Title: Lone Crusaders
Author: knightshade
Fandoms: Knight Rider and The Lone Gunmen crossover
Type: Gen, Action Adventure, some Angst, and questions of AI Sentience
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Glen A. Larson and Universal have the Knight Rider clan and I'm pretty sure the Gunmen object to anyone owning them, but Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, and probably others have a stake.
Summary: While on a case in Washington DC, the Foundation becomes the target of a high tech thief and meets a strange group of newspaper men chasing a story about an artificial intelligence housed in a car. Can they keep Kitt safe?
Notes: I found this in a nearly complete state on my hard drive recently, although most of it was probably written 10 years ago. Funny how the last 90 percent of any effort seems to take the most time. The other chapters are done, they just need polishing so they should be available soon.
And yes, yes, the times don't line up. I realize that Michael, Kitt, and company inhabit the 80's and that Frohike, Byers, Langly, and company inhabit the late 90s and aughts. I'm going with Article 13, Subarticle 272, Paragraph 12 of the Artistic License which clearly states that as long as an artist acknowledges her use of artistic license, she's good. For purposes of putting them in a culturally referential time, let's say they all live in the late 90s. The LG crew falls in the just-after-meeting-Yves and before figuring-out-if-she's-friend-or-foe portion of their timeline and the KR crew clearly has a season 3 aesthetic –at least in my mind. Go with me here.
"Hey, pretty,
Don't you want to take a ride with me,
Through my world."
-Hey Pretty, Poe
Chapter 1
The hotel bar was crowded but not completely filled. There were still a couple empty tables and several lonely stools around the U-shaped bar. The shiny marble wall and the bar's mirrored surface reflected the light in the room, making it brighter than the typical drinking establishment. Glasses were hung overhead in neat rows and there was a constant, pleasant clinking as the black-and-white-clad bartenders pulled them down to fill orders.
Despite the constant din of friendly chatter, and the in-and-out bustle of people, Devon Miles found it easier to work in the bar than his room. In his room there were too many interruptions. The phone was always ringing and there were always old friends and acquaintances knocking so Devon decided to hide in a place few people thought to look for him. Most of the people who had the time for reminiscing had gone out for dinner, making it unlikely that anyone he knew would discover him here.
Devon glanced up from his work to sip from the glass of expensive cognac sitting in front of him. It was his second drink and he'd been nursing it for quite a while. He'd bought two glasses of very expensive liquor and had tipped the bartender handsomely so no one had complained about him taking up space.
Devon glanced back down at a particularly vexing section in his presentation. He'd been too busy to spend the proper time to polish his speech, and now here he was at the last minute trying to get it done. The trick was to put just the right spin on the Foundation for Law and Government's involvement in artificial intelligence research. Every year the Foundation attended the International Robotics and Artificial Intelligence Conference in Washington DC, and every year he ended up tiptoeing around just how much to expose.
Devon was only dimly aware that someone had come up next to him to place an order. He looked up just in time to see a beautiful young woman with curly black hair spill a glass of red wine all over his presentation.
"Oh, excuse me. I'm so sorry," the woman said apologetically, and Devon was immediately arrested by her accent, as British as his own.
Devon quickly located a napkin and began mopping up the red liquid. "It's quite all right, really." He smiled as her eyes widened. "It isn't often that I get spilled on by someone from the old country."
She turned slowly and studied him for a moment. "Yes, I'm sure that is rare." She held out her hand. "Daryah Lee Selvow. It's lovely to meet you."
"Devon Miles." He extended his hand and for the first time took a good look at Daryah. She had alluringly large eyes and delicate features. Her conservative, but elegant red dress stood out in the crowd around the bar. If Devon were any judge of age, he would have guessed her for late twenties or early thirties.
"So what brings you to the colonies?" she asked good-naturedly.
"I've been here quite a while actually. A good friend of mine asked me to help him start a company. And you?"
"I love London, but I needed to get out and see a little more of the world. I moved to New York and managed to find a job that requires I travel frequently." She nodded her head toward the lobby of the hotel. "And I'm finding that Washington DC is quite to my liking."
Devon nodded politely. The bartender brought over more napkins and another glass of wine for Daryah. She looked down at the red stains across Devon's pages. "I'm terribly sorry about your papers."
"Not to worry, my dear. I prefer to make all my changes on actual paper, but the original is still safe on my computer."
"Anything interesting?" she asked.
"Oh, it's a presentation for IRAIC, the artificial intelligence conference that starts here tomorrow." Devon was surprised when she took the empty seat next to his.
"Artificial intelligence? That sounds like a fascinating field. Are you a scientist?"
"Oh no," Devon laughed. "The company I work for does research in that area. I'm afraid I have to leave the real work to the experts."
Daryah smiled and took a sip of her wine.
"So what field are you in?" Devon asked.
"I've been in sales for the last few years. I enjoy the work."
Devon nodded politely as he started to collect his papers. She was a very nice girl, but he really didn't have time for idle chitchat. "It's been a pleasure talking with you, but I really must have this presentation ready by morning." Devon glanced up to find Daryah looking him directly in the eye.
"Well, I am in sales. If you'd like, maybe I could help you with it. I probably wouldn't understand much, but it might be fun. We could work on it over a few drinks?"
Devon paused, a little shocked at the seductive quality in her voice. He couldn't help but be flattered by the attention of a beautiful woman, but he knew enough to know this would be a dead end. "I appreciate the offer, Ms. Selvow, but I think I'll just be putting the final touches on it and calling it a night. It was a pleasure meeting you." On impulse, Devon took her hand and kissed the back of it before turning to leave the bar - a part of him wishing he were many years younger.
'Daryah' watched as Miles made his way through the lobby and stopped to wait for the elevator. She sighed and moved the syringe of sodium pentothal from its hiding place in her sleeve to her purse. She briefly entertained the idea of going after him and giving him the drug anyway, but quickly decided against it. She couldn't risk anyone seeing her inject him. This approach had been a long shot anyway. She'd seen Miles sitting in the bar by himself and had impulsively decided to change her tactics. She needed to find out what that man knew, and any opportunity was worth taking, even if it now meant that she was going to have to use a more indirect approach.
The elevator came, and Devon Miles disappeared into it. The woman at the bar finished her glass of wine and grabbed her purse to leave.
If the rumors were true, then what that man had was worth its weight in gold.
OoOoO
Devon dropped the hotel key card on the end table, sat down on the bed, and closed his eyes. He'd had a long day and he didn't get much sleep the night before. At least the presentation had gone better than expected. With all the practice he'd had as the Foundation's Executive Director, he'd gotten used to public speaking, but he always worried about the questions here. He wouldn't be surprised if one of these times there was someone in the crowd who'd heard of Kitt.
Devon picked up the phone and checked his voicemail service. There were the usual litany of messages, most of which he would ignore until they were critical. The last message on his account however, caused him to sit up straight and grab the pen and paper from the nightstand.
The feminine voice spoke in an urgent whisper that filled him with dread.
