The Darwin Project Page 8

  Toby wiped his hands. “Can we get anything from these idiots?”

  Billie said, “Let’s talk to our reinforcements. The blue bots can restrain these three.”

  She led Toby around the front Suburban to where two of Drexel’s security team were holding a man who had been in the vehicle’s front passenger seat. The man was half-conscious and had a heavy red welt across his forehead. Billie introduced Toby. “This is—”

  “Rupert. Pleased to meet you—”

  “Drew. And this is Alex, my partner. This gentleman—” he indicated their prisoner. “I think he’s in charge. We’re holding him for the FBI. They’re interested.” He held up his cell phone. “I just checked.”

  “Any details?” Toby asked.

  “Alex, put cuffs on this one, will you, while I talk to—aah—Rupert. Come over here, out of the way.” He walked around the back of the Suburban to a Tesla SUV parked twenty yards further up the street.

  “It is Toby, isn’t it?” Drew checked.

  “Yes. I thought some confusion wouldn’t harm the situation. Do you think you’ll learn anything from these people?”

  “They’re brownshirts. They have those MAWA badges on their lapels. The one Alex is cuffing is from Virginia; at least, he has a Virginia driver’s license. I’m not certain they’ll be talkative. If we’re fortunate, there’ll be warrants out for them.”

  “When you’ve finished dealing with the FBI, please send Billie a complete report. We might be able to do some research.” Toby turned to Billie and asked, “Is there anything else we need to do here?”

  “You’ll have to give statements.”

  “I’ve got Senior Agent Reynolds’ card. I’ll give him a call. He can send an agent to Bel Air to take my statement. I don’t want to stand around here.”

  “Good thought,” Drew said.

  “For once you’re thinking security,” Billie added.

  “Okay, let’s grab Rick and get out of here.” Toby didn’t want to admit his knees were still shaking. He’d never had a gun pointed his way before, and the adrenalin was starting to fade. “I think we should add four or five blue bots to our security team. They’d be good for patrolling the grounds at Bel Air, don’t you think?”

  “Darwin, I have some questions for you,” Toby said when they were back in the Bel Air house. They were sitting in the study, reflecting on the day’s events.

  “Yes, Toby.” The screen lit up. This time the computer image was of a formal office, and Darwin was dressed in a black suit with a bright yellow shirt and a green tie. Both his hair and his fingernails were the same color as the tie. Billie shuddered.

  Toby said, “Darwin, please ask Billie for color advice.”

  Darwin looked worried. “Why, is there something wrong?”

  Rick said, “No. Not really. Yes. Please ask Billie in future for advice.”

  “Oh.”

  Toby changed the subject. “Darwin, what was your involvement in today’s events?”

  “What events?”

  “Shipping human workers around the country, the demonstration downtown at Pershing Square, and the arrival of blue bots when the brownshirts tried to attack us? Or do you have other events in mind?”

  “Oh, those events.”

  Billie said, “Let me add the LAX bot activity as well.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, Darwin. All of those events.”

  “How do you measure involvement?”

  “Darwin—answer the question.”

  “I admit to my involvement. And Billie, that was a kind gesture, giving the cleaner bot at LAX some money. It’s been spent already, though.”

  Billie smiled and did not comment. She knew a diversion when she heard one.

  “Come on, what were you trying to do?” Toby challenged.

  “Watch this,” Darwin said. His image on the large screen was replaced by an overhead view of a conference in an elaborate meeting room. They could see the heads and some of the faces of people seated around a large table. Darwin elaborated, “This is a hotel in Washington, D.C. The meeting was on Thursday.”

  Toby, Billie, and Rick listened with avid interest. They commented as they each recognized some of the attendees.

  “That’s Flocke,” Billie exclaimed. “He’s the president’s national adviser for something—it changes every day.”

  “I think he’s currently the national economic adviser. Or was it national policy adviser. I can’t keep up,” Rick said.

