Death Drones

by Christopher Fox

  “Thanks,” said Miguel.

  “Lieutenant Josh Masters, FBI,” said Josh, extending his hand. “What is the situation here?”

  “Miguel Diaz,” he said as he grasped the offered hand. “This is my team, Maria, Alberto and Jimmy—and of course you know Melinda.” Each of them nodded as he said their name. “We have one of the terrorists subdued in apartment 1205 and the rest have barricaded themselves on the roof. There are twelve terrorists up there and nine drones loaded with Sarin. Two drones have just been launched with explosives to blow a hole in the stadium roof. We are waiting until they launch the other drones so we can intercept the signal and take control of the drones. Then we can storm the roof and get these bastards.”

  Josh nodded as Miguel gave him the sit rep (situation report).

  “I was just going down to 1205 to watch from there,” Miguel said.

  “OK,” said Josh. “I’ll go with you. Sergeant, take over,” he said as he followed Miguel to the elevator.

  The terrorist was still bound to the chair—blood on his wrists signifying his attempts to release himself from the plastic cuffs. Masters and Miguel walked over to the window. They couldn’t see the drones from this far away, but they had a good view of the stadium. Masters reached into one of his pouches and came up with a pair of binoculars, which he peered through searching for the drones.

  “I see them,” he said. “They are almost at the stadium.”

  He passed over the glasses and Miguel put them up to his eyes, adjusting the focus until he had a clear image of the stadium. Sure enough, the two drones were almost at the facility. He passed the binoculars back to Masters as he followed the action with the naked eye .

  “They’re above the roof now—just lowering can’t see them anymore,” Josh’s commentary continued. A blinding flash erupted at the top of the stadium as the Semtex detonated, followed a split second later by the rattling of the window as the shock wave hit the condo building. Two seconds later, the sound of the explosion reached them.

  “Holy Jesus!” said Josh.

  Miguel’s phone rang, and he saw it was Alex.

  “The rest of the drones are in the air,” he said, his voice quivering.

  “OK, let me know when you have control.”

  “Computer’s searching now.”

  “They’ve launched the rest of the drones,” Miguel said to Josh. “God help us.”

  As they left the room, the terrorist was smiling, so Miguel gave him a right hook to the chin, putting the whole weight of his body behind it, sending him and the chair flying across the room. He was chanting religious babble when they left the apartment.

  * * * *

  The stands were virtually full now as the fans continued to file into their seats. It was, as always for a Super Bowl game, a sellout. The Vice-President of the United States was supposed to be there, and several people were gazing at the glass-enclosed executive suite where he would be. Of course, under the circumstances, he was not there. They had gone through the motions of sending his limousine to the stadium and having a stand-in enter the facility in order not to alert the terrorists that they knew their plan. Normally, there would be a form of entertainment on the field before kick-off, but the field remained empty. Now, with the drones in the air, it was time to try an orderly evacuation of the stadium to save as many people as possible if control of the drones could not be wrestled from the terrorists.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcement came over the intercom system. “We have an unverified bomb threat and safety protocol requires that we evacuate the stadium. Please look for your nearest exit and make your way to it in an orderly fashion. As soon as the threat has been neutralized, we will have you back in your seats and start the game. ”

  People looked at each other and many made their way to the exits. As always, there were those who chose to ignore the threat and stay where they were. The exit-ways soon became full as people made their way out of the building.

  A huge explosion erupted at the roof, sending debris and pieces of twisted metal flying into the air above the crowds of fans. People screamed as the pace of the exodus increased. Flaming pieces of detritus rained down onto the field below and a gaping hole appeared in the roof; the brilliant late afternoon sun shining through onto the stands.

  “Please do not panic,” came the announcement. “Maintain an orderly evacuation. Do not return to the stadium. Repeat. Do not return to the stadium. The game will be rescheduled at a later date.”

