Game of Drones

by Rick Jones

  Danielle Sunderland had two eyes on three screens. The first display had a satellite overview of the triangulated circle and its periphery of neighboring states. The second was a close-up of the landscape west of the triangulation point, with rural roads running through it. The third monitor depicted the satellite’s thermal- and infrared-imaging scans, capable of detecting ultraviolet and heat signatures.

  On the westerly edge of the triangulation area, far from the center and nearly beyond the circumference, the third screen responded with a series of beeps. The eye of the satellite’s lens then scanned the image’s origin and automatically centered the anomaly on the display.

  The figure was oddly shaped, sort of like a horizontal tornado, with the funnel having a deep red coloring which indicated a high measure of heat. Then the screen became a visual of jagged lines and snow, the signal jamming momentarily before returning to normal. When it did the anomaly was no longer there.

  Danielle had seen this happen before. She quickly came to the realization that signal jamming devices had hijacked the system and blinded it.

  But not before it had given up the ghost.

  The brief glimpse of pattern she'd seen was the heated contrail of something airborne, the corkscrew configuration of the contrail similar to that left behind by the Stealth Bomber. Even though the vehicle could not be detected visually, the pattern of its heated contrail acted as an infrared footprint.

  Danielle smiled.

  Gotcha!

  #

  Everyone gathered by the electronic board while Danielle zoomed in to a location fifty miles northwest from the original point of triangulation. With processed pixels, the screen gave them a clear view of the pristine, forested landscape.

  “This is where the contrail was picked up,” she told her fellow Outcasts. “It was just a flare-up, but enough for me to notice it. And then the system jammed. When it came back online it was gone. Nothing.”

  “Maybe it was a glitch,” offered Chance.

  “No.” Danielle was convinced that this was spot on and worth pursuing. “I’ve seen this with Stealths. They jam the system to wash away the image. But there’s always some type of artifact left behind, no matter how minute. And that artifact is its contrail, the infrared footprint that we’ve been looking for.”

  Tanner looked at her. “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’m positive.”

  He pointed to the screen. “Zoom in so that I can compare the surrounding roads with those on the overhead images. I’d like to see if there’re any differences between the two.”

  Daniele typed in a series of commands, then stabbed the ENTER button with a flourish.

  The two maps merged on the central display--the sat-photo and the map--overlain until the images became one and the same, the roads lined up to perfect scale.

  The computer was designed and programmed to pinpoint certain inaccuracies by highlighting them in red. Just east of the contrail, a thread-like image indicating a road that was no longer visible popped up on the screen.

  Nay squinted at the image as she moved closer to the screen. “A road is missing."

  Tanner followed to get a clearer view as well. Then more to himself: “Or is it?” He called out to Danielle over his shoulder. “Zoom in.”

  She did. Pictures loaded up as the pixels self-defined themselves with precision, transforming from a blur to crystal clarity.

  “See it?” Tanner asked the group in general.

  Liam shrugged. “I don’t see anything.”

  “That’s my point. It’s missing about three hundred feet of roadway off the rural route.”

  Danielle enlarged the image further, making minor adjustments until the celestial eye was right above the missing real estate from the vantage point of about 100 feet.

  Someone in the group, Tanner didn’t know who, hitched a breath, and justifiably so. The stretch of roadway was gone, covered by camouflaged netting, which was topped over with broken tree limbs and greenery for additional concealment.

  “That’s it,” whispered Tanner. Then much louder: “That’s it! The drones are ramping up speed beneath the netting, then they go airborne once they reach launch speed at the exit of the runway!”

  Chance nodded. “They’re about ninety minutes away,” he said.

  Tanner turned to Danielle, their eyes meeting and coming up with the same question simultaneously: Where was the drone heading?

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, Tanner. The system jammed before the drone hit its set trajectory.”

  Then with urgency, Tanner said, “All right. Everyone listen up. I want two vehicles loaded and ready to move within five minutes. Danielle will maintain Base Command with commlinks to John Casey and myself. Everyone else will link up on my frequency. Hoorah!”

  In concert: “Hoorah!” Then they galvanized themselves as a collective.

  Weapons were quickly loaded inside two SUVs--one black and one glossy white--sort like Tanner's eyes, Nay had joked when she first saw them. Both had with windows tinted so dark it was impossible to see inside them.

  With Tanner, Chance and Nay in the lead vehicle, Liam, Stephen and Dante drove the follow-up, the SUVs heading northwest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Islamabad, Pakistan

  Council Administrator Saj Usmani wasted no time or effort in contacting Zawahiri’s people, those who were chiefly responsible for carrying out brutal attacks on civilian populations. Plans had already been well thought-out. It was just a matter of when to implement them.

  As he sat in his upscale living area watching TV and drinking a bottle of Murree beer, his mind failed to register the channel’s programming as thoughts carried him elsewhere.

  It was late, and meetings inside the Parliament House Building had yet to conclude on several issues—Zawahiri being one of them.

  He checked his watch. Then he closed his eyes to blink back tears that were brought on by a rush of deep emotions.

