Black Box 5.0

"Then, through ways we cannot determine, Mitchell's computer department was given a crack at trying to figure it out. And rather than bring Ms. Anderson into one of our facilities, he brought it to her, at her house. We've determined it was out of our facilities for nearly 30 days when Mitchell went to collect it."

Blackwood was beginning to loathe Mitchell. He could respect ambition and taking a risk, but he took stupid risks all over the place. That he would end up dead was inevitable; that he somehow made Blackwood's life a nightmare in the process was infuriating.

"So he goes to BC to claim the device. Did she figure it out?"

"We can't say for certain," Mark said. "But we see no reason why everything exploded up there if the box wasn't worth causing this kind of chaos."

"What happened? As best as you can determine," Blackwood asked, shortcircuiting the inevitable covering of their asses.

"Mitchell went to BC with seven people in two SUVs. These were not our special operators, but they knew how to handle themselves in a fight. They were ambushed by explosives that detonated under their vehicles and in the surrounding trees," Peter said, showing photos and video of the scene. Somebody had left both SUVs burnt wrecks. As Blackwood studied the pictures he realized that person knew what they were doing.

"Six people died in the initial explosion and shrapnel crossfire. Their bodies were found nearby, badly charred. An additional body was inside one of the SUVs with a high-velocity rifle round taking out most of his head. We have not found Mitchell's body.

"According to witnesses driving a few kilometres away, there was one explosion and then a much larger one approximately 10 minutes later. That one destroyed the house. We believe Mitchell was inside the house when it exploded, although the size of the explosion prevented any identification."

Blackwood stared at the carnage.

"Did the woman have any training to pull this off?"

"No. We should mention that this man," Peter said, showing a picture of a non-discript man in his late 20s, "was also living with Ms. Anderson. From what we can determine, it wasn't a romantic relationship. He was a failed writer and a childhood friend of Ms. Anderson. We think he was there in a caretaker role. He also didn't have the skills necessary to pull this off."

Blackwood stared at the faces on the screen. Mitchell's face looked more punchable all the time. Anderson's face was that of a disturbed little girl. He wouldn't want to be stuck in a room with her, but setting off multiple explosions to take out trained security experts was beyond her skill set. And the other man was a nobody.

"You think she figured it out?"

"Yes," both analysts said at the same time.

"Could she have sold us out to one of our competitors? They either spirited her away or killed her and took the device."

"Plausible," Mark said. "Although we've heard no chatter about it. There's been....delight at your misfortune, but no indication that any of your competitors were involved with this."

Blackwood leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers over his beard. There was much more grey in it than six months ago.

"Best theory."

"This may be unorthodox, but we think this woman may be involved," Mark said. An image of a woman in her 30s came up on the screen. She was native and looked like she could handle herself in a fight. "She was involved in a romantic relationship with Ms. Anderson's caretaker. However, when she was younger, she lived in Montreal and married a particularly vicious biker gang member in Quebec."

Another image. Blackwood could have figured out he was a bike gang member even if they hadn't told him.

"The woman, Leah Deveroix, is an alias. Her real name is Melanie Fortier. The explosion that took out our men is similar to one that was supposed to target a rival gang in Montreal a decade ago. But there was an error, and instead it partially destroyed a school bus, killing eight children. The woman vanished, but not before tipping off police about her husband and giving them enough information to put him away for life."

"So, Anderson and her caretaker find out about her past and get her to do some dirty work for them. Then they all disappear," Blackwood said.

"Not....quite," Peter said. "Ms. Fortier's husband received early parole, 15 years earlier than should have been possible. This was due to a sophisticated computer hack weeks before the BC explosion. Two weeks after the BC explosion, he arrived at her nearby cabin. It then exploded. He died and the remains of three other men were also found on the scene. Her cabin was isolated enough that nobody noticed until some skiers found it.

"The explosives used to destroy her cabin came from the same batch that killed our men and took out the house."

Blackwood shook his head. What a goddamn mess.

"So she ran with bikers, spent a decade in hiding, but shortly after this mysterious black box arrives in the neighbourhood, she's working with Anderson and flunkie, setting up explosions and settling scores. What am I missing?"

Mark and Peter looked at each other. It was the equivalent of them taking the plunge because if they were wrong, there would be hell to pay.

"We think Anderson figured out the box. We believe she concluded that whatever it could do, she didn't want it falling into Mitchell's hands. So she got Fortier to set things to take out Mitchell when he arrived. However, Anderson doesn't want Fortier around. Maybe it's jealous. Perhaps it's tidying up loose ends, so she arranges for the ex's early parole. But he takes his time. Perhaps too much time and Fortier gets wind of it. Since the date leak happened 24 hours after the explosion Anderson is probably dead.

