I Am Automaton

Chapter 12

Lorenzo stepped away from Peter and stood in front of the Navajas. Peter was now doubly stunned.

“Mike, what the hell are you doing?”

“Peter, you’ve come to a very important decision point, and I want you to consider your options carefully.”

“What options? What are you talking about, Mike? These guys are with you? So who was in the hole we just cleared?”

“Our competition.”

“What competition?”

“The O.I.L. security detail that the Navajas have been using…until now, that is.”

“I still don’t get it, Mike.”

“It’s not rocket science, Pete. Now we’re the security.”

Peter did not believe what he was hearing. Was Mike in league with the Navajas? This was the man he trained with for months, the man he had countless drinks with, the man he invited into his home.

“So what, you’re in the security business now, and for these rat bastards no less?”

“Pete, you’re so short sighted. But I’ll forgive you since these ‘rat bastards’ killed your squad in Tijuana. The situation is so much more complex than that.”

“Really? Explain it to me then.”

“Pete, you make me sound like I’m some kind of bad guy now. We’re using the ID in Mexico to take out O.I.L. We’ll be protecting a pretty gaping border. You know how many terrorists have been slipping through? The war’s not just in the Middle East, Pete.”

“And why not make some money out of it? Is that right, Mike?”

“Oh, you have no idea. Not only are we providing security, we’re also providing the perfect mules.”

“Mules?”

“Think about it. The drug runners for the Navajas have to cross desert and mountain to cross the border. They lose most of them to dehydration and exhaustion. But the ID…”

Peter was beginning to understand. “They don’t need water. And they never tire.”

Lorenzo smiled. “See, I knew you’d get it.”

“But where are you getting the ID from?”

“I provided the Navajas with our precise drop coordinates and the drop coordinates for the ID. Their presence in the area caused HQ to modify the drop coordinates.”

A light went off in Peter’s head. “The other two crates.”

“Yes, the fact that two were dropped off away from the third crate was dumb luck.”

“You can’t just take ID, Mike.”

“Can’t I? I’ll just report that the mission was a sterling success, but we lost the ID. Lewis will be pissed, but we have more.”

Peter had wondered if Lewis was in on it. From Lorenzo’s remark, he guessed not. “Lewis?”

Lorenzo waived his hand dismissively. “He’s just an administrator, a paper-pushing moron. He’ll never know the details. He deals in broad strokes. I expect that I’ll receive a promotion and run this outfit as I see fit, killing terrorists and making money.”

A promotion. Peter knew that would only happen upon his death. “And Lockwood?”

Lorenzo smiled wickedly. “Oh, he’s just waiting for me to finish with you.”

Hence the ride-along as an ‘observer.’

“So it was you who tipped off the Navajas in Tijuana?”

“Actually that was Lockwood. But you can’t be too hard on him, Pete. He didn’t even know you yet.”

“So you’re a drug runner now, Mike.”

“Oh, don’t be so naïve, Pete. The army moved opium in Viet Nam while doing their sworn duty to fight communism. Besides, the Navajas are small potatoes. The Order for International Liberation’s the big fish. They’re the real threat.”

“Mike, don’t give me that end justifies the means bullshit.”

“Pete, it’s like the war on gangs. You’ve got to team up with the little gangs to nail the big ones. How do you think the FBI took down the mafia? Deals with the small fish, that’s how.”

“Spare me. You’re just a sleazy opportunist, plain and simple.”

“Which brings us to one all important question, Pete. When opportunity knocks, do you answer?”

“You’ve got be kidding me, Mike.”

“Pete, remember when I went to your house? Remember we talked about belonging to something? Well, this is your chance to belong to something.”

“You are so self-deluded.”

“Pete, we’re doing good. We’ll cut you in. Your brother, too.”

Peter felt his men get antsy. They noticed they weren’t in the equation. Peter made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

“You’re going to bribe the whole goddamned platoon, Mike?”

“They’ll be unfortunate casualties on the maiden voyage of the Insidious Drones. Heroes, actually.”

The men began to stir, and the Navajas inched in closer, guns trained with itchy trigger fingers.

“So what do you say, Pete?”

He would not be the lone survivor again. This time he would go down with his men. “Take my brother.”

Carl looked alarmed. “Pete…no.”

“And you, Pete?”

“I’ll share my men’s fate.”

Lorenzo shook his head disappointed. “I thought you might say that. In fact, it’ll be perfect. I’ll just tell good ol’ Major Lewis that you caved under the stress and went bonkers, killing your own men.”

Peter looked around. “So what now, you’re going to shoot us?”

Lorenzo put his finger thoughtfully to his lips. “No, then it wouldn’t look like an accident. There’d be an investigation, ballistic reports. There can’t be anything left to analyze.”

