in, or turn back.”

  “That horse is out of the barn,” he said. “At least you will be safe. I’m sending you back. Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  Fiona walked out of the throng of undead orange jumpsuits who parted for her like the Red Sea. She walked up to the front gates of the facility. The door opened to a long chain linked corridor lined with barbed wire at the top. She walked forward slowly, carefully, and stopped at the entrance. She nodded emphatically, as instructed, and gave a thumbs up. Then she waited.

  Down the corridor of fencing there was a small dot moving in her direction. It grew in size, and she saw it was a man in an orange jumpsuit. She began to walk forward, her detail following closely behind her.

  Barry Birdsall was getting close. She was able to make out his face now. He looked scared. Poor bastard. Thought he was being handed to the wolves.

  “Good,” said Major Lyons from a tower looking through binoculars. “She’s coming. They’re about to pass each other.”

  Barry was now about to pass Fiona. He looked terrified.

  “It’s Carl, Barry. He’s come for you,” she said.

  “Ma’am,” Obermeyer said admonishingly behind her.

  “What’s she doing?” Lyons asked Gauger. “She’s stopped. Why did she stop?”

  “What?” Barry asked.

  “It’s Carl. You’re going to be okay.” She hoped she was right.

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Ma’am, we have to go,” said Obermeyer impatiently.

  Fiona nodded and kept walking. Barry, confounded, just stood there for a moment. Then he resumed walking to the entrance.

  When he reached the entrance, a dark figure whisked up to him and snatched him, carrying him away with great haste. A wall of undead formed behind them, protecting them from behind.

  Fiona heard the commotion and double-timed it down the corridor. She had to tell the Major that this Kafka was
Carl Birdsall. He wasn’t dead. He was part of OIL. He was now the—

  An explosion erupted, swallowing Fiona and her detail in bright orange flames. A large fireball wafted into the night sky, illuminating the sea of undead outside the prison walls.

  “What the hell!” shouted Lyons. “They rigged her pack with explosives! Tell the men to open fire!”

  Gauger nodded and got on his mini-com. “It’s a double-cross. Fire at will.”

  Kafka and Night Stalker fled with Barry Birdsall as gunfire erupted from the prison’s perimeter wall behind them. Suddenly there was gunfire from the front. They were Americans.

  “Your brother’s squad?” Night Stalker shouted.

  “No, too soon. They’re Camp Blanding, Florida,” Kafka shouted back.

  As the Camp Blanding forces were inexperienced with the undead drones, they were vastly underprepared and quickly overwhelmed. There were screams of terror as the hungry undead sunk their jagged teeth into army flesh.

  Kafka, Night Stalker, and Barry Birdsall ran for the beach where a cigarette boat had pulled up during the commotion and was waiting for them.

  “Get in,” Kafka ordered Barry, and Barry obeyed.

  The boat zoomed off into international waters. After a while, the driver eased off of the throttle and the boat slowed to a stop. There was a disturbance on the water next to the boat. The tower of a small submarine broke the surface next to them.

  “Jump,” Kafka ordered Barry. Night Stalker jumped into the water and swam to the submarine. Barry jumped rather clumsily in, almost hitting his head on the side of the boat. Kafka tossed a black bag up onto the bridge of the submarine. Belmont was there to catch it.

  Then Kafka jumped into the water.

  The battle at GITMO outside the prison was brief. The three hundred odd drones that remained walked toward the beach and into the Caribbean Sea. As the heads of the final undead drones disappeared under the surf, Peter’s Black Hawks came thundering over the beach.

  They set down on the beachhead, and his squad quickly fell into formation.

  “Shit, looks like we missed the party,” said Peter surveying the bodies. There were a few reanimated soldiers staggering about the carnage.

  “What a mess,” said Kettle looking at the bodies in the sand. “Three to four dead soldiers for every dead drone.”

  Peter took aim and fired a shot right through the left eye socket of an approaching reanimated soldier. “All right, men, up we go to the facility. Alpha and Beta Squads, you take Camp X-Ray. Delta and Gamma Squad, you take the prison. Let’s move.”

  “You did it,” said Belmont, opening the black bag. “The components are now in our possession.”

  “Nice submarine,” Kafka said.

  “I got it from the Russians on sale,” Belmont said. It’s terribly outdated, but the price was right.”

  “I have to admit,” said Night Stalker begrudgingly to Kafka, “that was some slight-of-hand you did.”

  “When I turned her around and reached into her bag, she assumed I was putting the RGT components into her knapsack instead of C4 strapped to thermite,” said Kafka. “That was why I let her know it was me. So she would trust me.”

  “That’s cold, even for me,” said Night Stalker.

  “She had it coming,” said Kafka, “and the best part is, now the military thinks we blew up the RGT prototype. They have no doubt stashed away the schematics to build others, but they don’t know we now possess it.”

  “Carl? Is that you?” asked Barry.

  “Yes, Dad. I came for you.”

  “You planted explosives on Fiona.”

  “She was the one who planted the RGT in your house to spy on you.”

  “RGT. What is all of this?”

  “Fiona spied on you to get to me. The army had decided that I was too dangerous, so they tried to kill me. They took you prisoner as leverage.”

