Richard Clarke - Sting of the Drone

“Let’s get going,” Erik said.

Ray held up his hand, gesturing to slow down. “It’s very unlikely that the phone is still where she is.”

Sandra was picking up the drop line to Flight Ops. “Maybe, but it could give us a lead, like maybe some fingerprints.” She looked up at the aircraft status screen. “I need techs to work on the four Pred trainers, add an antenna and download some software updates. How long will that take?”

“I’m piloting,” Erik insisted.

She hung up the landline. “They’re calling in the ground tech guys. If they push it, we could have them ready to launch around sundown.”

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 20

ONE CENTER PLAZA

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

“Got him,” Bobby Gallagher yelled as he burst into Judith Wolosky’s office.

“Who, Mister Big? The Indian guy? Where?”

“London, in the airport. He’d just flown in from the Virgin Islands and he was carrying an Australian passport,” Gallagher said.

“We sure it’s the same guy?” she asked.

“Yeah, they found the Indian passport and ID sewn into his carry-on, same guy.”

“Well, who gets to go to London to interrogate him? I’ll call Headquarters. It’s our case,” she said.

“Don’t bother. He’s dead. Resisting arrest. Grabbed a cop’s gun, killed him, wounded another one. Scotland Yard guy I talked to said it was like he didn’t want to be taken alive.”

“Shit,” Wolosky said. “That ain’t good. Means he was afraid of revealing information, like what the other things are that are supposed to happen simultaneously.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Gallagher added. “That probably means they will go off without needing him. Autopilot.”

Judith Wolosky walked to the big window looking out on the city. “Besides the Indian ID in the lining, anything interesting? Any pocket litter?”

“Nada.”

“Of course not,” Wolosky said. “If you were going to bomb the T, maybe other cities’ subways, too, maybe other things, when would you do it?”

“The busiest shopping day is probably tomorrow, or maybe the day before Christmas,” Gallagher offered.

“We have to get them to go back into the tunnels with the dogs, with lights. Double-check that no one has planted anything. Red Line, Blue Line, Green Line, Orange Line, the works,” she said. “I think I should call the Governor.”

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 20

SPECIAL OPERATIONS ROOM

GLOBAL COORDINATION CENTER

CREECH AFB, NEVADA

After a fruitless hour and a quarter of flying the drones over Las Vegas, Ray said to Erik Parsons, “Well, we didn’t think they would have her near the Strip or in Henderson. Let’s expand the search areas, two north toward Creech, two east toward Nellis. Good thing is, now, we got Clark County SWAT ready to go if we get a location. FBI got Nellis Air Force Base to give them four Blackhawks to fly SWAT in.”

Erik instructed two Air Force sergeants where to move the two pairs of Predators that were circling low over Clark County, Nevada, transmitting an open WiFi network signal.

“Got it,” Dugout cried out.

“You found her phone?” Erik said, moving quickly down the line to Dugout’s desk.

“No, not yet, sorry I didn’t mean to, uh…” Dugout said, looking up at the Air Force officer. “But I did find the flaw in their encryption algo.”

“Good for you,” Erik said sarcastically. “Dug, I’m sorry, too, man, no sleep. What does that do for us?”

“Means in a few hours or so, if I’m lucky, I can crack the three servers we’ve been looking at and maybe get the IP addresses of where these guys are. Maybe run a trace route that will tell me which buildings, maybe which hotel room or office suite,” Dugout said. “They may have her at the U.S. location, the one that’s connected to the server in Dallas.”

“No need to wait for that, sir,” Sergeant Miller said, standing up at his screens. “I got her iPhone pinging back up north of the city, near the golf course. Getting visual now on the area.” He adjusted the camera. “Nothing around up there but that old trailer home. Looks abandoned.”

Erik looked at Ray. “Let’s go.” The two men ran to the Chevy Suburbans parked outside, where a team of FBI agents had been waiting, hoping that the Predators would find a signal. As the three black trucks drove off the base, the lead Agent radioed ahead to the SWAT team.

“Do you hit the house right away? The bad guys might kill her if they see us coming.” Erik asked the lead Agent.

“We’ll sneak up to the building, they won’t see us in the dark,” the FBI man explained.

“But they may have perimeter sensors,” Ray said. The FBI man frowned, but said nothing.

“Wait a minute. Patch me through on your radio to the GCC,” Erik said to him. “Miller, don’t we have the IR human form sensors on those Preds? Good, image the house through each of the windows. Also scan multispec for tunnels.”

In a few minutes Miller called back to Erik Parsons. “Right, you’re one hundred percent sure?” Erik looked at Ray and the Bureau lead. “We assess one live body in the trailer home. No tunnels.”

“You willing to risk your wife’s life on that, Colonel?” the FBI man asked.

Erik inhaled, exhaled, thought a long moment. “Yes.”

The FBI Agent talked into his radio. “All right, tell SWAT to land two of the helos at the house and go in. We think there is one person in the house. Could be the vic or the perp. Don’t shoot till you are sure which. Watch out for booby traps.” The Agent looked at Erik. The black Suburbans were racing up the Interstate, pushing traffic out of the left-hand lane. Ray saw the speed indicator go to three digits.

Ray and Erik exchanged nods, hoping they had done the right thing. The FBI Agent put the tactical commander’s radio bridge on speaker.

“Hawk one landed.”

“Hawk two landed.”

“Two other Blackhawks are circling the site, throwing down light.”

Then there were three very long minutes of static.

“Going in, going in.”

Erik’s eyes were closed, his head down, his hands squeezing the back of the seat in front of him.

For five more minutes they raced up the highway listening to static. Silence.

Then, “Building cleared, no traps. Victim recovered. Reports she is thirsty, hungry. Should we chopper her to the ER for a checkup?”

A cheer went up in the Suburban. Tears ran down the Air Force pilot’s face. “No, no. Wait till we get there.” Erik began to choke up. “If she’s hungry, she’s fine. Can I talk with her?”

“That might be hard to patch together, Colonel, but at this speed, we’re less than five mics out,” the lead FBI Agent replied.

He was out of the Suburban before it stopped, running toward his wife, who sat in the open side door of one of the Blackhawks. He embraced her and then lifted her high in the air before the two collapsed in the dirt together, crying and laughing.

After they had settled down and were holding hands, staring up at the stars, Ray knelt next to them in the dirt. “Dr. Parsons, I know this is not the time for the debrief, but time is important right now. You are a trained observer. Is there anything you can tell us that would help us right now?”

Both Jennifer and Erik sat up. She began, “One man,” she began. “Thirties. Sounded American. Ski mask, couldn’t see the face. Made me watch video of drone strikes. Said he was going to get Erik. Said he tried once already, but got the wrong guy. Maybe I’ll remember more, but…”

Ray thanked her and walked away. He pulled out his mobile and called Sandra Vittonelli. “I heard, it’s great news,” she said before Ray could talk. “I was just about to hop in the shower. Come on over. Did you talk with her?”