"Mr. Miles, my name is Linda Parker and a friend suggested that I contact you for help. I'm an employee with Maricrafters, a small defense contractor in Baltimore and I have important information about a government contract that I need to tell you. I'm going to email you some of that information, but I think my life is in danger and I need your help. Please respond to the email or contact me at 410-555-2112. Please help me. I have nowhere else to turn."
OoOoO
"We don't have a story." Melvin Frohike hit the delete key and turned away from his computer.
"But guys, I've been working on that story for weeks," Jimmy Bond said, his wide eyes matching the forlorn tone in his voice.
"Yes, and we told you that if you found proof, if you got even one vet to confirm it or one chip to look suspicious, we'd run it. But you didn't," John Byers said as tolerantly as he could. He knew that Frohike was losing all patience with Jimmy and it often fell to him to keep the peace.
"But guys, I know the idea of putting microchips in animals in case they get lost is just a trick. The government is using those chipped animals to track people. I'm sure of it."
"You may be right, but we need some evidence to go on. Right now, you don't have anything and you've been researching this for weeks. It's time to move on." Byers gently clapped the younger man on the shoulder.
Jimmy shook his head and went to sit in the back of their workspace, brooding. Byers shot Frohike a dark look. He hated always having to give Jimmy the bad news, but no one else was diplomatic enough to do it nicely. Frohike shrugged his shoulders, cracked his knuckles under his fingerless gloves, and went back to his computer. His glasses and graying hair reflected the bluish tint from the screen.
"Well, you realize this leaves us with a bigger problem," Ringo Langly said, having stayed out of it until now, intent on his game of Final Fantasy. "We don't have a story to run. Which means, if we don't get off our butts this week, next week's iLone Gunman/i is going to be pretty thin."
Byers sighed. As the suit-wearing, straight-laced one in the bunch, he often felt responsible for making sure they met their business requirements and a thin edition kept him up at night. "I hate to say this, but has anything interesting come in on the tip line lately?"
Langly rolled his eyes and swatted away a section of his long, scraggly hair. "Yeah, cause those people aren't a bunch of crackpots." Langly suffered from chronic sarcasm.
"They're our readers, Langly. Besides, it's a place to start, if nothing else," Byers said.
Langly sighed and quit his game. He called up the list of emails from people who submitted suggestions. "'JFK was an alien,' 'the CIA is really working for the Chinese,' 'Lincoln is being channeled through my dog.' Maybe we should contact the person who sent in that last one and see if their dog is chipped."
Jimmy harrumphed from his spot in the corner.
"Oh, wait. Here's an interesting one. 'Government has artificial intelligence.' And the email is from an anonymous source."
"Can you trace it?" Frohike asked, rolling his chair across the floor to get a better look at Langly's computer screen.
"What do you think I've been trying to do?' Langly's head was bobbing up and down as he glanced between his keyboard and screen. "I might be able to get it with time, but it's pretty well encrypted. And it's been bounced off half a dozen servers."
Langly clicked on the subject to display the entire message.
The government has developed a true artificial intelligence and is using it to spy on everyday citizens. The AI is being housed in a car owned by the Foundation for Law and Government (FLAG) - a shadowy, quasi-legal group that appears to have ties to the Department of Defense and several other government agencies. The eventual goal of the program is to create the ultimate warrior - an intelligent computer that can operate a tank, submarine, or aircraft and kill without thought or conscience. The Foundation for Law and Government will be attending the International Robotics and Artificial Intelligence Conference (IRAIC) in Washington DC. They never present the true extent of their work, but they are in attendance and could have the vehicle with them.
"That's ridiculous," Langly scoffed.
"Are you sure?" Byers peered over Langly's shoulder studying the email. "I mean, just because we haven't heard of an AI doesn't mean it hasn't been created. You know there's plenty of research going on in the field."
"And you'd expect the Defense Department to try to turn it into a weapon," Frohike said.
"But no one's even close to real AI. It's tens of years out," Langly protested. "And why didn't whoever sent this at least identify who they are or how they came by this info. I don't like it."
"Maybe they're in a sensitive position. I think its all the more reason to think there's a real story here. It's at least something to look into and we don't have many other options at the moment," Byers said. He sat down at his computer and pulled up a browser. "That conference just started yesterday and it looks like it's open to last minute registrations."
Frohike looked at Byers before slowly nodding his head. "Alright. Langly, see what you can find out about this Foundation for Law and Government. The rest of us will go see what we can find out at that conference."
Byers and Frohike reached the door that led out to the alleyway before realizing that Jimmy wasn't following them. They looked at each other and Byers shrugged.
"Jimmy, let's go," Byers said.
"I'm not going. I want to work on my story some more," Jimmy said sullenly.
"Jimmy, you're story isn't going anywhere at the moment. Why don't you put it aside for the time being and go back to it when you have another lead. We need your help on this one. It's probably going to take all of us."
Jimmy didn't say anything.
Byers sighed. "Okay, how about this. Would you rather come with us or stay here with Langly."
Jimmy looked at the grumpy hacker and then grudgingly grabbed his jacket off a nearby rack.
OoOoO
Byers, Frohike, and Jimmy had been milling around the IRAIC for a day and a half with nothing to show for it. They had followed the head of the Foundation, Devon Miles, to several panels and presentations but he hadn't said or done anything suspicious. And from everything being openly discussed at the conference, Langly was right. The field of AI had years to go before anyone was even close to a truly thinking and reasoning machine.
"This is amazing," Jimmy gushed, as they passed a booth displaying several small robotic arms. "All these numbers and formulas. And these guys really understand it all! I think it would be swell if they created a real AI."
"I don't know, Jimmy. It seems to me that if someone did create a truly sentient computer, we'd just treat it horribly anyway. If we had machines that truly thought and even had feelings like human beings, imagine the pain we could cause them. We have a bad history with humans we consider inferior or different."
Jimmy shrugged but his eyes were alight as he craned his head to look at the exhibits.
Byers, Frohike, and Jimmy entered the main convention space and walked through another set of booths. Everywhere they looked companies and universities had banners and tables set up advertising published research or graduate programs in artificial intelligence. They continued on into the adjacent meeting room, which was set up for the last set of presentations for the day. The room was dimmed, with only about half of the track lighting illuminated. There was a screen with a laptop projector giving the list of the day's presenters and their topics. Frohike spotted Devon Miles sitting in the fourth row of chairs. He led the guys to a set of empty seats toward the back where they could keep an eye on him. Not that the man had done much, but they were still hoping to get lucky.
Byers leaned over to Frohike. "I don't know. I'm starting to think this is a wild goose chase. We don't even know who the original tip came from."
Frohike nodded. "I'd agree with you except for the information that Langly unearthed. This Foundation has an employee on the rolls with no job description other than 'operative' and no past. The man literally didn't exit a few years ago. And they've been linked to some high profile crimes - apparently they're some sort of investigative organization. That and according to Langly, they have anti-hacking security that rivals the Defense Department. He's had a hell of a time getting into their systems. They may not have an artificial intelligence but there might still be a story here. I think it's worth investigating."
Byers sat back and glanced around the room, looking for anything suspicious. When his eyes settled back on Miles, the man had pulled out a cell phone and was making his way toward the aisle, obviously leaving to take a call. Byers and Frohike looked at each other and waited until Miles had passed them before grabbing Jimmy and following him out.
