Mike Maden - Drone

“You are a liar. You are an American.”

“Actually, I’m your worst nightmare. I’m a Japanese with a long memory.”

The captain shuddered. “A terrorist, then?”

“More like a contractor, terrorizing you at the moment. I am tracking your position by satellite. Failure to set course for Severomorsk and follow it immediately will result in detonation of the limpet mines attached to your hull. Once I see that the Vepr has returned to Severomorsk, I will contact your base commander, he will arrange to have a great deal of money transferred to an account of my designation, and then I will deactivate the mines.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Good!” Yamada laughed. “That would be a mistake. My ancestors have been killing Russians since the Battle of Tsushima. So, yes, I want you to worry about the fact that I might change my mind and blow your pig boat to pieces just for the fun of it, and I want you to sweat as you think about my finger on the button for every minute of every kilometer it takes you to get back to Severomorsk.”

Yamada laughed again and cut the link.

Sixty seconds later, the Vepr powered up to full speed and set a direct course for home.

But Yamada had lied. The robotic arm on his stealthy research UUV had only attached large magnets to the submarine’s hull. Pearce promised Yamada that his UUV would never be deployed in a military operation, so it took a while to convince his friend that scaring the Russians with magnets was not the same as blowing them out of the water with mines. Yamada finally yielded the point on the promise of lavish funding for his next round of whale research. Yamada was actually glad to screw with the Russians. He knew that the Soviets had killed whales illegally for over forty years, slaughtering nearly two hundred thousand of them globally and causing several population crashes. Making a Russian sub captain piss his pants seemed like a good start on payback to the idealistic pacifist.

Pearce was just as glad they were only magnets attached to the Vepr ’s hull. If World War III was about to begin, he preferred it was someone else who started it. But he made sure that one of the magnets featured a GPS tracker with a signal that he would pass on to the U.S. Navy.

Ali had kept his side of the bargain. Galling as it was, now it was Pearce’s turn to ante up.

San Diego, California

Two days later, Ali appeared at the Pearce Systems hangar at the San Diego airport, as per Pearce’s instructions. One of Pearce’s private jets, a Bombardier Global 8000, sat in the cavernous space. Ali could see the two pilots in the cockpit window prepping for takeoff.

Pearce escorted the Iranian up the stairs into the luxurious cabin. On the back end of the passenger compartment was a sliding cantilevered door for privacy. The door was locked open. A rolling medical/surgical bed was in the separate space, along with a heart monitor and IV pump.

“What is that?” Ali asked.

A clean-shaven thirty-year-old Pakistani man in a sport coat and tie stepped into the cabin, carrying a doctor’s satchel and a small roll-on travel case. He was out of breath. “Sorry I’m late.”

Pearce shook the Pakistani’s hand with a smile. “You’re fine, Doctor. Take a seat, please.”

“Who is that?” Ali asked.

“I promised you safe delivery to Tehran. I didn’t promise to reveal my underground network to you so we’re going to have to knock you out with drugs.”

Ali’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Dr. Khan is a professor of anesthesiology at the USC Medical Center. He’s also a Muslim.”

“Sunni Muslim,” Khan corrected.

Ali bristled. “A heretic.” The Iranian was a devout Shia.

“That’s the best I could do on short notice,” Pearce said.

“This was not part of our deal,” Ali said.

“If I was going to kill you, you little shit, I promise you I wouldn’t do it with tranquilizers.”

“And if I leave right now?”

“It means our deal is off. Then I’ll put a bullet in your stomach before you reach the exit door, and then the fun times can really begin.”

Ali was trapped. Without the threat of the explosives at Petco Park, he didn’t have any more leverage.

“I am trusting your honor to deliver me safely,” Ali reminded Pearce, mustering as much ferocity as he could.

“You’re lucky I value my honor.”

“I am surprised you do. Infidel mercenaries have no loyalty to anyone but themselves, and there is no honor in that. Perhaps Allah will indeed be merciful to you on the Day of Judgment.”

“I’m curious. Why did you reveal the location of the Petco Park explosives to us? I thought you people enjoyed slaughtering helpless civilians.”

Bravos had posed as installers two weeks before and replaced the foam bumper guards that wrapped around the support poles throughout the stadium, but instead of using styrofoam in the replacement job, they had used tubes packed with C4 and steel fléchettes, then reattached the advertising sleeves that covered the bumpers. After Pearce had confirmed the Russian submarine with Ali, the Iranian revealed the location of the bombs. An FBI demolition squad took care of the rest.

“New American civilian deaths would have served no purpose, but they would have incurred the wrath of the United States upon my government. And for the record, I did not install those devices. It was Bravo’s men who did it. So, technically, I and my government have assisted the United States in defeating a terrorist attack by the Bravos upon your nation.”

“And we’re supposed to be grateful?”

“No. That would be presumptuous.”

Pearce marveled. Like most Eastern cultures, Iranians had no sense of irony.

Ali continued. “I just want the record to be clear. There must be no false pretext for hostilities between your government and mine.”

“We don’t need a false pretext to wipe your maniac government off the face of the earth. You’ve given us plenty of real ones.” Pearce checked his watch. “Time to get rolling. Dr. Khan is going to put you to sleep, and when you wake up, you will be in Tehran, alive and safe. The rest is up to you.”

“I must warn you that the anesthesia I will be using is quite potent. You will probably have a slight headache when you wake up, but it’s nothing to worry about,” Khan added.

“And it goes without saying, once you arrive in Tehran, all bets are off. My promise is to deliver you alive and well today. My one goal in life is to make sure you have very few tomorrows. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Pearce stepped closer to the smiling Iranian.

“When this mess finally gets cleaned up, don’t be surprised if you find me knocking on your door.”

Ali didn’t flinch. “I shall be waiting with a cup of hot tea.”

“Dr. Khan will take care of you from here. And the two pilots up front? Both are armed, and both know who you are.”

Dr. Khan slipped back his sport coat, revealing a pistol on his hip. “Don’t worry, Mr. Pearce. There won’t be any trouble.” He glared at Ali.

“One more thing.” Pearce held out his smartphone for Ali to read. It had a text message on it for Ali from President Myers to Mehdi Sadr, the volatile president of the Iranian regime.

“Have you memorized her message?”

Ali nodded.

“It’s for President Sadr’s ears only. If he doesn’t contact her within twenty-four hours after your arrival, her offer is withdrawn. Understood?”

Ali nodded again. “I will deliver it as soon as I arrive.”

“Roll up your sleeve,” Khan ordered.

Pearce remained in the cabin until Ali was safely knocked out and tucked into bed with an IV drip in his arm.