Page 109 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
“That’s my guess. If Rahul is being sold as a one-man army, he must be operating everything through that machine. Sort of like a mother ship. Probably AI-powered, too.”
“Anything you can do about it?”
“You mean, like a kite?” Juan continued punching buttons like a crazed symphony conductor.
“Something better than a kite. You know. Plan C and all of that?”
Juan tapped a final toggle with a flourish.
“How about…this?”
?
Rahul avoided stepping on dry leaves or snapping twigs as best he could while keeping his eyes glued to his tablet. He was no soldier, but he knew that moving quietly as possible was only to his advantage. Of course, the soft whir of theMak?i’s electric motors and the thumping of its eight rubberized feet made complete silence impossible. He would have to think about solutions to those relatively minor problems before the next test iteration.
Rahul wasn’t particularly concerned about being discovered just yet. One of his other surveillance drones had caught a fleeting glimpse of the eight surviving mercenaries as they dashed out of what must have been a cache of supplies and into nearby cover. If they all kept moving in their respective directions, none of them would be approaching his position anytime soon.
Equally important, the surveillance drone circling overhead was fixed on him right now. It also gave his helmet’s HUD a wide field of view of his immediate surroundings. Everything was clear.
Rahul stepped over a thick fallen log that marked the edge of a clearing. A few steps later he turned around and watched theMak?inavigate the hazard with ease. As he stepped into the clearing, his helmet vibrated.
His heart sank. The heads-up display—or worse, the entire system—was suffering a malfunction.
For some reason, a flashing yellow box surrounded theMak?i.Worse, all of the combat drones were flashing automatedreturn to basecommands. Some kind of false signal had triggered them.
Rahul’s gloved hands virtually swiped open the helmet’s programming screen to initiate an override command.
The giantMak?istood patiently by his side, like a headless, loyal wolfhound.
The Indian national found the screen and virtually tapped the button to open it, but the screen was frozen. It was at that singular moment he realized what had happened. He couldn’t believe it.
He flipped back to the first screen. The flashing yellow box surrounding theMak?ihad turned to solid red.
Rahul tossed his helmet as he turned on his heel to bolt away. Three steps into his run the first Yari smashed into theMak?i.The resulting shrapnel cut across the Indian’s lower back, severing his spine. His strings cut, he tumbled face down into the dirt, unable to move. Two more explosions quickly followed.
Rahul always thought his final moments on earth would be utterly terrifying. But the sheer genius on the other side of this exchange only elicited his admiration.
Moments later, both he and theMak?iwere utterly ripped apart, their shattered remains scattered across the clearing.
56
The Vendor’s invited guests were seated in the small, darkened theater, focused on the large screen display. The rays of the digital projector shot through clouds of cigarette smoke. They were all intensely focused on the first-person view from the Yari drone as it hurtled toward the wreckage of theMak?iand Rahul’s broken body lying nearby. Seconds later, the image turned to digital snow.
“Keiko, kill the transmission,” the Vendor ordered as he stood. His AI assistant snapped the monitor off immediately.
The young Chinese general stood and faced the towering Vendor.
“Overall, a very impressive demonstration.”
“Thank you.”
“Up until the moment your system was utterly defeated.”
A smattering of hushed laughter burbled in the darkened room. The lights popped on.
The Vendor’s fists clenched at the insult as the other guests stood.
“What do the Brits say? ‘Hoisted on your own petard?’ ” the Nigerian colonel said.