Miles continued through the convention area and out the lobby of the hotel. Frohike put a hand up to slow down the guys and watched through the glass doors as a black Trans Am pulled up. A tall, athletic man with wavy hair and a leather jacket jumped out of the driver's side door. He came around the car and clapped Miles on the back. Then the two moved away from the entrance and out of the guys' field of view.
"That's him. That's the operative Langly was telling us about. Michael Knight," Byers said.
"Nice car." Jimmy looked admiringly at the Trans Am, an earlier model of his own pride and joy.
Byers rolled his eyes, exasperated. "We've got to get closer to them to hear what they're saying."
Frohike looked around the lobby for inspiration and saw a man outside, smoking near the front doors. He grabbed a book of matches off a stand next to the entrance and motioned for Jimmy and Byers to wait. He walked out into the late afternoon sun and approached the smoker.
"I quit, but . . . you know. Mind if I bum one from you?" he asked.
The man gave him a pitying glance and shook a cigarette loose from the pack. Frohike strolled a few steps away and then leaned against a square pillar in front of the hotel, just in earshot of the pair talking to his right. He lit the cigarette and let it dangle nonchalantly between his fingers.
"Yeah, Devon, we just got in and we haven't been able to get in touch with her either. We're worried that she might be in real trouble. Kitt and I were planning to head over to her house and see if we can find anything."
"That sounds like a good idea, Michael. I've been checking my voicemail and email regularly, but she hasn't left any further messages."
"And she never sent the email she mentioned?"
"No. Nor has she answered her phone. I think our first order of business is to find her and make sure she's alright."
"Already on it, Devon. We'll check in if we find anything," Knight said before jumping back into the car and peeling out of the circular hotel driveway.
Frohike waited until Miles reentered the hotel before snuffing out his cigarette and going back inside to tell Byers and Jimmy what he heard.
OoOoO
Michael Knight pulled up to the small fifties-vintage ranch-style home on the outskirts of Baltimore. "I think this is it, pal," he said, craning his neck to get a better look.
"What gave it away? The number above the door?"
Michael let out a long suffering sigh and glared down at the dash where a voice modulator box passed for his partner's 'face'. "You know somebody woke up on the wrong side of the garage this morning, pal, and it wasn't me."
"At least I don't prevent you from sleeping."
"You don't sleep, Kitt."
"I need to let my systems recharge, Michael. Especially after driving straight through at top speed to get to Washington."
Michael fought the urge to snap back. It was best to just let things like this drop. As fond as he was of his non-human friend, occasionally their partnership looked more like a bad marriage and today was unfortunately one of those days. "I'll let you have your recharging time as soon as I can, but Linda is missing and I want to find her as soon as possible. Now can we get back to investigating her house?"
"I'm sorry, Michael. You're right. We need to find Linda. I guess I'm just feeling a little run down."
"It's okay, buddy. I'm not at my best when I don't sleep either."
The property was registered to Linda Parker. Kitt had poured over everything he had on her during the drive out, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Michael leaned forward and carefully surveyed the area around the house. There was a stand-alone garage to the side that formed part of a fenced-in yard. The side entrance to the house along the driveway was covered with a pretty green awning.
Michael proceeded up the flagstone walk and knocked on the door. He waited a moment but no one answered. "Anyone inside, buddy?" he asked over the comlink watch that allowed him to communicate with his partner when he was out of the car.
"No, Michael."
He held his comlink up to the door and Kitt took his cue to unlock it. Michael gently pushed the door open. "Hello?" he called out but the house was quiet. Nothing looked out of place. It looked like Linda would be home in a few hours for dinner. The house was small but cozy, with tasteful furniture and pretty flowers in pots on the fireplace mantel.
"Kitt, can you scan for anything unusual?"
"Of course, Michael. But my preliminary scans didn't reveal anything."
"Take another look." Michael continued his search in the meantime. He recoiled at the strong scent of perfume that haunted a broken bottle in the master bedroom but other than that, everything seemed in order.
"Michael, I'm not detecting anything unusual. Although it might help if I knew what I was looking for."
"If I knew, I'd tell you." Michael took another look through the kitchen drawers. He found a small black notebook that contained a daily calendar. There were a series of numbers written on the pages. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but he slipped it into his pocket.
"Let's go back to the hotel and meet up with Devon and Bonnie. Maybe they've managed to turn up something on her."
OoOoO
Jimmy was bored. But then he usually was on stake outs. He and the guys were sitting in the VW bus that acted as their base of operations when they were out gathering information on a story.
Byers had called Langly with the license plate number for the black Trans Am that had peeled out of the parking lot. Of course, running it seemed rather pointless, even to Jimmy, since the California vanity plate said 'KNIGHT.' It was a safe bet that they were right about the identity of the man who'd been talking to Devon Miles. They'd also seen Miles go back to a black semi trailer that was parked in the lot behind the hotel. Besides Miles, there was a pretty brunette coming and going from the trailer. Byers had used the digital camera to take her picture so Langly could look her up. He was also trying to find information on the name Knight had mentioned to Miles, Kitt. They hadn't heard back from him yet, so they were eyeing the truck, waiting.
"What would they need a semi for? This is a conference. They shouldn't be carrying more than a few Powerpoint slides and some trinkets to hand out to the attendees," Frohike asked.
"Maybe they have a lot of trinkets?" Jimmy offered helpfully.
"Let's see if this can help us get some answers." Frohike produced a small gadget from one of the storage containers lining the back wall of the bus and flipped up what looked like a tiny antenna.
"What's that?" Jimmy asked. The Gunmen had such cool gadgets. Jimmy wished he got to use them more.
"It's a radio frequency sniffer," Frohike answered, gesturing with the device, which was slightly larger than a pack of cigarettes. He moved some switches, then held it up in the air. "If they're using any high tech equipment or transmitters, it'll tell us what frequencies are being emitted. I'm going in for a closer look."
Frohike carefully opened the side door and slunk into the parking lot. He moved from car to car, working his way closer to the black semi and watched with fascination as the signal strengths on the sniffer got incrementally stronger. He got right up to the semi and moved around to the back so that if there was a driver in the cab, he wouldn't be seen.
The signals were off the charts – the meter was completely saturated. He was still staring down at the device when he heard a door open and suddenly found himself face-to-face with the brunette they'd seen with Miles. She was taller than Frohike had thought and had gray, suspicious eyes.
"Can I help you?" she asked, looking down at the electronic sniffer in his hand.
"Oh, no, Ma'am. I'm just testing ozone levels for the city. We have to take readings at several different points in the area and this parking lot happens to be one of them."
The woman looked down at the gadget again. Then her eyes narrowed and she seemed to be memorizing every detail of Frohike's face. She crossed her arms and didn't say anything. Frohike took that as his cue to leave. He scuttled away in the direction of the hotel, and turned back to see the woman disappear into a door on the side of the trailer.
Once she was gone, Frohike switched direction and headed back toward the bus. She was hot, not Scully hot, of course, but good looking, he thought. Too bad she was probably a bad guy. Just like Yves. What was it about brunettes, Frohike wondered. He pulled open the door to the van and tossed the sniffer on the rack in back.
