Skystorm (Ryan Decker)

by Steven Konkoly

  With the team finalized, everyone headed off to pack the few things in their possession. They’d outfit themselves in Redding between shopping for drones and other personalized gear that Bernie couldn’t provide.

  He ran into his dad just outside the RV.

  “Looks like something’s up,” Steven said.

  “We found the site, but we can’t access it. We’re looking at a two-step process that could take a few days, so the entire operational team is headed out in less than an hour,” said Decker. “I was on my way to talk to Riley.”

  “She’s down by the creek with your mom,” said his dad. “One of the prettiest spots I’ve seen in a while. Hard to believe this place is so troubled.”

  “I thought the same thing when I first drove up here last year. Just breathtaking everywhere,” said Decker. “Until it literally tries to steal your breath.”

  “You’d never know driving through,” said Steven. “Hey. I won’t hold you up. We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you get back.”

  “That’s right,” said Decker, hugging his dad. “All of us together with entirely too much time on our hands. Probably get sick of me.”

  “Sick of you?” said Steven. “Nah. I don’t see that happening. Unless you’re thinking about completely retiring. Then we might have to set some boundaries.”

  He laughed and squeezed his dad one more time before letting go. “I was thinking more along the lines of cutting back on the hours, but retirement sounds pretty good right about now.”

  “Just get your ass back in one piece,” said Steven. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ve been thinking about what I said the other night, and it didn’t come out right. Riley can’t lose you, too. We can take Senator Steele’s money and disappear. I have a feeling it would be a pretty comfortable life.”

  “Probably very comfortable, for me, you, and Mom. Harlow if she bought off on it,” said Decker. “But not for Riley. I don’t want her to spend the rest of her life on the run. If I get even the remotest shot at sinking APEX, I’m taking it.”

  “I figured as much. Just wanted you to know that you’re the most important thing in her life. Our lives. Get back in one piece. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Decker, before heading toward Steelhead Creek.

  A little over an hour later, after the hardest farewell of his life, they drove the beater Bronco Cush had loaned them out of the meadow toward the dirt road that would take them back into the fight.

  Decker glanced in his side mirror, well aware that these might be the last glimpses he’d catch of his family. A part of him wanted to stop the SUV and put it in reverse, selfishly and literally taking the money and running. He knew Pierce felt the same way. They’d discussed the situation over a beer after everyone had gone to bed, bone tired from the stress of the past couple of days.

  They both understood logically that they couldn’t run forever, but the instant gratification and short-term relief appealed to both of them on a deep but irrational level. They were both tired of running, and the thought of a temporary reprieve purchased by Steele’s fortune sang true. But like a game of musical chairs, the music always stopped—and eventually they’d find themselves without a chair.

  On the way down the long jeep trail leading to the Dyerville Loop Road, he got a call from Sheriff Harvey Long, informing him that two Special Enforcement Team officers, Humboldt County’s equivalent to SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics), would be up to the campsite to help them with lookout duty. He’d let Special Agent Reeves know that he’d secured an arrangement with the sheriff. Reeves hadn’t been very happy to learn that pretty much everyone with substantial tactical experience would be gone within the hour.

  Not that they were some kind of elite commando team. More like a motley crew cobbled together by a tactician with a warped sense of humor. Two shooters. A drone operator. An electronics wizard. An angry bounty hunter masquerading as a private investigator. And an airsick-prone private investigator about to spend the next twelve hours of her life in the air. As bad as that all sounded, he couldn’t think of a better team to take into battle.

  They’d beaten the odds time and time again together, throwing everything they had into the fight. The eternal underdogs always coming out on top. Whatever lay ahead of them didn’t stand a chance. Of course, Harlow might walk off the job after the maneuver Bernie would have to execute over Texas, but he’d smooth that over later. Man, was she going to be pissed at him. He almost felt bad not giving her more of a heads-up.

  PART FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Harlow stiffened from another light bump, her body still completely primed for panic after seven hours of a “relatively smooth flight,” as everyone kept telling her at first. Relative to what? A kamikaze mission? Mercifully, Decker made the rounds after they’d been in the air for about an hour, discreetly explaining to everyone that the combination of words held no meaning for her and did nothing to ease her fear. She had no flying experience to compare this to, and last year’s borderline-crash landing in the desert didn’t count. In fact, thinking about that flight made things worse.

  Bernie’s new crew chief, a friendly, Georgia-accented gentleman named Randy, had made her as comfortable as possible by constantly checking on her, bringing her small cups of water, and adjusting her motion-sickness bracelets. It was all theater, but it made her feel a little better. Randy’s happy-go-lucky demeanor had shifted to all business about thirty minutes ago, which meant they must be getting close to whatever surprise Bernie had alluded to. And Decker had stepped up the charm at almost the same time, adding to her suspicion.

  She’d been too afraid to ask about it before takeoff, and there was no point in making things worse for herself during the flight. It was already bad enough. Randy climbed down the cockpit stairs and forced a smile as he approached her.

