Ring of Fire

by Brad Taylor

  Jennifer elbowed me in the side, but it worked. He pulled out his badge and handed it to me. I said, “Follow me out, and make sure they can see that earpiece.”

  I turned and cut through the line, saying, “I apologize, folks. I’m from the FAA, and we’ve had complaints that this helicopter hasn’t made its required maintenance. I can’t let you get on it until we do a test flight.”

  That was enough for the mothers. The thing looked dangerous enough as it was, and there was no way a mother would let her children get on it with the FAA saying it’s not airworthy. The person booking the tours jumped up and said, “That’s bullshit!”

  I reached the helicopter, and the pilot said, “What are you doing? Those people are in front of you.”

  I flashed the badge and said, “Secret service. We need to use your helicopter to find a threat against the president of the United States. I can’t order you to do it, but I’m hoping you’ll want to do it out of patriotism. You’ll be paid for the time lost.”

  A huge grin spread across his face, and I thought he was going to start weeping with joy. He said, “Get in, get in!”

  Next to him were only two seats. I said, “These women are secret service; they’ll be doing the spotting.” I was thinking, No damn way will I get in this death trap.

  His grin became wider, if that was possible. “Well, come on, gals!”

  Thirty seconds later, the rotors were turning, and they were off. I went back out to the van and said, “Stage on the exit for the Yorktown parking lot so you can react quickly both north and south. If they find something, no mercy. If you can capture one of them alive, that would be great, but you won’t hear me crying if you’re forced to pop both of them.”

  Knuckles said, “You got it,” and slid the van door closed. Veep pulled away, and I turned to the secret service agent. “What tools do you have to defend against a commercial drone attack?”

  84

  Tariq saw the woods open up ahead of him and felt relief. He didn’t want to show it, but he found the tangle of brush and trees to be a little claustrophobic. Even though their car was only about a hundred meters behind them, and they were on a gravel trail, he was afraid of getting lost.

  They reached a small opening, that, strangely enough, had three rows of benches facing the trees, as if they were used for some type of performance, but there was no stage. Just more woods. Tariq couldn’t fathom a reason for them to be there. He swatted a mosquito, cursing the infernal bugs; then he heard Anwar say, “Is that it?”

  Tariq looked up and saw a wooden ramp leading to a platform with rails. Beyond it was the water of the Charleston Harbor. “Yes, that’s it.” Finally.

  They climbed up the ramp, and Tariq saw that the platform wasn’t on the water’s edge, but set back, with about seventy meters of salt marsh between the viewing stand and the water.

  Anwar placed the drone on the platform and opened up the control box, a plastic briefcase like something out of James Bond. Both the lid and the casing housed a video screen, with the lower screen having two joysticks to the left and right at the base, and various switches and dials on either side.

  Tariq opened a cheap canvas beach bag, saying, “You want the bomb?”

  “No. I want to test it first. Make sure the software I installed works. You got the sign I made in the bag?”

  Tariq pulled out a section of cardboard that Anwar had cut from the shipping box. In the center of it he’d drawn a black anarchy symbol with thick permanent marker.

  Anwar began manipulating the controller, going through his preflight routine, powering up the processor. He began tapping things on the touch screen as fast as a bartender at happy hour.

  Tariq grew bored watching and checked his Wickr account yet again. He’d expected Jalal to contact him by now and was beginning to worry that he, too, had been lost in Norfolk. He heard the whopping of the blades from the tour helicopter and joked, “Don’t run into that thing. It’ll be back overhead in ten minutes.”

  Anwar missed the humor, saying, “They won’t let that anywhere near the US president.”

  Tariq didn’t bother to say he was kidding, returning to his phone. Minutes later, he was startled when the blades of the drone began spinning. Anwar did something with the controls, and the drone shot up in the air. Tariq watched it flit left and right and saw the childlike grin on Anwar’s face. He made the drone fly low and fast over the ocean, then abruptly sent it to the right, then left.

