Jason’s mind spun. He looked at the children around him; all were on the verge of fearful crying as they heard Zakharov’s voice—they easily sensed the danger they were all in. Richter was no better. He was edgy and disconnected from the drugs still coursing through his body, but the sickness was quickly being replaced by pure mind-numbing fear. He wasn’t afraid to die, but he was afraid of others coming across his body and those of the children and blaming him for not protecting them.
There was an entire superpower’s military and law enforcement standing ready to protect whatever Zakharov’s newest target was—but right now, there was only one man ready to protect these children. His choice was clear.
The van slowed, and Jason heard the crunch of gravel and felt the bumps of a tractor-worn dirt road. “Well, Major?” Zakharov asked casually. “What is your answer?”
He took a deep breath, then said, “I’ll do it, you sick bastard.”
“Excellent choice, Richter.” The van stopped, and the side and rear panel doors opened. “I never doubted you for a second. You may be a genius, but you are not a heartless berserker.”
They were in a dark field about a hundred yards off the paved road. Jason could see the glow of a town off on the horizon, perhaps three or four miles away, but he couldn’t tell in which direction. In the opposite direction was another, larger town, about equal distance away. A second van full of Zakharov’s commandos had pulled up behind them. Two men with assault rifles took up security positions, while the others assembled in the rear of the van, pulling the folded CID unit out of the back and setting it down on the ground.
“Work your magic, Major,” Zakharov said.
Jason gathered the children around him, gave Zakharov a glare, then spoke. “CID One, activate.” The children gave out a quiet combination of fear and delight as they watched the dark shape seemingly grow out of the field and appear before them.
“Truly amazing technology, Major,” Zakharov said. “I commend you. Allow me.” He cleared his throat and dramatically said, “CID One, pilot up.” One of Zakharov’s men had to jump out of the way as the CID unit obediently crouched down, extended one leg behind itself, leveled its arms along each side of its back to act as handrails, and the entry hatch popped open in the middle of its back. “How delightful. I wish I was of the proper size to give it a ride, but unfortunately I will have to leave that honor to someone else.”
Zakharov barked an order, and one of his men jumped up and slid inside the robot, with the Russian terrorist issuing instructions as he did so. A few moments later, the hatch closed, and the Cybernetic Infantry Device came to life. They watched in fascination as the commando experimentally made the robot jump, dodge, and dart around the field, finishing off with triumphantly upraised arms, like a superheavyweight boxer who had just won a world title.
“It works! Excellent.” They tried their handheld radios—the man inside the robot had no trouble adjusting the radio scanner to pick up the handhelds’ frequency and making the connection. “It appears my missile attack had no ill effects. I am satisfied.” He pulled a pistol out of its holster. Jason felt a roaring in his ears as he realized that Zakharov had everything he wanted, and that sealed his fate. “And now, Major, as for you and the children…you are free to go.”
“Wh…what…?”
Zakharov grasped Richter by the shoulders, and, with Jason still protectively clutching the children, turned him around. “Walk in this direction, Major. Do not turn around, and do not try to head for the road—if my men or I see you on the road, we will gun you down. Stay together and do not allow the children to leave your side—if you do, our deal is off. Keep walking toward those lights. In about an hour, you should reach a farmhouse; if you miss it, in another hour or less you should reach the town. By then, my men and I should be long gone.” He issued more orders in Russian, and in an instant the CID unit ran off into the night and the commandos boarded the vans and drove away. Within moments, Richter and the children were alone.
“¿Dónde iremos ahora, señor?” one of the children asked.
Jason recognized the words “where” and “sir”—he guessed the rest. “Don’t worry, kids,” he said. “No problema. Help is on the way.”
He led the children toward the lights of the town, carefully leading them across the furrows and ditches crisscrossing the fields. Soon his eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out stars. He found Polaris, the North Star, and realized he was walking east. He began to feel better—he didn’t know where he was at all, but at least he knew which way he was going.
Although he remembered Zakharov’s warning, he needed to find help as quickly as possible, so as soon as he saw a truck on the highway, he decided to risk it and started angling toward it. About fifteen minutes later, he reached the edge of the field adjacent to the paved road. He instructed the children as best he could to stay in hiding, then crawled through the dirt until he reached the road. He couldn’t see anything nearby, but several yards away he spotted a road sign, and he decided to risk trying to pinpoint his location. Half-crawling, half-crouched, he dashed through the edge of the fields until he reached the sign. It was very dark, and the sign was weathered and hard to read; it was riddled with bullet holes, commonly found in rural signage, but soon he read…
…and instantly, he knew what Zakharov’s real objective was.
He had no choice: when he saw the next vehicle, a pickup truck, coming down the road, he flagged it down, forcing it to stop by practically throwing himself in front of it. Thankfully it was a farmer and not a terrorist. He talked fast, convinced the driver to help him, then gathered the children together and helped them into the cargo bed. He breathlessly used the farmer’s cell phone to call for help…
PECOS EAST TRAINING AREA,
CANNON AIR FORCE BASE, NEW MEXICO
THAT SAME TIME
Ariadna Vega threw open the office door and flipped on the light. “We got it!” she shouted.
FBI Deputy Director Bruno Watts, asleep on the sofa in Jason Richter’s office at the Task Force TALON headquarters complex, blinked at the light but was instantly on his feet. The task force’s new commanding officer did not look like your typical “snake-eater” ex–Navy SEAL—he was shorter than average, wiry, and rather soft-spoken around others. As his hair thinned and grayed he decided to shave his head, so he could still intimidate even in an office or social setting, but otherwise no one would ever recognize him as one of the world’s most highly skilled and experienced experts in unconventional warfare and counterterrorist operations. “What is it?”
“CID One’s locator beacon just went off,” Ariadna said breathlessly. “The unit’s been activated.”
“Where?”
“About twenty miles northeast of Amarillo, Texas.”
“Amarillo…” Watts tried to think of the significance of that city, but nothing came immediately to mind. “What about Richter?”
“No word from him, but he’s the only one who could have activated the CID unit.”
“But it doesn’t mean he’s controlling it, right?” Since taking command of the unit, Watts had been taking a crash course in the Cybernetic Infantry Device—and the more he learned the more excited he got about employing this incredible high-tech weapon system.