by Richard Bard
I smiled. “There are a lot of trucks out there, but the one they’re using is unusually large for a step truck.”
“You’re an expert on trucks now?” Sarafina asked.
I shrugged. “Fifteen minutes ago I wasn’t.” I’d already hacked into the Caltrans traffic cam system, and was finishing up adding all the local cams in a five-mile radius around the stadium. I activated the search, and hundreds of tiny windows filled the laptop screen. Each time the software identified a possible match, that window automatically enlarged to a quarter of the screen as the program made a more detailed comparison of the target dimensions. One by one, the comparisons were eliminated as an exact match and the images were discarded. I sat back. “All we can do now is wait.”
Chapter 33
Neighborhood park north of the stadium
“PULL UP TO THAT GREENBELT,” Hadi ordered, ducking back into the main area of the truck with Ghazi and Ebrahem. Aasif was driving, and they needed him back inside at his station for the next phase. They’d circled the stadium complex a few times when they first arrived. Security was tight, but the crowds seemed to flow in and around the facility without any unexpected commotion. Farhad and his team had done their work well. Not only had Farhad and Jamal worked as contractors during construction of the massive facility, but they’d remained on the payroll as part-timers to stay abreast of developments as the big day approached. Hadi hadn’t liked that the two found it necessary to get back inside, but in the end it was the only way they could deliver their enemy the defeat they’d planned for so long. Ultimately, Hadi was proud that Farhad had become man enough to stand firm.
The truck pulled to a stop alongside Edward Vincent Park. The fifty-five-acre park had multiple playgrounds, baseball fields, tennis courts, and several picnic areas. It was packed with people, and even inside the truck Hadi could smell the smoke from the barbecue pits. The park was across the street from the cemetery where Tarik and Amir were positioned. Their white van could be seen in the distance via the feed from the truck’s south-facing camera.
Aasif stepped inside and took his place at the console. He donned his headset and glanced at his brother. “Are you ready for this?”
Ghazi smiled. “Everyone is in place. Five minutes and counting. I’ve already turned Pelican-1 around. It will be overhead in three minutes.” They’d launched both of the Pelicans early that morning in a remote area of the Palos Verdes peninsula, where they’d been loitering off the coast in unrestricted airspace to avoid undue attention. They were each armed with four attack drones.
Ebrahem placed a finger on his headphone and spoke into his microphone. “You’re faint but I read you. Go ahead.” He nodded twice. “Copy all. See you soon!” He turned to the others with a wide smile. “Farhad and Jamal have placed the recorder. They are on their way out.”
***
Rams/Chargers stadium
The president of the United States stared long and hard at Jake. He pointed his finger at Jake’s face. “You’ve caused quite a ruckus for this country.”
“Yes, Mr. President. I’m really sorry about that.” The president and first lady had met him and Lacey outside the basement elevator door, along with a crowd of Secret Service agents. Three agents had met Jake and Lacey earlier when they’d first arrived, turning away several stadium employees who’d gaped at seeing the first couple. While Lacey had garnered smiling glances in her role as the president’s wife, all Jake got was confused looks.
“Now listen up,” the president said. “Jackson has convinced me to trust you. I hope like hell he was right. If so, I’ll owe the two of you for placing yourselves in harm’s way in our stead. But if not…” He let the thought hang for a moment. “Well, let’s just say when this is all over, one way or another you and I are going to have a chat.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. President.”
The lead agent tapped his watch. “Mr. President, we’ve really got to go.”
The president nodded to the three agents who’d been given the task of shadowing Jake and Lacey as part of the ruse. “Hubbarth, take good care of ’em.” He gestured toward Jake. “And get that fixed.”
Jake frowned.
“Will do, sir.” The real president and first lady hurried down the corridor toward the rear of the complex. They’d be heading to the airport in a trio of nondescript armored vehicles, leaving their regular cavalcade of black SUVs in place to avoid revealing they’d departed.
