“No! Please…”
“It’s nothing personal, you understand. Just close your eyes and it will be over in a second.”
Redfern opened his mouth to beg for his life when static burst from the speakers and the monitors flickered back to life. The viewing angle had changed. They were now looking up from the floor at the two men in the bedroom.
“My – My – My – Myfriend? Am I still pretty, M-M-M-My- f-f-f-friend?”
Molenski eyes widened with disbelief at the stuttering metallic voice. He jerked around, pointing his gun at her. He quickly realized that the robot was focused on Ivan rather than him and that her malfunctioning speech meant she was no further threat.
“Oh, you’re still fucking going?” he sneered. “Well, you know what? Time to go night, night, bitch!”
The mob boss stepped up to her and bent over her, placing his gun against her temple. Before he could squeeze the trigger his neck exploded in agony. Everything went black.
Ivan stood over his boss, chest heaving. He quickly pocketed the gun he had struck Molenski with and rushed to Inga.
“MyMyMyMyfriend?”
Ivan fell to his knees and grasped her hand, aware of the faint sound of sirens in the distance.
“I’m here Inga… can you stand up?”
“I am malfunctioning Myfriend, I need to go into safe mode and run a diagnostic check to scan for…”
“No! We have to get you out of here first. You can run your diagnostic check when we are in the car. Come, stand up!”
Inga allowed him to help her to her feet even though he could see that she was quickly regaining her motor skills. He hoped she wouldn’t also regain her lust for killing.
“Wait here,” he said, before running into the walk-in robe.
Inga’s eyes fell on the unconscious body of Molenski and regarded him expressionlessly until Ivan returned with a jacket, a pair of slip-on shoes and a head scarf.
“Here, put these on,” he said, handing her the jacket as he went behind her.
“Is Dimitri Molenski terminated, Myfriend?”
“No, he is… sleeping. Hurry, put your jacket on.”
The wound on the back of her head was ugly, although the blood matted hair around it perhaps made it look worse than it was. After all, she was metal beneath her skin. If she was still talking and operating, it meant the bullet hadn’t penetrated the delicate electronics beneath. He placed the scarf around her head, hiding the bullet hole, and tied it in a bow.
The sirens were much closer now and as soon as she’d put on the shoes, he ushered her out of the bedroom. He was about to follow her through the door when he spied Tatiana’s still packed suitcase. He retrieved it, then hurried Inga through the hallway and down the stairs to the ground floor.
Ivan remembered his instruction to Isabella, and when they reached the kitchen, he took Inga through to the top of the marble staircase and put the suitcase down beside her.
“Wait here.”
“Yes, Myfriend.”
He ran lightly back into the kitchen and around to the cupboard where he had discovered the Hispanic cook earlier. Remembering her carving knife, he stayed well back as he squatted by the island and knocked.
“It’s me.”
“Is it over?” she asked, as she crawled out of the safe space and to her feet.
“Yes. I have to go, but you will be safe, the police are on the way.”
He began to walk out of the kitchen.
“Did you kill her?” the cook asked.
Ivan stopped and looked back over his shoulder at her.
“You don’t need to worry about her anymore. Goodbye Isabella.”
Isabella noted the hint of finality to his words and wondered what had happened upstairs. Was Molenski alive? If so, why wasn’t he down here with Ivan? As he walked away, she rounded the island ready to ask him more questions.
“Dios es el demonion,” she whispered and made the sign of the cross as Ivan picked up a suitcase and took the girls hand before disappearing down the stairs.
Inga’s grip was gentle, but her inhuman strength was more than evident from the carnage of her killing spree, and Ivan knew that if she didn’t want to, there was no way he could have compelled her to come with him.
Her quickfire change from killing mode was clearly the result of Molenski’s gunshots. It had damaged whatever was compelling her to kill, otherwise he and his boss would have been as dead as Tatiana by now.
Even more puzzling, was the question of what had made her go crazy and breach the hardwired programming of the Robotics’ laws in the first place.
There was no time to think about it now though; they had to get out. Ivan burst into the basement with Inga hot on his heels. Even though she was a machine, she was so quiet on her feet that he had to keep glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was still following him.
Ivan cursed. The Cadillac was still there, but it was switched off, and the door was open, the driver’s seat empty. He ran over and looked in; the keys were gone.
He couldn’t blame the driver for fleeing, but that wouldn’t stop him giving him a royal kick in the ass if he ever got to see him again.
“Come,” he urged Inga and began running towards the lineup of beautiful cars that Molenski had collected. Beautiful all, but impractical for a stealthy getaway. He selected the least conspicuous and cheapest vehicle in the collection, a gunmetal gray Dodge Challenger Hellcat.
“Quickly! Hop in.”
It was only after he had uttered the words that he realized how dumb the term ‘hop in’ was. Thankfully Inga’s vocabulary was sophisticated enough to understand he didn’t mean to literally hop in.
The big V8 rumbled to life instantly when he turned the key. There would be no warm up, and as soon as she had closed her door, he jammed the transmission into reverse. Tires squealed on the polished concrete as the car shot backward.
They were both forced back into their seats when he put the car into drive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. As he sped towards the exit, the daylight at the top of the ramp told him that the huge roller door was still open, but he was driving so fast he nearly overshot the ramp. He managed at the last instant to make the turn, the heavy car fishtailing dangerously before the tires found traction. The low-slung car bottomed out with a squeal of metal and sparks as it flew up the ramp and out onto the gravel driveway.
Ivan took a sneaky glance at his passenger. She was smiling, her hands gripping the dashboard more for balance than through fear of his driving.
He eased off the gas a little but was still traveling at a dangerous speed on the granular surface and the car slid onto the lush turf of Molenski’s manicured lawn at the first turn. Ivan cursed and spun the wheel, bringing it back under control before he raced towards the front gate. He could see no perimeter guards and assumed they’d abandoned their posts to head inside when the shooting began.
A final turn and then ahead, the heavy wrought iron gates stood open. Ivan couldn’t believe his luck. Clearly, Molenski’s driver had been in too much of a hurry to shut the gates behind him when he fled the estate. He was on the straight and approaching the gates when they began to close.
“Fuck!”
Ivan gripped the wheel harder and pressed the accelerator.
“At this velocity, the gate will close before you reach it, Myfriend,” Inga observed. “Collision at this speed will almost certainly result in your termination…”
“We’ll make it,” he said, feeling strangely happy.
The speedometer ticked upward, and the engine of the muscle car roared. 50, 55, 60, 65. The car hit 70 as it reached the closing gate. Ivan held his breath. It would be a close thing, but it was too late to stop even if he wanted to.