you are at a rock concert, the drone can find you in the crowd and kill you.”
“This is a nightmare,” Karen King said.
“The nightmare has no end,” Eric Jansen said. “Think of a presidential inauguration. Think of a thousand Hellstorms released into the air, all of them programmed to seek out the president of the United States. If just one micro-drone gets through, the president dies. Micro-drones could take out the government of any nation-Japan, China, Britain, Germany-any nation could be cut down by a swarm of micro-drones.” He turned himself around slowly, while Rick and Karen took in the scene from his arm. “This room is Pandora’s box.”
“So Nanigen isn’t about medicine,” said Karen.
“Nanigen is about medicine. It’s just that Nanigen is working both sides of the street. Ways to save lives and…ways to end lives. This Hellstorm,” he touched it lightly, “is a drug-delivery system.”
“And you found out about it, so Drake had to kill you.”
“Not quite. I knew about the Omicron program all along. Nanigen has a contract with the Department of Defense to develop micro-drones. The research went much better than the DOD people got told. Vin started lying to the government. He started telling them the micro-drones were a failure.”
“Why?” Rick asked.
“Because Drake had his own plans for micro-drones. We had a problem with our patents on the micro-drone system. There’s a company in Silicon Valley called Rexatack that actually invented and patented some of this technology. Vin Drake is an investor in Rexatack. He ripped off the patents and used them to build the Hellstorm drone. Then he decided he needed to sell the technology fast, because Rexatack was getting ready to sue Nanigen and get its patents enforced. What got me into trouble with Vin was when I discovered he was trying to sell the micro-drone technology to the highest bidder.”
“Not to the U.S. government?” Karen said.
“No. Vin was looking for fast money, and there’s more money overseas. Look-there are governments out there with money to burn-and it’s dollars. Countries whose economies are growing faster than ours. They will pay anything for the micro-drone technology. Anything. I’m not saying that the U.S. government would necessarily do nice things with micro-drones. I’m just saying there are governments out there that would commit horrors with them. Some of those governments hate the United States, they have nothing but contempt for Europe, they fear their closest neighbors, and they hate and fear their own people, too. Those governments wouldn’t hesitate to use micro-drones as a means to their ends. And then there are the international terror groups-they’d love to have micro-drones. I learned that Drake had gone to Dubai where he was talking with officials of several different governments about selling them the Nanigen Hellstorm technology. I protested to Drake. I said it was a violation of U.S. law. I said it was dangerous for the whole world. But I hesitated.”
“Why?” Rick asked.
Eric sighed. “Drake had given me stock in Nanigen worth millions. If I went to the authorities, I knew Nanigen would crash and burn. My stock would be worth nothing. So I hesitated. Out of greed. I had gone into physics for the pure love of it, and I never thought, you see, that physics would make me a millionaire. Now millions would slip through my fingers if I blew the whistle on Drake, and it was my fatal weakness. Then Drake decided to kill me. I was in my new boat doing sea trials, and I’d told Alyson Bender I’d meet her in Kaneohe for lunch-it’s on the windward side of the island. Alyson, or Drake, seeded my boat with Hellstorms. Prototypes, but they were loaded to kill me. My engines failed, and that’s when I saw one of those damned things fly out of the front cabin. At first I thought it was just a bug. Then I saw it had propellers and needle missiles, and I knew it was a Hellstorm. Then I spotted another Hellstorm flying out of the cabin. So I texted my brother and dove overboard. The surf protected me. The micro-drones couldn’t smell me, couldn’t launch missiles at me because I was swimming under the waves. I made it to Honolulu and went into hiding. If I had surfaced and gone to the police, Drake would have hunted me down with more micro-drones. Vin Drake is drunk on the power of his bots.” Eric sighed, and paused, and in the silence another voice spoke:
“That was an excellent description of me, Eric. I enjoyed it thoroughly.” A small, bright light went on, and Vincent Drake stood up behind a rack of computers, the light beam swinging in front of him.
Chapter 49
Kalikimaki Industrial Park 1 November, 3:40 a.m.
D rake had been sitting on a chair in a dark space behind the rack of computers. He wore an earbud, and he was holding a gun in his right hand. It was a Belgian FN semiautomatic pistol with a tactical light attached to the trigger guard. The light dodged around. In his left hand he held a bot controller. He wore a black shirt, black jeans, mud-stained boots. He walked to the center of the room and pointed the gun into Eric’s eyes, then toward Eric’s forearm, and caught the two aircraft in the light beam.
“Peek-a-boo, I see you,” said Drake.
The two micro-humans heard him perfectly on their headsets. He was using a squirt radio. Rick said to Karen, “Launch.”
They powered up the aircraft and fell off Eric’s arm, diving, the props ramping up.
Drake didn’t seem to care what they did. He aimed the gun and light into Eric’s eyes, standing with his body turned sideways and his gun arm held straight out. Drake held up the bot controller in his other hand. Its screen made his hand glow. He touched a button with his thumb and said, “Your bot controller doesn’t actually work, Eric. Only mine does.”
Rick banked his micro-plane and circled over Eric’s head. He couldn’t see Karen. He called to her on the radio: “Stay close to me.”
“Rick-can Drake hear us?”
“Of course I can hear you,” Drake’s voice came on their radios. He swung the gun around suddenly, and the laser beam dodged around their planes, and they saw his vast, leering face. For a moment Rick thought Drake would fire the gun at them, but then he realized that the bullet probably wouldn’t hit their planes. They were too small, dodging around too fast.
Drake kept the gun pointed at Eric’s head. He held up the bot controller, pressed a button. “There,” he said.
“What did you do?” Eric said, looking up.
Drake looked around and smiled. “I activated the bots.” He took a step backward, waiting.
“You’ll be attacked by them, too-” Eric said.
“I don’t think so.” Drake lunged forward and hit Eric in the face with the butt of his gun. Eric groaned and fell to his knees.
“What is it about you Jansen brothers? You seem to require beatings on a regular basis,” Drake said. He kicked Eric in the ribs. Eric gasped and went down on all fours and began to crawl.
“Where are you going, Eric? Looking for something?”
“Go to hell.”
Drake kicked him in the side of the head, viciously. Eric slumped down and curled up, and seemed to lose consciousness, while Drake’s pistol light danced over him.
Eric tried to struggle to his feet, but couldn’t.
“Well, Eric, there’s something you don’t realize. The bots ignore my body scent. They’ll go after anybody except me.” He chuckled. “They respect me.”
Eric put his hand up to his face, then took it away. His hand was spotted with blood. A small razor cut had opened on his forehead.
“Too bad, Eric. Looks like one of them found you.”
Eric crawled toward Drake, who darted backward and smiled. Eric began swatting at his hair, at his ears, shaking himself.
“Trying to get the bots off, Eric? Can you feel them crawling on your face? In your hair? Soon they’ll be in your bloodstream. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt. You just watch yourself bleed.”
As Drake worked on Eric, Rick flew toward the door to the generator room. That’s where he and Karen had to go. He circled in close to the door, and he made a slow pass near it. He saw a small vent at the top of the door.
