Game of Drones

by Rick Jones

  “As long as my team and I stay off the federal payroll, and if you serve as our handler, then the terms are acceptable. We work as consultants. We choose our missions, decide which meets our needs, and I dictate how that mission should be run.”

  “Agreed.”

  And just like that, a new alliance was born.

  #

  Mexico City, Mexico

  Aasif Shazad was sitting at an outside eatery in Mexico City, sipping on a lime Jarritos soda. The city was filthy, the air thick and cloying with smog that held a green hue to it. But he was a free man waiting to serve Allah once again.

  He had worked his way west with little difficulty and then crossed over into Mexico from Arizona, no easy task given that he was one of the most wanted people in the world and had one of the most recognizable faces on the planet after having his photo shown over every major network. But like his teammates, he was presumed dead.

  Assumption, he thought, another mistake on the part of the Americans.

  Shazad sipped slowly at his drink and took in his surroundings. Eventually he would work further south, to a country in South America, and then catch a flight back to the Middle East. From there he would orchestrate more plans, more tactics, more missions, with the United States in his crosshairs.

  Yes, he thought, I’ve so much more to do.

  He smiled.

  So much more.

  Read an Excerpt from the Bestselling Author of Outcast Ops series:

  OUTCAST Ops: African Firestorm (OUTCAST Book 3)

  Synopsis: When pirates hijack a container ship off the coast of Somalia, a sinister plan to cripple the U.S. presence in the Persian Gulf and precipitate a war is unleashed. Two North Korean nuclear warheads being smuggled to Iran are the centerpiece of an ISIS plot to distract the world's attention. If they succeed, thousands of people will die in nuclear fire and the world will be at war.

  Enter OUTCAST (Operational Undertaking To Counteract Active Stateside Threats)--six ex-operatives from six of America’s most powerful organizations. Each has been unceremoniously released by their respective former employer for alleged misdoings that leave their pride wounded but their essential skill-sets untouched. After uniting over their shared bond of dismissal from the nation’s most elite outfits, the disgruntled spooks realize that they can work together like never before to take down threats to their beloved country, a country that branded them as outcasts but needs them now more than ever.

  As a quiet investigation in South Africa suddenly goes hot, leading to a Somalian pirate base and a night-time assault on the high seas, OUTCAST is hell-bent on showing America that their way isn't the best way--it's the only way.

  Read an Excerpt from the Bestselling Author of The Vatican Knights series:

  The Vatican Knights

  Synopsis: While on a visit to the United States, Pope Pius XIII is kidnapped by a terrorist cell calling itself the Soldiers of Islam. If the United States and its allies do not meet their demands, they will execute the pope. So when FBI Specialist Shari Cohen is called to duty to track down the terrorist cell responsible, she learns that she is not alone. Deep behind the Vatican walls a secret order dispatches a clandestine op group of elite commandos known as the Vatican Knights. Their mission: bring the pope back alive. As Cohen and the Knights work in tandem they uncover a White House conspiracy involving high-ranking members on Capitol Hill. When she begins to get too close to the truth about the pope’s kidnapping, she becomes the target of indigenous forces trying to keep the conspiracy safe. However, in order to get to her they must go through the Vatican Knights.

  PROLOGUE

  Washington, D.C.

  Fifteen Years Ago

  When Shari Cohen’s grandmother was confined to Auschwitz, the sky always rained ashes.

  At the peak of the camp’s existence, 20,000 Jews were summarily executed on a daily basis and burned in the ovens, a tragedy that was memorialized by the photos lining the walls, galleries and glass cases of the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C.

  People milled noiselessly about, zigzagging across the hall from one display case to another, regaled by Iron Crosses and German Lugers. Beneath recessed lighting hung German and Hebrew banners, as well as framed paintings that the Nazi regime had appropriated from Jewish owners.

  At the end of a corridor, Shari walked along a memorial wall lined with numerous black-and-white photos, studying each one carefully.