  Usmani loved his country. But he loved his politics even more. He had allowed his feelings for one to take precedence over the other, and by doing so, had ignited the fuse that would ultimately send Pakistan into a downward spiral.

  He dropped the Murree to the floor, cradled his head into his hands, and pulled his hair so hard that blood appeared between clenched fingers. He sobbed. What have I done? he thought, his inner voice screaming.

  What . . . have I . . . done?

  #

  Parliament House Building

  Islamabad, Pakistan

  The time difference between Pakistan and Washington D.C. was nine hours. The evening had grown late in Islamabad.

  Before the church bells tolled in a new day at midnight, the prime minister and several of his aids, along with a slew of body guards, descended the steps to an awaiting car. The day had been full of compromises and tough deals. The only unyielding issue about which there was no discussion or debate was that of Zawahiri. He was to be handed over to the Americans without fail. In the prime minister’s mind this was the beginning of a new era for Pakistan, a stepping stone toward garnering the good graces of the world community.

  The prime minister made the final step to the waiting vehicle and the rear door was opened by the chauffer, who stood regimentally straight with his eyes forward. When the prime minister stooped to get inside the vehicle, the chauffer raised his hand to reveal a detonation switch.

  As the guards raised their weapons, the prime minister looked at his driver with disbelief. His aides took stock of the situation rapidly but were still unable to respond in time. The driver held the button down, screaming ‘Allahu Akbar.’

  The car went up as a massive fireball that turned night into day, the concussion of the blast extending outward in all directions and taking out every window for more than a block.

  In total, sixteen people lost their lives, including that of the prime minister.

  #

  The explosion at the Parliament House Building would not
be the only blast to rock Islamabad that night. Just a few blocks away at the Islamabad Stock Exchange, or ISE building, a car filled with explosives detonated, shearing off one side of the structure, revealing torn floors and ruined walls. Broken water pipes gushed to the levels below. Sparks from severed electrical wires crackled, sending out blue-white embers of light before dying in mid-air. Fires ignited on every floor.

  Although no one had been killed due to the lateness of the hour, it would be quite some time before the flagship of Pakistan's economic system was open again for business.

  #

  The Islamabad railway station was also closed at such a late hour. But al-Qaeda was determined for it to remain that way.

  Charges had been set along the tracks, north and south. This site detonated in concert with the other two explosions--the three target sites going off with precision timing--twenty seconds apart from first to last.

  Islamabad's intercity public transit routes were no more.

  #

  From fifty miles away and from behind locked doors, Ayman al-Zawahiri was making a statement.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  En Route

  Chancellor ‘Chance’ Zanetti, the former Delta Force operator who felt most comfortable with a knife in his hand when facing his enemy, was the only OUTCAST member who vacated his previous position by choice.

  When Chancellor served with Delta he was a Black Hawk pilot, also known as a Night Stalker, who served with Delta Force’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. Night Stalkers were classified as elite pilots who were trained to push their Blackhawks to the limit as well as to manage their choppers under strict requirements. But when it came time to re-up for a second term, Chance decided that civilian life would suit him better. He did miss the action of the battlefield, though, so in Tanner he found the best of both worlds--the right to serve as an independent soldier, and to do so on home-front operations.

  Though leaving Delta Force was difficult, he never regretted the change of venue or the shift in command with Tanner helming the missions. Now, with Nay soon to be his wife, Chance couldn’t be happier. Although he and Naomi had never spoken of marriage until late, they did talk about having children and owning a home that was surrounded by flowering fields and a small pond stocked with fish. They also talked about breeding and raising horses—a life that could be dreamed about but seldom achieved. And their kids, all their kids, would grow up as fine people and go to college. They, too, would graduate to become great people who would make significant contributions to society.

  They had dreams.

  Others called them goals.

  But it was a dreamscape that he and Nay endeared themselves to with every intention of fulfilling.

  He found Nay to be absolutely beautiful. He was truly blessed. The ring was the symbolic commitment that he was about to spend the rest of his life with this woman. It was also the first rung of the ladder to their goals.

  They would have their children and raise their horses. They would own a home surrounded by a riot of colorful flowers and fish for gargantuan-sized trout in a pond on the property.

  And when they reached that level, then they would set new goals.

  Yes, he thought. I’m truly blessed.

  #

  Tanner Wilson was driving at speeds between eighty to eighty-five miles per hour toward their location when he lowered his lip mike. “Danielle?”

  “Yeah, Tanner.”

  “Patch me in to John Casey.”

  “Sure.”

  After several clicks and nearly a minute having gone by, the two were finally connected.

  “Tanner,” said the FBI Director.

  “John, we may have found Shazad.”

  “Where?”

  Tanner read off the coordinates to him. Then: “There’s a strip of rural roadway, about three hundred feet, that’s hidden beneath camo-netting. Danielle caught what she believes to be the contrail of a Reaper.”

  “Do you have its trajectory?”

  “No. She lost it almost immediately when the system became jammed."

  “Listen, Tanner. We already know for a fact that Shazad has launched another drone. But we need a heading..”

