Nic Brooner was back behind his desk at police headquarters in downtown New Cali. The stagnant weather conditions had not let up, and the thick pall of smog was only growing worse. He had the drapes closed because the view was so offensive. If the dome of high pressure didn’t break soon, he might need to start wearing a gas mask outdoors. Or maybe a hazmat suit. The smog was so bad, he could see a film of residue on the Tommy Cops when they spent time outside. The faux skin on their identical faces looked scummy when they came back in.
He received a telephone call from Eddie Chao at mid-morning. The Mike Wilson replicant had returned to Jishnu Ponn’s shop with a scrubbed memory. Wiped clean, and the laser pistol and Intelliphone he’d given it were missing. After ending the call, he tried to piece together what had happened.
He’d received a cryptic text message from the robot following its arrival in the ruins of Vegas: A person named power man is supplying electricity. On my way to refuel. Will attempt to learn more. That was it. All he had to go on.
It was apparent that someone had become suspicious of the replicant’s motives and disabled it. The most likely explanation was the robot had asked sensitive questions at the electrolysis plant, and the manipulation of it was evidence that something crooked was taking place. It was obvious Latsko’s people had something to hide. That was Brooner’s take on the incident, and it gave him incentive to continue.
And who was power man, and how could he produce enough electricity to make hydrogen fuel? Things just weren’t adding up.
He wanted to talk to Art Fujikawa, but the meeting would need to take place somewhere other than police headquarters. The surveillance was too heavy inside the building, and he needed to avoid Heigle. If the captain found out he was running an unauthorized investigation, he’d order him to shut it down and possibly file a misconduct report. So, he called Fujikawa and offered to buy him lunch. The tech expert accepted the invitation.
Fujikawa came by his office at noon, and they took the elevator to the ground floor. The tech expert pulled on a disposable respirator, and Brooner covered his face with a handkerchief as they stepped through a doorway and into the toxic miasma of air pollution. They walked to Brooner’s unmarked slick top. Fujikawa took the passenger seat and Brooner climbed behind the wheel. He started the big V-8 and turned the AC to high.
The lunch spot he had in mind was a couple of miles from headquarters. A place where it was unlikely they’d see any other cops eating. Fujikawa noticed: “Jeez, Nic, what are we going halfway to Santa Monoxide to get a sandwich?”
“I know a place where they use all natural ingredients. I can’t eat synthetic meat. It gives me heartburn.”
“Yeah, okay. But I only get an hour break. My supervisor is a clock watcher.”
“No worries, Art. I’ll have you back by one.”
He parked the roller outside an automated sandwich shop. They went inside. The place specialized in traditional American-style food. Brooner ordered a roast beef sub and Fujikawa selected a ham and Swiss on rye. They found a table next to a window, but there wasn’t much of a view outside. The smog was thick as pea soup, citywide.
Fujikawa was considerably younger than the aging detective and a happily married family man. Brooner was a divorced bachelor in his fifties. He made small talk while they waited for the robot to bring their food. “How are your kids doing, Art?”
“Great. I enrolled them in a better school when we moved uptown. Higher priced real estate, but the relocation was worth it.”
A Fast-Food Herbie rolled out of the kitchen and found their table. A primitive service robot, it was nowhere near as advanced as a humanoid replicant. “Ham and Swiss for Art. Roast beef sub for Nic.” The robot delivered their sandwiches and drinks. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, that’ll do it,” said Brooner.
“Have a wonderful day.”
“You too, Herbie.” He watched the robot roll back towards the kitchen.
Fujikawa picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and nodded in appreciation. “Good sandwich, Nic. I can taste the difference.”
“Told you it was worth the drive.”
“So, what’s on your mind?”
“Remember when I had you check the flow reports in the Colorado River pipeline?”
“Yep, everything looked good and you asked me about the possibility of a hacker providing falsified reports.”
“Looks like more than a possibility now, Art. I think it’s happening.”
“Based on what evidence?”
Brooner told him about his research. How it seemed unlikely there was enough ground water in the basin to run an electrolysis plant and the farming operation, too. Then he told him about sending the replicant to investigate and how it had returned with a scrubbed memory.
Fujikawa was unconvinced. “I’ll admit the circumstances look suspicious but the chances of someone successfully hacking the New Cali NMS are awfully slim.”
“But it is possible.”
“There’s a better chance of this miserable smog disappearing by the time we get back to headquarters.”