  And then she found it, a grainy black-and-white print of detainees standing together wearing garments draped over limbs no larger than broomsticks. The despair on their faces was obvious, the wallow-eyed sadness speaking volumes.

  With the tips of her fingers Shari traced the image of a young woman who stood with her chin raised in defiance. The points of her shoulders, her cheeks, the paleness of her flesh and the death rings surrounding her eyes all bore testament to her will and courage in the face of adversity. It was the photo of Shari’s grandmother.

  Immediately she felt the sting of tears, her grief and pity mixed with overwhelming pride.

  She moved slowly along the cases, examining every photo and imagining the atrocities behind them. In one picture she noted lifeless bodies hanging from the gallows. Shari remembered her grandmother saying that the bodies would swing there for days, as a reminder to Jews within the camp of their impending fate.

  To be a person of Jewish faith, her grandmother told her, was a fate that assured death and never a reprieve.

  Even at this moment, within her mind, Shari could hear the slight accent of her grandmother’s voice, the sweet clip of her tone. The way she spoke, with the courage and pride of making it through one of the blackest moments of history, was in itself a demonstration of the old woman’s fortitude.

  When Shari was too young to understand the palpability of her grandmother’s suffering, but on the cusp of learning, her grandmother showed her the stenciled numerals on her left forearm. Viewing the numbers from one side read 100681, but when the forearm was viewed from the opposite side, the numbers became inverted, reading 189001. Same tattoo but different numbers. Her grandmother always referred to these as the magic numbers.

  Shari smiled. In her mind’s eye she could see her grandmother smiling back, amused at the astonishment on Shari’s young face as the numbers changed before her eyes.

  And then Shari’s smile faded, the corners of her lips withering into a straight line. The woman who was so brave and cavalier about her struggles in Auschwitz died of heart failure a week ago in a D.C. hospital, at the age of seventy-nine. Shari missed her deeply.

  Moving along the displays, Shari observed more photographs, including pictures of charred and broken bones from the ovens filling deep trenches between the residential quarters—another constant reminder to the Jews of their imminent fate.

  How her grandmother was able to maintain her sanity was beyond Shari’s comprehension. How could anybody live under the mantle of an Auschwitz sky, wondering on a daily basis if her ashes would one day rain down and cover the landscape with a horrible grayness?

  She could not even begin to fathom the terror of not knowing.

  Through the museum’s photos, Shari witnessed a chronology of events that reminded her that even though she was a Jew in a land of tolerance, her country, too, was not entirely without its prejudices. She recalled her grandmother’s words from two years before, when Shari turned sweet sixteen.

  “You’re a young woman now,” she told her. “Old enough to understand the things a young woman should know. So what I’m about to give you, my littlest one, is the most wonderful gift of all. The gift of insight and wisdom.” It was then that her grandmother leaned closer and beckoned her to join her in close counsel, as if what she was about to say could only be passed on in whispers. “I’m one of Jewish faith,” she added, “as you are. But I was proud and refused to give up. To be a Jew in Auschwitz was certain death. But if you fight from here,” she said, placing an open hand over her heart, “if you’re tr
uly proud of who and what you are, then you will survive. But never forget this one thing: there are terrible people out there willing to destroy you simply because evil has its place. If you want evil to take hold, then stand back and do nothing. But if you want to make a difference, then fight, so that all can live in the light. Does this make any sense what I’m telling you?”

  Shari could remember giving her a quizzical look. So her grandmother held her forearm out, the ink of the magic numbers having faded to an olive green color.

  “Because I was a Jew, I was given this mark—even though I was a good girl who never hurt anybody. My parents, your great-grand parents, were good people who never received a mark, because they were told to go to “the left,” which, in Auschwitz, meant a quick death in the gas chambers. I never saw them again.” She smiled—the creases of her face many—but the lines so warm and beautiful, the lines of a person who truly loved life.

