I Am Automaton

Chapter 21

Fort Bliss

Texas

Major Lewis was watching a news conference addressing the mysterious broadcast coming from just outside the Pakistani border. The media was running wild with the story. The figure in the video didn’t identify himself, and his uniform did not bear any of the traditional markings of the United States Army. It was the black suit of the ID program.

There were rumors that American forces were in Afghanistan in the area of the White Mountains, but the notion that they could have achieved such penetration was dismissed as a logistical impossibility.

However, shockwaves rippled through the international media. There was some condemnation of this unidentified character by the Order for International Liberation and some of the more liberal groups in the United States, citing the campaign as a breach of diplomacy.

But the world was fascinated by the broadcast. Some groups debunked it as a hoax, propaganda against terrorist factions. Some ascribed it to the work of a paramilitary vigilante group. Surely the terrorists of the world knew that they were missing many of their operatives hiding in the Tora Bora cave system. They also knew the broadcast came from one of their clandestine stations.

Right wing groups came out praising the actions as definitive action against a ruthless enemy. The President himself, while not claiming responsibility, condoned the action as a positive result in reigning in an elusive enemy.

Major Lewis sat there in his office in awe. The kid did it. He really did it. His phone was ringing off the hook. There would be questions, and he would have to provide answers. He was not quite sure how all of this was going to play out. The world was shocked, but no one of real import came out against the message of the broadcast. It would be a new era for the war on terror.

Major Lewis turned off his television and stepped out of his office. His secretary, Mary, put her call on hold, the board lighting up like a Christmas tree, and she held her hand up.

“Major Lewis…”

“You have to wait, Mary. I’m going to use the john.” He marched off to the men’s room before she could continue.

He pushed open the bathroom door and hurried in. Fortunately the bathroom was empty. Not that it really mattered, but he liked it that way.

He entered a stall, closed and latched the door, and sat down on the bowl. At his age he appreciated a good bowel movement when it came, and he figured it would give him some time to think.

The door to the bathroom opened, and someone came in. The footsteps were slow and measured, which at first just seemed odd. But then, with a grisly realization, a wave of panic came over the Major. The kid did what he said he was going to do. He carried out a successful mission and went public. Perhaps he thought he no longer needed the Major, which made Lewis suddenly dispensable.

The shuffling footsteps ended in front of his stall. Did Birdsall dare send a drone for him, in the officers’ restroom? He was locked in the stall, but unarmed. He would have to think quickly, be resourceful. He supposed he could…

The faucet was opened and the person in front of his stall began to splash water. False alarm. The man used the hand dryer and left the restroom, and Major Lewis was once again alone.

He finished up and washed his hands. He was now hyper vigilant, looking over his shoulder constantly, seeing ID everywhere he looked.

He didn’t want to return to his office. The ID would most certainly be looking for him there. He figured he’d go to Captain London’s office.

He could tell her everything. She was bound by confidentiality…except if any of his superiors were to ask. Dammit. But she wouldn’t rat him out…because she was implicated too. She had been working with him on the ID program every step of the way. She even helped to select the men, including Lorenzo and Lockwood.

He remembered her reservations about Lorenzo. She felt he came from an unstable background. He, however, saw potential. A man that easily corrupted would likely go along with the deal with the Navajas if he was pitched properly. Lockwood was in on it from the get-go.

Major Lewis stomped down to her office. He would tell her everything. It would feel good to tell someone else. If someone else knew, then Birdsall would have two witnesses to dispose of, which he would not likely do. Lewis noticed Birdsall had a soft spot for Captain London. He would bet his life that the kid would not let any harm come to her, even if she knew about the sordid arrangement with the Navajas.

He approached the door to her office and scanned in.

“Enter, Major Lewis.”

He stormed into her office and sat down in one of her chairs.

“What can I do for you…”

“Captain…Fiona, I need to talk to you.”

Fiona? Major Lewis never called her Fiona. He was always such a stickler for rank and protocol. The chain of command was his manifesto.

“Is everything alright, Major?”

“Yes, I mean, no. There’s a bit of a problem with the program that has me worried.”

The man was shaking. Something definitely had the man rattled. She never saw Major Lewis lose his composure before. He was always so smug and superior.

“Okay. Is it one of the men?”

“Yes, I fear he has become unhinged and we are all in danger.”

“Okay, but I was just about to use the restroom, and I’m afraid it cannot wait. Will you excuse me, sir?”

“But I really have to talk to you.”

“It will only take a minute, sir. I’ll be right back, and we can discuss this. I assume you are referring to Captain Birdsall.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s the one.”

“He has been behaving very strangely. I’m not so sure he’s dangerous though. But we can discuss it when I return.”

“Oh, fine. Hurry up.”

Captain London excused herself and walked down the hall to the officer’s restroom for ladies.

Major Lewis sat in her office waiting quite impatiently. He squirmed in his chair like he had red ants in his pants. The sooner he told her everything, the sooner he’d be safe.

