by T. R. Harris
“Are you sure about this? You didn’t ask for any of this to happen to you—just the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Mr. Moore—that’s your last name, right?—well you know what I do for a living, and although certain security regulations may not allow me to report on all I’ve seen and heard today, I know eventually I’ll be able to tell my story. And that has blockbuster written all over it. So, honestly, I’d like to stick around a little while longer to see how this story ends.”
Xander looked out the window of the hovercopter and scanned the multiple black columns of smoke filling his view. “Let’s hope it doesn’t end up with one of those rising above your mountain cabin, Ms. Collins.”
“You’ve managed to keep me alive so far. I’m sure you can do it for a while longer.”
Xander just smirked. “Idyllwild, you say? I’ve always loved that area.”
“Hey, don’t get your expectations up. It’s not one of those really fancy places down around the lake.”
“I just appreciate the offer. Now … California here we come.”
Chapter 9
Xander gunned the hovercopter while also descending to just over a hundred feet off the ground. It was nearly dark on a moonless night in mid-December, but the ground-sensing equipment aboard the copter would keep them safe—and hopefully undetected—for the two hour journey to the San Jacinto mountain community of Idyllwild.
Xander couldn’t take anything for granted when it came to the masterminds behind today’s attack. They could have access to live satellite feeds, or the ability to tap into radio and cell communications—not that they had a cellphone between them. All communications devices, including iPads, Kindles and cellphones, were required to be checked at the entrance to the RDC. Xander noticed that even Tiffany’s handbag was missing—assuming she came to the Center with one. Without the copter’s radio functioning, they had no way to communicate with the outside world without landing somewhere and bumming a phone off some startled civilian.
In two hours they would be at Tiffany’s cabin. It would be good to fall off the grid for a while, giving their trail a chance to cool.
So the hovercopter skirted along the high desert of California for a hundred miles, with Xander doing his best to stay within the ground clutter of radar and satellite observation.
“How did you get into this whole drone thing in the first place?”
“My older brother got me into it. He was always tinkering around with something, and one day he brings home this quadcopter.”
“Is he in the industry as well?”
“No, he was killed in Iraq in 2008.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Xander.”
“That’s okay. He died doing what he truly loved, which is the most any of us can hope to say. Anyway, when he died I inherited his drone. I thought it was kind of fitting that I keep flying it, since he loved it so much. After a couple of years, some friends and I formed a club called the Alpha Pilots. We began having competitions amongst ourselves and other clubs.”
“What kind of competitions?”
“You know, war games, that sort of thing. Crash and burn, chases, obstacle courses—we even put paintball guns on them and fired at each other. Anyway, there were formal leagues starting at the time and we joined those, too. We would meet in huge warehouses and have combat fights.”
“How was that possible?”
“They’d hang big nets from the ceiling and two drones would enter and fight to the symbolic death. The goal was to knock your opponent out of the air. Turning them upside down on their propellers was a sure kill. Then we moved outside, usually to paintball fields, and that’s when things got really rough.”
“Where were you at the time?”
“San Diego County, mainly in San Marcos and Vista, north of the city. It’s an area known to UAV warriors as Drone Valley, just as San Jose and Palo Alto are known as Silicon Valley to computer geeks.
“About that time a billionaire investor formed the first Drone Olympics, thinking this was going to be the next big thing. The Alphas joined, and wouldn’t you know it, we ended up winning the whole damn thing, going up against the best pilots from across the country—hell, there were even people from Japan and Europe competing. It was really cool.”
“So I’m sitting next to an Olympian. I’m impressed. You got medals and everything?”
Xander’s expression turned sour. “I did. Unfortunately, they were in my house back in Henderson.”
“Damn, I keep stepping in it, don’t I?”
“Don’t worry, Tiffany, I’m a big boy. It takes a lot to really affect me these days.”
“So you and your Alphas won the Drone Olympics. That must have been a big deal?”
Xander snorted. “Maybe to some people, not to most. We won three of the team events outright, and then I took the silver in two individual contests.”
“Which ones?”
“Heads-Up Combat and Seek and Evade.” He laughed. “Again, don’t read too much into it. It was the first and only year of the Olympics. After that we got sued by the real International Olympic Committee, which happened to be about the same time the public started to really turn negative on drones and their operators. A few years after that was when the bank robberies began.”
“So, again Mr. Moore, how did all this get you the gig with the government?”
Xander looked down at the dimming desert landscape falling away behind the odd helicopter not more than a hundred feet below. The memories seemed so long ago now.
“After high school I went to San Diego State, doing a degree in avionics. I was approached by some people who’d heard of my expertise with drones and wanted me to head up a research team they were putting together to devise contingency plans against hostile UAV activities. Turns out they were with DARPA.”
“Oh, damn, I’ve heard of them, I just can’t recall exactly what the acronym stands for. Some kind of defense research agency, right?”
