Kill Chain (9 page)

You had to.

There were just too many
people rushing around, too many people simply standing in place, guarding them.
If she were constantly acknowledging them all, she’d never get anything done.

Yet it had been one of
the minions that had tried to save them.

Had
died
trying to
save them.

And she vowed at that
moment to say hello to everyone that worked for her father, every time she saw
them.

It was the least she
could do for someone who just might save her life one day.

She glanced at the
speaker, it now visible, dim interior lighting turned on as soon as the truck
had begun to move. She still couldn’t wrap her head around what was going on.
They had yet to see a person, though there was definitely someone pulling the
strings. The voice might sound robotic, like something Anonymous might put out,
the language clipped as if a computer was reading a script as opposed to the
voice merely altered as a person spoke.

Could it be a
computer?

In school, they had
debated Artificial Intelligence in Philosophy. Apparently Stephen Hawking—the
wheelchair dude—and a bunch of other big names, had recently warned about the
dangers of AI, and how a computer that became self-aware might quickly decide
the human race shouldn’t exist.

She had thought the very
idea was insane, something for Hollywood to scare the public with, too many
geeks watching Terminator and Matrix movies, but Jeff had thought it was
definitely possible, pointing out that their fears had been sort of borne out
when Microsoft’s Tay chat bot experiment went from zero to Hitler within
twenty-four hours.

And if Jeff thought it
was possible, then it must be.

She trusted him more than
any of these people she had never heard of.

She stared at a camera
mounted beside the speaker.

There’s no way it’s
some crazy AI thing.

Jeff had said they were
years away from it, possibly decades. And besides, why would an AI target just
them? Shouldn’t it be trying to kill the entire human race?

No, there were humans
behind this, and they had some sort of agenda. And she had a funny feeling that
her father was the key to the entire thing, which just might mean she could
survive if she played her cards right.

She looked at the others
and frowned.

It also meant that
everyone else was probably forfeit.

She regarded the Italian
woman, her knee still bouncing, her incessant humming having resumed.

Is it wrong to hope
they kill her first?

Noksapyeong
Road
Seoul,
Republic of Korea

Dawson
watched the Koreans swarming the smoldering wrecks, Niner and Jimmy recording
everything just in case they missed something—or if someone tried to pull
anything. With the seriousness of the situation, he couldn’t trust anyone
except his own team, their loyalty beyond question.

He’d die for any of them.

And they would do the
same.

But he didn’t know the
Koreans. On these details, you had to put yourself into the hands of your
hosts, though only to a point. He had warned the Secret Service of the risks of
an automated bus being allowed to transport the President’s daughter but had
been overruled. Hacking the vehicle had never occurred to him, he just didn’t
trust that it would be safe.

He had a funny feeling no
head of state or their family would travel in an automated vehicle again. Not
without some sort of large, guaranteed to work, kill-switch within arm’s reach.

Korean techs were
retrieving the chips Langley had requested, the periodic shouts of success from
the wreckage suggesting at least some had survived. They wouldn’t tell them
what had happened to the bus, though they might just tell them why eight men
and women—including two Americans—died horrible deaths.

Plus the driver of the
truck.

He wasn’t completely
convinced of his innocence yet, though he couldn’t see why someone would stick
around when they knew they were about to die. This had none of the hallmarks of
an Islamist attack, about the only type where people willingly killed
themselves so they could tap 72 virgins for eternity. It was most likely that
this poor bastard was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and if Langley was
right and these vehicles were hacked, then something might have been done to
his own vehicle to bring it to a halt right where it did.

One of the techs shouted,
a hand appearing from the wheel well of one of the escort vehicles, only his
feet visible. Two of his partners pulled him out and safely sealed his prize in
a lead-lined container, just in case anyone attempted to wipe the chips with
some sort of magnetic pulse. The retrieval crew loaded what must have been the
last chip they were searching for into the back of their truck, the supervisor
reporting to Senior Inspector Kim. There was a brief exchange then she strode
over to Dawson.

“They’ve finished
retrieving all the circuit boards. I’m taking them to the lab immediately.”

Dawson motioned toward
Niner and Jimmy. “You won’t mind if my men accompany you? We need the data
transmitted to Langley immediately.”

She bowed slightly toward
the two sergeants. “Of course.”

Dawson turned to his men.
“You’re with her. Get the data to Langley then report back.”

“Yes, sir.” Niner popped
on his toes and executed a quick heel-click, he and Jimmy now in their Secret
Service disguises—dark suits, dark glasses, their casual attire from their
aborted visit to the Sung family’s house, retired.

“What now?” asked Atlas,
his impossibly deep voice making its presence felt.

“We get ready for a
rescue op. Put together an equipment list and have it sent over to Osan. If we
find where they were taken, I want to be ready to hit them on a moment’s
notice.”

“Roger that.” Atlas
paused. “Do you think the Koreans will let us?”

Dawson looked at the
heavy police presence. “It doesn’t matter what they want. I’ve got my orders.”

