by Logan Ryles
“It’ll work. I promise,” Lyle said. “If we drop the battery out of the drone and power it with a cable, it’ll lift up to one hundred twenty pounds. And you weigh . . . ?”
Megan’s eyes blazed, but nobody spoke up to defend her.
“One twelve,” she growled.
“Great. So we’ve got eight pounds of wiggle room.” Lyle tossed her the harness, then knelt beside the drone and disconnected the power wires from the battery tray.
“Edric, I don’t trust his toys,” Megan said. “Remember what happened with the com units?”
Edric patted the air with one hand. Wolfgang and Lyle’s scheme had already won him over, and Wolfgang could see the impatience growing in his body language.
“He knows what he’s doing, Meg. Nobody else is light enough to do it.”
Megan jabbed a finger at Lyle. “He is!”
Lyle shrugged and spoke around the flashlight in his mouth. “Technically, I’m one twenty-one. But that’s not the problem.”
“What’s the problem?” she said.
Lyle grinned. “Can you fly the drone?”
Wolfgang rubbed his chin, trying not to laugh. Megan glowered at each of them individually, then stomped around the van and put on the harness. It was designed for rappelling, not being hoisted beneath a giant drone like a teddy bear, but Lyle assured them it would suffice.
Wolfgang knelt beside Lyle and whispered low enough that nobody else could hear. “You’re sure about this, right? She won’t fall?”
Lyle took the flashlight out of his mouth. “Pollins’s apartment is on the eighteenth floor. So, assuming fourteen feet per floor, that’s about two hundred fifty-two feet up. The extension cord we’ll be using weighs about eight pounds per hundred feet, so we have to calculate about twenty pounds for the cord.”
“That puts you twelve pounds overweight,” Wolfgang said.
“Yes, but I’m increasing the voltage to the motors. The battery runs them at about eighty percent output to save energy. Pushing them up to full power gives us an additional seventeen pounds of payload capacity—more or less.”
“More or less? Hey, buddy. This is her life we’re talking about.”
Lyle looked up from the drone and met Wolfgang with unblinking eyes. “I’m very aware of what we’re talking about.”
Wolfgang stood up. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and circled the van. Kevin and Edric were helping Megan to adjust the harness to fit her slender body. It was too big for her, but with adjustment, it would suffice.
Kevin cinched a strap around Megan’s shoulders, and then Lyle appeared with an iPad in one hand. “The elevators and stairwells run up the core of the building, with hallways connecting the apartments.” He zoomed in on a blueprint image of the IronGate tower, and everybody leaned in. “Every apartment features a private balcony, along with floor-to-ceiling windows,” Lyle continued. “However, there’s dead space between each unit where there are no windows facing outward. That space is about fifteen feet wide and is found where the balcony of one floor is overlapped by the balcony of the floor above it. If we fly the drone directly up the path where the balconies overlap, it will never become directly exposed to a window.”
“Just a couple dozen balconies,” Megan muttered.
“Right,” Lyle said. “Which is why Wolfgang will make sure they’re empty before you lift off.”
The group grew quiet as Lyle continued to stare at his iPad, nodding to himself. Wolfgang wasn’t sure if he was as confident in the plan as he pretended.
“Any other questions?” Edric asked.
“What about the noise?” Kevin said. “How loud is it?”
“We’ve actually got a break on that,” Lyle said. “The drone isn’t quiet, but I was able to find exact specs on the glass the tower is encased in. It’s pretty thick, designed to isolate city noises and to protect the building against sandstorms. The occupants won’t hear a thing, so long as their balcony doors are shut.”
Wolfgang ran the numbers through his head again. The total lifting power of the drone, minus so much weight for the cable, minus Megan’s bodyweight, minus the weight of the harness . . .
“Maybe your shoes,” he said hesitantly.
“What about my shoes?” Megan snapped.
“I was just thinking . . . You don’t really need them. Could save a couple pounds.”
“Seriously?”
