Ted Bell - Spy

“What the hell?” Caparina said.

“Touch and go landings,” Harry said. “Whoever’s flying that thing is getting in a little practice.”

“Is the pilot in that little shed?” Caparina asked.

A small corrugated building painted in camo colors was situated at the far end of the runway. Harry borrowed Hassan’s binocs and scoped it out. No movement that he could see behind the dirty windows, no sign of anyone at all. But there was a very odd-looking vehicle parked out on the rain-wet tarmac.

“The UAV’s not looking our way,” Harry said. “Keep well inside the tree line till we’re just opposite the shed. Check weapons.”

Harry checked out the weapon Hassan had given him earlier that morning. It was an interesting gun, a PP-19 Bizon submachine gun with a pistol grip and a folding butt. The gun had a high-capacity ‘helical’mag with 64 rounds. Harry was pretty happy with it. The gun had been made in Russia in the early nineties and was still in use by Spetsnaz and other law enforcement forces. It was comfortable to carry and would provide a lot of firepower.

They checked up opposite the shed, staying low in the undergrowth. There had been no movement and Harry was pretty sure nobody had seen their approach. The UAV was off doing loopy-loops in the wild blue yonder and no current danger to them.

“Okay,” Harry said. “Let’s go. I’m going over there. Then I’m through that door. You two wait here till I give the all clear. Understood?”

They nodded. Harry thumbed his selector switch to full auto fire and sprinted the few hundred yards across open ground to the shed. As he ran full tilt toward the door, he checked out the strange vehicle. It was a small tank, weighed maybe a ton. It was about a fifth the size of an Abrams M-2. Main Battle Tank. No turret, just a video camera pod atop a center periscope mount and twin 7.62mm machine guns front and rear. The single hooded camera lens was pointed away from him now and it stayed that way.

He flattened himself just to the right of the door, catching his breath and listening for any sign of life inside. He imagined the conditions inside would be near intolerable in this baking heat. The windows on either side of the door were filthy and caked with mud. He considered peeking through but decided it wasn’t worth it. His gut told him the shed was empty.

But you never knew. His gut had been wrong a few times.

He stepped back, turned toward the shed, and planted his foot hard in the middle of the door. The force of the kick sent the thin aluminum door flying inward. Harry rushed inside, staying low, gun out front. He saw the door lying on the dirt floor. His eyes were having trouble adjusting to the sudden darkness inside. But he sensed movement.

“Down!” he screamed.

Against the far wall was a long table stacked with electronic equipment. Mounted on brackets above, there were three small monitors displaying black and white aerial views of the canopy. Seated in an old swivel chair, wearing headphones, was a man in fatigues. Harry immediately saw that this one was alone in the dark room. The guy was just starting to swing around. Harry knew he had a gun in his hand before he even saw it.

“Drop the weapon!” Harry barked. “No pistola!”

The guy kept coming around.

“Death wish!” Harry said, low menace in his voice. “I mean it, partner!”

Harry saw the guy’s shaded face in profile and his stubby black gun coming up and he squeezed the Bizon’s trigger. A short deafening burst. The guy, still in his chair, was slammed back into his equipment and then slumped to the floor, sending his empty chair skidding toward Harry. Brock took a few steps forward and stuck his foot under the guy’s shoulder, lifting him up a foot or so, then set him gently back down dead.

He stepped back outside into the blazing sun and made a beckoning motion to Saladin and Caparina. They were already running full speed toward him.

“I thought I told you guys to wait,” Harry said, irritated.

Saladin was all over the pint-sized tank, circling it, inspecting the mud-caked tracks.

“Here’s my question about the deceased gentleman in there,” Harry said, using his bandanna to wipe the sweat from his eyes. “A UAV like the one we saw can stay aloft for about twenty-four hours. He’s got three of them up there. So, what the hell? He’s sitting in there day after day looking at a million square miles of treetops? I don’t think so.”

“Probably right,” Hassan said, over his shoulder. He was kneeling to inspect the tank’s treads.

“So what’s he doing?” Brock said, bending down to inspect the rear-mounted machine guns.

“He’s practicing for flights somewhere else,” Hassan said, “that’s what he’s doing. You can fly these things seven thousand miles away from the target zone.”

“The U.S.?” Caparina said.

“Hey!” Harry said, watching Saladin pawing over the tank. “Stay away from that damn thing. It looks dangerous.”

“One camera and its facing the wrong way,” Saladin said. “The UGV can’t see us.”

“UGV?”

“Unmanned Ground Vehicle. Looks like a new Iranian Zulfiqar UGV,” Hassan said. “Liquid fuel. Called a Troll by the Iranian military, a Tomcat by the Israelis. See the angry red Troll face painted on the flanks? Definitely Iranian.”

“A robotic tank. You’re an engineer. How the hell does it work?”

“This UG’s not a true robot by any scientific definition, because it’s not autonomous. Battlebots like this are run by wireless controllers sitting inside virtual reality video displays, like the guy in there was doing.”

“These autonomous ones,” Harry said, “sound bad. They make up their own minds who they want to kill?”

“Right, you just cut them loose. There are rumors about a big one called the Ogre. It’s virtually unstoppable. Ogres use pattern recognition technology to kill anything that moves. Fortunately, those are extremely rare at this point,” Saladin said.

At that moment the robot tank lurched slightly and began moving forward. As it did so, Harry saw the camera lens begin to turn toward them.

“Another controller somewhere has picked us up!” Saladin said.

“Quick! Jump on the back,” Harry shouted to his two companions as he ran toward the vehicle. He leapt aboard the flat section at the rear. There were two grab-rails, one on either side, probably so troops could do what he was doing, hitch a ride.

“Come on, get on,” he said. “Just stay flat on the deck below the camera pod and we should be all right.”

He reached his free hand out to Caparina and pulled her onboard. The tank was gathering speed now. Saladin Hassan had to sprint the last few yards before he was able to leap on the back and grab Harry’s hand. The surveil camera was now cycling through a 360-degree observation rotation. The lens on its stalk was about a foot above their heads. As long as they kept their noggins down, Harry thought, they’d be invisible.

“Where’s this damn thing going?” Caparina said.

“Home to Papa, I hope,” Saladin answered.

“You mean Papa Top,” said Caparina.

“E.T. go home,” Harry said.

Harry Brock looked at Caparina and grinned. Then he banged his fist down a few times on the hot metal surface of the robotic tank.

“You heard me, Ugly. Take us to your leader.”

35

KEY WEST

A lex Hawke was unexpectedly charmed by Key West. He had arrived in these emerald waters aboard Blackhawke late the previous night. Already, he found the place irresistibly alluring. Disembarking on a whim just after his sunrise swim, he had begun an early-morning stroll through the old naval submarine base. Dew still glistened on the well-cut grass and even the early birds were still sleeping in live oak trees draped with Spanish moss.