“The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Anyway, I packed my bags and my surfboard and headed off to Washington, D.C. I spent the next four years just thinking up some of the worse uses for drones imaginable, and then ways to counter them. At the time, the Rapid Defense Center was just being planned, and they came to DARPA looking for help in specific areas of contention they were running into. Have you ever heard of the Posse Comitatus Act?”
“This may surprise you, but I have. It restricts the government from using the military as law enforcement personnel.”
“That’s right, and at the time the government was trying to devise some defense for the ever-increasing number of drone attacks taking place. They wanted it to be just an expanded function of the foreign drone program run by the military, but only domestic, and that was causing all kinds of resistance because of the Act. So they started looking at a civilian solution. Since I was pretty well-known within the drone community, I was loaned to the RDC as a consultant to see if what the Feds had in mind would work.”
“But the RDC is part of the military.”
“That’s right, but it took a lot of fancy footwork to make that happen. Our charter specifically restricts us from acting against individuals within the United States and its territories. We’re strictly a defensive organization designed to target machines only—UAVs and other remotely-controlled devices. That’s how they got around the restriction. If an individual is identified as a target within the country, the FBI is called in even before the locals. Now that the cat’s out of the bag after this big Internet dump, I can tell you now that targeting citizens happens quite often. You’d be surprised at how many of these attacks are carried out by people or groups operating from within the country, and how few by remote operators overseas. Most terrorist organizations don’t have the sophistication or the expertise to pull it off.”
“With the exception of the Arm of Allah.”
“Even they’re about ten years behind where the U.S. is in distant drone operations. You have to remember
, we’ve been doing this for a very long time.”
“But now the weapons are becoming smaller and more readily accessible.”
Xander smiled. “So says the Fox News reporter, as she returns to the interrupted interview.”
“After the day we’ve had, can you blame me?”
“Naw, but you do realize this is only the beginning, don’t you?”
“What do you mean? Are there other Centers we don’t know about?”
“Unfortunately, no. What I mean is that someone doesn’t go through this much trouble to take out the most effective weapon against wholesale UAV attacks unless they mean to take advantage of the situation.”
“More civilian attacks?”
“No question about it. And I’ve been thinking about this—it’s what I do. The raid on the Center, along with the exposure of the program, has come right here at Christmastime, and also during the transition period between administrations. With respect to the change in presidents, this is the time when we need decisive, effective leadership. That’s not going to happen, not now, not with only a month left on Ortega’s term. No one in the old administration is going to take responsibility for half-ass actions between now and January twentieth, and the incoming administration doesn’t have the authority to act. There’s an outflowing of experience, all being replaced by rookies. When dealing with a major crisis like this, we’re always guaranteed some level of clusterfuck to follow. In this case, it’s going to be so much worse.
“As for the holiday season, one of two things could happen. Either people continue to risk their lives by going out in public—in which case a lot more people are going to die—or else they stay home, which wrecks the economy, not only here but around the world. How the American consumer spends money determines the economies of countless other nations, whether they want to admit it or not.”
“How do you think they’ll react—the people, I mean? What about online shopping?”
“This should be a boom for Amazon, eBay and Jet, but then again, the people are being forced into online shopping out of fear. That has to affect enthusiasm, both for the season, as well as the whole feeling of security most of us require to function. Normally I’d say people would continue shopping, but with the very public evisceration of the RDC I now believe they’ll stay home and basically write-off the holidays for the year. The Center may not have been very effective in preventing attacks, but we were really good at shutting them down within the first few minutes.
“Most people spend their days thinking they’re invincible and that bad things only happen to other people. That’s why they still get in cars every day when their chances of being killed in a traffic accident is about a thousand times more likely than from a terrorist attack. I also think our success has been a double-edged sword. We boast about it constantly, and to the exclusion of all other assets and options available. We have the population believing that we’re their only protection against the drones. How do you think they’ll react now?”
“There are other assets, as you call them? What are they?”
Xander’s wry smile told most of the story. “In all honesty, there are very few. With the RDC’s track record, there’s been no big push to come up with alternatives, and definitely not enough money to fund them. In fact, our lobbyists fight hard against money being spent on anything other than the RDC, preferring to grab all they can so more rapid-response bunkers can be built and more operators hired and trained.”
“So there’s no effective backup to the RDC?”
“Bingo! Even the FBI and local law enforcement have deferred to us. I do know DARPA is working on solutions to the overall drone problem, but so far they haven’t let us in on any breakthroughs. It’s our hope that one day they’ll come up with something that can protect against drone attacks before they happen, not after.”
A quick glance in Tiffany’s direction revealed the paleness of her skin and the frightened look in her eyes.
