The Veiled Threat (2 page)

“Left cheek.” The man sighed.

At this point the other man, Western European, or maybe even American, entered the conversation. “You and your ‘left cheek.’ Man, when are you going to learn that sitting on that thing is going to give you back problems later in life?”

“Given our jobs, I try not to think too much about ‘later in life.’ Besides, we don’t get much chance to sit down anyway.”

“I hear that. Still, I don’t know why you carry that thing around anyway. Not much use for a wallet in the places we end up.”

Erasto was not pleased with this at all. He understood fear: he used it to keep things peaceful. This casual banter was entirely out of place in the situation. Given the accents, he now knew both of these men were Americans. What were they doing here?

He addressed the white guy. “You do not carry a wallet? This is unfortunate. However, that ring on your left hand is no doubt of some value. You will give it to me.”

“This ring does not, I repeat,
does not
come off.”

“If need be, your finger certainly
will
come off. Must we go that route? So messy. Let us come back to it. Where are the keys to these vehicles?”

“You don’t want to mess with those,” said the black man. “Pretty on the outside, junk under the hood. That thing is dangerous. You get my meaning?”

“I think I will be the judge of that, thank you,” replied Erasto. He was impatient with this conversation now. He was certain he would have to pummel one of these two before it was over. He reached for the door of the pickup and began to open it. The door was wrenched from his hand and slammed shut again. Erasto took a step back, his weapon now up and ready to fire. “Whoever is in there, come out immediately or I will fire!”

“With pleasure,” responded a voice from within.

“Damn, man, I warned you. You’re in for it now, Captain Hook.” The two men had backed away from both Erasto and the truck.

Erasto Khalfani had seen much in his twenty-nine years, and he felt he was prepared for virtually all of life’s surprises. But his world of experiences could not
have prepared him for what was occurring before his eyes at this moment.

The truck began to move. Not forward or reverse like a truck should, but rather every aspect of it was in motion. Parts folded and flipped in upon themselves, creating a completely new image in front of his eyes. Within seconds a towering figure loomed over Erasto. It rose up on two legs, one arm pointing directly at him, no more than a foot from his face. Erasto had stared into the barrel of various weapons during his life, and he knew that he was currently looking directly into the maw of the largest cannon he had ever seen. His AK-47 dropped harmlessly to his feet as he gawked in sheer terror at the being in front of him.

And then it spoke.

“I believe it is time for you to, how do you say? ‘Walk the plank.’ ”

Erasto took two steps backward, stumbled, turned, and ran. His men had followed a similar course when they saw the beast rise from the decks, and several had preceded him into the water below. Erasto knew it would hurt a bit from that height, but anything to get away from this nightmare. He jumped, and was quickly picked up by his crew. In moments they were speeding away: fleeing for their lives.

Epps turned from the view and looked up at Ironhide, a broad smile on his face. “ ‘Walk the plank’? Where’d you pick that one up from?”

“I have been perusing your military literature at some length, looking for insights into your history of
combat. It is a phrase that seemed appropriate to the moment.”

“Appropriate to the moment. Right. You loved every minute of it.”

“I must admit,” replied Ironhide, “the look on his face was indeed a great pleasure to me.”

“What do you think, Captain? Think those guys will be pirating again anytime soon?” asked Epps.

“I have a feeling they may be in for a change of career,” laughed Lennox. “We’ve got enough NEST personnel on board to have mopped the decks with those jokers, but what would have been the fun in that?”

“Let’s get back to our game,” said Epps. “Still thirty hours until we reach Diego Garcia. Ironhide, Ratchet, you guys want in?”

Captain Lennox was in fact correct: Erasto Khalfani never plied the waves in search of booty again. Eventually, when the shock had worn off, he went back to fishing. He already had enough money to live comfortably, and if things got tight he figured he could always write a book. Had to be easier than piracy. To the end of his days, though, his friends noticed his strange habit of crossing the street every time he saw a pickup truck.

Kaminari Ishihara loved the sea. Although the lagoon itself could be murky in places, the waters surrounding the Indian Ocean islands of Diego Garcia where NEST had its headquarters were virtually transparent: even clearer than those cold Pacific swirls that lapped the shore near her hometown north of Tokyo. They were also much warmer. Back home she would never have gone into the ocean wearing only the bikini that presently covered only a small portion of her curvaceous yet well-toned form.

“A healthy mind in a healthy body,” her grandmother had always told her, “so you can tell those grabby guys on the train what you think of them even as you kick their butts.”

But here in the relative privacy of the atoll, she did not have to worry much about prying eyes. And her dossier, she knew, afforded her a level of respect among the base personnel that transcended the normal interaction between men and women. Over years of study, both scholarly and martial, she had turned her mind and body not only into a machine but into a weapon as well. She walked with the confidence of a person who knows where she belongs, and she belonged right here, right now.

An expert in robotics specializing in cybernetic motivation, Kami was well aware of the role for which she had been chosen. People in high places whose task it was to evaluate such things had read and admired her precocious doctoral dissertation, “Subatomic Transitions in Cybernetic Mnemonics,” and had quietly recruited her. It was the chance to work directly with the famous but still mysterious mechanical alien lifeforms that had brought her from northeast coastal Honshu to the tropics. She knew that working within the secretive NEST would give her ample opportunity to utilize her specialized knowledge. She had also been warned there could be occasions when she might be asked to fight.

Her own experimental weapon lay back in her room. There was no need to have it close by as she swam in the warm, shallow water. Only small, harmless sharks like whitetips ventured into the lagoon. In any case, Longarm could all by himself have made sushi out of anything up to and including a great white.