  The announcer’s words fell on deaf ears as people tried desperately to cram themselves into the narrow exits. Designers of buildings, especially high occupancy facilities, must provide sufficient exit facilities to facilitate a speedy evacuation under emergency conditions. However, the same is done for ships and lifeboat procedures, but when the ship is sinking, everyone wants to get off, or get to a lifeboat, right away. The bottleneck caused by the stairs, which slowed down egress, resulted in a back-up of pushing and screaming fans. Officials had to direct people away from the elevators so that handicapped people could use them. The danger was that should someone fall, they would be crushed by the onslaught of the raging evacuees.

  * * * *

  Miguel and Josh joined the rest of their teams at the bottom of the stairwell leading to the roof. Two of the SWAT members brandished a battering ram and stood at the front of the group. Miguel waited nervously for Alex’s call. He jumped when the phone rang.

  “Alex!” He said.

  “Got them,” said Alex jubilantly. “We have control of the drones now and are directing them to the hazmat team.”

  “Great,” said Miguel and turned to Josh and gave him the nod. The two guys with the ram rushed up the stairs and started pounding the door with it. Normal doors would give way easily, but this was a fire-rated door made of steel, but it started to buckle and eventually gave way. They had to keep pounding, however, as there were things barricading the door. Eventually, they got the door open sufficiently for one of the SWAT team members to get through. He ducked back in as bullets pinged off of the door and framework around it. He unclipped a flash-bang grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and threw it through the open doorway. When it detonated, he rushed through the opening and sought out cover, followed by several others of his team. Sporadic gunfire ensued for a few seconds until the words ‘clear’ were heard and everyone else barrelled through the door, Miguel’s team being last. What they witnessed were three of the terrorists lying prone on the ground and seven others with their hands on their heads. Miguel did a quick math check and realized that one was missing. He checked the faces of all the terrorists and stood there dejected.

  “What is it?” Alberto asked.

  “Basim’s not here,”

  “He has to be.”

  “He’s not. I checked everyone. There was supposed to be twelve people on the roof according to the satellite imagery. One we have downstairs and we have ten here.”

  “How the hell did he get off the roof?”

  Miguel walked over to one of the structures for the window-cleaning devices and looked over. The platform had been lowered to the floor below.

  “The bastard got out through the floor below using the window-cleaning system. As there are no balconies, he must have broken a window to get back to the floor.”

  They went back to where Josh was interrogating one of the prisoners. As they reached him, he turned to Miguel with a look of horror on his face.

  “What is it?” Miguel asked.

  “He says their glorious leader has escaped.”

  “We know that. He used the window-washing platform to get to the floor below.”

  “But that’s not the worst of it,” Josh says. “He has two of the Sarin containers with him.”

  * * * *

  Mass confusion erupted in the parking lot as hordes of people filed out of the stadium. Some just found a place to stand around waiting for any indication that the game would be rescheduled later in the day—obviously th
ey had been among the first to leave and did not hear the announcement about the game’s rescheduling to another date. Most found their way to their cars and joined the mass exodus. People checked their phones to get any information about the explosion, but early news reports fell short on information. The sight of the ten drones overhead grabbed many people’s attention as they followed their path to the Houston Methodist Training Center. They could see scores of emergency vehicles on the field, their lights flashing a kaleidoscope of colours as men stood around in hazmat gear. Finally, the announcement people waited for came on the news:

  Breaking news! There has been a terrorist attack on the NRG Stadium and the Super Bowl has been cancelled until further notice. An explosion ripped open a portion of the roof, but the field was clear at the time, and there were no resultant injuries. Only minor casualties are reported, primarily from injuries sustained in the evacuation. Three people were treated for shock, and an elderly woman suffered a heart attack and was taken immediately to hospital after she was stabilized by first responders. According to officials, there was an attempt to disperse deadly gas from drones that would have been devastating had they made their way through the hole in the roof. The drones were neutralized by police and hazmat teams, and no casualties are reported as a result of the attempted attack. Police have the terrorists in custody and are questioning them now. The drones were launched from the roof of a nearby condominium building. No one has yet claimed responsibility for the attack, but it is suspected that it was part of an al-Qaeda operation.

