Game of Drones (12 page)

But President Carmichael was never very good at waiting.

The Bunker

The drone headed down the covered runway and lifted off when it reached the tunnel’s end, rising and banking towards Washington D.C.

Its stealth programming was fully operational, making it impossible to detect on radar as it made its way to a designated location with two remoras upon its back. It glided above the terrain, dipping and rising over the contours of the treetops as it headed for its next target site.

At a maximum cruising speed of 135 miles per hour, the Reaper was closing in to a strike time of less than two hours.

From the control panel, Naji directed his weapon with surgical precision, watching for aerial resistance that was sure to come from the Presidential sky brigade. Not only was this particular Reaper designed to go unseen, it was also physically elusive, the machine capable of a much smaller turning radius that its predecessor the MQ-9, which gave it the ability to cut and turn in open space as quickly as a blink of an eye, making it impossible for opposing missiles to lock on.

If the Reaper was agile, then the remoras were downright acrobatic, capable of 90-degree angle turns and split-second flip-flops. The attempt to knock one out of the sky would be like trying to hit a fly with a pea-shooter from fifty feet away.

For all practical purposes, it was impossible.

But Shazad was not a man to take things for granted, nor was he a man of complacency. He always stated that the word ‘impossible’ didn’t mean that a mission could not be completed. It simply measured the degree of the mission’s difficulty. And if that was the case, then the U.S. military always possessed the potential to knock the drone and the remoras out of the sky, should they be sighted.

Anything was possible. By the very position in which he found himself, he of all people knew that.

“How long?” asked Shazad, looking over Naji’s shoulder.

But Naji never turned to acknowledge him as he maintained his focus on the monitor. “Within the hour,” he told him.

“Any hostile forces?”

“Not yet, sir. No. We’re remaining low and invisible.”

Shazad nodded, all the while thinking of how stupid President Carmichael was.

This was something he could have stopped.

#

“Any detection?” asked President Carmichael.

“Nothing yet, Sir,” stated Rimaldi.

The president began to rake his fingers nervously through his hair, wondering if he should have taken the unprecedented but seemingly life-sparing route of negotiating with a terrorist faction. But in the end he didn’t want to be known as the first president to buckle either, since such stigmas carry on through a lifetime and even beyond into the history books. Plus, he thought, who's to say he wouldn't have released Zawahiri only to see Shazad use the drones against his homeland anyway? Imagine how
that
would make him look. He felt his stomach churn at the thought and forced himself back to the moment at hand.

“Nothing from the overheads? There’re no satellite imagery, drone spying or flight visuals of any kind?”

Attorney General Cayne shook his head. “So far, Mr. President, if that Reaper is up there, which we believe it is, it’s imperceptible.”

Carmichael's eyes were rimmed with red. “The optimal thing to do here, people, is to blanket the airspace above Washington. I want planes circling at every possible level.”

“D.C. may not even be the target,” pointed out Simon Davis, his Chief Presidential Advisor. Like everyone else at the table, he appeared lost and powerless, a state that neither he nor anyone else in his midst was used to.

“That’s not the point, Simon. The point is to provide protection to this country’s most important venues. Also, if that drone is heading towards Washington, then we’ll see how good our defenses stack up against it.”

He consulted his watch. It had been almost an hour since they had seen the video feed of the predator taking off from an undisclosed location. Assuming that Shazad had the machine travelling at its maximum speed, it had traveled 135 miles by now.

President Carmichael closed his eyes. He had lost control over the situation.

O.U.T.C.A.S.T Facility

Over the past hour the team had geared up by dressing as a battle-ready unit. They wore black jumpsuits with sewn-in composite shin and forearm guards. For further protection of vital areas, they wore Dragon-Skin armor to cover their chests. Tanner’s team was enthused to serve.

On the main monitor that occupied the center wall, FBI Director John Casey was speaking in earnest to the team.

