The rear of the structure was like no other house—a solid block painted white. No doors, no windows. Just a cube of solid walls, three stories high and three hundred and fifty feet wide.
MII’s intelligence on Woodward had been limited; however, they had a basic diagram of the house. Augustine’s father had bought it from the builder for reasons unknown, and it had sat quietly in their internal files until Lina unearthed it and sent it to him.
Once again, his father’s foresight had saved Augustine from the beyond. Eventually, Augustine would have to unpack the unpleasant cocktail of emotions that the realization brought up, but now wasn’t the time.
Their target was to infiltrate the back of the house, that solid reinforced cube, which the builder had termed the Vault. The blueprint Lina had sent put the total square footage at a hundred twenty-two thousand, five hundred feet. It was the size of a Costco warehouse. Not only was the footprint staggering, but the costs of the land and construction had to have been astronomical. Even thirty years ago, when the compound had been built.
The Vault housed Woodward’s laboratory: a warehouse of material storage, the crafting area where Woodward tinkered with his constructs, and, most importantly, a large indoor atrium labeled the “Menagerie,” where he kept his animals.
Woodward collected rare species, specifically predators. The Menagerie served as a private zoo where they were housed until he decided to take them apart in an effort to understand how they worked. He seemed to be blissfully untroubled by the fact that none of the creatures survived the process.
In Woodward’s view, there were three types of constructs: mechanical, magical, and biological. Animals and people fit into that last category, and the only difference between them and his creations were the materials from which they were made. That last bit came from a rare speech he’d given at an animator conference a decade ago. Animators were an odd lot, but even Woodward’s words managed to disturb them enough to prevent any invitations since.
Augustine scrutinized the house one more time.
No guard house, no patrols, no floodlights. Nothing to indicate that a security force oversaw the mansion. Almostevery House employed private protection. Hired guards were so common, their absence was both glaring and alarming.
That meant automated defenses. Woodward was likely to have turrets. Those two towers flanking the arched entrance were there for a reason, but Augustine wasn’t worried about the turrets. They would be the least of their problems.
“Ten o’clock.” Diana passed the rifle back to him.
Augustine looked through the scope, aiming in the direction she’d indicated.
There it was. A group of metal statues, arranged in a circle beneath the shadows of the trees, like some kind of art installation. Their odd contours threw him for a moment, until his brain made the connection.
Woodward’s mansion was guarded by a pack of dinosaur constructs.
The constructs waited, motionless, arranged in three concentric circles. The outer ring consisted of the smallest creatures, six of them, roughly chest-high and resembling velociraptors. Not the actual versions from fossil records, which weighed about forty pounds, but the oversized movie versions, designed to terrify.
The second ring featured three thicker, larger creatures, odd hybrids of a triceratops and a prehistoric rhino.
The central beast towered above the rest, vaguely reminiscent of a T-Rex, poised on massive hind legs. Leaner than most museum reconstructions, the giant construct had longer forelimbs armed with sickle-shaped claws and a vicious, dragon-like head. Fourteen feet high and forty or so long, most of that length due to a tail constructed from squarish segments of razor-sharp blades.
The pseudo-T-Rex would lock on to the greatest threat, the triceratops herd would disable any vehicles, and the raptorswould run down the individual intruders and mop up. All angles covered.
There was a towering arrogance in grouping them like that. Either Woodward didn’t care, or he had liked the aesthetics of the arrangement. Like a small child, he’d set his toys up for display.
They truly looked like pieces of art, cohesive, elegant, slick, their lines efficient yet natural, as if they had evolved in some alternate reality and Woodward had reached into it and pulled them out.
“Just so we are on the same page,” he murmured. “These are advanced guard models. Most constructs require an animator to activate them. These don’t. Any movement will set them off. They are equipped with visual, auditory, and infrared sensors, and they process their sensory input.”
“Meaning?”
“I can fool their visual sensors, but my illusions have no substance. Unless the constructs register body heat and sound in addition to the visual feedback, they won’t fall for my subterfuge. As you have seen yourself, they’re difficult to destroy. They will reform, and magic will compensate for any damage, up to a point. However, they can be temporarily disabled with enough fire power. They will also re-form much more slowly than the constructs at Sturm’s compound. That’s the price of their autonomy.”
She nodded.
“The only way to the Vault is from inside the house,” he continued. “The walls are reinforced, and shooting blind at them is too risky.”
Anything strong enough to breach the walls would almost certainly endanger the creatures inside.
“I’m reasonably sure the constructs won’t enter the house,” he said. “We have to make it to the front door and get in.”
“What about the turrets?”
Ah. She spotted them as well. “I have a plan for the turrets. But I will require help with the constructs.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of help?”