  “I can offer you this: Right before the anomaly disappeared, it was heading in a northeast direction.”

  “Northeast.”

  “Yes. John, we believe Shazad is pushing most of the resources toward D.C. airspace to minimize the policing above Manhattan.”

  “That may be, Tanner. But even so, Manhattan is blanketed by drones and fighters. Which isn't hard to do, since it's not a big island, it's just densely populated. So that part of his plan, if that was in fact his plan, was misguided. There is currently heavy cloud cover from the north of Virginia all the way up into Maine, though. So if that drone does happen to be heading to Manhattan as you suspect, it won’t be sighted until it’s right above the city. How certain are you that’s where it’s going?”

  “It’s a guesstimate,” Tanner said as he braked to avoid a slow vehicle ahead of him, “based on Danielle’s calculations. When did that drone take off?”

  “Just over thirty minutes ago.”

  “Inform the president that the Reaper may not be heading to D.C. at all, but to points in the northeast. The most likely candidate would be New York City.”

  “I will.”

  “You need to press it, John. I know I’m right on this. In the meantime, I need a couple of sorties flown to the coordinates I gave you. That airstrip needs to be taken out---there are two more drones left.”

  “Tanner, that location you gave me is an old army bunker that was built during the Vietnam War. Due to the thickness of the wooded area, it was used as a training facility for soldiers learning how to deal with guerilla warfare. It was decommissioned in the seventies once the war was over.”

  “John, that's the perfect location! Shazad can strike at high profile targets north and east from there, while remaining hidden in the wilderness.”

  “I agree it would make a good location for him. What I need to know is if you have verification that he's actually there."

  Tanner frowned as he passed the car that was blocking his 80 mph progress in the fast lane. “I know I’m right on this, John.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I have no visuals, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Tanner, you know better than that. The president is not going to remove planes from strategic airspace over D.C. without confirmation. Especially when there’s an airborne Reaper possibly en route.”

  “Two planes. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “Tanner, what you’re looking at could be anything from a paint-ballers' playground to a meth lab. Or maybe it’s an illegal still. My point is, unless you have a visual, then it could be anything. And if it could be anything, then the president is not going to alter his plan of protection by flying sorties over an old bunker without confirmation of Shazad’s presence there. You know this.”

  Tanner did know this. The fact that a drone was heading for an unknown target to any number of points along the east coast was paramount. Protecting American shores took priority above all else. To pull a plane or two away from its primary aim of intercepting the drone, and then relocate it to an area without confirmation, simply diminished the protective shield when the shield needed to be at its strongest.

  Casey spoke again. “Where are you?”

  “On the highway en route to the bunker. You want verification, John, I’ll get you verification. So keep your mike open.”

  “What’s your ETA?”

  Tanner checked his watch, then the speedometer, quickly doing a mental calculation with time, distance and speed. “About forty-five minutes."

  “I’ll notify the president immediately and update him on your activity. He’ll see the merit in your reasoning. I'm pretty sure he'll supply you with ground support--troops and a chopper. It’s the dogfighters he can't spare. But the problem here,
Tanner, is that you and your team will arrive at the bunker long before he can get that ground support over there. So get me the visual confirmation that Shazad is there so we have our justification.”

  “I will.”

  “You can set up a perimeter until the troops arrive.”

  “Can’t. There are still two drones that need to be incapacitated before they’re launched. We need to go in and debilitate them immediately. Once we do, then there’s nothing more Shazad can do. He’s done.”

  “Be careful, Tanner. He’s no greenhorn when it comes to war.”

  “I know that.”

  “Contact me when you have verification.”

  “I will.”

  Keeping his eyes steady on the road, Tanner flipped his lip mike over his head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Islamabad, Pakistan

  Although the prime minister of Pakistan is the head of the government, the president is the constitutional figurehead. After the explosions, President Sadiq Hussain was awakened and informed of the catastrophes. He immediately called a meeting at a venue far from the Parliament House Building, which had been severely damaged by the blast.

  Sitting in council were three Chief Ministers, leaders of the Upper and Lower Houses, the Chairman of the Senate, and the Speaker of the National Assembly.

  Chief speaker among them was Saj Usmani, who put on his second face as someone who was deeply concerned and angry. He was no longer that man who wept with regret a few hours before.

  “Did we expect anything different?” Usmani bellowed. “Even the prime minster knew this would happen! And look where it got him! Now the city of Islamabad is crippled!”

  President Hussain raised his hand in a gesture for Usmani to compose himself. “What’s done has been done,” he stated calmly. “What we do here tonight is to deal with the situation, not to point accusing fingers. The prime minister believed it best for the nation of Pakistan to move forward and jointly with the wishes of the world community, and with the blessings of many supporters, including myself, who sit at this table. It is for reasons like this that al-Qaeda must be banished from Pakistan. Islamabad burns because of the bullying tactics of this regime. What you see beyond these windows is the diplomacy of a terrorist faction, which means there is no diplomacy. They burn and bomb and kill. They soil our streets with their filth. Do they think that they endear themselves to the people of Pakistan after what they did here tonight? I think not. The prime minister was right.”