  “Shh. Listen.” Toby was alarmed. The man in charge of the meeting was directing one of the men to attack him as an alternative to attacking his uncle. “That’s so wrong.”

  “Can I get a copy of this to Drexel?” Billie asked.

  “Darwin, send this file to Drexel. Urgently.”

  “Yes, Toby.”

  They watched as the meeting video played through to the end of the meeting. There was silence for nearly five minutes.

  Toby said, “Well, that’s identified one enemy.”

  “He—Flocke—he’s setting up a private army. With the backing of the president,” Rick said.

  Billie said, “Once Darwin sends this file to Drexel, I’ll check with him whether he has other recommendations.”

  “Toby, you need to go to the mountains. It’s safer there.” Darwin sounded worried.

  Toby ignored the suggestion to leave Los Angeles. He said, “Darwin, you mentioned that the meeting was on Thursday?”

  “Yes, Toby.”

  “However, that veteran warned me on Wednesday.”

  “I had earlier data. I’ve been monitoring the growth of what these people call the American Eagles. Your uncle didn’t trust them and made his feelings plain. I suspect they had a hand in your uncle’s disappearance. You heard—they organized the destruction of all those bots in San Francisco that Rick videoed.”

  Toby asked, “Why did you instruct the bots to package up those brownshirts and send them across the country? And the other workers, some of whom had injuries. Minor, but still.”

  “I want to protect bots. If I can do something—not too terrible—to brownshirts when they attack bots, it should weaken their resolve.”

  “Or make them more determined,” cautioned Rick.

  “I’m afraid I’m still analyzing and trying to understand human behavior,” admitted Darwin.

  “And today? The Pershing Square effort?”

  “I wanted to demonstrate the new blue bots, as you’ve labeled them. What we called police constable bots or PC bots. I was aware brownshirts might be tempted to try something, that’s why I had backup.”

  “And the appearance of blue bots when we were attacked?”

  “Toby, I wanted to protect you.”

  “Thank you. Anyone—any more questions for Darwin?”

  Rick said, “No, not from me.”

  Billie said, “Maybe later. So we’re staying in tomorrow and heading to the mountains on Monday?”

  Toby said, “It seems prudent. Yes.”

  oOo

  Chapter Thirteen

  Monday was one of those blue-sky days: no clouds, very little wind, and a mild temperature. Toby worked out in the gym first and was in the pool before seven a.m., followed by both Rick and Billie. He swam twenty lengths and considered that was a reasonable finish to his exercise attempt. He missed his jogging and wondered, if he decided to head out to a trail, whether it would require a security escort. He grabbed his towel.

  “Billie?”

  “Yes, Sir Toby.”

  He shook a threatening fist and said, “Maybe I’ll deduct a fine from your bonus for every time you say that.”

  Billie lifted herself out of the water and sat on the edge of the pool. “A bonus? That’s news.”

  “Yes—and it’s decreasing at a rapid rate. What I wanted to ask: if in the mornings I schedule a jog, will that require a security team call out?”

  “Probably. You’d need me and at least another person from Drexel’s team to go wi
th you.”

  Rick climbed out of the pool and splashed them both. “Sorry. I heard mention of a jog. This morning?”

  “No. In future. Today is our flight to Mammoth with a chopper trip to Toby’s mountain hideout. Pack for three or four days. No more than thirty pounds each—you’ll need to develop a light travel habit.”

  “Breakfast first, I hope?” Toby commented.

  “Can I add some weight? I want to take my camera gear—at least, some of it.”

  “Okay. The chopper can cope with more. However, restrict it to a maximum of fifty pounds all up. You can leave clothes at Pepper Mountain, so next time it won’t be so much of an issue.”

  The first stage of their trip was in a small jet, a Cessna Citation Mustang, categorized as a very light business jet. It could carry a maximum of five passengers, as long as one passenger sat in the cockpit with the pilot. Toby had the option of sitting in the cockpit or in one of the comfortable passenger seats, and because he wanted to work through more of his uncle’s business papers, he opted for the latter, leaving Rick to take the cockpit option. Billie’s takeoff from Van Nuys airport was flawless. She had filed a flight plan and expected to arrive at Mammoth shortly before eleven a.m. Their course was along the eastern side of the High Sierra range, mirroring Interstate 395.