Nobody said anything, and Megan cursed as she bent to untie her sneakers. “You morons would be lost without me. You really would.” She kicked the shoes off, then waddled across the rough pavement to the back of the van. “Come on, wiz. Let’s do this shit.”
7
“T-minus one minute,” Edric said. “Charlie Two, have you got the goods?”
Wolfgang held one hand over his ear, waiting for Kevin’s reply to Edric. He stood across the street from Amelia Pollins’s building and traced the outline of each floor, all the way to number eighteen. Dr. Pollins’s balcony jutted out over downtown Cairo, pointed toward the Nile and the Great Pyramids beyond. It sported a four-foot metal railing and sliding glass doors. Those doors would certainly be locked, but under Megan’s practiced hands, they would pose much less a challenge than the security downstairs.
“Just completed the pickup, Charlie Lead,” Kevin said.
“Copy that,” Edric said. “Deploying now.”
Wolfgang turned back to the street that lay between himself and Pollins’s apartment tower. Charlie Team’s van was parked half a mile down the street to his left, its headlights set to dim as exhaust clouded beneath the rear bumper. With a little rumble, the van pulled away from the curb and turned toward the IronGate tower, driving past the main entrance before turning down the service alley on the far side. The alley sat conveniently eighteen floors beneath Pollins’s apartment, with a clear vertical shot all the way to her balcony, along the windowless dead space Lyle had described.
The van ground to a halt.
“Charlie Three, what’s your visual?” Edric said.
Wolfgang scanned the street in both directions, then looked upward at the balconies for any sign of smoking occupants standing near the railing and observing the streets below. It was after midnight, and the balconies, like the streets, were empty.
“Charlie Lead, you’re all clear,” Wolfgang said.
The back doors of the van popped open, and Lyle jumped out. A moment later, Megan appeared, and they pulled the drone out and set it on the concrete behind the van. Megan wore the repelling harness cinched tight around her petite torso, with a thick strap running from between her shoulder blades to the bottom of the drone. A neat coil of cable lay on the ground, with one end running into the bottom of the drone and the other end connected to a Honda generator in the back of the van. Lyle leaned into the van and hit the start button on the generator, and Wolfgang heard a soft humming sound, like that of a distant lawn mower.
All eight blades of the drone spun to life as the generator pumped power into the motors, and a more present buzz joined the distant humming, exactly like that of a horde of bees.
It’s loud. Is it too loud?
Megan stood back, staring fixedly at the vibrating, multi-bladed beast in front of her with something between dread and disgust on her face. Then Lyle shot her two thumbs-up, and she nodded reluctantly.
“Charlie Three, what’s your visual?” Edric said again.
Once more, Wolfgang scanned the balconies and streets. They still lay empty, lit only by intermittent streetlamps spaced evenly along both sidewalks.
“Charlie Lead, all clear,” Wolfgang said.
“Copy that. Charlie Eye, execute.”
Lyle crouched in the back of the van and lifted a giant remote control, complete with thumb-sticks and enough switches to run a submarine. He nodded once to Megan, and she took another step back from the drone. All eight blades accelerated, spinning so fast that they appeared as solid discs. The buzz of the drone
doubled, then tripled before it lifted off the ground with the grace and stability of Marine One. The drone hovered six feet off the pavement, the strap dangling down loosely to Megan’s back, and the cable trailing the ground, then Lyle nodded again and the drone rose another six feet.
Wolfgang checked the balconies again, searching for anybody who may have heard the noise and stepped outside to investigate. So far, there was no one, and his gaze returned to the spectacle at the back of the van.
The strap tightened, and Megan hopped two feet off the ground, then came to rest again. She clutched the harness with both hands and clamped her eyes closed. Lyle shot a glance upward at the drone, and Wolfgang held his breath.
Lyle depressed a lever, and Megan rocketed off the ground like they had launched her out of a cannon. The drone surged into the sky, shooting a hundred feet up before Lyle could decrease the power. Megan swung like a paratrooper, her red hair tousled by the wind. She spun twice in a full circle, and Wolfgang met her gaze both times. Her eyes were wide, but she kept her mouth shut as she dangled only yards away from the condominium tower full of sleeping residents.
