Against All Odds

by Richard Bard

  “Uh, well, I’d like to, but you just had me cuff my hands to the rail, you stupid—”

  Farhad squeezed the trigger, and Bronson’s shoulder smacked hard into the wall. “Do it!”

  Bronson’s chest heaved from the shock of the flesh wound. Sweat beaded his forehead as he crouched and awkwardly ripped the prosthetics from his face. As the man stood back up, a faint rumble sounded over the monitor. The singer had just grabbed the microphone to address the audience. She paused, and looked toward a man beside the stage wearing headphones. He pressed his hands to his headphones, nodded, and then turned to the singer. He used his hands to pantomime exploding fireworks in the air, and then gave her a thumbs up. She shrugged, cued her band, and started singing. Blood dripped down Bronson’s arm, but he smiled. “Hmm, I wonder what that was?”

  Farhad checked his watch. All three swarms should be in the air and converging on the stadium in thirty seconds. The police and Secret Service agents outside the facility may have opened fire on them by now, and Ghazi would certainly be fighting back with the Pelican’s assault drone. But it was the Fourth of July, and the singer and spectators alike had probably brushed it off as bout of early fireworks.

  And perhaps that’s all it was.

  Still, the smug look on Bronson’s face sent chills up Farhad’s spine.

  ***

  Stunt training ranch

  “It worked!” I shouted, as the video feed from the Sparkler showed the last line of drones dropping from the sky.

  “Yes!” Ahmed cried, lifting his head a few inches. He winced, and immediately settled back on his pillow. Sarafina shook her head and patted his forehead with a washcloth.

  “Dio mio,” Mom said. “Is it really over?”

  “Not yet, it’s not,” Uncle Marshall said, putting his cell phone back on the table. “Lacey’s in the booth, but Jake got hung up downstairs. He should’ve been there by now, but neither the agent nor Jake is responding to calls. Something’s wrong.”

  “I’ll find him.” I set up a facial recognition search for my dad, scanning through all the camera streams throughout the stadium. I adjusted the tuning to allow for his disguise, but the settings were too broad. Pretty soon hundreds of similarly shaped faces were patchworked on the big screen.

  “He’s not there,” Mom said.

  “Can you not use your president’s face?” Little Star asked.

  Of course. My mind coded a combination search for both Dad and the president. But it came up with nothing, which at least confirmed the president was no longer in the stadium. As I struggled to come up with another idea, the computer beeped. I opened the associated window and saw a FedEx truck on the screen. It matched all the measurements I’d entered earlier on my modified vehicle search. I brought it up on the big screen and zoomed in.

  “That could be it,” Sarafina said. “It didn’t say FedEx before, though.”

  “Maybe…” Ahmed said.

  I found several other traffic cam images of the vehicle, each taken on streets around the stadium. The most recent timestamp was less than ten minutes ago. One of the images showed the front end of the vehicle, and when I zoomed in on the driver, Ahmed sat up. “It’s them!”

  ***

  In the tilt-rotor CV-22

  The CV-22 slowly transitioned to vertical flight mode as it approached the cemetery. Standing at the open side door, Tony saw smoke and flames licking at the van’s remains. The SEALs lingering nearby looked up as the aircraft settled into a hover at five hundred feet. The air smelled of smoke and gunpowder. One of the SEALs pumped his fist and Tony returned the gesture. He turned back inside.

  Kenny was focused on his joysticks. Tony watched the view from the Sparkler as it approached the CV-22 from the rear. “Opening ramp,” Kenny’s voice said over the comm net.

  Instead of the terse responses he used during critical flight ops, Cal gave a free and easy one. “Whatever you say. I suppose that means it’s time to switch to autopilot so your toy doesn’t nick my airplane on the way in the door. Gotta hand it to you, kid. That little sucker did the trick.”

  As the Sparkler neared the open ramp, Kenny mimicked Han Solo from the original Star Wars. “You’ve never heard of the Millennium Sparkler? It’s the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.”