  She then reached for Shari’s hand and embraced it with a maternal gentleness. “There is goodness in you,” she told her. “I can feel it. It’s people like you who can make a difference in the lives of all, whether they be that of Jewish faith or not. These marks on my arm are a constant reminder of good people who turned a blind eye and did nothing to help me or others when life was at its darkest. And because of it many people died unnecessarily, because evil was allowed to succeed. But in you, my littlest one, is a fire so bright I can see it in your eyes. You want to do good for those who can’t protect themselves, yes?”

  At that moment Shari realized that she did, though her newfound zeal may have been motivated as much by a desire to please her grandmother as by a determination to protect the powerless. This was a new feeling for her, since she was, after all, only sixteen, and her greatest concerns hitherto had involved boys.

  Her grandmother’s smile widened. “Not to worry,” she said. “Just remember that when the time comes there will be obstacles. But don’t give up. Determination and perseverance will get you there all the time. I was determined to survive Auschwitz. And I did. Now it’s your turn to make sure what happened to me never happens to anyone else ever again.”

  Shari lifted her grandmother’s forearm and turned it over, then traced her fingers softly over the washed-out tattoo. “No one should have suffered like you, Grandmama. And I’ll make sure no one ever will.”

  Her grandmother maintained an even smile.

  Shari often wondered if her Grandmother believed her promises were merely the offhand remarks of a sixteen-year-old girl, telling an old woman what she wanted to hear, or if she believed Shari had true conviction. But Shari could not have been more sincere, since her love for her grandmother trumped everything at that moment, even if she was sixteen and preoccupied with boys. Good people like her grandmother deserved better.

  “This is my gift to you, my dear. Sometimes the best presents don’t come in a box, but as a lesson. So take it and use it well.”

  Shari had never forgotten the lesson taught to her by her grandmother on her sixteenth birthday.

  Now, two years later, at eighteen years of age, Shari had been accepted into Georgetown University on a full scholarship. Less into boys and more career-minded, Shari was working toward her pledge to never let atrocities happen to “those who could not help themselves” by enrolling in Criminal Justice courses, with an eye on greater achievements.

  To her right Shari noticed three teenagers, roughly her own age, dressed in black, with matching black lipstick and fingernail polish, their hair raven with dye and their ghostly faces powdered. They chattered noisily, excitedly referring to the photographs with adjectives such as “sweet,” “awesome,” and “cool,” words that bit her deeply.

  And Shari had to wonder. If they were subjected to the same tortures and suffering as those in the photos, would they still think it was sweet, awesome and cool?

  She thought not.

  Moving along and leaving her unenlightened peers behind, Shari thought about her grandmother and the way she carried herself courageously through the remainder of her life. By surviving Auschwitz, her lineage continued. Her grandmother gave birth to three children, who extended the line further with seven grandchildren, Shari being the youngest. Without her grandmother’s will to continue on in one of history’s most notorious travesties, none of them would be alive today.

  Thank you, Grandmama.

  Shari stood over a glass case with her reflection staring back. She was attractive, with an errant lock of hair curling over her brow like an inverted question mark, just to the left of her widow’s peak. And her eyes, a dazzling copper brown that shined with the luster of newly minted pennies, gazed back with something inquisitive about them. Why was there such fanaticism in the world to warrant the murder of over six million Jews? In Shari’s mind it seemed all too tragic that mankind had not matured enough to see its own downfall.

  Sighing, she looked beyond her reflection and saw the Nazi flag resting within the case. The red and white colors were crisp and clean as if new, and the swastika stared back at her as the symbol of intolerance.

  “Because you’re one of Jewish faith,” her grandmother told her, “you’ll always be persecuted. But never forget who you are and always be proud, because one day you will be reminded of what you are, and you’ll need to fight back to survive. Never forget that, my littlest one.”

  “I won’t, Grandmama.”