“Well, one way or another, I’m going to get a definitive answer.” Brooner took a bite of his sandwich, appreciating the texture and flavor of the natural beef. Then he took a sip of cola and continued: “If I come up with a surveillance drone, would you help me program it?”
Fujikawa considered the request while he continued eating. Finally, he replied: “Yeah, I could do that.”
“I leaned on Eddie Chao to get the replicant, but at this point I think there’s enough evidence to justify buying a high-quality observation craft…On a gamble. If I hit paydirt I can get the department to reimburse me. But if I strike out, I suppose I’ll have to take it as a loss.”
“What do you have in mind? I mean, where are you going to send it?”
“If someone has tapped into the branch line, chances are they’re using the existing treatment plant to clean and channel the water. So, I’d like to put the place under static surveillance. For at least a week or two and see what turns up.”
“You’ll need a drone with heavy duty batteries. Otherwise, it’ll never make it back.”
“Good point, Art. That’s why I need your expert help. To cover all the bases.”
“Okay, I’ll help you with the programming on one condition. You need to keep my involvement confidential, no matter what the outcome. I don’t have seniority in the department and can’t risk losing my job.”
“Sure thing. No one finds out you helped me.”
Brooner ordered a surveillance drone. It arrived within a few days. He was surprised by how compact it was. The box could be easily carried solo. Fujikawa visited his west side condominium and helped him program it. Then they took it up on the flat rooftop and launched it.
□□□
Myles parked the fleet of water tankers at the farm when they weren’t in use. Leaving them at the treatment plant might arouse suspicion because twenty trucks were big enough to pick up on satellite imagery. He was also concerned about dust bikers vandalizing them at night.
It was early autumn and the hottest days of summer were beginning to wane, though afternoon could still be sweltering in the desert basin. Clouds of any description were rare, though they often saw haze from New Cali smog on the western horizon. Rainfall was non-existent. It had literally been years since any precipitation had fallen on the basin or in the tall mountains surrounding it.
They were ready to deliver a third load of water to Los Ríos Gemelos. Myles used his SDV program to drive the fleet to the plant. It sat in a narrow drainage that forked off the main river canyon, lower in elevation than the abandoned city. Logan had arrived early in the cruiser and watched the fleet of tankers make their way down the winding drive. Myles was riding in the lead truck.
They’d improvised a filling station outside the main building. Three trucks could take on water at the same time. It was a pressurized system, so it didn’t take long. All twenty of the tankers were filled in about an hour.
Logan and Myles were monitoring the operation when Lyric arrived on her motorcycle. It was still early. The sun had yet to clear the mountains to the east. They watched her negotiate the curves on the long drive without slowing down much. She parked her bike nearby and pulled off her helmet as she strolled towards them.
“Good morning, men.”
“Morning,” said Myles.
“Hi Lyric,” said Logan. He was amazed at how fresh she always looked first thing in the morning. When Cribley rolled in, he looked look like hell. Hungover and still half asleep. But Lyric started her day with outdoor aerobics, and she looked great. Logan smiled. “Zyler installed a new sound system in the cruiser.”
“Fantastic,” said Lyric. “You still have that flash drive I programmed for you?”
“Of course. We’ll listen to it on the way.”
“No Chance yet?”
“Nah, he’ll probably be late again. We’ll leave on time and let him catch up if he hasn’t made it.”
Logan noticed Myles gazing at something in the sky behind him. He was about to turn and look when Myles said: “Don’t turn around. I think there’s a surveillance drone watching us. If you look, it’ll know we’ve spotted it.”
“All right. I’m not looking.”
“Me neither,” said Lyric. She cast her eyes downward, fiddling with the visor on her helmet instead.
“Who do you think sent it?” said Myles. The drone was hovering in midair, close enough for him to see a tiny blinking red light indicating it was recording video.
“Probably the same cop who sent the replicant.”
“What should we do?”
“Take it out. I’ll program the attack drone.” Logan pulled his Intelliphone out of the pocket of his jacket and went to work. After keying in his directives, he clicked enter. The cruiser’s trunk lid popped open, and the attack drone took flight. As it soared towards its target, the surveillance craft attempted to flee, but Logan’s drone caught up in a heartbeat and swiftly destroyed it with a bot swarm.
