by Akart, Bobby
As was true with any new weapon, it was difficult at first to guard against. Law enforcement and the military’s best defense against the small low-flying quadcopters was radar detection, radio-jamming devices, and interrupting the GPS signal to the drone aircraft. The commercial advances took all of these security measures away. The only other option was to identify them in-flight and shoot them out of the sky—not one hundred percent accurate and certainly a potential danger to anyone caught in the line of fire.
The winds were growing stronger as the muscular young man made his way from One World Trade Center through the Lincoln Tunnel into New Jersey. The eight-mile trip took him over an hour, but he’d allowed himself plenty of time to rendezvous with his team. From their vantage point, they’d need less than fifteen minutes to implement their operation from start to a chaotic finish.
He arrived at the shuttered warehouse located in the heart of Port Imperial in Weehawken, New Jersey, a revitalized stretch of the Hudson River waterfront overlooking Manhattan across from Midtown.
The building had been on the market for years at an outrageous price. Despite its prime location directly on the water, no one had risked their capital on the slowly dilapidating structure, not that the owners cared. Their financial resources stretched around the globe, and on this night, the hundred-year-old warehouse would serve a greater purpose than some more zeroes added to their bank accounts.
He climbed the eight flights of stairs, working up a sweat despite the near-freezing temperatures. The precipitation had changed to mere snow flurries now, which lifted his spirits. He hadn’t been completely truthful with his benefactor during their conversation. Weather could negatively impact the drones’ operations if the precipitation changed to a heavy snow that caused it to stick to the quadcopters’ rotor blades. Just like an airplane, if the snow accumulated on a drone, it could be weighed down, crashing before reaching its target.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced as he arrived on the rooftop of the warehouse.
Two dozen people huddled together near the edge of the flat roof’s parapet overlooking the traffic on Port Imperial Boulevard. They turned around in unison and approached their boss.
He was still dressed in a short-sleeve shirt, considering the need for a coat as a sign of weakness. He continued. “First, I need a weather update.”
A smallish woman stepped forward with an iPad opened to Wunderground, a weather website known for its accurate forecasts and variety of storm predictors, including radar. She responded, “Not much change, sir, although the precipitation has remained to our south toward Philly and Baltimore. The cold air has arrived as expected.”
“What is our ice potential?”
A man in mechanic’s coveralls stepped forward. He replied in his proper British accent, “Based on the temperature drop, we should be fine, but I’ve taken some measures to ensure our success.”
“Such as?” the leader asked.
“Quite simple, actually. I anticipated this obstacle, so I created a mixture of glycol and water to simulate the deicing fluid used on airplanes.”
One of the team interrupted. “I thought that only applies to preflight. What about while in the air?”
The Brit nodded and quickly responded, “Ice usually accumulates in flight when small droplets of precipitation freeze on the front surfaces—the leading edges like the wings of the aircraft. This changes the shape and texture of their wings and flaps, thus interfering with the flow of air.”
“Quadcopters don’t have wings,” interjected another member of the team.
“True, but ice buildup on rotor blades will change the shape of the airfoil and, consequentially, the quadcopter’s ability to produce lift. This is not unlike helicopters except our drones have the benefit of four rotors instead of one. Losing one or two rotors might slow the quads down and even reduce their altitude, but it won’t stop them from advancing.”
The team leader pushed through the group to admire the twenty-four quadcopters that rested silently on the rooftop awaiting their mission. Each carried a specific payload designed to unload its package at precise, strategic locations for maximum effect. He turned back to the group.
“What is our longest travel time?”
“Twenty-six minutes, sir. That’s to reach the easternmost targets. Per your instructions, we’ve routed those quads around Times Square to avoid the sniper patrols on the hotel rooftops.”
“What if we modified them for a more direct route?”
Several members of the group conferred until they arrived at a unanimous answer. “Sixteen minutes, sir. That’s if we fly them right down the pipe along Seventh Avenue.”
“I don’t like it,” the team leader said. “If detected, those few minutes saved could mean the difference between mere annoyance and our success.”
“Sir, if I may?” the Brit interrupted.
“Go ahead.”
“Sir, the glycol mixture is not just a deicing agent as it was originally intended for aircraft. I’ve also added a viscous fluid to bind the glycol ever so slightly to the rotor blades.”
“Speak English, mate!” shouted one of the drone operators from the rear of the group. It drew a chuckle from everyone except the team leader.
The Brit continued. “A viscous fluid, or non-Newtonian fluid, does not follow Newton’s law of viscosity.”
He was interrupted again.
“Sir, I’m gonna knock this guy out if he doesn’t explain what the hell he’s talking about!”
“Hold on, and everyone calm down,” replied the team leader. He walked over to the British man, who hung his head sheepishly, kicking at the gravel on the roof. “What was the solution you used? Salt?”
“No, sir. It would fall off at speed. I used shampoo. It will gently coat the rotor blades, together with the glycol mixture, to prevent icing.”
The head of the operation smiled and patted him on the back. Every team needs a science nerd, and he was glad he had this one on board. The other two dozen people involved in this operation were expendable, as they’d soon learn.
