Only then did he realise James was unconscious and barely breathing.
24
In addition to shopping for a more detailed map to give them a closer picture of the three states, Vaslik raised the question of food. They couldn’t go on burning reserves all day without eating something solid and hope to remain effective.
‘A burger,’ said Ruth, her stomach reacting to the idea with approval. ‘I’d love a good burger.’
‘You got a red meat craving going on?’ Vaslik grinned as they went down in the elevator. ‘Must be the hunting instinct kicking in.’
‘A bit. Isn’t New York supposed to be the home of great burgers?’
‘Actually, I think California has the edge. But that’s only my opinion and don’t repeat it outside this box or you’ll get me lynched.’ He screwed his face up in thought. ‘Right. I know just the place. We’ll get the map first, then eat.’
He led her to Penn Station where they found detailed maps of Nebraska, Oklahoma and Kansas, then through a maze of side streets until he stopped outside the front of a plain looking restaurant.
‘It’s not a burger bar,’ Ruth pointed out.
‘You’re right, it’s not. Which is why it’s the best-kept burger secret in the city.’
Inside, they joined a short queue at a counter in the rear and Ruth left the ordering to Vaslik.
‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘you won’t regret it and you’ll never forget it.’
‘Well, I never had a man say that to me before,’ she murmured.
The burger was every bit as good as Vaslik had promised, and Ruth felt a whole lot better.
‘OK,’ she said, wiping a speck of juice off her cheek, ‘back to basics. I have a slight concern now that Brasher’s gotten himself involved—’
He looked at her and raised a hand. ‘Did you just say ‘gotten’?’
‘Yes, I did and may God and my old English teacher, Mrs Stubbs, forgive me. I’ve been infected. Anyway, Brasher’s involved and I appreciate what he’s doing, which is running down the fingerprints on the knife and hardhat, chasing up the drones and the despatcher and trying to ID the men we’ve picked up pictures of so far.’
‘Yes. So?’
‘Well, what about our job? We still have a responsibility to track down James Chadwick. I don’t want us to lose sight of that in the FBI’s big-picture view.’
He nodded. ‘I agree. But having Brasher onside is a big step forward. All that stuff you just mentioned, we couldn’t check it out because we don’t have the resources. But Brasher’s got the muscle to get things done and that gives us the freedom to concentrate on searching for Chadwick. And Brasher knows this looks like more than just a kidnap or a guy who’s simply ducked out of sight for a while through pressure of work or a busted marriage. And he’s already thrown up a name with extremist connections and the missing shipment of drones which my blood tells me is somehow connected. I don’t know how yet, but it’s a feeling.’
Ruth stared at him so hard he reached up and touched his face. ‘Have I got grease on my chin?’
‘No. What did you just say?’
‘A lot. I was blabbing. Which part?’
‘Something about Brasher having muscle and what it gives us.’
‘I don’t know… oh, yes – the freedom to search for Chadwick. What about it?’
She dropped the napkin she was holding and jumped to her feet. ‘Come on – we need to get back and check the maps.’ She suddenly felt a surge like electricity going through her, but it would need a careful study back in the office to make sense of it.
‘Hey, come on,’ Vaslik said, following her out into the street. ‘Tell me what I said. If I had a moment of brilliance, at least allow me to enjoy it.’
‘You said Freedom,’ she told him, walking at a rapid pace back towards the office.
‘So what? It happens to be one of the core principles of our constitution.’
‘Not that kind of freedom. Freedom with a capital ‘F’.’ Chadwick had written that word in the margin of the map and underlined it. ‘I think it’s a place, not a concept.’
By the time they arrived back at the office Vaslik was punching the keys of his cell phone. As the elevator slowed to a stop on the sixth floor he said, ‘Do you know how many places called Freedom are in the continental US?’
‘No idea. Hit me.’
‘Fifteen. Can you believe that?’
‘Of course. It’s a reflection of what early settlers felt on reaching the New World, with the promise of religious, political and social freedom. They were big issues back then. And then there was Hollywood, of course, but that came much later.’
‘Funny,’ he muttered dryly. ‘So how come you’re an expert on American history?’
‘I hate to point it out,’ she reminded him with a deliberately condescending smile, ‘but it was our history before it was yours.’
They were in the office poring over the maps when Reiks stuck his head round the door. ‘It’s Brasher – and I think you’ll want to hear this.’ He nodded at the phone. ‘Press the conference button.’
Vaslik did so and said, ‘We’re listening, Tom.’
‘Hi. We have information on two issues,’ said the FBI man. He sounded tense. ‘The first is about Borz Dortyev, the FedEx despatcher in Memphis. His name came up when we fed it into the database search engines. We already knew from FedEx company employee records that he used to live in Queens; but now we have a docket on him. And guess who he’s a known associate of?’
‘No idea,’ said Ruth. That wasn’t strictly true because she knew there could only be a couple of possibilities. She could see by the expressions of Vaslik and Reiks that they had the same idea, but didn’t want to puncture Brasher’s balloon.