"What did you tell her?" Byers asked.
"I told her I was taking ozone readings, but she wasn't buying it. And she knows what I look like now, so I'm going to have to keep a low profile. Did she spot either of you?"
"I don't think so," Byers said.
"Good. "But I'll tell you one thing, that truck has got to be filled with electronic equipment. There were emissions all over the place. The sniffer was saturated on several frequency bands the whole time I was over there."
"Well, that's further proof that FLAG isn't exactly the mild mannered philanthropic charity they claim they are."
"Guys, check it out," Jimmy said from the front seat.
Byers and Frohike turned to look out the windows and saw that the Trans Am was back. They watched, fascinated, as the car paused behind the trailer and a ramp slowly lowered. The car carefully drove up the ramp and disappeared inside.
"Wow. That's such a beautiful car," Jimmy said in his usual wide-eyed manner.
OoOoO
"So you don't know any more about her?" Michael asked as he took the coffee mug Devon offered him and flopped down in one of the semi's leather chairs. He stared at his partner's black prow in the garage area, hypnotized by the tracking scanner. The semi wasn't big, but there was enough room for a kitchen, an office area, and a garage bay. The perfect mobile base of operations.
"I'm afraid not," Devon replied.
"I've got her file for you, Michael," Bonnie Barstow said from her seat at the computer. "But there isn't much to go on. She does work for Maricrafters, but other than that, there isn't much remarkable about her,"
"Anything in there that would give us a clue about where she might go if she needed to hide?"
"Her parents live in Phoenix and she has a sister in Scottsdale, but Devon already called them. They haven't heard from her in at least two weeks. Other than that, I couldn't tell you," she said.
Michael pulled the notebook out of his jacket pocket. "Do you have any idea what these might be?"
Bonnie and Devon both glanced at the series of numbers. "They look like they could be account numbers," Bonnie speculated, taking the book. "I'll see if I can find anything."
"Okay, let's assume for a second that she is in trouble, and not just hiding. Do we have any idea what information she had or who else might know about it? Did she say who she was afraid of?"
"No. I would presume someone in the government or another employee at Maricrafters," Devon suggested.
"Kitt, give me everything you can run down on Maricrafters. What are their current projects? What government agencies are they currently working with? Look for anything unusual in the books."
"You'll have it as soon as I do."
"Damn it." Bonnie pushed back from the computer.
Michael smirked. "Computer not behaving?"
"I wish it were that simple. We've had a very persistent hacker in our systems the last few days. And he's good. They've had to suspend remote login access several times. I'm assuming, since I just lost access again, that they haven't managed to patch all the holes he's exploiting yet."
Michael gave Devon a significant look. "We must be onto something. Any possibility this hacker got any information about the case?"
"It's possible, but it looks like whoever it is, is after information about FLAG," Bonnie said, glaring at her computer as though she could see the hacker working away behind the monitor. "You know, when I went out to unlock the ramp just before you came back, there was somebody suspicious hanging around the semi. He gave me a song and dance about checking ozone levels, but I'm pretty sure he had some sort of homegrown signal strength meter in his hand. I think someone might be making a concerted effort to get information about us."
"It would appear that way," Devon said. Then he brought his hand up to his chin as a thought struck him. "Actually, now that you bring up that possibility, there was a young woman in the hotel bar a few nights ago who was very interested in my presentation for the conference. She went so far as to offer to help me over drinks."
Bonnie and Michael shared sly smiles. "Really?" Bonnie said.
"Maybe she was just interested in you, Devon," Michael added with a mischievous grin.
Devon gave him a stern frown to discourage that line of questioning. "Perhaps we are being targeted by some group of people. It may or may not be related to Linda Parker's disappearance. I believe it would be best if we were all on alert."
"Will do, Devon." Michael took a sip of coffee. "First thing in the morning, we'll pay Maricrafters a visit."
OoOoO
Maricrafters was located in Baltimore, close to BWI airport. It was a bit of a drive from DC but Michael had the T-tops open, the windows down, and he was enjoying the trip. Part of him was worried about Linda, but she had been such a mystery from the beginning. Only Devon had had any contact with her and that had only been over voicemail. He was having a hard time deciding whether he thought she was really in trouble or if there was something else going on here. The hacker situation was pushing him toward the latter option but he didn't have anything to go on there but a hunch.
"Kitt, you haven't noticed any attempts to break into your systems, have you?" Michael asked on the way to Maricrafters.
"No, Michael. So far, all the efforts at infiltration have been directed at the Foundation's main network."
"This whole situation has me confused. There's just something that isn't adding up."
"I agree Michael, but I don't think there's much we can do except continue to investigate."
Michael couldn't think of any better ideas.
They drove in silence through the urban landscape. The buildings and bridges were all older and the city was more gray than he was used to in Los Angeles. There were no bright pastel buildings and since they'd been there, the sky had been overcast, giving the East Coast a dark, dingy feel. Michael wondered if it ever got that brighter-than-life feel that LA often had.
They entered the Baltimore city limits, which were only signified by a sign. The city was all one big urban sprawl run together. They took the airport exit and wound their way through the city's side streets. They came to an industrial park with a shipping company, a small tools manufacturer, and a non-descript brown brick building. "So this is the place, huh?"
"Yes, Michael, this is Maricrafters. Linda's office is located in the basement, in the southwest corner of the building."
Michael looked at the video monitor where Kitt had displayed the building's floor plan. There was a red dot indicating the room that held Linda's office.
"Can you get me Linda's boss's name?"
"William Lee."
"Okay, keep your scanners peeled. I'll be back in a few."
Michael jumped out and made his way across the parking lot, weaving through cars and SUVs. The main lobby of the building had several security guards milling around, checking for badges as people entered. He walked up to the main reception desk. "Excuse me. I'd like to speak to William Lee."
"Do you have an appointment?" The tall, sandy-haired guard asked. Michael shook his head. "Ok, then you'll need to call him from that phone." The guard gestured to a white phone on the wall before looking up the extension for Michael.
Michael picked up the phone and dialed. A pleasant voice answered the phone and identified the speaker as William Lee.
"Hello, Mr. Lee. You don't know me. My name is Michael Knight and I work for the Foundation for Law and Government. I'd like to talk to you about Linda Parker."
"Linda? Do you know where she is?" the man asked anxiously.
"No, but I'm looking for her and I'd like to ask you a few questions if that's possible. I'm in the lobby right now, if you have a few minutes."
"Of course, I'll be right there."
It wasn't long before William Lee came through the lobby doors. Michael motioned to him and held out his hand.
"It's good to meet you Mr. Knight," Lee said, shaking his hand. "Follow me."
Lee led the way out of the lobby and to a bank of elevators located just inside the complex. They took one down a floor.
"I've been very worried about Linda. She hasn't been to work all week now and she hasn't called in. It's very unlike her."
"What sort of work has she been doing, Mr. Lee?"
"Oh, call me Bill."
Michael nodded.
"Uh, she's been modeling subsystems of a radar we're working on. She was involved in the systems level design."
