Igi
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Book 1 - Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2020-01-25 11:31:22 +0000 UTCE-waste Recycling Plant
After last night’s exercise at the bar, Michael and the guys spent several hours on the cabin’s deck. If his medical nanites didn’t work overtime, to clean the alcohol from his bloodstream, this morning would’ve been a completely different affair, and he knew that from a lifelong experience.
Tyron’s suggestion that they should start the morning with the full-contact sparring session was not something he was inclined to do right now. Last night’s brawl was enough of full-contact sports to last him for a while. Besides, he had to go and check up on Dave, some time has passed since the last time he saw the man and was feeling guilty about it. Dave didn’t socialize that much and was always happy when Michael came for a visit.
Using a transporter for such a short trip didn’t feel right, so he borrowed Tyron’s car. Additionally, he would get to enjoy a slow ride down the mountain. The sky was blue and sunny, one of those days when you want to sit back and relax with a friend. That is why he stopped at the store on the way and picked up a six-pack of the brand Dave preferred. At the plant, he unlocked the gate and locked it again when he was parked inside. Not that they had so many visitors, if any, but the old man still had some hang-ups from the time he was hiding from the bill collectors and liked his place locked all the time.
Dave was coming from the direction of the warehouse where the nano-factory was housed.
“I was planning on calling you Mike, that darn machine of yours is a bottomless pit, there is barely any high-grade e-scrap left to feed it. If we are going to continue with this, I suggest you start buying electronic scrap and shipping it here,” Dave said while shaking his hand.
Michael took out the six-pack from the back seat and showed it to the old man.
“I will think of something, things are going according to plan so it’s a good time to open a cold one.”
“You will get no objections from me, especially on a hot day like this,” Dave said, accepting a bottle.
Max already informed him that the last transporter was finished last night, and that would make it number three in their little fleet. They had plans to make many more, but for now, the production will concentrate on making new satellites to increase their coverage.
“So how you been Dave, are those old bones still giving you trouble in the morning?” Michael asked him with a smile.
“Now we both know that I’m feeling fine, in fact, this morning I’ve been able to do some push-ups. It has been ages since the last time I could do that. Those things, nanites you called them, are doing an amazing job. Quite frankly, some parts that I gave up on, are making their appearance again, if you know what I mean. I’ve been considering going on those dating sites everybody is talking about,” the old man said and actually blushed.
“Don’t sell yourself short, your best years are yet to come,” Michael replied, trying really hard not to laugh.
Dave showed him his scrap stockpiles, and it was obvious that they had already used an incredible amount, and as Dave said, soon would have to find an additional source to keep the nano-factory running.
Max was separating all of the materials underground, and while he had some basic ones in abundance, the rarer and more valuable ones were very scarce. The amounts he was using for transporters and satellites were quickly burning through his reserves, and only Dave's constant effort was making the whole operation possible. It was in the plans that Genesis Corporation would very soon start purchasing additional recycling plants. Until then, Dave's was all they had.
Michael spent another hour sitting in front of Dave's trailer, listening to the old man telling some stories from his youth, a few of them had even his grandfather in them.
“I better be going home,” Michael said after Max informed him that Elizabeth and Alice wanted to consult with him about some aspect of intelligence gathering. “I really needed to get some air and to clear my head; talking to you really helped.”
“I’m glad I could be of assistance, anytime you need a friendly ear come on over and I will listen. Just don’t forget to bring cold beer.” The old man replied.
Dave was walking him to his car when he noticed a tall man standing in front of the gate. The moment their eyes met Michael knew—this was an enemy. Maybe all the upgrades had something to do with it, or maybe that survival instinct honed in many battles. In the other man’s eyes, Michael could see recognition, and decision. The moment they looked at each other lasted only a second, but it was one of those seconds when time distorted and heart skipped a beat. The man was unbelievably fast; one moment he was standing there relaxed and in the next—he was already shooting at him.
Michael moved, giving a command for his CEI to activate the Boost. Still, even with all his advantages, he was not faster than a bullet, yet that small movement helped him. The bullet that would have hit him square in the face, grazed him above the eye, leaving a nasty wound. Unfortunately, the second bullet was unavoidable; it connected with his chest, above the heart.
The beginning stages of the Boost were making time slow down as the pain began to spread from the impact points. He willed his mind to ignore pain. Dave was close to him, and he needed to protect the older man. While still falling, his hand went for a gun hidden beneath his shirt; he was trying to be as fast as he could, but already a few more shots were fired.
Michael was on the ground, the impact of the fall jarring his senses. The gun was in his hand and he squeezed the trigger aiming at the shape in front of the gate. Something was wrong with his eyes; everything was covered with a red film and blurry. He stopped firing when only one round was left in the gun, just in case. The man was already gone, and a few seconds later, he could hear a car engine revving to its maximum..
Michael turned around and saw that Dave was a few feet behind him, lying on his back while blood was spreading from two bullet wounds in his chest.
“Max… help!” He sent through his implant, not trusting his voice at the moment.
“Transporter is on the way, just a few minutes more.”
He knew Dave did not have those minutes; the nanites Dave had in him were not the whole package, and if he lost enough blood, there will be nothing they could do.