  Barry looked startled. “I was afraid of something like this. They were afraid of you, Carl.”

  “The way you are looking at me, you seem to be afraid of me, too, Dad.”

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “More changes.”

  “Who are these people?”

  Belmont stepped forward. “I am Simon Belmont. This is Yvette, and this surly assassin is Night Stalker.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” Barry asked.

  “We went through a heck of a lot of trouble to get you, Mr. Birdsall,” said Belmont.

  “And, incidentally, the RGT,” said Kafka sarcastically.

  “We both got what we wanted,” said Belmont.

  “Who are you guys?” asked Barry.

  “We already told you our names,” said Belmont. “You mean who do we represent?”

  “Yes,” said Barry, “that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “The Order for International Liberation,” said Yvette.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” said Barry emphatically. “So this is who you’re running with now, Carl? The bastards who murdered your mother.”

  “I wasn’t behind that,” said Belmont. “It was very regrettable.”

  Barry lunged for Belmont, but Kafka held him back with one arm. “You’re goddamned right it was very regrettable,” Barry snarled.

  “Easy, Dad,” said Kafka. “They promised to help me. I’m a dead man back in the states. There’s no going home.”

  “You-you can turn yourself in,” said Barry. “They’d protect you.”

  “They’d try to kill me again. This helmet is the only thing keeping me alive. It blocks the signal to a kill switch in my head. The kill switch that Peter tried to activate.”

  “Your brother?” said Barry incredulously. “He’d never do such a thing.”

  “Well, he did it, Dad, and Fiona planted the bug in your house and took you prisoner.”

  “Bug, what bug? Where?”

  “In your television,” said Kafka, “and that’s not all. You were the pilot. They plan to install this into every television and mini-com across the country without telling anyone, all under the guise of the Second Patriot Act.”

  “The Second Patriot Act,” Barry said, “that’s just a rumor.”

  “It’s almost law,” said Belmont. “Congress is mulling it over as we speak.”

  “How do you know all about this, terrorist?” asked Barry.

  “I am not a terrorist, Mr. Birdsall. I’m a liberator, as you have just witnessed personally. I know about this because the American government created us as an external threat that would justify the use of emergency powers. Now that they will have the green light to go ahead with this technology, they will use it to spy on its own citizenry.”

  “You always said the government was getting too big, too powerful,” said Kafka to Barry.

  “The army used your son as well. This RGT technology is tied to the same technology used in your son’s unit,” said Belmont.

  “You mean the zombies?” asked Barry.

  “Yes, Dad. But that’s enough for now. There’s a whole story behind what’s happening to me. We can discuss that another time. The important thing is that you are safe.”

  “Come with me, Mr. Birdsall,” said Yvette. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Barry looked tentatively at his son, but he couldn’t make out anything under that motorcycle-style helmet. For some reason, Barry didn’t feel safe. Kafka gestured for his father to follow, and Barry let Yvette take him by the hand.

  Kafka waited until they were out of the Captain’s quarters, the door shut behind them. “So what’s next?”

  “First we reassemble and refit our new toy,” said Belmont. “Then we move onto phase two.”

  “Italy,” said Kafka.

  Chapter 13

  The Next day

  09:00 HRS

  “We must’ve just missed them, sir,” said Peter.

  “Well, they made minced meat out of the naval base and the men from Camp Blanding. What a mess. The media is eating it all up. Worst of all, they’re
calling for your brother to help like he’s our goddamned secret weapon. At least they didn’t get their hands on the RGT.”

  “Why did they take my father, sir?”

  “Leverage. They, too, think your brother is still alive.”

  “That means OIL didn’t take him, because they’d know he’s dead,” said Peter.

  “That also explains why our raid on OIL safe houses turned up zilch regarding your brother. So the real question is: who the hell took him?”

  “If he was even taken at all,” added Peter, “but his mini-com was smashed.”

  “Maybe he was hit by a car and he crawled into the wilderness somewhere.”

  “Number one: why would he crawl away from people?” Peter pointed out. “Two: the searches would’ve found him.”

  “Sorry to hear about Captain London,” Betancourt said looking down at his desk. “I know she was your therapist in the program.”

  Peter remembered the night in Frisky’s when she came to tell him that he was in the program. She was stunning. “What was she doing at GITMO, sir?”

  “She was one of our top intelligence officers, Captain. She was working on RGT, developing it.”

  “Obviously. Why was she ever stationed at Fort Bliss in the Infantry Drone Program?”

  “She was developing the RGT there and using it to monitor the soldiers involved in the program,” said Betancourt. “Kill two birds with one stone.”

  Peter remembered standing outside her office and submitting to the retinal scanner. When he entered, the therapeutic ambiance program had conjured up some scene from his memories. He was foolish to believe that the army would use that kind of technology simply for therapeutic milieu.

  “Obviously, the RGT was what the brass wanted developed. So why the Infantry Drone Program?” asked Peter.

  Betancourt sighed heavily. “Because we didn’t have the funding for RGT yet…too controversial, but we did have it for the Infantry Drone Program.”

  “Kill two birds with one stone,” Peter said.

  “Exactly, Captain. Congress is going to pass the Second Patriot Act, especially after this fiasco at GITMO. I don’t think I need to sketch it all out for you.”