“I guess I’ve been like most people in the country,” she began. “I thought the drone problem was more isolated than reported. Being in the media, I know we have a tendency to blow some things way out of portion. In my early days I once reported on a school bus that caught fire. Sounds serious, doesn’t it? As it turned out, a little smoke was coming from the rear of the bus; the driver pulled over, the kids transferred to another bus, and the fire was out before the fire trucks even arrived. Bottom line: no story at all, but we sure made it out to be a lot worse than it was. That’s how I’ve always seen these drone stories, especially since the RDC would usually sweep in and save the day. The report I’m working on has really opened my eyes.”
“Ms. Collins, I’ve spent my whole life around drones. I’ve played with them as toys and I’ve operated them as weapons, so believe me when I say this: drones are not the problem. It’s the people operating them who are. Like all inanimate objects, it’s what a person does with it that determines its utility. Unfortunately, there are way too many sickos in the world that even toys are being weaponized and sent out to kill. But unless you ban all potential weapons—which can be anything in the hands of a madman—this is the world we live in.”
“It’s also the world we die in … and far too often. And now we have terrorists basically cornering the market on drone usage for evil,” Tiffany said. “And in most cases they’re not using surplus or homebuilt drones, but rather sophisticated machines specifically designed and built for combat. Warfare is evolving to a point where huge floating airports and intercontinental ballistic missiles are far too expensive to build and deploy, especially when you can build a million killer drones for the price of one aircraft carrier, and then spread your threat over a much wider area … and with no credible defense.”
“Is that the lead to the documentary you’re working on?” Xander asked, without his accompanying smile.
“Can you deny the truth?”
“No, I can’t, but that’s not the point. What you’re saying is that humanity is reaching the point where anyone—and everyone—can become a mass killer or an international superpower. He who controls the most killer drones rules the world, right?”
“Don’t get mad at me for cutting to the chase. It’s not my job to protect the public from information that might upset them. I have a duty to let people know what’s really happening, despite what the officials tell them.”
“Wholesale release of information just for the sake of sensationalism isn’t doing anyone any good. All it does it add to the paranoia. Is that what you want, a whole population scared to leave their homes for fear of a drone attack, or the latest disease outbreak, or that they might be hit by a piece of the space station falling from the sky? Is there any wonder we have so many crazy people these days doing crazy things?”
“It’s not my job to pick and choose the news, Mr. Moore.” Tiffany’s tone was as cold as the desert air outside the hovercopter. “When we start doing that, it’s called censorship. Most of the criticism of the news media over the past twenty years has come not from a misrepresentation of the facts, but rather from an omission of relevant data designed to mislead or to hide opposing views. And with the segmentation of the media we have today, it’s become possible for a person to read, watch and hear only one side of an issue, with no opposing or countering views. This has polarized our population like nothing before, and it hasn’t helped anything. How can people, operating on only half the information, make informed decisions? I’ll put your views in my report, just as I will the opposition’s, but then I’ll let my viewers make up their minds. That’s if you don’t throw me out of this flying egg beater first.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Xander glanced out the side of the canopy. “But from this altitude it might not kill you, and then I’d have whole other set of problems to deal with.”
Tiffany extended her hand. “Agree to disagree?”
Xander took the soft hand and held if for a moment longer than was necessary. “Just as long as you agree you’re wrong.�
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“So if two wrongs make a right…”
“Then I guess we’re both right.”
Tiffany withdrew her hand and looked out the window. “Are we there yet?”
Xander had to smile. He liked to be challenged, both physically and intellectually, and Tiffany Collins—beyond the obvious reasons—was becoming more interesting by the moment.
Chapter 10
Under the cover of darkness, Xander piloted the hovercopter past the northern shore of the Salton Sea and then along the outskirts of Palm Springs before heading along Highway 111 toward the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway. He knew the small town of Idyllwild was located along the top ridge of the San Jacinto Mountains off Highway 245. Visitors to the Tram could catch rides from the top of the mountain to meet up with highway, so he figured his quickest path to the town would be to travel up the same canyon as the Tram and then skim the treetops until he came to the road.
It was nearing seven o’clock in the evening when they entered the canyon and began to climb to the summit at just over seven thousand feet. The Tram wasn’t operating at the time, even though he was sure there were workers around. Yet as the copter paralleled the long and steep cable line, he didn’t see a soul, either at the base or at the summit. Even the Peaks Restaurant—where he’d dined on half a dozen occasions before—was dark. He began to suspect that most public facilities in the area had shut down early as a precaution against further terrorist attacks now that it was known the RDC had been hit.
There was a decent snowpack at the top, and the starlit scene below was beautiful and deceiving, making it appear as if everything in the world was peaceful and pure. Xander knew better. The attack on the RDC was just the beginning. The terrorists hadn’t gone through this much trouble to take out the Center without having a much larger goal in mind. Now America’s eggs-in-one-basket defensive planning was coming back to haunt them. The civilian defense forces at the individual venues would do the best they could, yet for too long they’d been deferring their responsibility to the RDC, saving money in personnel and training, while even receiving a break on their insurance if they signed priority agreements with the RDC for the use of their drones.