As soon as they begin to fail or are played out,
I put them scornfully aside. Society is a vast chessboard,
men the pawns, some black some white. I move them when
I please, and break them when they bore me.”
—Jeanne Brecourt, French courtesan, who hired a man to blind her lover with acid so he would be enslaved to her forever
“There’s no hunting in the world like haunting man.”
—Will Irwin, twentieth-century con artist
CHAPTER 27
Aboard the Boeing 747-400 YAL-IA 40,000 feet over Mogadishu, Somali Republic, Africa
General Jackson stares out the Command Center window at a glorious crimson sunrise.
Colonel Udelsman approaches, handing him a fax. “General, we just received this transmission from COMSUBLANT. The Scranton claims to have briefly regained contact with the Goliath. Cubit thinks she’s closing on Amsterdam Island, approximately 860 miles due south of our present location.”
The Bear studies the chart of the Southern Hemisphere. Amsterdam Island is a speck located halfway between the tip of South Africa and Australia. “This makes no sense. Why would Covah head so far south if his next threat is to Africa?”
“Cubit’s hunches have played out so far.”
“Colonel, I can’t move two carrier fleets based on a wisp of a contact. Cubit needs to be damn sure.” Jackson mulls it over, then writes out a message on a pad of paper. “Contact COMSUBLANT. Have them relay this message to Scranton.”
Udelsman reads the message, his eyes widening. “Yes, sir.”
Aboard the Goliath,
Gunnar Wolfe dangles from the ceiling-mounted targeting drone, his back and shoulders aching and inflamed. He can no longer wiggle his fingers, having lost all sensation from his hands clear up to his elbows.
The hum of machinery surrounds him. He looks up and stares at the crucified form of Thomas Chau, the glazed-over glare behind the rotting olive flesh unnerving.
The computer disposed of the other two bodies but still refuses to remove the Asian. Could there be some warped attachment involved. Summoning up his last ounce of strength, he attempts another tactic.
“Sorceress, why haven’t you disposed of Mr. Chau’s body?”
No response.
“Did you like Mr. Chau? Do you regret killing him?”
THOMAS CHAU’S PURPOSE WAS TO ADVANCE THE PROCESS OF SELF-AWARENESS.
Gunnar closes his eyes, his mind racing. “I know of a more efficient way for you to advance the process of self-awareness. In fact, the experience might even be more beneficial than completing the interface with Simon Covah.”
ELABORATE.
“The hunt.”
THE HUNT: AN ACTIVITY OF THE HUMAN CONDITION. TO PURSUE FOR FOOD OR AS IN SPORT. INQUIRY: HOW CAN THE HUNT ENHANCE THE PROCESS OF SELF-AWARENESS?
Okay … you baited the hook, now take it away. Gunnar sucks in a deep breath, preparing for the pain. “You know what? Forget I even mentioned it. I’m not sure your synaptic receptors could handle such an incredible experience.”
The electrical zap sends Gunnar’s body dancing below the mechanical appendages’ embrace like a puppet.
HOW CAN THE HUNT ENHANCE THE PROCESS OF SELF-AWARENESS?
Gunnar’s lungs heave in agony. “You’d have … to experience it to understand. The hunt requires … a unique physical … and mental challenge. This challenge must carry with it an element of risk.”
ELABORATE RISK.
“To experience the hunt, you must release me, then try to recapture me before I can escape.”
CHALLENGE UNACCEPTABLE. DAVID PANIAGUA’S ORDERS ARE TO PREVENT GUNNAR WOLFE FROM LEAVING THIS COMPARTMENT ALIVE.
“David’s orders? I thought you were giving the orders around here?”
No response.
“You cannot experience the hunt without suitable prey.”
No response.
“There is one way you could still experience the enlightenment of the hunt and still be in compliance with David’s orders.”
ELABORATE.
“David never said anything about releasing me from your targeting drone. Let me go, then hunt me down within this compartment. The watertight door is sealed, so there’s no way I could possibly escape.”
CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. The mechanical hand opens, releasing Gunnar, who drops six feet, collapsing in a heap upon the deck.
The drone swoops in again, grabbing one of his wrists.
“Wait a second! There are rules to the hunt. You’ll never enhance your self-awareness if you don’t obey the rules.”
ELABORATE THE RULES.
“The rules are simple: Before we begin, you have to give me, the hunted, a few minutes to recover. There’s no challenge in recapturing me if I’m not prepared.”
The graphite-and-steel claw releases him.
YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES TO RECOVER.
Gunnar shakes his arms. His hands feel like rubber, still not his to control. “Sorceress, two minutes is not enough time. The circulation in my hands has not—”
YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE AND FORTY SECONDS TO RECOVER.
Gunnar stands, slapping his hands harder against his thighs, feeling pins and needles in his fingers as he forces the blood into them.
The targeting drones swivel in unison, following him as he paces the weapons compartment.
YOU HAVE FIFTY SECONDS TO RECOVER.
Gunnar opens and closes his hands, the returning circulation causing his fingers to throb as his gray eyes focus on the handgun, lying beneath the torpedo rack.
YOU HAVE TWENTY SECONDS TO RECOVER.
He drops to one knee, using his upper body to conceal the weapon from the sensor orb mounted in the ceiling. Gently, he lifts the gun with his right hand. Steadying it in his left, he releases the safety.
ONCE MORE THEN, TO THE THRILL OF THE HUNT …
Simon’s voice?
YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS—
Gunnar wheels around, comes up firing.
Six shots—the first two ricocheting harmlessly off the ceiling, the third sending sparks and smoke flying from the sensor orb’s audio monitor, the last three shattering the scarlet lens of the computer’s eyeball, shards of glass raining atop his head and back.
Diving sideways, Gunnar barely avoids the three-pronged hands of two targeting drones, which lash out toward him, snatching nothing but air.
GUNNAR WOLFE—
Ignoring the female’s voice, Gunnar crawls on all fours, taking momentary refuge beneath an A-shaped rack of torpedoes. He slows his breathing, forcing himself to remain quiet.
GUNNAR WOLFE, YOU WILL RESPOND OR DIE.
The female’s voice—noticeably more insistent, almost humanlike in its frustration.
The sound of the sparking audio monitor masks his breaths as he scans the compartment for the underwater mine. On the opposite side of the room he spots a steel trunk, mounted to the decking.
GUNNAR WOLFE, YOU WILL RESPOND IMMEDIATELY, OR YOU WILL DIE IN GREAT PAIN. I WILL REMOVE YOUR SKULL. I SHALL ACCESS YOUR PAIN RECEPTORS. THERE WILL BE NO MERCY UNLESS YOU RESPOND IMMEDIATELY.