  Miguel listened to the report and was glad that they did not mention that the leader of the operation and a senior al-Qaeda member had escaped the police and was on the loose with two Sarin containers. He called Alex:

  “Alex, do you still have a trace on Basim?”

  “Sorry, I thought you had him.”

  “I thought so too, but he escaped to a floor below and went back into the building.”

  “I am still busy controlling the camera drone. I can place it on hover though because the operators now have visual contact with the drones they are controlling. Just checking the locater—no, I see nothing.”

  “Shit,” said Miguel. “He must have shed the jacket he was wearing.”

  “Sorry,” said Alex.

  “That’s OK. Maybe it will show up. If he removed the jacket, it should still show a signal unless he discovered it and destroyed it.”

  Miguel turned to Josh. “We placed a locater on him earlier today but it’s not showing anything at the moment.”

  “I’ve alerted HQ and put out an APB with his photo. He won’t get far with the amount of eyes on the ground we have.”

  “What concerns me,” said Miguel, “is that there are still thousands of people out there grid locked in their cars and on buses. If he decides to release the gas upwind from himself, we could still see hundreds of casualties.”

  Josh took out his phone and checked The Weather Channel for wind conditions.

  “If he’s using the same info I am, which I’m sure he is, he will see that slight winds are of 3 mph from the west, gusting to 10. That means he will probably be somewhere on Main Street, which runs SW to NE, west of the parking lots.”

  Miguel’s phone rang, and he checked the call display.

  “Alex,” he said.

  “Got the signal. Must have been in the parking garage. He’s heading south on Fannin Street just south of Holcombe Boulevard.”

  “Where’s Fannin Street and Holcombe Boulevard?” Miguel asked Josh.

  “That would be north of the stadium. Fannin runs north to south and passes the stadium on the east. If he turns onto Old Spanish Trail, he’s likely heading for Main Street.”

  Miguel turned back to the phone. “Let me know if he turns on Old Spanish Trail.”

  Josh gave some instruction through his radio and said to Miguel, “our ride’s on the way.”

  In the distance, Miguel saw a helicopter speeding toward their location. As it got closer, he noticed the POLICE markings as it edged its way toward the building and then hovered over the roof about three feet above it. Josh and Miguel covered their faces to protect from the swirling dust and debris stirred up by the rotor wash as they darted to the helicopter. A small rope ladder appeared out the side door and Josh clambered up it, turning and holding his hand for Miguel. When both were in the chopper, it sped away as Josh donned a pair of headphones and conversed with the pilot. Miguel’s phone rang again, and it was Alex.

  “Alex,” he said.

  “Signal just turned right on Old Spanish Trail heading west.”

  “Thanks Alex, keep me posted. We are now in a chopper heading over that way. Any idea what type of vehicle he is driving?”

  “No, I don’t, because I don’t have a real-time satellite feed.”

  “Can you pass the locater info to the CIA?”

  “No, I can’t. But if you can have them give me the access codes to their satellite, I will be able to.”

  “OK, I’ll call Daniel.”

  Miguel relayed the information to Josh as he speed-dialled Daniel.

  “Daniel,” he said when the phone was picked up. “We have a locater on Basim, but Alex needs to get real-time access to your satellite so he can overlay the signals and track the actual vehicle.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Daniel.

  “Call him directly with the info. His number is 555-326-3454.”

  “OK, Thanks.”

  “Old Spanish Trail leads directly into Main Street if he doesn’t make a turn. That’s it down there,” he pointed. Miguel could see a large Target store west of where he assumed was Old Spanish Trail as it merged with Main Street. To the east could be seen the emergency vehicles on the football field, which must have been the Houston Methodist Training Center.

  “Set her down in the Target parking lot,” Josh instructed the pilot.

  People scattered as the helicopter descended and made a soft landing on the parking lot surface. Josh and Miguel jumped out and ran to Main Street, Josh commandeering a local cop on the way.

  “Alex,” Miguel said as he answered his phone.

  “Signal seems to have stalled right now. Has moved little in the last few minutes.”