□□□
When Brooner checked the surveillance drone’s log, he realized it had been wrecked. He fast forwarded the video record until he saw a man driving a heavily customized coupe into the plant’s parking lot. He slowed it down. The coupe was followed by a line of water tankers and another man climbed out of the lead truck’s cab. Next, a woman on a motorcycle rode in. The trio talked for a few minutes, then without warning, an attack drone appeared, rapidly closing in on the surveillance craft, and it was lights out. His brand-new surveillance drone was toast.
He used facial recognition software to zoom in on the actors, receiving one hit in the New Cali police database. The woman was wanted for failure to appear in a theft case. Her presence was an uncomfortable coincidence, because he remembered her. Lyric Tyne, a onetime KNEX air personality. He’d interviewed her in the basement jail after the Tommy Cops brought her in, and he recommended the court release her on an OR bond. Then she skipped town.
The two men must have been the “clowns in Vegas” that Waverly alluded too. He reviewed his notes…Logan Writt and Myles Deloof. He’d previously checked their names against the New Cali police database and had come up dry. Brooner didn’t have an official way of checking their handles in the federal bureaucracy, but he’d call Eddie Chao later. If the mob boss had gotten over him breaking his replicant yet, he might be able to help.
The convoy of water trucks aligned with Waverly’s story perfectly. Exactly what she’d said, and it looked like they were continuing on with their scheme. He had it on video now. The tankers taking on water at the Desert Hills treatment plant. Was it enough evidence to approach Heigle? Probably not, because there still was no definitive connection to a diversion from the pipeline. He’d need more concrete proof to convince the doubting captain. The pipeline itself was New Cali property, but the decommissioned treatment plant was out of his jurisdiction.
He brought up a satellite view of the diversion station on his monitor. He cross-referenced it to a map that was made during the construction of the pipeline and discovered a helipad on the floor of the canyon that was within walking distance of the station. He checked the details on the apparatus inside the building. Fujikawa had said it would be easy to see if water was being diverted by inspecting the illuminated mimic panel on the control board. He already had a black-market password breaker that he’d bought through Eddie Chao, so getting inside probably wouldn’t be that difficult. If he could come up with a helicopter, he might be close to proving his case.
□□□
Brooner knew Alice Voto from his younger days, before the New Cali Directorate, when the city was still called Los Angeles. Prior to the use of Tommy Cops, Brooner was a uniformed patrol officer.
Voto was a helicopter pilot. She’d been in the military and was recruited by the police department because of her exceptional flying skills. She met Brooner in the midst of a shootout with a heavily armed drug gang. They’d disabled her chopper with gun fire, and she’d taken cover behind it. A situation that was becoming increasingly dicey by the minute.
Brooner and two other cops rescued her by launching flash grenades at the gangsters and then laying down enough automatic gun fire to hustle her out to safety. He’d received a commendation and promotion from the chief as a result. It was also the beginning of a long-lasting friendship.
Voto had retired early to take a high-paying job with the construction company that built the Colorado River pipeline. They used helicopters to lower the sections of pipe into place, and as a result, she was well acquainted with flying in and out of narrow canyons.
When the nightmare of nuclear winter arrived and the national economy collapsed, Voto and her husband Zach moved to a remote area in the coastal ranges, north of New Cali. Her mate was a fellow pilot. They had enough resources to live a comfortable lifestyle as rural survivalists and did occasional free-lance work with the helicopter and two prop planes they owned.
Brooner called Voto and asked her if she had any interest in flying him into Boulder Canyon to inspect the diversion station. She said she’d be happy to help her old friend with his investigation, but it would cost him a significant sum of money. Brooner was already in too deep to give up, so he agreed to cough up the dough.
He traveled to Voto’s homestead in his unmarked slick top. It was beyond the northern border of New Cali, in the sparsely populated hinterlands of the federal bureaucracy. The small towns along the way were mostly abandoned, and the houses and stores half buried under windblown dust. Brooner remained alert and aware of his surroundings as he passed through the eerie landscape. He’d brought along a directed laser weapon, and he kept his eyes peeled for bad actors. Hopefully his car wouldn’t develop any mechanical problems because it would be the worst place imaginable to break down.
Voto and her mate lived in the hills above a long and winding canyon. The place was a fortified compound with an airstrip and a helipad. He called her from the gate, and she walked out to meet him. She was accompanied by three dogs who regarded him tentatively at first but became friendly when Voto greeted him warmly.
“Nic Brooner! It’s been too long.” Brooner held out his hand, but she embraced him instead.
“Hi Alice. You look great. The country life is treating you well.” He hadn’t seen her in over a decade. She looked tanned and healthy, but he could see how much she’d aged. It reminded him of how old he was.
