Chapter Five: Hi There
1:05 a.m.
Jerri Stephens glances away from the clock and checks the rearview mirrors. Two other cars are parked behind her. The streets are empty. The shops are dark.
Where the hell is he? She's been sitting in the car for twenty minutes. The engine is off. The air is getting heavy; her shirt sticks to her skin. This is stupid. That idiot should never have been put in charge.
If the guy doesn't show up in the next five minutes, she's going to call it a loss. She can hear sirens in the distance. Helicopters dart low between buildings to the west. She glances at the clock.
This is amateur work. Berkman has no clue what the hell he's doing. Sure, the guy is a terrific egghead, but that's just it: the man is an egghead. He has no business sticking his nose into ground operations.
Ordering some two-bit assassination…please. Like no one will notice. Fucking asshole.
She sits in the stuffy car, sweat running between her shoulder blades, and eyeballs the key in the ignition.
A flutter of movement—her gaze darts to the mirror. Someone is walking down the sidewalk. She waits a few seconds, lets the guy get close, until she can see his shadowed face.
She sighs. It's him.
At first glance, the man looks like any other pedestrian wandering around downtown Dallas after midnight. He'd had the sense to change his outer clothing and clean his face, though he's walking with a limp.
Jerri waits until he's a few feet away before she leans over and cracks the passenger door. The guy steps off the sidewalk like he's expecting the ride and slides in. He's not even closed the door when Jerri starts the car and pulls out into the street.
She glances over without turning her head and says, "Put your seatbelt on."
The guy snorts and Jerri's sure she sees him roll his eyes, but he does what he's told.
"What happened?" she says.
"I nailed them," the guy says.
"And?"
"And what?"
"Did you get him?" she says.
"I got one of them."
Jerri's hands twitch.
"Which one?" she says.
"I don't know."
This time, she does look at the guy. "What do you mean you don't know."
"It was dark, lady! I didn't get a good look. He pulled a fucking gun on me. I didn't stick around to find out if he was gonna use it."
Jerri stares straight ahead. She turns left at the next intersection. "But you're sure you got one of them?"
"Oh yeah," he says. She can hear the grin in his voice. "We plowed right through the passenger side. There's no way the dude could've survived."
"And your driver?"
"He didn't make it."
The little shit is still grinning. Jerri breathes through her nose and releases it slowly. She turns left again.
"Did anyone see you?" she says.
The guy snorts again. "A couple of people. But Dr. Berkman said that it wasn't gonna be a problem. He said you guys would take care of it."
Jerri nods.
"These implants are something else," the guy says. "Almost put my head through the windshield. But a few minutes later, nothing. Not even a fucking scar. I can't wait until they get me the upgrades."
"Mmm."
"I mean, it's not a big deal or nothing, right? We just go back and whack that other dude, right? Bim, bam, boom. Problem solved."
If course it isn't going to be that easy. The whole point of getting this loser—whatever his name is—those implants, of finding a suitable vehicle and driver, is to make it look like an accident. There can be no obvious attempts made on a federal agent. Especially this one. Especially if he escaped alive.
The loser starts drumming his hands on his thighs. He stares out the window as he bobs his head. Jerri focuses on breathing. A right turn. The shops give way to larger warehouses. There's no traffic.
"So where're we headed, anyway?" the crony asks.
"A rendezvous."
"Oh. Nice. This is like a movie, you know? Fucking covert."
Jerri says nothing. Water glimmers ahead. She takes the next side street and pulls into a large parking lot next to a warehouse. The crony is still drumming away, faster now. She finds a nice, grassy area to the side and parks the car at the edge of the pavement, careful not to sink the tires into the turf. The crony looks out at the scruffy trees and the river beyond.
"So, what, we wait here? That's cool. You mind if I turn on the radio?"
He doesn't wait for Jerri to respond, he just leans forward and starts to play with the dials.
Jerri doesn't stop him. She reaches down into the center console with her right hand. At the same time, she reaches over with her left hand and pushes a button to roll down the passenger window.
"Dude," the crony says. He turns towards her, his mouth open. He stops when he sees the barrel of the silencer an inch from his face. "What?"
Jerri fires once, twice. The crony jerks and then slumps against the door, his head lolling out of the window. Jerri pulls out a cloth and wipes down the weapon. She unscrews the silencer and opens the glove compartment. Both gun and silencer go inside. Then she drives forward a few feet, parks the car, and pops the trunk.
Inside are a squirt bottle, some latex gloves, and a few rags. It's crude, but it's a start. She doesn't have to do a thorough clean herself; the guys back at headquarters will do that for her. She just has to get the most obvious parts off the car, the spatters on the side of the door, for instance.
It doesn't take her very long. Soon enough, the crony is stretched out on the seat, his head partially covered with a blanket. To anyone passing by, he looks asleep.
Jerri stuffs the dirty rags and gloves into a garbage bag and puts it all in the trunk. She climbs back in and starts the car. Music blasts through the speakers. Jerri glances down at the glowing display. She turns the radio off.
