Chapter 2
Yves pulled the car into a nondescript building with a sign over the roll-down door that said Geyser Cold Storage. Its exterior was gray, rusting and almost entirely unremarkable. Inside, the building was another story entirely. The garage was clean, white, and alive with the background hum of electronics. There was a utilitarian bench along one wall and a well-stocked rack of tools along the other. It was smaller than Yves would have liked, but large enough to bring the car in easily. Normally she didn't like to be tied down to one location - she moved from hotel to hotel in the DC area - but this heist required a lot of prep work, so she'd had time to set up a workspace.
Yves got out of the car and strode over to the table where she'd carefully laid out the car's schematics and cable wiring diagrams. It was thoughtful of the Foundation technicians to put an emergency kill switch in the vehicle. Yves assumed it was a safety measure to protect the CPU in case of some catastrophic event in the car, but now it served a rather useful purpose for her. As soon as she lifted the hood, her scrambler would start to lose its hold on the CPU, potentially allowing the AI to get control of the car again and escape. She would have to open the hood and hit the kill switch before the AI regained its awareness.
Yves contemplated the car. Even though she knew it was immobile, it still felt dangerous -alive, like a panther frozen in the tall grass. She found the hood release and pulled it. Then she hooked the hydraulic lift she'd installed in the ceiling under the hood. She positioned herself along the side of the engine compartment, where the wiring diagram showed the emergency cutoff. Using the remote in her hand, she turned on the hydraulics and pulled open the hood. In an instant, there was a light show of LEDs activating on the CPU and in the bowels of the engine compartments. Hurriedly, Yves reached inside for the switch, and forced herself to be methodical when she didn't find it right away. She heard the engine turn over just as she spotted a nondescript black toggle nestled against the frame. She flipped open the cover and hit the switch. Almost instantly the LEDs went dark, the engine died, and the turbines slowly sped down.
Yves stepped away from the car, her heart beating quickly. "Sorry my little friend. Not this time."
Then she gathered a toolbox, creep, and the wiring diagram and got to work.
OoOoO
Michael stopped at the hotel coffee kiosk to clear his head with a little caffeine and organize this thoughts. They seemed to be out of leads and he really wasn't sure where to turn next. Linda had vanished and all he knew was that she had asked for their help. Devon and Bonnie were going to look into Maricrafters further but Michael felt like the case had come to a stand still. He wandered through the expensive lobby and decided to go see if his partner had any ideas.
The semi looked so out of place in the parking lot of a posh hotel, its large black hulk gleaming in the morning sunlight. Michael wove his way through parked cars, sipping his coffee and enjoying the warm day.
When he stepped inside the semi, he was surprised to see his partner missing, but not overly concerned.
"Hey pal, you have a hot date last night I didn't know about?" he asked into his comlink. When he got nothing but static in response, the first tinges of concern started to surface. "Kitt?" Michael leaned out the open door of the semi and glanced around the parking lot. Still no sign of his partner.
"Kitt?"
Michael picked up the semi's phone, worry now fueling his actions.
"Devon, wake Bonnie and get down here. Kitt's gone."
OoOoO
Yves sat back to admire her handiwork. She gave the schematics another once over, wanting to be sure she'd gotten everything. She'd had to break into several cables to clip the signal wires, but she'd tried to do it neatly, to cause as little damage as possible. She'd even carefully tied back all the dangling connectors so that they wouldn't short out or otherwise interfere with the car's operation. She was almost ready to turn the power back on, but first she had to decide what to do with the connector she was holding in her hand.
There was little risk in hooking it up, as far as she could tell. And she couldn't help being immensely curious, which in itself was leading her to err on the side of caution. But it seemed harmless. Everything else was deactivated or removed from the CPU's control. She'd checked and double checked the schematics, layouts, and block diagrams. She was confident that the car was under her control and hers alone.
Which made the temptation to communicate with the world's only known AI too alluring to resist.
Yves hooked up the audio connector in her hand and reached for the master power switch.
OoOoO
Bonnie shook her head, her lips pursed in frustration. "Nothing! No sign of him anywhere," she said, looking up at Michael and Devon. "Somehow his homing beacon has been turned off. I've tried to contact him over the Foundation's private channels, but he hasn't responded. I've even tried to establish contact through the more basic links I can use to control him remotely and there's nothing. I can't establish a connection!"
She turned away from the computer to the grim faces behind her.
"How could his homing beacon be turned off?" Devon asked.
She gave it some serious thought. "I can only think of three ways. It's possible to shut it down through software, but it's a very complicated procedure. Someone would really have to know what they were doing. The second possibility would be to pull the hardware or its battery out of the engine compartment. The only other thing I can think of would be using some sort of jammer that interferes with the frequencies it broadcasts on."
"How hard would it be to find the homing device and remove it?" Michael asked, his face downcast, filled with worry.
"Not easy. It's hidden beneath his CPU and it's very small. Someone would have to know what they were looking for."
"What about the men you brought here, Michael? The ones who hacked into the Foundation's computers?" Devon suggested. "Could they have gotten access to that information?"
"It's possible," Bonnie said. "We're pretty sure the hacker was able to get a look at Kitt's schematics. It would be pretty apparent if they knew what they were looking for."
"Devon, I got a look at their van and their base of operations. They had a lot of electronic equipment, but it certainly didn't look like the kind of operation that could get away with stealing Kitt."
Bonnie looked back and forth between them. "There is another possibility. When the network experts were doing forensics on our system, they noticed the electronic equivalent of fingerprints all over the place. It was basically a 'dirty' hack. But there was some evidence that there might have been someone else in the system. I assumed at the time that it was just the brute force nature of the hack that left additional corrupted files, but the security team confirmed that there was most likely a second intruder."
"Maybe the woman who approached you in the bar?" Michael asked Devon. "They did say she was a high tech thief and that she sometimes used them to get her hands on things."
"Kitt would make quite an attractive target, I'm afraid" Devon mused.
"So how do we find her?" Bonnie asked. "All we have is an alias. I ran it everywhere I could think of but I couldn't find out anything more about her."
"I've got four ideas," Michael said, raising an eyebrow. "I'll go question them. If I can borrow your rental car, that is, Devon."
