Mike Maden - River of Gods

Niamey, Niger

The ground control station was a windowless air-conditioned trailer parked near the hangar where Judy’s Aviocar was secured.

Inside the GCS, an Air Force captain sat in the pilot’s seat scanning six separate video monitors. In the seat next to her, a sensor operator. Together, the two of them were flying an MQ-9 Reaper twenty thousand feet above the Sahara Desert, silent as the stars.

The drone’s onboard sensor had located the RFID tracking unit embedded in the M4 rifle Pearce had stolen earlier from AFB Karem, where this Reaper had been dispatched from.

“Confirmed?” the pilot asked.

“Confirmed.” The twenty-year-old sensor operator was an airman just out of training at Holloman AFB. It was, in fact, his first combat mission in the field. In addition to the RFID signal, he had an infrared visual on the sleeping camels and Tuaregs.

The pilot confirmed with the CIA deputy director at Langley in charge of the mission. Diele’s handpicked appointee had access to the Reaper’s video feeds, too.

“Cook them all, Captain. We want to be sure.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said. She’d been trained to avoid collateral damage wherever possible, but these were all tangos as far as they could tell. She looked at her sensor operator. Saw the look in his face. A flicker of doubt. Suddenly this shit was real, not a video-game simulator like he’d been training on back in New Mexico. Today he would play God, tossing lightning bolts out of the blue, dealing fiery death.

“Light ’em up, son.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Four Hellfire missiles were loosed, guided by the airman’s hand.

Tamanghasset Province

Southern Algeria

The Hellfire II AGM-114N was designed to kill human beings in confined spaces like tunnels, caves, and buildings, but it was also an effective antipersonnel weapon in open areas. Each AGM-114N carried a thermobaric warhead combining PBXN-112 explosive fill and fluorinated aluminum powder. The bursting fill container created a cloud of oxidized fuel ignited by an explosive charge, resulting in a massive, fiery blast. The fiery blast, in turn, created an enormous vacuum that produced a crushing and sustained high-pressure wave.

The first Hellfire exploded three feet above Pearce’s weapon just before the other three lit up their targets as well, all perfectly aimed. The resulting pressure waves ripped camels and men apart like claws from an invisible monster. Those not immediately atomized or incinerated had their lungs crushed by the vacuum and their internal organs liquefied by the force of the pressure blast.

Death for the entire caravan was instantaneous, or nearly so.

The Reaper’s infrared camera recorded the explosions as brilliant flashes of light, and picked up the glowing heat signature of the white-hot craters and smoldering fragments of bone and metal scattered across the cooler sands a thousand feet away. The Reaper’s video camera verified that there were no survivors. The deputy CIA director voiced his approval and commended the operators, promising a unit citation along with a solemn reminder to immediately erase all video and audio recordings of the mission. The hard drives were wiped before the deputy director ended his call.

Pearce Systems Headquarters

Dearborn, Michigan

Ian wanted to scream. He’d never been so frustrated in his life. Pearce had told him not to intervene under any circumstances—even if it meant Pearce’s own death.

Ian complied.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep an eye on things. Thanks to Judy’s quick thinking during her interrogation by Captain Sotero, he knew a Reaper strike against Pearce was imminent. Ian broke into Karem AFB’s mainframe and was able to monitor and record the Reaper’s mission.

Ian hated terrorists. He’d lost both of his legs in the infamous London 7/7 bombing years before and had dedicated his life to fighting them. He understood the need for drone strikes and antiterror operations, but he’d also seen the mistakes that could be made, and the wrong lives taken, just like on this mission. That didn’t help win the war on terror. Far from it.

The only consolation was that he now had another link in the chain of damning evidence against Senator Fiero.

Tassili du Hoggar, Tamanghasset Province

Southern Algeria

Pearce checked his watch. Just an hour before sunrise.

It had been hours since he awoke from a dream of distant thunder. Only, it hadn’t been a dream.

The camels bleated nervously, too, as he glanced around. They quickly settled back down. He tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t despite his exhaustion, or maybe because of it. He never slept well in the field anyway, but even within the confines of the tall rock walls of the oasis he still felt naked and vulnerable, especially to an air strike. He remembered the sound now. Muted but echoed in the narrow chamber of rock where they camped. There had been several, nearly simultaneous claps. No telling how far away. Might as well get up.

Pearce reached for his M4 carbine but remembered he’d traded it with the Nigerien camel driver before they parted ways. Mano and his men were radioed by friends that a Niger army unit was harassing a Tuareg village on the other side of the border. He asked Pearce again for a trade. Pearce understood. Mano wanted a good weapon if he was going into battle. Pearce explained he had only one mag for the M4 and one grenade for the launcher, but Mano didn’t care. He traded Pearce his good Russian-made AK-47 and five full mags. The trade made for good diplomacy. When the Nigerien Tuaregs departed for home, Mossa thanked Pearce for relenting. Pearce knew it was impolite in many Mideast cultures to refuse an offer of trade. The gun really wasn’t his to begin with, but the Air Force had plenty more of them so he was glad to do it. He hoped it gave Mano an advantage.

Pearce finally rose and quietly stepped over to the cool green waters of the narrow oasis farther into the canyon. The sharp moonlight lit the wavy gray and brown rocks ringing the small pool of greenish water. He was afraid to drink it but glad to splash it on his face and the back of his neck. He probably stunk to high heaven, but he couldn’t smell it anymore. Soldiers in the field got used to their own stench and the rank odors of their comrades. Sweat, urine, cigarettes, cordite, diarrhea, and wood smoke wrecked any possibility of olfactory sensitivity. Men at war reeked, but if everybody and everything did, who noticed? He checked his watch again. It was around midnight tomorrow where Ian was. Might as well see if he was awake and get a sitrep.

Pearce’s cabin

Near the Snake River, Wyoming

Myers woke with a start. Someone was definitely outside.

She threw back the heavy green woolen blanket and stepped onto the wood floor in one seamless move. She picked up the old .410 double-barreled bird gun she’d found in Pearce’s bedroom closet and made her way toward the kitchen without turning the lights on. She’d been in his cabin long enough to have a good sense of the layout. The only thing she’d ever shot with a .410 before was white-winged dove in Uvalde, Texas, one hot September, but she figured the small-gauge rounds were good enough to at least scare the hell out of her would-be assailant, and maybe even kill them outright with a shot to the face. She wasn’t scared so much as angry. How had they managed to find her?

She heard another noise in the kitchen. The sound of a closing door. Coming in or going out? Didn’t matter. Had to find out who was wandering around out there.

Myers let the shotgun barrel lead her into the kitchen, when the lights suddenly popped on. She remembered what her husband had taught her—keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. The lights startled her and she mashed the trigger, but thankfully her finger only pulled on the trigger guard.