“How are things in New Cali?”
“Same old BS. The smog is worse than ever…How’s Zach?”
“He’s fine. Not here right now, but he’ll be back in time to join us for dinner.”
“So, everything’s ready?” Brooner was anxious to get moving while they still had plenty of daylight.
“Yeah, the chopper is fueled up and ready to go…Tell me more about the mission.”
“I need to inspect the diversion station at the Vegas branch line to look for signs of monkey business.”
“Vandalism?”
“Theft. I have reason to believe certain parties have hacked the water system, and they’re making an unauthorized diversion.”
“All right, I know that section of the pipeline well. I remember the helipad.”
“Terrific…how long will it take to fly out there?”
“Two hours max. We’ll average about 130 mph once we clear the mountains.”
It was a light helicopter, a compact two-seater, and after twenty minutes of flying across hardscrabble mountains, they entered the skies above a wide desert basin. Before long, they saw the freeway that the transports used to travel to New Cali, and they followed the debilitated roadway for the lion’s share of the trip. When the abandoned hotel district appeared on the horizon, she turned the aircraft towards the east.
A few minutes later, they were flying over Black Canyon with a bird’s eye view of the ruins of Hoover Dam. Brooner looked it over with a pair of binoculars. Huge chunks of pulverized concrete littered the canyon floor. “They didn’t bother cleaning up the debris?”
“Visual aesthetics were the least of their concerns. The pipeline was over budget from the get-go, and the central tenent was getting river water to New Cali as fast as possible after the reservoir reached dead pool. They salvaged some of the generating equipment from the hydroelectric plant, but all of the superstructure was demolished, and the debris was left where it fell.”
“They used explosives to take it down?”
“Mostly dynamite.”
“Must have been a spectacle…So, you worked on this part of the pipeline?”
“Yeah, I did, Nic. The ground crews set-up the supports and I picked up sections of the line pipe on the canyon rim. I flew them down to the floor and then lowered them into place. We worked from sunrise to sunset.”
“How big are the individual sections?”
“On the mainline, thirty feet long and twelve feet in diameter. Made from stainless steel.”
“Heavy, eh?”
“Oh yeah. Each one was about 20 tons. I was flying a vintage CH-47 Chinook, a big enough bird for the job.
“How deep is the canyon?”
“At the dam site, up to 2,000 feet. They built it in Black Canyon because of how narrow it is. As we follow the pipeline upstream, the gorge will become wider, and we’ll enter Boulder Canyon. We’ll arrive at the diversion station after we go past that curve up ahead.”
Voto found the helipad on the canyon floor and landed the helicopter. It was a short walk to the windowless, masonry block diversion station. Brooner found the entry door and plugged his password breaking device into the passkey with an ethernet cable. He clicked it on. Normally, it took a few seconds for the instrument to work, but after almost a minute, a passage denied message appeared on the screen.
Brooner was baffled. “Damn thing’s not working.”
“Try it again,” said Voto, looking over his shoulder.
He unplugged the device to reboot it and went through the procedure again. This time it took about fifteen seconds for the passage denied message to reappear. “This is making me feel stupid,” said Brooner. “If I can’t get inside the building, the whole trip was a waste of time.”
“Hold on,” said Voto. “The point of the mission is to find out if water is flowing through the branch line, right?” She gestured towards the much narrower pipeline that left the station perpendicular to the mainline.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Okay, if you put your hand on the mainline, the steel will feel relatively cool because there’s water flowing through it.” She placed her hand on the surface of the nearby pipe and Brooner followed suit. “If the pipe was empty, it would feel warm because it’s sitting in the sun.”
“Got you,” said Brooner. “So, the branch line should be as cool as the mainline if it’s carrying water.”
“Of course. The ambient temperature of water changes slowly and stays relatively constant. On the other hand, a metal like steel warms much faster in the sun.”
They walked around the corner of the building. Brooner was the first to place his hand on the surface of the branch line. “It’s as cool as the mainline.”
“There’s your physical evidence, Nic. And it proves you’re right. Someone is making an unauthorized diversion.”
“Would you be willing to sign an affidavit saying you witnessed it? Your status as a retired cop will give me credibility with the captain.”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
They made it back to the Voto compound before dark. Zach was partway through cooking dinner when they arrived. Alice insisted on Brooner spending the night in their guest room, and he took her up on the offer. It would have been too dangerous for him to drive back to New Cali after dark.