"Of course. But what are you going to tell them?"
"Langly has already seen Kitt in action, but they seem satisfied that he's just remotely controlled."
"Good. Keep it that way. I'd rather Kitt not end up in a newspaper – respectable or not."
"You got it, Devon. I'll check in with you both later."
OoOoO
Kitt became aware with a start. Being reactivated was always jarring, even under the best of circumstances, but this was frightening. The last data in his memory bank was a couple of frames of video - a white room that was completely unfamiliar to him, his hood being lifted, and that was it. His systems had been coming online chaotically, not giving him good information. Then nothing. Now he was back online but none of his systems were. Everything was down – control of the car, access to any external communications channels, and most disconcertingly, his scanner and video cameras. He was effectively blind.
He could hear however. That was the one external system that still seemed to be receiving proper signals. While it should have been a relief, in reality, it was more unsettling. He wasn't sure what could cause all his external systems, save one, to fail. It was almost certainly deliberate which meant he was in trouble and didn't have the inputs necessary to figure out what had happened to him. That combined with those stark images in his memory bank had him deeply worried. Where was he? What was going on?
Kitt was startled when he heard the characteristic tap-tapping of women's high heeled shoes and a light swishing sound like fabric on fabric or maybe long hair brushing against something. Someone was moving around the front of his hood, along his driver's side. Kitt had felt fear before, both fear for himself and fear for Michael, but this was bordering on panic. He couldn't do anything - he was completely helpless.
"I trust that you're . . . aware."
The female voice was jarring in Kitt's sensory deprived world and he jumped at it, his processor immediately trying to decipher who was talking to him. It wasn't Bonnie, which had been his obvious hope, or April, or any of the other female technicians he'd come into contact with over the years. Which left him with only one guess, and that didn't help his mental state any.
"Come now, don't be shy."
Kitt quickly determined that the subsection of his audio channels that allowed him to speak was still intact, but he didn't know what to do. Answer? Don't answer? He wasn't sure which was the right approach. If he talked to this woman, he could find out vital information about his circumstances, but perhaps he'd find out more by playing possum, so to speak. He noticed with a heap of discomfort that she hadn't started the conversation by saying she wasn't going to hurt him.
"Where am I?" he finally asked.
"Somewhere quiet, out of the way."
Kitt didn't know what to make of that answer. The tone hadn't held any obvious malice, but it sounded, to his unsettled mind, like a threat. His audio analyzer didn't pick up anything telling at all. As far as female voices went, this one was average enough. It was firmly in the middle of the female vocal range and had a decidedly British accent. There was also an almost hollow, empty resonance to it that he'd normally associate with sadness, but in this case, there was nothing to corroborate that impression.
"Who are you?" he finally asked.
"Who do you think I am?" The voice sounded amused which made him angry. He didn't want to play games. And he didn't want to reveal more than necessary. But then again, she must know a lot about him if she had disabled his systems. Fear flooded back and Kitt decided he preferred the anger.
"I don't believe I've heard your voice before and it would appear that I've been stolen. Logic would dictate that you're the thief who approached Devon – Yves Harlow."
There was a long pause. "Is that an important imperative in your . . . life? 'Logic' that is?"
Kitt didn't like the unnatural pause before the word 'life.' It implied disbelief. "I'm a computer, what do you think?" he asked, allowing himself to be annoyed.
"I think you're a much more than a computer."
Kitt heard a sound that was as familiar as any in his world and it set off another cascade of fear. He suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable - at this woman's mercy. She had opened his door. He then heard the companion sound of the door closing. She was inside him.
"What have you done to my systems?" he demanded, needing answers, needing to know how dire his situation was.
"They're disabled."
"How?"
She laughed. "Persistent, aren't we? If you must know, I've disconnected the appropriate cables and signal lines."
Kitt found himself soaked in a cold horror. There was nothing he could do to get control of his systems back. With software blocks or even certain hardware interference he could attempt to circumvent them, but being physically disconnected from his systems? He was completely helpless.
"Why have you done this? Why am I here?" he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
"I just need to borrow you for a bit."
Then Kitt's microphones were saturated by the sound of his own turbine engines roaring to life.
OoOoO
The buzzer cut across the clicking of keyboards and the whir of computer fans. Frohike went to check the security camera monitor.
"Maybe it's Yves," Byers said looking over the copy for the meager edition they were putting out next week.
"Uh, guys," Frohike said. "It's not Yves."
The rest of the group crowded around the screen to watch the tall man with curly hair pace outside their door with his hands in his pockets.
"What's he doing here?" Langly asked.
They shared a look before Frohike went to the door, turned all four locks, and carefully pulled it open. "Mr. Knight. Can we help you?" he asked.
"I hope so, yes," Michael said.
Frohike turned to look back at the other guys. Byers gave him a nod and he stepped back to let Knight in.
"So what can we do for you, Knight?" he asked, crossing his arms defensively. "Or whatever your real name is."
Knight sighed. "I need your help. Something of ours has been stolen. So I was hoping to get some more information from you about this Yves woman – how can I find her?"
"Let me guess, you lost your little urban assault vehicle," Langly said mockingly.
Knight tilted his head and half rolled his eyes. "It's not an assault vehicle, it's a car. But it does have some features that in the wrong hands, could be dangerous."
"Like the ability to jump over things," Langly said.
"That's one of them, yes."
Frohike stepped forward. "No offense, but how do we know you're the right hands to help get this car back to?"
Langly was right at his shoulder. "Yeah. We don't usually help out shadowy, quasi-governmental agencies, who operate outside the legal system."
Knight tipped his head back. "We're just trying to help people. Sometimes, to get the really big guys, the authorities need help. We're not vigilantes - we turn criminals over to the authorities, we just help shut them down and bring them to justice."
"Right," Langly said. "And I'm the tooth fairy."
"Check us out!" Knight said, obviously getting frustrated. "I assume you've got 'access' to the Justice Department's files."
Langly just smirked.
"Look up the cases against Boyd LaSalle, Simon Carascas, Tsombe Kuna, Charles Zurich. The Foundation had a hand in all of those."
Langly sat down at this computer and pulled up a few screens. He began tapping quickly as the screens flashed before him. Byers leaned over his shoulder as Jimmy and Frohike watched Knight.
