Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone

by T. R. Harris

  Xander, Billy and Tiffany gathered near the dining table. “What now?” Tiffany asked. “You heard Homeland Security is on the way.”

  “I guess that depends on whether or not I end up behind bars,” Xander replied.

  “Don’t sweat it, buddy,” Billy said emphatically. “The story that’s being spread is that you fought government agents in Idyllwild. Our guests here blow that narrative all to pieces. The rest will fall into place. I think you—and your gorgeous friend here—can relax now. I’ll make sure the Feds take good care of you.”

  Billy then turned to glare at the men who had shot up his house. “Do you guys have any idea what you’ve done to my resale value?”

  “Boo, hoo, spoiled little rich kid,” said Damien Winslow.

  “Hey! Look over there!” Billy suddenly called out, pointing toward the front door. All heads turned in that direction—and that’s when Billy planted a heavy right cross to Damien’s jaw.

  The police turned back when they heard the hard clap. A tense moment passed … until Sergeant Espinosa flashed a thin smile. “Okay, let’s get these guys out of here. It’s the least we can do for the homeowner and his guests, after they did our job for us.”

  Billy was rubbing his hand when he leaned in close to Xander and whispered: “You know, I’ve never hit anyone before, but I may learn to like it.”

  ********

  An hour later, Billy’s home was still a crowded mess, but this time with agents from Homeland Security and the FBI, along with a dozen military personnel dispatched from the nearby Miramar Marine Air Station.

  “You want us to go where?” Xander asked, confused by what he’d just been told.

  “Washington, D.C.,” replied a stern, blond-haired man in a blue suit and striped tie. “A van’s outside to take you to Miramar. From there you’ll take a corporate jet to the East Coast.”

  “What are we supposed to do when we get there?” Tiffany asked, after having been informed that she was now part of the you being referred to.

  “That’s above my paygrade, Ms. Collins. I’m just following orders. And by the way, I’m a big fan. I watch you all the time on T.V.”

  “Thank you, Mister…”

  “Cain. Adam Cain, ma’am. Now, if all of you will follow me, the plane’s waiting.”

  “What about a change of underwear?” Billy asked.

  Cain smiled. “Everything will be provided for you, and all at government expense.”

  Billy laughed and waved a hand around at his oversize living room. “Hell, all of this was provided at government expense, so in that case, lead on, Mr. Adam Cain.”

  Two hours later they were aboard a military Learjet, crossing over the Grand Canyon and heading east at over six hundred miles per hour. The plush executive aircraft offered wide, leather seats that folded out into full-length beds, and it wasn’t long before all three of the passengers were sound asleep.

  Chapter 18

  It was already ten in the morning East Coast time on December thirteenth when the jet arrived at Andrews Air Force Base, in the southeastern part of Washington D.C. Surprisingly refreshed by their four-hour naps, the trio boarded another gray military van for the short ride into the city.

  Although the back of the van was windowless, Xander was able to see through the front windshield that they were skirting along the length of the Washington Mall and passing the buildings that made up the Smithsonian Institution. He had spent three years in the D.C. area working for DARPA, before moving to the RDC and the dry desert of southern Nevada. The resurrected memories of his time here brought a chuckle to his lips.

  He was in his early twenties at the time, handsome and well-paid, which gave him access to all the prurient pleasures the nation’s capital had to offer. He’d shared an apartment in Georgetown with another of the DARPA studs, and the two men made it a habit of tearing up the city nearly every Friday night until early Monday morning, spending money and breaking hearts like there was no tomorrow. By the time the duo broke up, they had become minor legends within the Districts’ under-thirty social crowd.

  He chuckled again, thinking how David Charlton had ended up falling in love with a waitress from Applebee’s, and as of five years ago lived in Manassas with Janis and their four children. He’d left DARPA and now managed a Best Buy not far from his modest suburban home.

  Xander’s nostalgic reverie was broken when the van hit a dip, entering a dark, underground parking garage. He couldn’t see well through the front window anymore, but it seemed that the van spent an inordinate amount of time driving deeper into the structure than was necessary. When the vehicle finally did come to a stop, the rear doors were opened from outside and two Navy MPs stepped aside to let them exit.

  Xander had no idea where they were, since this part of D.C. was home to countless government entities, some which most Americans didn’t even know existed. In light of the crisis taking place across the country, this building could house any one of a dozen national security agencies. What this no-name organization wanted from the three of them was anyone’s guess.

  They were photographed and then immediately handed temporary ID badges that hung around their necks on silver chains, before being shuffled into a guarded elevator for a ride to an unmarked floor. While in the elevator, Xander couldn’t tell whether they were going up or down.

  When the door slid open, more guards greeted them, along with an expressionless man in a gray suit and glasses. “Welcome, Mr. Jenkins,” he said, extending a hand to Billy. Then the suit turned to Xander and Tiffany. “And you, too, Mr. Moore and Ms. Collins.” The slighted pair exchanged hurt looks, feeling like afterthoughts to the man in the gray suit. “If you will follow me, I have some papers for you to sign before we can go any further.”

  “Papers?” Tiffany inquired.

