by Andy Straka
It was like piloting a plane or chopper at treetop levels over hills and valleys–nap-of-the-earth on a micro scale. And without a co-pilot, all the while she needed to continue to position her ship and manage her camera equipment and sensors to maintain visual contact with the target. One slip of the controls and she risked detection, either by creating a sound or an obvious movement in the fabric.
This was really happening. There was no going back. When Major Williamson had approached her about this operation, he’d warned her she should be prepared for something different. He also didn’t have to work too hard to convince her of the rightness of the cause.
“Hey, if isn’t the new drone girl,” Tye had said when she walked into the abandoned warehouse he and Williamson had specially set up for her to practice flying her new little machines.
“That’s all you can say to me after saving my life and not seeing me for what, four years?” She had punched him playfully in the arm. It was like hitting a rock.
She’d been amazed at how seamlessly they’d fallen in to work together as partners. Tye despised the drones, and sometimes she couldn’t blame him. He didn’t think they were needed, but she was beginning to realize how shortsighted he was being.
The past three weeks of daily planning and training, learning how different flying the MAVS could be from the type of flying she’d been used to–at times, it almost seemed like nothing more than some kind of training exercise. As if the MAVs she was piloting were little more than some pimpled-faced nerd’s pipe dream. They couldn’t be actual crafts with genuine operational status and purpose, could they? They were so small. Sometimes guiding them through the air felt surreal.
She’d seen Nathan Kurn on television and read news articles about him since she was a child. They weren’t messing with John Q. Citizen here. The charismatic Kurn knew things around Washington. He must have held dozens of markers with powerful and important people he could call in whenever he wanted. Yet based on Major Williamson’s recommendation and a series of pre-interview emails, Tye and Raina, a couple of ex-Army outsiders, had managed to infiltrate Kurn’s inner sanctum and gained enough of his confidence to be entrusted with what for him must have been the most sensitive of missions, protecting his reputation and that of his son, the truth be damned.
She had to work hard to keep herself from trying to digest all of these issues at once and stay focused on her flying.
Even with daily, intense hours behind the screens, piloting what she’d dubbed the angel and its slightly larger relative the dragonfly–she’d named the bigger ones after her AirCav unit–wasn’t like controlling any helicopter or plane she’d ever flown. The proximity of her location to the MAV themselves minimized any delays to the signals she relayed to the device, but becoming accustomed to the miniature environment the angel traveled through was proving far more daunting than she’d expected.
Door frames became narrow ridges on cliff faces; table and floor lamps proved to be giant, incandescent torches to be avoided; deep pile carpets looked like elephant grass; while passing along the edge of a picture window was like navigating the shoreline of some kind of clear blue ocean. Before leaving the military, she’d met and talked to an Air Force Predator pilot one afternoon at a conference. She remembered him describing the type of pressure operators experienced flying a full-sized, armed UAV over the battlefield. Major Williamson, who had experience training Predator pilots, had warned her about this. She was beginning to understand what they were been talking about.
She knew Tye must have been sweating bullets in Kurn’s office. She wondered if Tye understood, let alone appreciated, that she was doing the same.
***
Still facing Kurn in his office, Tye kept his manner relaxed but business-like. They needed more intel. Who knew what surprises this dude might have in his bag of tricks?
“Is this the only copy of the video?”
“Yes,” Kurn said. “And I plan to destroy it after you leave. I only wanted you to see it so you would know what we’re dealing with.”
What they were dealing with was a young woman who’d been violated without her knowledge or consent. There had been enough of her face visible on the screen that Tye was hopeful he and Raina could make a positive ID from her Facebook page or college records. They could approach the girl and see if she wanted to press charges. If she remembered anything at all. If she even wanted to come forward. Two big ifs.
“How’d you manage to shoot the video?”
Kurn shrugged. “I’ve been a long time benefactor and booster of the university. A maintenance man was well paid to hide the camera and then retrieve it and ask no questions. You know they make these little nanny cams now. You can really keep an eye on things with them.”
“Really,” Tye said. If the weaselly old pirate only knew. “When was the video taken?”
“Last weekend. But I’ve suspected something like this for a little while. There was another girl whose family came to me with their suspicions last month. We were able to come to an arrangement in that situation, but this needs to stop.”
An arrangement, no doubt, that involved a good deal of money, Tye thought. Their eyes met for a moment as a long silence hung between them.
“He’s probably slipping the drug into the girls’ drinks,” Tye said. “The police–”
“No.” Kurn held up his hand. “I don’t want the police involved. I want this matter dealt with privately.” He laid the remote control on his desk and ejected the disk from his computer, handling it as if it contained pornographic images of children before tucking it into a drawer. “And I want it done quickly, quietly, and efficiently.” Kurn’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been a professional soldier. I expect you and your partner…Ms. Sanchez, is it?...to act professionally.”
“Without prejudice,” Tye lied.
He glanced out the window for a moment at the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge, the distant Washington Monuments and the top of the Capitol dome. Thousands of his fellow “professional soldiers,” as Kurn had referred to them, a couple of whom had been well known to Tye, lay buried among the sea of white headstones in Arlington only a mile down the highway between Roslyn and the Pentagon. That was at least one thing the politicians had gotten right: putting the National Cemetery up close and personal to D.C. where they’d have to be near them every day.
