Waypoint: A Game of Drones

by C. F. WALLER

  I nod, watching as a second man climbs up with a drill.

  “The box is a paired down navigation system. It’s inside a military hardened box so the EMP won’t kill it. The Drone will connect to it, then try and take over the plane, but the box isn’t attached to the Zero, not that there’s any electronics to fry.”

  “So?”

  “The Drone will keep trying during the chase. Assuming there is a chase.”

  “And the black box will remain connected to the Drone and the pilot will be able to track that?”

  “Exactly,” there will be a wire hooked to an LCD screen in the cockpit. It’s a simple dot that moves from side to side giving the pilot a direction.”

  “And the EMP won’t kill it or the Zero?”

  He shakes his head aggressively.

  “You pay up front for holes that guy’s drilling in the Museum’s plane?”

  “Avert your eyes,” he laughs.

  Our conversation goes on for ten minutes, then the golf cart returns and we are whisked off to the other side of the airport. We are dropped off in front of a single story brick building, with two desert camouflage jeeps parked in front. A weather beaten picnic table with graffiti carved in the top sits by a bucket full of cigarette butts. Inside we find a stiff postured woman in a khaki military uniform. She’s talking to a pair in far more casual dress. Lecturing them would be more accurate. We are introduced, making polite gestures, shaking hands.

  Ella Lewis, a woman, and Cooper Sands, a man, are intelligence officers, while the stiff shirt, is Stallings, their commanding officer. They work from a huge white dry-erase board on one wall of the smallish room.

  “You three,” Stalling lectures, pointing at Ella, Cooper and myself, “will set up in Wannero, 40 minutes south of the target.”

  “Are we are talking about John’s house?” I interrupt. “The target that is.”

  Hal nods and pats me on the shoulder to shut me up.

  “Agent Knox,” Stalling continues. “Will contact the target and lure him to her location.”

  “Agent?” I whisper, elbowing Hal, but he frowns.

  “Once the target leaves the home, you two,” she explains, pointing at Ella and Cooper. “Will drive down to the house and appraise the situation. Our number one priority is to neutralize the bio weapon.”

  “Retrieve the bio weapon,” Hal corrects her. “Too many unknowns as to what’s been done to the canister. We just need to grab it and get out.”

  Stalling frowns at being interrupted, but nods agreement.

  “Above all, a communications blackout is crucial. The Drone has the ability to monitor cell phones and radio waves, so once we go live there’s no chatter. Is that clear?”

  The Aussies nod, then I follow suit as Stallings stares at me. She’s one serious character. Hal asked for my phone back in the states, and it has yet to reappear. I poke Hal in the ribs, then whisper, while she traces on a map with a red marker.

  “Phone?”

  “Right, yes,” he nods, pulling a small zip lock bag from his pocket. “Only if you need me and even then, only if your cover’s blown. The second you put the battery in, Darius will know you’re here.”

  “So, call John with what?”

  “Landline.”

  “His number’s in the phone, I’ll have to turn it on to retrieve it.”

  “Lewis has it.”

  “We can trust them?”

  “I’m fairly certain they don’t want to be ground zero for a smallpox epidemic, so yes.”

  Stallings pauses and frowns, her tightly bound hair pulling the skin on her forehead tight to her skull, like a drum. After an apologetic nod, we turn our attention back to the board like scolded school children. This is an excellent reminder why I did not follow Glen into the Navy. I simply do not take direction well. Stallings draws on a map, then pounds a finger on a red cross.

  “The Zero’s location in Shark Bay puts it a little over 500 miles south. With a top speed of 400 miles per hour we will need to launch before the initial call. The Zero will fly low down the coastline awaiting our signal.”

  “Without phones or radios?” I toss out. “What signal?”

  “When Lewis and Sands leave for the target, a flare will be fired along the coastline to signal the Zero to proceed.”

  “How will you know when they leave?”

  “The jeep has a store-bought GPS. Lots of cars will have them,” Hal advises. “We can track the jeep without giving anything away.”

