He needed to stay off the grid.
The biggest problem was that this part of Fox Island was upscale. Big homes. Money. And with the money came the domestic security systems. He knew he could bypass anything, but he lacked even a basic set of tools.
He was scared, cold, desperate, and wild.
All of that was what made people make stupid mistakes. He could not afford to make a single mistake. Not one.
It would get him killed, and it wouldn’t help Matthew.
It would also guarantee that the world—the whole damn world—would fall apart. There were only hours left until the Kings used Regis and the other programs to change the world.
To destroy it.
To destroy Matthew’s world.
“No,” he told himself as he staggered along a service alley between estates. It was the kind of passage used by meter readers and landscapers. He was shivering badly, and the pain in his feet was awful.
Then he saw it. Fifty feet ahead. Just standing there as if planted in his path by providence.
An open gate.
A goddamn open gate.
How or why it was open didn’t matter. A utility-company man who didn’t care. A lawn cutter who wasn’t doing his job. What did it matter?
Davidovich approached it cautiously, ducking down to use the cover of a thick row of hedges. As he approached the gate, he knelt down and crawled the rest of the way on hands and knees, then cautiously peered around the gatepost. Beyond it was a half acre of green grass, flowerbeds, a swing set, and a toolshed.
A toolshed.
A fucking toolshed.
It would be locked, of course. But no one puts an alarm on a toolshed.
A sob broke in Davidovich’s chest as he crawled through the gate and onto the soft, cool grass. He stumbled getting up and ran most of the way on hands and feet, hunched over like a dog.
Chapter Ninety-four
UC San Diego Medical Center
200 West Arbor Drive
San Diego, California
March 31, 6:28 P.M.
Toys knew he should leave the hospital. He’d shared his information with Church and showed his support for Circe and Junie. But now he was doing nothing more useful than being a gofer. He fetched coffee, did a run to the nearest sandwich shop, and read a lot of magazines.
Church had somehow commandeered a doctor’s office and turned it into a situation room. Technicians arrived with portable computers. More armed guards showed up, too. The whole hospital was becoming an armed camp, though if anyone in administration had a problem with it, Toys didn’t hear them complain out loud.
Junie and Banshee were camped out in Circe’s room with Lydia Ruiz standing outside.
Toys was sipping a diet Dr Pepper when he heard a sound and turned to see a pale and shaken Rudy Sanchez limp slowly out of his room. Rudy wore a hospital gown and a troubled look. When he spotted Toys, he beckoned him over and retreated back into his room.
“Are you sure you should be out of bed?” asked Toys as he came into the room.
“I’m certain I shouldn’t be,” said Rudy. “Why are you here?”
Toys explained. He’d met Sanchez a number of times, and, unlike Joe Ledger and some of the soldiers, Rudy never showed him disrespect or hostility. Rather, the reverse. The doctor was always gracious to him. Toys wasn’t sure if that was good manners or if Sanchez believed in Toys’s reformation. Not that it mattered, but it was nice not to see open contempt in someone’s eyes.
“Can I get you something?” asked Toys awkwardly. “A nurse, some food … anything?”
Rudy attempted a smile. It was appalling and false. “You can go find me some clothes. Hospital scrubs will do. I still have my shoes, and my walking stick is somewhere around here…”
“Clothes? Why?”
“So I can get out of here. I want you to help me.”
Toys shook his head. “Uh-uh, no way am I helping you do that. Mr. Church will have my guts for garters.”
Rudy shook his head. “Not if we don’t tell him where I got the clothes. Come on, Mr. Chismer. As I recall, you have a reputation for accomplishing anything asked of you. This is asking very little. See what you can do.”
Chapter Ninety-five
Over Illinois Airspace
March 31, 6:41 P.M. Central Time
I forwarded all the information to Church’s computer. It took a dozen tries to get the big man on the phone, though. He was a busy man at the best of times, and right now he was like one of those circus performers who puts spinning plates on the top of slender wooden sticks and keeps adding more until he has a lot of plates spinning. Every few seconds, the performer has to shake one pole to keep a plate from wobbling and falling, then spins another and another. Soon, his entire life is nothing but going from one near disaster to another.
Church was very good at it, and today he had a lot of crockery up in the air.
When we spoke, he was already reviewing the notes I’d sent. He wasn’t happy.
“I think you’ve found the back-trail,” he said. “Congratulations on that.”
“Top and Bunny did more than their share.”
“No doubt. It’s troubling—but not entirely surprising—that the Kings have found a way to block MindReader.”
“You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Of course. They have Davidovich, and he built a quantum computer for them.”
“Can I quit now and go live in a monastery?”
“Save me a seat,” said Church.
“It’s pretty clear why they targeted Bug’s mom,” I said. “They wanted him out of the game.”
“At the same time,” added Church, “they wanted him to be a witness. They wanted him to see the failure of MindReader.”
“It’s a kind of torture, isn’t it?” I said. “What they’re doing. Hurting those we love. Scaring us.”
“Are you frightened, Captain?”
“Sure.”
“Is it likely to stop you?”
