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“And?”
“Remember the pat-down at Kenzo’s castle?” Joe said. “They used a big electromagnet to wipe out the programming from any devices we might have concealed. We can do the same to our robotic twins.”
Kurt grinned, as he always did at Joe’s brilliance. “Can you rig one up?”
“All I need is a large metal nail, an extension cord and an outlet to plug it into.”
* * *
• • •
THE CEREMONY was a formal one. But like so many things in politics, it was primarily driven by the needs of the press. TV cameras were arranged. Photographers with their tripods and bags of equipment were given floor space up front. Reporters with recording devices stood shoulder to shoulder behind them.
Han watched the throng assemble. It would all be over in a few minutes. He would be on his way back to China and glory. He found his heart racing in anticipation.
Finally, the Japanese Prime Minister and the Chinese Ambassador arrived.
Their handshake lasted a full thirty seconds so everyone could capture the image in just the right way. Flashes went off in a dizzying, almost hypnotic display.
The Ambassador stepped to the podium and offered a short statement. He gave way to the Prime Minister, who spoke at some length. Han stood proudly behind them, along with a few others who’d helped make this moment a reality.
While everyone else watched the politicians, Han squinted against the glare of the lights, looking for the facsimile of Austin. The three robots were on autonomous mode now, with Austin’s machine programmed to make its angry declaration and shoot as the last copy of the agreement was being signed.
The Nagano facsimile would be waiting down a back hallway, guarding the way out. While the Zavala facsimile had made only a brief appearance—to assure it was seen by the cameras—and then returned to the getaway vehicle. Which, in a delicious twist, was Nagano’s unmarked police car, taken by Ushi-Oni when he abducted Nagano from the Shinto temple in the mountains.
Everything was in place. The plan was perfect.
58
FRIENDSHIP PAVILION
THE NAGANO facsimile stood in a vacant hall near the back of the building. It had no true thoughts, as such; its processors had simply determined that this door was the most likely to be blocked by security once the event occurred.
It would remain here until the next phase of the operation began, ensuring access to the outside parking lot. When the Austin facsimile unit appeared, both units would leave the building together. Pacing to be determined by threat activity.
Until then, it would continue to run its human mimicry program and ensure that the door remain unlocked.
Its optical processors detected the approach of two maintenance workers, identifying them by uniform. A secondary routine built into its programming determined they were not a threat, while a third routine caused it to smile and offer a slight bow.
At the same time, a different algorithm designed to scan faces and make a recognition, if possible, failed to operate. This occurred not because the function was off-line but because the men approaching had their caps pulled down far enough to block most of their features.
Still, absent a threat determination, the machine remained in a passive state and the human mimicry program continued as the priority function.
A subroutine of that program limited the amount of time the unit could stand still and stare—two obvious giveaways in robotic performance. After three seconds of watching the subjects’ approach, the Nagano facsimile looked away, raised its left arm in a crook and used its right hand to pull the cuff of its sleeve back.
At the same time, it directed its optical sensors toward the watch on its left wrist. It did not record the time—time was kept perfectly within its CPU—nor did it have any understanding of what it was doing. The act was merely part of its program.
Behavior mimicked successfully, its next directive was to fold its arms, exhale and look out the small window in the door.
Damage detected.
Its internal sensors reacted to sharp impact in its lower back. The outer padding had been punctured. Self-protection routine kicked in and the machine spun, reaching for its weapon. But before it completed its turn, all processing ceased.
* * *
• • •
KURT REMOVED the sharpened metal rod from the replica’s back and held it cautiously in rubber-gloved hands. A bare copper wire was visible wrapped around the length of the rod in tight coils. It led back to the rubber sheathing of a hundred-foot extension cord. That cord led to Joe, who crouched beside the wall socket he’d plugged it into.
