by Kirk Russell
I called the young man, the tipster, Danny Cole, and told him I was an FBI agent and on my way. Then I called Strata and learned everything was normal at the airfield. They had just talked to the flight instructor, who forwarded a link from a drone on a survey run over the Ghost Mountains.
“Doesn’t seem to be a wind problem this morning,” the woman told me. “It looks like all of the drones are up. Why are you calling?”
“We had a report that there’s no one at the airfield and the drones are gone.”
“That report is incorrect. I’m looking at the video feed right now.”
“Thank you.”
I called Beatty and got him.
“Are you at the airfield?”
“I am and don’t bother coming out. There’s nothing to see. The door to the trailer is open. I’m inside. Computers are gone. Bahn’s truck was unlocked and looks like it’s been rooted through. It’s like one of those sci-fi movies where everybody is missing, but the coffee is still warm.”
“Back out. Don’t touch anything. Any blood?”
“Not yet. I’m going to look for the Land Cruiser, but I can’t call you from there. There’s no cell reception. I’ll call you when I get back to where the phone works. Something bad happened out here.”
52
I stood outside my car in a lot three blocks from the warehouse as Danny Cole rode up on a skateboard. He was skinny, with stringy blond hair and acne like war paint, but soft-spoken and poised about what he’d seen.
“How did it happen that you were out here at that hour and on foot?”
“Went to a party and my ride home left without me, the fucker, so I walked.” He pointed. “I live that way,” then added, “like a mile and a half.”
We talked for ten to fifteen minutes and when it looked like I had everything I’d get, I thanked him. As Danny rolled away, I called Lacey, who had also been on the phone with Strata this morning.
“I talked to three people there,” she said. “They’ve got a visual feed and everything is normal at the airfield. They talked to Edward Bahn yesterday afternoon. Maybe Beatty is losing it.”
“Or maybe their feed is a loop from some other day.”
“Or he’s trying to lure you.”
“Did you get that from Venuti?”
“Well, he could be, right?”
“While we’re thinking about this, let me give you some information on a warehouse in Pahrump. We need to find out who owns it and what it’s used for. All I have is an address and I’m going to talk to some of the locals, but call me as soon as you have anything.”
I texted Lacey the name of the warehouse owner’s daughter, which I got from a nearby business owner who told me the father, the owner, had Alzheimer’s. She said the daughter controlled everything, in a tone suggesting that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Lacey called back in under half an hour.
“I talked to the daughter. The building is leased to a trucking firm that distributes snack food. The warehouse is used for storing product.”
“So it’s probably not a lead.”
“Probably not.”
“I’ll ask around a little more before I head to Beatty. Tell Venuti I’ll call when I leave here.”
Pahrump was maybe thirty-five, forty thousand people, and this warehouse was toward the outskirts. I went into a café, which seemed to have a strong morning business, and asked the owner if there was anyone she knew who lived close by.
“Half of them do, but it doesn’t stop them from driving here.”
She pointed out a couple of locals who lived near. One of them, a gray-haired, middle-aged woman, told me she saw four trucks leave early this morning, not three.
“I was out looking for my cat. We lose them to coyotes and I don’t want to lose Miss Daisy. They left separately, about one every five minutes, heading west at about five a.m., silver 18-wheelers, unmarked, all male drivers.”
“You got all that.”
“I used to be a dispatcher and I’m nosy.” She added, “But trucks come out of there. It’s not that unusual. It’s a depot and they load up and go from there, though it has been quiet lately. There are two young men who work there that I see in here in the early morning.”
“When did you start seeing them?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Anything about them stand out?”
“Not really. They could be from around here.”
“I’m going to need a way to get in touch with you.”
She gave me a phone number, and I gave it to Lacey when I called her as I left Pahrump.
“There may be somebody else using the building that the owner’s daughter doesn’t know about. If you can, get the company she leases to.”
“She gave it to me.”
“Look into them.”
I called Beatty and his voice was slowed, but that made sense once he started talking.
“I found their bodies. Eddie is there too. He was shot. They’re partially covered, not too far from where the Land Cruiser was yesterday.”
“How did you find them?”
“I drove out to the landmark I’ve been using to sight on the Land Cruiser and then looked around. Eddie was shot there. There’s blood in the sand near his head.”
“Tell me again how you knew where to look.”
“I memorized a rock when I was trying to look into the Land Cruiser with the spotting scope. It’s white and looks like a shark’s fin.”
“Text me a photo of it.”
“You don’t need it, I’ve got coordinates. I’ll send you those.”
“Are you okay waiting with the bodies?”
“No, there’s no phone reception out there. I’ll take you there.”
“Where are you now?”
“On top of the hills on the road out of the airfield.”
“You’re leaving there?”
“Pretty soon. What did you find in Pahrump?”
“If you leave, you can’t go far. You’ll need to lead us to the bodies.”
“I know.”
Beatty was waiting, and I went with my gut and everything I knew about him, despite being troubled that Strata reported everything as fine at the airfield. I flashed on the possibility that Jeremy went back to the airfield and killed the security guards and Eddie Bahn, and then made up a story about the trucks leaving in the night with the drones.