"Has she mentioned anything about getting any threats or has she had a falling out with any of her coworkers?" Michael asked as they stepped off the elevator and Bill used his badge to card into a room off the main hallway.
"No, not that I know of. Well, I should say nothing out of the ordinary. The project she's working on is a high stress one, so there have been a few clashes between the different project leads. Sometimes it's hard to know the best direction when you're trying to create something state-of-the-art."
Michael smirked a bit as an image of Bonnie trying to work with someone else on Kitt popped into his head. "I imagine it is."
Bill led him through a maze of cubes and into a rather bare office. There were a few pictures on the wall of family, but other than that, the bare beige walls and grey desk gave the office an institutional feel. Bill offered Michael a seat and took his place on the other side of the desk. "What can I do to help?"
"For starters, you could tell me what Linda is like? Does she have a lot of friends or does she keep to herself?"
"She seems to get along with most everyone but she isn't real outgoing. She's somewhat reserved. I don't think there are any coworkers she sees socially, but as far as I know, she hasn't had any problems with anyone. Most everyone likes her."
"Okay. Can I see where she sits?"
"Of course." Bill popped up and led him out into the main room again. He took Michael to a large cube that was neatly organized. There was a picture on the desk of Linda on a ski hill smiling through her scarf and goggles. Next to that was a picture of Linda with a couple who might have been her parents. No sign of a boyfriend.
Michael glanced at what had to be designs or schematics sitting on the desk. They were somewhat scattered and were mostly Greek to him. He tapped his comlink and held it out casually over the papers, hoping Kitt would get the hint and take some pictures.
Michael took one more look around and then decided he wasn't going to get much more of use here. "Anything else you can tell me?"
Bill shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."
Michael pulled a card from his pocket. "If you think of anything, give me a call, day or night."
"I will." Bill shook his hand again. "If you find her or hear anything, please let me know. We're worried about her."
OoOoO
Frohike had been driving the VW bus as they followed the black Trans Am through the morning traffic. They had taken turns all night staking out the hotel parking lot and were ready to go when Knight left in the car first thing in the morning. They were hanging back, trying to avoid detection until Knight turned off onto the streets of Baltimore. They'd almost lost him, so they closed the distance and circled around the block when they saw him pull into the parking lot of an industrial building.
"Guys, this is Maricrafters," Byers said. "They make several intelligence gathering systems including spy satellites. They've been implicated in attempts to sell classified systems to unfriendly foreign nations like China and Iran, but it was never proven."
"And I bet they'd love to have an artificial intelligence to sell. That would be the ultimate intelligence gathering system," Frohike added.
"It would be the ultimate in a lot of things," Byers said, distracted.
"Well, are we going to just sit here all day, or are we going to do something?" Jimmy asked. He grabbed a slim jim and a crowbar from behind the rack of equipment and pulled the bus's side door open.
"Jimmy, what are you doing?" Byers asked.
"I'm going to go find out what's in that car. We've got to see if it's an artificial intelligence, right?"
"Jimmy, wait," Byers started but he was already out the door. "Jimmy, no."
"Hey, guys. Not a problem. I'm an expert at getting into Trans Ams. I'm always losing my own keys," Jimmy called back as he hurried between the parked cars.
Byers and Frohike shared one of those looks. If it weren't for the fact that Jimmy helped them with their paper financially, some days they just couldn't figure out why they put up with him. Not that the big lug hadn't grown on them, though.
"We can't let him go alone," Frohike said, making it perfectly clear who he thought should get babysitting duty.
"Alright, alright, I'm going."
OoOoO
Kitt watched as a tall, sandy-haired man made a clumsy attempt to approach him on the sly - ducking behind cars and peeking out from around their bumpers. Kitt hadn't been sure that the bus had been following them until it entered the Maricrafters parking lot a few minutes after Michael went inside. He'd already run the plate and found out it was registered to one John Fitzgerald Byers. He had pulled up a picture of Byers and determined that he was currently following the blond man through the parking lot. While he watched their approach, Kitt busied himself getting pictures of the other occupant of the van and running them all against a database of known felons.
Kitt snapped a few more pictures as the first man approached and crouched down next to him. The man tried his door handle and Kitt immediately locked it and darkened the tint on his windows. The man pulled out a slim jim and attempted to break into him. Kitt sighed. He was tempted to tell the man that he was wasting his time, but with all the attempts to get information on the Foundation, he decided it wasn't wise.
OoOoO
Jimmy spent several minutes trying to get the car's door open. It just wouldn't budge. He'd never had this much trouble getting his own car open when he had to. He'd gotten quite good at popping the lock, although this was an older model than his car. He looked over his shoulder at Byers and shrugged. Then he leaned back to admire the car's mint condition finish. He'd like to talk to Knight about how he maintained this baby.
"You know, maybe if this car does have an artificial intelligence, it has extra security."
Byers just rolled his eyes.
Jimmy didn't understand why the guys were so negative all the time. He decided to double his efforts at helping them stay cheery. That decided, he slid down next to the car door and leaned back against it. There wasn't much he could do about extra security, but he had one more idea.
"Hi, Mr. Car. Are you in there?" Jimmy tried. "See we heard that you're an artificial intelligence, and we're here to rescue you."
Nothing.
"I promise I won't hurt you, if you let me in."
"Jimmy, I don't think anyone's going to answer you."
"You never know. Do you have a name, Mr. Car?" Jimmy asked, trying to be conversational.
If there was an AI in there, it wasn't very friendly.
"Come on, Jimmy. Let's get out of here before Knight comes back."
"Okay," he said dejectedly. "But there's definitely something strange about that car."
Byers led the way back to the van. "You might be right, but we aren't making any progress here. Let's go back to base and see what Langly's found out about all of this."
OoOoO
"Michael, did you find anything?" Kitt asked when Michael returned to the car.
"Unfortunately not."
"Well, you might be interested to know that we were followed here and one of the men made a halfhearted attempt to break into me. And Michael, he said he was here to rescue me."
"Rescue you? From what?"
"That's what I'd like to know."
"Did you get a picture of him?"
"Of course, Michael." Kitt flashed the various photos on his monitor for Michael's perusal. "The vehicle is registered to a John Byers." Kitt left the appropriate picture up. "According to tax records, he is also part owner of a small building in an industrial neighborhood in Baltimore. It's listed as the headquarters for a paper called The Lone Gunman."
Michael put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. "I've never heard of it."
"I didn't think you had. It's one of those conspiracy theory papers. They cover government conspiracies, corrupt businesses, and aliens, Michael."
"Sounds lovely. And they're here to rescue you, huh?" Michael said with a smirk.
"Michael, they know I'm an artificial intelligence. That could draw more attention than the Foundation would like, if they published an article about me."
"Buddy, I have a feeling they don't have too many readers."
"Be that as it may, Michael, they might be involved in this case or be responsible for hacking into our systems."
"That's a good point. Since we're out here anyway, plot the quickest course to the address of that building."