“A Reaper was launched an hour ago from an unknown location,” he told them. “We don’t know its intended target. But we do know that its payload contains two Hellfires and two remoras.”

“No visuals?” asked Tanner.

“We have nothing, I'm afraid."

“John,” Tanner said, pointing to Sunderland, “you know Danielle and you're familiar with her capabilities. If there’s anything out there, she'll find it.”

“Not this time, Tanner. We’re talking about an MQ-10, something that gets lost on the grid by design.”

“Everything has an Achilles heel,” Tanner told him. “Everything.”

“The weakness of Achilles' heel was discovered by accident when an errant arrow from Paris’ bow found its mark by sheer luck. And at least that shooter could
see
his target. Christ, Tanner, we can’t even find this damn thing so that we can take a shot at it.”

There was a pause before John Casey switched to another topic. “Danielle, have you received all the requested information?”

“I did, Director, thank you.” She then informed him that she had all necessary codes and tools to tap the feeds from certain satellites and to extract visual data from them. In essence, she now had a measure of control over the eyes in the sky.

“You think you can find this thing?” Casey asked her. “You think you can find Shazad?”

She nodded with confidence. “If it’s out there, Director, and with the tools that I now have, I should be able to find it.”

“That drone’s been in the air for some time now. Unless we locate it soon, something terrible is going to happen.”

“I understand that,” she told him.

“I know you’ll do your best,” he said to her. And then to the others: “I know you’ll
all
do your best. I know Tanner is very selective in his choices when it comes down to his operatives. He chooses the best of the best of the best. So Godspeed.”

Tanner placed a hand on Danielle’s shoulder. “Like she said, John, if it’s out there, she’ll find it.”

“I hope so,” Casey returned. But in his mind he knew it would take time.

And time was something they did not have.

The Reaper drone was a few miles west of Washington D.C., the vehicle moving in a straight line at maximum speed.

From approximately 500 feet above, the pilot of an F4 Phantom jet spotted the drone and dove to intercept, taking a forty-five degree angle and closing fast.

“Dog Fighter One to Base Command, I have a visual on the hostile unit. I repeat, I have a visual on the hostile unit. Dog Fighters Two and Three, come in.”

“Dog Fighter Two is engaging, Dog Fighter One.”

“Copy that . . . Dog Fighter Three?”

“Dog Fighter Three also copies. Engaging weapon.”

“Copy.”

The three warplanes took a steep trajectory to intercept the drone.

But then the Reaper took on a life of its own. It quickly went into maneuvers by making sharp turns and dips, the vehicle rolling and cutting through space at acute angles by going vertical, then horizontal, trying to shake off its tail. And then it looped so that it fell behind the jets.

“You see that?” said Dog Fighter One.

“This thing is wild,”
said Two. ‘Wild’ was a designated term that listed the target as an object with a high degree of maneuverability, making it extremely difficult to acquire.

“It’s behind me,”
said Three.

“Copy that,” responded One. “I’ll come in from behind.”

The Phantom quickly arced into a perfect loop, trying to approach from the rear. But the drone countered by dipping and turning south. By the time the jet completed its maneuver, the drone was coming back around to intercept One as the Phantom leveled off.

From the drone's back a remora took flight, the mini-drone adopting an inconsistent trajectory with a series of cuts going up, then down, then from left to right--taking on a shaky pattern before it zeroed in on the Phantom. Its speed was alarming as it drew a bead and steadied with the progress of the jet, drawing closer.

“Dog Fighter One to Base Command!”

“Base Command.”

“I have a unit on my tail. I repeat, I have a unit—”

It was the last thing the pilot said as the remora struck the F4, the impact causing the detonation pins to set off the Semtex.

From the elevation of 5,000 feet, burning debris began to rain down on areas a few miles west of Washington D.C.

The pilot never had a chance.

#

Everyone inside the Raven Rock facility gasped.