“Okay, people!” he shouted. “Let’s get this show on the road. By my watch, we’ve got about twenty minutes to liftoff.”
It was 11:11 p.m.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Six Flags Great Adventure
Jackson, New Jersey
Temperatures had dropped into the forties as darkness set in at Six Flags, but the Rankin family didn’t notice. The vacation together was such a rare event due to the demands of their parents’ jobs that the kids were thrilled to be chilled as they rode one heart-stopping roller coaster after another.
Many of the park’s attendees that evening found their way to the Polar Point section of the park to listen to a rare outdoor show performed by Mannheim Steamroller together with the Blue Man Group.
The entire park was illuminated with Christmas lights, fresh-cut pine trees, and whiffs of peppermint spray delivered by their misting system, which was ordinarily used to keep attendees cool during the summer. Six Flags also had their snow machines turned on to ensure that a touch of winter filled the air as snowflakes fell throughout the park.
The family saved the best ride for last as they kept pace with Kaycee’s regimented schedule. “The wait time for Kingda Ka is only forty-five minutes,” she explained her approach to the final event. “We’ve got cookies and hot chocolate to keep us warm while we wait in line. The ride takes about a minute, and—”
“That’s a short ride,” interjected Tyler.
Kaycee was quick to correct him. “No, Dad. It’s not short, just fast. You’ll see. I’ve watched it on YouTube dozens of times.”
“Okay, I see,” said Tyler with a laugh as he took another sip of hot chocolate. He silently cursed the Founding Fathers for not doing all of their American Revolution stuff in sunny Florida, where it was warmer.
“Anyway,” continued Kaycee, “after the ride, we’ll have time to find a good spot for the New Year’s Eve fi
reworks!”
“And champagne, too?” asked J.C.
“What do you know about champagne, young man?” asked Angela as she scruffed her son’s hair.
“That’s what they do on New Year’s, Mom,” he replied.
“Well, they, being the adults, can do champagne. Eight-year-olds cannot.”
Kaycee chimed in, “Mom, can I since I’m in double digits?”
Angela laughed and rolled her eyes. “No, Peanut. Double digits, such as eleven-year-olds, don’t qualify. You can wait until you’re thirty.”
“Thirty! No way!”
Tyler grabbed his daughter by the neck and pulled her close. He’d felt guilty for years after the near-death accident. As a lifeguard, he should’ve been more aware of the helicopter being in distress. He’d failed to react quickly enough, and it had almost killed Kaycee. It was a seminal event that gave him a completely different outlook on life—one that placed the safety of his family above all else. During her recovery, he’d prayed and made a promise that he’d never allow anyone, or anything, to take away or harm his family.
They made their way through the long queue and approached the front of the platform, where riders were boarding the coaster. The kids insisted in riding in the first car, so they stepped aside until the ride operator motioned them forward.
Tyler glanced up at the security cameras pointed at them. “Hey, check it out,” he said as he put his arm around Angela. “Big brother is watching.”
She laughed. “Isn’t he always? Listen, if you’re afraid, it’s not too late to bail out.”
Tyler laughed and slid her hand onto his butt. “Feel that? Still dry after the twenty-story drop on the Nitro ride. I can handle Kingda Ka.”
Angela looked at the vertical lift rising to the apex of Kingda Ka. “This is over forty-five stories. That’s taller than any building in Virginia.”
Tyler leaned in to his wife’s ear and whispered, “You want me to fill my pants, don’t you?”
Angela started laughing. “No, I guess not, especially since we’re sitting together. Say, are you gonna film it for the kids on your phone?”
“Does that mean I can only hold on with one hand?”
“Um, yeah,” she replied.
“Oh, sure. Great idea. Ugh.”
The next section of cars pulled up and the riders spilled out. Some of the faces were white from fear with bright red cheeks from riding at over a hundred miles an hour in the cold evening air. Others were laughing hysterically as the nervousness of the intense ride forced out their emotions.
The caravan of five cars carried eighteen passengers. The family loaded in the first car, which was a four-seater with a bright green hood in front. Angela and Tyler were seated immediately behind the kids in front of a car that contained two girls in their late teens. Tyler rolled his eyes as he saw them slide into their seats, knowing full well ear-piercing screams would be breaking his eardrums throughout the ride.
Once they were settled in, the cars moved forward to ease behind the two sets of cars in line in front of them. Tyler pointed to a sign that read:
Attention Riders. On occasion, Kingda Ka’s train will not travel over the hill. This is a normal occurrence. The train is designed to safely roll back and reset to be launched again.
“Nice of them to let us know that after we’re stuck on board this thing.”
Angela laughed and squeezed his knee. “Just record and the whole thing will be over before you know it.”
Tyler got his cell phone ready, and their section of cars moved forward until they were first in line. He was getting nervous. “The other car is barely at the top of the loop before they fire off another one.”
Angela laughed and shook her head as she ignored Tyler’s continued protestations. “Okay, kids. Who’s ready?”
The mechanical announcer issued its final warning to the riders before the ride commenced.
Arms down. Head back. Hold on.
