Morrison, a heavy set man with a red face, jowly cheeks, small eyes, was just heaving himself into the seat beside Bullock. Morrison grunted as he struggled to connect his seat belt. Then he slammed the door of the self-driving prototype. The smell of Morrison’s cologne filled the car.
Bullock discreetly lowered his window a crack for a little fresh air.
Morrison adjusted his tie and his suit jacket, glancing out the window at the row of reporters. He seemed pleased at the attention. He waved. Someone snapped a picture.
“Well, Bullock,” Morrison said, glancing up at the empty front seat. “I’m not sure if I feel like a pioneer or a damned fool. There’s a steering wheel up there, but no driver, and it’s going to stay that way even after we get going.”
“The cars were thoroughly tested, with dummies and then with volunteers,” Bullock said. “The steering wheel’s just there in case anyone wants the car on manual. It does have a driver…”
“I prefer my drivers visible,” Morrison chuckled. “But yes, I’m confident we’ll be fine.”
“I’ve probably been in more dangerous amusement park rides,” Bullock said. He liked Disneyland and Universal Studios. They seemed like safe artificial worlds, to him. If you had enough money, everything there was fine.
“Oh, I don’t like those rides,” Morrison said, shuddering visibly. “My grandson made me take him on one… Oh, gosh, what’s happening?”
The car had started moving. The hybrid was so quiet, its motions so smooth, that the passengers hadn’t noticed till it was underway.
“Very smooth ride,” Bullock said. But he was staring at the steering wheel. It was turning, by itself. It was like something from an old ghost movie. The directivity of the car was carried out from inside it, via computer and cameras, but the wheel was there for emergencies, and it turned as the car did, because passengers found it disorienting otherwise.
“Pretty weird,” Morrison said, looking at the steering wheel move.
“Tell you what else is weird—you and me being assigned to this car together—long with Monteleone and O’Mara in the other car. I mean, only you and O’Mara work for Blume. Monteleone is a lawyer of some kind. Near as I can figure out, the only connection between us four is Purity. And Verrick, of course…”
Morrison stared at him. “That is kinda odd… I mean, I know how you and I are connected to Verrick. Well, there’s Purity. And there’s the other thing. But Monteleone? And O’Mara?”
“Monteleone did some legal work for Verrick—setting up Iceberg Investments. He transferred some money, hid some of the trail for it. After it was, uh, washed by you guys at the Four Clubs. And O’Mara—he owns some freight planes. He helped him transport a big package from the Middle East. Knows what was in that package…”
“Really.”
The self driving car was accelerating. Up ahead was the other car—with O’Mara and Monteleone in it. They were on the freeway alongside Lake Michigan, and picking up speed. Going surprisingly fast. You’d have thought the demo program would keep these self-driving cars right at the speed limit.
“I didn’t think about it till I got here, and saw who was assigned to be the riders in the cars,” Bullock said. “You know—we weren’t the original people chosen for this. Nope. One was Bill Gates. Another was the Secretary of Transportation. Couple of other guys. Right before the invitation went out to those people—it was changed. Making it us and O’Mara and Monteleone.”
“How do you know this?”
“I noticed Verrick treating me differently. Kind of subtle but it was there. He’s gotten all that bad PR from the leaked file, having to deny all that stuff… Maybe it just put him in a paranoid, defensive mood… Then I heard that he’d put me on this exclusive list—I thought it was his way of showing things were all right with me. But when I saw you and the other three, and remembered that none of us were on the original list…”
Morrison swallowed. “You think… something’s up?”
“I think we’re going too damned fast.”
The ghost that was driving the car was apparently a lunatic—the car was now shrieking along, passing the other cars on the freeway. There was a news helicopter overhead. Bullock could hear its blades chopping away. Maybe the reporters up there would tell the cops these cars were malfunctioning. But what could the cops do about it?
Bullock got out his cell phone and dialed 911. And… nothing. It just made a buzzing sound in his ear.
The car went faster—Bullock looked up at the speedometer. It was on 90 miles an hour. The car up ahead was going even faster—then suddenly it seemed to pull away. He looked at the speedometer. The car they were in was slowing..
“There’s one car keeping up with us,” Morrison said, pointing. “Who the hell is that guy?”
Bullock looked to their left—a copper-colored Acura MDX was just managing to keep up with them. The driver was waving a phone at them.
Lean, scruffy looking guy in an old Army coat. But maybe he was on the testing team somehow. Some badly dressed engineer…
The car continued to slow. Bullock’s phone chimed and he answered. “Hello?”
“Listen, it’s me, in the car next to you…” He waved, glanced at the road to keep himself in his loan, then looked back at Bullock. “I’ve hacked into their control signal and that’s given me access to your phone too, but not for long. I can’t seem to keep the signal up consistently. They’ve got theirs coming from a stronger transmitter maybe.”
“They?”
“Verrick and Van Ness! They’re trying to kill the two of you. Maybe the guys in the other car too… I’m not sure exactly how they’re going to do it…”
Bullock felt a deep, shimmering chill go through him. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Wolfe.”
“You’re the one who slowed us down?”
“Me, no, I just noticed that…”
The buzzing sound came back and the man’s voice went away.
“Bullock,” Morrison said, a catch in his voice, “look—the other car’s taking an exit…”
The other self-driving car was driving off at the exit ramp, far ahead. Very rapidly. While their own self driving car had slowed down to well under the speed limit. Cars with human drivers were honking behind them.
“Well, maybe we’ll take that exit, maybe this is over. God, I hope so…”
Maybe Wolfe was a lunatic. He looked a little crazed. Maybe Verrick wasn’t…
Then they saw the other car, up ahead, doing a wild, rapid three point turn on the overpass, turning around, driving back along the ramp it’d just existed… going the wrong way on the ramp.
And now the other self-driving car was once more driving on the freeway, in the opposite direction—against the flow of traffic.
The other self-driving car was coming right toward them. It was less than an eighth-mile off. Cars screeched and honked around it.
Bullock could see O’Mara sticking his head out the window calling for help.
Lot of good that’d do….
Their own car was going faster, once more. The speedometer read 50, 60, 70… 80…
“Bullock!” Morrison was almost sobbing. He was grabbing the back of the seat in front of him, knuckles white. “It’s coming right at us! It’s going to hit us! It’s going to hit us head on!”
Bullock unbuckled his seat belt, and half climbed over the seat in front of him, so he could reach the steering wheel. He tried to turn it, not too sharply, so it’d go onto the shoulder.
It resisted his grip. It turned the other way, staying in the lane, the “ghost” far too strong for him. And it was still accelerating.