Richard Clarke - Sting of the Drone

In Washington, Ray watched with a broad smile spread across his face. He turned to the Pentagon screen. “Are those people, those civilians now a safe distance away from the target, General?”

“Safe enough for us to strike? I don’t think we need to. That road ahead is so badly cratered, that truck isn’t going to get through. Besides, when we told the African Union about the convoy just now, they dispatched a squad on a Hip helicopter. Now that the bad guys have abandoned the trucks, the Ugandans ought to be able to land nearby and render safe the bomb.”

As the General spoke, the camera from Bird Two zoomed out toward the horizon and focused in on a helicopter moving slowly toward the scene of the explosions. The armed men running from the trucks heard the noise of the old helicopter and also looked in its direction. One of the men stopped running, took a small black box from his backpack, and lay down in the dirt. Erik was bringing Bird One around again to further scare the shooters away from the vehicles, as the truck bomb detonated, sending an orange flame and then a thick black column of smoke rushing into the air above the convoy. On the two screens showing images from the two Predators, one at two thousand and one at twelve thousand feet, the explosion erupted violently, silently.

Erik struggled to pull the Predator up quickly enough that it would not fly into the concussive wave sweeping out from the truck. The aircraft rocked violently, but began to climb. Then it shook and dove quickly down and to the right. “I think you lost a chunk of the left wing, sir,” Sergeant Miller said. “Going down.”

Erik still had video feed and he looked ahead of the path of the aircraft, hoping to bring it down where the impact would do no damage to anyone on the ground. There was nothing but sand and rock in the view screen. A lone tree stood in the distance, but the aircraft was not going to make it that far. The camera showed dirt rising up quickly just before the screen went blank.

Erik stood up and turned to Major Walker. “Bud, blow up my aircraft, or what’s left of it.”

On the Big Board, there was now only one image, from Bird Two. What it showed on close up was that Bird One had had a rough landing, with both wings breaking off, but remarkably, the fuel tank had not yet exploded. Then the image zoomed out. A Hellfire zoomed off the left wing of Bird Two, soaring ahead of the Predator, the smoke briefly clouding the image from the camera. In seconds, the wreck of Bird One exploded, leaving nothing large enough to salvage, nothing of value to anyone trying to learn about the aircraft.

“Well done, Colonel,” Sandra’s voice from Washington boomed over the speakers in the GCC. A cheer rose up from the twenty pilots on the floor.

Erik had walked back to his desk and placed the conference call headset back on. He spoke into it. “Kill Call Closed.”

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 13

CAMINO AL NORTE BUSINESS CENTER

NORTH LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

“I’m afraid the doctor does not take walk-ins,” the receptionist said. “You will have to have a referral and then request an appointment.”

“Tell her Mustang is here,” he said. “Go ahead. Ask her if she wants to ride a Mustang.”

The receptionist was a temp and clearly uncomfortable. She thought that taking a job in a psychiatrist’s office at night was going to be strange and it had been ever since she sat down.

“Doctor,” she said into the telephone, “a man named Mustang is here and wants to see you and he won’t go away.”

“Oh, dear,” Jennifer Parsons replied on the telephone, from inside her office. “Well, then ask him if I can ride him.”

Hearing that, the receptionist hung up the telephone, picked up her bag, and walked quickly out of the office. “You people are just not good Christians,” she said as she slammed the door to the suite.

“You know, she’s right,” Jennifer said, standing in the doorframe of her office. “We’re not. And I do need to find a new temp agency.”

“Or a more devout husband,” Erik Parsons replied.

“Never,” Jennifer replied, putting her arms around his waist. “I like my Mustang, my horse.” She gave him one of her long, slow kisses. “How was your day at the office, dear? Did you push lots of pieces of paper?”

“It was good. I think we saved some lives today,” he said as he lifted her up and then sat her on the receptionist’s desk. “But I crashed and burned, destroyed my airplane.”

Jennifer folded her legs behind him. “That’s okay, Mustang, they’ll give you a new toy tomorrow.”

The door flew open. “I forgot my cell phone,” the ex-receptionist said. Jennifer and Erik leaped off the desk. “You people don’t need a shrink, you need a preacher. And a cold shower,” she said as she stormed out a second time.

“Buzzkill,” Erik said to her on her way out.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Jen replied. “Le Croupier is still open. They make great mojitos.”

“If that’s what the doctor is prescribing for my condition,” he replied.

“It’s part one of a two-part therapy,” she said. “The second part requires you to get in a hot tub. Later.”

They took a booth in the back of the bar and grille on the first floor of the office building. Despite the half-off prices, the crowd was thin. Most people still preferred to go to the casinos for their drinking, free drinking if they were gambling.

“Did you really crash and burn?” Jennifer asked.

“Yeah, but these things only run around four million. It’s not like I crashed a B-2, or even an F-16,” he said, sipping his mojito. “You’re right. They will give me a new one tomorrow. Several.”

“So what’s the problem? What brings you to the shrink’s office today?” she asked. “Or were you just feeling horny because you were a hero?” She knew not to ask how he had saved people’s lives, but she did not doubt it.

Erik laughed. “No, I’m okay. It’s just that after the orphanage, things are a little different. More tense. We actually got turned down by the White House for the first time today.”

“But you went ahead anyway?” she asked.

“Well, kinda. Let’s just say I found a way of proceeding that was consistent with the Commander’s Intent,” he said. “But I am a little worried about Bruce. He thinks it’s his fault those kids got killed. I think he’s drinking too much, but I don’t want to put him on report. That would tank his shot at promotion to O-5.”

“But you can counsel him, can’t you, without it going in his jacket?” she asked.

“Sure, and I have,” he replied. “It’s just, it’s more than Bruce. It’s like something’s shifted. Like the bad guys are figuring us out, like we’re not quite invulnerable anymore.”

“Look, honey, you always said you had to fight against this whole idea that you all are the Avenging Angels who can throw lightning bolts down from your home in the sky,” Jennifer said. “You’re not invulnerable and you do fly real weapons that can hurt real people. You may have to remind your guys of that every once in a while, but I am still much happier having you fly your drones than when you were flying the F-16. If you crashed and burned one of those, you might have been a crispy critter.”

“Yeah, well, I miss the real cockpit,” he replied.

A young man in a blue blazer, sitting at the bar by himself, finished his 7 and 7, put down a ten, and walked out. Jen watched him through the bar’s window as he got into a Cadillac XTS. “I’m thinking about looking at the new Caddy to replace my Ford,” Jennifer said to her husband. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I love my Camaro and I’m gonna take you back to my place in it, with the top down. Let’s go check out the hot tub.”