With all that gear on, her head seemed twice as big. The hard hat came all the way down to her eyebrows; it must have been a couple of sizes too large. The protective glasses were also too large, covering half her face. She squinted, trying to distinguish the target, holding her hand up to shade her eyes.
Dunwood went to the cart and came back with binoculars. "Here, this will help."
Through binoculars, the bunker was visible in detail. Nothing more than a prefab concrete cube, set on the ground, marked with lettering in white paint.
"What's the lettering for? What does it mean?" Alex asked.
"It doesn't mean anything, per se; it's an identifier," Dunwood said. "Drones acquire targets in multiple ways. One way is to preload images of the target object or site into the self-guiding software, and then send the drone searching for targets. In this case, the target image has to be distinctive enough to allow the drone to differentiate clearly between the intended target and other buildings that are not to be harmed, such as those." Dunwood pointed toward a set of bunkers, to the left of the target bunker. These bunkers had different lettering on them, but it was a similar font, color, and letter size.
"Why are there doors to these bunkers?"
"They are reinforced doors, able to withstand the blast just as well as the concrete walls do. We set measurement equipment in there, devices that capture and analyze the force of the impact when the missile strikes, so we can perfect out approach techniques. The same type of structure is being used to design anti-missile defense systems."
The drone was roaring above their heads. It was large, carrying multiple Hellfire missiles. It circled the area for a few seconds, identified the ground target with unbelievable precision and released the missile without any delay. The missile took out the bunker in a deafening explosion, throwing debris and dust high in the sky. By the time the dust cleared, the drone had already left the area, scouting farther away for new targets to hit.
"Wow," Alex said, numbed by the shock of the explosion. Even from this safe distance, she felt the shockwave in her chest and stomach. "It didn't take much, did it?"
"Nope, they are incredible weapons, taking significantly less time and hesitation than any human-operated aircraft."
"Well, weren't these human-operated from the ground?" Alex asked.
"Not this one. This drone is in testing for self-guidance and targeting. It's the software that's been causing us a bit of trouble lately, if you remember our last meeting."
"Yes, I do remember, and my team is also looking into the software on our end. I thought that regardless of human or self-guidance, no drone could possibly release a missile without human intervention. And this happened so fast, no human could have had the time to validate the target and approve the launch."
"Good observation," Dunwood said, "but this is a forward-thinking research-and-development environment, and we test and break boundaries every single day. No drone in service today can launch a missile without human intervention; that is correct. There are safeguards put in place to ensure exactly that. Maybe in the near future, we'll be able to achieve automatic, precise, yet safe missile launches. Today, we're not there yet, but we are developing technologies for that future. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"
…70
Still processing the vast amount of information she had gained while touring the NanoLance plant in Alpine, Alex was slowly going about her normal evening rituals. These rituals encompassed checking the cloned emails, her own work email, logging in remotely to check on her work systems and servers.
She took the clone laptop in the quiet, now almost dark, backyard and powered it up. It took a few minutes to download from the network the numerous emails she needed to check, but among the first one that caught her eye was yet another intriguing email from Walker to Prescott.
From: Benjamin Walker (COO)
To: Angela Prescott (VP HR)
Subject: Request
Sent: Tuesday, July 13, 3:17PM
Angela,
I would love to watch the news, or read something or other in a newspaper, but there's nothing out there of any interest for me to watch or read, now, is there?
I wonder why that is…
Thanks,
Ben
The weirdest thing about Walker, she thought. He was obviously involved with Angela. Alex had almost believed they had a romantic involvement, but what she had witnessed in that conference room was anything but romance. Nevertheless, they were involved somehow outside work. Still, he sent her such emails on the work email account. Was that a proof that nothing was wrong about that email? Or that Walker was just becoming careless? Was that email a solicitation of media pressure of sorts? Or quite the opposite? Asking Angela to work her magic and get favorable media coverage for them? They definitely need it, she thought, remembering how low the stock was trading these days. However, if this was a positive call for action, why be so cryptic about it? Something was definitely off about that email.
She took her private cell phone out of her pocket. Before calling anyone, she looked at the time and grunted. 10:12PM. Too late to make calls, but Steve would understand. She found herself cheering up at the thought of hearing his voice.
Two short rings, then voicemail. Damn it! She still wanted to get someone's opinion about this, and fast. In seconds, she printed a copy of the email, grabbed her wallet, and left.
…71
She quietly approached the house, engine idling, and low beams off. She didn't even pull into the driveway, afraid she'd wake them up. She took the printed email, scribbled on the back "What do you think?" and walked toward the front door. She was crouching to slide the paper under the door, when nearby she heard a cat purr. She turned left and looked for the source of the sound.
"Good evening," Tom said.
She gasped. "You scared me to death," she said, standing.
"I scared you? I was sitting here, on my lawn, drinking my tea, petting my cat, when you came around behaving like a burglar. You scared me!"
Alex laughed. "OK, I guess we're even, then."
"What brings you here in the dead of the night?"
"This," Alex said, handing him the paper.
"It's too dark to read, what's in it?"
"Hold on, I've got a flashlight." Alex went to the car and returned with a small light. "I need your first impression of the message, not through my conveyed version of it. Here you go."
Tom read the email message in the flashlight's dim beam.
"I see," he said, "interesting."
"What do you think?" Alex asked. "Is this foul play? It reeks of foul play to me, but why would he take this risk and send this by email, rather than tell her?"
"He is getting high on the fumes of power," Tom said. "People like him cannot conceive that they could be less than perfect, or that someone could not be awed by their power and charisma. They are the sociopathic narcissists, those who combine the total absence of conscience with absolute conviction they are God's greatest gift to humankind. It's an intoxicating combination, likely to lead him to make mistakes."