“Of course not. Nothing’s going to stop me. No way in hell.”
“What does that tell you?”
I thought about it. “Either they’re underestimating us…”
“Or?”
“Or they don’t need to stop us. Just slow us down. Make us react wrong.”
“Why?”
“It would have to be a timing thing. It’s like a magic trick. The magician shows you the inside of his hat, let’s you look up his sleeve, and all the while the bunch of flowers is stuffed into a hidden pocket.”
“Yes,” he said.
I sighed. “Does that mean Regis is only a distraction?”
“Impossible to say in the absence of more information. However, even as a distraction, they are doing considerable damage with it.”
“Which leaves us where? Do we keep following Regis and the drones? Or should we be looking somewhere else?”
“And where would that be?” asked Church.
I said nothing because there was nothing to say. The Kings were giving us one trail to follow and then abusing us for following it.
Church changed the subject and brought me quickly up to speed about what was going on at the hospital, which was mostly a goddamn frustrating holding pattern.
“I’m leaving San Diego in a few hours to meet with the president in Los Angeles. This reaction to the Resort tape seems to have leveled off at a high boil but hasn’t gotten worse.”
“Can it actually get worse?”
“It can, if Congress decides to impeach.”
“Will they?”
“Many will want to, but cooler heads realize that we’re in the middle of a national crisis. The timing might work for the president. If he can respond effectively against the Seven Kings, then he’ll likely save his presidency. This term, at least. I wouldn’t bet heavy money on a second term at this point. In either case, the hit in Philadelphia has given him some room to maneuver. I want to make sure that he uses that time to act intelligently and
not politically.”
“Ouch,” I said.
“We need to be adults about this,” he said.
“No argument.”
“About the material you sent. Unfortunately, I have to agree that there is a definite pattern, but that means I need to agree with Nikki as well. The Kings have found a way to block MindReader.”
“I can take a wild guess how. With that quantum computer thingee?”
“Clearly. Yoda is working on it, but I’m afraid he’s out of his depth.”
“I hate to be a total prick here,” I said, “but what about Bug? Could he figure something out? I mean … if he knew about the QC. With that in mind, could he find a way to either block the block, or remove it, or whatever you’d call it?”
Church took a long time with that.
“Perhaps. Bug is a genius, but he would be the first to agree with me that he is not in the same league as Aaron Davidovich.”
“Is anyone?” I asked hopefully.
“No. That is the problem with radical supergeniuses. The world always catches up, but the lag time is problematic.”
“What can we do about it?”
“About things like autonomous drive systems in cars and public transit, I doubt there is anything that anyone can do. Not in the short term. We can hardly have the president tell the nation to abandon their cars and avoid all public transit. The country would grind to a halt, and there is no infrastructure prepared to address or correct the situation. We are talking several million cars with some version of SafeZone. And virtually every commercial airline.”
“We have to do something…”
“We can advise caution. We can advise the FAA to instruct all pilots to keep autopilot systems off.”
“Which will result in a backlash. Pilots will go on strike.”
“Or try to,” agreed Church. “The same for inner-city rail.”
“So far as I see it, the only break we caught was the fact that the ballpark hit was on a Sunday when the market was already closed.”
“It’s a break, Captain, but I would hope you’re as suspicious of it as I am. It would be too catastrophic an error for the Kings to make to choose the wrong day for their attack.”
“Yeah, damn it…” I sighed. “Damn, I wish there was something or someone I could hit. Or shoot. Shooting would feel good, too.”
“For once, I reciprocate the sentiment.”
I believe he meant it, too.
“Any new disasters?” I asked.
“The biological attack in Chula Vista is on the front burner. I’m waiting for the lab analysis of the pathogen.”
“It’s viral?”
“General term. It could be any of a number of things. Viruses and bacteria are at the top of our list, though. You’ll take charge of that once you’re on the ground. If any fresh intel comes up before you’re wheels down, I’ll let you know.”
He ended the call.
I put my phone away and went to look at the wall again. Lots of disasters, lots of deaths. It was clear to all of us that the Seven Kings were not only playing a game whose rules were unknown to us. They were winning hands down, too.
Chapter Ninety-six
UC San Diego Medical Center
200 West Arbor Drive
San Diego, California
March 31, 6:46 P.M.
Rudy used his cane to knock on the door of the room Church was using as his command center. Church glanced up and waved him in.
“Did your doctor clear you to get out of bed?” asked Church.
“No,” said Rudy, “and we’re not having a conversation about my going back to bed.”
Church leaned back in his chair. “What would you prefer to talk about?”
“I want to help.”
“How?”
“Doing anything that you’ll let me do.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Church. “Accurate assessment, if you please. I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Nor am I,” said Rudy with asperity. “I’m useless lying in a hospital bed. Someone has attacked my wife, my friends. You are pressed for resources right now. I’m a resource. Use me.”
There was a plate of cookies on Church’s desk. Mostly vanilla wafers but also some Oreos and animal crackers. He pushed the plate toward Rudy.
“Have a cookie.”
