Predator One (42 page)

“No. Nothing of use other than to warn you to be careful of that psychotic son of a bitch Nicodemus. Sebastian and
Hugo all but worshipped him, and everyone else was terrified of him. I know I was. I…”

“What?”

“No, you’ll think I’m daft.”

“Try me.”

“I … I don’t think Nicodemus is exactly what he appears to be.”

“And what does he appear to be?”

“Human.”

Chapter Ninety-three

Fox Island

Hale Passage, Puget Sound

Pierce County, Washington

March 31, 6:19
P.M.

Aaron Davidovich knew that hitchhiking was out of the question. He had no money, no shoes, no chance of being seen as anything except a vagrant or a threat. By now, the Kings would have people out looking for him. They would be driving the roads, listening to police reports.

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.