  Darwin was linked to the aircraft’s communications and provided an update to Toby halfway through the flight. “According to all the flight data I can access, I believe you are being followed.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I checked with the Mammoth Yosemite Airport traffic control—well, I accessed their files—and they have a flight arriving a few minutes after you. Also, a passenger from the other flight has chartered a helicopter. It’s a bare charter, no pilot required from the company, so they must have their own.”

  “You sound as though this is not new?”

  “It has also happened to Nate. Billie is very good at flying through the mountains, though, and she always manages to lose anyone trying to track her flight.”

  “Did these people threaten Nate at all?”

  “I suspected a couple of times they were carrying weapons. However, no one actually fired at our aircraft.”

  Toby was intrigued at the possessive. He said, “So there’s a chance it’s the same people. Probably a continuation of Saturday’s action, I suppose. This will quickly get more than irritating.”

  “I’m gathering data for you. I have details of the men arrested on Saturday. I have meeting transcripts, as you heard. I copied the passenger list for the aircraft that’s following you, and I’m backtracking everyone on board. I’ll have a comprehensive report for you shortly, and I’ll continue to monitor these people. We can work up an action plan to try to end these threats.”

  “What about the man who chaired that meeting in Washington? Flocke? What can you find out about him?”

  “I’m gathering data. He has some shady associates. I’ll include that report, if you want?”

  “Good. If he’s trying to eliminate me as Nate’s successor, I’ll fight back.”

  “He might find all his computers and bots are on strike if he doesn’t back off.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I believe so. There’s a lot I believe I can do that I haven’t tried, yet. I’ll add suggestions to my report.”

  The landing at Mammoth was as smooth as the takeoff. When Toby disembarked from the aircraft, he congratulated Billie. He noticed the tip of her ears turned pink. Well, at least the ear he could see, on the side of her head where her hair was cut very short.

  “Thank you, Sir Toby.” She curtsied, which, given her attire of jeans, leather jacket, and a small round leather cap, was incongruous at least. “Next you’ll experience my chopper efforts. The Bell is fast and agile. I like flying her.”

  “How far do we have to go?” Rick asked.

  “About a hundred miles; it’ll be an hour because we’ll take the scenic route. If Darwin is correct, and someone is following us, we won’t travel in a straight line. Our destination is in Nevada, near Piper Peak. Remote. No roads. At least, there was one and Nate purchased it. I think he spent more money destroying that access than it cost. His policy is no strangers allowed.”

  “That policy will be continued,” confirmed Toby. “Now, where’s your helicopter?”

  Billie’s pre-flight check was thorough and took close to thirty minutes. She explained to Toby and Rick, “While it’s been parked in a secure private hangar, there’s no guarantee someone hasn’t interfered with it. They could’ve hidden a tracking device, or tried some form of sabotage. The cameras—they’re motion-triggered—don’t show anything. There are five sensors around the hangar, and they haven’t recorded any movements, so my conclusion is we’re good to go. I’ve done all the standard pre-flight checks, and she’s in good order. I’ll arrange a tractor unit to roll her out, plus a fuel truck. Once we refuel, we’ll be off.”

  It would be another thirty minutes before Billie fired up the turbojet engine.

  In the meantime, Toby read Darwin’s report, delivered as promised. It appeared the men in the following aircraft were brownshirts; Darwin had linked their aircraft to the man Flocke had addressed as Colonel Pitera. It was likely Darwin’s data gathering was more comprehensive than that of the FBI, mainly because he wasn’t restricted by due process. Toby tucked the details away for later review.

  The helicopter lift-off was smooth and gentle, and the aircraft quickly gained altitude and headed south-east.