  Tony grinned. All three hundred drones downed in less than five minutes. A few tangos were still unaccounted for, but now that the authorities could be brought in full swing, it was somebody else’s immediate problem.

  Marshall’s urgent voice interrupted his thoughts. “We’ve got a problem! We identified their command and control vehicle. It’s disguised as a FedEx truck and it’s been circling the stadium area. Sending data now. Last traffic cam location was at the intersection of Florence Ave. and West Boulevard on the northeast corner of the cemetery!”

  “Jesus,” Cal said. “That’s just off our port wing.”

  There was a glimmer in the sky beyond the Sparkler.

  “There are other drones out there!” Kenny shouted, shoving the joystick to one side. “Abort recovery! Get us out of here!”

  ***

  Neighborhood park north of the stadium

  Hadi paced behind the consoles in the truck, trying to steady himself. He’d stood by and watched as their three teams had been attacked. All six men were certainly dead, and every one of their drones destroyed. Every single one. On top of that, when Jamal checked in after leaving the stadium, he’d reported Farhad had remained inside to pursue the man Hadi should have killed. Damn you, Jake Bronson. He blew out a long breath. The battle was not over yet.

  Ebrahem’s finger hovered over his keyboard. “Ready for release.”

  Ghazi held the twin joysticks at his console, and Aasif beside him was doing the same. The brothers exchanged a look and nodded. They each lowered virtual-reality goggles over their eyes, and Ghazi said, “Release on my count. Three…two…one. Release.”

  The two Pelican drones circled a mile west of the tilt-rotor aircraft at an altitude of fifteen hundred feet, and all eight striker drones dropped from their bellies at the same time. The lead drone from each flight of four was being controlled by Ghazi and Aasif, and the other drones would follow their every move. Each was armed with C4. The screens switched to views from the lead attack drones. The tilt-rotor aircraft was hovering over the cemetery.

  “I’ll take out the EMP drone,” Ghazi said. “The big bird is yours.”

  “I’ll target one of the engine nacelles,” Aasif said as he adjusted his flight angle toward the aircraft.

  Ghazi’s screen view shifted to the black drone behind the aircraft as his attack drones raced toward it. The hexacopter swerved suddenly to one side and picked up speed. “Ha!” Ghazi snarled as he adjusted course. “You can run but you can’t hide.”

  The aircraft banked sharply as well, in the opposite direction. Apparently the pilots had just realized they were being attacked. The aircraft and the black drone filled the screens, and the attack drones did their work. Both screens went blank.

  “Boom,” Ghazi said softly.

  A beat later, explosions echoed from across the park. Ebrahem slaved the view on the main screen to the truck’s south-facing camera. They were half a mile away, but that was close enough to witness the flaming remnants of the black drone cascading like fireworks and the tilt-rotor aircraft descending rapidly. The crowds in the park watched, stunned for a moment. Then they began fleeing toward the parking lot. The three young men at the console exchanged glances. There were no high fives, no smiles.

  Hadi hoisted a pack onto his shoulder and motioned to Ghazi. “Let’s go.”

  Ghazi rose, stuffed his goggles into a backpack, and waited next to the rear door. Aasif looked at him, and the brothers traded tight-lipped nods.

  Hadi placed a palm on Ebrahem’s shoulder. “You know what to do. But don’t pull into position until the last possible moment. They are probably looking for this truck. If Allah wills it, we will see you in Las Ve
gas.”

  “Insha’Allah,” Ebrahem said.

  “We’re clear,” Ghazi said, pointing at the video screen over the rear door.

  Before opening the door to step out, Hadi turned to Ebrahem and Aasif and said, “I’m very proud of all of you. Allahu Akbar.”

  They replied in kind.

  ***

  Stunt training ranch

  “Body cameras?” Uncle Marshall asked into his cell phone. He was on the phone with Lacey. They were talking about trying to find Dad using a Secret Service locator system of some sort.

  I pulled at his shirtsleeve. “Put it on speaker.”

  “Hang on,” Uncle Marshall said into the phone. “I’m putting you on speaker. Alex is here. Well, we’re all here.”