OoOoO
In silent mode, Kitt moved through the dark alley, avoiding blue garbage dumpsters, piles of old 2x4s, and rank puddles. There was just enough room for him to get through the alley comfortably. He hoped they didn't meet another car going the opposite direction. Michael was craning his neck looking at the addresses painted on the backs of the buildings. He was also looking at the old boarded up windows and cracked glass block that made up the mix of industrial buildings. They came up on a short, wide driveway in front of a low building with a below-ground doorway.
"This is it, Michael, but I don't see the VW bus anywhere."
"Scan the building."
"It's full of electronic equipment – most of it eavesdropping devices. And Michael there is one man sitting at a computer." Kitt routed the image of the IR scan to the front monitor. There were several hot spots in the room, probably equipment, but only one bright enough to be a person.
"And Michael," Kitt said, his voice suddenly sounding surprised, "he's currently trying to hack into the Foundation's network."
"Is he armed?"
"No, Michael, no sign of any weapons at all."
"Okay, buddy, I'm going to have a little chat with our hacker friend here."
Michael exited the car and jogged over to the heavy metal door at the back of the building. He held his comlink over the knob and there was a series of clicks as four locks released their grip on the door. Carefully, Michael pushed the door open a crack and peered into the gloomy room. The only light came from a bank of florescent lights a ways back into the building. The dark room had an industrial feel to it. Despite the relatively large size, it was crammed full. There were aisles of equipment racks near the door then a section where the room opened up to a row of desks with four computers. There was one obsessively organized and neat desk in between several less kempt desks, which were scattered with papers and in sundry crap. There was a man with long blond hair, dressed in a black Ramones concert T-shirt sitting at one of the computers. He was entirely hunched over the keyboard, his shoulders rounded, his neck arched, and his face right in front of the screen, fingers moving furiously. He obviously hadn't heard Michael come in. Beyond him were more racks and Michael could see a doorway at the end that led to another room. Michael crept carefully toward the blond man. He got to the point where he could see the screen over his shoulder. He immediately recognized the Foundation's chess insignia logo on the screen.
"You're not cleared for that network." Michael's quietly menacing voice sounded louder than he intended in the large room.
The man in front of him gasped and flew out of his chair, a look of terror on his face. Michael tried to grab him by the collar but he broke free and scrambled in the direction of the door. Unfortunately for him, his foot got caught in the strap of a backpack and he went flying head first into a rack, knocking himself unconscious. Michael had to pull up quickly in order to stop from tripping over the man who had just fallen in front of him. He looked down at the guy and shook his head. "So much for my asking him a few questions, huh?" he said over the comlink. He considered his options for a moment. "Buddy, any chance he'll regain consciousness?"
"Yes, my scan of his vitals indicates that he's really semi conscious, and not badly hurt."
"How about I bring him to you for safe keeping?" Michael dragged the man to the doorway, then picked him up and hoisted him over his shoulder. Kitt helpfully popped the door for Michael and he dumped the man into the passenger's seat.
"If he comes to, you might not want to say anything to him. We still don't know what they want, so the less he knows about you, the better."
"Of course."
Michael glanced around the alleyway and then headed back into the building.
OoOoO
Langly's eyes fluttered open and he found himself staring sideways at a gearshift. He blinked, confused. Then he looked up and saw the cloudy white sky above him through a windshield. Carefully, he started to prop himself up and cringed at the headache that was forming. He was lying in a bucket seat, draped across the center console. Luckily there wasn't anyone else in the car. In a flash, Langly remembered what had happened. An intruder had come up behind him while he was working on the FLAG network. He didn't get a real good look at the guy, but he was pretty sure it was Knight. He sat up, fully awake, and tried to open the car door. It was locked and for some reason, he couldn't find the mechanism to let himself out. That's when he noticed the dash. It was covered in lights of all different shades and shapes. Some of the buttons were obviously normal car functions but the rest where incomprehensible. Ski Mode, Turbo Boost, MicroJam. Langly wasn't sure what they did, but he was pretty sure they were on the right track with the story on the Foundation. Even though he didn't believe this car was an artificial intelligence, he knew it wasn't normal. It didn't even have a normal steering wheel. And who knew what the Foundation used this baby for.
Langly decided that if he was going to be trapped in Knight's car, at least he was going to figure it out. He looked at the center monitor and studied the buttons around it. He tried pushing some of them, but just as he was about to touch each one, the LEDs giving them their lighted color went dark. Pushing them had no effect. He continued trying with the bank of buttons over his head. Again, they went out and didn't seem to have any effect. Langly thought that maybe the key needed to be in the ignition. He looked over at the steering column and found a button marked 'start.' Langly stabbed it and was surprised when the engine leapt to life with a powerful purr. He smiled, rubbed his hands together, cracked his knuckles, and then tried the buttons on the dash again. None of them had any effect. Langly figured that even if he couldn't get them to work, maybe he could at least figure them out. He reached under the dash and pulled at the wires he felt there. He managed to pull a few of them forward and checked for fuses. There weren't any. There were also fewer wires than he'd expected given the complexity of the dash. His headache forgotten, Langly pushed his seat back as far as it would go and slid down into the well in front of the seat, trying to get a better look at what was under the dash.
OoOoO
Kitt was frustrated by this interloper. He had been hoping the man would stay unconscious, but such was not his luck. Now the irascible person was digging around under his dash. He just couldn't allow him to poke and prod his circuitry. Kitt decided that a little ride would be just the incentive to make this man behave.
OoOoO
Langly was tracing a wire from underneath the video monitor. He had just given it a tug to see how much longer it was when the gearshift moved. Langly watched, shocked, as the accelerator depressed on its own. "Hey! Hey, what's going on? Hey!"
Langly grabbed the gearshift and tried to force it back to park. He struggled to get back into the bucket seat when the car backed up and peeled out of the driveway. His eyes widened as the Trans Am picked up speed and zipped through the alley. Langly crawled over the center console and into the driver's seat, just as the car was clearing the alley. They came to the first cross street and the car lurched to the right and flung itself out into traffic. Langly grabbed for the steering yoke and held on for dear life. He looked around for some sign that the car was operating by remote. The monitors remained dark but he knew he wouldn't necessarily be able to see the sensors that would allow for remote operation.
"Whoever you are, let me out!" Langly yelled into the air. "I'm serious, stop this car!" Langly pulled at the door handles again in vain and stomped on the brake, to no effect. He reached up and mashed his hand on as many buttons as he could but as before, they didn't do anything.
Langly looked around, completely at a loss. He realized that the car was moving dangerously fast through traffic. It zipped around a slow moving car and careened around a corner, coming dangerously close to a semi parked in the fire lane. Langly snapped his eyelids shut and grabbed the steering yoke with white knuckles. When he didn't hear the crash of twisting metal he hazarded a peek only to see that the car was headed down a hill, straight toward a back up of cars at an intersection. Langly watched in horror as the car got closer and closer to the intersection without showing any sign of slowing down. When they were within 20 feet of the last car in line Langly let loose a scream just as he was pushed back into his seat and a loud whirring sound filled the cabin. The car leapt forward and flew over the cars on the near side of the intersection. It continued on through the air and over the cars that were traveling through the green light in the opposite direction. There was a huge thump as the car dropped back down onto the pavement and continued on the other side of the intersection. It took Langly a few seconds to realize that he was still screaming. He snapped his jaw shut and stared wide-eyed at the road ahead of him. The car dropped down to a normal speed, turned right at the next intersection, and started making its way back to the warehouse. Langly didn't let go of the steering wheel until they got back.