"He's got a point, guys," Byers said. "It looks like the Foundation was involved in those cases - on the side of the Justice Department."
"Probably after trampling all over the civil liberties of everyday taxpaying Americans."
"Langly, enough," Byers said, setting a hand on his shoulder before turning back to Knight. "If we were to help you, what do you need?"
"A way to find the woman, Yves, who approached my boss."
Frohike nodded slightly to Byers and Langly. They had plenty of reasons to be suspicious of Yves. It wouldn't be the first time she'd used them to get at something bigger. And from what Langly said, the car was pretty amazing. It sounded like the kind of thing Yves would want to steal.
"We'll help you on one condition. We get the story on the car and whatever it is that led Yves to target you."
Knight shook his head. "The Foundation doesn't want any publicity."
"What if we treat it as an unconfirmed story - use you as an unnamed source, and the Foundation as an unnamed agency?"
Knight shook his head. "Why bother then?"
"Because you're probably only half the story. The woman you ran into sells what she steals. So there's someone on the other end looking to buy. And Yves seems to know some pretty big fish. It's a risk for us, but it's at least possible this will pay off."
Knight looked back and forth at the group. Finally he sighed. "Okay, unnamed source and agency only though."
"And we investigate with you," Frohike added.
"I work alone," Michael protested.
"Do you want our help or not?"
Michael sighed. "Ok."
"You've got a deal." Frohike held out his hand and shook Knight's.
OoOoO
Odious woman, Kitt thought. He knew that she had been exercising his systems. He heard the characteristic whoosh of air when she turbo boosted, followed by the crunch as they hit the ground again. He assumed they were in a remote area since he hadn't heard any other cars in a while. He hoped that was the case anyway. He didn't want anyone to get hurt because a woman who had no idea how to use his systems was in control.
Kitt's main priority was to find a way to regain control of his systems. If this woman was to be believed and they were really physically disconnected, his only chance for escape was to convince her to hook them back up.
He heard a splintering noise and assumed she'd driven through something but he had no idea what. "Checking out the merchandise?" he asked sarcastically.
"Just trying to learn what you can do," she said.
"If you would reconnect some of my systems, I could help you."
There was a soft snort. "And here I thought computers couldn't lie."
"I don't believe we can."
This time there was soft laughter. "And yet somehow I don't believe you want to help me."
"Be that as it may, I could at least tell you how to better use my systems."
"You just want to know where you are and how to get away."
"If you hooked up my video systems, I could at least see what you're trying to do and let you know the best way of doing it. I'd have no control over the car, or any way to contact anyone. I wouldn't be a threat to you or you plans, whatever they may be."
"Somehow, I doubt that as well," she answered. There was a long pause, then the woman said, "Do you think its better to be in the dark, blissfully ignorant, or to see what's coming and not be able to stop it."
That hollowness that Kitt had noticed earlier was back again. "I guess that depends on what's coming doesn't it? I can see virtues in both."
"Hmm."
"But in general, I think more knowledge is better than less."
"Even knowledge that's negative or destructive?"
"You can't fight something if you don't know there's anything to fight."
"Sometimes you can't fight because the problem's too big or too immediate. Sometimes it's just better not to know."
"You can always fight. You may not be able to win, but you can always fight," Kitt said, more to keep his own goals in perspective. He had to keep trying to get back in control of the situation. He heard a sigh and then nothing more. He needed to keep her talking to find out as much as possible about this woman, to try to convince her to let him go. He had no power in this situation other than his power to persuade. And he had a feeling he was going to have to earn her trust first before he could convince her to do anything.
"You never answered my earlier question. Are you Yves Adele Harlow?"
"Yes."
"I take it that's not your real name?"
"It's real enough."
"Meaning what exactly?" Kitt asked, genuinely confused.
"Meaning it's real to me." There was a pause and then something sly or clever in her voice. "It's probably as real to me as your driver's name is to him."
Kitt froze. What did she know about Michael?
"What is he running from?"
"What do you mean?" Kitt asked warily.
"People who change their names usually do so because they're running from their past."
"Is that why you changed yours?" he asked, trying to redirect the conversation away from Michael.
She laughed slightly, cynically. "Clever computer. You get a gold star."
"So what are you running from?"
"If I told you now, what would we discuss on our trip?"
Kitt was suddenly off kilter again, aware of his complete lack of control in this situation. "What trip? Where are we going?"
"We're going to meet someone from my past."
OoOoO
"The name she goes by is Yves Adele Harlow. It's an anagram for Lee Harvey Oswald. She usually stays at hotels in the area under other anagrams for it," Byers explained.
"And you guys don't know her real name?"
"Nope," Frohike said. "We've tried everything we can think of to find out. But we haven't had any luck."
"Do you still have that picture you showed us?"
"Sure. Why?" Frohike pulled the photograph out of a drawer.
"Can I have it? I'd like to take a crack at finding out who she is. We may have some sources you don't have access to." Michael looked at Langly. "And speaking of which, if you know the names she goes by, can you get into the area hotel records and find out where she's staying."
"Oh, I see. It's perfectly okay to hack as long as it's not your network." Langly shook his head before accessing his computer.
"Something like that."
Langly typed at his computer for a few minutes before he leaned back. "I got it. She's at the W under the name Alese Levow-Hardy."
"Alright. Thanks guys," Michael said, heading toward the door.
"Oh no," Frohike said. "We had a deal. We're coming with you."
"Guys, I'll let you know as soon as I find anything."
"Uh-uh." Langly parked himself between Michael and the door before realizing how outmatched he was. Byers shoved Jimmy non-too subtly toward the door.
"Oh, right," Jimmy said. "You'll have to get through me. Us. First."
Knight just looked at them.
"Even if you do get past us, we'll just follow you," Frohike said.
"Fine. But we do this my way, okay?" He looked at each of the four men. "We clear on that?"
Byers nodded. "Yeah, we're clear."
OoOoO
After a couple of hours, Yves brought Kitt to a stop. He could have been back in the same room he'd been in previously or somewhere else entirely. He really didn't know. But when she got out of the car, there was a slight echo in the clicking of her heels which told him that he was somewhere with a lot of hard reflective surfaces and minimal furnishings. It was probably a garage.
