Mike Maden - Drone Threat

Pearce searched the house. It was orderly but clearly occupied, and it looked like Pike was coming back soon, judging by the beer and food stocked in the fridge. His clothes closet was full, as were his dresser drawers. If Pike had fled, he didn’t take much with him and he had left in a hurry.

There were no electronics to be found in the house — at least, no computers, cell phones, or tablets. Nor did he find a secret safe, ammo caches, or weapons-grade anything except for a collection of flint arrowheads locked in a small glass case and stashed in a sock drawer.

Neither were there any clues that Tamar had been in the house at all. But Pearce didn’t find any smashed furniture, bloodstains, or bullet holes, either. If Tamar had been there and had been subdued, it was done quickly and with little violence. Pearce doubted it. Tamar was a skilled operator and a good fighter. Pike looked like a harmless schlub with a talent for computers. But then again, he was a commercial fisherman who navigated the dangerous waters of the Great Lakes for a living. That was a real workingman’s job, and it took guts and strength to survive out there.

The garage was filled with neatly stacked and organized fishing and boating gear. A quick perusal didn’t uncover any weapons or contraband there, either. He thought about checking the attic but he was getting the feeling this entire trip was a waste of time. He half expected Pike to walk in at any moment with a bucket of fish in one hand and a slew of questions. Pearce wouldn’t have any answers.

Pearce began to despair. This was the last stop on the search for his missing friend, at least for today. He wondered if he could call up the attorney general and beg a favor from her despite their recent clashes. The FBI was still one of the world’s premier investigative organizations. Perhaps with a little more focus and incentive from Peguero, the local field office might put out a more sustained effort.

Pearce headed for the hallway and stopped at the last unexplored room. There was a heavy security bracket and hasp attached to the door frame and door but no lock. Where was it? Strange.

He pushed the door open.

The room was empty except for two long workstation tables. Pearce stepped inside. A thin layer of dust on the tables outlined the shapes of keyboards, monitors, and other peripherals. Exactly as Werntz’s report stated. The IT officer assisting Tamar said that he tried to hack the system but couldn’t break in after several attempts. Thirty-eight minutes into the hacking attempt, Tamar’s phone went dead and he lost the connection to both her and the computer.

Pearce ran a finger through the dust. No reason. Just habit. Something he’d seen in the movies a hundred times. Like the dust itself contained some sort of clue.

It didn’t.

The only other object in the room was a painting on the far wall. It looked familiar, like a museum piece. People on a raft. Pearce shrugged. He wasn’t much into paintings.

If he’d have looked closer, he might have seen the micro-camera embedded in the picture frame.

Pike had warned al-Saud against going after Pearce personally. “He’s a trained operator. Fuck. A trained SOG operator. Those guys recruit from the SEAL teams, not the other way around.”

But al-Saud wouldn’t listen. Even argued Pearce was one of the few CIA spec ops fighters recruited out of the civilian community, as if that mattered. Pike was a gun for hire and he knew how to obey orders. He also knew how to do an end run. The imperious prince never suspected that his computer contractor might use those skills on him as well. Pike watched the entire Pearce fiasco unfold at the prince’s golf course residence. He even tried to warn al-Saud at the last minute that an attack by Saudi forces was imminent, but the prince wouldn’t pick up his phone. Too busy putting a gun to Pearce’s skull. Couldn’t be bothered. Arrogant prick , Pike reminded himself. But al-Saud paid well. Very well.

Once al-Saud kicked the hornet’s nest, it was up to Pike to keep track of the hornets, and Pearce was the nastiest of the bunch. He had no idea that Pearce was connected to Werntz but shouldn’t have been surprised. The espionage community was small and clubby, like an East Coast prep school — but with guns. He was lucky Werntz didn’t spill the beans entirely on him to Pearce. But it wasn’t luck that kept him one step ahead of Werntz and the assassins he’d sent his way. His mole in Werntz’s organization had seen to that. Keeping tabs on Werntz now meant he could keep tabs on Pearce, at least from a distance.

Until now.

Pike watched Pearce through the fish-eye camera lens embedded in the picture frame. It was a guessing game now. Pike hoped Pearce would call his female friend into the house to help search, but instead Pearce wisely left her outside on overwatch. Pearce had checked the place pretty thoroughly. Pike watched him do it swiftly and expertly on the two dozen other micro-cameras he had hidden throughout the house. It was clear that Pearce hadn’t found anything because there was nothing for him to find. The only thing that really mattered to Pike was the computer setup at his house that allowed him to remotely control the drone and hacking operations from Black Lake, and he’d already spirited those components away and dumped them in the middle of Lake Michigan before selling his beloved Ayasi .

Pike checked his watch, his finger hovering over the switch. Pearce was nearly done. If he wasn’t going to call the woman into the house, that meant he’d be leaving soon. It was now or never.

Good thing Pearce didn’t bother checking the attic.

Ian never doubted his ability as a hacker, especially after breaking into Jasmine Bath’s seemingly impregnable system last year. But Pike had proved himself no slouch, either.

The Scot finally found a back door into the wireless camera system and, once there, was able to ride the unprotected video signal all the way back to Pike’s remote station, somewhere on the other end of the satellite connection. Suddenly he was watching Pearce through the same fish-eye camera lens that Pike was using, and a moment later Ian discovered the remote triggering software connected to the camera system.

Ian shouted at Pearce through his comms as he tried to disable the trigger, but he was too late.

Troy heard Ian shout in his earpiece, “Pearce! The window! Now!”

Pearce instantly lunged for the window directly in front of him. Felt his clenched fists break the glass just as the world exploded.

Stella Kang screamed as Pearce’s huge frame broke through the window, the house erupting all around him. The roof flipped up on one sturdy wall, like a hinged lid, propelled by a ball of fire and shattered lumber, but the other three walls blew out. Pearce’s body tumbled through the air like a rag doll. He landed clear of the house as the flaming roof smashed back down onto the remains of the structure and collapsed it.

Stella sprinted through the trees and fell down at the side of Pearce’s body, twisted and limp in the pine needles. She called Ian for help, but Pearce wasn’t responsive and she couldn’t find a pulse.

Pearce’s eyes blinked open. Where the hell am I?

He glanced at his feet tenting beneath the blanket on his elevated bed. Saw the bed rails and the TV attached to the far wall. It was hard to focus. A hospital room. His back and shoulders were sore. He felt the feeding tube snaking through his nose and down his throat. Instinctively he reached up to yank it out.