Mike Maden - Drone

It was after midnight when Myers received a call on her private number. She had passed out, exhausted from the frenetic pace of the last twenty-four hours. But she was a light sleeper and the phone woke her easily. It was Jeffers.

“It’s Pearce, on Skype. You want me to patch him through?”

“He wouldn’t call at this hour if it wasn’t important. Give me two minutes.”

Myers rose with a yawn and stretched and headed for the bathroom. She saw herself in the mirror and suddenly became self-conscious about the way she looked, but she wasn’t sure why. It was just Pearce, after all. She splashed cold water on her face and brushed out her hair just the same. Looked pretty darn good for having just rolled out of bed, even without makeup, which she hardly needed to use anyway.

After pulling on a pair of form-fitting track pants, a sports bra, and a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert T-shirt, she dashed back to her desk in her bedroom suite and fell into the chair, then woke up her laptop computer. It was already opened to Skype. She logged on.

Pearce was already online, his grim face weathered and rough like the rustic cabin wall behind him. Early had briefed Myers on the failed rescue attempt and Udi’s tragic death.

“Hello, Troy. What can I do for you?”

“I know who took out Udi and his team.” Pearce told her everything he knew about Ali Abdi, but that wasn’t much, and how Ali’s trail had gone cold, despite Ian’s best efforts. The Israelis didn’t have any luck, either. “This is getting to be a bad habit, but I need another favor.”

“That’s what friends are for. What do you need?”

“I need you to redeploy some assets for me. CIA and NSA, for starters.”

“All of our intelligence assets are pointed at the Bravo terrorists right now. As soon as that’s resolved—”

“Ali was working with Castillo. Now that he’s out of the picture, maybe Ali’s partnered with Bravo. Find Ali and you’ll find the Bravos, I’m sure of it.”

“I was thinking the other way around. Once we find the Bravos, maybe we’ll find your killer. So help us find them.”

“The Bravos aren’t my problem. I need to stay focused on hunting Ali.”

“You once told me that personal vendettas weren’t in your mission statement,” Myers reminded him.

“The mission statement got changed.”

“I need you to see the big picture here, Troy. If the Iranians are somehow involved in Mexico, it means we’re in a whole new strategic situation. I need your help.”

“To do what? Take out the Bravos? Then who comes after that? You can’t keep escalating this war tit-for-tat. It’s a losing game.”

“I have no intention of playing that kind of game. I’m going to overturn the whole damn board.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to change the government of Mexico.”

Pearce shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve got a pair on you, ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying. You don’t mess around, do you?”

“Not when it comes to the security of the United States.”

“Or anything else, I bet.”

She smiled, barely. “No, not really.”

She leaned in closer to the screen. “I can’t do this without your help.”

“I don’t see how you can pull it off.”

She gave Pearce the big-picture summary. He asked probing questions. Myers was impressed with the depth and breadth of Pearce’s grasp of Mexican politics and the geopolitical landscape.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Myers asked. “You think this will work?”

“On paper, sure. In reality? I’d say it’s a definite maybe at best. Who else is backing you on this?”

“My cabinet, mostly.”

“Is Greyhill still out of the loop?” Pearce asked.

“Yes.”

“What about congressional support?”

“We’ve put out a few feelers, but we can’t afford to tip our hand just yet. It’s better to hand Congress a fait accompli. If I open it up to debate, nothing will get done and the opportunity we have right now will be lost. But I’m still missing the most important piece of the puzzle.”

“What’s that?” Pearce asked.

“You. I still need your services to pull off the strike piece.”

“You’re in charge of the world’s largest killing machine. Use it.”

“Nothing’s changed on our end,” Myers said. “I still can’t put boots on the ground.”

“I can’t help you, either. My operations aren’t big enough to carry out the unmanned part of the mission. You need more assets.”

“Like the Pentagon?”

“For what you want to accomplish in the time frame you’re talking about? No. Check that. Make that hell, no . Not the way things are currently organized.”

“What do you mean?” Myers asked.

“Once you open the Pentagon door, you’re begging for trouble. First of all, you have army, navy, Marine, and air force units that all operate various drone and robotics systems. Many of those systems aren’t compatible and they certainly don’t all coordinate or communicate with one another, with the limited exception of the JCE, and that’s just the army and the air force and that’s just for UAVs. And then you have all of the command and control problems that come with the jurisdictional bullshit. But that’s just the beginning of your woes. Once you activate the U.S. military, they’re going to draw on other national intelligence assets like the NSA and all of the DoD resources. Once you’ve done that, you’ve triggered congressional oversight and micromanagement. There are over one hundred congressional committees that have jurisdiction on homeland security alone. Add in subcommittees on intelligence, defense, Latin America—you’re just warming up the big brass tubas for a gigantic Hungarian cluster dance.”

Myers laughed.

Pearce had never heard her laugh before. He was charmed.

“I’m not much of a dancer, Hungarian or otherwise, so what would you propose?”

“Like many other areas of modern life, you should imitate the Germans. Go find your best war fighter and form a separate operational structure under him. Call it ‘Robotics Command’ or ‘Drone Command.’ Let him pick and choose the best weapons systems and the best operators wherever you find them. If they’re military, pull them out of their respective service hierarchies, at least temporarily, the way NASA does for their astronaut cadre. Keep everything lean and nimble. This can’t be about medals or pulling rank or promotions. It’s about getting the job done fast and efficiently.”

“How about you? You’d be perfect for the job.”

“No, thanks. Desks and paperwork make me itch.”

“Then whom?”

“Have Early contact Dr. T. J. Ashley. She’s the current assistant director of National Intelligence for Acquisition, Technology, and Facilities. She’s former navy with combat experience and has the technical chops for the job.”

“How do you know her?” Myers asked.

“In 2007, Early was going to run an op in the Persian Gulf near Iranian waters and he’d requested one of the new UAV support teams for an intel assist, but the local commander turned him down.”

“But Dr. Ashley stepped in?” Myers asked.

“It was a good thing she did. Her drone disabled an Iranian patrol boat and saved the lives of Early and his team, but it nearly earned her a court-martial. She told Early she didn’t care because she thought she had done the Lord’s work. That makes her good people in Early’s book.”

“Mine, too,” Myers said.

“Early pulled a few strings and got her off the hook. In fact, he even got her promoted. But she resigned her commission right after that and took a research position with the University of Texas. That’s when I tried to hire her into my firm, but she turned me down. She’s a dyed-in-the-wool patriot and wanted to get back into government service.”