OoOoO
Kitt pulled into the driveway of the industrial warehouse feeling pleased with himself. Michael was outside of the building waiting for them in the alley. He strode up to the car and pulled the driver's side door open as Kitt released the manual override.
"Hey, glad you're awake. Mind if I drive?" Michael asked with excessive joviality as he leaned into the car. The interloper shook his head violently 'no' and moved back across the console. He sat in the passenger seat with his eyes widely focused on Michael while Kitt drove back down the alleyway.
OoOoO
"So what were you doing in the Foundation's network?" Michael asked the surly man in the passenger seat.
"What are you doing trying to build the ultimate weapon?" Langly shot back.
Michael raised an eyebrow, completely mystified. "What are you talking about?"
"I saw the files. You're working on some super tank vehicle with artificial intelligence. And we saw you at Maricrafters."
Michael shook his head. "First of all, we are not building an ultimate weapon. Or a weapon of any kind. Second of all, we're here investigating the disappearance of a woman who worked for Maricrafters."
"A likely story," Langly spat back.
Michael rolled his eyes in frustration. "So why are you in our files?"
"I work for a newspaper. We're trying to get the truth out to the American people about scum like you."
"You really don't have any idea what we're about, do you? Even after getting a peek at some of our files."
Michael wanted to get more information before tipping his hand. He didn't want to let a reporter know about Kitt, even if it was a rag that no one read. He had also noticed that the VW bus was behind them. It was time to figure out what these guys were up to. They were approaching the conference center and Michael decided that it would be the perfect time to round up the whole crew and have a little chat.
He casually drummed his thumbs on the steering yoke, using morse code to let Kitt know his intentions. It was rare that they went to these lengths to hide Kitt, but it had come in handy once or twice in the past.
They pulled into the convention center parking lot and Michael noticed that Langly was nervously checking the side mirror. He pulled around the convention center and waited for the bus to find a parking space. Michael was pleased that they had chosen to park between a truck and an SUV. He put Kitt back in gear and flew through the aisle. The VW van started to back out, but it was too late. Kitt parked behind the bus, trapping it in its space. Michael jumped out, leaving the blond man in the passenger seat. Kitt thoughtful locked down behind him.
"Hi guys," Michael said as he pulled open the bus's side door. He peered inside at all the electronic equipment and decided it had to be the poor man's version of the semi. There was one man in back looking at him with wide eyes and two men up front who were just shaking their heads.
"Look, you guys could run and I could chase at least one of you down, but I have your long-haired buddy and really, I just want to talk. I think you'll find that I'm not the enemy here."
"Then why did you kidnap Langly?" a man in a black leather vest asked defensively.
"Because he was breaking into our computer system and you guys have been following us. I just want to talk, guys."
The two men in the front seat gave each other a look and then the one in a suit said, "Okay. We'll hear you out."
They left the van and Michael watched them carefully, mindful of the fact that there were four of them and one of him. Kitt let his captive go and then moved behind Michael.
The tall athletic man turned to Michael, mouth gaping. "Whoa! That car is an artificial intelligence, isn't it?"
Langly cuffed him on the head. "No, idiot, it's remote controlled, but you should have seen it jump."
Michael tried to hide his smile. He had been wondering just how much Kitt had shown off. "Come on, let's talk in my office." He led them over to the semi and held the door open for the group.
Devon was standing in the office area and looked at him quizzically.
"We've got company, Devon. I'd introduce you, but I don't know their names yet."
Bonnie crossed her arms and gestured to the shortest of the group. "Well, he's the 'city ozone inspector,'" she said, bitingly. "But we haven't been properly introduced."
"We don't have to tell you anything," the man shot back.
"No, you don't," Michael said, "but if we're going to get to the bottom of all this, we have to start somewhere."
The ozone inspector shared a look with the suit and then shrugged. "I'm Frohike. This is Byers, Langly, and Jimmy," he said cocking head at each of them in turn.
"Langly was hacking into the Foundation's network when I found him," Michael said. Devon and Bonnie turned to glare at him.
"Why?" Devon asked. "You have no business breaking into our systems like that."
"Because we got a tip that you've created an artificial intelligence. The American public deserves to know the truth."
Bonnie looked at Michael questioningly. "They publish a newspaper," Michael said with a wry grin.
"And what exactly do you think the truth is?" Devon asked.
"That you're using an artificial intelligence for the Defense Department. That you're creating a super soldier." Frohike crossed his arms, obviously expecting an explanation.
"I assure you, your information is flawed," Devon said.
"I told you they didn't have an artificial intelligence," Langly groused to Byers.
"We got a tip to look into it. We're just following a lead," Byers said diplomatically.
"And who is the woman working for you?" Devon asked.
"What woman?" Byers asked.
"The young brunette who was trying to get information about our operations?" Devon clarified.
The four men shared a guarded look. "Was she tall, thin, with a British accent?" Byers asked.
Devon nodded.
Frohike let out a sigh. "You know, I thought that tip sounded a little more specific and global than most of our tips."
"Did she give you a name?" Byers asked.
"Daryah Lee Selvow I believe," Devon answered.
Langly rolled his eyes. "She typically goes by Yves Adele Harlow."
Frohike pulled out a photograph and handed it to Devon. "This her?"
"Yes."
Michael took the picture and after glancing at it, raised an eyebrow. "Devon, this is the woman who hit on you in the bar?"
"That's her. I'm quite sure of it."
Michael smirked. "You're a better man than me."
Devon rolled his eyes. "Heaven help us if someone sends a beautiful woman after you to get information."
"Do you know who she works for, if she's not working with you?" Michael asked the four men.
"No," Frohike said. "She seems to be for sale to the highest bidder. She's a high tech thief. And she's used us to track down things for her in the past - usually without our knowledge."
Bonnie gave Michael a pointed look, then said, "So you think she put you on our trail in order to get information on our operation?"
"Anything's possible when Yves's involved," Langly said.
"Is there any chance she's involved with Maricrafters. We're investigating a case involving a woman there who called us for help and then disappeared. She said she had information on the company."
"That could have been a ruse by Yves. Or it could have nothing to do with her. But why would this woman call you for help?" Byers asked.
"Contrary to popular belief, we are not in the business of helping the Defense Department. We are in the law enforcement arena, but we tackle cases where the local authorities are often unable to help," Devon chided.
"Yeah, right. That's why you need someone on your payroll who has no history," Langly cracked, looking right at Michael.
Michael stared right back at him. "I'm a very private person," he said with what he hoped was the right amount of menace. He didn't want these guys digging into his past.
"Whatever," Langly said.
"Since you've been caught trespassing in our network, I believe we hold the cards here. But perhaps we can come to an agreement," Devon proposed.
Langly looked distinctly uncomfortable. "What kind of agreement?"
"If you cease and desist from following us and there are no further incursions into our network, we won't press charges," Devon said with a bemused smile.
