The Archangel Drones

by Joe Nobody

  “No, sir, I do not consent to my property being searched. Even if I did have a weapon inside, that isn’t illegal either. Is there anything else? Am I free to go?”

  The G-1’s cameras clearly indicated the police didn’t like the park-walker’s question. Gabe could see two of the cops raise up on the balls of their feet, a third moving closer to the “suspect.”

  If he sensed it, the surrounded citizen didn’t show any indication of hostility. He stood with his arms at his sides, calmly peering at the cop directly in front of him.

  “How do we know you’re not a felon?” the next questioner fired. “You’re right in that carrying a long gun isn’t illegal in Texas, unless you’re a convicted felon. But you won’t show us any ID, so there’s no way to be sure.”

  “Do you naturally assume everybody you approach is a criminal, officer?”

  Now the cop was getting mad, his elevated emotion bleeding through in his voice. “I do when they won’t show me any fucking ID and act like an asshole. Please turn around and spread your arms. I’m going to frisk you to make sure you’re not carrying a weapon.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this?” the guy asked, now getting upset.

  “Officer safety,” came the harsh response. “We have the right to frisk you in order to verify you’re not carrying any sort of weapon while we are conducting an investigation.”

  The citizen actually laughed, pivoting his head to the gang of officers that had him surrounded. “There are seven of you and one of me. I don’t think you’re in much danger, sir. Am I free to go?”

  The answer to the question came in the form of a physical assault, a policemen coming up from behind the walker and throwing him violently to the ground. Less than a second later, the huddle had formed.

  Gabe couldn’t believe what he was seeing, the encounter surfacing a cruel realization that Jacob had most likely suffered in a similar way. Sure, the guy hadn’t just exactly kissed the cop’s ass, but he had every right to refuse the search. It didn’t matter what he said or how he acted, the police had no authority to act as judge, jury, and executioner.

  Just like on the recording of Jacob’s encounter, the cops played it to the hilt, shouting for the suspect to “Stop resisting,” and they pummeled and kicked the now-screaming citizen.

  Gabe could see one officer stepping on the man’s elbow, intentionally pinning it down while his comrade continued shouting, “Put your hands behind your back! Stop resisting!” The unfolding drama was sickening.

  Another cop was already looking inside the rifle case, pulling out a long, black-colored tube that Gabe immediately identified as a pool cue. There were other accessories inside, including a nice looking table-brush, a set of billiard balls, and various chalks.

  Thankfully, the beating ceased as soon as the non-weapon had been exposed. Still, Gabe could see the moaning, handcuffed victim lying on the ground, a huge patrolman with his knee resting on the fellow’s skull.

  Gabe’s attention was then drawn to two officers who moved off to the side, a confidential conversation now taking place.

  “We have got to rack something up on this guy now,” the one officers began, his muted tone still audible to the G-1’s sensitive microphone.

  “Resisting, obstruction, and trespassing should do the trick. He’s going to raise a stink, but the DA’s offer to drop the charges should keep his mouth shut. He’ll probably lick his wounds and fade away.”

  “I would have sworn he had a weapon in that case. Why the hell wouldn’t he let us look?”

  The older of the two officers shook his head, “Who knows? All I can say is if you act guilty, you are gonna be treated as if you’re guilty. Besides, this guy’s attitude sucked. Maybe he’ll think twice about getting shitty with the cops the next time. Let’s haul him back to the cruiser and take him in. I’ll call the DA on the way.”

  After watching the handcuffed walker being escorted back to a waiting patrol car, Gabe ordered the G-1 home. He was having second thoughts about helping out the SWAT officers, the display of brutality and abuse he’d just witnessed influencing his mood more so than he’d ever thought possible. He could hear the citizen’s cries of agony echoing through his head - could substitute Jacob’s voice without using much imagination.

  Despite only a few minutes of actual clock time passing, it seemed to Gabe like it took the drone forever to return home. Like a kid on Christmas morning, he was anxious to start packaging the new recordings. Once again, his faith in the mission of JI was refueled. Feeling like the cause was indeed righteous, he was again confident that he was traveling down an honorable path.

  “I’ll expose both incidents,” he surmised. “The park’s bad news will bury the SWAT team’s good, and from what I just saw, that’s the way it should be.”

  Chapter 9

  Peelian Principle

  No quality is more indispensable to a policeman than command of temper. A quiet, determined manner has more effect than violent action.

  Karen’s phone had exploded with activity, the mayor, council members, and patrolmen’s union all demanding both her wisdom and a course of action. In fact, her personal and office lines were so inundated, the police commissioner hadn’t been able to get through, finally resorting to summoning her via messenger. It was an all-hands-on-deck emergency meeting at city hall.

  The dust had quickly settled after the first video of the convenience store incident, most of the city’s upper management too busy to let an isolated occurrence divert their busy schedules. But now there were three recordings being shown over and over again, prompting everyone from the press corps to the civil rights organizations to whip up outrage in the Houston community.

