Inga

“How long will this take?” asked Ivan.

“About twenty minutes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, at least.”

The big man nodded and turned back to Inga.

“Do you mind if I put some music on? I find it helps me concentrate,” asked Redfern.

Ivan waved his approval and pulled a stool across to sit by Inga. While he didn’t exactly have his back to Redfern, the technician, now sitting at his screen watching the numbers scroll endlessly, was partially shielded from his view.

Redfern hit a few keys on the laptop next to his computer, and classical music began to play softly from the speakers. He sat silently, attempting to look surreptitiously at the robot and her apparent beau. The technician pretended to watch the screen, his hand just by the desk phone.

Redfern saw the big man shuffle a little and look his way before resting his head on the robot’s shoulder. He heard them talking quietly now and then and wondered what such a conversation might be about.

Redfern waited a minute and then reached across and carefully lifted the receiver, placing it gently on the desk before putting both hands back on the keyboard.

Neither the robot nor the man seemed to notice; they continued their quiet but sporadic conversation. After another minute, he dared to dial a line out and then tapped 9-1-1 before quickly moving his hand back to the keyboard.

He saw the timer on the LCD start up. He had been connected.

“Okay,” he said, in a loud voice. “I think you can put the gun away now; it’s almost done.”

Ivan looked at him suspiciously, and Redfern quickly pointed at the screen.

“See? Almost there, no need for the gun anymore.”

“Why are you yelling?”

“I’m not yelling,” said Redfern more quietly, pushing his chair back to block his view of the phone.

Ivan stood up, spotting it immediately. Redfern cowered in his chair as Ivan strode over and slammed the phone back onto its cradle before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him up out of the chair until their eyes were level.

“You just fucked up,” said Ivan, and put the muzzle of his weapon under the man’s chin.

“Please, I’m sorry! I just…”

Suddenly Inga was there, the lead still running from her head to the computer.

“What is wrong, Myfriend?”

“He tricked us. He has called someone.”

“Is this true, Tom Redfern?”

“Disarm him! You are programmed to prevent a human coming to harm! Hurry!”

“Due to damage to my systems, I am not compelled to implement the first law of Robotics. This may be due to a malfunction or a corrupt file.”

As an exclamation point, a beep sounded from the computer and Redfern looked at the message displayed on the screen.

Scan completed. Disk 2 corrupted. 1,879 files lost or damaged. Recommend replacement and reprogramming.

“Please answer the question, Tom Redfern. Is the statement made by Myfriend true?”

“Yes,” he said. “I called the police. You killed a lot of people, and I’m partly to blame, if I…”

“You thought you could help by calling them?”

Redfern nodded.

“Myfriend, I sense no malice on the part of Tom Redfern, please do not shoot him dead.”

Ivan looked at her. Over the music, they heard the sound of sirens in the distance. He looked back at Redfern and jammed the gun up harder under his chin.

Inga placed her hand on his forearm.

“Please, Myfriend.”

“Fine,” he said finally and lowered the gun.

Redfern relaxed and looked at Inga with a new respect. There was something about her, and it wasn’t just damaged hardware.

“Thank you so much, I…”

Without warning, Ivan lashed out and smashed the handle of the gun against Redfern’s temple. The technician fell back heavily into the chair.

Inga looked at him with her eyebrow raised. Unable to look her in the eye, he pushed Redfern back to his desk, grabbed his security pass from his shirt pocket and straightened up.

He shrugged sheepishly.

“He will sleep. Come, we have to go.”

Andre and his crew were a block away when his phone rang. Half expecting a call from Hedley Whittaker, he was surprised to see BOSS Calling on the screen of his phone.

“Yes, Boss?”

“There is a change of plans. Come back to the estate.”

“But Boss, we’re just about to arrive, and I haven’t had a call from Whittaker. They haven’t moved and…”

“I said turn around and come back!” Molenski yelled.

“Okay,” said the Russian’s chief lieutenant, his voice tight.

He told the driver to take the next turn, and barely a minute after the call, they were headed back the way they had come. Multiple police vehicles screamed past going in the direction of the Genitix building.

“Looks like the heat is on,” said the driver.

“Yes,” said Andre, thoughtfully. “The boss must have had a heads up.”

If not, one way or another the traitor will be taken care of tonight.