  Lacey said, “Each agent has a miniature body cam on their tie—”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” a man’s voice said sternly. “That’s not a secure line and that’s classified information.”

  “Well, guess what?” Lacey said. “It’s not classified anymore. Besides, the man on the other end of this call has a need to know!”

  “What the hell’s going on?” Uncle Marshall asked.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but—”

  “Let it go, Fox,” another man’s voice ordered. “You can’t find him, for God’s sake. Maybe they can. Miss Hunter, put that thing on FaceTime. Let me talk to them. Is the boy with them?”

  Uncle Marshall’s phone beeped with a FaceTime request. He was about to accept it, but when he looked at me wearing the Spider, he muted the phone and said, “Quick. Take off the headset. Hide it. Go sit with your mom. Now!”

  The intensity in Uncle Marshall’s eyes left no room for debate. I bounced from the chair, tossed the headset under the table, and sat next to my mom. She put an arm around me. By the time I turned around, Uncle Marshall had taken my place at the laptop and linked his phone to it. He stared over at me. “Look glum,” he said, angling the laptop camera so Mom and I were visible behind him. When he accepted the FaceTime request, the caller’s image appeared on the laptop screen.

  “Mr. President?” Uncle Marshall asked. It was former president Jackson, Doc’s friend.

  “That’s right. Now listen up. The agent that’s missing with Bronson is wearing a body cam disguised as a tie clip. All the agents on location here are wearing them, and they’re designed with remote access for situations such as this. But our tech guys can’t seem to connect to Agent Hubbarth’s unit and we’re out of time here. Is that Bronson’s son sitting behind you? Alex? I’ve heard about what he can do.” The president raised his voice and craned his neck as if trying to get a better look at me. “Young man, can you help?”

  My mom’s arms tightened around me. She was trying to signal me, but it wasn’t necessary. I realized right away what Uncle Marshall was trying to do. I played my part. Letting a tear fall, I shook my head and snuggled deeper into Mom’s embrace.

  Uncle Marshall adjusted the laptop so the camera was solely on his face. As soon as he did so, I jumped off the couch, grabbed a pad of paper, and started writing. Being careful not to get in front of the camera, I slipped around the table opposite Uncle Marshall.

  “He lost his abilities, Mr. President,” he said sadly. “I’m sure you heard about the mountain in Ven—”

  “Stop,” the former president said. “Now that is classified. Speak no more of it to anyone. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Damn shame about the boy. But what about you? From what I’ve heard, you’re a computer whiz. Can you figure this out?”

  I held up the notepad. Uncle Marshall scratched his chin while he read it. “Of course I can. Here’s what I need.”

  ***

  Rams/Chargers stadium

  Even though the bullet had only grazed Jake’s shoulder, it hurt like hell. Blood soaked the sleeve of his suit jacket and dripped down his arm. Still, if it weren’t for the fact he was cuffed to the rail, the pain sure as hell wouldn’t have kept him from blasting a hole in the terrorist with the Colt .45, or choking the life out of him with his bare hands. Right now Farhad seemed more interested in what was happening on the video screen than he was in Jake. The terrorist glanced from the screen to his watch and back again, brow furrowed.

  “Something wrong, pal?” Jake asked.

  “Shut up.”

  “Let me guess. Right about now you’re wondering why three hundred drones haven’t blasted into the crowds out there, right?”

  Farhad’s nostrils flared. “You did this.” He pointed the pistol at Jake’s chest.

  Jake didn’t care. The man was going to kill him, or not. There wasn’t a thing Jake could do to stop him. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t about to whimper under the bastard’s threats. “Hell, yes, I did it. With a little help from my friends, who by now are sweeping up the rest of your little gang of misfits. You hope to make a point by killing innocent people? Children? You want the world to take notice? Well, guess what? The world has noticed. And more and more folks just like me are rising up every day to deal with it.” Farhad’s face reddened and he raised the pistol toward Jake’s face. “Do it. I won, you lost, end of story.”