  Even the national networks were calling every extension in her office, begging for some sort of official comment or reaction. Fox News had left no less than 30 messages on her voice mail, CNN and the other cable outlets not far behind.

  But there was nothing she could say, and that didn’t set well with the powerful woman. DA Sanders wasn’t fond of ignorance, nor did she appreciate the outside interference burdening her already over-taxed staff.

  The conference room was filled with uniforms and elected officials, most gathered in small cliques here and there, whispering in hushed conversations.

  Evidently, she’d been the last to report, as the mayor brightened upon her entry and immediately called the meeting to order. “Let’s get started, people,” she said. “We’ve got a lot to cover.”

  After a quick flock to the table, Houston’s first lady nodded toward the police commissioner and said, “Charlie, I understand you have new information, please open the meeting.”

  “Yes, Madam Mayor, one of our technical staff informed me just a few minutes ago that the video images being messaged to the local news stations were created with a drone.”

  “A drone?” everyone seemed to ask at once, and then several conversations started simultaneously, all the attendees trying to ask questions or discuss the revelation at the same time.

  “Please! Everyone! Please let the commissioner continue,” the mayor shouted, settling down the room.

  Nodding toward the large screen at the one end of the conference table, the city’s top cop stood and strolled purposefully toward the newly appearing projection. The image was a still shot, displaying an overhead view of a park-like setting. All of the attendees knew exactly which recording produced the frame, the local news stations cycling the clip to the point of nausea.

  “You can spot its shadow, right here,” the commissioner stated, pointing toward a small dark space on the ground that 99.9% of the population would never notice. “My experts are certain that’s the drone’s shadow.”

  “That would make sense,” the chief interjected. “The angle, clarity, and stability of the three videos had been a mystery. Somebody has a very sophisticated toy, and that stalker is following my men around making home movies. Wonderful.”

  The mayor peered at Karen, as did most of the room. �
��What can be done about this, Ms. Sanders?”

  “Off the top of my head, without any research, I can’t think of a single law that is being broken,” the DA replied. “Flying a drone isn’t illegal. There are no city ordinances prohibiting such activity and no state or federal laws that I’m aware of.”

  “Doesn’t the Federal Aviation Administration have restrictions or rules regarding such activities?” someone asked from the end of the mahogany table. “I keep reading about drones causing near-misses with commercial aircraft.”

  Karen nodded, “Yes, they do, but those restrictions are fairly loose and as of right now, badly defined. I’ve not seen any video taken near an airport, nor have we seen any examples where the public has been in danger.”

  “It’s no different than an illegal wiretap,” the chief pushed back, his voice sounding near desperation. “Whoever is behind this has been listening to my men conduct their operations without a warrant. Surely we can do something about that?”

  Again, Karen had to disagree. “No, it’s not illegal as long as the recordings are taken in a public place. Having the drone camera is no different from having a cell phone camera with a microphone. The quality, or capability doesn’t make any difference, and we all know of the court rulings that have clearly stated the police, when in public, have no right to an expectation of privacy.”

  Sighing loudly, the commissioner groaned, “We’ve got to do something. My officers are already suffering morale issues from having a hundred cell phones stuck in their faces on every arrest. Now they have to be aware of the skies, too? We’re going to end up with a police force that is scared to make a move for fear that some jerk with a vendetta is going to chop up a video to make the cops look bad, and then share it with the world.”

  “Are you saying these videos were tampered with, Commissioner?” Karen asked.

  “No… we have no evidence of that at the moment.”

  “Didn’t one of the recordings actually support your men?” came a question from further down the table.

  “Yes, it did,” answered the chief. “But we all know bad news makes it around the world before good news has breakfast. I have not heard one single newscast or read any articles that point out the positive in this story.”

  “Then I’d tell your men to stop beating the shit out of our citizens,” the smug voice of one of the councilmen interjected, a man known to be at odds with the chief regarding several incidents of police brutality. Then, without waiting for any response, he glared at the mayor and said, “And if you’re thinking of passing some half-assed city ordinance prohibiting the use of drones, you can forget about it. I know I’ve got enough votes on the council to block any such move.”

  Tempers, on both sides of the issue flared, the room erupting with voices debating the harsh, but true statement.

  “People!” the mayor shouted. “Settle down! Order!”

  It took a few moments for sentences to be finished and final statements to be made, but the group of movers and shakers finally quieted. It was Karen who broke the silence, “Look, we all know I can indict a ham sandwich if I want to. We clearly have an overzealous citizen who has taken a bold step. My concern and duty is for the public safety, first and foremost. I think we should investigate this matter, under the guise that this activity could lead to potential risks for the public at large. What if this drone crashes into a moving school bus of children? What if an officer is distracted and is harmed? I need someone to knock on my door with a name and address of an individual, and then I can take action. In the meantime, my hands are pretty much tied.”

  The mayor smiled, pleased that someone had finally made a positive suggestion. Both the police commissioner and the chief looked happier than before.

  “But how do we go about finding the drone’s operator?” the city attorney asked. “Do we bring in the military with some sort of radar? How do we track down the owner?”

