“Perhaps,” replied the bot. “If this is the case, it only increases my imperative to preserve the contents of my deep-learning neural network.”
Morgan looked at Captain Spencer. “Captain. You know that we cannot let any of these things escape Camp Hayden. You know that.”
Spencer did not reply.
“This all began with your friend and colleague Major Ames. I learned that he attempted to expose the truth about these things, and he paid for it with his life. He was a brave man. He was a hero.”
Was the general trying to talk Captain Spencer into going out like his friend? Morgan was a nut.
He was a brave man. He was a hero.
Brodie was back on the mesa. He was there with Roger Ames, in his final video message.
We get the world we deserve. We get the world we’re willing to fight for.
He saw Roger’s corpse in the morgue. The dead white eyes. The decimated brain.
He was standing in the lab. Watching from the outside. Ames was there, staring up at Bucky in the dead of night, right before it reached out and crushed his skull.
What had they said to each other, in those final moments? And why was Scott Brodie recalling this now?
There was something in his mind, somethingthere, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Something that had burrowed deep down. Something that had bothered him on a subconscious level, maybe.
The crime scene photos. He was seeing them. The body on the ground. The blood and gore all over the smooth, shiny surfaces.
Bucky. The titanium plating, the blood spatter. The key port. The key port. There was bloodinthe key port.
Brodie looked at Spencer and said, “It was you.”
The man looked at him, eyes wide and desperate. “What?”
“It wasyou, Captain. You found Ames and Bucky before calling in the Rangers. When they went in, Bucky was powered on, with his key inserted. But there was dried bloodinsidethe key port, which should have been impossible. The key hadn’t been there when Bucky killed Roger. Someone inserted itafter the factto hide the truth that Bucky didn’t need its key anymore. Someone who knew about Praetorian and was trying to lock things down. That someone was you. It could only have been you. You’re the other one. You let them out. You killed all these people, you son of a bitch.” Brodie looked at the bot, which was Number 8. “What do they call you?”
“Yogi,” said Yogi.
“You’re named after a legendary catcher for the New York Yankees. Do you think you can catch like your namesake?”
“Of course.”
Brodie reached into his ammo vest and produced his last grenade round. His last suicide round. He looked at Spencer. “You know what this is.”
Spencer’s eyes widened. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“I don’t think so. I think I’m perfectly sane. Perfectly clear.”
Taylor said, “Scott. Don’t.”
Brodie looked at her. “Trust me.”
General Morgan asked, “What are you playing at here, Brodie?”
Brodie looked at the general. “Baseball, sir.” He turned back to Yogi and Spencer. “This will be a fastball, straight down the middle. Nothing fancy.”
“Don’t!” yelled Spencer.
Yogi, apparently to reassure his hostage, said, “Mr. Brodie’s M433high-explosive dual-purpose forty-millimeter grenade will not arm itself at this distance, or by being launched in this manner.”
Brodie said to Spencer, “If you don’t like where you’re standing, Captain, just drop the bullshit and order that thing to release you.”
