The ELI Event B007R5LTNS

yourself, Major, what human mind has the ability to break your Advanced Encryption Standard triple-block cipher with its 256-bit keys? What living person can tap into NADCOM’s Security Level 24 without detection and exit cleanly with fourteen terabytes of data? Who on this earth can perfectly execute multiple and simultaneous offline archive control sequences without raising suspicion?” A pause. “No one, that’s who. Only a computer could do those things. A highly intelligent, incredibly sophisticated, sentient computer.”
    “All right, maybe it’s possible,” Pettis admitted grudgingly.
    “Oh, it’s not just possible,” the man said, “it’s done. Project MDA is currently being held hostage by a computer called E-L-One, or ‘Eli’, housed in a basement laboratory at the Center for Artificial Intelligence Studies in downtown Nuevo Angeles.”
    “What? Where?”
    “Pardon me, I mean to say Los Angeles. The computer, Eli, is your culprit, Major Pettis.”
    “Okay, fine, let’s say I believe you. What do I do about it?”
    “I should think that would be obvious,” the man said wearily, “even to you. You must of course go to the Center, confront the computer, and demand the return of your data.”
    Pettis stood silent for a moment, taking it all in. “And may I suggest you make all haste, Major,” the man said at last. “You know that the MDA sweep is scheduled for oh-eight-hundred—and you know that when it happens, you’ll be safe only if you’re below street level. You must go now , Major. Time, as they say, waits for no man.”
    The line went dead. “What the hell was that, sir?” Grochonski asked.
    Pettis straightened himself, smoothed his uniform jacket, tugged at the brim of his cap. “That, Groucho, was a lead. And a damn good one.” He looked around. To their left, a short way up the terminal’s drop-off road, an inter-terminal bus was idling. Behind that, a couple had just exited a yellow taxi and was collecting their bags.
    “Groucho, we need that cab! Right now!” Pettis shouted, pointing as the cab pulled away from the curb to go around the bus.
    “Stand down, Sergeant,” Davies said. He leapt from the curb into the street to intercept the cab before it could pass them by. “I’ll flag him down, sir,” he shouted over his shoulder to Pettis.
    Groucho watched the bus driver turn around to check the street as he pulled away from the curb. The taxi, pressing a bit too close, honked, and the bus driver, pulling out a bit too fast, honked back. Davies was just turning around and raising his arm to hail the cab when it happened.
    There was a screech of tires as the taxi angrily yielded to the bus, a diesel roar as the bus accelerated, and a dull thud as Davies went down like a rock and was instantly sucked under the bus. The driver thought he heard a thump and immediately looked out the front, but didn’t see anything. Fifty feet later he felt sure a suitcase must be caught on the undercarriage and slammed on the brakes, grinding the behemoth vehicle to a stop.
    He was too late. Much, much too late.
    Grochonski looked on in horror. The awful crunching and rending was unmistakable; a dark pool already began to form near the bus’s front tires. Davies hadn’t made a sound.
    The few people on the sidewalk turned to look. Only a couple of them had actually seen the accident, but every one of them knew what had happened. They recoiled, gasping and pointing. One man ran to the side of the bus, threw himself to the pavement and looked underneath, then shouted back to his companions, “Call 911! Call 911!” An airport police officer was already running from the next entrance toward the scene, shouting into the mic clipped to his epaulette.
    The taxi hadn’t moved, nor had the driver. Without hesitation, Pettis sprang to the cab, opened the back door, and jumped in. He motioned urgently to Grochonski. “Groucho! Come on!” he shouted.
    Grochonski stared in disbelief, frozen. “But Major… Lieutenant Davies!”
    “ Get in! ” Pettis ordered. “We can’t help him. Do you want to deal with this? Get in now or I’ll leave your ass here!”
    Grochonski hesitated only a second; he knew Pettis meant what he said. He looked once more toward what was left of Davies, gulped, and ran for the cab.
    “Downtown!” Pettis yelled, glaring viciously at the driver. “Don’t stop for anything or anyone, understand? Go!” The cab squealed around the bus and down the terminal