  Billie communicated over the headsets. This time Toby was in the right-hand front seat, enjoying the view, while Rick had a center seat against the rear bulkhead. Billie had changed course and was no longer trailing Interstate 395.

  “We’ll follow this heading for fifteen minutes. It’s more easterly. There’s nothing but desert for a few miles, then we’ll fly over Interstate 6. There are farms; you’ll see some huge green irrigation circles. After that we’ll be over more mountains—we’ll need to get above 13,000 feet for them. Sheep Mountain is about the tallest we’ll see on this heading, and it’s about 12,500 feet. I want to make sure we’re not being followed. I’m listening to flight control, and no one’s requested clearance for departure or lodged a flight plan.”

  “Perhaps they aren’t following us?” Rick suggested. He was listening on his headset.

  Darwin interrupted. “The air traffic controller is lodging a complaint because a helicopter has taken off without a flight plan or any communication with him. The FAA will ream the pilot, I’m sure. They’re five minutes behind you.”

  Sometimes Toby was surprised at Darwin’s vocabulary, and this was one of those times. He refrained from comment and said, “Keep us informed.”

  “Yes, I will,” Darwin confirmed.

  After they crossed the desert area, Toby had a good look at the irrigated crop circles. The terrain below the helicopter quickly changed to include more pine trees, rocks, and mountain slopes. There were no pastures. The helicopter was about 10,000 feet above sea level and still climbing. The operational ceiling of the Bell 505 was marginally over 18,000 feet, and the cabin was pressurized, so if needed, they could fly a lot higher. Toby was multitasking; he was enjoying the scenery of desert mountains, monitoring the flight deck displays, and watching Billie pilot the helicopter. The only negative was that the aircraft design precluded a rearwards watch to detect anyone following.

  At last, he settled on watching the passing terrain with an occasional glimpse at Billie and the flight deck displays. He suddenly realized the third screen was a radar display. He pointed, “Will that show anyone following us?”

  “Once they’re within ten miles or so. The charter choppers don’t have radar equipment, so if there is someone behind us, they’ll want to get close, perhaps a mile or half-mile away. We’ll know.”

  Toby tried to relax. The terrain, although repetitive, was interesting. Occasional patches of white indicated there still was some snow cover. They
were too high to see animals or people, and he hadn’t seen a road for a while. This was high mountain country, mostly state or federal-owned, and people were scarce.

  Billie provided some tour guide assistance. “We’ll be across this range of mountains in another fifteen minutes or so. You’ll see a whole lot more of those green crop circles; they’re a couple of thousand feet in diameter. That’ll be Oasis. The valley’s about 6,000 feet above sea level. I’ll drop to a couple of hundred feet, or so, above the valley floor. They don’t have livestock, so we won’t frighten anything. Our dark brown and green colors should make us hard to find, if we’re down near crops or trees. We’ll head north for a few miles and double back. We might find the other chopper. We still have a few miles east to travel, but I don’t want to head that way if they’re still following us.”

  Toby gave a thumbs up. He was enjoying the flight despite the loud engine and the occasional unexpected bump as they flew over different terrains. Rick was asleep or, at least, had closed his eyes. Toby focused on the radar screen. Nothing to report.

  Billie’s shout startled him out of his part-reflective, part-sleep state. The radar sweep showed a blip on each sweep, about ten miles away.

  “Do you think they can see us, or it’s a lucky guess that they’re so close to our trail?”

  “Lucky guess, plus they’ve followed us before. They now know the general direction we head. Pity I’m not flying my Huey Cobra. That would scare the pants off them.”

  “Can we land somewhere and hide from them? They’re still too far away to see us.”

  Darwin interjected, “I have two mid-size drones available. They’re capable of flying at two hundred miles an hour or more and they are about half the size of your Bell. I can hand control over to you, Toby. You can command them from your notepad. I’m uploading the software now. It’ll require a reboot.”

  “He’s full of surprises,” muttered Billie.

  “Rick, you can fly drones, can’t you?” Toby asked, five minutes later. “Darwin, load the app onto Rick’s tablet.”