Brad frowned. “What about toll roads and bridges, Dad? Most of them are automated now, right? They use license-plate readers or electronic passes to keep tabs on who owes what. Can’t you hack into their databases?”
His father smiled. “Not a bad idea. Unfortunately, there aren’t that many toll roads or bridges in any of the areas the Russians have hit so far.”
“But there are a lot of interstate highways, all of them toll-free,” Brad realized disgustedly.
“And the same goes for state roads and county roads and surface streets,” the older McLanahan finished with a wry smile. He shrugged. “The same problem applies to the idea of cracking into Gryzlov’s movements by checking which trucks supposedly delivered loads to cities or towns near Barksdale AFB, Fort Worth, or the Livermore labs… or even to destinations that would take them past those places. No one gives a damn what particular routes a truck driver uses. All they care about is whether the goods get to where they’re supposed to go on time.”
The predatory gleam in Nadia’s eyes sharpened. “If it is truly impossible to track these vehicles, then we should come at this problem from the other direction.”
Martindale looked puzzled. “And what direction is that, Major?”
“Despite their robots, Gryzlov’s men themselves are not machines,” she explained. “And like all men, they must eat and sleep and bathe and sh—”
“Yeah, we get the picture,” Brad said hastily.
She grinned at him. “So then, we know the Russians must have places to rest and recuperate between operations, yes?”
Brad nodded and saw his father, Wilk, and Martindale doing the same. “And to hide out in while the heat dies down,” he agreed. “Which would explain why none of the police roadblocks and checkpoints thrown up around the sites they’ve attacked have ever turned up anything suspicious.”
Macomber stirred. “Well, they’re sure as hell not hiding out in a Motel 6 or a Travelodge. Truckers on a job don’t hang out parked in one motel lot for days on end. That’d draw way too much unwelcome attention — especially around places that just got blown to hell and gone.”
“But I bet this FXR outfit owns a bunch of buildings,” Brad said slowly.
Martindale nodded. “Public records show that the company has a very large number of warehouses and operating and maintenance centers. They’re spread throughout the U.S., Canada, and Mexico.”
“Just frigging wonderful.” Macomber grimaced. “Gryzlov’s bought himself a whole transportation and logistics network for his goddamned private war.”
“So it would seem, Colonel,” Martindale said, sounding pained. “And that doesn’t count any additional facilities his agents or front companies might have bought or leased before his forces went into action.” He sighed. “If this were a Scion operation, that’s certainly what I would have done.”
“He sure seems to be using your playbook,” Brad agreed somberly. He glanced at Nadia and then at the others. “Which doesn’t really get us much further. I guess we could narrow down where the Russians probably were by checking into what FXR owns around Dallas/Fort Worth or Shreveport, but that wouldn’t get us any closer to figuring out where they are now… or where they’re going to strike next.”
Nadia swung toward him in sudden excitement. “That is not quite so!” she said quickly. “Since Gryzlov’s robots smashed your national laboratory in California only a few hours ago, it is likely they are still concealed somewhere not far away. Gryzlov has made a mistake. He has extended himself out too far.”
On the screen, Brad saw his father’s eyes take on a distant look and suddenly realized the older man must be using his LEAF’s built-in links to access various databases. He hoped Nadia wouldn’t notice. His father’s earlier brush with madness while forced to exist inside a Cybernetic Infantry Device still frightened her. She would not welcome any sign that he might be slipping back into that twilight digital world.
In a matter of seconds, Patrick’s eyes snapped back into focus. “FXR Trucking owns three separate warehouse and maintenance facilities within a fifty-mile radius of Livermore, California,” he said flatly. “There are two more within a hundred miles.”
“You see!” Nadia said elatedly. “Now we know where to hunt!”
Martindale stared at her. “You’re not seriously proposing to fly the Ranger straight into a region that is currently crawling with U.S. military units and federal law enforcement agents, are you? Because I don’t give a rat’s ass how good a pilot Brad is, there’s no way you could pull off a stunt like that.”
Sadly, Wilk shook his head. “Kevin is right, Major. The risk is far too great. Even if you could somehow arrive without being detected, Captain Schofield’s scouts would have to investigate at least five separate sites… and all without being noticed themselves. By either the Russians or the Americans.” He turned his gaze to Brad. “What would happen if your countrymen saw your aircraft? Or spotted Schofield’s men conducting a covert reconnaissance?”
Brad thought about that. He winced. “We’d trigger an immediate and very violent reaction,” he admitted. “And it would be aimed at us, not at Gryzlov’s men.”
“There is another problem,” his father said gravely. “From what I can tell, almost all of FXR’s facilities are located in or very near cities and sizable towns. Even if you got lucky and zeroed in on the Russian’s current operating base, any fight against them would turn ugly very quickly.”
Macomber swore suddenly under his breath. “Ah, damn, the general’s right.” Tight-lipped now, he glared at them. “If we tangle with Gryzlov’s robots anywhere around civilians, there’s going to be a hell of a lot of collateral damage.” He shook his head. “You ever figure out just how many cars, school buses, houses, and apartment buildings even a single rail-gun round moving at Mach 5 could blow through?” he asked. “A shitload… that’s how many!”
Brad stared back him, seeing what could happen in his mind’s eye. A battle between rival combat robots in an urban setting would inevitably result in horrific destruction. Innocent men, women, and children would be slaughtered by the scores and hundreds. “Oh, my God,” he murmured.
“God’s got nothing to do with it,” Macomber growled. He shook his head. “Look, I want to smash those fucking Russian robots to bits as much as anyone else here, but I did not sign on with this outfit to participate in any massacres.”
Nadia’s shoulders slumped, all the fire seemingly gone out of her. “Then what do you propose, Whack?” she asked softly. “Do we just sit here in safety while the Russians destroy your country from within — and blame it all on us?”
There was silence for a long moment.
“We could pass what we know and suspect to the American government,” Wilk suggested at last.
Martindale shook his head. “I’m afraid Barbeau is too hostile to me, the Iron Wolf Squadron, and Poland in general to pay much attention to anything we tell her.” He frowned. “Even if we could somehow get through to her, word of what we’d learned would probably leak… either to the press or directly to Russian agents. And Gryzlov would just pull the plug on his operations before the FBI or the U.S. military got close. He’d call his forces home and clear away any evidence that might pin these attacks on him, instead of on us.”
“And then we’d end up looking like the Iron Wolves who cried ‘wolf,’” Brad said bitterly.
“Something like that.” Martindale looked beaten down. “So we’re still stuck at square one. Unless we can catch Gryzlov’s robots out of hiding and in the open where you can safely engage them, we have no good options.”