Watch Dogs: Dark Clouds

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I want to know what this whole upload runaround is all about, Garnet!” Aiden Pearce snarled.

Pearce had just changed his own headquarters to a new safehouse, activated its surveillance gear and watch devices, when he’d gotten the redirected-call chime on his phone.

Now Pearce was sitting on the edge of the bunk, close beside a shuttered window, glaring at Garnet—the fixer was on the smartphone screen. This image wasn’t animated—Garnet wouldn’t dare pull that crap on Pearce. Garnet took a spliff from his mouth, exhaled smoke, and said, “DedSec’s started running scared after GlowWorm got offed. They’re all worried they might have someone inside—some kinda mole. And it looks like any major download coming from the underground is gonna be blacked out.”

“How’s that possible?”

“I don’t know. There’s somebody at Blume who’s pulling a lot of shit with ctOS without the rest of Blume knowing it. That’s what I’m hearing.”

Pearce thought, That’s probably Verrick. But Pearce wasn’t going to mention that—he instinctively told Garnet only what he had to. Information was money, as far as Garnet was concerned. Sometimes Pearce thought Garnet had a rudimentary conscience. But most times the hacker seemed totally self-interested. He wasn’t sure Garnet would try to sell him out to Verrick—but there was no way to know.

So Pearce only said, “I can upload the damned file myself. I’ve got systems that can do it without Blume being able to do a damn thing about it.”

“DedSec’s not trusting just anybody with it right now. Last I heard, that was especially ‘Don’t trust Aiden Pearce’. They’re not gonna let you have it. It has to be done this way.”

“So how’s ‘this way’ work?”

“They go to some place where the file can be uploaded safely through a short term wifi terminal. Without Blume knowing about it till it’s all over the internet.”

“What place?”

“I don’t know, man. I already told you way too much for free anyway—so if I did know I’d have to charge you. In fact I’m gonna send you a bill for this call.”

“And I’ll use it to line a bird cage.”

“You got a bird in a cage now? What kind? I used to have a cockatoo.”

“No, you stoned-ass fool, it’s an expression. Never mind. Just tell me you didn’t give my man bad information. If you fucked him over, Garnet, I’ll come after you. He’s a good man and he’s valuable to me.”

“See, that’s your problem, Pearce. You think that exists.”

“What exists?”

“Good men.”

With that, Garnet hung up.

Worried, Pearce sent Wolfe a text:

He waited. In fact he waited quite a while.

There was no answer from Mick Wolfe.

Wolfe was busy. He was trying not to get shot in the back.

He was pounding up the steps, carrying the laptop in its plastic sack; two steps behind Seline, he turned now and then to fire a single bullet down the steel stairs, mostly just trying to slow down the pursuers. There were four of the Graywaters in all. The other three had been waiting in back of the van.

A quick burst of bullets came up the airspace and struck the railings, the shots ricocheting. Sparks flashed. Wolfe smelled friction-heated metal.

Then they passed the top-floor landing, went up the last flight, and ran up to a doorway to the roof. Seline opened it, stepped through, and held it for him. He ran through onto a flat roof, and she slammed it closed. There didn’t seem to be a way to lock it without a key.

He put his arm through the loop in the plastic sack, pulled it up onto a shoulder, and looked around—seeing it the same moment Seline did.

“Look!” Seline said. “A helicopter!”

On the other side of the roof was a green concrete helicopter landing pad—and there was a chopper on it, its rotors slowly starting to turn. It was someone’s posh private helicopter, neither large nor small. Wolfe could see the pilot in the cockpit looking down at his instruments.

Wolfe tugged his PearcePhone from a pocket, and handed Seline the .45.

“Walk slowly backwards toward that helicopter,” he said. “Keep the gun pointed at that door. See if you can keep them from coming through. There’s seven rounds in that clip at the moment.”

“But I’ll back into the chopper blades!”

“They’re over your head. Go!”

“What are you going to…?”

“Just do it and let me concentrate.”

“Whatever. This is crazy shit.” She backed toward the chopper, keeping the pistol, gripped in both her hands, trained on the door of the building; Wolfe walked backwards himself as he told the phone to search for Aviation mode: Vehicle Door locks.

The phone scanned the area—and it found the locked doors of the chopper.

The chopper doors popped open. And at that moment Seline fired the pistol at the men bursting out of the stairway outbuilding. One of them yelled in pain, stumbled. The next one jumped over him…

Wolfe was only peripherally aware of this. He was focusing on the phone’s scanner. It found: Aviation mode: Automatic pilot control. He clicked on that… as a bullet shot past his head. And he clicked on, Suspend Take Off.