"So this is it, huh?" Hunter says.
He sits to Sideswipe's left. The air is warm and wet. The parking lot is quiet. Most of the humans seem to be inside the building, settling down for the night. Sideswipe runs another scan to be sure.
"You're sure this is where he's staying?" Hunter says.
"Yeah," Sideswipe says.
Human security is a joke. It takes a thought for him to find and hack the network inside. He sorts through the data and finds the one he's looking for.
"Seymour Simmons, room 407. Booked for two nights. He's paying with a Mastercard. You want the account number?"
"No," Hunter says. "I'm good."
"Okay then."
"So, what do we do now?"
The humans in Dallas are the same ones Sideswipe saw in Chicago, poking around the Headmaster named Timothy. Same type of vehicles. Same suits. It took a few kliks to identify them and Sideswipe had to hack what Hunter had referred to as "the National Defense Network?" to do it.
They're registered with a Federal Bureau of Investigation. This particular team is headed by an Agent listed as Seymour Simmons. And he's booked into the Sheraton Suites in Dallas, Texas.
Unfortunately, Agent Simmons isn't there. The logs for the lock on his room show that the door had been opened at 10:18 that morning.
"You've got to get into that room," he says.
"What?" Hunter says. "Me? Why me?"
"Unless you want to see me to try."
"Don't you have that holo-matter thing?"
"I'd have to get a lot closer to the building if I wanted to use it to interact with anything. I don't think it'd reach the fourth floor."
Hunter is silent.
"Go up and see what you can find in there. If there's a chance that these humans are after Machination, we need to know. Whatever they have, we need it."
The yellow vehicle next to him sinks down on its tires.
"Oh man," Hunter says. "Where am I supposed to stash the rest of me?"
This is the second time in two days that I'm breaking into a building, Hunter thinks. What the hell is wrong with me?
He's out of options. He can't just waltz into a police station. The Autobots have left earth. The only person he has on his side now might just be psychotic.
God, this is so messed up.
Sideswipe is genial enough. He'd patched Hunter up and pried the bullet from his knee. But something is off. He can't explain it, can't define it. Something in him knows the 'bot is about two French fries short of a happy meal.
Not now, of course. Now, he's sitting all quiet in the parking lot as Hunter creeps through rows of cars. But it's still there, shifting just beneath the surface.
Twins. How does a robot have a twin?
Light pours out of the glass door in the side of the building. Inside, he can see carpeted stairs.
Bingo.
He eases up, back to the wall, and peers in. The stairs are deserted. No one will see him. There's just one problem.
"Shit."
The door has one of those card-swipe locks. He tugs at it but the door doesn't budge.
((What's the problem?))
Hunter almost swallows his tongue. Sideswipe's "voice" blares in his ears as if he's standing right there. Hunter turns to the parking lot and spies the red car where he left him.
"Door's locked," Hunter says as loud as he dares.
A short pause, then, ((There.))
The door clicks. Hunter looks down, sees the blinking light flashing green.
"Oh," he says.
((I'll get the room unlocked too. Hurry up.))
"Yeah. I'm going."
Climbing four stories and he's not even tired. He pauses outside the door for the fourth floor and peers in. He can see 407 about halfway down the hall.
((What's the hold up?)) Sideswipe says.
"Making sure I don't scare the bejesus out of some family or something," Hunter says.
((You're clear. Go now.))
God, he's impatient.
True to his word, Sideswipe has the room unlocked. Hunter slips inside and eases the door shut behind him. It's a standard hotel room. To his right, a sliding closet door, to the left, a nook with a sink and a mirror; the dark space of the bathroom branches off. The single bed is made, the blankets tucked in and untouched. He sees nothing laying on the nightstands or the small dresser. Nothing on the little table. No soda cans or paper coffee cups. Nothing in the trashcan at all. It looks deserted.
Did I get the right room?
"I don't think he's been here," Hunter says. Light sweeps in through the window. An engine rumbles down below.
((Why?)) Sideswipe says.
"This place is empty," Hunter says, poking around the bed. "No bags, no garbage, no dirty clothes. No nothing."
The mech makes a strange, buzzing noise that the teen recognizes as the Autobot's language. He's pretty sure that one is a swear word.
((You're sure?)) Sideswipe says. ((There's nothing there? At all?))
"Yeah. He must have taken his stuff with him. Wait a minute… scratch that."
Tucked up underneath the edge of the bed on the far side, right underneath the frilly drape things, Hunter spots a black bag. He pulls it out and unzips the top. "Gotcha."
((What? What is it?)) Sideswipe says.
"His bag. Hold on."
Inside, Hunter finds some rolled up socks, a pair of pants, and some ridiculous Hawaiian silk boxers.
Down below, he hears a door open. A car chimes a couple of times and falls silent.
The main prize is behind the clothes, strapped to the side of the bag: Agent Simmons's laptop.
