by Andy Straka
“We won’t get caught,” she said under his breath.
He nodded before taking a quick sip from his drink. “Not as long as you keep flying the way you just did in there. Look, the equipment is what it is. I get it that you know what you’re doing with all this techno wizardry, sometimes I guess I just–”
“Don’t worry. I can handle it,” she said. “We won’t get caught.”
“No worries about using this stuff against civilians?”
“Sometimes. But the way I look at, the genie’s out of the bottle on this stuff. We’re going to have to take this whole thing with Williamson one job at a time. And the mission with Kurn is good. It’s a righteous thing.”
“No doubt about that,” he said.
She crossed her legs beneath the table and her prosthetic foot bumped his knee.
“Sorry.” She looked down for a moment, embarrassed.
“No worries.”
“Don’t mean to sound like I’m lecturing you, either.”
“You’re not.”
“What about the cash?”
Tye took out the roll of hundred-dollar bills and set it on the table. “I guess we put it in the slush fund in case we need it.”
She nodded, and he stuffed the thick wad of money back into his pocket.
Her fingers lay on the table. For a moment, he wanted to reach across and put his hand on them to reassure her, but he held back. They were still trying to understand one another. When she’d shown up in the warehouse with Williamson a couple of days after the major had recruited him for this job, he could hardly believe it. It was like fate, or God maybe, had put him in that burning Kiowa to pull her out for a reason, and that reason was here and now, years later.
He’d heard she’d been one of the best of the best before getting shot down. Didn’t even want to try to imagine how hard it must have been for her since. All he knew was Williamson had plucked her out of working behind a desk for some defense contractor to recruit her for this job in the same way he’d recruited him. The first day, she’d joked she’d been feeling like a drone working in a cubicle for the past couple of years so she might as well learn to fly some more interesting ones.
He’d watched her struggle at first with the new technology. Flying by remote control was obviously different than flying live in the cockpit. But Williamson apparently had spent some time training Air Force Reaper pilots and seemed to know what he was doing when it came to the MAVs. He could be hard, but he was patient, and Raina was obviously a quick study. Whether the equipment Williamson was providing them would be up to the job remained an open question, but there wasn’t a whole lot either Tye or Raina could do about that. Just like being back on deployment.
“No second thoughts about what we’re doing?” she asked, gazing out through the empty shop front for a moment before looking back at him as if she were reading his thoughts.
“None at all,” he said.
“Good.” She raised her foam smoothie cup in toast to his.
Maybe he was imagining things, but he thought he saw a hint of a sparkle in her dark eyes.
5
Later, they debriefed with Major Williamson over a secure video link.
They were in Raina’s Fairfax apartment. It was on the second floor of a nondescript garden complex, almost identical to Tye’s on the other side of the building, both sublet for a month under a pseudonym. A small, one-bedroom affair, there was a computer desk and chair, a couch, and a single, back window in the living room. The branches of a big maple tree obscured most of the view outside. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, flashes of orange and red blooming from the peaking autumn leaves.
Seeing the major always brought Tye back to leading his squad at their forward operating base in Nangarhar and the operation against the Taliban that had led to his pulling Raina from her burning chopper, the death of her commander co-pilot, and the loss of two good infantrymen from his squad.
Soon afterward, Major Cameron Williamson, tall, bald as a bowling ball, dressed in clean desert camouflage uniform, had choppered in for a day and introduced himself. The FOB was still reeling at the time from the aftereffects of the battle. It was unusual but not unheard of for an Air Force officer to show up at such a frontline position. As far as Tye was concerned, he and his squad bled in the dust and muck while the flyboys and all their A-10s, F-16s, B-1s and drones normally kept their panties dry overhead.
But Williamson made an impression on him. The man carried an uncommon air of authority and he seemed to instantly get Tye and his soldiers the way a lot of superior officers didn’t. Williamson told them he was on a “fact-finding assignment.” Most of Tye’s platoon had figured him for CIA, except he didn’t wear a beard and dress like a Pashtun. Raina told Tye she had met Williamson, too, soon after the battle that ended her flight career. He had made a pass through the hospital where she was being treated, specifically asking about pilots.
Now, years later, Williamson had reached out to Tye and Raina like some kind of ghost from their mutual past.
“How’d things go on your first go-round with the MAVs?” the major asked, his image filling Raina’s laptop screen.
“Not bad,” Raina said. “We had some technical difficulties, but I was able to work around them.”
“Good. That’s why I picked you for the job. Did you get what you went in for?”
Raina hesitated, so Tye jumped in.
“Yes, sir. Not quite as much as we’d hoped, but we’re in position to proceed.”
He and Raina had gone over their recording of the video Kurn had shown him on his office wall a dozen times. It was far from perfect. Coupled with Kurn’s statements and photos they’d obtained of his son, Derek Kurn could be identified in the grainy, partially-blocked video. But if the video were required to stand on its own, there was plenty of room for doubt.