Agent Hubbarth guided Lacey into the elevator. “You first, ma’am. Phillips and Mundy will escort you to the suite. The, uh…president and I need to make a quick stop in the restroom first.”
Lacey looked at Jake’s face and sighed. “I understand.”
Jake removed his dark glasses. “You do?”
She reached into her purse and handed the agent a small vial. “Use this, and please advise the president to stop squinching his face.” She winked at Jake, and the elevators closed. Jake gave Agent Hubbarth a questioning look.
The agent slapped the vial into Jake’s palm. “Your nose is coming loose. The restroom’s just over there.”
Jake followed the man toward the bathroom. “So, does this mean you’re willing to take a bullet for me or what?”
The agent’s eyes went flat. When he opened the bathroom door, he didn’t bother to clear the room. “I’ll wait out here.”
***
Farhad’s fists were clenched so tight his arms trembled.
“You must be mistaken,” Jamal whispered. “It couldn’t have been Bronson.”
“It. Was. Him.” Farhad and Jamal were pressed up against a wall in the tunnel corridor. They’d been on their way out of the complex when the Secret Service team told them to depart from a different exit. Before being ushered around the far corner of the corridor, Farhad had glimpsed the president and the first lady approaching the elevator. The sight had thrilled him. There would be no escape for America’s leader. Despite the setbacks from the day before, the pieces had fallen together perfectly. The attack was minutes away. Of course, that meant he and Jamal didn’t have time to hike to the alternate exit, so they’d waited until the commotion in the corridor died down. When he’d glanced around the corner, Farhad saw the president and one of his agents approach the restroom. Only it wasn’t the president. The man’s eyes gave him away.
“The breach!” Jamal said under his breath.
Farhad ground his teeth. “Bronson learned enough to know to be here.”
“We must launch immediately!”
Farhad pulled out his phone. “Still no bars.” The signal had died just as the agents turned them away, and Farhad suspected the president’s detail had temporarily disabled cellular service along the path he and the first lady had taken. He looked at Jamal. “Get outside as fast as you can. Warn the others. Get those drones in the air.”
“What about you?”
They’d killed a guard earlier to gain access to the room with the conduits they’d tapped into. The man’s body was hidden in a closet, but his pistol was tucked into the deep pocket of Farhad’s jumpsuit. “I have other plans, my friend. Now go!”
***
“Farhad and Jamal failed to respond to my countdown alert message,” Ebrahem reported. “I texted them with no response, and my follow-up call just went to voice mail.”
Hadi’s back muscles tightened. “Keep trying.” Farhad had already checked in once to report their task had been completed and they were heading out. By now they should have cleared the structure, and like the other teams, they were supposed to respond to Ebrahem’s countdown alerts. To not do so meant something was wrong. “Go to alert status Bravo. Inform all teams to stand by for possible immediate launch.”
Tension in the truck tripled as Ebrahem broadcast the message.
“Recall Pelican-2,” Hadi ordered.
“Already done,” Aasif said. “ETA three minutes.”
It could be a false alarm but Hadi was taking no chances. He wanted both Pelicans overhead ASA
P. “How close is Pelican-1?”
Ghazi studied his screen. “It will be overhead in forty-five seconds.”
Pelican-1 was coming in from the southwest. That meant she would be over team two first. “Recon each of the team locations first. It should be coming up on your house first.”
“Diverting.”
Pelican-1’s distant view of the stadium swiveled toward the Hawthorne Municipal Airport. Ghazi centered the image on the house a couple of blocks west of the runway. Hadi saw the van parked in front of the rear garage as planned. As the Pelican drew closer, only the house and immediate surrounding neighborhood filled the screen. And that was when Hadi saw the sniper splayed out on the industrial building across the alley.
“Launch, launch, launch!”
***
Neighborhood south of the stadium
Crouched behind the brush in the corner of the yard, Walt checked his watch. The cavalry’s specialized EMP drone would be over the stadium in sixty seconds. As soon as it was in place, Tony would issue—
“Movement,” Marlow’s voice sounded in Walt’s headset. “They’re rolling their windows down.”
