by Dale Brown
Vega didn’t answer—which gave Jason Richter a chance to step over to the two and interject: “Is there an issue here, kids? If there is, let’s lay it out right now.” Neither of them said a word. “I promise, if either of you has a problem accomplishing this mission, I’ll see to it you’re reassigned, and there will be no repercussions whatsoever.”
“No problem here, sir,” Gray said flatly.
“I’m fine, J,” Ari said in a low voice.
Jason looked at them both carefully, then clasped them both on their shoulders. “Be thankful Ray Jefferson isn’t out here—he’d have you both for breakfast. Let’s go.”
The landing pad was simply a circular patch of desert about a half mile in diameter that had been cleared away, leveled, and covered with fiberglass mats to keep down blowing dust and debris. In the center of the circle was a retractable aluminum tower about fifty feet high, secured in place with guy wires. Off to the side of the dirt circle was a Humvee with a small satellite dish and various other antennae on top. Nearby was a transportable helicopter hangar constructed of tubular aluminum trusses and covered with thin, lightweight Kevlar; another slightly smaller hangar served as a maintenance and storage facility. The tanker with supplies of jet fuel and diesel were parked nearby, along with banks of wheeled generators.
A few minutes later both Gray and Ariadna received a message from the security patrols that their Condor aircraft was inbound, and they watched the task force’s surveillance aircraft come in for its approach. From a distance it looked like a huge bird of prey coming in at them, and even up close it resembled an enormous seagull or eagle. It approached very quickly, a lot faster than Gray had ever seen a blimp travel. The thing was immense, with over a 120-foot wingspan. The wings curved upward from the body at least twenty feet, then curved downward again to the wingtips, then upward again at the very tip. It had a large propeller engine under each wing but was whisper-quiet, again unlike any blimp Gray had ever encountered. It had a long forward fuselage section, like a goose’s outstretched neck, and a broad flat tail with long angled winglets at the tips. The fuselage was smooth, but as it got closer several camera ports and doors could clearly be seen.
But the most amazing thing was not the Condor’s size or shape but its maneuverability. It came from the north-northwest at around sixty miles an hour, but as it approached the landing pad it made a tight, steeply banked turn to the west, directly into the wind, and all of its forward velocity seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye. When it was heading west right at the telescoping docking mast, it was going barely two miles an hour, and it nosed in precisely on a large electromagnetic docking attach point on the mast. Hovering overhead, the immense craft looked like a cross between a graceful seagull drifting on an ocean breeze…and a Klingon battle cruiser.
“That thing is just amazing,” Gray exclaimed as he watched the immense airship dock itself. “Did you guys invent it?”
“It’s been around for a few years as an experimental FEBA cruise missile radar platform,” Ariadna said.
“Why not just use a regular blimp?” he asked.
“With carbon-fiber skin and structures, the Army was able to create an airship that did away with the typical blimp shape body,” Ari replied. “Regular blimps are very susceptible to winds and have a huge frontal area, making them slow and not very stealthy. The shape of the Condor allows it to use air currents for propulsion, much like a sailboat sails against the wind—in fact, the stronger the winds aloft, the faster she flies. The Condor is almost twice as fast as any other blimp, its radar cross-section is a thousand times less than a blimp, it’s far more maneuverable, and its payload is just as much as a large blimp while using less helium. This baby can carry almost two thousand pounds of sensors or personnel, fly as high as ten thousand feet aboveground, and stay aloft for almost two days.”
“It was originally designed to carry infrared sensors and an airborne radar to detect low-flying aircraft like cruise missiles,” Jason went on. “It’s even fairly safe from small-arms ground fire—you might be able to take out an engine, but the Condor would probably survive the hit. It can fly just fine on one engine and return itself back to base with communications severed.”