The view of his victim, on the other hand, was clearer, and he and Raina were already trying to identify her.
“Remember rule number one,” Williamson said. “What you’re doing with our MAVs must remain secret. You’ve been specifically chosen due to your backgrounds. I hope you understand from a civil liberties perspective we’re playing with dynamite.”
“So we’re just throwing civil rights out the window now, Major?” Tye looked across at Raina. Drones like the Predator may have more than earned their place on the battlefield, but he still mistrusted the capabilities of the MAVs; the challenges Raina had faced in Kurn’s office earlier in the day only reinforced his doubts. Plus, he was no longer in the Army and he felt like pushing Williamson a bit. The major had let slip in one of their earlier conversations that Tye hadn’t been his first choice for this op. He wished he could have known who’d been the top pick. No one liked to be relegated to second team.
“You know better than that, Palmer. You know what we’re dealing with in Nathan Kurn.”
“But what are we doing here? Are we working for law enforcement, is that it?”
There was a pause. “I can’t answer that. Officially, you’re private investigators.”
Great.
“Look,” Tye said. “If you really want to nail Kurn, why not just use the FBI or something? Why even bring us into it?”
“This is a fluid situation,” Williamson said. His voice turned bureaucratic. “As I told you, we chose you people because of who you are. For your own protection that’s all I can say for the moment.”
“You picked us because you knew we’d be on board with this mission. Isn’t that about all there is to it?”
“That was a factor in our decision-making, yes.”
He looked across at Raina. Her face was a blank.
“This is a distraction, Mr. Palmer. You need to stay focused on the mission at hand.”
“Okay,” he said finally. “I guess we stay on a need-to-know...for now.”
“All right…As far as Kurn and his son, I trust you two already have a further game plan in mind?”
“We do.”
“Good. I don’t want to know any of the details. You both know how to contact me should you need any more technical resources or support.”
Raina shifted a little in her seat. “What about funding?”
“Our arrangement still stands. All expenses paid as they occur. Payment in full on completion of the mission.”
“What about the money Kurn paid us?” Tye asked.
“If you succeed, I doubt he’ll be coming after you for it.”
“Yeah,” Raina said. “Especially since we’re the ones who could end up in jail.”
There was a long pause. “…Let me know when you’ve completed your objective,” Williamson said.
“If things work out the way we’ve drawn them up…” Tye said, “that’s one thing you won’t have to worry about finding out.”
The screen went dark. They were left staring into the laptop together.
“Not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type, is he?”
“Hardly.” Raina grunted in agreement. “But I probably wouldn’t listen to him if he was.”
“The day after tomorrow is Halloween. They’ll be having a big party at the frat. We can make our move then.”
Raina pressed her lips together. “All right.”
She’d placed a little plastic jack-o-lantern on one of her computer monitors, but that was it as far as the decorations. Neither of them would be doing any partying.
“You don’t need more time to practice with your little drones, do you?”
“No. No, I’m good to go.”
“What’s wrong then?”
“I’m putting an awful lot on the line with Williamson,” she said. “And so are you.”
“Yup. So?”
“You say it so cavalierly. Like you’re willing to just throw your whole career, all your past away.”
He shrugged. “I guess I left all that kind of stuff back in Jalalabad.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Concern for career.”
“But you’re back in school.”
He shrugged some more. There was no sense in arguing about it. Nothing could be like the ragged edge of bravery and terror that came with being downrange. The dust and sun and cold. The hot smoke. The smell of goats, the sights of brightly mosaic prayer mats, and the fear in people’s expressions.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’m here, aren’t I? Instead of filling some corporate cubicle.”
He nodded. In her Kiowa, Raina had been about as close to the ground fighting as it was possible to get from the sky. She was Air Cav and no matter what happened, he would never question her courage.
She looked him straight in the eyes. “We both know why we’re in this. We fell into the same crapstorm over there. I can never repay you for what you did. But right now I need to know you can complete your part of this job. I’m relying on you.”
He nodded.
She continued to stare at him. “Tell me you think we can pull this off,” she said.
“Piece of cake.” He offered her a dubious smile.
“No. Tell me.”
He wouldn’t lie to her. Nathan Kurn had been on the cover of Time magazine. The man had a lot of powerful friends. His son Derek was playing major college football–maybe not a star or even a starter, but a scholarship player and the kid was president of his fraternity. The younger Kurn inhabited a rarified atmosphere: he was both a jock and the son of a celebrity. They were trying to expose the Kurns through the potentially illegal use of what was no doubt classified and possibly untested military technology. They had their work cut out for them, and though their cause may well have been righteous, they were in uncharted territory.
A thousand things might go wrong.
6
That night, Raina dreamed of flying again. Back in the left seat of her helicopter over the kill zone, watching the thermal imaging focus on some steep, nondescript moonscape. Into the picture strode the dark silhouettes of a pair of Afghan mountain horses, navigating the harsh terrain.
