Daniel Suarez - Kill Decision

She nodded and put them on.

He placed the helmet on her head, took it off, made a few adjustments, and then put it on again. It was heavily padded and had integral earphones. In a moment she heard his radio voice again. “Have you ever used a PHAOS rig?”

She shook her head.

He clipped the aerodynamic oxygen mask onto her helmet. Then he rigged the oxygen bottle into the flight suit. He then held out her parachute pack.

“So you have paratrooper training.”

He eyed her. “I’ve done a few jumps…” Then he also held out the leg loops of a yellow nylon harness. The moment she stepped into it, he quickly buckled it around her. McKinney traced her hand from the harness to a strap that led to the ceiling.

Odin spoke as he worked. “Monkey cord. It’ll keep you from falling out of the aircraft.”

She nodded. “I’ve used them before.”

He smacked her shoulder and gave a thumbs-up. “You’re good to go. Just stay out of the way when all this stuff goes out the hatch.” He gestured to the payload.

McKinney could see that the others had donned their high-altitude and parachute gear as well, along with helmets and monkey cords.

The pilot’s voice came over the radio. “Odin, this is Tailhook. We’ve got eyes on that cyclops. Repeat, eyes on the cyclops. Sending the image on channel four. Over.”

“Copy that, Tailhook.” Odin clipped on his own monkey cord harness, then grabbed the tablet computer. He flipped to channel four.

McKinney leaned in to see a highly detailed black-and-white thermal image.

Odin nodded to himself, then keyed the radio. “Been looking for that son of a bitch for a while. Tango Yankee, Tailhook.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There, on-screen, was the image of a delta-shaped unmanned aircraft, tracking above the badlands in the night, shades of gray on gray. It was visibly different from the drone that had tried to kill her in Africa: a flying wing with a propeller on its trailing edge. The wing surface itself appeared to be of patchwork material-at least on the thermal image. As though it was a hobby project.

Odin keyed the mic. “Foxy, get us as much video imagery as you can on our approach. If it self-destructs, this is all we’re going to get. So I want video from every angle while we’re bagging it. Top, sides, bottom. Got that?”

“Odin, this is Tailhook. We’re a mile behind this thing and coming up fast, but we’re still going to be tight on time if we want to bag it before it drops its payload.”

Odin exchanged hand signals with Foxy. “Copy that, Tailhook. Get us in there, man.”

The plane lurched in sudden turbulence. McKinney grabbed Odin’s arm to steady herself. She focused on the camera image. They were nearly on top of the drone, and she could see the texture on the composite surface.

Another voice came on the intercom. “Stand clear of the cargo doors. Opening in three, two, one…”

A loud sucking sound was followed by a rushing roar as the upper rear floor of the cargo bay raised up beneath the tail. A moment later the lower ramp leveled, with hydraulic pistons holding it in place to either side. McKinney could see Foxy and Tin Man moving toward the payload, while the loadmaster and flight engineer looked out the open cargo door with thermal binoculars at the yawning gulf behind them. The view of the vast Utah wilderness below them was beautiful in the crisp winter moonlight.

Odin walked toward the ramp. McKinney stood up but remained where she was as the plane passed close above the mystery drone. It was a hundred or more feet below them and a bit farther back, but the entire team was riveted by it-apparently never having seen their enemy with the naked eye.

Odin’s voice came in over McKinney’s headphones. “Let’s hope One was right about these things not having eyes on the back of their heads.”

In a moment Singleton’s voice came over the radio in response. She hadn’t seen him down at the camp, but he was evidently there. “They’re a Spartan, single-use platform. Their targets are all below them. Eyes above would mean they’d need software to interpret what they’re seeing in a different context. It wouldn’t be justified.”

Odin nodded. “Thanks, One.”

Behind him the loadmaster readied the first pallet with the folded tentlike object on it.

Foxy’s voiced crackled. “Tailhook, this is Foxy. We are deploying the interdiction bag. Get ready for some drag.”

“Copy that.”

Odin motioned for McKinney to stand back, and he moved against the wall next to her. A moment later the small drag chute deployed, pulling the folded bag pallet toward the emptiness beyond the cargo door. In a moment it tipped off the edge and started unreeling steel cable that quickly pulled taut on the concrete pallet. The securing straps there snapped tight.

McKinney saw the loadmaster checking the cable assembly. He gave a thumbs-up. On Odin’s handheld screen, a night-vision image showed the interdiction bag open like a parachute canopy at the end of a curving, one-hundred-meter length of steel cable behind the C-130.

The loadmaster radioed the pilot. “Interdiction bag deployed. Tailhook, you are GO for interdiction.”

The pilot’s voice came over moments later. “TOC, interdiction bag deployed successfully. We’re moving in to capture.”

“Copy that.”

From this distance it looked like the bag was pathetically small. McKinney decided to edge closer to the ramp alongside Odin. He gave her a brief glance, but she was busy taking in the fantastic view. She could also see the drone more clearly from this vantage point. It was only a hundred or so meters back. It looked even less impressive up close, with perhaps a twenty-foot wingspan. She could hardly believe all this ruckus had been caused by this jury-rigged hobby aircraft.

The drone seemed to be inching back relative to the billowing containment bag, the pilot maneuvering it into position. The bag was aerodynamically stable, apparently due to small fins on its side. Hoov was watching the scene intently as he manipulated a handheld joystick. It occurred to McKinney that he must be controlling it.

The whole team watched in tense anticipation.

The pilot’s voice crackled. “Fifty meters.” A pause. “Thirty meters.”

In the green night-vision camera image the unsuspecting drone eased back toward the bag.

The pilot’s voice came over the radio. “Odin, we’re just three miles to Target One. Altitude ten thousand feet.”

“Just keep it steady.”

On-screen the drone pulled up slightly, and a voice came over the radio. “Bomb in! Bomb in! Target Two has deployed ordnance.”

Odin spoke. “JOC, you’ve got ordnance inbound. All personnel take cover.”

Singleton’s voice came back with a siren wailing in the background. “Copy that, Odin.”

The drone began to climb steeply.

The pilot’s voice. “Pulling up. Keep it in the box. This fucker’s climbing fast.”

Odin motioned for McKinney to get back and followed behind her toward their seats. She heard his voice in her headphones. “We need to bag it, Tailhook. You’re running short on time.”

“We’ll get it.”

The men in the cargo bay grabbed for handholds as the plane lurched upward, chasing the drone up into the sky. Suddenly the entire view through the open cargo bay was of the dark badlands below. Tin Man started sliding back, and Foxy reeled him in by his monkey cord.

Meanwhile, behind them the plane was managing to gain on the drone and center it back into the maw of the bag. The team in the cargo bay watched intently-and in a few moments the drone disappeared, enveloped by the bag.

“Bingo, TOC! Bogey’s in the bag! Repeat bogey’s in the bag!”