“In Pahrump someone saw trucks like you described leave early this morning.”
“They didn’t come here.”
“I’ve been listening to you, so I know that. I have to ask you to stay where you are, Jeremy. I’ll call you back soon.”
I called back fifteen minutes later as I drove south on 95. “Walk me through again how these drones are shipped in trucks and put back together.”
“It’s easy. They were designed to be shipped anywhere in the world. The wings slide in and get locked in place with screws. The fuselage isn’t that heavy. Comes apart in reverse.”
“How long to reassemble?”
“A four-man team with the right tools could do it in ten minutes.”
“I’m not that far from the turnoff toward you, but there’s some big slowdown on the highway up ahead. Cars and trucks are stacking up. Dammit, it’s some sort of accident. I may be trapped out here.”
“Put the bubble lights on and run up the shoulder.”
“Yeah, no wait a minute, something else is going on. Jeremy, could the drones use the highway as a runway?”
“You bet.”
“I might be looking at that. I’ve got to make a quick call then get back to you.”
53
“Where are you?” Venuti asked.
“Southbound on 95, looking at an accident or something up ahead. Beatty found the bodies of Eddie Bahn and the two security guards.”
“Maybe he found them where he left them.”
“Each was shot multiple times. He texted me coordinates. I’ll forward those to you. The bodies are a third t
o a half mile down a dirt track that runs south from the westernmost part of the Strata airfield. He was at the airfield when he called me and says it’s empty—no drones, no pilots, nothing. They’re gone.”
“That contradicts what Strata just told us.”
“It does.”
“And you believe Beatty?”
“He’s there.”
“The doctor who treated him for PTSD told us Beatty is delusional and paranoid. You were in the room when he said it. Don’t go out to the airfield. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear. Hey, Dan, I’m not sure what’s going on up ahead, about a third of a mile, but it looks like a semi is parked across the highway blocking the southbound lanes.”
“So like you just said, an accident.”
“There’s another big rig up ahead of it with some sort of activity around it.”
“Probably trying to help the one stuck behind it.”
“This truck nearest me looks like it’s parked to block the southbound lanes. It’s not jackknifed. I don’t see signs of an accident. This is near the Mercury exit where the highway divides into separated north and southbound lanes. Vehicles are stacking up behind it.”
“It’s somebody’s idea of a protest.”
“Could be,” I said, though it didn’t have that vibe. “I’m going to pull over. I’m where I can still turn around. Listen, I just checked out a tip on trucks in and out of a warehouse in Pahrump last night. Beatty says the drones get disassembled and moved out in semis when they work on them at night. They take them somewhere.”
“So what?”
“I’m saying it because Strata says that’s not happened.”
“Well, Beatty reported the airfield had no drones on it, or whatever the hell he said when they had them up and flying on video feed. I don’t know why you’ve been so—”
“Dan, I think I just heard gunfire. Put me on hold and call the highway patrol. Something is happening here.”
Venuti cleared his throat. His tone changed.
“How far are you from Indian Wells?”
I glanced at my GPS.
“Fourteen point seven miles, but I can’t get there without getting to the Mercury exit and onto the northbound side.”
I looked ahead at the northbound lanes. Where I was, I could do a U-turn and be headed northbound. Up ahead the highway divided and had guardrail where it crossed above the Mercury exit. I reached for binoculars and Venuti asked, “Are you in that daylight testing area where you’re supposed to turn your headlights on?”
“Yeah, right at the edge of it, close to the Mercury off-ramp. The trucks are blocking the section that has guardrail. Put me on hold and call the highway patrol.”
Highway 95 runs through open desert and can be empty, but not this empty. Not at this time of day. I had yet to see a northbound vehicle.
“Ask the highway patrol if they’ve got a spotter plane in the area,” I said.
“Stay on the line. It’s going to take a few minutes.”
Venuti put me on hold, and I pulled onto the northbound side and drove slowly along the outside lane, ready to get onto the road shoulder should any northbound traffic appear coming at me. When Venuti came back on, I had a better view.
“They have a plane up, but it’s ten to fifteen minutes out,” Venuti said.
“That’s too long.”
“That’s what it is.”
“Hold on—”
“What?”
“Shooting. I just heard more gunfire.”
“What do you see?”
“Activity ahead of the second semi. I see people outside and it looks like they’re doing something, but I can’t tell yet. I don’t have a good enough view. We’d better alert our SWAT guys.”
“Whoa, we don’t know any—”
“Yeah, I can see more. Hang on.”
I accelerated and approached the Mercury overpass fast and dropped down the on-ramp headed the wrong way. Just as I dipped down, I saw a man on the overpass above with an assault rifle trying to line up on me.
I made a hard left turn onto the road to Mercury as bullets battered the trunk. My tires squealed as I swung back and forth on the two-lane road toward Mercury.
“What was that?” Venuti asked.
“That was somebody shooting at me. I’m on the Mercury Highway headed east but am going to cut south on a dirt track that I know is up ahead and try to circle back around. I saw one, maybe two, of the Strata drones on the highway pointed southbound. Call Creech and warn them. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, but they’re not going to have much time.”