  “Non-disclosure affidavits, Privacy Act and national security disclosures—you know, the usual.”

  “Usual for some people…” Tiffany pointed out. “Just where are we?”

  The man stopped and turned to the reporter, locking a laser-like glare on her blue eyes. “I have been authorized to inform you—all of you—that if you do not wish to continue you are free to leave right now. You will be escorted out of the building and moved to a hotel until a return flight to California can be arranged.”

  Billy squeezed Tiffany’s arm. “Relax, sweetheart. I have a pretty good idea where we are. This is just their S.O.P.”

  The man continued to stare at Tiffany, waiting for her reaction. When she didn’t move towards the elevator, the man turned on his heel and led them down a short hallway to a large, wood-paneled conference room.

  The next ten minutes were spent signing forms without letterheads, and when it was done, no copies were provided. Then, as if on cue, the door opened and an older, balding man in a short-sleeve, button-down shirt strode in.

  “Welcome, all of you … to DARPA.”

  “Why all the secrecy, Nathan?” Billy asked as he shook the man’s hand. “DARPA isn’t exactly unknown, and I can look up your current projects roster online.”

  “Those are the projects we want you to know about, Billy. They’re the ones we hope our adversaries will try and emulate, just so they’ll throw millions, even billions of dollars, at high-cost, low-yield projects. What we do here are the projects we don’t want anyone to know about.”

  “Nathan” turned to Tiffany. “Ms. Collins, I understand you feel a responsibility to your profession to reveal all, but I assure you, that by doing so you will cause the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of innocent people. Some things need to be kept secret, and that’s not out of some sinister purpose to do evil. It’s to keep others from either learning what we know, or building effective defenses against our advances. I hope you understand.”

  “After the past few days I’ve had, it’s my sincere hope that you have some answers to all the crap that’s been happening. Having gotten a glimpse behind the curtain, I’m feeling pretty damn hopeless and discouraged r
ight about now.”

  The man Billy called Nathan shook his head. “I can’t say we have all the answers, but we’re getting close.” Nathan turned to Xander and shook his hand. “I was with DARPA when you worked here, Mr. Moore, yet we never crossed paths. I am, however, very familiar with your work, both here and at the RDC. Welcome.”

  “I should have known,” Xander said with a smile. “But I must admit, I’m relieved. I have more confidence in DARPA running things than I do the military.”

  “Oh, we’re not running things, Mr. Moore. As a matter of fact, I don’t think anyone is at this time. We’re still trying to gather our wits about us and devise a plan. Now, if you’ll come with me, I’d like to take all of you for a little tour, at least of the departments pertinent to your areas of expertise.”

  As they entered the outer hallway and a second elevator, Nathan turned to Xander. “I’m terribly sorry for what happened to the RDC. I’m sure you lost quite a few friends in the attack.”

  “I appreciate that, Nathan, but even after the flight out here I’m still pretty much in the dark about the full extent of the damage.”

  “Your people are back in control—you probably knew they would be since the lifespan of a UAV is so limited. Yet, as you may also suspect, the damage to your capabilities is extensive. Some command and control is being switched to the old stations at Nellis and Creech, although they’re going to require weeks of upgrading just to get basic communications going again with your remaining bunkers. Tindall Air Force Base in Florida has assumed some other control, as well as the NSA and the CIA.”

  “The NSA?” Tiffany asked. “What do they have to do with drone operations?”

  “Nothing, really, Ms. Collins, it’s just that they have some of the most-advanced communication equipment on the planet. What’s needed at this time is a way to access the RDC’s surviving drones and deploy them in defensive roles.”

  “What about pilots?” Xander asked. “Did very many survive? I was under the impression it was a near total wipeout.”

  The elevator stopped and the four passengers exited into another hallway. A four-seater golf cart was waiting and they all climbed in, with Nathan driving, Billy in the passenger seat, and Xander and Tiffany in the back.

  “Thirty-nine of your pilots survived, and you might be happy to learn that one of your team was among them, Charlie Fox. He was surfing at the time of the attack.”

  “And David Lane?”

  “I’m afraid not. He was home at the time.”

  “He has a wife and daughter.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You seem pretty-well informed, Nathan,” Tiffany said. “What exactly is your association with the RDC?”

  Nathan smiled and glanced over at Billy. “Oh, I have no affiliation with the RDC. It’s just that since the attack I’ve been drafted into providing advice regarding our drone response and countermeasures. Some general at the Pentagon is the actual supreme commander of drone operations now, but he’s apparently smart enough to know when experts are needed. I’ve been given tactical command over our recovery and response.”

  “And what about the drone attacks?” Xander asked. “Are they continuing?”

  “Unabated, I’m afraid, although a pattern has appeared.”

  “What kind of pattern?” Billy asked.

  “A possible motive for the attacks.”

  Billy looked over his shoulder at Xander in the seat behind Nathan. “I thought revenge was the motive?” Billy said.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that, although we understand the link between Jonas Lemon and the RDC. That’s something we’re pursuing, along with Abdul-Shahid Almasi and his own reasons for hating the United States.”

  “So what is the motive?” Tiffany prodded.

  “Economic upheaval.”

  “That goes without saying, dude,” Billy said.

