The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

“Surreal beyond words,” Joe said. “If Han pulls this off, the whole world will think you killed the Japanese Prime Minister. It’ll look like America is desperate to stop the Japanese from pulling out of the treaty. Desperate to stop China and Japan from moving closer.”

Kurt nodded. “He recorded me in his factory. Gave him enough to build this program.”

“So much for the defense treaty not being in danger,” Joe added. “If the world sees you shooting the Prime Minister, the vote to pull out of the treaty will be a landslide.”

“Not if we destroy this lab and everything in it.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be allowed,” a voice called out from the dark.

The words came from the far end of the room. The voice was Han’s.

Kurt turned, but there was no one there, only an intercom speaker attached to the wall. A door swung open behind J

oe. Three men rushed in. Two more came in from the other end of the room and Kurt took the only chance left to him: turning on his duplicates and opening fire.

He drilled the first robot with several shots, but the machine responded with incredible speed. It leapt from its chair and charged at him, never wavering despite taking slugs to the chest, leg and face.

The robot tackled Kurt as cleanly as any professional wrestler, slamming him to the floor and knocking the gun from his hand.

Forced into hand-to-hand combat with the mechanical version of himself, Kurt kneed the machine’s solar plexus, but the blow had no effect. He worked one arm free and threw a right cross at the mechanical jaw. It split the artificial skin, but underneath lay only padding, titanium bones and small hydraulic motors.

In response, the robot put a hand around Kurt’s neck and began to squeeze, cutting off the blood flow to Kurt’s brain. Kurt reached up and dug his nails into the artificial flesh, pulling and ripping, desperately hoping to find wires he might yank out.

It was not to be. There were no vulnerable organs, pressure points or weak spots. No plugs to pull or batteries he could remove.

On the verge of blacking out, Kurt head-butted the machine and broke its prosthetic nose, but the machine only looked back at him with a blank stare and squeezed harder.

As Kurt’s world darkened, he heard Joe fighting with Han’s human guards. He looked beyond the arms holding him down to see Joe on the ground, struggling with three men. One of them pistol-whipped him.

“Cease this foolish struggle or you both will die painfully,” Han called out.

The struggle was about to end, one way or another. Kurt chose to live and fight another day. He pulled his hands away from the robot and raised them in surrender. Thankfully, the robot stopped crushing his throat, though its mechanical hand remained in place.

With the room now calm, Han strode in. The distinctive click of his shoes on the floor resounded with each step. He crouched beside Kurt and examined the bullet holes that had been drilled into the chest and face of the duplicate.

“Such foolishness,” he began. “As I told you back at the track, a human is no match for a machine. My creation—my Kurt Austin—is superior to you in every way: greater strength, greater speed, faster reactions. And perhaps most importantly, an inability to feel pain or fear. Something you’ll soon wish was a part of your limited human programming.”

47

SHANGHAI

GAMAY FOUND she couldn’t sleep. There was too much to worry about, too much she couldn’t control.

Paul, on the other hand, was stretched out on the floor of the INN production van and slumbering as if he were in a king-sized bed at the Four Seasons.

Gamay found she had an almost uncontrollable urge to wake him. She left him alone and took a seat at the editing station instead. It was three o’clock in the morning. The air had grown cold and damp in the van. It was still pitch-dark outside except for the security lights in the gated parking area.

Unwilling to risk a hotel, as the van had been their accommodations for the evening. But it wasn’t a long-term solution. Even if the Chinese didn’t figure out where they were, sooner or later someone from the network would attempt to use the van or fuel it or perform some maintenance on it.

And even if none of those possibilities came to fruition, Gamay was certain that both of them would go stir-crazy before too long.

Staring out into the darkness, she noticed movement. This time, she jabbed Paul in the ribs without hesitation.

“What’s that for?” Paul said, awaking with a start.

“Someone’s coming.”

“Who?”