"So where are you taking me?" he asked, not really expecting to get a straight answer.
"Tomorrow we're going for a drive."
"But where?"
"Does it really matter?"
"Yes, it matters. I want to know where you're taking me, what you're going to do with me."
"You'll find out tomorrow. We just have a little errand to run."
Kitt heard a small click and then some of the hum in the room went out, like florescent light bulbs being turned out. He heard the clicking of heels and a door shutting, then silence.
He was left alone in the quiet room, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.
OoOoO
Michael was hoping for something a little more comfortable than riding around in the back of an electronics-stuffed VW bus. "Did you guys make most of this stuff yourself?" he asked, looking at the van's 'periscope.'
"Yeah, I pieced most of it together," Frohike called from the front seat. "But it's nothing like that trailer of yours. That's one sweet set up in there."
Michael chuckled. They didn't even know the half of it. "Yeah, it makes for a nice base of operations."
"I'll bet. It probably costs more than the loot in Fort Knox."
"Something like that," Michael admitted, thinking about the time that Devon had warned him that it was worth a king's ransom.
"So you guys use all this gear to try to get stories for your paper?" Michael asked.
"Yeah. We can do wire taps and surveillance. Basic stuff like that. It comes in handy," Langly said.
"And you think we trample on the rights of everyday taxpaying Americans?" Michael goaded.
Frohike smiled. "Touche."
"What kind of stories do you guys work on?" Michael couldn't understand needing all the poor man's James Bond gadgets just to put out a paper that most people probably thought was one big paranoid delusion to begin with.
"Anything that has to do with corruption that affects the American people. Coverups, crimes, poaching, you name it. We might seem like a bunch of conspiracy theorists, but we only publish the things we can find some proof for. The FBI has even been involved in some of our stories," Frohike said.
Michael nodded, on one hand thinking they were a bunch of lunatics but on the other, wondering if they weren't fighting the same kind of fights, at least partially.
"We're here," Byers said, jumping out as Frohike pulled open the sliding door in back to let Michael and Jimmy out.
"So, what's your plan?" Byers asked Michael.
Michael glanced around the parking lot for inspiration and saw a man selling flowers on the corner. "You guys got a small cardboard box in here?" he asked.
Byers pulled one out from under the front seat. It was just about the right size.
"You guys wait here,"
"Uh-uh," Langly said, crossing his arms.
"Okay fine. You guys wait in the lobby. I'll be in in a minute."
Michael quickly purchased a bouquet of roses from the man at the cart and managed to beg a vase off him. He slid the flowers into the vase and the vase into the box and then headed into the lobby. He approached the front desk and the pleasant looking woman staffing it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the rest of the crew seated around the lobby.
"Hi. I'm with Celebrate Flowers and I have a delivery for Ms. Levow-Hardy. But I don't have a room number. Could you tell me where to deliver it?"
The woman looked up suspiciously so he flashed her a smile. "Help a guy out?"
"It's against policy, but I guess I can look it up for you."
"Thanks. I'd really appreciate it," he said flirting just enough to come across as winning, he hoped.
"They're beautiful," she said as she typed something into her computer.
"Someone's lucky, I guess."
She looked up at him ruefully. "Maybe not. It looks like Ms. Levow-Hardy checked out two days ago. Sorry."
Michael tried to keep the disappointment off his face. "All right. Thanks for your help," he said and turned to leave the lobby.
OoOoO
"So why would your driver take the name Knight?" Yves asked.
"Why not?" Kitt asked, trying to deflect any conversation away from Michael while keeping his auditory channels primed for clues to their location. Yves had come back this morning and with barely a word, put something in his trunk and drove them out of the garage. She seemed in the mood to talk now though.
"It implies a certain ownership or possession."
"What do you mean?" In his mind it implied familial relationship, not ownership, but he didn't want to give anything away.
"Knight Industries. Wilton Knight. Why take on the company name? Was there something left to him for taking another's name?"
As far as Kitt knew the only thing left to Michael by Wilton was a legacy. But he also knew that Michael hadn't exactly had much say in the matter. His registration and Michael's ID had already been made out in that name before Michael even knew what the legacy really entailed. "I don't believe so."
"An odd choice then. It almost sounds like he was marked as property, as surely as you were, Knight Industries Two Thousand."
"Michael is not property," Kitt said, his anger getting the best of him.
"Not in the strictest sense, no, I would assume not. But there are plenty of ways to have ownership over someone or possession of them in the less strict sense of the word. To be beholden to someone or something."
"I assure you that's not the case. Michael is free to make his own choices." But it hadn't always been so. One could look at his first days with the Foundation as coercive. He hadn't asked to be given a new face and identity. He'd been given one and then asked if he indeed wanted it when it was far too late to say no.
"Hmmm," was all Yves said. After a pause she said, "And your name? Knight Industries Two Thousand is a bit of a mouthful."
"I'm known by my acronym, KITT."
"And do you consider that your name?"
"I do."
"Did you choose it?" Yves asked.
"No. But I feel it suits me."
"It's nice that your creators chose well." Kitt thought he heard a bit of a snide mockery in her voice. "May I also call you Kitt?"
While he wanted to say no, he didn't see much point in it. "I don't seem to have much control over what you do," he responded, petulantly denying her his approval.
"True," she said darkly. "Then Kitt it is."
"What about you? How did you pick your name?" Kitt asked.
"It's an anagram."
That was slightly comforting. Kitt immediately set about calculating all the possible variations. "Of your real name?" he asked.
"No."
Kitt looked over all the potential results. "The only name here that would seem to have any significance is Lee Harvey Oswald."
"You get another gold star."
"Why Oswald?" he asked, puzzled. "Are you an assassin?"
"Not usually. And neither was Oswald."
"The Warren Commission and most historians disagree with you."
"And if the Warren Commission and most historians said the sky was purple, would that make it true?"
"Of course not. But why Oswald?"
"Because he was going to tell the truth. He was so committed to it that he was willing to risk his life to do so. And they killed him for it."
"And what was the truth?" Kitt asked, intrigued.
But the only answer she gave him was stony silence.
