Most rolled on wheels, some on tractor treads. Some had as many as seven articulated arms sprouting like octopus tentacles from wheeled carts, a few could have passed as the familiar multipurpose units found in a dentist’s office. But none walked on legs and feet, or remotely resembled C3P0 from Star Wars or Robby from Forbidden Planet. The robots were immersed in their individual work programs and went about their business without taking notice of the human intruders.
“Do you get the feeling we’ve become obsolete?” whispered Stacy.
“Not good,” said Mancuso. “We’d better get back inside the elevator.”
Weatherhill shook his head. “Not a chance. This is the complex we came to destroy. These things don’t even know we’re here. They’re not programmed to interfere with humans. And there are no robotic security guards around. Pitt and Giordino must have saved our ass by distracting them. I say we send this automated anthill to the moon.”
“The elevator has moved on,” said Stacy, pressing the “down” button. “For the next minute we’ve got nowhere else to go.
Mancuso wasted no more time in discussion. He set the briefcase on the floor and began tearing the packets of C-8 plastic explosives attached by tape from around his lower legs. The rest did the same from under their jumpsuit uniforms.
“Stacy, the computer section. Tim, the nuclear bomb prime systems. I’ll tackle the communications gear.”
They had moved less than five steps toward their given targets when a voice boomed and echoed through the concrete walls of the chamber.
“Remain where you are! Do not move or you will surely die!” Perfect English, with barely a trace of a Japanese accent, and the voice cold, menacing.
The surprise was complete, but Mancuso bluffed it out, trying to find a target for the automatic weapons inside his briefcase.
“We are test engineers on an inspection and test program. Do you wish to see and hear our pass code?”
“All human engineers and inspectors along with their codes were discontinued when the fully autonomous vehicles could perform their programs without intervention and human supervision,” the disembodied voice rumbled.
“We were not aware of the change. We were instructed by our superior to inspect the fiber-optic communications,” Mancuso persisted as his hand pressed a button disguised as a cleat on the bottom of his briefcase.
And then the elevator door opened and Roy Orita stepped out onto the control center floor. He paused for a moment, his eyes staring with a certain respect at his former MAIT team members.
“Spare the bravado,” he said with a triumphant smile. “You’ve failed. Your covert operation to stop the Kaiten Project has failed, totally and absolutely. And you’re all going to die for it.”
Jordan and Sandecker shared a light breakfast with the President at the executive retreat at Camp David. They sat at a table in a small cottage in front of a crackling hickory log fire. Jordan and the admiral found the room uncomfortably warm, but the President seemed to enjoy the heat, sipping a cup of Southern chicory-flavored coffee while wearing an Irish wool knit sweater.
The President’s special assistant, Dale Nichols, came in from the kitchen with a glass of milk. “Don Kern is outside,” he reported, addressing Jordan.
“I believe he has an update on Soseki Island,” said Jordan.
The President gestured at Nichols. “By all means, send him in.” And as an afterthought, “Get him a cup of coffee and see if he’d like anything to eat.”
Kern only accepted the coffee and took a seat on a nearby sofa. The President stared expectantly at him, but Jordan gazed emptily into the fire.
“They’re in,” Kern announced.
“They’re in,” echoed the President. “Every one of them?”
Kern nodded. “All three.”
“Any problems?” asked Jordan.
“We don’t know. Before our British contact’s signal was mysteriously cut off, he said they’d made it safely through the tunnel.”
The President reached out and shook Jordan’s hand. “Congratulations, Ray.”
“A bit premature, Mr. President,” said Jordan. “They still have hurdles to clear. Penetrating the Dragon Center is only the first step in the plan.”
“What about my men?” demanded Sandecker testily.
“They signaled a safe landing,” answered Kern. “We have no reason to believe they were injured or harmed by Suma’s security guards.”
“So where do we go from here?” inquired the President.
“After placing their explosives and putting the Dragon Center temporarily out of commission, our people will attempt to effect a rescue of Congresswoman Smith and Senator Diaz. If all goes according to plan, we’ll have breathing space to nail Hideki Suma to the nearest cross and send in our military for a wholesale destruction operation.”
The President’s face took on a concerned look. “Is it possible for two men and a woman to accomplish all that in the next thirty-six hours?”
Jordan smiled tiredly. “Trust me, Mr. President, my people can walk through walls.”
“And Pitt and Giordino?” Sandecker pressured Kern.
“Once our people signal they’re ready, a submarine will surface and launch a Delta One team to evacuate them from the island. Pitt and Giordino will be brought out too.”
“Seems to me you’re taking an awful lot for granted,” said Sandecker.
Kern gave the admiral a confident smile. “We’ve analyzed and fine-tuned every phase of the operation until we’re certain it has a ninety-six-point-seven-percent chance of success.”
Sandecker shot Kern a withering stare. “Better make that a ninety-nine-point-nine percentage factor.”
Everyone looked at Sandecker questioningly. Then Kern said uncertainly, “I don’t follow you, Admiral.”
“You overlooked the capabilities of Pitt and Giordino,” Sandecker replied with a sharp edge to his voice. “It wouldn’t be the first time they bailed out a fancy intelligence agency carnival.”
Kern looked at him strangely, then turned to Jordan for help, but it was the President who answered.
“I think what Admiral Sandecker is referring to are the several occasions Mr. Pitt has saved the government’s ass. One in particular hits close to home.” The President paused for effect. “You see, it was Pitt who saved my life along with that of Congresswoman Smith four years ago in the Gulf.”
“I remember.” Jordan turned from the fire. “He used an old Mississippi River paddle steamer to do it.”
Kern refused to back down. He felt his reputation as the nation’s best intelligence planner was on the line. “Trust me, Mr. President. The escape and evacuation will go as planned without help from NUMA. We’ve taken into account every possible flaw, every contingency. Nothing but an unpredictable act of God can prevent us from pulling it off.”
46
IT WASN’T AN act of God that prevented Mancuso, Weatherhill, and Stacy from carrying through with Kern’s exacting plan. Nor were they lacking in skill and experience. They could and occasionally did open any bank vault in the world, escape from the tightest security prisons, and penetrate the KGB headquarters in Moscow or Fidel Castro’s private residence in Cuba. There wasn’t a lock built or a security system created that would take them more than ten minutes to circumvent. The unpredictability of attack dogs could present a troublesome obstacle, but they were expert in a variety of methods to leave snarling hounds either dead or docile.
Unfortunately their bag of well-practiced tricks did not include escaping from prison cells with no windows or with doors that could only be opened from the floor when the stainless steel ceiling and walls were lifted by a mechanical arm. And after being stripped of all weapons, their martial arts training was useless against sentry robots who felt no pain and whose computerized reaction time was faster than humans’.