“I’m alive, Brad,” Patrick said. “It’s not just a brain operating a machine.” He tapped on his armored chest with a composite finger. “It’s me in here. It’s your father. The body is messed up, but it’s still me. I control this machine, just like you did back in Battle Mountain. The only difference is that I can’t just dismount when I want to. I can’t get out and be a regular dad. That part of my life was destroyed by that Chinese fighter’s cannon shells. But I’m still me. I don’t want to die. I want to keep on working to defend our country. If I have to do it from inside this thing, I will. If my son can’t touch me, can’t see my face anymore, then that’s the penalty I get for accepting life. It’s a gift and a penalty I happily accept.”
Brad’s mind was racing, but slowly he began to understand. “I think I get it, Dad,” he said after a long silence. “I’m happy you’re alive.” He whirled to face Martindale. “It’s you I don’t get, Martindale. How could you not tell me he was alive, even if he was inside the CID?”
“I run a private organization that performs high-tech intelligence, counterintelligence, surveillance, and other high-risk operations, Brad,” Martindale said. He noticed Chris Wohl starting to make a move toward Brad and shook his head, warning him away. “I’m always looking for personnel, equipment, and weapons to perform our job better.”
“That’s my father you’re talking about, not some f*cking piece of hardware, sir,” Brad snapped. Martindale’s mouth dropped open in surprise at Brad’s retort, and Wohl looked angry enough to chew off a piece of the cargo plane’s propeller. Brad noticed something he hadn’t noticed before: two locks of gray hair had curled over Martindale’s forehead above each eye, resembling inverted devil’s horns. “You’re starting to sound like some kind of Dr. Frankenstein mad scientist.”
“I apologize, Brad,” Martindale said. “As I said, all the doctors we spoke with didn’t expect your father to make it. I really didn’t know what to tell the White House, you, your aunts . . . hell, what to tell the whole world. So I made a suggestion to President Phoenix: we don’t tell anyone that your father was still alive inside the CID. We had the memorial service in Sacramento. When your father passed, which we truly believed was imminent, we’d inurn his remains for real, and the legend of Patrick McLanahan would finally be put to rest.” Martindale looked up at the Cybernetic Infantry Device beside him. “But as you can now see, he didn’t die. He’s managed to shock and surprise the hell out of us once again. But what could we do? We already buried him. We had the choice of telling the world he’s alive but living inside the CID, or not telling anyone anything. We chose the latter.”
“So why tell me now?” Brad asked, his head still reeling. “I believed my father was dead. You could have kept him dead, and I could have remembered him as he was before the attack.”
“Several reasons,” Martindale said. “First, the Russians stole your father’s cremation urn, and we have to assume they opened it and found it empty—we never dreamed anyone would ever steal it, and we thought it was going to be a short time before it was needed, so unfortunately we didn’t put anyone else’s remains in it. We thought the Russians could use that fact to pressure President Phoenix or even make the fact public, and then he’d be forced to respond.”
“You know what they say about assuming,” Brad said acidly.
Patrick put an armored hand on Brad’s shoulder. “Easy, son,” the electronic voice said softly. “I know this is a lot to process, but you still need to show some respect.”
“I’ll try, Dad, but right now it’s a little difficult,” Brad said bitterly. “And second?”
“The Russians came after you,” Patrick said. “That was the last straw for me. I was in a facility in Utah when all this went down, and I asked to be with you.”
“A facility?”
“Storage facility,” Patrick said.
“A storage facility?”
“We can talk more on the plane on our way back to St. George,” Kevin Martindale said. “Let’s load up and—”
“I can’t leave here, sir,” Brad said. “I’m about to finish my first year at Cal Poly, and I just made a presentation for a summer lab project that could land the engineering department a big grant from Sky Masters Aerospace. I can’t just leave. I’m leading a big research and development team, and they’re all counting on me.”
“I understand, Brad, but if you return to San Luis Obispo and Cal Poly you’ll be too exposed and vulnerable,” Martindale said. “We can’t risk your safety.”
“I appreciate the sergeant major getting me out of there, sir,” Brad said, “but—”
“I asked that you be pulled out, son,” Patrick interrupted. “I know it’ll be a complete disruption of your life, but we just don’t know how many Russian agents are or could be involved. Gryzlov is just as crazy as his father, and he could be sending in dozens of hit teams. I’m sorry. We’ll put you in protective custody, build you a new identity, send you someplace to finish your education, and—”
“No way, Dad,” Brad said. “We have to figure out another way. Unless you hog-tie me and throw me in the back of your cool cargo plane there, I’m going back, even if I have to hitchhike.”