Kill Chain by J Robert Kennedy Page A

she assumed was another truck
overhead.
    And she’d never see her
father again if things went wrong.
    She looked down then up, none
of the drones in sight—at least not yet.
    I have to do
something.
    She paused, her hand
coming to rest on her necklace, a gold cross her mother had given her for her
twelfth birthday.
    And ripped it off her
neck. She held it out, peering down, trying to aim for the narrow walkway along
the edge of the massive pipe.
    And let go.
    It fell, the chain
swaying in the air, the cross hitting first, without a sound, coming to rest in
a tiny pile, exactly where it needed to be.
    In plain sight.
    She closed her eyes and
prayed for a moment that none of the others accidentally kicked it into the
water, and that anyone searching for them would spot it, understanding the
message.
    Niner would
understand.
    She resumed her climb,
suddenly aware her delay might be suspicious. She caught another glimpse of
freedom, though this time she saw no evidence of humanity, but did hear light
traffic. The underside of the truck once again bristled with technology, and
once again she was left to wonder who had moved the grate, it certainly not any
of the drones they had been witness to.
    Robots?
    She immediately dismissed
the thought, robots removing drain covers a little too conspicuous to go
unnoticed. Drones she could understand. They could fly for miles. In fact,
according to Jeff, someone on the other side of the planet could control a
properly equipped drone. She assumed these were connected to the Internet
somehow, perhaps through Wi-Fi, more likely through some sort of cellular
connection. And if that were the case, their operator could be anywhere.
    Robots, though, were not
so flexible. Someone would have had to place it there, and if they had, then
why wouldn’t they just remove the manhole cover themselves?
    It meant they were here,
in Korea.
    The North Koreans!
    The thought sent a chill
up her spine as she cleared the ladder and pulled herself up into the back of yet
another vehicle, this one much smaller than the last. She stood, hunched over,
in what appeared to be a box van of some sort, benches again lining the walls,
a camera and speaker at the front, two buzzing drones hovering near the roll-up
rear door.
    “Pumpkin?”
    Her heart leaped into her
throat, a hard ball forming in her chest, forcing its way up.
    “It’s Daddy. Can you
hear me?”
    “Y-yes!” she cried, her
head spinning in the ridiculous hope he was actually in the truck with her,
unnoticed in some missed corner.
    “Are you okay?”
    “You’ve got to help us!
They’ve killed four people already! They killed that nice German man and some
others. And I don’t know what they did with the Chinese lady.”
    “She’s safe. Don’t
worry about her. You just stay calm and we’ll find y—”
    “Touching.” The
inhuman voice they had all come to fear abruptly interrupted her father’s
voice. “Now you have your proof of life, Mr. President. Now it is time for you to do something for us .”
    “Daddy!”
    A burst of static, then
nothing. She dropped onto one of the benches, battling to control the urge to
sob in self-pity, as the Italian poked her head through the opening in the
floor.
    “Who are you talking to?”
    Nancy’s head fell back
against the side of the truck as she sighed. “Myself, I guess.” She rose and
took the woman’s hand, helping her up, the others following over several
minutes. She’d tell them about the conversation when they had all arrived,
there no point in repeating it a dozen or more times. Besides, she didn’t feel
like talking right now, she still at war with her emotions, the sound of her
father’s voice at once comforting, at once a reminder of all she had to lose.
    He’d die without me!
    The thought of him all
alone broke her heart, a tiny fire in her gut igniting, it the embers of a
determination to survive their ordeal, whatever it took, so he wouldn’t die
having lost everything he