Operations
Center 1
CIA
Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Sir, the
Koreans have traced the fuel truck.”

Leroux spun in his chair
to face Tong. “And?”

“The driver’s name is Gi-jeong
Minn. He’s worked for the company for over seven years with a perfect record.
He takes the exact same route every day, passing through that intersection at
the same time, almost like clockwork. It’s at the beginning of his route, so
there’s nothing to hold him up before he reaches there.”

Leroux’s lips flared as
he stared at the display, the personnel records appearing. “Pull yesterday’s
traffic camera footage of the intersection. Let’s see how punctual he is.”

Tong attacked her
keyboard and moments later new footage played on fast-forward. “There he is!”

Leroux watched the truck
pass through the intersection, turning right, exactly at the corner where he
had been forced to pull over. He noted the time. Three minutes after today’s
arrival. “Go back a day.”

Tong complied, and again
they spotted the vehicle. This time two minutes early.

Leroux tapped his chin.
“They had to time this perfectly. They couldn’t risk him arriving late, but
early is fine.” His eyes narrowed. “If he leaves on time every day, and he has
no stops before this point, then the only thing that could hold him up is
traffic.” His eyes widened slightly. “Can we see a shot of that road from one
of the cameras that were working? Something that shows the traffic lights?”

Tong worked her magic and
they were soon watching footage showing a steady stream of traffic heading
east. “Is that him?”

Leroux leaned forward in
his chair, peering at a fuel truck from the rear as it drove through a green
light. “Looks like him.” He snapped his fingers, leaping from his chair.
“Look!” He rushed toward the front of the room, pointing at the shot. “Every
light is green!” He twirled his finger. “Roll it forward on this shot. Let’s
watch what happens.”

The fuel truck continued
forward, the traffic flowing smoothly, the lights at the intersection just
cleared turning red, all lights ahead remaining green. The traffic was moving
smoothly, no delays, and Leroux counted in his head how many seconds the lights
remained green.

At forty seconds, it had
cleared the next light, it immediately turning red.

At a minute-thirty the
next light.

Again red.

He turned to face his
team. “They controlled the lights to make sure he’d get there on time.” He
pointed at Tong. “Sonya, let the Koreans know they need to look for an
intrusion on their traffic control system as well.”

Tong grabbed her phone,
quickly dialing.

“Shit!”

Leroux looked at Child.
“What?”

“Something’s hitting the
web now, sir.” He motioned toward the display. “Look.”

A video filled the
screen, a North Korean flag fluttering in the wind, patriotic music blaring as
Korean lettering scrolled across the screen. Leroux spun toward Tong. “Get me a
Korean translator, now!” He turned back toward the screen to see a series of
laughably bad CGI effects showing various landmarks around the world destroyed
by cartoonish missile strikes.

In other words, it was of
the quality only a country completely isolated from the world could think might
be taken seriously.

North Korea.

The shrill voice of a
woman sounded as the images continued to loop and text continued to scroll,
Leroux motioning for Child to turn the volume down a bit. It dropped to a level
where he could think. “Where’s this coming from?”

“It’s hitting all the
major sites now. It’s already trending on Twitter.”

Leroux’s eyes narrowed as
he turned toward Child. “How long’s it been up?”

“Not even five minutes.”

“Huh.” He turned back
toward the amateurish production. “They must be using dummy accounts like we do
to force it up the rankings.”

“It’s on Twitter, Reddit,
Facebook, LiveLeak. Pretty much everywhere that’s anywhere.”

“Do the news networks
have it yet?” He glanced over at an array of displays showing the world’s major
news networks to answer his own question.

Nada.

Wait.

The screen with Fox
showed a Breaking News banner as the door to the operations center opened.
Leroux turned to see an older woman of Asian descent rushing into the room. She
opened her mouth but Leroux cut her off, pointing at the screen as he motioned
with the other hand for Child to jack the volume.

The woman opened her
mouth again when Leroux cut her off, the image suddenly changing, four dead
bodies on the screen. “ID them!”

Another window on the
display opened, each body isolated, the facial recognition points mapped. The
first ID appeared almost immediately as the translator took a seat at one of
the terminals, Tong bringing up the video for her to watch.

Child read the
identification. “That’s the German Chancellor’s husband, Hermann Holst.”

Another image appeared.

“That’s the Chinese
translator.”

The final two images were
still processing, though it was clear they were the two members of the security
detail who were reportedly on the bus with the hostages.

The door burst open, Director
Morrison rushing into the room as the translator leaped to her feet, a pad of
paper in her hands. “It’s standard North Korean drivel at the beginning. You
have disrespected the Democratic People's Republic of Korea for too long, and
now you will pay the price. We have your women, and unless our demands are met,
they will die.” She motioned toward the screen. “Then they show the German gentleman.”
She glanced back at her pad. “He is but the first. Any attempt to retrieve your
women will result in their death. Disobey us at your own peril.” She looked up.
“That’s it.”