“Well, it’s very cool,” Gray said. He looked up, studying the immense underside of the huge airship. “It provides great shade too. It…”
At that moment, a hatch opened up on the belly of the center fuselage of the Condor airship…and a figure dropped through it. Before Gray could do anything but gasp in surprise, the figure hit the dusty ground…still standing, as if it had stepped off a porch step instead of jumping out of an airship hovering fifty feet overhead. The CID unit stepped over to Jason Richter and saluted. “CID One reporting in, sir,” an electronic voice said.
“You like making an entrance in that thing, don’t you, Falcon?” Richter commented, returning the robot’s salute.
“Yes, sir, I do,” Falcone replied. “It’s the only time these days that I feel like I’ve got a working body.” He stepped over to the Humvee at the edge of the landing area, dismounted from the CID unit, plugged it into the diagnostics and repair computers on the Humvee, and walked back to the others. “What’s the latest on the incident last night, sir?” he asked Richter.
“Director DeLaine will be in later on today with whoever Justice, State, and the Pentagon chose to be on the board,” Jason replied. “You’ll be grounded from now on until the investigation board kicks you free. Don’t talk to anyone except Ari and me about the incident until the board tells you differently. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
They walked away from the landing zone as the retractable docking mast lowered the Condor airship to ground level and maintenance crews began converging on it to do checks and refuel it. Falcone accepted a bottle of cold water from Jason and drained it in one chug. “How are you holding up, Falcon?”
“Okay, I guess,” Falcone replied. “I appreciate the opportunity to go back out in the field after what happened—I’d hate to be cooped up in my rack just lying there thinking about it.” He looked at Gray and added, “I know they’re probably going to say it wasn’t a good idea, me going back out on patrol.”
“They didn’t say, so I made the decision,” Jason said. They reached the tent complex used by Task Force TALON and the Army National Guard as their headquarters. “You have nothing to worry about,” Jason went on. “That migrant was shooting at you. That’s enough reason for you to go on the attack. Your use of force was totally and completely appropriate and justified…”
“We’ll be the judge of that, Major Richter,” a voice from inside the tent said. Jason was surprised to see the large TEMPER complex nearly filled with people, some in suits and ties. The voice came from an older woman who wore jeans, a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and a hiker’s vest. Jason caught a glimpse of a gun in a holster at her waist.
“Who are you?”
“Annette J. Cass, U.S. Attorney, southern district of California,” the woman replied. She unclipped an ID wallet from her belt and showed him her badge and ID card.
“I wasn’t advised of your arrival, Miss Cass,” Jason said. “I apologize for not meeting you.” She snapped the ID away before Jason could look it over and replaced it on her belt beside her gun holster. He smiled, trying not to look annoyed at having the ID snatched away before he could look at it, then extended his hand; Cass glared at his hand, obviously not expecting it, before accepting his greeting. He motioned to the others in the tent behind Cass. “And these nice folks?”
“Deputy Director Marta Fields from the San Diego office of the U.S. Border Patrol; Deputy Director Thomas Lombard of the Bureau of Immigration and Customs Enforcement in San Diego; Mr. Armando Ochoa, deputy consul general for investigation for the Mexican consulate in San Diego; plus some officers from the U.S. Marshals Service.” Cass noticed Jason’s eyes narrow when she mentioned the name of the deputy consul general, and she smiled knowingly.
“I wish you’d made an appointment first, Miss Cass,” Jason said. “As you can see, we’re in the middle of a shift change…”
“I’m handling the investigation of the incident last night. I’ll expect your full cooperation, Major Richter,” Cass interrupted. She looked at Vega and Falcone suspiciously, as if already deciding who was guilty and who was innocent. “I want to talk with Captain Falcone right away so he can give us a complete statement on the events of last night; all other personnel on duty last night will need to give us statements; and I want all operating data and recordings from last night from all of your Cybernetic Infantry Devices. Naturally all of your task force activities here will be suspended until further notice.”
“Naturally—as soon as I get proper orders,” Jason said.
Cass turned her green eyes on him and impaled him with an impatient, angry expression. “I just gave you your orders, Major Richter…”
“You gave me lots of orders, Miss Cass, but I’m not authorized to follow any of them.”