  “Right,” Stallings continues. “This should result in the acquisition of the bio weapon at the same time the Zero reaches the target. It’s assumed the Drone will arrive at the location once we make contract. God willing, the Zero can take care of that as well.”

  “So, I just sit tight and do nothing?”

  “You are going to be keeping John busy,” Hal pats me on the back. “When do we go?”

  A round clock with thick red numbers hangs on the far wall. If it’s correct, the time here is 5:20 AM. Or at least I think it’s AM. All this time travel is confusing.

  “It’s nine hours to Wannero,” Ella remarks, looking at a huge wrist watch. “If we bug out now, we can be on the ground by 3:30 PM.”

  “Then get going,” Stallings barks. “We’d like to set the trap while it’s still light out.”

  My new team members excuse themselves, leaving us with Stallings. She makes a phone call, while I sip coffee and wait for Hal to say something. When he doesn’t, I do.

  “You think the Zero can catch the Drone?”

  “The first year of the war, the Zero’s kill ratio was 12- to-1,” Hal informs me. “It’s well armed and fast.”

  “All by the standards of the 1940’s.”

  “That’s true, but it was the best Perry could get on short notice. In our favor, the modern-day plane it’s hunting is un-armed.”

  “What if we get the Smallpox, but not the Drone?”

  “One fight at a time.”

  “Keeping the airspace clear?” I inquire. “Trying to lessen the chance of civilian involvement?”

  “Yeah,” Hal grunts, pulling out his phone. “I still have some calls to make on that. Trying to get Aussies to jump through hoops is a pain in my—.”

  He stops talking abruptly, his call having gone through.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” he holds up a finger and steps a few feet away. “I called earlier about diverting commercial traffic.”

  Uninterested in the phone call, I slip outside where Ella and Cooper remove things from one jeep and place them in the other. The jeep itself is jacked up featuring only a canvas top on the upper roll bars. A surf board it strapped to the bars, making me wonder why it’s there. Are they trying to make us look inconspicuous? I picture a wide open dusty ride for nine hours and shudder at the thought. Lighting a smoke, I sit on the top of a picnic table observing.

  “Been to Australia before?” Ella asks, without looking up from her work.

  “Yeah, we going in that?” I reply, secretly longing for the nondescript sedans Katz always drives. My kingdom for air-conditioning.

  “Yup,” Cooper grunts. “You got everything you need?”

  “Any chance I can get some breakfast?”

  “No problem,” Ella replies, walking over and slapping a half-eaten box of doughnuts and a warm bottle of water on the table top. “We go in fifteen minutes. Make sure to use the loo before then.”

  The box is flimsy, a clear plastic window on the top. Lifting the lid, I find the sugar glaze melted in a goopy mess. I place a cigarette in the corner of my mouth, then latch onto one, wiping off a trail of sugar soup with my free hand. Cooper watches me from the jeep as I take a bite, holding my smoke off to one side.

  “How is it?” he laughs.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “Right,” he nods, pointing at the building. “The loo’s in there.”

  I take another bite and watch them put up the hood and putter underneath. Hal comes out and scowls a
t my bad manners and glaze covered lips.

  “For the record, these two make me long for the days of Agent Katz.”

  “She’ll be happy to know that. What cha doing?”

  “This is breakfast,” I swallow hard, taking a hit off my smoke, then going in for another bite.

  “Unfortunate,” he shakes his head. “You good on the plan?”

  “Yeah,” I chew, then drop what’s left of the pastry in the box. “To recap, all I have to do is call John and get him to come meet me.”

  “Yes, and keep him there.”

  “How long?”

  “Until we come for you. Try to have your clothes on.”

  “Bite me,” I sigh, trying to flip my butt in the bucket, but finding it stuck to my finger by sticky sugar.

  “Before I go,” he starts, but then pauses with a finger on his lips.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your sister.”

  “You need to let that go,” I groan.

  “Would that I could,” he sighs, pulling an envelope out of his jacket and holding it out.

  “What fresh hell is this?”