Michael tried to keep his own smile in check while the four men squirmed.
"Yes, that sounds reasonable," Byers said. "Thank you, sir."
Devon just nodded.
"Right, well I guess we'll be on our way." Frohike said giving Langly and Jimmy looks.
Devon politely ushered them to the door and let them out of the semi. Kitt was parked next to it, gleaming in the sun.
"I know you're in there, Mr. Car," Michael heard Jimmy say as they walked past him. "If you need help, you know where to contact us."
"Come on," Langly said, cuffing Jimmy on the shoulder. "They don't have an AI."
When they were gone, Kitt's scanner flashed and he drove himself back up the ramp.
"Well that was interesting," he said to the three humans standing there.
"Yeah, buddy. Whoever their informant is, he or show knows a lot."
"Too much," Devon said.
"And the one, Jimmy, seems to believe without question that I'm an artificial intelligence. He keeps saying things to me whenever he's in my vicinity."
"Hopefully, they've taken my threat seriously and we've seen the last of them." Devon said.
"Something tells me that might be wishful thinking. In the meantime, I think we should look into this Yves woman."
"I don't exactly feel comfortable with a high tech thief trying to get information about Kitt," Bonnie said, concern clouding her face. "The IT experts think there may have been more than one hacker. So even if we know that Langly was in our system, there may have been others. Also, they believe that at least one of the hackers got into Kitt's schematics. If it's this Yves Harlow and she's intending to steal him …"
"Now that we have a name, or at least an alias, maybe our research will yield some more clues," Devon suggested.
"You guys stay on it and let me know if you find anything," Michael said. "In the meantime, Bonnie, have you found out anything else about Maricrafters?"
"No, but I've been busy trying to safeguard our network. Hopefully I'll have more time to devote to it now."
"Good. We haven't found anything in Linda's personal life that seems suspicious, but it doesn't hurt to dig a little deeper now that we have another possible angle. One way or another, we'll get to the bottom of this."
OoOoO
Yves was slunk low in her rented Alpha Romeo watching the black semi. She could be less ostentatious when it was required, but in this case, she felt free to lead the life she was accustomed to. The Foundation for Law and Government had surprised her. She had expected a far more shadowy, regimented organization, but FLAG didn't rise to that level. In a way, she was disappointed. It had been a while since she'd had to exercise her training. She had hoped that Michael Knight/Long would be a challenge, but he lacked a careful and disciplined approach. It seemed that his MO was to hide in plain sight - which made it incredibly easy for anyone bothering to look. Few people were as well trained as Yves, so she was always on the lookout for the occasional equal.
The semi itself was attention drawing - black, regal, and therefore eye-catching. That, and the occupants were remarkably routine in their comings and goings. She could count on the truck being empty by ten or eleven at night. It was just a matter of waiting until Knight brought the car in. She'd arrived at 9:00 PM, and a little under an hour later, the sleek Trans Am had climbed up the ramp. That was half an hour ago and Yves was eager to make her move.
She glanced down at the pulsing electronic box next to her. She'd 'acquired' it a few months back from a Saudi national who had 'acquired' it from a less than scrupulous defense worker. It was the key to getting close to the car - an electronic scrambler that worked over a wide frequency range - wide enough to prevent the Knight Industries Two Thousand from detecting her presence. Or so she hoped. It was supposed to operate without obvious distortions to the spectrum, but Yves didn't entirely believe everything she'd heard about the device. Even in thievery, the stealer best beware.
At ten thirty, the venerable Dr. Bonnie Barstow left the semi through the side door, pressed a button to reveal a hidden keypad and activated the alarms, before making her way through the parking lot to the hotel.
As security systems went, Yves had to admit it was good. A rotating combination of numbers unique to the individual's biometrics with, from what Yves could tell, only three or so people having access to disarm it. Perfectly adequate unless the person wanting to get in had something sophisticated, and Yves was quite well connected in anti-security circles too.
She waited until Barstow had entered the hotel and just long enough to make sure she wasn't going to come back out. Yves stowed the scrambler in her leather bag, quietly opened her car door, and slid out into the darkness.
Yves was well accustomed to the dark. She preferred it. She could be anyone in the dark, and it covered all manner of sins.
When she reached the semi, she carefully removed a palm-sized device from her leather satchel and placed two prongs into the cracks between the hidden panel and the door. She glanced once at the scrambler to make sure it was working and hit the button on her device. It took several seconds for the LED numbers to stop spinning. When they did, Yves placed a small biometric replicator next to the panel, typed in the numbers, and the door clicked open.
Inside, the trailer was dark with only the pale green glow of electronics to illuminate the back end of the semi and highlight her prize. The Knight Industries Two Thousand sat silent under the glow. It was as darkly foreboding as the semi that held it, but unlike the truck there was a deep sense of mystery. It seemed to suck in the light around it and bend the rays to its curves. It was rare that Yves was awestruck. She moved through fabulous circles and had stolen things that many only dreamed of seeing. But this car was amazing - even its aura seemed alive.
So far the scrambler seemed to be doing its job so Yves carefully removed the second device from her bag and cautiously approached the car. The scrambler could not protect her if the car had acoustic sensors or video cameras trained on her, which according to the Foundation's network, was possible. But in her hacking, she hadn't found out how or when it was likely to use them. She was hoping that in its quiet time, it paid less attention to the world around it.
Yves crouched as she closed on the car, pausing to admire the beautiful finish before attempting to complete her task without being spotted. She flipped a switch on a third, smaller device- a more powerful type of scrambler that emitted enough electromagnetic interference to temporarily disable almost any electronic piece of equipment it was attached to. According to the Foundation's schematics, the CPU was located on the right side of the car, toward the back of the engine compartment. If she placed the scrambler too close she risked damaging it, but she had to cut off its ability to access its other systems. She crept along the aluminum skin of the semi and crouched by the car's right wheel well. .She wanted to come at it as obliquely as possible in hopes of avoiding any active cameras. Carefully Yves stretched her arm up over the hood. She let her hand hover there a moment, hoping she had the right place and then let go of the scrambler. The strong magnet in its base grabbed the car's hood with a loud thud. Instantly, there was a flash as lights inside the car jumped to life, and then just as quickly they died out as the scrambler took effect. Yves froze, waiting.
Nothing.
It had worked as advertised. She would have to remember that the Saudi was a good source.
She waited, still half expecting the engine to roar to life and alarms to sound, but the inside of the semi was filled only with the soft whirring of the other electronics. Yves ran a hand along the car's hood as she sidled to its driver's side door. The LEDs in the handle were green.
"You are truly a magnificent creature," she whispered. "Sorry to have to do this, but I need to borrow a little of your time."
Yves opened the driver's door and slid inside. It only took a few minutes to familiarize herself with the controls. Then she reached into her bag for the last of her little devices - a tiny signal recorder she'd used earlier to capture the remote control code - and used it to lower the semi's ramp. She pressed the car's start button and smiled when the engine whirred to life.
Yves put the car in gear, guided it down the ramp, and slipped out into the night.
OoOoO
-knightshade
09/21/14