“What did you just say?” Cass asked in a clearly threatening tone. “Major Richter, let me get this straight: are you refusing to comply with my instructions?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Miss Cass,” Jason said.
“Do you have any idea what the penalty is for obstruction of justice, Major? Try five years in prison and up to a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar fine. Your career would be over.”
“Miss Cass, you’re not in my chain of command, and I’m not in yours,” Jason said. “Your orders are worthless on this installation without authorization from my superior officers.”
“You’re acting like a man with something to hide, Major,” Cass said. “Are you trying to hide something? You do realize I’m here on official business?”
“You’re not conducting an investigation here, Miss Cass—this is a plain old shakedown,” Jason said. “Besides, you didn’t even say the magic word, ‘please.’ So you’ve just worn out your welcome. You should all just pack up and get off my installation, right now.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Major,” Cass said. “I’m giving you one last warning: obey my instructions or find yourself under arrest.” She turned to the group of persons behind her. “Deputy Director Lombard and the U.S. marshals will secure this facility and begin my investigation. If you or any of your personnel do not cooperate, they’ll be forced to take more drastic action.”
“Miss Cass, the fact that you showed up here without any prior notice tells me that not only do you not have authority over me, but you initiated this visit on your own without any authorization from anyone—not even the Department of Justice,” Jason said. He half-turned to Falcone and said, “Captain Falcone, make a note of the time, please.”
“Yes, sir,” Falcone said, surreptitiously checking the device strapped to his wrist.
“Dr. Vega, I would like you to call the White House from the secure radio in the command vehicle,” Jason went on. “Advise them of the situation here and ask for instructions.”
“Sure, J,” Ariadna said a little worriedly, turning and heading for the exit.
“You’re not going anywhere, Dr. Vega. Director Lombard.” The ICE director motioned, and two men wearing black BDUs, black bulletproof vests emblazoned with the letters “U.S. MARSHAL” on the front, Kevlar helmets, and carrying suppressed MP-5 submachine guns quickly stepped forward to block the tent exit. “You’ve forced me to take drastic action, Major Richter. No one leaves, and no one makes any calls until I say so.”
“What do you think you’re doing, Miss Cass—trying to start a fight in here?” Jason asked. He wore a slight smile as he casually put his hands behind his back. “Why the guns? Aren’t we all on the same side?”
“I will get your cooperation, Major, any way I must,” Cass said seriously. “I heard how you treat those in authority, especially federal law enforcement agents, and it won’t happen here. You could have done this the easy way. You want to be treated like an adversary, like you have something to hide—fine, you will be.” The U.S. marshals took Jason’s and Ariadna’s sidearms away from them. “Now let’s all go into your office, Major, while Director Lombard begins his interview with Captain Falcone. You will call in all of the personnel involved in last night’s incident and have them report to us here immediately. I want your records, logs, technical data, and downloads from your robots, and I want them in the next five minutes or I will take this entire camp apart piece by piece until I find them.”
“Five minutes?” Jason remarked, smiling. “I think we can have something for you a lot sooner than that. Captain?”
“Ready when you are, sir,” Falcone said.
“Show Miss Cass what we have.”
“Roger that, sir.” Hidden behind Richter, Falcone pressed a button on his wrist device…
…and seconds later the top of the TEMPER module they were standing in ripped open, and one of the Cybernetic Infantry Devices peered inside. “Everyone freeze and drop your weapons!” a machine’s electronic voice shouted. The CID unit immediately grabbed the marshals who were carrying weapons—one agent was grabbed by the upper arm, the other by his left shoulder. Both officers screamed in pain and terror as they were hauled up off their feet.
“What in hell…!” Lombard cried out, immediately reaching for his sidearm.