  He said, “This thing turns on a dime. Much, much better than that drone I had in Nevada.”

  He released the controls and said, “Time to test the GPS guidance.”

  The drone rose to treetop height and skated through the air directly at them, flying faster than Tariq would have thought possible.

  It reached a point ten feet above their heads and hovered, the blades creating a downdraft of wind. Anwar said, “So, manual controls are fine. GPS is fine. Let’s check out the recognition software.”

  He sent the drone back out over the water, then said, “Hold up the sign high, over your head.”

  Tariq did, and Anwar used the onboard camera to find it, zooming in until the sign filled his upper screen. He went to the lower touch screen and tapped it once, twice, three times. He said, “Ready?”

  Tariq nodded, and Anwar tapped the screen a final time. The drone began streaking toward their location just as it had before, but this time at an angle, headed straight for the sign.

  Tariq said, “Will it stop?” When he didn’t receive an answer, his voice became shrill. “Anwar!”

  At the last second, he dove to the ground, hearing Anwar laugh. He looked up, and the drone was hovering five feet off of the deck.

  Tariq stood, brushing himself off, and Anwar landed the drone, saying, “I had a five-foot buffer for the test. For the real thing, I’ll set the buffer to zero.”

  Tariq said, “I didn’t find that amusing. Quit acting like a child.”

  Anwar nodded and said, “Hand me the bomb now.”

  Tariq pulled out the contraption Anwar had built, full of plungers and silver tubes sticking out of a ball of mud-colored explosive mix. Anwar began seating it in the secondary platform next to the camera, saying, “It’s too bad we have to have the camera for the recognition software. It prevented me from packing this thing with nails and screws.”

  “Why?”

  “Too much weight. Everything’s a trade-off.”

  When he was done, the ball rested below the housing of the drone and was about the same size. Anwar said, “Perfect,” and Tariq said, “Shhh!”

  “What?”

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Anwar became quiet. Tariq heard two people talking, coming closer. He saw Anwar reach behind his back and pull out a large revolver.

  Tariq hissed, “Where did you get that?”

  “I bought it on the streets of LA, in that dump of a neighborhood you left me in.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “They can’t be allowed to see us. After this, there will be a manhunt like no other, and if they give our description, we won’t make it out of the city.”

  A man and a woman appeared at the base of the ramp, pushing mountain bikes. They leaned them against a tree, then turned to the ramp, only noticing the two on the platform when they were halfway up.

  The man said, “Hello?”

  Anwar shot him in the chest. The woman screamed and began running down the trail. Anwar gave chase, leaving Tariq behind, frozen. The man on the deck said, “Help me”; then bloody froth came out of his mouth. A second shot rang out, causing Tariq to jump, startled.

  Anwar came running back to the platform, jogging up out of breath. He reached the wounded man and fired another round, this one into his head. Tariq was shocked at the violence.

  Anwar stepped over the man, and Tariq shou
ted, “What are you doing?”

  Surprised, Anwar said, “Allah’s will. Killing infidels wherever I find them. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

  Tariq knew then there was a difference between the men he facilitated and himself. He’d engineered the attacks but never really understood the carnage because he’d never seen it up close.

  Anwar said, “What time is it? Can I launch? Someone may have heard those shots.”

  Tariq looked at his watch and saw it was a quarter past ten. The president would be speaking now. “Yes. Let’s do it and get out of here.”

  Anwar launched the drone into the air, and Tariq followed it with his eyes until it was lost over the trees.

  85

  Knuckles heard the faint popping of the rotor blades change pitch and knew the helicopter was making another pass. He had just about given up hope. Jennifer and Carly had overflown every square inch of open terrain, circling the multitude of soccer and baseball fields, overflying the tennis courts, and then had surveyed anything that could be used as a launch point, going so far as to travel across the Ravenel Bridge to Waterfront Park just on the other side.

  They’d found nothing.

