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Authors: Jonathan Maberry
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is,” said Top as he raised his M4. “Two o’clock. Fifty feet above the trees.”
“C’mon, Bug,” I said, raising my own rifle. This wasn’t the time for horse tranquilizers. “Tell me something useful or we’re going to blow this thing out of the air. Notin the mood for surprises.”
“I got nothing on it, Cowboy. Satellites are not picking up an active weapons system.”
“Doesn’t mean it ain’t a bomb,” observed Top.
We all saw it then. A pale blotch of heat painted against the fifty thousand shades of red and gray that made up the forest. It was a four-rotor quadcopter and it was bigger than I thought. Maybe six feet across. It wobbled slightlyas it flew, pushed out of true by a freshening easterly breeze. It flew just above the tree line until it hit the clearing between trees and fence.
“I don’t see a payload,” said Bunny.
“No rocket pods,” agreed Top.
“I got it,” said Sam Imura’s voice over the radio. “Call it, Cowboy, and I’ll switch off the lights.”
“Everyone hold fire,” I said. We kept our guns on it as it flew closer.
“It’sslowing,” Bunny said.
It was. The machine crossed the fence line very slowly indeed and drifted over twenty feet of lawn, coming straight for us. Then it stopped; hovering there as if painted on the night sky.
“Cowboy,” said Bug urgently, “be advised, we’re picking up a strong, active video feed. It’s going up to half a dozen satellites.”
“Who’s satellites?”
“It’s crazy—it’s hacking into everycommunication satellite in range and bouncing them all over. This thing is broadcasting this live. It’s showing up on TV and the net.”
And there, lying on the ground at our feet, was the corpse of Osama bin Laden.
Dead and in color.
“Jam the signal!” I shouted.
“Can’t do it, Cowboy—it’s already out there.”
The drone hovered there. Mocking us with what it could do. Mocking us with what itwas already doing.
“Take it out,” ordered Church. “Right now.”
Sam fired first, but I think we all hit it. We blasted the drone out of the sky and into a thousand fragments of metal and plastic. The motor core exploded and shot firework sparks into the dewy grass as the parts rained down.
I could hear the beat of helicopter rotors far off to the north, as our evac bird came hustling throughthe shadows to take us home. We stood and waited, watching the last of burning sparks drift down to the lawn. None of us said a word. What was there to say?
The video feed was out.
“Well, fuck me,” breathed Top.
It was damage done. We pulled off the Scout goggles, but I didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes.
Very quietly Bunny said, “Without the beard and hair … maybe no one will know who it was.”
Top gave him a withering look. “You’re out of your damn mind, Farm Boy. Hope you had all your shots ’cause we are about to be well and truly fucked.”
Our Black Hawk swept over the trees accompanied by a big Chinook transport helicopter. They descended like monstrous birds from the night sky. But even their combined and powerful rotor wash couldn’t sweep away the weeds of doubt that were tryingto take root in the soil of my soul.
Interlude Four
Joint CIA-MOSSAD Safe House
Ha-Avoda Street
Ashdod, Israel
Three Years Ago
The sign outside said it was a hardware store. The store was open, fully stocked and staffed, and did good business.
The three floors above the store were not used for stock, offices, or employee break rooms. They were nicely furnished apartments. The doors wereof the best quality, the security systems state-of-the-art, the staff fully trained. Two of the agents on each shift were Israelis on the payroll of the CIA. The other two were MOSSAD agents. Three men, one woman. They spent a lot of time together. They talked shop, they played cards, they surfed the net, they watched a lot of TV. Mostly, though, they read reports. This station was one of severaljoint operations that
“C’mon, Bug,” I said, raising my own rifle. This wasn’t the time for horse tranquilizers. “Tell me something useful or we’re going to blow this thing out of the air. Notin the mood for surprises.”
“I got nothing on it, Cowboy. Satellites are not picking up an active weapons system.”
“Doesn’t mean it ain’t a bomb,” observed Top.
We all saw it then. A pale blotch of heat painted against the fifty thousand shades of red and gray that made up the forest. It was a four-rotor quadcopter and it was bigger than I thought. Maybe six feet across. It wobbled slightlyas it flew, pushed out of true by a freshening easterly breeze. It flew just above the tree line until it hit the clearing between trees and fence.
“I don’t see a payload,” said Bunny.
“No rocket pods,” agreed Top.
“I got it,” said Sam Imura’s voice over the radio. “Call it, Cowboy, and I’ll switch off the lights.”
“Everyone hold fire,” I said. We kept our guns on it as it flew closer.
“It’sslowing,” Bunny said.
It was. The machine crossed the fence line very slowly indeed and drifted over twenty feet of lawn, coming straight for us. Then it stopped; hovering there as if painted on the night sky.
“Cowboy,” said Bug urgently, “be advised, we’re picking up a strong, active video feed. It’s going up to half a dozen satellites.”
“Who’s satellites?”
“It’s crazy—it’s hacking into everycommunication satellite in range and bouncing them all over. This thing is broadcasting this live. It’s showing up on TV and the net.”
And there, lying on the ground at our feet, was the corpse of Osama bin Laden.
Dead and in color.
“Jam the signal!” I shouted.
“Can’t do it, Cowboy—it’s already out there.”
The drone hovered there. Mocking us with what it could do. Mocking us with what itwas already doing.
“Take it out,” ordered Church. “Right now.”
Sam fired first, but I think we all hit it. We blasted the drone out of the sky and into a thousand fragments of metal and plastic. The motor core exploded and shot firework sparks into the dewy grass as the parts rained down.
I could hear the beat of helicopter rotors far off to the north, as our evac bird came hustling throughthe shadows to take us home. We stood and waited, watching the last of burning sparks drift down to the lawn. None of us said a word. What was there to say?
The video feed was out.
“Well, fuck me,” breathed Top.
It was damage done. We pulled off the Scout goggles, but I didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes.
Very quietly Bunny said, “Without the beard and hair … maybe no one will know who it was.”
Top gave him a withering look. “You’re out of your damn mind, Farm Boy. Hope you had all your shots ’cause we are about to be well and truly fucked.”
Our Black Hawk swept over the trees accompanied by a big Chinook transport helicopter. They descended like monstrous birds from the night sky. But even their combined and powerful rotor wash couldn’t sweep away the weeds of doubt that were tryingto take root in the soil of my soul.
Interlude Four
Joint CIA-MOSSAD Safe House
Ha-Avoda Street
Ashdod, Israel
Three Years Ago
The sign outside said it was a hardware store. The store was open, fully stocked and staffed, and did good business.
The three floors above the store were not used for stock, offices, or employee break rooms. They were nicely furnished apartments. The doors wereof the best quality, the security systems state-of-the-art, the staff fully trained. Two of the agents on each shift were Israelis on the payroll of the CIA. The other two were MOSSAD agents. Three men, one woman. They spent a lot of time together. They talked shop, they played cards, they surfed the net, they watched a lot of TV. Mostly, though, they read reports. This station was one of severaljoint operations that
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