Don Pendleton - Thunder Down Under

“Remember your water.” Weathers shook a liter bottle at King as he cracked his door, the comfortable air-conditioning evaporating like it had never existed as a searing, bone-dry breeze blew into the SUV’s cab.

King grabbed his bottle and also made sure his security belt, with its radio, handcuffs, pepper spray, collapsible metal baton and sidearm, was secure and properly situated on his hips. They’d removed the belts for the long drive out, but now that they’d arrived, he wanted to make sure he was properly attired for the assignment...just in case.

Opening his door, he stepped out into the midday heat, feeling his skin already drying in the baking climate. He put on a khaki bush hat to protect his head from the sun’s merciless rays, then walked to his partner, who was already at the back of the Rover.

Weathers had opened the rear door and was pulling a large, black-plastic case to the edge of the cargo area. He unsnapped the catches and lifted the lip to reveal a large black-and-red device nestled in a foam cutout. Removing it, he snapped two folding legs into place to allow the sleek industrial drone to stand. Picking up a hard-cased iPad from a narrow slot in the foam, he powered it up and opened the pilot app for the RMUS heavy-duty police drone, testing the five rotors and underslung 360-degree camera.

“This baby will cover the entire perimeter in about thirty minutes. We can record our flight, zoom in, the whole nine yards,” Weathers told his partner as he put the drone through its test paces. “Grab it and come on over here.”

King picked it up by the legs, surprised by its weight. He followed the older man a few meters away from the Range Rover and set it on the ground, then retreated to the rear of the vehicle.

Weathers hit a button on the tablet screen and the five rotors spun, accelerating until they were a ring of black blurs around the drone’s central housing. With a loud buzz and a puff of dust, it rose into the air, climbing until it was just a speck in the sky and could barely be heard.

He piloted it out over the first section of the facility. “Might as well take a load off,” he said. “Doubt we’re gonna see anything ’cept a few wallabies bouncing around.”

King nodded, his eyes glued to the tablet screen, which was giving them a drone’s-eye view of the LNG plant. The dozens of neat rows of white pipes gleamed in the sun, even under the light coating of ever-present dust that covered everything out here. He watched Weathers guide the drone out to the ten-foot, chain-link perimeter fence, the HD camera so clear he could see sunlight glinting off the points of the razor wire topping the security barrier.

“So far, so good.” Weathers fell silent as he started flying the drone along the fence. Section after section ticked by under the little vehicle’s camera—until both men saw something that made them pause.

King inhaled sharply. “Is that—”

“Fresh boot prints?” Weathers finished. “Looks like it.” He zoomed in on the tracks. “At least a couple people came through there, maybe as many as four.”

“But...no one’s been out here for weeks,” King said. “Those should have blown away by now.” He was all too familiar with the constantly shifting Outback, which could erase all signs of a person’s or vehicle’s passage in hours.

“Agreed,” Logan said as he opened another app on the iPad. “Let’s see where these go while I call this in.”

The drone began following the trail as the tablet connected with a satellite and routed the call to WN HQ. After a few seconds a pleasant-faced woman with a headset appeared in the window.

“Wallcorloo National Security Division, how may I help you?”

“This is Senior Patrol Officer Logan Weathers, with Probationary Officer Connor King at the Amadeus LNG plant,” Logan replied. “We’re reporting a drone sighting of what looks like trespasser tracks inside the facility. To the best of our knowledge, there isn’t supposed to be anyone on-site at this time.” As he spoke, Weathers isolated the footage and forwarded it to the security woman.

“We’ve received no notice of an intrusion.” The woman reviewed the snippet of video, a faint furrow appearing above the bridge of her nose. “Are you sure this isn’t leftover tracks by the last engineer team?”

“Pretty sure,” Weathers replied. “Especially considering they would have started out from right where we’re standing now. How should we follow up?”

“Just a moment.” The woman was typing something on the keyboard in front of her and began speaking into her headset, but King couldn’t hear what she was saying. He flashed a quizzical frown at Logan, who was still watching the screen.

“She’s kicking it upstairs. Standard CYA procedure.” Eyes still on the screen, Weathers removed a keychain from his belt, selected a small black key by feel and held it out to the younger man. “Open the weapons locker in the back.”

“You sure? I mean, she hasn’t even come back yet—”

“Officer Weathers, thanks for holding,” the woman said. “We are classifying this as a Level 1 Incident. You and your partner are to investigate the tracks and secure the area, making sure that no trespassers are on the grounds. Anyone you encounter should be taken into custody. Above all, take care to prevent any damage to the facility. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “We’ll report in once we’ve cleared the area. Weathers out.”

He blanked the comm screen and returned his attention to the drone’s camera view. “Hang on...what the hell’s going on here?”

King leaned over to glimpse what his partner was looking at. He caught flashes of figures moving among the pipes deep in the complex. Weathers zoomed the drone camera in as far as he could, until it appeared they were only a few meters from the trespassers.

The younger man grunted. “Definitely got blokes running around where they shouldn’t be. No sign of a vehicle, which means they must’ve stashed it nearby and walked in.”

Something was niggling at King’s mind and he voiced it the moment it crystallized. “But how’d they get inside without setting off any alarms?”

Weathers nodded. “Bloody good question. We’ll be sure to ask ’em once we have ’em in custody. Break out the heavy stuff, mate.”

Trying to control his suddenly shaky hand, King flipped back the carpet in the Rover’s cargo area and unlocked the steel-lined compartment underneath. Lifting the cover revealed two Heckler & Koch MP-5 K personal defense weapons and several 30-round magazines, plus black bulletproof vests and ceramic riot helmets with clear visors.

“How do you want to play this?” King asked, pleased to note that he sounded reasonably calm given the circumstances.

“We’re taking no chances.” Weathers set the drone to hover where it was in the crystal-clear blue sky, then pulled a vest out and slipped it over his head. “Suit up. Helmet, too.”

In a couple of minutes they were both outfitted in protective gear. The older man nodded at the compact submachine gun. “Load up with nonlethal, but grab a couple regular mags, just in case. Don’t forget we’re watching out for the facility, as well.”

“What if they’re armed, too, and using real bullets?” King asked as he cleared the chamber and checked the action on his HK. He then loaded a magazine of rubber bullets and chambered one.

“Well, we should have surprise. So, assuming we get the drop on them, we should have them dead-bang.” Logan adjusted his shooter’s glasses then flipped his helmet visor over his face. “If not, and they start shooting, we’re damn sure shooting back—with lead. I don’t care how much this place cost, I’m not laying my life down for it and you ain’t, either. Got it?”