“Charlie Eye, what the hell!” Megan hissed.
“Sorry,” Lyle said, his voice cracking a little. “Something’s up with the generator. It’s pumping too much voltage into the motors.”
“What does that mean?” Wolfgang asked.
Lyle shot him a glare from across the street, then waved his hand dismissively and tilted his head upward. “Charlie Three, am I clear?”
Wolfgang checked the balconies, quickly counting the number of floors the drone had already passed. “You’re good to go, Charlie Eye. Proceed upward. You’ve got about eleven floors to go.”
Lyle applied gentle pressure to the throttle lever on the remote, and the drone rose again, slower this time. Megan still spun, and the drone wobbled a little as she passed the twelfth floor, then the thirteenth. Wolfgang couldn’t make out her facial expressions anymore, but she still spun, her bare feet almost two hundred feet off the ground.
“Easy . . .” Wolfgang whispered to himself.
The drone continued to rise, but it dipped to one side now and shuddered under a blast of wind. Megan swung toward the building, extending her right leg just in time to ward off a balcony railing before she slammed into it.
“Sorry!” Lyle hissed. He fidgeted with the remote, and the drone dipped to one side, dropping ten feet and sailing twenty more away from the tower.
“What are you doing?” Megan said. Her voice carried an undertone of panic now.
“Hold still,” Lyle said. “The wind is giving me fits!”
“I don’t care about the wind!”
Wolfgang stepped into the street and shielded his eyes with one hand, quickly counting balconies again. “You’ve got three floors to go!”
“Hurry it up,” Edric said. “I need that thing out of the air!”
Lyle pressed the power lever again, and Megan rose. The cable dangling from the bottom of the drone swung in the wind, blown around by consecutive blasts as the drone turned back toward the tower.
The seventeenth floor passed beneath Megan’s toes, and Lyle eased up on the power. Her head crossed the bottom edge of Pollins’s eighteenth-floor balcony, then Wolfgang saw a spark flash from the bottom of the drone.
“Charlie Eye!” he snapped. “You’ve got—”
Before he could finish the sentence, a shower of sparks burst from the edge of the drone near one of the four motors that powered the fifteen-inch blades. Wolfgang thought he saw smoke framed against the light of the moon, and one side of the drone dipped rapidly. Megan swung, her shoulder clipping the edge of the balcony, then she shot away from the tower as the drone stopped in midair, unable to rise any farther.
“It’s smoking!” Wolfgang said. “I see sparks!”
“I know!” Lyle said. He fought with the controls as the drone continued to shudder under the next blast of wind, then the sparks turned to a flash of orange flame.
“It’s coming down!” Wolfgang said.
The drone dipped as Megan swung toward the tower, then began to fall. She twisted in midair and leaned toward the balcony of the eighteenth floor, catching it with one hand as she flashed past. Wolfgang heard a muted grunt as she slammed against the railing, suspended by her left arm. The drone, now unimpeded by her weight, buzzed only a few feet from her head, powered now by three motors.
Wolfgang held his breath as Megan thrashed at the bottom edge of the balcony, a full two hundred fifty feet off the ground. With her free hand, she reached back and disconnected the tether from her harness, then lunged upward and caught the railing. A moment later, she hoisted herself up, jammed one foot beneath the railing, and then flipped over it and onto the balcony, falling out of sight.
Wolfgang breathed a pent-up sigh and ran a hand over his face. Despite the stiff wind, sweat coated his face and palms.
“What’s going on?” Kevin appeared out of the shadows behind Wolfgang, breathing hard, a large paper bag in one hand. “You said sparks? Is she okay?”
Wolfgang waved him off. “She’s fine.”
He glared across the street at Lyle, who was sheepishly landing his wounded toy. The drone still smoked from one motor, and Wolfgang could smell the acrid stench of toasting electrical components. He wiped his nose and looked back up the tower.
“Charlie One, what’s your position?” Edric said, his voice as calm and controlled as ever.
“I made it,” Megan panted. “I’m on the balcony.”