They were small but powerful Lokai, beautiful creatures staged for battle and put to good use by Afghan Northern Alliance fighters and the first covert U.S. troops dropped into the mountains in response to 9/11. They reminded her of the horse her father had bought for her on their small ranch in New Mexico, a beautiful Appaloosa, the year before he came down with cancer and they ended up having to sell the pony to help pay for his treatments.
Raina watched the horses for what seemed like a long time through her scope, until it happened as it always did in the dream. The sudden loss of control. Like falling off a cliff. The fall into darkness and the horror of impact. The feeling that she couldn’t get out of her seat, that she could never get out.
She awoke in a cold sweat. She was alone in her bed in the temporary apartment. Tye had similar digs in another building in the same complex. He’d fallen asleep on her couch while she continued to work away at her keyboard, so she’d thrown a blanket over him and retreated to the bedroom sometime after one a.m.
The bedside clock read a little after four. She knew she had to be sharp for the new day about to break. She had to be sharp for Tye and for Williamson, whoever they all were working for now, because their mission was good and was on target. But she also knew sleep wouldn’t be coming again, at least not for tonight, not for her.
She crawled out from beneath the covers, fumbling in the dark for the crutch she needed to make it to the bathroom without her prosthetic foot. Sometimes the frustration of it all brought tears to her eyes, but she felt as if she were all cried out.
She finished in the bathroom, pulling her bathrobe around her, and stumbled to her desk to check on her computers. Everything seemed normal and quiet–all systems go.
One of the tiny hover angel MAVs lay on the table next to the computer. She picked up the drone and gently turned it over in her hands.
What a marvel of engineering, she thought. Its translucent wings acted as miniscule rotors, not unlike those on her helicopter; except these were made of some ultra-thin but strong membrane-like material she’d never seen before. The tiny control hinges were even more elegant; she’d marveled at them when she first examined them under the microscope.
The brains of the unit were housed behind its miniature camera. She fought against the temptation to try to disassemble the board to examine the circuitry for fear she might damage it. The thing must have cost a fortune to develop. Had to be government. The CIA, NSA, or some other spook agency must be behind it. Or could it have come from overseas? Nothing on the units themselves or their components gave them away, unlike any other drone she’d ever seen. Hell, any Tom, Dick, or Harry could buy a little drone these days and fly them around their backyard using their smartphone as a controller. The off-the-shelf components were manufactured all over the world–China, Russia, Israel. But these little babies were way beyond that.
Her experience as a pilot had given her a healthy respect for flying in combat, so she felt like she understood both the positives and pitfalls of weaponizing unmanned aircraft. She knew many foreign governments, not all of them friendly to U.S. interests, were continuing to develop and deploy their own military drones. In the armaments world it was nothing short of a drone frenzy.
Even so, the camera system on this little baby was more advanced and of far smaller form than any she’d ever seen. When functioning properly, it could almost reconnoiter an entire space, looking at it from multiple different angles. She’d read articles about autonomous drone systems, employing advanced pattern recognition computer algorithms to fly independently, and she shuddered to think of the possibilities. Eye-in-the-sky, all-encompassing surveillance systems like the Army’s Constant Hawk or the Air Force’s Gorgon Stare were already changing the way military strategists looked at warfare.
But the miniaturized MAV she held in her hands took things to an entirely different level. She could provide intimate surveillance of anyone, almost anywhere. She could infiltrate a corporate
boardroom or someone’s bedroom. The possibilities were almost as endless as they were sobering.
On the other hand, maneuvering undetected through suburban neighborhoods and even inside buildings was far from easy, as she was learning. It required a special set of talents she was being forced to develop as she went, beyond anything she’d ever had to worry about flying for the military.
Feel the plane.
She could still hear Major Williamson’s voice from only a few weeks before admonishing her through her headset to get control of her tiny drone, as if she were actually aboard the flight. She was finding she liked the challenge of piloting the tiny devices. The larger dragonflies were sometimes more fun to fly, zooming nap-of-the-earth or darting in and out among buildings. They were designed for use outdoors and could track far greater distances. But they also made more noise, a faint but persistent flutter. The hover angels, like the one she held in her hand, were especially effective indoors, but were more easily thrown off track by extremes in temperatures, a stiff wind, or even hot or cold air blowing from an air conditioner or room vent.
“Best little private eye in the world.”
“Oh,” she said, setting the drone back on the desk.
“That thing in your hands, I mean…it’s a pretty good investigator.” Tye, all six-feet-four of him, leaned against the doorframe of her bedroom. His shirttail hung out. His jeans looked like he’d slept in them, which of course he had, and his short hair was pasted to one side of his head.
“You startled me.”
“Sorry. I heard you rummaging around in here and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You look like hell.”
“Good morning to you, too. Don’t you ever sleep?”
“I slept…some,” she said, sounding a little more defensive than she’d intended.
“You’re really obsessed with those things, aren’t you?” He looked at the little drone.