‘One Bilal Ammar,’ Brasher announced. ‘The bodybuilder type. They attended the same mosque at the same times and Dortyev was picked up and processed on the same day as Ammar but at a different location where an anti-jihadist protest was being prepared. That’s enough to make us think they were acting together with others in a group.’
‘Nothing on the mystery man named Paul?’ Ruth knew he must be the key to this; the other men might lead to him but if it followed the examples of most previous cases of extremist group structures, they would most likely prove to be minor players compared to him.
‘We’re still crunching the data on that.’
‘OK. What’s the other thing?’
‘I’m not sure if this is as helpful, but we picked up some details about the company that manufactured the stolen drones. They’re called EuroVol and based in Toulouse, which is an aviation and technology center in south-western France. Their CEO and technical whizz is named Patrick Paget, and he’s in New York right now. I think you should talk to him.’
‘What’s he doing here?’ asked Vaslik.
‘Trying to save the business. It’s a small but go-ahead company and the failed delivery could cost them dear. They’re working round the clock to deliver a replacement batch and he came over to keep the customers happy. If he stays in business and the client’s prepared to wait this could take his company up to the next level.’
‘I agree we should talk,’ Ruth put in. ‘When and where?’ She doubted Paget would be able to help much with finding the missing drones, but if he was the top technical man, he might shed some light on why his machines had been the focus of a heist. There were after all plenty of manufactures here in the US, so why steal from a French company?
‘I’ve asked him to come by our office in Federal Plaza in forty minutes. He’s on his way to the airport back to France, so he doesn’t have much time. If you can make it down here I’ll buzz you in.’
She looked at Vaslik, who nodded. The maps would have to wait. ‘We’re on our way.’
25
Ruth and Vaslik arrived at 26, Federal Plaza and were met on the 23rd floor by Tom Brasher, who cleared them through security and led them to a room along the corridor.
‘Paget’s
not here yet,’ he told them. ‘We’ll keep it as short as we can. I gather he’s on a tight schedule and I don’t want to make his visit here any worse than it has been.’
They sat down and waited. At one point Brasher asked, ‘This contract thing you have going at Cruxys. You can’t go on searching for ever. When does somebody decide to pull the plug on it and call it a day?’
Ruth looked at him. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never had to face that situation.’
He grunted. ‘So you always find your man, huh?’
She didn’t reply. It was an unwinnable argument.
Patric Paget proved to be what none of them had expected for a CEO and technical expert. He was tall, dark-haired, lean and tanned, with film star looks and somewhere in his late thirties. Dressed in tan pants, brogue shoes and a check sports coat, and carrying a leather overnight bag, he moved with the easy grace of an athlete, attracting glances from passing staff, yet seemingly unaware of any of them.
‘I hate him already,’ Vaslik muttered from the side of his mouth.
‘Really?’ said Ruth. ‘I’m thinking of changing teams.’
Brasher made introductions and everybody took a seat at the table. ‘Thank you for coming by, Mr Paget,’ he said. ‘We won’t hold you up for long, but just in case, I’ve arranged a helicopter flight out from the Manhattan heliport on the east river just a few minutes from here.’
‘Thank you, Mr Brasher. I appreciate that.’ He spoke excellent English with a discernible accent, and if he felt at all uncomfortable at being inside one of the major law-enforcement centers in the city, he hid it well. He sat back and crossed his legs, eyes flicking over the three of them. ‘How can I help you?’
‘These machines – the drones that went missing. Can you describe them for us? We’re trying to figure out why anybody would steal them.’ Brasher added with a smile, ‘I don’t mean to denigrate your products in any way, of course.’
Paget gave an easy shrug. ‘Of course. You mean, why mine and not your own American-produced models?’
‘Yes.’
‘That puzzled me at first, too. There are certainly machines produced here of equal capabilities and value as those made by my company, I cannot deny that. Also much easier to get hold of, I think, than waiting for a shipment from France. But after visiting Los Angeles and talking with the client who ordered them, I believe that is where the answer lies.’
‘How so?’
‘First, let me show you what we are talking about.’ Paget reached into the side pocket of his bag and produced a glossy brochure. The front cover showed a drone in mid-air. Shiny and white, with the company name stencilled down its side followed by a digit: EuroVol~2, it was sleek and beautiful, more like a household item than a system for taking aerial photos. Four rotors held the machine aloft and two skid-like structures beneath formed the landing gear. ‘The current name for this model is the Moskito,’ Paget went on to explain. ‘but this particular batch was called the number two because it took the place of our first machine which is now no longer in development.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘I don’t know if it will help, but these six that were stolen are the only ones with this number, so there is no confusion with others. It was an important order and for us something of a trial production.’
‘In what way?’ Ruth asked.
He looked directly at her for the first time, and she felt his gaze assessing her, but not in a critical way. ‘The client is a film production company in Hollywood. They wanted a few refinements for technical reasons that only film studios think are important.’ He flashed a smile. ‘We have the same kind of people in France, believe me. They can be… difficult to work with, but we believe in rising to a challenge.’
‘What did they want?’