Walt edged from cover to check the van, and everything happened at once. A pair of objects flew out either window. Flash bangs exploded and rattled his senses. Smoke spewed into the air. Two terrorists spilled out the doors and rolled to their knees with assault weapons on full auto.
Walt dove to one side as rounds whipped past him. He heard return fire from his team, and saw the van’s roof had popped up on hinges. Drones swarmed out the opening. “Frag out!” he shouted, pushing to his knee and firing his launcher. The blast lifted the van into the air. The vehicle had not yet retouched the ground when his second round impacted it, flipping the vehicle onto its side. The third round burst into the underbelly in a mighty explosion.
His hearing was shot, but the muzzle flashes from the smoke had ceased. Walt held fire and stared at the retreating drones. He spoke into the headset, unsure if anyone would hear him. “Bravo compromised. Drones are away. I repeat, drones are away!”
***
Warehouse district west of the stadium
“Breach. Breach!” Snake’s voice shouted over Ripper’s headphone.
Ripper blew the breach charge just as several explosions and automatic gunfire sounded from inside the warehouse. Rounds zipped through the doorway. The metal door had been blown from its hinges, with smoke spewing out the opening. Paco took one to the chest and went down hard. Vasquez pulled him to the side.
“Get off me, vato,” Paco said, his voice strained. “The round got my plate.” One of the steel plates in his ballistic vest. He unclipped a flash bang. “Ready?”
Vasquez nodded, and they both tossed flash bangs inside. A second later they were through the door, assault rifles pressed into their shoulders as they laid down covering fire. They split, and Ripper slid in between them, raising the RPG to his shoulder. The warehouse was filled with smoke, but they’d been prepared to enter a darkened space so their weapons had infrared scopes. The outline of the van was clear, as was that of drones snaking out through an open skylight. The two tangos went down under bursts from Ripper’s teammates. He squeezed the trigger on the RPG. The blast ripped the van to shreds and felled dozens of drones. But not all of them.
“It looks like half the drones made it out,” Snake reported on Ripper’s headset. “They’re racing low along the alley as expected. Moving fast. I’ve got no shot from here without risking collaterals.” From his elevated position, Snake’s sniper rounds would blast right through the swarm and into the neighboring buildings.
“We’re on ’em!” López reported, and Ripper heard blasts from the shotguns wielded by the three men positioned along the alley.
***
Neighborhood south of the stadium
“Reloading!” Pete’s shout was muffled beneath his motorcycle helmet. He ducked back into the limo. Skylar adjusted her aim and took over.
“Damn, they just keep on coming,” she said, squeezing off one round after another. As they’d expected from Jake’s intel, the line of drones was speeding straight at them, and each blast with the shotgun took two or three down. But the drones were too fast, and the swarm was directly overhead now. She fired again. Shrapnel rained down on her and plinked off her helmet. “I thought those SWAT boys would’ve taken out at least a few of them.”
“Hell, girl,” Pete yelled from inside the limo. “Give ’em credit. The drones launched early and they likely took out a third of ’em anyway.”
“Empty,” Skylar shouted. “They’re getting past us.”
“Coming up,” Pete said. He rapid-fired at the trailing drones. A few more dropped from the sky, but a large number continued on.
***
In the tilt-rotor CV-22
The CV-22 raced toward the stadium. “Jesus,” Tony shouted. “By the time we get there, the party will be over.”
“The van is toast!” Sam said over the comm net. He was reporting for Charlie team at the cemetery, and Tony heard automatic gunfire in the background. “Tangos eliminated, but a lot of the drones got loose. We’re taking some down but the rest are screaming toward the stadium. Should we pursue?”
“Negative, Charlie,” Kenny said. “Steer clear and shut down your electronics immediately. Sparkler is making its run now.” The SEALs were fairly close to the target zone, so there was potential for the circuitry of their equipment to be fried from the pulse.
“Understood. Charlie out.”