OoOoO
Devon was pouring over the police report for the fourth time when the door to the semi opened and Michael appeared. "Ah good, you're back," he said.
"Have you got something?" he asked hopefully.
"Not about Kitt's whereabouts, no. But the police found Linda Parker," he said gravely. "Her body was pulled out of the Chesapeake this morning."
Michael let out a frustrated sigh. "You sure?"
"Yes. The police compared the fingerprints on the body to the ones taken for her defense clearance. And that's not all."
Bonnie turned away from her computer and joined the conversation. "The numbers you found in the notebook were to Cayman bank accounts."
"Not something your average whistle blower has."
"No," said Devon. "We've been assuming she was a victim but perhaps we should be looking for clues to her involvement in something illicit."
Michael nodded. "I'll head back over to her house and take another look." He paused and took a deep breath. "Anything on Kitt?"
Bonnie sighed. "I went as far as I could on tracing that second hack and came up with nothing. The computer security gurus at the Foundation are looking into it as well. I've tried everything I can think of to find or communicate with him. There's just nothing."
She sounded as stricken as Michael felt. He put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him," he said gently.
"Michael, you and Kitt weren't even suppose to be here. You came because of Linda. And apparently someone else knew ahead of time that you'd be here." Devon said. "Whoever has Kitt didn't plan this overnight."
Michael cocked his head. "You think Linda was a trap to get us out here."
"It would make sense, given the strange nature of this case." Devon put a hand on Michael's arm. "We can't seem to find Kitt directly, but maybe getting to the bottom of this case will lead us to his kidnapper."
Michael mulled that over. He was not at all happy about abandoning a more direct search for his partner, but he didn't have much in the way of things to go on. And he had to admit that Devon made a good point. "Okay. So what is Linda doing with a Cayman account?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Devon said. "I'd say there are two likely avenues. The first being that she is not at all who she says she is and she was planted specifically to get to Kitt."
Michael shook his head. "Devon, she's been here too long. She's too established."
"The next most obvious supposition is treason."
"She was in the defense industry and perfectly placed to have access to valuable information." Bonnie pointed out. "Maybe she was selling satellite technology to a foreign entity. And now that foreign entity is after Kitt."
Michael considered that. "That leads to two possibilities. Either it was a set up from the start and she was playing us, in which case, why kill her? Or she wanted out and legitimately called us for help. Then whoever she was working with got wind of Kitt and decided to use her to get to us."
"I wonder when and how our newspaper friends discovered Kitt," Devon asked.
"I intend to ask them," Michael said. "Are you guys still looking into this Yves Harlow?"
Bonnie looked up at him from her chair. "Of course. But we don't have much to go on. Did you find anything?"
"Maybe." Michael pulled something from his pocket. "I got her picture from Byers. See if you can't use it to help run down something on her."
Bonnie took the picture and gazed at it thoughtfully. "It's a long shot, but I'll give it a try. I take it they couldn't help you locate her?"
"We found where she was staying, but she checked out Wednesday."
"Interesting timing," Devon remarked.
"Yeah." Michael sighed. "If these cases are related, maybe this Yves woman is representing whoever was buying secrets. I'm going to go back to Linda's and see if I can't find some connection to Yves."
OoOoO
"Yves, I don't suppose I could convince you to reconnect some of my systems?" Kitt asked.
"I doubt it, why?"
She sounded certain, even mocking. But he didn't care. He needed to try. The sensory deprivation was getting to him. "As I'm sure you're aware, I'm used to taking in a lot more information than this current configuration allows."
"Undoubtedly."
"It's rather . . . disconcerting to be without that input."
"And?"
"I was wondering if you would consider hooking up my video cameras. Currently my systems are in a state equivalent to human blindness."
"And that bothers you?" she asked, the disbelief evident in her voice.
"Yes."
"How?"
Kitt sighed. "I'm missing critical information. I'm in an unknown place, that I have very limited means of assessing."
"Do you have feelings, Kitt?" Her voice was neutral, but Kitt felt he should tread cautiously.
"Yes."
"So you feel happiness, sadness, anger like a human would?"
"I can't say how my feelings compare to a human's, but I do have feelings, yes."
Kitt heard the faint creaking in his suspension. He guessed that she was either sitting on or resting against his hood.
"How is that possible?" she asked. "Are they programmed responses to certain situations?"
"I'm not exactly sure. Some of them are indeed programmed, such as my fear of flying. Others seem to have developed over time."
There was a long pause. "You feel fear?" she asked in measured tones.
The question chilled him. He instantly regretted revealing that he experienced feelings. But it was too late now. A denial would not dissuade her if she wanted to use that information against him. "Yes," he said quietly.
"You have no palms to get sweaty, no mouth to get dry, no heart to race, and yet you feel fear?"
"Fear is a psychological as well as a physiological state in humans is it not?"
"It is indeed." There was another creak in the suspension and then he heard her footsteps circling slowly. "Why would your programmers have included it in your repertoire of emotions? It's a feeling most people would do without. And in your role in law enforcement it would seem counterproductive."
Kitt thought about that for a moment. He had to admit that was probably true on some level. But in other ways it wasn't. "I believe it's one of the feelings that has grown beyond its original scope. After all, how can an entity experience happy emotions without negative ones to contrast them with?" he asked. "How can you truly care about someone without a fear of losing them?"
She stopped moving. "And you do care about anyone?"
Kitt knew he was in dangerous territory again. This information could easily be used against him. But he had the feeling that perhaps it would help his captor to see him as more than an artificial being. "Yes. Several people."
She was quiet for a moment. "And if I were to reconnect your video cameras, what purpose would that serve other than to allow you to identify me and this building?"
"I can already identify you. Your friends, the newspaper publishers, showed us your picture."
"Then you just want to know your location as a means of escape."
"Even if I do know my location, the car is under your control. There's nothing I can do to reconnect the cables."
"Then what would be the point?"
Kitt had a feeling - one of Michael's hunches perhaps - that he was having an effect on this woman. Maybe being cut off from his technology and sensors was forcing him to pay attention to the human side of things. Or maybe without Michael and his keen knowledge of human interactions to help him, Kitt was being forced to pay more attention to those things himself. But he got the impression that she was starting to see him less as a commodity and more as a sentient being. He had a hunch and he was going to play it to the hilt.