"Or she wants us to think she is," Blackwood said. Mark and Peter nodded, conceding he might be right.

"But what we can say for certain is that Fortier was alive and well two weeks after the mess, in Mexico, and under an assumed name," Mark said.

Blackwood sat up straighter in his chair. "Explain."

"In the wake of the explosion, police canvassed the area, including Fortier's cabin. They entered the cabin and reported it abandoned. Her pick-up was missing as well. But when her ex-husband arrived, it exploded within a few minutes," Peter said.

"She knew it was him."

Peter nodded. "There was a ping off a local cell phone tower at 5:04 pm. The phone ceased working at 5:06 pm. When someone entered the cabin, it sent a note. She checked, saw it was her ex, and set off the explosion.

"The phone on the other end was a burner, but we were able to make some inquiries. She was staying at a high-end resort along the Pacific Coast. She was there under an assumed name, but there are no records of that person entering or leaving Mexico. There is...limited video footage, but after inquiries, we found this."

The image was fuzzy. It was on the beach and she was mainly in the background. The prominent people in the picture were a tall, muscular man and a woman who was probably a prostitute.

"Were they together?"

"We believe so, yes. The staff person didn't pay much attention to Ms. Fortier and focussed more on the other two people. There were...noise complaints regarding them. They made quite an impression," Mark said.

"And this is all you have?"

Both men looked nervous and he didn't blame them. Blackwood had hoped for more and he needed more. But the reality was, this was what he had.

"We don't know what happened inside that house. There were no bodies, but that doesn't mean there weren't bodies. Mitchell, Anderson and the caretaker have had zero presence since the explosion. No changes in their bank records, no communications with family and friends, although Anderson is skilled enough that she could hide much of this from us and we'd never know.

"And there is no trace of the box, and we still don't know what it does, but it was obviously worth the considerable risk for everyone involved," Peter concluded.

Blackwood nodded, then stood up. The two men stood up as well. Blackwood wasn't a tall man, but he had a solid build. He also knew he had, for lack of a better description, a 'presence.' He scared people, and it had little to do with muscles and physical training. It had everything to do with intellect, personality, and money.

Mark and Peter tried to look impassive, but Blackwood didn't get where he was in the world without being able to read body language. They were scared they hadn't done enough. But their presentation was thorough and he could find no holes in it. The sheer size of the mess made things a challenge.

"Find her," he said, pointing at Fortier. "Find out everything you can about her. Turn over heaven and hell in that resort area. She's not there anymore, so find out where she went and under what identity. I want to talk to her. You have two months. Make it happen."

Both men nodded and if they were concerned about the deadline, they were smart enough not to say anything about it. They quickly picked up their computer and made to leave the room.

"And gentleman," he said, stopping both of them. "I want that box, and I want to know what is so goddamn special about it."

Both men left the room, and Blackwood walked behind his desk. He swivelled the chair around and looked out the window over the ocean. They was land in the distance, but there were so many islands in the area, who knew which one it was.

Pragmatically, the box was the only thing that could save him now. He knew that, even if he had no idea what it was. All the politicians, dictators or businesses he worked with previously that he could count on to keep him alive and successful were either in jail or dead because of him and that leak. He never had friends, but he'd had people he could count on to act the way he wanted.

Now, he only had people who wanted him dead or people he was paying enough to keep him alive. That was all well and good while he had money, which he was burning through fast. He figured he had a year, at most, before he was dead.

But the box could change that. He allowed himself that small hope.

And if he was fortunate, he might get a chance to meet and chat with the people who ruined his life as well.

END BOOK ONE

****

This started as a story that would be 6,000 to 10,000 words long and be a pretty simple bimbo/transformation sex story. But it wasn't working, so I set it aside. When I returned to it, I realized the problem was there were only two characters. So I made the Black Box an AI. I realized that the sex in the story was coming way too late, so I added another character to give a sex scene earlier, and then Mel began bossing me around and adding interesting subplots. I also needed a villain. Next thing I know, I'd written a 63,000-word story with a cliffhanger ending. My brain is fucked up like that.

This story very nearly ended here. While I had fun writing it, it's not getting as much pick-up as I would like (note to self: don't use Novels and Novellas category in the future). So much like your favourite TV show that you liked but nobody else does, I nearly cancelled it and moved on to other things.

But a funny thing happened after I returned from a break and did the final edit on the last two chapters. I found myself wanting to know what happens with Erin. If Mel is as free of her past as she thinks she is. What kind of person is Kevin becoming, because maybe his brain didn't cook quite right after all. What exactly did our lovely AI do to earn exile?

I know the answer to some of these, and as for the rest, I guess I will have to keep goddamn writing to find out.

Book 2 should come out early in 2023, hopefully in January. Probably less than ideal, but hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Thanks for reading it this far.