He looked up at the doorway. The merc thugs were backed into the doorway, trying to get a clear shot. But every time they raised their guns Seline fired at them. The bullets didn’t seem to be hitting any meat—except the first one had wounded the man groaning face down on the roof.

Wolfe drew his .38 back up pistol and said, “Now—turn and run, get in that chopper, then keep your head down!”

She ran—Wolfe fired at the door. Wounded a Graywater in the shoulder. A burst from a Mack 10 cut its way up the rooftop close beside him.

Almost lost a kneecap there, Wolfe.

He turn and sprinted to the chopper, the blades slowly churning overhead.

The doors were open—because he’d set them that way with the phone hack.

A bullet slammed into the chopper fuselage just beside the door. Then he pulled himself in, and saw the pilot had already split. He looked out the window, saw the pilot frantically climbing down a metal fire escape ladder off the rooftop.

“Can you fly this thing?” Seline said, from the back, as she fired out the open side door to suppress the Graywaters.

“Yes I can,” he said. He tapped the phone to close the doors and take the chopper off autopilot. Bullets cracked the windshield. He put the phone away and accelerated the blades, grabbing the joystick, and angled the helicopter up. “Heli’s about the only aircraft I can fly.” It wobbled in the air under his inexpert control. “Been a while though.”

Bullets clanged into the fuselage of the helicopter and shattered a side window. “You keeping your head down back there?”

“Yeah—just get us out of here!”

“Trying!”

Bullets ricocheted from the rotor blades. Another burst clattered into the underside of the helicopter.

He veered the helicopter off to portside, heading south as fast as he could accelerate, not sure where he was going to take the thing. That pilot would report a stolen helicopter and police choppers would be up looking for him. It’d take them a while to get scrambled though…

His mouth was dry as a burnt out match; he tasted metal. Only then did he realize that his pulse was going like a drum roll.

The wind struck the chopper, then, and it bucketed in the air. Wolfe struggled for control. Another thud from a bullet.

South… so where? The Indiana line was nearby. Chicago almost straddled it. Would it be better to set down over there?

The bullets stopped hitting the helicopter. Out of range. Probably the Graywaters were taking their wounded off the roof and trying to get out of there before the cops came…

The wind struck the aircraft again, and once more Wolfe had to work hard with the pedals and joystick to keep it steady.

He was out of practice coordinating the pedals and joystick. The helicopter yawed sickeningly…

“You smell smoke?” Seline asked, coming to sit in the seat beside him.

“No…” He sniffed. But he did smell it. And more. “Yeah I do. We got to set this thing down fast. They hit the engine, maybe the fuel tank… this rich guy’s toy isn’t armored…”

She buckled herself in, then reached across him and buckled him into his seat. There was a certain intimacy in that—which he pretended not to notice.

What the hell are you thinking about that for? This thing’s losing elevation!

He looked at the altimeter again to be sure. Yeah. Losing elevation pretty fast. “Engine’s stalling…”

He looked out the window, and through the distortion from bullet cracks made out one possibility for survival.

The chopper began to dip down. It still had a little power. He forced a little more lift out of it…

“Hold on!” he yelled.

“I’m already holding on!”

Down… lift almost gone. The engine whining, sputtering.

Down…

Then the gray green surface of the water rushed up at them.

They slammed into the water, hard, jarringly, so that Wolfe’s teeth clacked painfully together and his whole body was whiplashed in the seat. They struck at an angle, so that the helicopter skidded a little ways toward the shore of the lake—and then it stopped moving. He heard no engine sound—just a gurgling as the helicopter began to sink…

Wolfe checked on Seline… she seemed dazed as she fumbled at her seat belts, but not much injured. He got his own seatbelt unlocked; she got herself free, and pressed the red emergency handle. The door popped out of the way and started gushing in at their feet.

Seline jumped out, splashed out of the way; Wolfe put his phone in the plastic sack with the laptop, got out on the other side, and found they were in water only up to their chests. They rushed to get away from the helicopter blades, and sloshed toward shore.

“Cops’ll be here pretty soon!” she said.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think so. Maybe a little whiplash in the neck.”

“Me too. Feel like I was worked over by a drunk chiropractor.”

They climbed up on the shore, where they shivered, wet and cold—and she pointed at a sign. “Look at the name of this lake!”

He looked. It was Wolf Lake. “If I had time, I’d add an e to the end. I know where Wolf Lake is… out below Calumet. I think we’re in Indiana… Come on, we gotta get some transportation… Need to get back to Chicago.”

By the time they found a car that responded to his PearcePhone, a Mercedes parked about two blocks away from the lake, police helicopters were starting to arrive over Wolf Lake.

But Wolfe and Seline were far enough away they weren’t spotted as, teeth chattering with cold, they drove away in the Mercedes…