The Autobot relished the chance to spend time in his normal, natural shape outside the subterranean confines of NEST. Though everyone at the secret operations center was familiar with and quite comfortable when working in the presence of primary Autobot configurations, it had been decided that for security reasons it was better if they spent the majority of their time while outdoors in the individual guises they had chosen to enable them to blend in among less knowing humans. It was also, a serious Optimus Prime had pointed out to his cohorts, good practice. Known among his companions as an especially hard worker,
Longarm had chosen to move about in the guise of a tow truck.

Now he stood in the shallow water in his bipedal form and watched with interest as the human female paddled lazy circles around his pillar-like legs. She moved through the water by utilizing an outwardly inefficient un-Autobot-like scissoring of her hind limbs. As he attempted to calculate the energy efficacy of the odd motion, she paused in her swimming and went vertical in the water, pushing her face mask up onto her forehead. These organics, he knew, required a continuous intake of the local atmospheric gas in order to internally fuel their bodies. A most peculiar system. Reaching down, he gently placed a gleaming wet hand beneath her and lifted her out of the water. Droplets flung from her long black hair caught the tropical sunlight as she shook her head.

“I much prefer your appearance with the artificial lens in place over the forepart of your upper skull,” he intoned solemnly. “It gives your face a more mechanical façade.”

Kami grinned. “Your tastes differ from those of the males of my species.”

“Forgive my ignorance. I am still comparatively new to this world and have much to learn about your kind. In his spare time, Ratchet has been mentoring me.”

She looked up at the long, low sound of a ship’s horn. Longarm put her down, and she walked through the shallows to the beach. The sun glinting off her dripping body would have given any man, and even most women, pause, but Kaminari’s thoughts were rarely self-reflexive. The ship had arrived without incident,
unless one counted the amusing diversion in the Gulf of Aden, and these days that meant a lot. For once, she wanted to greet this ship at the docks. Wrapping herself in a towel, Kaminari walked toward the barracks. She’d be showered, changed, and on the docks in fifteen minutes.

Gazing at the long, slender island that occupied the side of Diego Garcia’s lagoon southeast of the heavy bomber airstrip, a visitor would be hard-pressed to believe that it concealed anything more powerful than the kick of the semi-wild donkeys that roamed its emerald-green interior. Save for an unusual profusion of satellite antennas artfully scattered among the palms and casuarinas there was nothing to indicate that buried deep in the limestone and bedrock, the hastily constructed center that had been established to coordinate Autobot and human responses to Decepticon incursions pushed out in all directions. NEST was continuing to expand, its reinforced tunnels honeycombing not only the island itself but also the solid rock that underlay the atoll.

The
Pearl of India
came to rest beside the massive pylons that supported the pier. This was the only location on the atoll that allowed large ships to berth, and it was used infrequently. Given the circumstances, much of the strength of NEST lay in its secrecy, and the atoll did little to give away its true purpose.

Lennox and Epps, along with a third man, walked down the gangplank of the
Pearl of India
onto the one main loading dock on Diego Garcia. Ironhide and Ratchet disembarked from the side loading bay
farther aft. Waiting for them on the wharf was Kaminari Ishihari.

“Dr. Ishihari.” The greeting came from Lennox. “I heard you had arrived. Good to have you on board.” Epps just stared, trying to keep his mouth closed and his eyes front. Front and elevated, that is.

“Please, call me Kami. We’ll be working together closely, and anyway, titles make me uncomfortable. I don’t need people to call me ‘doctor’ all day just to pad my self-esteem.” This was said in an open and self-deprecating way that disarmed the two soldiers. They warmed to her immediately.

“In that case, call me Lennox. This is Master Sergeant Epps, but I’m sure he won’t mind you calling him Epps. We tend to be pretty informal ourselves.” Epps just nodded in agreement; still temporarily speechless, an unnatural state for him.

Standing next to him was a man who looked to be in his late thirties, pink cheeks, blue eyes, close-cropped blond hair, similar to his companions in build, but with the restless eyes of an inquisitive soul.

Lennox continued, “Allow me to also introduce Mr. Petr Andronov, one of the world’s leading experts in artificial and machine intelligence. We met him and his equipment in Sevastopol, where we all boarded the
Pearl
. Given what we’re up against, we’re expecting both of you to become invaluable members of the NEST team.”

Kaminari eyed the Russian coolly, temporarily allowing the litany of past grievances between their two countries to interfere with her professionalism. But she shook it off: there was a common threat to all humanity,
and old feuds must be put aside. Petr Andronov was a colleague now, and they would need to trust each other.

“That’s what we’re here for, and now that you’ve arrived, we can get started,” replied Kami. “A pleasure to meet you, Petr. We need all three of you, and your Autobot comrades, in the briefing room right away. Everyone else is already assembled and waiting.”

“What’s going on?” asked Epps, finally able to find his tongue.

“Trouble. Maybe real trouble,” Kami replied, the urgency now coming through in her voice. “We may have a sighting.”

“Decepticons?” asked Lennox. “Well, we knew this was coming. I suppose it was too much to ask for them to give us the courtesy of being prepared before they made a move.”

“Give us five minutes to stow our gear. We’ll be right behind you.”

Kami turned and walked down the pier, followed by the eyes of every living male creature in the vicinity.

“Damn, that ain’t right,” sighed Epps. “You can’t be putting us in a room with her, not after all this time away from home.”

“Easy there, chief,” replied Lennox, “she’ll kick your ass with one hand while solving Einstein’s theory of relativity with the other. Didn’t you read her file?”

“No, you’re the leader of this team. That means you get to do all the reading.”