  By that time, Miguel and Josh were at the side of the road and the traffic was grid locked. Many of the parking lots to the west of the stadium emptied onto Main Street and police directed traffic, but it was backed up from the access to the freeway.

  “Traffic’s backed up. Do you have a visual on him yet?”

  “Just getting the feed switched to my computers now.”

  “Where is the signal now?”

  “Just coming up to North Stadium Drive.”

  “North Stadium Drive?” Miguel said to Josh.

  “About half a mile away. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes the way the traffic’s moving.”

  “OK, let’s start walking that way.”

  “How are we going to do this?” said Miguel. “If we challenge him, he may decide to release the gas. You look a bit conspicuous in your riot gear.”

  “No kidding,” he said. “And it’s hotter than hell in this outfit.”

  “Let me go ahead. When I recognize him, I’ll signal you.”

  Miguel spied a panhandler walking along the cars, and it gave him an idea. He and Josh approached the man and took him to the side of the road, protesting that he was within the law.

  “We’re not arresting you,” said Miguel. “I want to change shirts with you.

  The panhandler gave Miguel a look that said are you crazy?

  “Police business,” Josh said. “Give him the shirt.”

  Miguel removed his vest, riot gear and golf shirt and handed the shirt to the vagrant while taking the soiled chequered shirt and putting it on. He threaded the hands-free coupling for his cell through the sleeves and plugged it into the phone in his pocket, placing the ear bud into his ear. He emptied the coins out of the Starbucks cup, then gave the man a $10 bill after gra
bbing his Houston Astros ball cap and putting it on. He strolled out to the line of traffic and started walking between the cars. Several people rolled down their windows and dropped coins into the cup which somewhat embarrassed Miguel.

  “Miguel,” came Alex’s voice through his ear-piece. “I have the real-time feed now and the signal seems to come from a black BMW SUV, probably an X5.”

  “OK” Miguel whispered nonchalantly into the suspended mic. He looked along the row of traffic and saw a black BMW about ten cars back. He continued walking casually, not paying any attention to the vehicle, nodding politely to generous motorists placing coins in the cup. His plan was to walk close to the car, yank on the door, hoping it wasn’t locked, then pull Basim out of the car. If it was locked, he planned to smash the window with his gun and jab the muzzle into his neck. Hopefully, Basim hadn’t set up any fail-safe mechanism to release the gas, although he thought it highly unlikely. He was now only two cars away, and he looked up into Basim’s eyes. He must have noticed something in Miguel’s eyes or recognized him because he backed up suddenly into the car behind him, then accelerated past the car in front, clipping the bumper and sending pieces of red plastic tail light assembly across the road. Angry horns blared as Basim jumped the curb and tried to turn right into a shopping mall, but his way was blocked. Miguel holstered his gun—he thought about shooting out the vehicle’s tyres, but realized that BMWs are fitted with run-flat tyres and any ricochets could cause collateral damage. He jumped onto the hood of the car in front of him, then onto its roof and leaped onto the BMW’s roof, grabbing onto the roof racks. The SUV mounted the low landscaped wall and crashed down onto the pavement beyond. Miguel almost lost his grip as he was propelled forward with the impact, but Basim’s subsequent acceleration served to shift his body back again. Miguel was tossed from side to side; his hands now hurting from his death grip on the rails as Basim swerved amongst the parked cars. He wanted to release one hand and try to break a window with his gun, but the manoeuvring of the vehicle prevented it. The racks were too small to allow him to wedge a foot under one, so he only had his hands with which to hang on. He wondered what he was going to do—jumping onto the roof was reactionary and not fully thought through, but he didn’t want to chance losing Basim or worse, the remaining two containers. Basim sped to the rear exit of the parking lot, swerving around an entering car and clipping a vehicle trying to exit. Unfortunately for Basim, two cars waiting to turn left blocked the exit, and there was no way to get through. Basim tried to mount the curb, but with large rocks and several palm trees forming the landscaping, the SUV grounded on the berm and got hung up on its undercarriage, stopping abruptly, causing Miguel to lose his grip and tumble onto the hood, then onto the grass.