by Les W Kuzyk
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Vince pushed his way back through the glass doors from the Gaweye pool and out the front. Brad had called, and wanted him to go up in that passenger balloon again to test a redesigned release. Aahil would drive them to the storage yard. The Nissan pulled up just as he came down the brown cobbled steps. Brad wanted to launch from outside the storage area this time.
“Hey, just thinking,” Vince said as he got into the back seat. “If they keep speculating on that mid-Atlantic. I dunno if I should plan extra sulphur storage close to the Niamey airport. Or bump up the trucking availability.”
“Yeah maybe,” Brad said. “Your call.”
Vince looked at Brad, eyebrows furrowed. “So tell me, how could an Atlantic component run independent of a global plan? Out there in international high seas airspace above unclaimed ocean?”
“Tough to get airspace agreement, that’s sure,” Brad said, scrunching his cheek. “But if they do...I’d say they’ll classify that as a Phase III regional plan expansion.”
“Been learning more on the stratosphere,” Vince said.
“Oh yeah.” Brad lifted his chin. “Talking to that Tami?”
Vince ignored him. “You know most atmospheric movement over the mid-Atlantic ocean goes south. Towards the Antarctic pole, and down the middle of the Atlantic. You could argue our sulphur design harms no one. Just like over the Sahara, a Green Nigerien Sahara makes a lot of people happy and no one gets disturbed cause no one lives there.”
“Yeah okay.” Brad nodded. “But what happens if...say we do expand our regional and go poking a sulphur release out over mid ocean. Then say our client tries talking as if no global interests. I dunno, lots of airspace interests gonna scream global. And what if military interests wanna poke back?”
As they crossed the bridge lined with presidential posters, Brad talked on ocean lift and release engineering. Out there in global airspace they’d best use a small fleet of high flying modified business jets with dispersal technology. They could easily get those designed by Embraer in Brazil or Hindustan Aeronautics. Turnover time would be short—months.”
“Should’ve put in a strategic order.”
“Maybe they did,” Brad said. “Could be on order right now, how would we know? Our client doesn’t tell us everything, that’s sure.”
“Yeah,” Vince said. “Maybe.”
“Hey Aahil,” Brad said. “That the president’s men behind us?”
“Yes,” Aahil said. “It is so.”
“They wanna have a chat,” Brad said.
“No,” Aahil said. “We do not speak to them and they do not speak to us.”
“Huhh.”
Brad went on about business jets. Not much higher tech than desert balloons, just extra susceptible to drone or even fighter jet interference—those planes could simply be shot down. On an expanded Phase III regional, Brad thought, they’d fly jets out to ocean centre south of the equator and release sulphur at one focal point. Assuming non-politicized engineering interests could somehow be had free of interference.
Assuming good engineering only, Vince pointed out ,released sulphur drifting south towards Antarctica would spread, but never east and west enough to influence the rest of Africa or South America. All effects would remain over the ocean. Minimal impact on anything else, so still pretty regional.
Of course political reality rolled out other dice they agreed.
The dark vehicle with the president’s men pulled over outside their yard. They both looked at Aahil, but he held up both hands, shaking his head.
“Looks like we ignore them and let them watch.”
“Yeah.”
They loaded a balloon into the back of the Nissan and heaved a helium tank in too, leaving it to stick out over the tailgate. They wouldn’t be going far, but still hopped back in the Nissan so Aahil could drive them out of the yard.
But as they pulled out through the gate, Aahil’s eyes grew wider staring at the dashboard, and then at Brad. Hitting the gas hard like never before, he braked the Nissan to an abrupt halt in the lot beside the storage yard wall.
“You crazy today?” Vince asked.
Aahil turned off the engine, pointing to his dash screen.
“We must listen.” Aahil said, punching at volume control.
The flash of a full screen blinking red glared out the installed target lock device, and as Aahil pushed his finger hard to turn up the sound, a mounting siren blare blasted its warning in synch with the screen flash.
Before Vince could think, stunned, he felt Brad’s arm dragging him out the passenger door. Aahil scrambled out the driver’s side, and around the Nissan to dash after them. The American engineer pushed Vince hard towards the wall corner. “Gotta move it,” Brad was shouting. Vince stumbled, but regaining a precarious balance tore along with the other two around the corner. He plopped down breathless on the ground beside them.
“Like what?” Vince asked, heart hammering.
What would the president’s men think of this chaotic rush, his mind raced, looking at the black SUV parked just down the road.
Vince looked at Brad, stunned by an expression not on his face since the Burkina border crossing. Aahil cocked an ear to the now distant siren, counting seconds on one hand. Prying his back from the wall, Brad wormed his way to the wall’s end. Just as he was about to peak around the edge, the Nissan siren stopped, and he flopped back against the wall waving their heads down. Then, in the still of the moment an ear piercing explosion roared out from the parking lot. And another blast a millisecond later. As seconds of stunned silence passed, sprinkles of sand settled down around them from two directions.
“Fuck!” Brad groaned, lifting his head.
The three edged along the wall, glancing around the corner together. The Nissan was no more, replaced by a smoking dark crater in a ring of scattered dirt chunks.
“Jesus,” Vince said softly.
“Good lead Aahil, I came behind you half guessing,” Brad said. “Where’s the other hit?”
Vince glanced down along the road, where the second blast had seemed to come. He pointed at another fire hole spewing fumes. Where the president’s men had been parked. The three fell back to sit again, shaking. Vince struggled to speak sense but, “No balloon ride today,” was what he heard himself say.
“No chat with the president’s men,” Brad said.
“Some do not like our president,” Aahil said matter of fact. “Or what we do.”
“A Marauder drone could hover up above us for half a day, and might be anywhere five miles away.” Vince listened as Brad spoke to the world as if lost in some military manual he once read. “And could be from a base six hundred miles from here. A drone missile used to come out of a helicopter, so the old Helicopter Launched acronym made sense, along with Fire and Forget. Now we got the Hellblazer, still clocks in at Mach one point three, meaning seconds to arrive. That app detected the surface drone lock signal, so that’s how we got that minute to move. Off by a few seconds, but, pretty accurate.”
Vince grabbed Brad, giving him a light shake.
“That, my friends, was likely an AGM114 Hellblazer missile.” Brad’s grin half returned. “I sure did like that balloon in the back. We gotta order us another.”
Vince watched the others’ faces closely.
“Sorry about the Nissan,” Brad said.
Aahil nodded, keeping a deep desert silence.
“Why didn’t those guys get out?” Vince pointed at the second fire hole. “Why didn’t they have a siren warning app?”
They all sat for a moment.
Through the resonating ringing in his ears Vince spoke first. “Another question is,” he said in a calm voice. “Who would want to knock us off?” He should be terrified, he knew that, but that thrill rush rippled up his spine. And an almost passively curiosity came on, like he’d arrived to play a fitting role in some gangster story.
“Anyone with drone capacity,” Brad said. “And that’s a long list. The r
eal answer to that question is: Who knows? The only thing I would say for sure would be, not our client. Likely military, but not the HICCC.”
Even so, if the HICCC played a serious tussle of turf wars, and was not bluffing, Vince figured there’d be others with an opposing persuasion. A clique just as serious. He’d have to find his way in this strategic game attentive to how it developed.