He noticed the digital décor of the office generated by the Therapeutic Ambience Program. The retinal scanner at her door had picked up an impulse and projected his favorite bar in New Orleans in the French Quarter. The familiarity soothed him a little as it brought back memories. A big band track played in the background, something for him to listen to while he waited.

He noticed a glitch in the corner of the room where an ornamental tree stood. The glitch, a minute ripple in the digital veneer, was localized to that one area only. The rest of the illusion was intact.

Before he could register the meaning of the glitch, a figure emerged from behind the digital projection of the tree and grabbed Major Lewis. Startled, he screamed in her office, but the music had increased in volume, the horns drowning him out.

“You can’t kill me,” he yelled at the drone, “they’ll know!”

But the ID made no attempt to devour the man. In fact, it held something in its hand, and it placed it in Lewis’ hand, forcing it closed over the object.

Lewis looked down and saw he was holding a handgun…his handgun. Then he understood how it was going to go down.

Clever kid.

The ID began to force Lewis’ arm to bend and twisted his hand so that the handgun was directed right at Lewis’ face. Lewis struggled against the drone, but its strength was unrelenting and he was easily overpowered.

The ID grabbed Lewis’ head and forced the handgun barrel into his mouth, his front teeth scraping the metal. Major Lewis looked up into the milky, dispassionate eyes of his assassin and wondered if Carl saw him through those eyes.

The drone pulled the trigger, splattering blood across Captain London’s desk.

The ID dropped the twitching body of Major Lewis back into the seat and reached into its suit, pulling out a piece of paper. It tossed the paper in the now motionless Major’s lap and returned to the corner behind the illusion of the potted, decorative tree. The music lowered in volume.

Major Lewis sat with his head hanging backwards in Captain London’s chair, handgun still in his right hand and the note in his lap.

I have written this note because I am a traitor and cannot take the guilt any longer. My name is Major Hardy Sinclair Lewis, and I have been overseeing the Insidious Drone Program. I have been training soldiers in the use of infantry drones to hunt down and neutralize terrorists.

Unfortunately I took a good program that had demonstrated effectiveness and attempted to use it in the interest of personal greed. I struck a pact with the Navajas, a Mexican drug cartel, a sworn enemy of the United States, in which the drones would also be used as mules to traffic drugs into the country.

In the process I have led too many good soldiers unknowingly to certain death in the interest of my pact with the enemy. I regret my actions and can no longer stand the guilt. I apologize to the families of the men I have murdered, and I apologize to my own family.

It is my hope that with this final selfish act I can depart this world with some shred of honor.

Hardy Sinclair Lewis

Captain London returned to her office and saw the body of Major Lewis in her chair. “Terminate New Orleans bar ambience program.” Her office went back to normal. She went into her closet and produced a private’s uniform. She dressed the immobile ID in the outfit, covering up its black suit.

She then walked it out of her office, steering it down the hallway. She took it back to Carl’s new office, passing only a few others in the hallway. They took no notice. She walked it into the closet where it stood obediently. She closed the door and entered the security code that Carl provided into the digi-lock and returned to her office.

When she returned to her office, she called security and did her best to sound panicky. When they arrived, she explained to them how Major Lewis came to her office unannounced with something important to discuss about the program. She told them that she just left the office to use the ladies room, and when she returned she found him as he was.

She was asked if she recorded the session, and she replied that she hadn’t as it wasn’t a session at all. Given the circumstances and the note, the incident was deemed a suicide.

Carl had told Fiona everything. He had told her about Lewis’ role in Tijuana and Xcaret. He also told her that once he completed his mission in Afghanistan that Major Lewis would come to seek her out and imply her in the conspiracy.

Their plan worked flawlessly. Carl told her that no matter what, things would work out. Either someone else would take the helm of the ID program, or it would be shut down.

Either way, he was loose and carrying on the work of the program. He would pursue the Order for International Liberation and all enemies of peace and freedom to the ends of the earth with his drones.

Fiona had heard that he was last spotted just over the border in Pakistan. Rumors of his exploits circulated quickly through the international press and intelligence communities. The Order for International Liberation appeared in broadcasts daily, denouncing the actions of this mysterious man and his death squad and making wild threats. But in actuality, the attacks stopped, if only for a moment…

…because for once they were afraid.

There was a ringing, and Fiona answered her phone at her desk. “Hello, Colonel Betancourt.”

“Captain, I just thought you should know that we received a communiqué from Xcaret, Mexico. Lieutenant Peter Birdsall is alive. There will be an extraction within the hour.”

“You’ll need me to do a full evaluation.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I’ll forward you the report when I’m finished.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Fiona terminated the phone call and couldn’t help smiling.

The End





This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, organizations, and dialogues are either products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2013 by Edward P. Cardillo

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this manuscript or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. No part of this manuscript may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.