Peter knew what that meant. The ID were stirring in the cenote, and they were hungry. They were always hungry.

“In the olden days, British naval officers punished their own by making them walk the plank,” Lorenzo gloated.

Peter looked at him incredulous.

“Oh, come on, Pete,” Lorenzo said in exasperation, “I don’t have to sketch it out for you, do I?”

Peter reached down and grabbed his rifle. The Navajas brandished their weapons menacingly. Lorenzo put up a dismissive hand.

“It’s okay, muchachos. The guns are useless anyway. It might buy them an extra few seconds as melee weapons.” He looked right into Peter’s eyes. “My gift to you, Pete.”

Peter looked around at his men.

“We have to go in that hole, Pete, don’t we” Carl asked, his pitch high. “I’m not going in that hole.”

Lorenzo picked his teeth with his fingernail casually. “You all have until the count of three. Jump into the cenote, or I’ll be forced to gun you down.”

“But that wouldn’t look like an accident, Mike,” Peter retorted in a last ditch attempt.

Lorenzo shrugged. “You know what they say about best laid plans.”

Peter heard the ID writhing around in the cenote behind him. In that brief moment, he weighed being shot against being torn apart.

“One...”

If shot, he’d be dead. If he dove into the cenote he’d have a chance. Not a good chance. Hell, not even a slim chance. But it was a chance.

“Two...”

He looked over at his brother.

“Jump, Carl.”

“Pete, I can’t…”

“THREE.”

Pete turned and jumped into the pit. He heard gunfire from up above. He landed hard on a bunch of horizontal ID and was rolled off onto the rock floor. He was lucky. It was a pack of humpers who were too occupied with their necrophilia to notice him.

He heard several other people drop. Some were not so lucky. Undead hands reached out for them and held them fast as jaws of death clamped down on their flailing limbs.

He hit an ID in the face as one approached him. “CARL! CARL!”

He looked around frantically for his brother as the cave was filled with the echoes of screaming men. Some were screaming in pain, others in terror.

The ID were swarming everywhere, and it was difficult to see. There were clouds of white in the air. The ID had disturbed the cocaine being stored down there.

“Pete…PETE.”

“Carl, go into the water!”

Peter waded backwards into the cool spring water as bats flapped their wings in protest at the ruckus below. A few ID followed him, reaching out for him. He felt necrotic fingertips brush the front of his suit, unable to grab hold.

Peter bashed another in the face with his rifle as he saw Carl wade into the water still clutching his MR.UD. When Carl caught up, they were waist deep. The water was frigid due to lack of direct sun exposure.

“What are we going to do, Pete?”

“We go deeper into the cave.”

They waded in further. Within minutes, they were treading water as several ID stumbled in after them. Several other soldiers made it into the water.

“Pete, the ceiling is dropping.”

The ceiling of the cave was sloping down to meet the water.

“Where are we going?”

Peter looked behind him. The top of his helmet was now scraping the rough ceiling. The water was up to their chins, and the bobbing motion of treading water caused the crisp water to enter their mouths.

The pursuing ID, not knowing how to swim, were at this point under the water. Peter imagined feeling cold, dead hands grabbing at his ankles.

“Carl, we need to dive down.”

“But what’s down there?”

“It might lead to another cave. Some of these cenotes are connected.”

“And what if it doesn’t lead anywhere, Pete?”

“Then I guess we’ll die. But we’ll definitely die if we let them catch up to us.”

Carl looked at him wide-eyed and shivering, and not just from the temperature of the water.

This was it. Do or die.

“Just trust me, Carl. Follow me.”

Carl nodded.

Peter took a deep breath and held it. He dipped under the surface of the water. Carl dipped down too.

Under the water, Peter shined his shoulder light. There was a small hole about twenty feet away. He began to swim for it. Carl followed.

Peter quickly passed his rifle through first and then squeezed through it, tearing his suit. God he hoped it led to another cave. Otherwise, they were trapped underneath and running out of air fast.

Carl passed his apparatus through and then began to squeeze. He felt some resistance, but it took him a moment to figure out that it was not the size of the hole.

Something had his left ankle.

He began to kick wildly, expending the breath that he was trying so hard to conserve for as long as he could.

Peter saw his brother struggling, but he was running out of breath. His only option was to find air and come back for his brother.

He looked up and only saw ceiling. His heart was beating faster, and that profound wave of panic was beginning to take over.

In the meantime, Carl had wriggled free. He passed Peter and continued down the narrow conduit. Peter followed behind him. Both pushed against the rock with hands and feet.

As their panic mounted and their bodies began to squirm involuntarily due to the panic of oxygen deprivation, they squeezed through as the walls became narrower and narrower.