Michael tried to raise to his feet, but they wouldn’t keep him up. Somehow, he crawled to the old man’s body and pressed his hands against the wounds.
“Heal him …”
“I’m already doing everything I can, but he will need to be transferred to the AutoDoc immediately,” the AI replied.
Tyron, Pete, and Al were suddenly there, ready to take over. That was it for Michael, for the last few minutes he was keeping himself awake—losing consciousness was not an option. There was something wrong with him, and he could not think straight anymore.
As soon as his friends took over his vigil over the old man, he closed his eyes and fell into oblivion.
***
Ziad looked at his shoulder; blood from a bullet wound was seeping through a makeshift bandage he made.
I failed! For the first time in his life, he did not manage to kill his prey and was now running away as fast as he could.
It was sheer blind luck that he spotted one of the people recorded in Ariz Rama’s office. This was the fifth small town he visited, carrying with him printed pictures of the people that assaulted the mansion. It was surprising how willing were ordinary citizens to help when you show them an FBI badge, and these country bumpkins would not know a fake one if it hit them on the head.
As he was passing by a local store, he saw one man whose picture he carried. Walking out of it with a six-pack of beer in his hands and a casual attitude of someone who had no enemies in this world.
He could not believe his luck; God must have smiled upon him for he thought that it would take him a lot longer to find any of them. Following his prey was not difficult, long ago, he had instructors who taught him how to be inconspicuous, and blend in the crowd. Stalking someone with the car was similar, staying far back so your mark would not spot you in the rear-view mirror, having some random car between the one you were following was usually sufficient.
Ziad took a deep breath and that intoxicating feeling of being on his prey’s tail made him smile. Soon, he would look into the man’s eyes, and see the final realization that death was a few heartbeats away. The man will then look at Ziad and know that his past’s sins had come to haunt him. There will be begging and pleading, offering of money and repentance. It will not matter—his fate was sealed.
That was how it was supposed to happen, but it did not. Ziad parked close to the entrance gate and waited for his prey to finish what he came here for. He would need to approach the car parked close to the gate, and Ziad was planning to call out to him and ask if the man could offer him some assistance, on account of his own car breaking down. And when the prey opened the gate Ziad would wound him, and then interrogate him for the location of the others.
It took some time and he was already beginning to feel restless, when his mark appeared, followed by an old man. All this time Ziad was holding a gun in his hand, there was no need to be reckless and left anything to chance.
As he was about to call out, his eyes met that of the man he was hunting… and everything went wrong.
The man knew. Ziad did not know how, but in that instant, as their eyes met, he realized that he was not facing prey… this was another hunter.
Maybe he could have still salvaged the situation if he stayed calm, but something deep inside his soul forced his action. He could not admit that it was fear, as he could never accept that, but something…
Ziad’s hand lifted in a practiced maneuver that had become part of his muscle memory, pointing a gun and pressing the trigger. The first bullet hit the man in the head, and the second in the chest. That is usually enough to remove the danger forever. As he did not want any witnesses, the barrel of his gun moved a few degrees to the side and sent a few rounds into the old man.
This should be the end of it… but it was not, something unexpected happened.
Pain.
It blossomed from his right shoulder, spreading through his body with the speed of thought. He was shot, and the force of the bullet had thrown him on the ground, while his gun went flying away from him. In the next split second, he saw that man, who was supposed to be dead, lying on the ground and firing at him.
As fast as he could, Ziad scampered towards his car, ignoring the pain. Within seconds he was pressing the gas pedal as hard as he could. His tires were leaving a cloud of dust behind him. He expected additional bullets to be sent in his direction, but if they were, the loud beating of his heart muffled all other sounds.
The man was supposed to be dead, his aim was always true, and none of his previous victims ever managed to fight back. He justified that miraculous survival by chance and preparation. His first bullet must have only grazed the man’s head, and he was probably wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his shirt.
That was not important at this moment; he was hurt and bleeding and needed to take care of himself.
Finding a safe place was all too easy. He picked one of the lonely houses, knocked on the door, and as soon as it opened, shot a woman in the head. She did not make a sound and his spare, silenced gun was very discreet. Ziad checked the rest of the house and confirmed that there was no one else inside.
This was always the best way to hide, random and out-of-the-way.
It took him half an hour to finish everything. He patched up his wound, dragged the woman’s body into the kitchen, and opened a gas line. There was an old SUV in the garage, just the right unexceptional car he was hoping to find. His car went into the garage, soaked in a generous amount of gasoline. The gas was rigged to catch fire in about an hour, long after he was far away from this area.
For the dead woman, he felt nothing; it was the same to him as stepping on an ant. Moreover, Mr. Osmani’s next operation should kill tens of thousands; one more life was a drop in the bucket.
For now, he had to retreat; his prey knew that he was hunted. This was not a failure in Ziad’s mind, only a setback. He needed time to heal and to find out more about the man he was hunting, and those around him.
When the time was right, when his prey dropped his guard—Ziad would strike, and this time it will be final.
The man wounded him, made him feel something… unthinkable.
This was not a job anymore.
This was now personal.