  “Time to strap in tight. We’re about five minutes from releasing the drones,” he said.

  Decker squeezed her hand and got up to help Randy.

  “How bad is this going to be?” asked Harlow.

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” said Randy, the two of them tugging on her harness straps.

  Randy had rigged five-point racing harnesses to the bench structure about two hours ago, which had initially calmed her down a little. She’d felt a lot safer nestled into the padded harnesses, until she started to consider why they were necessary in the first place. The belt system they used for the Nevada landing had been a standard nylon harness.

  “You should feel as snug as a bug,” said Randy, before giving the harness a few yanks.

  “Yeah. That’s one way to describe it. I can barely breathe,” said Harlow.

  “That’s exactly how you want it,” said Randy. “I gotta make the rounds. You’re gonna be just fine.”

  She feigned a smile and nodded before looking at Decker.

  “Why don’t you look worried?” she said.

  “This is my extreme game face,” said Decker, before sitting down next to her and slipping into his harness. “And like Randy said, it’ll be over before you know it.”

  “I don’t want to know what’s going to happen, do I?” she said.

  “Nope,” he said. “But rest assured, it’s going to suck for all of us on the same level—so you won’t be alone.”

  “Very reassuring,” said Harlow.

  He kissed her cheek and held her hand.

  “Just close your eyes and breathe into your stomach. Deep breaths,” he said.

  “Shouldn’t I have a barf bag or something?”

  “You won’t need it,” said Decker, before taking a deep breath and exhaling.

  “Breathe deep, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  She tried to take in a deep breath but came up short, her chest tightening instead.

  “Keep at it,” said Decker, squeezing her hand.

  Harlow scanned the cargo compartment to find everyone dealing with this in their own way. Pierce sat with h
is eyes closed, his stomach expanding and contracting slowly like Decker’s. Pam was breathing through her mouth, her eyes fixed on a point above Harlow. They made eye contact briefly, and Pam winked.

  Mazzie bobbed her head to the music she was pumping through her over-ear headphones. She looked fine. Joshua was another story. He looked three shades greener than Harlow felt. Now she understood why they’d brought both drone operators. It wasn’t to fly two drones. It was to have at least one capable operator after the release.

  After checking all the harnesses, Randy spent a minute with the quadcopters, which lay in a staggered line, one several feet ahead of the other, just behind the top of the aircraft’s ramp. The quadcopters were attached at the top to a fishing line that extended all the way forward to the stairs next to Randy’s monitor-packed sensor array station. She still wasn’t sure exactly how they would launch the drones but assumed they would slide down the ramp at some point. All part of the surprise she had no interest in learning about in advance.

  When he’d finished with the drones, Randy made his way back, stopping briefly to speak with Mazzie and Josh, who nodded as he talked. Decker donned a pair of headphones, nudging her arm a few moments later.

  “We’re lowering the ramp now. Just close your eyes and count to a hundred. Keep breathing.”

  She didn’t want to close her eyes yet, but as soon as the ramp started to move, she slammed them shut. Cold, turbulent air buffeted the compartment for several seconds before settling down to the point where she dared to open them. Everything looked the same except for the gaping black void where the ramp used to be. She immediately felt nauseated and dizzy.

  “Thirty seconds!” yelled Randy, who had turned his chair to face the ramp.

  He held a pair of compact scissors to cut a set of lines that would unspool through the hooks and release the drones. She closed her eyes again and started counting slowly to herself while breathing as deeply as her constricted chest and tightened stomach allowed.

  “Ten seconds!”

  Now she was counting down from ten. Probably not the best idea. Decker gripped her hand when she got to seven—a moment before her stomach sank and her entire body pulled hard against the right side of her harness. She ripped her hand away from Decker’s and grabbed both shoulder straps tightly, her entire focus on not falling out of the back of the plane. The terrible sensation intensified for a few more seconds before melting away into nothingness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Mazzie fought the urge to close her eyes. “Once in a lifetime” they had called it, and she had no intention of missing a single instant. The aircraft pitched upward, immediately pressing her against the side of her harness and forcing her head to the left, toward the ramp. She instinctively gripped her shoulder straps and pulled tight, while Joshua moaned and mumbled a continuous stream of expletives.

  As the climb steepened to an angle she didn’t think was possible for an aircraft this big, the lines connected to the drones pulled taut, suspending them in the middle of the cargo bay—directly over the nothingness beyond the ramp. The propellers activated a moment later, and one by one they disappeared into the night, leaving nothing but fluttering fishing lines behind.

  It all made sense. Bernie had effectively eliminated any aircraft-induced turbulence during the launch by reducing their horizontal speed to nearly zero. They were flying almost vertically when the drones hit the atmosphere’s natural airstreams at ten thousand feet.