  “My last involvement in your family affairs,” he promises, wiggling the envelope in front of me. “I received this before we left Big Bear. Take it and we will never speak of Victoria again.”

  I accept it, slipping it in my inside pocket, then nodding acceptance of his promise. The golf cart returns and Hal slips in.

  “When this is over, you owe me a favor,” I lecture.

  All I receive in return is a head bob, then the cart disappears back the way we came. I drink the last of my coffee, tossing the cup in the bucket where it doesn’t belong. I fumble for my lighter, but pull my hand out holding Perry Goodson’s business card. On the front is his full name, the title Acquisitions, plus a phone number. On the back, it reads in capital letters.

  IF YOU CAN’T FIND SOMETHING, IT’S BECAUSE I ALREADY HAVE IT

  “I’d like a decent breakfast and a shower,” I remark, pushing off for the bathroom.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  The roads are paved, but uneven and cracked. We bounce along in a never-ending cloud of dust. I remove my blazer, using it as a blanket to avoid choking. Ella drives, having striped down to a tank top and jean shorts. Her dark hair is braided and hangs out of a baseball hat. The back of her arms and shoulders are covered in tattoos, not previously visible. Most appear military, but there is a sizable Tinkerbell on her right shoulder. Cooper has also adopted the beachwear policy, his arms having only one or two tattoos.

  The radio blares an unknown rock song that’s almost sure to be a local selection. Some sort of Kangaroo rock and roll. I pull my blazer together in the front and try not to breathe in the dust. The road curves as the ocean appears on the right side of the jeep. We cruise along the waterfront for hours, then pull over at a gas station around noon.

  The clapboard structure houses a bait shop as well as a selection of sandwiches for sale in a glass doored cooler at the rear. Most, if not all, appear homemade, wrapped in saran wrap, their contents hidden from view. Even though I am hungry, these look a bit sketchy. I’m not eating an outback mystery sandwich.

  A lone pump sits out front and Cooper leans on the fender holding the business end in the fuel tank. Ella plows through the store ahead of me in search of the rest room, apparently called the loo here. Beer of all sorts fills the next cooler on the right, the handle cold to the touch. I fish out a six pack of Little Creatures Pale Ale and haul it to the front counter.

  “Can I leave this here while I shop?”

  “Sure,” the male cashier nods lethargically.

  He’s middle age, probably thirty’s, wearing a Brisbane Roar soccer jersey. He’s watching a talk show on a small black and white television, while simultaneously chewing on red licorice.

  “Can I get a pack of Marlboro Lights to go with?”

  He nods again, reaching over his head to a rack without looking, then setting them next to the beer. I pull one can out of the plastic loops that hold them together. When I pop the top and take a drink he doesn’t flinch. I’d imagine he sees all sorts in here. Passing by fishing gear and a long glass countertop containing knives, I sip the cold beer and wait for Ella to come out.

  We haul lunch out to the jeep. A table with chairs carved from tree stumps was available inside, but my new friends walk right past it. Given the lack of labels on the sandwiches, I arrive with a huge bag of Smiths potato chips and chocolate things called Mallow Puffs. I lay across the back seat with my feet hanging over the side, while Ella and Cooper chew on sandwiches and suck down some sort of PowerAde on a bench near the Jeep.

  “Either of you want a beer?” I ask, holding one up for them to see.

  “It’s not my brand,” Cooper smirks.

  “They got every kind known to man or marsupial in there,” I argue in my best Aussie accent. “What sort do you fancy?”

  “I find your accent marginally offensive,” Ella comments. “And we aren’t drinking.

  “Well, some of us aren’t,” I agree, sipping mine. “How long you two been in the military?”

  “Me,” Ella mutters, looking at Cooper. “Me, ten years this Christmas.”

  “Eight,” Cooper adds. “How long you in?”

  “I’m not,” I scoff, sitting up. “My husband was Navy, but I’m more of a consultant.”

  “Consulting on what?”

  “This whole mess,” I shrug, thinking of John. “The guy we are looking for knows me.”

  “A special friend of yours?” Ella narrows her eyes at me.