"To ease my fear."
OoOoO
She should have left the audio cable alone. Yves couldn't believe that a computer, an AI, had managed to make her feel guilty. Now here she was taking stupid risks. She should just disconnect everything and get on with her plan, but he was getting under her skin.
She actually felt sorry for him.
Yves opened Kitt's hood again and was carefully following the cables and comparing them to the schematics. She needed to be careful in how she did this. She did not want to hook up the wrong cable. Especially not now, with Kitt active. She didn't want to inadvertently give him a chance to call for help.
It was funny how quickly 'it' had become 'he'. She had expected something robotic, something like Hal from 2001. But Kitt was nothing like that. He was definitely not an 'it'.
"You said that Oswald knew the truth. What did you mean? What was the truth?" he asked.
Yves smiled despite herself. "The million dollar question."
"And I'm a 20 million dollar car. By my calculations, even if you answer the question, I still have 19 million dollars in credit."
He was a plucky little thing, she thought. And his memory banks could always be erased. "Touche. The truth is that Khrushchev wanted an outpost in Cuba, but he didn't want to part with much of his own military hardware. The Russians had been running short on armaments and production was slow. So they were going to buy stolen Western arms for a song from a black market dealer, and give them to Castro. The missiles sent down there were just a few batteries to start with. A full complement was supposed to follow. As I'm sure you know, the Soviets turned their ships around and gave up on the idea of an outpost. The arms dealer and his organization lost millions on the deal. Needless to say, he wasn't happy. Kennedy's assassination was revenge."
The AI scoffed. "How could you possible know that? You probably weren't even born then."
"Let's just say that I know a few black market arms dealers."
"You could singlehandedly put the whole Kennedy conspiracy industry out of business by coming forward with that story," he quipped.
Yves let out a slow sigh. "There are some things that just aren't worth losing your life over."
She plugged in the right cable, dropped the hood, and waited.
OoOoO
Michael thought about slipping out of the hotel. He thought about sneaking into the parking lot, slinking up to Devon's rental car, and quickly disappearing out onto the highway. Okay, he did a lot more than think about it. It wasn't that he didn't like the guys. They were fine if a little weird. It was just that he was worried about Kitt. He did not want his efforts to find his partner to be slowed down by having to work with them. So he was going to lose them. That was the plan anyway - until he spotted the blinking lights in the wheel well of Devon's rental car. He was going to just move it the car next to his. The thought actually put a smile on his face until he spotted the ancient VW bus lurking at the end of the parking lot. Michael sighed and pounded the heel of his hand on the roof. He knew he'd get more accomplished on his own, but figured he'd still get more done working with them than taking the time to dodge them. So he raised his hand in the air, waving toward the bus. It pulled out of its parking space and rendezvoused with Michael at Devon's car.
"Hey guys," Michael said. "How are you this morning?"
"Good," Byers said from behind the wheel.
Frohike leaned across the front seat. "You weren't planning on breaking our agreement and leaving us behind, were you?"
"Nah. I was just," he fumbled. "I was just on my way to get some coffee."
"Good," Frohike said pointedly.
"So where are we headed?" Byers asked.
Michael sighed. "I was thinking it might be worth going back to the case we were out here investigating. The woman we were trying to find turned up dead yesterday. Maybe it's related. I was going to go back to her house to see if I could find something that would tie her to this Yves woman you know."
"Okay. You wanna hop in?" Byers asked.
Michael tried not to sigh. "Nah, why don't you guys follow me in my car."
He wanted the peace and quiet. He wanted to mull this case over in his mind and he didn't think it was going to be able to think straight in the cacophonous electronic whir of the VW bus.
Actually he really wished Kitt were here to be his sounding board. His logic and calm insight would be invaluable right now.
"You aren't going to try to lose us, are you?" Langly asked.
"Now why would you think that?" Michael grinned. "It would be kind of hard with the tracking device you put on my car wouldn't it?"
Byers and Frohike shared a look. "We'll follow you, Knight."
"Call me Michael," he said, and popped into the car.
OoOoO
He could see! Well, after a fashion anyway, Kitt could see. Yves had reconnected his infrared sensors. It wasn't a very detailed view of the world but he could actually have some sense of where he was. It appeared to be a large room, judging by the neat right angles the electrical wires made in the walls. And Yves herself appeared to be walking away, down what was probably a short hallway. After a few minutes she stopped and took a seat in another room.
But he hadn't realized just how relieving it would be to get some of his sight back. He was more or less used to short periods of sensory deprivation when his CPU was disconnected from the car, but not like this. Normally, he was safe with Bonnie when he was in that configuration and she was very good about making sure she hooked him up to a feed and kept him informed. It was at least useful that Yves had been talking to him, but she was not to be trusted and the stress of having almost no input had been wearing on him constantly.
Relief rushed through him, although it was tempered. He could see and he would have a better idea of what was going on around him, but he was still basically helpless. He still needed to find a way out of this predicament. The sooner the better.
OoOoO
Linda Parker's house was basically as Michael had left it last time. He and the guys had fanned out into the various rooms, looking for something, anything to tie her to Yves. Michael had to admit he really didn't have any idea what he was looking for. He wasn't even sure that he'd recognize it when he saw it.
"Guys," Langly said from the living room. "Does it strike anyone else as odd that this woman was in the defense industry, working on spy satellites, and she doesn't have a computer?"
They all congregated in the living room.
"Maybe she doesn't like to bring her work home," Byers suggested.
"Or maybe she had a computer and it's missing?" Michael said, glancing around the room.
Langly peeked out from the bedroom. "I don't see anything that suggests a computer. No desk, no cables, no printer."
"What if she had a laptop?" Frohike suggested.
Michael set down the stack of envelopes he'd been flipping through. He and Kitt had been over this place before but at the time the check had been cursory. He needed to adjust his thinking. Before he had been looking for someone who was a whistleblower - an innocent citizen trying to right some wrong. But she had a Caribbean bank account. It was unlikely that she was completely innocent. He needed to start thinking like he was investigating something suspicious.
