Flash had left on the earlier blimp to supervise the load-out on the other end. Nuri hadn’t been trained to handle the aircraft directly, so Boston channeled control through MY-PID. He was as good as his word — Nuri heard the aircraft overhead before he reached the house.
The Moldovan captain in charge of the local security force wasn’t sure exactly what was going on. All he knew was that the deputy minister had just reamed him out, told him there were traitors in the force, and ordered him to secure the farm. Nuri filled in some of the blanks quickly, describing the men and the box he was looking for. Then he turned his attention to the Rattlesnakes, which were feeding their infrared scans to MY-PID.
The first thing he noticed on the small screen of his control unit was a car about a mile south, traveling at close to ninety kilometers.
“Stop the vehicle,” he told MY-PID.
The Rattlesnakes swooped toward it. One buzzed the vehicle from behind, then turned sharply in front of it, pivoting to spin its nose — and the Gatling gun there — directly toward the windshield. The other aircraft came at the car from the side, passing so close to the vehicle that its skid scraped the roof. The maneuvers had the desired effect — the driver turned the wheel hard, pushing the car off the side of the road and into the woods, where it hit a tree.
Nuri watched on the screen as the driver stumbled out of the car. It was a woman, not one of the guards.
An accomplice?
It took him a few minutes to explain where the vehicle was to the Moldovans. MY-PID, meanwhile, sent one of the helicopters back to continue searching the farm, while the other one orbited the wrecked car.
By now the Moldovans had tightened their line around the farm. It didn’t appear anyone was hiding on the property. But Nuri assumed that the two men who had attacked him and taken the box would blend in easily with the others — they were, after all, policemen just like the rest.
The captain had another theory: the men weren’t policemen at all, but imposters who had come in with the others. Insisting they weren’t among his men, he suggested they might be hiding in the trunk or somewhere else on the post.
“We are checking to see who left their post,” said the Moldovan. “So far we have not found anyone who was out of place. So, these must have been imposters.”
“Maybe,” said Nuri.
“Let us talk to the prisoner.” The captain gestured toward the driveway, where one of his cars was waiting. Nuri, a little wary, got in.
“MY-PID — keep watching the area,” he told the computer. “If anyone else leaves, let me know — and follow them with one of the Rattlesnakes.”
“Command accepted.”
Then he had another idea.
“Tell the people at the car scene that I’m coming, too,” he told the captain.
“Why?”
“Try it.”
The Moldovan gave the order.
Nuri watched on the small screen. Six officers had responded. They had the driver in custody and were seeing to her injuries. Two were searching the car. Suddenly they stopped searching and headed for one of the police SUVs.
“Flash — stop the police vehicle near the accident scene.”
“Identify vehicle,” said MY-PID.
“The one that’s moving, damn it.”
“Command unknown.”
“The SUV in the southwest.” Nuri thumbed up the grid markers. “Grid AB–23. Damn it. Stop it — don’t use weapons. No weapons. I want to talk to those bastards.”
And punch each one in the face when he was done. Maybe before that.
The captain was on the radio, barking his own commands. Their driver stepped on the gas, hurrying toward the stopped vehicle. He swerved down the road so sharply that Nuri thought they were going to spin off the road.
Someone ahead started shooting — a fireball shot up from around the bend.
“What the hell?” shouted Nuri.
“Unknown command,” responded MY-PID.
They skidded to a stop a few meters from the scene. The SUV was on fire, flames shooting in all directions.
Nuri got out of the car. He didn’t mind the fact that the bastards were burning to death — that part he liked. But the box was probably burning with them.
“MY-PID — have the helicopter put out the flames,” he said. “Beat them out with the rotor wash.”
“Command accepted.”
One of the Rattlesnakes swooped down. The wind from its counterrotating rotors sent a spray of dust and debris everywhere. Nuri had to turn his back to keep the grit from getting in his eyes.
One of the policeman was holding an RPG launcher. Why the hell had they blown up the SUV?
“I’m going to check the prisoner,” said Nuri as calmly as he could. He began walking back up the road. As soon as he was out of earshot of the others, he asked MY-PID to review the Moldovan captain’s conversation.
“I need a translation,” he told the computer. “Word for word.”
“ ‘Unit 32,’ ” said the computer, reciting what it had heard in the background of Nuri’s earlier transmission. “ ‘Unit 32—are you reading me? Reading you. Blow up the SUV. There must be no survivors. Set it on fire. Destroy it completely.’ ”
“That’s what I thought,” mumbled Nuri.
“Command disregarded.”
“Now you’re learning.”
Nuri went back over to the woman who’d been stopped, already sure she wasn’t involved. Her head was bandaged and she gave him a dazed look, not sure what was going on.
“She claims she was on her way to work,” said one of the policemen in Moldovan.
“Maybe she was,” said Nuri. “Did you check with her employer?”
They were doing that right now. Meanwhile the car had been searched. There was no sign of the box.
Nuri wasn’t surprised. Most likely it had been in the SUV.
Although there was one other place where it might be.
He walked back down the road to the captain’s car. The fire was out now. The policemen were standing around the truck’s charred remains, looking at the smoldering metal and melted glass. The stench from the fire was incredible, a mixture of barbecued formaldehyde and pulverized iron.
The captain and his driver were with the others around the SUV. Nuri pulled open the driver’s side door, reached down and pulled the latch for the car trunk.
It didn’t open.
Nuri closed the door gently, trying not to make a sound. Then he walked over to the back of the captain’s car and took out his small lock pick. Cars were generally no more difficult to open than house doors, and the lock on this one proved ridiculously easy; he flicked and prodded, and felt the tumblers give within a few seconds.
Dropping to his knees, he pushed the lid of the car up slowly.
“You are a very clever man,” said the captain behind him. His English was vastly improved.
Nuri let go of the trunk and spread his arms, rising slowly.
“When did they approach you?” Nuri asked. “Were you always on their payroll?”
“Turn around and be quiet.”
Nuri turned slowly.
“Get away from the car. Go to the side.”
“You going to shoot me or arrest me?” asked Nuri.
The other policemen were all watching.