  “In a way. I was on the boat when they fished the case out of the Indian Ocean.”

  “The case?” Cooper asks.

  “Sorry, bio weapon,” I correct my phrasing.

  “But your husband is Navy?” Ella remarks, wadding up her sandwich foil.

  “Was,” I correct her.

  “Retired?”

  “Dead,” I sigh, hating how drawn out these admissions are.

  “Sorry,” she nods, tossing her wrapper in the trash by the door.

  “You married?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kids?”

  “Haven’t had the time,” she shrugs, climbing in the passenger seat. “You?”

  I pause, then shake my head. Let’s not end this conversation on a down note.

  “No worries,” she smirks, pointing at Cooper. “He’s got six. I think he’s trying to breed the rest of us into extinction.”

  “You love my kids,” he argues, pausing to stare at Ella in the passenger seat.

  “Sorry Mate, your turn to peddle.”

  They exchange a volley of insults, then Cooper takes the wheel and we plow ahead into the now mid-day sun. No further mention of my history occurs. They chat little, stopping for me to pee by the side of the road several times as I work my way through the Little Creatures Pale Ale. We take a rocky dirt road detour to avoid John’s place, passing it by on the way south to Wannero. After a stop to gas up, we park at a friendly looking tavern.

  The Kirkby Inn is large, but only one story. A sign out front proclaims World’s Best Burger in sloppy red paint. We pile out and I follow them, passing rows of jeeps and pickup trucks. A large man, an assessment made more from his circumference than height, sits on a stool next to the door. He’s wearing a stained t-shirt with the sleeves cut off in a jagged line. He nods as we pass, signaling his approval of our entry. Given his appearance, I can’t imagine who would be excluded.

  The interior is illuminated by dangling florescent light bars, smoke thick in the air. There are pool tables, a full bar and possibly decent food from the looks on the happy diners faces. It’s woodsy, but civilized enough that I order a burger and fries. I hydrate with ice water to stall a massive headache caused by either dehydration, drinking in the Jeep, or a combination of both.

  Ella goes to place a call from a pay phone near the restrooms. I haven’t seen a pay phone in a decade. Cooper takes a slow lap around the place,
as if we expect resistance. After a few minutes, they join me at the table. A whispered conversation between them goes on for several minutes. While I wait for them to include me, an older waitress, in cutoff shorts and an Ellie May Clampett plaid shirt bikini top, walks up and sets a beer down in front of Ella.

  “Guy over there sent you this,” she chokes out through a wad of gum, then nods at a table to our right.

  “Thanks but no thanks,” Ella frowns, pushing the bottle back across the table with two fingers.

  “Are ya sure honey?” she asks, blowing a bubble, then snapping it. “He’s awful cute.”

  “Guys like that are a dime a dozen,” Ella groans, pushing the beer almost off the edge of the table.

  “Don’t quote me the price, if you don’t have the time,” she sighs, then takes the beer back to the guy, turning back to wink at us on the way.

  I’m watching her slip in between the guy and one of his friends, when Ella pokes me in the shoulder.

  “It’s a go.”

  “So?” I shrug.

  “Make your call,” she orders, dropping a business card with John’s number scrawled in pen on the thickly shellacked table.

  “You got any change?” I joke, holding out my hand.

  “Sure,” she surprises me by dropping a handful of coins in my palm. “Time to dazzle us with your powers of seduction.”

  “If that’s what you need from me, then this operation is doomed,” I sigh, pushing off the table and heading to the phone. “How about I start with a hello.”

  “Just get him over here,” Cooper shouts, remaining at the table nibbling on my un-eaten fries.

  “That’s the plan,” I whisper, feeling conflicted about lying to John.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Yeah,” John answers, sounding annoyed.

  “Yeah to you to.”

  “Lydia?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised?”

  “I am a bit,” he pauses. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, but I been thinking about taking you up on your beach vacation offer.”

  There is silence on the line. A pulsing hum buzzes on the scratchy overland connection as I wait. Is this a guilty pause or an imagining me in his bed pause?