“No!” Jason said, still smiling. “No guns! It will detect guns and…”
But it was far too late. No sooner had Director Lombard’s gun cleared his holster than the CID unit walked quickly through the nylon side of the TEMPER module and swung the captured marshals at Lombard, knocking him off his feet. The CID unit kept moving forward until Lombard was pinned against the other side of the module, unable to move his hands or arms, with the two U.S. marshals dangling painfully in midair above him.
Falcone found Lombard’s sidearm on the deck, unloaded it, and stuck it into a flight-suit pocket, while Jason and Ari retrieved their sidearms and the FBI agent’s submachine guns, unloaded them, and tossed them aside. “CID One, drop your captives,” he ordered. The CID unit’s armored fingers opened, and the marshals clambered to the floor of the ruined TEMPER module beside Lombard, holding dislocated and bruised arms and shoulders. “Ari, go get a doctor and a couple security guys to help these clowns. CID One, back up ten meters and assume weapon guard position.”
“Major Richter, are you insane?” Annette Cass shouted. “You just attacked three federal agents!”
Jason moved forward quickly and snatched Cass’s weapon from her holster—she was plainly too shocked to even notice her weapon was gone. He unloaded it and tossed it aside. “And you walked on to a TALON firebase and had the balls to draw down on us? You’re the insane one, Miss Cass. We’re in an area already known for heavy terrorist activity, possibly including the Consortium—the CID units are programmed to respond to all armed threats with maximum force. You’re lucky CID One used their whole bodies as bludgeons and not just their limbs.”
“J, more company,” Ari radioed. “Two choppers inbound, about a mile out.”
“Any identification?”
“Nope.”
“Where’s the Condor?”
“I ordered them to launch the Condor immediately,” she replied. “They’ll maintain surveillance on the base and send imagery to Cannon.” Cannon Air Force Base, near Clovis, New Mexico, was the home base of Task Force TALON.
“Good.” To Falcone, he said, “Falcon, mount up. Get behind those choppers and take them down if they attack.”
“I don’t have any weapons, boss—how am I supposed to take them down?”
“Think of something—jump on them, toss a cactus at them, distract them—just do it, Falcon.” Falcone immediately ordered CID One to assume the pilot-up stance, and he was inside the robot and moving in less than thirty seconds, racing across the desert out of sight. “Captain Gray, you expecting anyone?” Jason asked the Rampart One commander.
“Negative,” Gray replied. He was stil
l breathless and bug-eyed from the sudden and incredibly lightning-quick flurry of activity that had just occurred right in front of his eyes. “Any inbounds are supposed to get clearance from me or Top first through your headquarters or the White House.”
“That’s the FBI, Richter!” Cass exploded. “They’re here to start the investigation on the death of that migrant last night! Are you hallucinating or are you on some kind of power trip?”
Jason ignored her. “Gray, take the injured to the infirmary and the rest to the dog-pens and lock them up…”
“That consulate officer too?”
“The consulate officer too—until he can be positively ID’d, as far as I’m concerned, he’s Consortium,” Jason said. “Have the rest of your men on full alert until we figure out what’s going on.” Gray issued orders to the physician, medics, and security forces that arrived moments later, and Cass and the others that were with her were hustled out. Jason keyed the mike button on his radio: “Ari…”
“They’re coming in pretty slow, J,” she radioed from her command Humvee near the Condor airship’s landing pad. “Staying in formation…about a half-mile out…slowing even more. Looks like they’re starting to circle the perimeter. Wait…I see crests on the sides of both choppers. One looks like an FBI patch…confirmed, and I can see the letters FBI on the tail. The other says U.S. BORDER PATROL on the side. They look like the real deal, J.”
“TALON One, Rampart One,” Ben Gray radioed a moment later. “Top just got a call from one of those choppers. The caller on board says she’s FBI Director DeLaine. She apologized for not calling in first and is requesting permission to land. They gave the proper authentication.”
Jason finally let out a nervous sigh of relief and holstered his own sidearm. “Let them in, Captain,” he said wearily. On his command radio, he said, “CID One, stay out of sight until we verify everyone’s ID out here.”