  The aircraft pitched forward slowly, giving her the fleeting impression of weightlessness as it started to level out of its extreme climb. Over the next several seconds, the pressure against her harness eased to nothing, until she became convinced that they had steadied on their new altitude. A quick glance around the compartment revealed the casualties of the maneuver.

  Harlow’s head lolled forward, Decker trying to revive her by prodding her shoulder. Joshua groaned in the seat next to her, his head turned away from her. He didn’t sound good at all. Pam breathed shallowly on the other side of her, looking pale but otherwise fine. Pierce just rubbed his temples, catching her glance and smirking.

  “I have two drones waiting for operators. Solid line-of-sight data connection,” said Randy.

  She gave him a thumbs-up, and he turned his chair to face the two high-resolution video controllers Velcroed to the desk built into his station. Decker was already up and headed in her direction.

  “Looks like you’re it,” said Decker, checking on Joshua, who muttered a few barely coherent words.

  Mazzie released the locking mechanism and slipped out of her harness. She nodded at Harlow.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Out cold,” said Decker, before helping her up.

  Randy gave up his seat when they reached the command and control station, where Mazzie had her choice of two seemingly healthy drones. She pulled the one on the right from the Velcro tape and placed it in her lap. Her first step was to lock the drone onto the preassigned GPS waypoint directly over the container area. Now for the fun part.

  Working with the flight instrument display on the screen, she brought the drone down to one thousand feet above the target site, fighting a stiff westerly wind most of the way down. At most the wind issue added a couple of minutes to her estimated flight time.

  “I’m at one thousand feet,” she said.

  Randy patted her shoulder.

  “All right. Put her in a hover, and let’s get some eyes on the target before you give it a go,” he said, before transmitting over the internal comms net. “Bernie. Can you bring us right one hundred and twenty degrees to a heading of three-zero-zero?”

  The aircraft lumbered right in a long, lazy circle before settling on its new course. Randy had already pulled up a folding chair next to her, in front of a widescreen monitor. A distant grayscale image of the site appeared after a few clicks of a joystick-like controller. He centered the image on the middle of the container farm and zoomed in until they had a high-resolution, multispectral picture of the western half of the site. The aircraft’s sensor array combined both thermal and traditional image-intensification night-vision technologies to create a highly useful hybrid view.

  “There’s your drone,” said Randy, pointing at a bright green X floating in the foreground of the image.

  They had attached infrared tape in the form of an X to the top of the drone so they could track it more easily.

  “And there’s your obstacle course.”

  She studied the football field–size container farm, noting the hot spots that indicated sentries. Approaching from the west and tagging one of the containers that would be loaded next wasn’t an option. Two heat signatures sat along the western edge.

  The more she studied the image, the more of a challenge it appeared. Moving at high speed, her drone could be heard several hundred feet away in the kind of quiet environment at the site. Cruising cut the noise in half, which drastically reduced the detection range, but the sentries’ spacing still left her concerned. If Mazzie sneaked the drone along at slow speed from the south, crossing the runway, the sentries probably wouldn’t hear it over the ambient noise created by the wind, but they might see it lazily drifting in from the distance. And dropping it slowly down on top of the containers posed the same problem but exposed all the sentries to the sound. She didn’t have a good option.

  “You seem stymied,” said Randy.

  “Did they change their sentry configuration?” asked Mazzie.

  “Looks like they added a few more,” he said.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” asked Decker.

  “Yeah. We’re looking at a gamble here,” said Mazzie, before pointing at the image. “I can approach this larger gap low and slow from the south, but there’s a chance they’ll hear it or see it. That’s about it.”

  “If they hear a drone near the containers, they’ll search those things from top to bottom,” said Decker.

  Pierce joined the discussion. “What if you pul
led a few of the sentries away with the other drone and crashed it while trying to get a look in the hangar. That would create a bit of a distraction.”

  “That could work,” said Mazzie.

  Decker didn’t seem convinced. “But if they find the tracker on the decoy drone, they’ll know something is up. Why try to get pictures and risk detection when you can just drop a tracker on one of the containers, especially if the drones are that loud?”

  “What if I do the low-and-slow approach thing on one of the containers they’re loading and make a real attempt to attach the second drone’s tracker?” said Mazzie. “If they detect it, we get a distraction that might give me a better opening around the containers. If they don’t, bingo. Mission complete.”

  “I like it,” said Pierce.

  “Me too,” said Decker.

  “Can you pull this off by yourself?” said Randy, casting a glance in Joshua’s direction. “Your friend doesn’t look like he’d be much help.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Mazzie grabbed the second controller and repeated the same flight for the decoy drone, bringing it into a hover a few hundred feet away from the first drone. A few more minutes of alternating between controllers brought both drones into position several hundred feet south of the facility. One centered on the current gap between sentries. The other on one of the containers sticking out of the rightmost hangar.

  “I’m going to send drone one forward at a crawl on autopilot while I work the decoy,” said Mazzie. “If it gets to the far side of the runway before the sentries react to the decoy, I need to know immediately. We don’t want it getting too close.”