The next morning, he rose early and made it to police headquarters before 8:00 am. He reviewed the evidence he’d compiled and called Heigle. He said he had something big to break, and the captain told him to bring it on. Brooner took the elevator upstairs, exchanged pleasantries with the automated receptionist, and walked into Heigle’s office.
“So, what are you working on, Brooner? You said you have a breakthrough on a major case?” Heigle was morbidly obese with drooping jowls that trembled when he spoke.
Brooner placed a flash drive on the captain’s desk and took a seat. “Play the video.”
Heigle inserted the drive in his processor and clicked on it. “What am I watching?”
“An unauthorized diversion from the Colorado River pipeline. Suspects Logan Writt and Myles Deloof are stealing water and selling it.”
“Who’s the female?”
“Lyric Tyne, a former air personality at KNEX, currently wanted in New Cali for failure to appear.”
“On what charges?”
“Grand theft.”
“What did she steal?”
Brooner shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Ms. Tyne developed a bad habit of cheating the self-serve checkout at the grocery store. Entering lower priced codes for higher priced items. She’d been at it for several years.”
Heigle rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a desperate criminal, Brooner.”
“Yeah, well the machines don’t like it when they get cheated. Caught her with a new type of software.”
“Uh huh.” Heigle went back to watching the video on his monitor. “So, it looks like your suspects are filling up tankers. Where and how was the video recorded?”
“The setting is the Desert Hills water treatment plant just outside the ruins of Las Vegas.”
“Is that on the Colorado River pipeline?”
“It’s connected to the mainline through a branch line.”
“The Vegas branch line was shut down over a decade ago.”
“That’s right. But they hacked into the New Cali NMS and opened the valve.”
Heigle gazed at Brooner with an expression of disbelief. Then he returned to watching the video. “Okay, it abruptly ended. What happened?”
“They used an attack drone to take out my surveillance craft.”
Heigle clicked off the viewer and sat back in his chair. “If your suspects are stealing water from us, wouldn’t the NMS have already picked it up?”
“They’re feeding the NMS falsified data that shows nothing is missing.”
Heigle whistled. “You’re really out on a limb with this one Brooner.” He picked up his desk phone’s receiver and keyed the cyber-crimes number. “Yeah, this is Heigle. Give me Art Fujikawa.” A few moments passed and then, “Fujikawa, this is Heigle. What’s the probability of a hacker altering data in the New Cali Network Management System? …Uh huh.” He put his hand over the receiver to address Brooner. “Fujikawa says the probability is close to zero. It’s a secure system.”
“But there is a chance, albeit a slim one.”
“Sure Brooner,” with a note of sarcasm. Then he spoke into the receiver, “Check the flow reports on the Colorado River Pipeline and see if anything looks fishy.” An uncomfortable silence ensued. Heigle drummed his fingers on his desk and then finally, “Okay, thanks Fujikawa.” He returned the receiver to its cradle. “Fujikawa says the flow reports appear normal. No anomalies detected.”
“I have more evidence.” Brooner stood up and placed a sheet of paper in front of Heigle and retook his seat.
“What’s this?”
“A signed affidavit from retired LAPD helicopter pilot Alice Voto. She flew me out to the diversion station on the floor of Boulder Canyon yesterday. As you can see, she witnessed the fact that the Vegas branch line felt as cool as the Colorado River mainline, meaning there’s water flowing through it.”
“Voto flew you to Vegas in her chopper—” He made a face like he’d bit into a lemon as he read the affidavit, then he continued: “And she says the Vegas branch line felt cool to the touch.”
“Yep, there’s the physical evidence.”
Heigle tossed the affidavit at Brooner. It landed on the floor. “You’re wasting my time with this, Brooner, and you’re squandering department resources.”
“But captain, I know this is real. I’m not making it up.”
“Fujikawa says you’re full of shit, so get out of my office and get back to work.” He tossed the flash drive at Brooner, and it landed on the carpet next to Voto’s affidavit.
Brooner knew from experience that arguing with Heigle wouldn’t get him far. He thought he had the goods on Writt and Deloof, but it was an unauthorized investigation, and the captain wasn’t buying it. He’d already spent too much of his own money on the drone and the chopper, and he’d hit a dead end when he took it upstairs.
He returned to his office and slammed the door out of frustration when he stepped inside. Brooner walked to the window, opened the drapes, and surveyed the scene outside. The thick pall of smog had only grown worse, and he could barely see the tall buildings nearby.
To be continued…