Chapter Ninety-seven
Fox Island
Hale Passage, Puget Sound
Pierce County, Washington
March 31, 6:49 P.M.
Aaron Davidovich crouched beside the toolshed and watched the house for almost twenty minutes, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering. The curtains were drawn. There were no toys in the yard. No dogs barked.
He snuck around the side of the house and looked at the big front yard and the strong, high security fence. It was closed. No cars in the gravel turnaround. When he peered through the garage, he saw a single car in there, but it was covered by a big tarp. There was a spiderweb strung between the mailbox and the light pole beside the front door. The web looked old, abandoned.
When he opened the flap of the mailbox, there was nothing inside. If no one was home and there was no mail in the box, there was a good chance whoever lived here had stopped mail delivery.
That was a blessing.
There were small metal signs on the lawn and stickers in the window from a well-known and highly respected security company. Davidovich almost laughed. Home-security systems could costs thousands, sometimes tens of thousands. But even the very best of them relied on technology that a first-year computer-engineering student could bypass in his sleep. Davidovich had designed the world’s most sophisticated software and hardware systems. Regis and the QC. This kind of security wasn’t a challenge. It was a gift.
Returning to the yard, he used a decorative rock to break the hasp and remove the lock on the toolshed. Inside, he found a lawn mower, rakes and shovels, bags of compost, stacks of empty clay pots, weed killer, and a yellow plastic toolbox. Inside the toolbox were beat-up old tools. Screwdrivers and hammers, an odd assortment of screws and nails. Wire cutters, a socket-wrench set for fixing the mower.
He selected the tools he’d need and hugged them to his chest.
Davidovich said, “Thank you.”
He did not, however, know exactly whom he was thanking.
Chapter Ninety-eight
San Diego International Airport
March 31, 8:03 P.M.
I landed in San Diego and was met by Mike Harnick, the head of the motor pool and vehicles design shop at the Pier. He was actually polishing the hood with a rag when we came out of the terminal. Mike has something of an unhealthy relationship with the cars and trucks that he oversees. He kind of hates that he has to turn them over to guys like me who might, in the course of a day’s work, get them blown up.
Ghost saw him and began wagging his tail. Mike usually has treats in his pocket. Totally outside combat-dog protocols, but I have so far not been able to get that point across to him.
When Mike spotted us, he tucked the rag in his back pocket and came over to shake hands. Mike was one of several key players from the Warehouse whom I’d coerced into moving to Southern California. Unlike some, who were dedicated East Coasters, Mike had embraced the change. He wore a Hawaiian shirt with a pattern of classic cars and Route 101 signs. He wore shorts and sandals and had a pair of Oliver Peoples sunglasses pushed up on his hair. Ghost went running to him, tail wagging, and I made sure I didn’t see the Snausages Mike covertly slipped him.
Mike’s smile, though, looked a bit like it was hammered in place with roofing nails.
“Hell of a day,” he said as we shook.
“Hell of a day,” I agreed.
He turned and swept an arm toward the car. “Say hello to Ugly Betty.”
Ugly Betty was a brand-new Escalade with a lot of aftermarket work. I believe Mike prays nightly in a church dedicated to Q from the James Bond flicks. The car looked like every other black Escalade, but I k
new that it was reinforced like a tank, weighed an absurd amount, and had an engine that could push all that weight up to about ninety and hold her there all day. Oversize armored gas tank with battery backup. Wi-Fi with satellite uplink. Machine guns, fore and aft rocket launchers. Everything.
“How’s it take a curve?” I asked suspiciously. “Black Bess looked pretty and all, but she steered like a damn cow. This one any better?”
Mike grinned. “Depends on whether you know how to drive.”
I showed him a lot of teeth. “I get into a wreck with this ’cause it’s a slow piece of unmaneuverable elephant shit, you and me are going to have a long conversation. Knives may be involved. Warning you ahead of time.”
“Damn, Joe, you’re getting cranky in your old age.”
“Keep talking, Doctor Truckenstein, but don’t come crying to me if you wake up dead one morning.”
Harnick’s grin never faltered, and he mouthed the word “Truckenstein.” I suspect it was going to be his new nickname.
He handed me a set of keys. “She’s gassed and ready. GPS is programmed with the crime scene and the hospital where they took the bodies.”
I thanked him and climbed in. The vehicle was absurdly comfortable, which felt good on all the parts of me that still hurt from the ballpark disaster. I saw that Mike had gone the extra yard and left a bag of extra-large dog biscuits. Ghost jumped into the back seat and came to point staring at them like he’d just discovered the Holy Grail. I gave him one, and he retreated into the back bay with his booty.
I wasn’t sure I was up for a lot of driving. The scalpel cut on my forearm was beginning to itch under the bandage, my head hurt, and all of those other little aches and pains were still loitering around. I’d popped a couple of nondrowsy painkillers on the plane, but they were accomplishing exactly nothing. So I winced and cursed and damned Mike and everyone I ever knew to hellfire as I buckled up and adjusted the mirrors.
Mike stepped back and waved at me while I headed out of the airport. I wasn’t even on Route 5 yet when I got a call from Rudy.