From a bird’s-eye view through the lens of the jet also known as Dog Fighter Two, they watched the MUAV take out the Phantom. On screen its movements appeared anti-gravitational as if defying the known laws of physics with its quick and sharp directional changes.

President Carmichael could only watch as his heart seemed to crawl up into his throat. “How far is the drone from Pennsylvania Avenue?” he asked.

Rimaldi checked a monitor on the opposite wall that depicted an animated display of the fighter jets in flight. The planes had already crossed the red circle indicating the "danger zone" surrounding Washington D.C. She looked directly at President Carmichael. And though she often carried herself as a woman with a narrow range of emotions, she appeared quite agitated.

“Two miles,” she told him. “It’s two miles away.”

#

OUTCAST Facility.

The members of OUTCAST had witnessed the same visuals as those at Raven Rock, without editing or censoring of any kind. They had seen everything live and uncut, and they could hear everything between the pilot and Base Command.

From the back of the room somebody whispered, “What the Hell.”

Tanner thought it might have been Liam, but he didn’t turn to verify that.

More live images continued to play out—a Phantom trailing the Predator.

The drone continuously lifted and dipped and veered to the left and to the right, the fighter planes having a hard time matching its movements.

“Dog Fighter Two to Base Command. We cannot lock on! I repeat, we cannot lock on!”

“Base to Dog Fighters Two and Three. You must take out the hostile. You must take out the hostile.”

“That’s negative Base. The target's too wild. Do you copy?”

Base did not respond.

“I said Base, do you copy?”

“Base to Dog Fighters, the weapon is within one mile of Ground Zero. I repeat, the weapon is within one mile of Ground Zero. Use necessary protocol to defend the King’s Throne.”

“Copy, Base.”

But it was too late.

The drone had already achieved its means.

#

The Reaper flew over D.C., a plethora of monuments and iconic buildings within its sight. It weaved erratically as if deciding which of these landmarks to assault.

A decision was made...

...and then not one, but two Hellfire missiles launched from the Reaper's underbelly, the projectiles leaving misty contrails in their wakes as they made straight-line paths to the dome of the Capitol Building.

There was no way to stop the missiles. No way to intercept them.

The Hellfires plowed into the Capitol’s dome, collapsing it into a maelstrom of fiery plumes and mushroom clouds that rumbled skyward.

The world famous structure, standing for more than 220 years, was suddenly gone.

#

President Carmichael was visibly traumatized at what he saw. The Capitol was in ruins as columns and pillars toppled with half the structure completely demolished by the missile strikes. Casualties had to be high.

Everyone remained as still as Grecian statues while they absorbed the surreal horror of the moment. Although their eyes were glued to the monitor, their minds were unable to register the sheer magnitude of the situation--the Capitol Building transformed into a raging conflagration, a fallen monument of utter destruction.

Then suddenly, and very softly, someone at the table murmured, “My God.”

It was all President Carmichael needed to spur him to action.

“Declare martial law,” he began. “I want Washington locked down immediately for the safety of the populace. I want the National Guard called to maintain order. And I need a large congregation of fighter planes to strictly police the sky over the capital as failsafe protection. If there is anything up there that shouldn’t be, knock it down. That includes media helicopters.”

“You know the media will be all over this, Mr. President," Rimaldi stated. “The press will be running hard.”

“Get our liaisons online with all local media now. Tell them to keep their choppers grounded. If they go up, then we’ll pick them off. We cannot afford to take time to figure out who’s a hostile and who is not.”

“Yes, sir.”

Carmichael stared at the screen and watched the black plumes of smoke rising from what used to be the Capitol’s rotunda. Then in a weary tone of defeat, he said, “Get word to the media that I’ll be addressing the nation shortly via satellite.”

His Chief Advisor took the reins regarding the press. “Yes, Sir. And, Mr. President?”

Carmichael looked at him with a face that was beginning to hang with the look of a defeated man. “Yeah.”

Simon Davis pointed to the LCD. “Let’s not forget that the drone is still up there.”

#