Carl squeezed through and shot straight up without looking, praying not to hit rock ceiling. He breached the surface above and gasped loudly as his lungs soaked in sweet air.

Peter popped up next to him, gasping, choking, and clawing at Carl.

“P-Pete. We…did…it.”

Pete held onto Carl as if his life depended on it. Carl backstroked over to rock, dragging his brother with him. They waited until they caught their breath, and then they pulled themselves and each other up onto the cold, jagged rock.

Peter put his head back on the rock while Carl looked around. “You were right, Pete. It’s another cave.”

Peter was panting, but he sat up and surveyed their surroundings. A few heads popped up in the water. Some others had made it through.

All in all, there were now eight of them left. The other SWEEPER had made it through with his apparatus too. It was their training. Army did not part easily with their equipment during combat. In total, there was Peter, Carl, Mirabella, Barnes, Munger, Hasbro, Smithe, and Longo.

Peter looked up and saw daylight. It was a way out. But this opening couldn’t have been much farther away from the original cenote.

“Sir, what do we do now? The platoon’s wiped out.” Private Barnes asked.

But before Peter could answer, there was a loud boom that shook the cave.

“What the hell was that?” Carl shouted, his ears ringing.

“That’s Lorenzo tying up loose ends,” explained Peter. “We’ve got to get out of here before he figures out that he didn’t get all of us.”

“How would he know?” asked Private Mirabella, the other SWEEPER.

“Trust me, he’s checking right now. We have to scale the sides.” He pointed to the far right wall. “The wall is jagged. It should be easy to climb.”

The other side was too smooth. There were a few jutting rocks, but none that formed a natural spelunking trail out of the cave.

Peter led the way, grabbing a hand and foothold and hoisting himself up. The others followed one at a time. All Carl could think of again was Victory Tower.

Lorenzo was peeking in the hole and counting silently with one finger. “Nope. I don’t think that was all of them.”

“Come on, senor,” coaxed one of the Navajas, a short but stout man in beige pants and a sweat stained wife beater. “There’s no way anyone could’ve made it out.”

Lorenzo was about to give in to his compadre’s wheedling when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He looked over and saw eight men climbing out of an adjacent cenote.

“Well I’ll be damned…PETER, I SWEAR YOU MUST HAVE NINE LIVES.”

Peter looked over at Lorenzo startled.

“Okay, men. MOVE,” he ordered.

They began to take off into the brush. They ran as fast as their weary legs would take them. They heard shouting in Spanish right at their backs and bullets flew over their shoulders as the wind picked up.

Peter looked down at his watch. The storm was coming. They didn’t have much time.

“Pete…where are we…going?” Carl panted.

“There’s three hotels…around here…I’m aiming for…the closest one. If we can…get shelter before the storm hits…it might buy us some time.”

“Time…for what?”

“To formulate…a plan.”

“But won’t that…be putting civilians…in jeopardy, sir?” Mirabella ventured, running alongside.

“Do you have…another idea? Because I’d love…to hear it.”

No one answered him. It was the best plan they had. Maybe the Navajas would not risk exposing themselves. But he wasn’t so sure about Lorenzo.

Lorenzo ran behind the Navajas with the stout man.

“They’re headed for one of the hotels,” the stout man shouted.

Lorenzo picked up his Mini-com Muti-tasker. “Halt your men, Vargas.”

Vargas looked at him questioningly.

“Do it.”

Vargas whistled loudly and shouted for the men to stop.

“Lockwood, come in.”

“Lockwood, here.”

“We’re coming to meet you. There’s been a wrinkle.”

“Copy that. Will await your arrival.”

Vargas was glaring at Lorenzo. Lorenzo was growing tired of him. “Oh, what are you looking at me like that for?”

“We could have had them, you stupid gringo.”

Lorenzo snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a freaking category four hurricane ready to drop right on top of us. We’ll never catch up to them in time.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“The ID are going on their next mission.”

Vargas’ eyes grew wide, and he had an expression of disgust on his face. “There are tourists down there.”

Lorenzo mocked him. “Why Vargas, it’s not your reputation to be so squeamish. You don’t want them getting away so they can rat out our whole operation, do you?”

Vargas just glared at him. “I am not squeamish, senor. It just seems very…messy.”

“We don’t have any other choice. This storm will wipe us off the face of the Yucatan. Besides, it’s practice. Just think of it as another field test for the ID. Whatever is left when the ID are done, we’ll deal with personally…after the storm. Comprende?”

Vargas shoved past him, bumping shoulders very pointedly, in a silent rage.

“Patience, my stupid friend,” Lorenzo said to himself. “All good things come to those who wait.”