  Shari smiled delicately, a small curvature of the lips in remembrance of a remarkable woman. Coming to the Holocaust Museum was not only an homage to her grandmother, but also a reminder to Shari of what her grandmother instilled in her—to be proud and bold and never forget where you came from, or those who didn’t make it. But more importantly, always remain strong in the face of adversity, which is inevitable.

  “Remember, my littlest one. There will come a time. Believe me.”

  In a country where religion was a constitutionally protected freedom, Shari doubted that being Jewish would cause any marginalization of any kind. But she couldn’t quite dismiss it either.

  If it became an issue, then it would be one more obstacle to conquer in order to champion the cause for many, she considered. She knew she would always persevere, because persevering was a part of her grandmother; therefore, a part of her, genetic or otherwise.

  Walking along the cases from one display to another, Shari spent most of the day reflecting on the courageous people who survived the camps, and praying for those who didn’t.

  Read an Excerpt from the Bestselling Author of The Tara Shores thriller series:

  Wired Kingdom

  Synopsis: When a blue whale tagged with a web-cam designed from stolen defense technology broadcasts a brutal murder at sea, FBI Special Agent Tara Shores finds herself navigating an ocean of manipulation and deceit in a deadly race to reach the 100-ton creature before an unknown killer can destroy the digital evidence it carries.

  Wired Kingdom

  CHAPTER 1

  PACIFIC OCEAN

  OFF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

  The great whale hung beneath the waves, surveying her domain. At ninety-seven feet and one hundred tons, she was the largest animal in creation, even larger than the dinosaurs that once roamed the land and seas; yet she was still vulnerable to her enemies.

  The behemoth generated a sound that disturbed the Pacific. It was a low groan, comparable to a jet engine in terms of sheer decibels. Though she could not reach the seafloor miles below, the blue whale’s biological sonar allowed her to scan its depths.

  This time, it had identified something unusual.

  With an almost imperceptible movement of her powerful fluke, the whale began a patient ascent.

  WIRED KINGDOM’S TECH SUPPORT FACILITY

  Hundreds of miles away in California’s San Fernando Valley, Trevor Lane’s computer speakers rattled to life on his desk, snapping him awake. He had heard the sound they produced only once before, and it had not been as loud or sustained as this. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes
and glanced at the clock on his PC: 8:02 A.M. He’d been staring at the monitor for almost three straight hours before he dozed off. He reached for a half-empty can of Red Bull without taking his eyes off the screen.

  His monitor displayed a panoramic view of blue ocean, and in the foreground, the back of a blue whale. The live images, transmitted via satellite, originated from a remote camera attached to the whale’s dorsal fin. The angle reminded Trevor of the over-the-shoulder point–of-view camera angles used in the video games he had designed to pay his way through a computer science degree.

  He had been watching the video for days, and although many times there was nothing to look at but varying shades of blue and green, it fascinated him nonetheless. It was as if one were swimming along with the whale, holding onto its dorsal fin as it traversed thousands of miles of open ocean. What made it engaging to the millions of paying Internet users was that it wasn’t simply video being viewed over the web—it was a live streaming audio/video feed. What made it especially enthralling to Trevor was that he had invented it. It was his technology that had been used to put a tiny, waterproof web-cam on a blue whale. Of all Trevor’s technical accomplishments, this was by far the most impressive.

  Over the past several days Trevor had electronically followed the whale as it trolled its camera across the planet’s largest body of water. He knew exactly where it was on the globe, because its GPS coordinates were embedded in the upper left corner of the streaming video. Since it was currently well off the coast, there was not much to see other than the whale’s body itself amidst a sea of blue. Although, every twenty minutes or so the blue whale’s spout interrupted the monotony with an explosive burst as it came to the surface to breathe, offering Trevor brief glimpses of sky and swells before the animal dove again. He marveled at how loud it was. Sometimes his onscreen view became whitewashed by a glaring sun. Once he’d even seen a bird soaring high overhead. Other than that, he’d mostly seen open blue water.