‘There were certain issues about stability in adverse wind or thermal conditions, dust- and water-proofing, payload concerns for cameras and a modification to the parachute system. As it happened, they were all dealt with very quickly as we had allowed for some modifications in our initial designs. Many of our earlier machines, and now of course, the Moskito, are used for disaster aid, capturing film footage of areas hit by floods and similar problems and even carrying small parcels such as vital medicines to places where aid convoys cannot go.’
Brasher lifted his eyebrows. ‘Did you say a parachute?’
Paget shrugged. ‘It’s true that if a machine fails, which can happen if certain conditions overcome the ability of the controller to keep it in the air, then it makes sense to try and rescue the machine. Otherwise, paff.’ He slapped both hands together. ‘They are expensive. So, a parachute is a way to avoid losing one.’
‘You say ‘certain conditions’ can bring them down. Like what?’
‘Violent wind gusts, unusually heavy rain, radio interference or simply a loss of signal because they have been flown too far from the controller and do not have a ‘Go home’ system, as some do. Even simple mechanical failure can happen if they have not been prepared correctly. I discounted that because we sell ready-to-fly machines – that is to say, all a client has to do on receipt is to assemble the rotors and skids, check the flight controller and video screen are powered up and that the signal is clear, and away they go.’
‘Excuse a dumb question,’ said Ruth, ‘but why the screen?’
‘Not dumb, I assure you. It gives a drone’s-eye view of where it is going, what it sees and, with the camera mounted on a gimbal, it gives the operator 360-degree vision.’
‘And the parachute?’ said Brasher.
‘You simply press a button on the flight control unit,’ Paget flicked over to a page showing a photo of the unit, ‘which activates a small gas-pressure cartridge to expels the parachute. Gravity does the rest. But instead of a parachute, the client asked for a modification.’
‘To do what?’ Ruth asked.
‘The original specification said that they wanted to use the machines for promotional purposes as well as for capturing camera footage. The modification required the facility to release colored smoke from the parachute canister. I told them smoke would not be possible, but our technicians came up with a solution which they liked even better. We suggested colored powder instead. The press of the button releases the canister lid and the powder is sucked out through vents in the side of the tube. Like smoke, only not.’ He lifted his hands in a typically Gallic shrug. ‘Crazy, non?’
‘Could this be used to scatter anything else apart from powder?’ said Ruth. ‘Like liquid in the form of a spray?’
Paget gave it some thought. ‘Yes, I suppose. It could be adapted to take a pressurised spray which would be released by the same mechanism, but it would depend on the weight. But who would do that, and why?’
If Paget was expecting an answer to that question, he was disappointed. Instead he was rewarded with a stunned silence as they all digested the implications of what he had described.
Brasher was the first to speak, and his voice sounded tense. ‘You said the answer to why your machines got stolen in the first place lay with the client. Do you mean somebody there might be responsible in some way?’
‘Not at all. I say that because it was discovered only yesterday that the studio has already sent out advance publicity showing our machines in an action movie they are producing. They created mock-up video trailers using our marketing footage of the Moskito in action, only instead of showing the drones taking camera footage, the studio had added computer generated imagery showing them dispersing smoke over a battlefield.’
‘Who could have seen that?’
‘Anybody who reads movie magazines or watches DVDs. Or they could have read the news on the studio’s own website and in various magazines. They made no secret of it because they wanted to capture the – what do you call it – the kudos of getting there first.’
‘And these stolen models – the Moskitos, Mr Paget – have they all got this modification to the parachute system?’
‘Yes. All.’
‘And they’re – what d
id you call it – ready to fly?’
‘RTF – yes.’
‘And what’s the possible payload?’
‘Almost two and one half kilos, or five pounds.’ He Paget glanced at his watch. ‘I am sorry, lady and gentlemen, but my flight…’
They all stood up and thanked him for his time. Then Ruth said, ‘One last question, M’sieur Paget. How difficult are they to fly for an amatuer?’
He pursed his lower lip. ‘It needs practice, and a basic knowledge of aerodynamics if you wish to be precise. But the greatest requirement in my opinion is manual dexterity and speed of reflexes.’ He bent and picked up his bag. ‘The best pilots in my experience are joueurs – kids who play lots of games like Playstation. Or professional pilots.’
‘How long would it take an expert to teach somebody?’
‘That is simple. In my opinion, if you have an expert, why waste your time with a student?’
* * *
After Paget had gone, the three of them sat staring into space. It didn’t take much imagination to see that they were on the brink of something potentially terrible… or nothing at all. The drones had either been stolen as a method of dispersing a gas, liquid or powdered substance in the air over a specific area, or had been acquired for sale on the black market by people who didn’t care about observing any rules or regulations.
But if it was the latter, why involve Chadwick?
‘Are we barking up a tree or what?’ Brasher said to the ceiling. ‘Does this sound like a dirty bomb threat to you?’
‘No, we’re not and yes, it does.’ Ruth felt a knot growing in her gut. In her experience, when it came to terrorism, if you considered what was possible from all the evidence available, no matter how fantastic, you’d be a fool to ignore it. Because terrorists didn’t allow second chances. They struck when they could and threw everything into the opportunity to make the maximum impact, even at risk to themselves.
The Drone Page 13
