Mike Maden - Drone Threat

“Now you’re the one being naive. The American people will never accept the kind of war you’re talking about. Lane won’t, either. It’s not in his nature.”

“With your help we can get him there.”

“No. I’ll do everything I can to get him to change his mind and stop the bloodshed now.”

Chandler’s honey-smooth accent turned ice cold. “The president has already made his decision. We’re at war, Pearce. Congress is voting on the most comprehensive and far-reaching AUMF in history. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

“The president doesn’t have all of the facts.”

Chandler chuckled. “Facts are analogue, Pearce. Completely out of fashion. I thought you knew that.”

“I guess I’m old-school that way.”

“The world’s too complicated for a reality-based paradigm. Superpowers like us have to create our own reality now.”

Pearce gripped the phone tighter. “My job is to tell the president the truth.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Then I’ll go to the press. They still like facts.”

“Not from discredited sources.”

“How am I discredited?”

“It would be better if you walked away, quietly and with honor. You still have your company. I’m sure the government will still want to buy your drones.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about money or power. This is about my country. And about shitbirds like you who are going to kill it.”

Chandler sighed. “I was afraid this would be your response. Lord knows I tried.” He rang off.

Pearce stared at his phone, wondering what Chandler was up to and plotting his own next move. Maybe Ian could find a way to break into Lane’s secured communication network and get a message directly to him.

The doorbell rang.

Strange. He wasn’t expecting any visitors and Myers had a key. He snagged a Shun carving knife out of the block and crossed over to the door, holding the blade behind his back. He opened it. Two FBI agents stood in the hallway. They flashed IDs.

“Troy Pearce?” one of the agents asked.

“Yes.”

The other agent held up a sheet of paper. “A warrant. You’re under arrest.”

“On what charge?”

“The murder of Iraqi general Ali Majid.”

Tanaka’s iron grip tightened around Pearce’s throat but Pearce wasn’t fighting back. The Japanese minister’s bulging eyes were just inches away from his face, his tobacco breath stale and foul as always. Suddenly Tanaka’s grip slackened, and then his ropey arms dropped. He stared contemptuously at Pearce, grunted, and turned away, shuffling through the thick, watery muck around his ankles, back over to the steel cylinder lying on its side. Tanaka opened it and crawled back in, shutting the door tightly behind him.

Pearce’s eyes opened. He wasn’t sweating or gasping for breath. He was lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling. Guilt sat on his chest like a familiar dog, heavy and still. But at least he could breathe.

The heavy steel cell door thudded twice. The portal slid open. He saw the prison guard’s face.

“Pearce, you have a visitor.”

Pearce shuffled into the sparse but spacious visitors’ room. In the center of it was a steel table bolted to the floor and two metal chairs. His wrists were manacled in front of him to a chain wrapped twice around his jumpsuit at the waist. The muscled guard, the shift supervisor, guided him by the elbow to an open chair.

“How much time do we have?” Myers asked. She sat opposite Pearce across the steel table. A digital clock was high up on the wall, shielded by a metal cage.

“You’re scheduled for fifteen minutes.”

“Can we get more time?”

The grim-faced officer tilted his head. “How much time do you need, ma’am?”

“I’d like a month but I’ll settle for thirty minutes.”

He nodded thoughtfully. His features softened. “I can make that happen, Madam President.”

Myers smiled. “I’m grateful.”

The guard left, shutting the door behind him. He took up a position square in the center of the observation window as per standard operating procedure.

Myers glanced over Pearce’s shoulder. “Does he have to watch us like that?”

Pearce nodded at the camera hanging from the ceiling. “He’s not the only one.”

“Good thing this wasn’t a conjugal visit.”

“That’s disappointing to hear.” He held up his manacled hands. “I even wore jewelry for the occasion.”

“Are they listening, too?”

“I don’t think so. The video is just for security purposes.”

She tried to hide her concern. It was the first time she’d been allowed to visit. They hadn’t even let her call. “So… how bad is it in there?”

Pearce smiled, trying to ease her anxiety. “It’s just a medium-security facility. Pretty low-key, actually. I’m in my own private cell, which is great.”

“You hear stories about prison.” Her voice trailed off.

He shook his head. “Only in the movies. The COs do a good job. Mostly white-collar criminals in here, at least where I am.”

“You look like you’ve lost weight. How’s the food?”

“Good. Somewhere between an army commissary and a Golden Corral. I just do a lot of push-ups.”

Myers fought back tears. She promised herself she’d stay strong for him. “I’ve been so worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He reached up to take her hands in his to comfort her but forgot about his handcuffs. The rattling chains stopped him short. That made her even more upset. He needed to change the subject. “Did I tell you I started my new job?”

“No. What is it?”

“I’m making license plates.”

Myers shook her head. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, seriously. Cumberland makes all of the license plates for federal vehicles. Do you have any idea how many cars the feds own?”

“I still think you’re pulling my leg.”

“You always said I should be in government service. At least no one is shooting at me in here.”

“How is therapy coming along?”

“Great. The meds are working, too. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

“Glad to hear it. Still dreaming?”

Pearce shrugged. “Sure. Not bad, though.”

“One step at a time.”

“One step at a time.”

They sat for a moment in an awkward silence.

Myers gathered up her courage, brightening. “I met with President Lane this morning.”

Pearce couldn’t hide his surprise. “I’m all ears.”

She smiled hopefully. “The president is prepared to give you a pass on everything you’ve ever done since the day you swore in at Langley all the way until this very moment.”

Pearce frowned, calculating. “On what condition?”

“None, really. Except that he wants you to step away from the limelight. Make no public comments about the war. Stay away from the press.”

“In other words, shut up and go away.”

“Far away. His advisors feel it will be easier for you to meet the conditions if you left the country.”

“By advisors you mean Chandler.”

“No. Chandler’s praying you won’t take the deal. But Lane respects you tremendously and wants to do everything he can to make things right.”

“That’s easy. All he has to do is open the door and let me out so I can exercise my right to free speech.”

“It’s not that easy. You know that.” Myers leaned in close, whispering. “Besides, you’re guilty of the crime they’re charging you with, aren’t you?”

Pearce thought she was fishing. But he saw the certainty in her eyes. “When did you find out?”