To which Kaycee replied, “Let’s go!”
With the blast of a cannon firing, the ride took off on what was once the fastest roller coaster in North America. The upside-down U-shaped track bolted up forty-five stories, reaching one hundred forty five miles per hour in just three and a half seconds.
Tyler managed to film and hang on as the cars sped up ninety degrees into the first spiral before approaching the apex of Kingda Ka. At that speed, everything was a blur as his mind attempted to process something it had never experienced before.
When placed under such intense stress, the human mind doesn’t count the seconds using the childhood way of saying one Mississippi, two Mississippi, and three Mississippi. The mind was far more advanced, acting like a high-speed computer capable of receiving and analyzing stimuli faster than any human could imagine.
Tyler’s mind was in a heightened state of awareness when his vision transmitted his cell phone losing power just microseconds before it processed that everything around him disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Delta Flight 322
Slowly descending as it passed Panama City Beach on the Florida Panhandle, Delta Flight 322 flew over the open water, just three miles above the Gulf of Mexico. The pilots were several minutes ahead of schedule as they made their gradual descent in preparation for landing in Mobile, Alabama. The white aircraft with the red and blue markings of Delta Air Lines could barely be seen on the moonless night. They were just twenty minutes from touchdown.
Eventually, the bumpy turbulence they’d encountered earlier gradually stopped as they cleared the cold front. The cabin continued to be filled with now-muted chatter, as the high created by preflight libations began to wear off. Fortunately for Cort, who was trying to relax from his stressful week, the inebriated men seated in front of him had dozed off, and the wailing infant three rows behind him had found solace in a milk bottle.
He input his credit card information into the empty fields of the Delta in-flight entertainment website, which was displayed on his iPad. While the connection was being made, he inserted his Bose earbud-microphone combination into his ears and turned off the external speaker. Curious passengers could see his wife and daughter appear on the screen, but they would only be able to hear his side of the conversation.
Colt’s face lit up as his wife answered the FaceTime request, and his daughter, Hannah, leaned in so she could be seen too.
“Hi, baby!” Meredith genuinely greeted him with a smile. He missed her as much as she missed him.
“Hi, Daddy!” Hannah was chipper as usual. She was always an upbeat, happy kid. But then again, she was only twelve and hadn’t been jaded by the world around her.
“Girls, I have really missed you. You have no idea.”
“Oh, we believe you, don’t we, Hannah?”
“Maybe a little,” Hannah added with a giggle. “But we have big plans for our New Year’s Eve party, Daddy.”
His daughter was wide awake considering how late it was. He suspected Meredith had insisted she take a nap in exchange for staying up late, or Hannah was jacked up on sweet treats.
“Do tell,” said Cort, who continued to beam during the conversation.
Hannah and Meredith commenced to reel off the finger foods and desserts they’d created throughout the day in anticipation of his arrival. Hannah proudly took credit for recording the New Year’s festivities from Times Square on their Comcast DVR so that they could watch the ball drop together.
After the family bemoaned the concept of time zones and Cort added his two cents’ worth about the media moguls of New York thinking the entire planet revolves around them, they talked about their long weekend together.
“Girls, whadya think about watching some football with me tomorrow?”
“Yale isn’t playing, Daddy,” Hannah complained. “I won’t be able to wear my Handsome Dan sweatshirt Grandpa got me for Christmas.”
Meredith’s father had purchased Hannah a sweatshirt featuring the Yale mascot, an En
glish bulldog, leaning up against a large Y. The tradition had been established in the late 1800s when a young Englishman who attended the university brought his bulldog to college with him. Yale became the first university in the United States to adopt a mascot, and now eighteen English bulldogs had proudly filled the position of Handsome Dan.
“I know, honey, this time of year, high-quality schools like Yale don’t have to play football anymore. We’re stuck with the other guys like ’Bama and Notre Dame and Ohio State.”
“Daddy, why does ’Bama have an elephant as a mascot?”
Meredith laughed at the back-and-forth between her husband and daughter. “Yes, please enlighten us, Cort.”
“Well, um, once upon a time Alabama was full of Republicans. So—”
Hannah was having none of it and scowled into the camera. “Daddy, I know when you’re fibbin’. If you don’t know, it’s okay to say you don’t know. Mommy told me that everybody can’t know everything. Right, Mommy?”
Meredith pulled the phone closer to their faces. “That’s right.” She tilted her head and smiled at Cort as if to say, the ball’s in your court, Daddy-O.
“Actually, I do know one thing. Your mommy knows everything. We made sure that was understood the day we got married.”
“You betcha,” said Meredith. “Okay, We’re almost to the airport. Do you want us to park and come inside?”
“I don’t have any bags, so why don’t you guys just pick me up at departures.”
“But, Daddy, you’re an arrival.”
Smart kid.
“I know, honey, but I think there’ll be less traffic at departures at this time of night. I can just walk—”
Ding—ding—ding.
The flight attendant interrupted their conversation. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten-seat-belt sign, indicating our approach into Mobile. As we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Also, please discontinue the use of all electronic devices. Thank you.”