  The moment stretched, but the muzzle flash to end his life didn’t happen. Instead, Farhad’s features relaxed and he lowered the weapon. “You think you’ve won? Ha! You hope to ride into your heaven the savior of innocents?” He sneered. “Oh no, my dear Mr. Bronson, you will die in the rubble of your own miserable failure, along with tens of thousands of others.” He pointed at the screen. “And you shall have a front row seat to witness it all. You see, I have friends as well, and by now I suspect they have introduced themselves to your allies.”

  Chapter 35

  In the tilt-rotor CV-22

  THE CV-22 BANKED SHARPLY, and Tony was thrown to one side. He smacked, shoulder first, into the webbed seating across from Kenny’s console, and a bolt of pain shot up his back. He grabbed one of the aluminum struts supporting the seats.

  “Incoming!” Kenny shouted over the comm net. The airframe twisted and shook as several explosions sounded outside. Tony’s gut went weightless for a moment, and outside the rear door, the horizon whirled as the plane got knocked into a flat spin.

  Cal’s voice was strained over the radio. “Power failure engine one! Recovering. But we’re goin’ in!”

  Tony hung on for dear life. The nose dropped for an instant, and then flared as Cal brought them out of the spin. The view stopped rotating but they were still coming down fast. Tony glimpsed a FedEx truck pulling to a stop at the cemetery’s entrance.

  Then the plane hit the ground hard. The world went black.

  ***

  Neighborhood park north of the stadium

  Hadi nodded in satisfaction at the smoke rising from the downed tilt-rotor aircraft. The EMP drone that had accompanied it was down as well, and that meant nothing could stop them now. He and Ghazi were hidden at the tree line at the edge of the park. The cemetery was directly across the four-lane road in front of them, and Aasif had parked the FedEx truck at the entrance gate less than fifty yards to their left. The park was still emptying behind them, people fleeing from the midair explosions, and for that same reason traffic on the road circling the cemetery was light. Applause and cheers from the distant stadium drifted over the scene. Hadi donned his headset.

  Ghazi sat on the ground beside him. His laptop was plugged into the VR goggles he wore, and he had a twin-joystick console on his lap. “I’m ready,” he said into his boom microphone.

  “Ready to launch,” Aasif’s voice said over Hadi’s headset.

  Ghazi said, “Remember to clear out of there as soon as the launch is complete.”

  “Copy that, brother. Ebrahem is standing by to open the roof now. As soon as the birds are clear, we’ll vanish and meet you in Las Vegas. Transferring control now.”

  “Control acquired,” Ghazi said. “Launch drones.”

  “Launching in three…two…one.”

  The t
ruck’s roof popped open, and a mass of drones climbed into the sky. Ghazi monitored the lead drone using his portable screen, ready to wrest control if it strayed off course. The other drones followed its track toward the open seam below the stadium’s sail-shaped dome. Once inside, the drones would operate autonomously, in the preprogrammed dance the team had practiced time and time again over the ranch. Farhad and Jamal had mapped the interior airspace over the stadium stands precisely, double- and triple-checking their measurements during the months they’d worked there. Using invisible laser-measurement tools synced to an app Ebrahem had programmed into their iPhones, they’d recreated the points in space over their ranch. The three hundred drones were to have come from the three vans. However, every good plan had a backup, so the FedEx truck housed an equal number of drones in the twelve-inch space created under its roof, and once they arrived inside the facility, the results would be the same.

  The entire sequence should play out autonomously, but too much had gone wrong today and they weren’t taking any chances. So in the event of a problem, Ghazi could take over from where he sat on the grass beside Hadi.

  Flexibility in battle was the key to success.

  ***

  In the tilt-rotor CV-22

  A slap on the face. A faint voice “Tony!” Another slap. “Wake up.”

  A second voice. “Slap him again.”

  Tony snapped his eyes open and caught Kenny’s wrist mid-swing. “I’m awake, dammit.” They were still in the plane.

  Cal hovered over him. “You okay?”

  Tony blinked, and pushed himself up. His head swam. “Hell no, I’m not okay. How long have I been out?”