“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Angel said.
Chapel frowned. Was she just maintaining plausible deniability? It was funny. The whole time he’d worked with Angel, she had sounded like a real, living human being. Now he’d seen what she really was, he wondered how he’d never guessed. Talking to her felt exactly like talking to a computer.
“I have to do something here,” he said. “Before Wilkes can get to you. I have to get you out of here.” But how? The server rack with her name on it looked like it probably weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. He could carry it, but he wouldn’t be able to run at the same time.
The question of how he would get it past twelve cops and a DIA agent without being seen wasn’t even worth considering. That just wasn’t going to happen. But maybe there was something he could do. “I’m looking at a server stack with four hard drives in it,” he said. “What’s on each of these drives?”
“Drive A contains database files. Drive B contains programs to handle queries, short-term memory storage and basic personality functions. Drive C is long-term memory storage. Drive D contains control functions for the neural network. Do you need a directory of all files contained on these drives?”
Chapel shook his head. “No, no — listen, Drive C contains your memories? Is that right? They aren’t stored anywhere else?”
“Drive C is dedicated to long-term storage,” she said.
It would have to be enough. He would lose her personality — well, maybe they could rebuild that. Maybe not. But if he let her fall into the wrong hands, they would take her apart until there was nothing left at all. “I’m going to have to turn you off,” he told her.
“Chapel, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. Because it really did feel like he was about to perform amateur brain surgery on his best friend. But he had no choice. He reached behind the server stack and yanked out the power cable. All the lights on the front of the stack went out. So did all three monitors. Cooling fans spun down with a sound like the last breath escaping from a pair of dying lungs.
Chapel’s hand shook as he reached for the button that would release Drive C. It popped out of the stack on hidden springs and almost jumped into his hand. It was a thin metal case about eight inches on a side, warm to the touch. He slid it inside his uniform tunic. It made his chest look bulky and lopsided but there was nothing he could do about that.
With the screens dead he had no view of what was happening outside the trailer. The windows had all been covered with thick black paper that let no light through at all. He took a risk and scratched at the corner of one window until the paper came up and a beam of light speared into the room. Through the little hole he’d made he could see the gravel yard outside. He could just make out the figures of Wilkes and his escort. They were very, very close.
Then someone’s fist banged on the door and he knew he was out of time.
“NYPD! Open up,” a cop shouted. “We have a warrant to enter these premises.”
Chapel spun around, looking for any other possible exit from the room. He didn’t see any. There was a hatch in the ceiling, designed to give the trailer a little ventilation, but it wasn’t nearly wide enough for him to crawl through.
He considered hiding under the camp bed or in the shower stall, but that was foolish. The cops wouldn’t just forget to search the place.
No, the only way out of the trailer was through that door.
So he reached over and worked the latch, then swung it open, careful to keep out of sight. There were a lot of cops out there with a lot of guns. He didn’t want to give them any reason to shoot.
“I’m unarmed!” he shouted.
He heard Wilkes laugh. “You know, when you say that, it’s kind of funny. Come on out of there, Chapel. You know why I’m here.”
Chapel put his hands up and stepped into the doorway. The cops all had their weapons pointed at his chest.
“Down on the ground!” one of them shouted, but Wilkes shook his head.
“Let it go. This is one of the good guys.”
The police didn’t move from their firing positions, but at least none of them barked any more orders at him.
Wilkes came up to the stairs that led into the trailer. He gave Chapel a big, shit-eating grin. Chapel knew that look from his days growing up in Florida. It was a southerner’s way of saying I don’t even need to fuck with you, because you’ve managed to get yourself up to your ass in alligators all on your own. It wasn’t a sentiment he could argue with, just then.
“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” Chapel said.
“I can probably guess,” Wilkes said. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. You can explain to the boss when you see him. I’m sure he’ll be fascinated.” He peered in through the doorway. “She in there?”
“Yeah,” Chapel replied. “Though she’s not exactly what you’re expecting.”
Wilkes nodded. “Just come on out of there so I can get by.”
Chapel walked down the stairs and moved to one side of the trailer. As he watched Wilkes step inside, he thought maybe he’d finally get his chance to escape. The cops had no orders to detain him — maybe he could just slip away.
That hope died when the cop who had been shouting orders before came up and stuck the barrel of his gun right in Chapel’s face. Chapel could see sergeant’s chevrons on his collar. “Don’t move,” he said.
“You heard the man — I’m on your side,” Chapel said, keeping his hands high.
“Is that what you told Peters?” the cop asked. He jerked his head backward, toward the water tower. And the unconscious cop who was handcuffed to its base.
So much for just slipping away quietly.
Wilkes was inside the trailer long enough for Chapel to get nervous, wondering how long it would take someone to notice the bulge in his tunic where he’d stashed Angel’s memory drive. Long enough to start thinking about what was really going on here. Hollingshead had asked him to come here, to get Angel before Wilkes could arrest her. But Hollingshead must have known what Angel really was. Why hadn’t he given Chapel better instructions? Chapel was just assuming that the memory drive was important. That Hollingshead needed it for some reason and couldn’t let it fall into anyone else’s hands. But why? Was there something stored on the drive, something crucial to the investigation into the drone hijacking? But why not let Wilkes recover it, then, and share its contents with the rest of the intelligence community?
Hollingshead must have his reasons, and Chapel owed the man enough that he was inclined to just go along blindly. But what if he had made a mistake here? What if he’d grabbed the wrong drive? His orders, inasmuch as they were orders, were to recover Angel. But now that Chapel knew she was just an artificial intelligence, what did that even mean?
He was overthinking this. He needed to focus on getting away from here before anybody thought to search him. “What’s your name, Sergeant?” he asked.
The cop still had his weapon aimed right at Chapel’s chest. Chapel wondered if the hard drive would stop a bullet. “Don’t talk,” the cop said.
Chapel sighed. “Just trying to be friendly. Listen, do you know who we are? Or did you just get a phone call from Washington saying a federal agent needed to commandeer your unit?” That was probably more likely, in Chapel’s experience. “Do you have any idea why you’re here?”
“We’re providing support for a federal operation. I don’t even want to know the details,” the sergeant said. “He’s going to come out of there and tell me I have to let you go, isn’t he? Even though you assaulted one of my men.” He looked disgusted.