Mike Maden - Drone Threat

Pearce shook his head. “I wouldn’t waste the manpower. It’s not as if law enforcement doesn’t already have its hands full these days. This threat is too nonspecific and the points of vulnerability are nearly infinite. If the locals are doing their jobs, they’re already on alert for suspicious activity. Tell them to watch out for suspicious drone activity and they might accidentally start arresting innocent real estate agents, farmers, and park rangers. Besides, if you put out a bulletin like that, the press will get wind of it.”

“Agreed,” Eaton said.

“Should we cancel Pearce’s hearing this morning until we get a handle on the situation?” Chandler asked.

The president shook his head. “No. There’s nothing to get a handle on and I need Troy more than ever, especially in an official capacity. Canceling at this late hour will send the wrong message about our intentions — might even raise suspicions. Right now I want everything we’ve discussed to stay between us and off the record. No point in raising alarms or causing a general panic.”

“And we still haven’t officially ruled out the possibility that this was just some kind of sophisticated hoax or a publicity stunt,” Eaton said.

“Fair enough,” Lane said. “Though I’m strongly leaning in the other direction.”

Grafton nodded in agreement with Lane. So did Chandler. “Feels like a genuine threat to me.”

“We’ve asked local law enforcement to scan their security cameras and try to get a visual on the drone’s flight path. They’re mostly pointed at the street but we might get lucky. If we can trace its launch point, we might get another clue about who’s behind it,” Eaton said.

“Even if the threat is real, you can’t comply with this demand,” Pearce said. “Ever.”

“Hell no.” Lane picked up the paper again and studied it. “It would send the worst possible signal to our enemies and allies alike. All hell would break loose. And if it turns out to be a hoax, after all, I’d be a laughingstock.” He glanced at Chandler. “How long would it take for your friends on the Hill to file an impeachment resolution after a FUBAR like that?”

“Half of a New York minute, and there’d be fistfights in the aisle to see who got to file it first.”

There was a soft knock on the door before it swung open. The tall Secret Service agent Pearce had seen before stepped in, carrying a sealed paper evidence bag.

“This just arrived from the lab, Mr. President. The contents have been cleared.”

“Thank you.” Lane took the bag and she left. Lane opened it. Stood up. Pulled out the familiar black flag with the Shahada in white Arabic text above the seal of Muhammed. He shook it out and displayed it for the others.

“ISIS calls it the Black Banner,” Eaton said. “It’s the most famous symbol of terror in the world now.”

Lane shook his head. “It’s a big piece of black toilet paper as far as I’m concerned.”

“We need to bomb these savages back into the Middle Ages, where they belong,” Chandler said.

“They’re already halfway there,” Pearce said. He thought about Tariq again, and the women ISIS had butchered that night not so long ago. He wished now he’d taken the ISIS fighters out preemptively with the Heron’s missiles before they had had the chance to murder. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Lane wadded up the flag and tossed it onto his chair. “Fuck ’em. We’ll just have to wait and see what their next play is. Until then, we’ll stay the course. Mel, you’re on point for this. Keep us all posted as things develop on your end. And please, everyone, let’s keep a tight lid on this. You especially, Troy — the Senate subcommittee will go apeshit if they get wind of this.”

“Of course,” Pearce said. He saw something familiar in Lane’s eyes. He’d seen it before in combat, many times.

The look of a man about to charge in, knowing his number’s up.

Pearce and Grafton were seated at the long witness table facing the imposing semicircle of elevated chairs where the senators sat behind their nameplates. Chairman Jim Floyd sat in the center, flanked by George Kelly and Claire Earlywine. The other sixteen seats were vacant. No one else was in attendance, not even committee staffers.

Pearce leaned over to Grafton, whispered, “That’s it?”

“That’s a good sign. That means the others aren’t interested or concerned. Trust me, when you’re in the stirrups, you don’t want nineteen pairs of hands in the exam room. These three are bad enough.”

“Mr. Pearce, I see you’ve brought along expert help today,” the chairman began. He spoke in a slow midwestern baritone.

“Yes, sir. I’m pleased to introduce Ms. Vicki Grafton, Vice President Chandler’s chief of staff.” Even from where he sat, Pearce could see the sparkling blue eyes beneath the huge bushy silver eyebrows.

“Yes, we’re quite familiar with our dear friend Ms. Grafton,” Floyd said with a grin. “How are you, Vicki?”

“I’m very well, Senator, thank you for asking.”

“And how’s old Clay treating you?”

“Best boss in the world.”

Floyd laughed. “Good thing you’re not under oath today.” The other senators laughed.

Floyd continued. “Mr. Pearce, as you know, this is a closed-door hearing. We’re conducting the people’s business but sometimes the people don’t need to know how the sausage gets made. No media is present nor will today’s meeting be recorded in any fashion or reported, out of national security concerns. I plan to keep our time together as short as possible and the conversation informal. I won’t ask you to swear in because I’ve seen your service record and I know you to be a man of honor and integrity who’s sacrificed much on the field of battle and on behalf of your nation.”

“Thank you, Senator. I’ll answer everything to the best of my ability. And if I don’t know the answer, I won’t bull—” Pearce caught himself. “Pretend I do.”

The senators got a laugh out of that one, too.

“I can’t make the same promise on my end, but we’ll just see how it goes,” Floyd said.

“Mr. Chairman, if you don’t mind my jumping in, I’d like to ask Mr. Pearce a question before we get started,” Earlywine said.

“Please do.”

“Mr. Pearce, what is your opinion of the drone attack?”

Pearce felt his gut sink. How did she know? He cast a quick glance at Grafton, equally puzzled. He needed to buy some time. Lane said to keep his mouth shut but he didn’t want to start the meeting with a bald-faced lie or betraying the president’s confidence. He decided to stall.

“Is there something specific you had in mind, Senator?”

“Yesterday’s subway attack,” Earlywine said. “Are we likely to see more of that kind of thing? And if so, what can we do about it?”

Pearce’s blood pressure dropped. A bullet dodged. “Unfortunately I’m afraid we’re due for more of the same. And for the moment, there’s very little we can do in the way of prevention.”

“We’re damn lucky that attack was only with tear gas and not some WMD,” Kelly chimed in. The others nodded in agreement.

“I agree with you, Senator. But luck is a lousy defense strategy. One of my top priorities is drone defense. I know it’s a problem the Pentagon has been looking at for years. We’re all concerned.”

“That’s it? Anything else?” Earlywine asked.

“There’s nothing else to say. We’re behind but we’re working on it.” Pearce didn’t want to tell her it was his worst fear, or the fact that his worst fear might have come to pass just a few hours earlier.