While the guys looked for evidence of a computer, he started scouring the living room, looking along the edges of picture frames, turning over the desk drawers. Then he wandered into the bedroom. He noticed a small lock box in Linda's closet. There was a combination lock with a small spin dial on its face. He'd raised his comlink to his lips to ask Kitt for help before remembering that Kitt wasn't there.
Michael took the box back out to the living room. "Hey guys. In that van of yours, I don't suppose you have anything that would help me figure out a combination?" he asked.
Frohike gave the box a once over. "Yeah, I think we've got something that might help." The group trooped back out to the VW bus and pulled open the side door. Frohike rummaged around in the back before producing a small gadget. He pressed it against the box and started very slowly turning the dial. Red LEDs began to flash with each number. Finally one flashed green. Frohike stopped and switched directions on the lock. It took several minutes, but Frohike finally got the last number and lifted the lid. He started pulling items out and handing them to Michael. First was a manila a folder. He rifled through it, finding a passport and other documentation in the name Victoria Wright. The picture in the passport looked like Linda. He passed all that off to Langly. Then Frohike passed him a little black calendar. Michael opened it with interest and began paging back from the day Linda had disappeared. There were initials penned in on several of the appointment lines. He was going back looking for patterns when Frohike said, "Uh, guys?"
He looked up to see a thick bundle of hundred dollar bills in Frohike's hand. "There are a lot of these down here at the bottom."
Langly whistled and Byers looked over at Michael. "Maybe you should tell us what you know about this woman. Maybe we can find something that might help."
OoOoO
"Are you going to sell me?" he asked. It was the obvious question and Yves hated the rush of sympathy she felt. So what if that were her plan?
"What makes you think that?" she asked, dodging the question.
"You're a thief and I've been stolen. I assume your intent is to sell me."
"'Stolen' is a very interesting choice of words. Property, belongings are stolen. Human beings are kidnapped."
"I'm not human."
"But do you consider yourself property?"
"Legally speaking I am property."
"Legally speaking, yes, but do you think that description fits?" It was an ugly idea, one she felt too close to.
"No. However in this case, what I think my description should be probably doesn't matter as much as what those around me think it is."
"And the people who 'own' you, do they see you as property?"
"The people I work with closely, the people who've gotten to know me, no, I don't believe they do. But those who don't know me well probably do see me as property, yes."
Yves crossed her arms. "And those you work closely with, do they protect you?"
"Yes. They're like family."
Yves couldn't help the flare of anger. "Do they care for you, cherish you? Do they love you?" she asked fighting the lump in her throat. "Or are you just a tool to them, an instrument to do their bidding?"
"I think they love me, yes," he said softly. "I belong to them, but not as property."
Yves let out a frustrated sigh and bit back the hollowness that moved up her throat from her chest. She carried an empty void that even this artificial creature had filled. She didn't want to go any further down this path. "Thief is not a description I would use for myself. I thieve from thieves. I steal things to keep them away from the people who shouldn't have them in the first place. I even sometimes return things to the people they were stolen from. And yes, I often make money by selling things or collecting sizable rewards."
"Legally speaking, a thief."
"Legally speaking, yes."
"So why did you steal me?"
"I didn't." She sighed. "As I said, I'm borrowing you."
He was quiet for a minute. "Most people don't always mean exactly what they say. Especially with words like 'borrow.'"
Yves was tired and she still had a lot of things to go over. "No. Most people don't." She flipped off the light and left the garage
OoOoO
Langly had a good hack going. He was digging around in the FBI's databases, finding quite a few hits on Veronica Wright. The name appeared to be connected to several other aliases, and even the FBI didn't know if any of them were real. But at least two of them were wanted in connection with the international black arms market.
"Some interesting stuff here, but nothing definitive," he said, tapping away at his keyboard.
Knight was sitting with Frohike and Byers at the table, going over Linda's calendar with a fine tooth comb.
"Same here," Frohike said. "I mean normal people don't use just the initials of their friends in their calendars. That doesn't give us much to go on."
"There's really only one consistent set of initials - DM. If we could find out who that is, we'd have something." Byers suggested. "Langly, are there any known associations between Linda and anyone with those initials?"
Langly skimmed through the files again. "Nah, nothing here."
"Even if we could figure out who DM is, how would we find him or her? We've got a date and time for an upcoming meeting but not a place," Frohike said, eyeing the book.
"We've got two days to figure it out - assuming whoever it is hasn't discovered that Linda's dead," Knight added.
"Assuming he or she wasn't responsible for her death in the first place." Byers gave them all his raised eyebrow look.
Knight reached over and picked up the phone on the desk. He punched in a few numbers and waited while it rang. "Hey, Bonnie, can you get me anything and everything on the letters DM as they relate to Linda Parker? Thanks." He hung up and glanced around the room at the rest of the guys. "We might as well use every resource we've got."
"Speaking of which," Langly said, seeing his opening. "What is the story on that car of yours? How many more of them have you got?"
"It's the only one," Knight said. But Langly heard the moment of hesitation before he answered. From the look that Frohike shot him he'd heard it too.
"You mean to tell me that a car that's remote controlled and capable of jumping over traffic is the only one in existence?"
"What, you couldn't get the production line fired up fast enough?" Frohike jabbed.
Knight laughed and rolled his eyes. It seemed to Langly like he was sharing an inside joke with someone. "You may have noticed, it's not exactly a late model Trans Am. There's only one, guys. That's why we want . . . it back."
"But why?" Byers asked. "Why make one car that can do all that? What's the point?"
Knight looked around their headquarters. "Why do you guys do all this? Why do you put out a paper that very few people read? Why do you research stories about the government doing things behind the backs of its citizens? Why bother?"
"To make a difference, man," Langly said, standing up and approaching Knight. "We believe in the American way. In truth, justice, and all of that. How can we be a free society when people in the government hide things?"
"Some things need to be hidden," Knight said, shrugging.
"Yeah, well, the government hides too much. We want people to be informed, to know what's going on. How can you change things for the better if people don't even know what needs to be changed?"
Knight nodded. "The Foundation believes in justice too. That car was built to help bring justice to people who have no one else to help them. The man who conceived of it had designs stolen from him and there was no way for him to bring the people responsible to justice. He tried to go to the authorities, but the people who stole his work were too big, too powerful for the authorities to even consider going after. So he created a way to go after those kinds of criminals."