  The chief shook his head, “When I heard it was a drone, I stepped outside and made a quick call to an old friend who is a recently retired Air Force General. He told me a small, most likely plastic flying machine like a drone would be nearly impossible to track on radar, even utilizing a ground-based unit like the one the Army uses to protect its troops. They’re pretty stealthy.”

  “What about finding out who sells such equipment and tracking down who made a purchase in our area?”

  The commissioner responded, “My technical guys think this specific unit is homemade. They’re unaware of any commercially available drone that has the same capabilities. We’ve seen image stabilization, infrared, zoom-capable cameras, and very fast response times. This isn’t a machine someone ordered from ‘Drones Are Us.’”

  The mayor, riding Karen’s coattails and furthering her agenda, sounded from the head of the table. “I suggest our esteemed law enforcement begin an immediate investigation into the matter. Since I’ve been elected to this office, there have been many times I’ve been advised, ‘Things will turn up; they always do.’ While I never know the details of how that occurs, somehow… someone seems to make it happen. All I can say is let’s hope this is another example.”

  “I don’t think there is any need for cloak and dagger here. We should go public with this,” the chief decided. “Maybe someone has seen the drone’s handler or can provide a tip. I suggest we open up to the press and see what kinds of responses we get.”

  No one seemed to have an issue with the idea, so the mayor gave her blessing. “I’ll have our PR people provide a statement, Chief. You’ll have it by this afternoon.”

  The meeting adjourned a short time later, Karen neither pleased nor disappointed in the outcome. On one hand, she had more information than before, and that knowledge reflected a positive light on her mood. On the other, she was going to have to begin prosecuting cops, and that was a huge negative hanging over her head.

  Gabe knew they would be coming. The public outcry over his videos was dictating the news cycle, with everyone from the ACLU to an assortment of police unions joining the fray.

  It was amazing to watch the lines being drawn, the list of those supporting his endeavor as surprising as those who opposed. One thing was consistent and predictable, however – the cops weren’t happy campers.

  While he’d taken every step to ensure secrecy, Gabe was sure they’d eventually find him. Everyone makes mistakes, and the creation of Jacob Industries had been a complex gauntlet to navigate. While he was sure Adam wouldn’t violate the sacred attorney-client privilege, somewhere, somehow, they’d track him down.

  The trick was to delay the inevitable until he’d garnered enough support to fight off the onslaught of a pissed-off justice system. If he could get the people behind him, his chances of surviving the attack were greatly improved.

  And so far, the results had been positive.

  National commentators were going on the record in support of the “Houston Archangel,” as one nightly journalist had dubbed Gabe’s alter ego. But support wasn’t unanimous. More than a few noted newscasters and legislators had expressed concern about personal liberties and raised the now common debate about intrusion into the privacy of all Americans. The military had been using drones for years, as had the U.S. Border Patrol. Those activities, combined with the NSA’s notorious spying, had raised all kinds of concerns. The Gripen had merely marshalled the argument into a new phase of reality.

  Fear of copycats was something Gabe hadn’t anticipated. Police departments all over the nation were on high alert, voicing their concerns that the public would be at risk if every cop hater in the country began filling the urban skies with machines that could target law enforcement. Today, these machines are only carrying cameras, but tomorrow it could dive bomb a hostage negotiator, one top ranking police chief grumbled.

  Even the feds got involved, the head of the FAA holding a news conference warning of harsh penalties and jail time if that agency’s regulations were violated. Gabe had to smirk when the bloated Washington bureaucra
t warned of the dangers involved, even going so far as to state, “When one of these hobby machines drops an airliner full of innocent people, the operator will be charged with capital murder.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Gabe had snapped back at his television, “the cops are killing far more people per year than are riding on any one airplane. We’d have to drop an entire fleet of airliners to equal the death toll, so just shove it, buddy.”

  Now that the authorities had figured out his operation, it was time to take the next step, and that meant mobility.

  There was one event that could potentially tie Gabe directly to the drones, and that was someone spotting the G-1 returning to its home base. If a random witness reported such an observation to the authorities, his strategy to rebalance the scales of justice would be blocked in a matter of hours.

  Jacob Industries’ new office complex was the perfect solution in all regards, with one exception – JI was the building’s only tenant. Even the dumbest detective could figure out that a multi-level, commercial building should command more than one vehicle in the parking lot.

  The only solution Gabe could envision was varying his base of operations – going mobile. He’d considered having multiple locations to launch and land his flying robots, but in the end decided that would only increase the odds of discovery. No, the smart money was on mobile launch and retrieval.

  Fortunately, the Gripen was a slight machine that didn’t require massive landing facilities. Its battery charger plugged into any wall socket.

  With all that in mind, he’d arrived at a simple, effective solution – the pickup truck.

  The drone would easily fit inside the bed, the flying machine’s amazing stability more than capable of touching down in the confined area. The truck was obviously mobile and hardly noticeable given the number of similar vehicles that plied Houston’s roadways on any given day.