  “Even so, there’ve been an extraordinary number of attacks on malls and online delivery outlets. Someone is doing their best to make sure the U.S. economy screeches to a halt. But the question we need answered is who benefits from a collapsing U.S. economy?”

  “With how interdependent the world’s economies are these days, it doesn’t appear anyone could benefit,” Tiffany offered.

  “What about the terrorist groups and their sponsors?” Xander asked.

  It was Tiffany who answered. “Countries like Iran and Syria sell an awful lot of oil to first-world countries, including the U.S. If we go under, there would be such a glut of oil on the market that their economies would also collapse. And other countries are debtor nations, dependent on our ability to repay our loans or make good on bond interest payments. That’s why it doesn’t make sense for there to be any attacks against America. Without us, the whole planet goes under.”

  “And yet the terror organizations, under the sponsorship and protection of these legitimate nations, are hitting us left and right. That seems to go against the argument you just made,” Xander countered.

  “Most people don’t actually believe America can be defeated, especially not through terrorist activity. The sponsor nations believe this, too, so they use these organizations to advance a political agenda, while at the same time enjoying the benefits of a prosperous United States. Something has changed, however, if the terrorists are being allowed to continue. It’s common knowledge that Bin Laden was terrified when he saw the towers come down on 9/11. That was so far beyond what he’d been expecting, and a world united against Al Qaeda was something he wasn’t prepared for. The first few years after 9/11 were the worst for international terrorism, up until everyone saw that America was going to come out just fine after the attack. That’s also when politics took over and once again began to dictate U.S. military operations.”

  “So you’re saying the terrorists involved in these attacks are not under the control of their traditional masters, that someone else is pulling their strings?”

  The golf cart had stopped in front of a large, double swinging-door, but no one was getting out, not until this line of conversation was concluded.

  Tiffany had been thinking aloud throughout most of her dissertation, carrying events to their logical conclusion. “I guess I am,” she said at last. “Even though Almasi and Lemon may have planned the attack on the RDC, that operation was limited in scope. It’s what’s happening now that doesn’t make sense.” She looked at Nathan No-Last-Name and saw him smiling, a slight squint in his eyes.

  “It would have to be another entity that is more-or-less isolated from the world economy, yet still powerful enough to fill the void left by a weakened America.” Her eyes grew wide as she saw Nathan give her a nod.

  “Russia!”

  “Excellent, Ms. Collins,” said Nathan. “That’s our belief as well. In recent years, following the tragic events in the Ukraine and other Baltic states, Putin and his successor, Marko, have been hoarding oil and other natural resources. They’ve also increased their gold supplies and linked the value of the ruble to the commodity. In sort, they’ve created an almost independent economy apart from the rest of the world. By destroying the U.S. economy, they not only take us out of the game, but also China, Japan, and most of Europe. The only financial superpower left standing would be Russia, ready with assistance to whomever comes knocking.”

  “At a very high price,” Tiffany added.

  “The highest.”

  “Isn’t that an act of war?” Billy asked. “The Russians may not have soldiers on the ground, but they’re the puppet-masters for those controlling the drones.”

  “And what would you have us do, Billy?” Nathan asked. “The links to what’s happening are tenuous at best. We have no hard evidence. And with the ripple effect the attacks are having, it’s only a matter of days before we reach critical mass. The dominoes will fall as stock markets crash, loans default, and panic sets in. This will be Greece fifteen years ago all over again, only a thousand times worse.”

  “That’s if the attacks continue
and the people don’t regain confidence in the country again,” Xander said. “I hope that’s why you’ve brought us here, Nathan, to show us that DARPA has found the solution to our drone problem.”

  Nathan slid out of the driver’s seat. “Why don’t we go take a look? As I said earlier, we’re getting close.”

  “Close would imply you need more time,” Xander pointed out. “And that is something we don’t have.”

  ********

  “That’s it?” Disappointment was evident in Billy’s voice. “And then you’d have to have scramblers set up within, what, five miles or so of an attack?”

  Nathan seemed to be genuinely hurt by Billy’s reaction. “I said it wasn’t perfect, but it’s a start.”

  Xander picked up the small plug-in module known as a killbox. “Over ninety percent of attack drones have these attached to their flight controllers. If they can be neutralized, that does put us ahead of the game.”

  “I realize that, but if what you’re saying is true, we don’t have time to deploy scramblers all across the country in time to save Christmas.”

  Xander turned to the scientist. “How far along are you on this technology?”

  Nathan nodded, sending a scowl in Billy’s direction. “This isn’t something we just started working on a couple of days ago. This has been an ongoing project for several years, ever since the killboxes first showed up. Fortunately, there’s only three facilities that make the little bastards, so we’re not dealing with a lot of component variety.”

  “So take out the factories,” Tiffany offered. “I’m sure no one is going to squawk much considering what’s happening now.”

  “That’s already underway,” Nathan said. “But that won’t stop the UAVs already equipped with the modules. And to answer your question, Xander, we have a way to tap into cell tower transmissions and blanket just about any area in the country within seconds with our suppressor signal. However, when we do, certain frequencies are disrupted, if not completely jammed.”