"So you are vigilantes," Frohike said.
Knight shook his head. "We only bring these people in. At that point we turn them over to the same justice system that everyone else has to work with. We aren't playing the roles of judge, jury, and executioner. We're just helping to catch them."
"And breaking a few laws in the process?"
Knight's gaze swept around the room. "And you guys aren't breaking any laws to get the truth out?"
There was an uncomfortable silence that Byers finally filled. "So why the car?"
"To help keep me safe. To give me a leg up."
"And the government hasn't come after it?"
"Oh they were interested at first. But Wilton Knight told them no."
Langly snorted. "What, and they just went away?"
"Sure. You think the Defense Department doesn't already have these kinds of capabilities."
Frohike cracked his knuckles. "Good point."
Byers gave Knight a pointed look. "So, any truth to the rumor that this car is an artificial intelligence?"
"You see anything that looks like artificial intelligence at that conference?"
"No," Langly said. "But I also don't see any other jumping, remote controlled cars."
"That I'll give you. It is one of a kind," he said smiling. "But where did you hear that it was an artificial intelligence?"
"We have a tip line," Langly shrugged. "Something came in."
"From who?"
"It was a fairly sophisticated anonymous email. Said you'd be at the conference and said the car housed an AI."
"Any chance I can have someone at the Foundation look at it. See if they can figure out where it came from?"
Langly looked at Frohike. "Normally we respect the privacy of our informants," Frohike said.
"The car's been stolen, guys, and nothing about this situation adds up."
Frohike nodded to Langly who brought up the email and showed it to Knight. He gave them an email address at the Foundation and Langly sent it off.
Michael drummed his fingers on the desk. He wanted to follow up all possible leads as quickly as possible. "So, any other ways to track down this Yves?"
"I'm still running a hack into the reservations systems of most of the local hotels. We should know if she checks in anywhere else in the metro DC area," Langly said.
"Does she have a base of operations?" Knight asked.
"Not that we've been able to find," Byers said.
"Then I guess it's back to Linda Parker in the meantime," Knight said giving them each a look.
OoOoO
The trees were closing in tightly around the road. Yves was keeping them on back roads, off the highways. Kitt had nothing to do but watch as the scenery passed them by. It was an entirely new experience for him – simply watching as a passive observer. Even when Michael was driving there were things for him to do. Research for their case, or plotting the shortest route or just keeping Michael company. Yves sat in silence behind the wheel.
"I don't suppose I could convince you to tell me where we're going or what you're going to do when we get there?" he asked.
She looked off, out of the corner of her eyes. There was a slight smile playing on her lips, but her voice seemed sad. "We're going to New York. I'm going to check on some arrangements and then we're going to meet someone."
"Someone of the criminal persuasion?"
"Someone who's dedicated his life to being a criminal, yes."
"Then why are going to meet him?"
His question was met with silence. He wished there was an easier way of getting information from her. He seemed to have to come at things from oblique angles to get her to answer. Kitt wasn't sure what good it was going to be to know, but he wanted as much information as possible. He wanted to be prepared.
"Are you going to sell me to him? Or turn me over to him?" he asked trying to sound worried. She seemed to react more openly when he was asking about his own well-being.
"No." She paused long enough that Kitt didn't think she was going to say any more. "You're the bait to lure him out," she said softly.
"Why?"
"Remember the arms dealer I told you about?"
"The one who had Kennedy killed?"
"Yes. He has acquired 6 RA-115 tactical nuclear weapons – so called suitcase nukes. He was able to smuggle them into the United States for a buyer who's offered a hefty price for them. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to out bid the buyer so I came up with another plan. This arms dealer is a terrorist but he doesn't have any politics of his own. He simply sells to the highest bidder. But there is something he loves - power and prestige. So having something unique, something that no on else in the world has, is too big a temptation for him to resist."
"You offered him an AI in exchange for the weapons."
"Yes."
"Are you going to turn me over to him?"
Yves sighed. "No. I hope to get the nukes away from him and get out of there."
"And then what?" Kitt asked.
"The nukes will last several years if they have a power source. They have a built in battery back up which I intend to disable to render them useless."
"They'll still contain radioactive material that could be used to make a dirty bomb or otherwise be used to harm people."
"I know. I was thinking I would drop them off with the US Department of Energy."
"You were planning to just drive in and drop them off?" Kitt asked incredulously.
"No. I have no desire to go to prison. But I was thinking a little late night visit to the office of the Secretary of Energy would be a poetic way of dealing with them."
Kitt thought about it. "The headquarters of the DOE is in Washington DC, but I'm sure it has extensive security."
"Ahhh, but I have a very resourceful AI housed in a very versatile car at my disposal. And his office probably has less security than many of the other parts of the building."
"Yves, this all sounds like a very dangerous plan."
"Then you can probably see why your capabilities attracted me nearly as much as your usefulness as bait."
"How did you find out about me?" Kitt asked.
"One of my contacts was in prison for a while and had a cellmate who talked about a talking car that was responsible for putting him away."
"What was his name?"
Yves smiled. "I don't like to give away my sources. And it doesn't matter much who because it appears there are many people who know about you. Once I started digging, it wasn't hard to find out at least the basics."
"And you got the details by hacking into the Foundation's network." It was a statement more than a question.
"Yes."
"Did you tip off the newspaper men?"
Yves laughed. "Unfortunately, I underestimated the Foundation's network security and didn't get out clean. I figured a little misdirection would allow me to finish getting what I needed without getting caught."
"And how did you know we'd be here? Michael and I weren't even planning on coming to Washington, DC."
This time her smile was real but a bit bitter. "The woman who called you wasn't Linda Parker."
"You called us?"
"Yes."
"But Linda did disappear."
"True. I blew her cover. She was selling satellite technology to the arms dealer. Once she knew someone was coming to investigate, she had to get out of there."
Kitt was quiet for a moment, going over the possibilities. "Yves. I just have one more question."
"What's that?"
"If this arms dealer was willing to have a president assassinated, what's he going to do to you when you double cross him?"
She looked down. "Some things aren't worth losing your life over, Kitt. But other things are."