“Copy that. Proceed with the breach.”
Lyle dragged the drone into the van, then quickly retrieved the two hundred feet of cable, the top end of which was blackened from the electrical fire. The rear doors of the van clacked shut, and Edric powered out of the alley.
Wolfgang checked his watch, then looked upward again. He couldn’t see Megan, but he knew she was there, working her magic on the balcony door’s latch. In only moments, she’d be inside the apartment, and that could trigger an alarm at the main desk.
“Door is breached. Moving in now,” Megan said. Her voice shook a little, but her tone was even.
“Copy that, Charlie One,” Edric replied. “Charlie Three, deploy.”
Wolfgang accepted the paper bag from Kevin, then hurried across the street. Now that his mind had calmed a little from the panic, he could smell the rich aroma of Chinese food from the bag—takeout, from a local place a couple blocks away. It was a favorite of Pollins’s, according to her sister, a place she ordered from often while working late, although he doubted she’d ever ordered takeout that weighed over twenty pounds.
He mounted the steps to the glass door at the bottom of the tower and paused to catch his breath. He smoothed wrinkles out of his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, then depressed the call button. It buzzed.
The answering voice spoke in Arabic. “Marhabaan?”
“Food delivery for unit eighteen oh nine,” Wolfgang said, figuring that somebody on the other side had to speak English.
Silence from the other end.
Wolfgang heard Megan speaking through the coms, her voice soft and sleepy, with a hint of a fake British accent. It wasn’t half bad.
“Hello? Yeah . . . no, I triggered it by mistake. Yeah, I ordered some food. Let him up.”
Another pause, then the lock clicked and Wolfgang pushed inside. The desk guard motioned him over and gestured to the bag. Wolfgang set it on the counter, careful to avoid any slamming or clinking sounds, and untied the top. The guard clicked a light on and scanned the top of the bag, sniffing and poking at the paper cartons.
“ID?” he asked.
Wolfgang passed him a Canadian passport for Timothy Jenkins, a student from Toronto.
The guard checked the image, then flipped to the back and inspected the Egyptian visa. At last, he nodded and handed the passport back. “The elevator is to your left, Mr. Jenkins.”
8
Pollins’s apartment was dark and smell
ed clean. Wolfgang slipped inside and flipped the lights on. Megan rattled around in the next room, and books thumped against a table.
“You find it?” Wolfgang whispered.
He crossed into the main living room and looked around. The interior of the apartment was sparsely furnished, with only a few decorations, all of which seemed to have something to do with Ancient Egypt. There was a desk along one wall, and Megan was bent over it, clicking on a computer, her bare feet planted in the soft carpet.
“The pictures aren’t here, and I can’t find any notes,” she said without looking up. “The computer is locked, also.”
“What about the safe?” Wolfgang asked.
Megan motioned to the far wall of the living room, opposite the balcony door where she entered. A canvas painting leaned against the sheetrock, exposing the metal face of a small safe in the middle of the wall, complete with a digital keypad and a metal lever.
Wolfgang walked to the safe and set the Chinese food down. The safe-cracking tools hidden in the bottom of the bag clinked, and he ran his hand across the face of the safe. It was a premium unit, built of thick steel with almost no gap between the door and the frame. He grabbed the bolt lever and pulled, curious if the safe would wiggle in the wall. It didn’t budge.
“Charlie One, sitrep,” Edric said.
“Charlie Three is here,” Megan said. “Apartment is clean. Moving to wall safe.”
“Copy that. Get a move on. You’ve already been in there ten minutes.”
Megan motioned Wolfgang aside, then clicked her flashlight on and scanned the safe. She gestured to the bag. “Get that crap out of here. It stinks.”
Wolfgang scooped the food cartons out of the bag and slid them across the tile floor, then he began to unpack the safe-cracking tools.
“You don’t like Chinese food?” he asked.
“Not when it’s made of goat.”
“Goat? What makes you think it’s made of goat?”
Megan snorted. “You think it’s pork? This is Egypt. Hand me the stethoscope.”