Tony watched the Sparkler’s video feed at Kenny’s console. The drone was moving at top speed at an altitude of one thousand feet, and the stadium was looming closer. Kenny zoomed on the cemetery. Targeting squares popped up around each of the drones. The computer counted forty-two targets crossing the street and heading over the parking lot toward the north entrance to the stadium.
“Targets identified,” Kenny said. “Powering up. Firing in three…two…one…”
There was no explosion. No fanfare. One second, the line of drones was racing across the sky, and the next every one of them simply dropped to the ground.
“Recharging,” Kenny said calmly. The view on the screen shifted to the west. “Acquiring targets.”
The line of drones was traveling up Arbor Vitae Street toward the south end of the complex. There was a lot of traffic here, and people along the sidewalks pointed up at the sky. Collateral damage was unavoidable. The drones would fall, but cars, streetlights, and cell phones would also stop functioning. When Kenny took out the fifty-seven targets, people scattered, cars jerked to a stop, and there were several rear-end collisions. The damages appeared slight, at least from Tony’s elevated point of view, and assuming none of the pedestrians was struck by a falling drone, he figured injuries would be minor.
“Recharging,” Kenny said. He turned the drone toward the Hawthorne Municipal Airport, and the Sparkler immediately identified the thirty-nine drones on its flight path over the neighborhoods south of the stadium. “Firing in three…two…one.”
The drones dropped, and just like that, it was over.
Chapter 34
Rams/Chargers stadium
A few minutes earlier
FARHAD WAITED FOR THE ELEVATOR DOOR to begin closing before slipping inside with his pistol drawn. Bronson and the agent froze. “Not a sound. Not a twitch,” Farhad said. “Raise your hands.” They complied. He watched their eyes. Farhad knew both of them were waiting for a moment to strike, but he wasn’t going to give them one. As soon as the elevator door hissed closed, he fired a round into the agent’s forehead and swiveled the weapon on Bronson before the man could blink. “You’re fast, Jake Bronson, but my trigger finger is faster. I’ll have two bullets in you before you touch me.” He fired into the domed camera overhead and re-leveled the pistol.
The agent’s body had slid down the wall into a seated position, his head canted, dead eyes unfocused. Bronson looked down at the body with a pained expression. “You s
on of a bitch.”
“One down, tens of thousands to go.” Moving quickly, without taking the pistol off Bronson, Farhad used his free hand to pull his employee facility keys from his pocket. He unlocked the elevator service panel, glanced at the internal display, and was relieved to confirm the overhead camera had been switched off before he entered the elevator. He’d assumed that was the case since the Secret Service wouldn’t want their activities with a fake president and first lady being witnessed or recorded. Farhad flicked a switch and the elevator stopped between floors—without activating the alarm. It was a task Farhad had performed many times as part of the maintenance crew.
The oversized elevator had a display monitor embedded above the floor-button panel. It was synced to the displays in the stadium, which right now streamed images of pop star Miley Cyrus walking toward the stage to applause and cheers. Farhad motioned with the pistol. “Keep your hands raised.”
“Farhad, right? Hasn’t your tribe learned its lesson yet? You keep sending people over here to make trouble, and me and my crew simply wipe ’em out. I guess you’re next.”
Blood rushed to Farhad’s face, and he had to fight to keep from pistol-whipping the man. But his training took over and he held his position. “Nice try,” he said, crouching down and retrieving the agent’s handcuffs. He tossed them at Bronson’s feet. “Pick them up. Cuff yourself to the handrail.”
Bronson did as he asked. “This is your big plan? To kill me in an elevator?” Bronson’s phone chirped.
“Ignore it.”
A buzz came from the agent’s body. Farhad pulled open the man’s jacket and switched off the radio battery attached to his belt. The man’s team would wonder why the agent hadn’t responded, but it was only the first call. Farhad still had plenty of time before they came looking for him. After all, the Secret Service knew Bronson was a fake. “Pull that foolish makeup from your face.”