  Now they were starting a grid search of the golf course, trying to find a drone operator among the numerous pedestrians playing on the course. It was a futile endeavor.

  He heard the blades pitch again, signaling a course change, and his earpiece came to life.

  “Knuckles, Knuckles, this is Koko. Jackpot. I say again, jackpot.”

  Everybody in the van bolted upright at the call. Knuckles said, “Give me a lock-on.”

  “They’re on a viewing platform at the edge of the water, through the woods. It’s too hard to explain, but I know it. Pike and I have run that trail before.”

  Off the radio, he said, “Start the van. Kit up.”

  To her, he said, “Give me something.”

  “Go to the golf course. It’s your first right through the traffic circle.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I’ll meet you.”

  Knuckles thought, Huh? But he said, “Go, go, go!”

  Veep raced down the asphalt, hitting the traffic circle at a high rate of speed, skidding through it and bouncing the right two tires over the curb. He cranked the wheel hard and lined back up, and Knuckles saw the helicopter in the middle of the road, rotors turning. Veep pulled outside the danger zone of the rotors and stopped. Knuckles slid open the van door and saw a car farther down on the shoulder. He ran around the front of the van, seeing the pilot grinning stupidly and holding a thumbs-up. It was probably more excitement than he’d ever experienced in his life.

  Jennifer and Carly came scurrying around the nose, hunched over until they were clear, then sprinted toward him. Knuckles said, “Where do we go?”

  She pointed at a historical marker and said, “There’s a gravel trail right next to that sign. It threads through the woods for about a hundred meters, ending at a viewing platform for the harbor. Two guys were on that platform, and there was a drone out over the water. We missed them initially because it looks like a wood line.”

  “How will I know I’m close? Is there anything that I can use to determine that? I don’t want to be just as surprised as they are.”

  “You want me to lead? I can stop fifty meters out. I remember the trail drops down and turns right.”

  “Yeah, but don’t fuck it up. We have the big guns, and I don’t want to answer to Pike if you get hurt.”

  She smiled and said, “You know better than that. You ready?”

  “Yeah, one second.” He turned to Carly and said, “See that car down the road? I want you to check it out. If it’s locked, break the glass. I’m betting it’s theirs. If it’s not, tough shit.”

  She said, “Whew. Yeah, I can do that. I thought you were going to ask me to be a decoy to draw their fire or something.”

  Knuckles smiled and said, “You haven’t aggravated me enough for that yet, unlike Jennifer.” He looked at his team and said, “Guns up. Let’s go hunting.”

  Before they took a step, they heard a crack reverberate through the woods. Knuckles said, “That sounded like . . .”

  Ten seconds later, they heard another crack, this one closer. Knuckles said, “That’s from the trail. Jennifer, go. If you see anything, and I mean anything, you drop flat behind cover, and we’ll deal with it.”

  She nodded but pulled her Glock out anyway, then began jogging across the grass toward the historical marker. She squatted down, peering into the tree line, waiting on the team to coalesce around her. Knuckles took a knee beside her and looked down the trail. He could see only about ten meters before it went hard to the left. He said, “What are the odds we could just go straight in? Skip the path and flank them?”

  “Well, you can’t get lost, because you’d eventually hit the water, but it would be noisy. The brush around here is part swamp, part jungle. If we had the time, I’d say do it, but to do it right, you’d spend the next hour sneaking up on them, or sound like a herd of water buffalo.”

  Knuckles nodded and said, “Okay, looks like you’re it.” He nudged her forward, saying, “Lead me to them, Koko.”

  They took off down the trail like a band of Indians on the warpath, slinking low but moving fast, using the shadows of the trees to mask their advance.

  Forty meters in, Knuckles caught a flash of color ahead of them. He hissed, and Jennifer stopped. He motioned her to the back of the formation and raised his weapon. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Retro on the right. He told him with hand and arm signals to take a firing point to cover his advance. Retro slid off into the brush, then clicked his radio twice.