“Can you verify a drone is on the highway?”
“I just did.”
“Protect yourself. No unnecessary risks. I’m putting you on hold.”
What I remembered was a lone building out here, just before a government sign warning that no one was allowed beyond that point. Off to the right was a dirt track running south. I overran on the first pass then got on it without knowing how far south it went, but I wasn’t far from the highway and there were guns in the trunk. I could cut through the sage on foot.
Venuti came back on and asked, “Where are you?”
“I’m southbound on a dirt track paralleling the highway on the north side. I can see three drones and people assembling them. I count five people and a sniper lying on the roof of the forward truck. Shit, he’s turning to me.”
“Grale, protect yourself. That’s an order. Get out. Get down. Do not engage unless there’s no other way.”
The sniper would be shooting from behind at a hard cross angle, but he was good. Scared the shit out of me as the windshield took a hit. Big bullet. Loud. Then the back window was gone, glass fragments all over the interior. I slammed on the brakes as I neared a stand of brush and cactus. As best I could, I blocked his view of the car, popped the trunk, and rolled out as another bullet hit. That one punched the engine and steam boiled up. I stayed low, belly-crawled the hot dirt, and reached the trunk as the sniper put two rounds through the trunk lid.
In the trunk were a shotgun, rifle, and ammo. I had only my handgun otherwise. I lay quiet twenty or thirty seconds and could feel the sniper scanning for me. I rose where I didn’t think he had an angle and freed the rifle. I grabbed ammo and waited for the sniper to shift away from me. With my car stopped and a door open, he might swing away to another target. That could give me a window to cover fifty yards to a larger rock outcrop close to the road. I used my binoculars to watch and when he shifted, I scrambled and ran, though there’s no way to run fast in desert dirt and sand. He swung back and I dove and belly-crawled the last ten yards.
I was out of breath, heart hammering, as I edged forward and saw a drone with its wings on, and wings being bolted onto the one behind it. One, two, three drones being assembled, pointing south on the highway less than a quarter mile from me.
My phone buzzed. Venuti.
“I’m behind a rock outcrop maybe two-tenths of a mile from the drones. The sniper has me pinned, but I’m safe for now. I’m looking at a drone on the highway with two more lined up behind it. The lead has its wings on. Five guys are working on the other two. Each of the other two has a wing on. Two people are in the cab of the truck. One is female and could be a pilot who was at the Strata field. The truck cab might be where they’ll fly the drones from.”
“You’re pinned down?”
“Yeah, and now I’ve got another problem. Looks like two guys with guns are heading my way. They’re along the highway shoulder.”
“Can you get yourself out of there?”
“Not yet, the sniper is on me. How long until the cavalry gets here?”
“At least fifteen minutes, probably more like twenty. Give me more on the location of this sniper who’s got you pinned.”
I did that as I watched the pair creeping toward me. I also gave him more on the drones.
“These are the three drones from the Strata airfield. I’ll video them. Get someone on the phone with Strata. Maybe they
know a way to disable them.”
I took a stinging graze from a bullet along my left bicep when I held my phone up to get the video. It dripped steady blood and stung as I skirted cactus to get to another rock outcrop with better cover. My bicep burned, and the two guys coming for me looked experienced, but they’d have to cross with almost no cover to reach me. I took another quick look and heard a distant pop, pop, pop of gunfire from where the southbound traffic was trapped. I heard faraway screams.
I saw that the pair coming for me were going to take the risk and do it. One stood at the edge of the road shoulder, gun held above his head, emptying clips and spraying bullets around me as the other ran in a crouch with an AK-47 in his hands. I got a look at his face through the scope, just before centering on his torso. It was the young man, Mansur, whom Smith had sketched. I caught his running pace, led him, and squeezed as gunfire ripped through cactus near me.
My bullets hit, but he was tough. He went first to his knees. The gun fell away and I watched him pick it up again and start a slow crawl toward me. A long string of rounds came from the other gunman, and when I looked back at Mansur he was on his feet again, but I could see he wouldn’t get here. His gun sagged as he staggered forward.
The sniper with his big gun chipped rock way too close to me, so I scrambled again, crawling as fast as I could through burning sand littered with cactus spines. I laid the phone down, looked for the second gunman, and caught my breath before talking to Venuti.
“SWAT is on the way,” he said. “So is everybody else. Have you backed away?”
“No, and the wings are on the third drone, and no one is working on the first anymore. Can the air force get a fighter up?”
“Trying to get approval right now. What about the two coming for you?”
“I’m down to one, but he’s getting close. I’ve gotta lay the phone down.”
The second shooter had gone well up the road, and it looked to me like he was counting on the sniper to protect him as he circled in. A tiny stand of desert trees hid him for a moment, and I sighted along a stretch ahead of him. If he kept going, he’d cross into my line of sight. I stayed focused on a patch where the road shoulder met the edge of dry gray soil and tried to breathe slow and deep. When he came around those small trees, he should see me lying here. I needed to shoot well without thinking and took another breath, and then there he was, tan pants, white shirt, and the gun barrel swinging toward me.