"Hey Sideswipe," he says. "I got—"
((You've got company!))
For two milliseconds, Hunter stands there. "What?"
((The human. He's back, inside the building. Get out of there. Now!))
Oh shit.
He picks up faint, thumping vibrations on the stairs. The swish of the door down the hall opening, footsteps on the carpet.
Shit, shit! Where do I go?
The window.
Hunter drops the bag and lunges, misjudges his speed and slams into the wall. The window rattles. There's an air-conditioner built into the sill. The window is a flat plane of glass. It doesn't open. He can break it, if he wants to create a mess and tip off the federal agent that someone was in his room.
The footsteps stop right outside the door. He hears a click. The handles start to turn.
Fuck!
He dives behind the bed, wedges himself against the wooden frame. He hears the door open, then shut. Seconds later, the closet slides open. Something rattles. Hunter doesn't move. For the first time, he's glad he doesn't have to breathe.
Footsteps, headed toward him. He tenses, prepares to jump up and run and hope he doesn't get shot again. The bed springs squeak. Hunter senses a shift in the mattress. The man sighs.
Hunter risks moving, bits of machinery that he tries very hard not to think about whir and twist around in his neck and he cranes his head back to peer over the edge of the bed. And almost has a heart attack.
All Agent Simmons has to do is turn two inches to the left and Hunter's cover is blown. He's hunched down. His left arm is in some sort of sling.
What the hell happened to him? Hunter wonders. He looked fine on the news yesterday.
The man winces. He eases forward and stands. Hunter ducks back, wishing he could sink through the floor. He waits, listens as the footsteps, muffled and heavy, putz around.
And I'm hiding under the bed. Wow, it would suck so bad to get caught like this.
Moments later, the bathroom door closes. Hunter counts to five and eases up on one elbow. He can just make out the edge of the door reflected in the mirror. The door is shut, the light inside on. This is his chance to bail.
"Sideswipe?" he breathes.
((What?))
"Is the hallway clear now?"
Sideswipe doesn't answer right away. Then he says, ((Yeah. Go for it.))
Hunter rolls to his feet. He pads across the floor, passing the bed and TV stand. He's right next to the closet when he hears the toilet flush.
Crap.
The closet is on his left. He slides it open and ducks inside, eases it shut just as the bathroom door opens. Simmons walks out. Nestled up against a few plastic hangers and a suit jacket that smells of sweat and aftershave, Hunter peers through the crack between the two sliding doors. Agent Simmons walks back over to the bed, sets his car keys and cell phone on the dresser. He leans over the bed—
Thank god I moved, Hunter thinks.
—and pulls his bag up. He rummages through it for a few seconds and pulls out some clothes. He turns back towards Hunter.
Hunter winces.
Even though half of the man's face is shaded by the low light of the hotel room, Hunter can still see the white tape across the bridge of his nose and the mass of bruising under each eye. Simmons has stitches just beneath his eyebrow, too. Someone has messed him up good.
Then he's walking past, disappearing into the bathroom. Two seconds later and the shower comes on.
Hunter waits, makes sure that he's staying in there and not going to pop back out. He doesn't move, doesn't make a sound as he watches a shadow move in the light underneath the door. Then that shadow disappears. Agent Simmons starts to hum, just audible over the sound of the water.
Go, Hunter thinks.
He eases out, tiptoes the last few feet to the door, and pauses. The agent is in the shower. It's unlikely that he's going to come back out in the next few minutes and who knows if they'll get another chance to get in here. The man could be packing up and leaving tomorrow morning and then what will they do?
What will Sideswipe do?
Agent Simmons's bag is still on the bed where he left it. If Hunter can get the laptop, maybe they can find what they need and Sideswipe won't do something… crazy.
The shower is running. Simmons is still humming what Hunter thinks might be "Hotel California."
He has to peel away the Velcro straps inside to pull the laptop out. Hunter looks down at himself, trying to find someplace to stash the thing. He settles for tucking it under his arm.
Should I take the phone, too? he thinks and feels a pang of remorse. First I break into the guy's room, now I'm stealing his stuff. Way to go, Hunter.
He'll have to find a way to return it. Once Sideswipe is done with it, he should be able to look up the guy's address and they can mail it back or something.
"Hey, Sideswipe, do you think…"
Something pings in Hunter's brain, just below the conscious level. It takes a second for him to realize that Hotel California has stopped. He feels a waft of humid air. His stomach drops out and he starts to turn—
"Don't. Move."
Simmons is standing right there, five feet away, fully dressed. He's got a gun pointed at Hunter's face. The agent's lips pull back in a nasty grin.
"Hi there," he says.
Thanks again to Starfire201 and lildevchick for their reviews. It makes my day to see that notice in my inbox. Hopefully I won't let you guys down. And this chapter would have been a lot more unwieldy if it weren't for KayDeeBlu and her wonderful advice.
Next chapter: Taste of the Fantastic