  Knuckles went forward slowly, Veep to his left, scanning the thicket for a threat. Knuckles rounded a bend in the trail and sank next to a tree, staring through his optics.

  It was a human body, lying in the grass off the trail, the upper torso hidden in the undergrowth. He scanned down the body and saw smooth legs and biking shoes. He stood up and raced down the hill, Veep following.

  The head was facedown, but it did nothing to hide the damage to the skull. It was shattered, with the blood congealing in the mulch of the forest. Knuckles clicked his radio and whispered, “Koko, how far from this point?”

  “Maybe forty meters. Just ahead is a bend, and it drops into a bowl leading to the platform. Once you leave the crest of the bowl, you’re very close.”

  “What’s the platform like?”

  “It’s above the ground by about ten feet, but the only clear shot they’ll have is down the ramp. The rest is overgrown with woods.”

  He was now faced with a choice. Sneak, or assault. From what Jennifer said, sneaking would work until they dropped down; then it would be an assault anyway.

  He said, “All elements, all elements, this is the LCC. Retro, go right. Stand by for my call to move. We’re going straight in, and when they focus on us, you flank them. Veep, you follow right behind me. They’ll hear us coming, but I think they’ll believe we’re another group of tourists. They’ll want to ambush, but they won’t get that chance. As soon as you have a shot, take it.”

  Retro said, “Roger. Standing by.”

  He looked at Veep and said, “Ready?”

  Veep nodded, and Knuckles stood up, raised his weapon, and started running down the path. He reached the drop and said, “Retro, move now.”

  He continued on, running by a bunch of wooden benches. He saw the ramp, and another body lying on it, bleeding out. He circled left around the ramp, looking for a shot, and saw two people up high, one bending over a box, the other shouting and pointing at their advance. He squeezed off a round, smacking the standing man in the shoulder.

  The one on the box jumped up and raised a pistol, cracking a round at him, the bullet snapping by Knuckles’s head, causing him to dive into the muck.
He rolled under the ramp and heard Veep fire, followed by two more booms from the pistol. Then he saw Retro behind the platform, taking aim. The muzzle pulsed a subsonic round, and he heard, “Shooter down. One more still up there, crouched low. I don’t have a shot. Don’t know if he’s armed.”

  Knuckles rolled out, saying, “Veep, cover me. If he stands up, smoke him.”

  He raced up the ramp and heard, “He’s jumping over, he’s jumping over.”

  Knuckles made it to the top and saw the man running toward the water. He turned to the other one, seeing a body barely older than a teenager, dressed like a derelict, his head misshapen by the round embedded in the back of it. He went to the box on the floor and saw a video image of the USS Yorktown, the president speaking in the center of the screen.

  Veep came up and pointed, saying, “He’s getting away.”

  Knuckles said, “Trust me, that Arab isn’t going to escape through the water. I’ll deal with him in a minute. Fly this thing away from the boat.”

  He called Pike and gave a SITREP, saying the mission was accomplished and telling him the drone was under their control.

  Veep bent down to the suitcase, and Knuckles hoisted himself over the side of the platform, going after the man struggling in the waist-deep marsh, the pluff mud sucking him down with every step.

  He was about to drop to the ground when he heard Veep say, “It’s not listening to the radio signals. They’ve been cut somehow.”

  86

  The secret service agent—Snelling—gave me a pin to place on my shirt that said I was one of the good guys, then used his authority to get me to the top of the carrier. I immediately saw what Kurt had told me. Every stairwell was a narrow, one-person-only affair, and there weren’t that many of them. It might not have been a problem when the ship was operational, but it would definitely hamper getting five hundred civilians off quickly.

  We went through the bridge, complete with mannequins acting as if they were fighting World War II, and entered the flight deck, which was absolutely jam-packed with people, all the way to the back of the deck, behind the historical aircraft where they couldn’t even see the president talking.