“You’re back in school I see,” Kurn continued, “Which I very much respect. What are you studying?”
“Military history.”
Kurn chuckled. “Good for you. Something you must know a little bit about. Here’s what I’m thinking. You can tell my son and his fraternity brothers that you’re a transfer student, hoping to check out their house. I was a Zeta Phi over there at the university myself back in the day, and, if the need arises, I can easily drop your name with a recommendation about a promising prospective fraternity brother.”
“Probably won’t need it. But doesn’t posing as a potential pledge violate some kind of fraternal code or something?”
“You let me worry about that.”
Much as he hated to admit it, these alpha Greek fraternity-types pushed buttons in Tye’s brain he’d just as soon didn’t exist. He figured most of them for overeducated hibernators; adolescent, asinine products of special privilege, their souls fat and inebriated. Stick them in full battle-rattle in 110-degree heat and the bark of assault rifles and some hopped-up Hajis in the neighborhood, and you’d find out how they really measured up.
Then again, maybe Tye was missing something. Maybe Nathan Kurn’s status was so exalted he didn’t need to worry about such things as fraternal loyalty. Maybe the man’s son was just a regular old Joe of a rapist. The subtleties of higher education and big media executive power plays probably represented too much of an enigma for a simple door kicker like Tye.
“So you want me to cozy up to your son and try to catch him in the act or something, maybe raid his little stash of pills?”
“I want you to pretend you’re a
police detective and arrest him.”
“Impersonate a cop?”
“Right. A cop who has connections. Specifically to me. Derek knows I have friends in law enforcement. All you need to do is tell him you’re working undercover or something.”
“Last I heard, there are pretty serious laws against that sort of thing.”
“Of course, but this is just between us. Once you’ve sufficiently shaken him down, you can let him know you’re working for me.”
Tye didn’t like the idea of shaking down anyone for the likes of Nathan Kurn, but he kept quiet.
“Okay,” he said. “Then what?”
“That’s it. We put the fear of God and prison into my son and tell him we’ll be watching his every move. And if I so much as hear a breath about him doing this kind of thing again, I’ll cut him off. No more financial support, and if he faces prosecution, I won’t protect him.”
Really? He knew the last threat was a bluff. Any man who went to this much trouble to mess with his son’s head wasn’t going to sit by and let that same son trot off to rot in prison without the best kind of fact-spinning and motive-bending defense money could buy.
“With all due respect, Mr. Kurn, you said Derek is your only son. Why don’t you just go down there and confront him about the situation yourself?” He thought it was a logical question.
But Kurn made a face and rubbed at the back of his neck, apparently uncomfortable with the query. “That, um, that gets rather complicated. My relationship with Derek is private, for one thing. And I have other issues to consider. Like I said, I want no publicity and no one else at the school should ever know about our intentions or actions.” Kurn turned to look out the window at a view of the D.C. skyline. “Believe me when I tell you this, Mr. Palmer. I know my son and I know how to best handle this issue.”
“But why are you doing all this?”
“I have my reasons. Not the least of which, as you may have heard about in the news, I’m involved in a major merger at the moment, and the last thing I want is for some of my son’s youthful indiscretions to botch up the works.”
Youthful indiscretions. Tye wondered what other skeletons Kurn might be hiding. Maybe the apple didn’t fall very far from the tree.
Maybe fearful he’d said too much, Kurn turned to look him straight in the eyes. “I’ve spent some time looking into your backgrounds, you know. You and your partner, I mean.” Kurn stepped over to his desk, looked down, and scanned an official looking piece of stationary. “I understand you both served in Afghanistan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Ms. Sanchez was a pilot. All sorts of commendations. Shot down. Lost a foot. Must have been horrible. You were awarded a Bronze Star for pulling her from the wreckage under heavy fire.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well that’s certainly good enough in my book. A pitiful old TV man’s dilemma over his boy’s sexual dalliances seems a far cry from the valor of military service.”
Pitiful old TV man? Who was this guy trying to con?
“No argument there,” Tye said.
Kurn moved another folder off of a pile on his desk and flipped it open to reveal a photo. “Tell me more about your partner. She’s quite attractive, or so it appears from her official photo.”
“Oh, please,” Raina whispered in his ear. “Now I really am going to puke.”
“She’s very skilled at what she does,” Tye said.
“She’s not a student like yourself?”
“No.”
“Well, I would very much like to meet her, too, before all this is over.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Mmmm.” Kurn smoothed out the sheet of paper he held in his hands. “So I suppose the only question left to ask from my end is how much you two are going to charge me for this little job.”
Tye didn’t flinch. “Ten thousand.”
“Ten thousand dollars?”
“Half up front as a retainer, plus expenses.”
Kurn cleared his throat. “That’s a lot of money for a couple of days’ work for a college student. You know I could get a regular private investigator working on an hourly basis for less.”
He and Raina had agreed upon the amount because they didn’t think Kurn would respect them if they asked for less. He wasn’t backing down. “If you could find one who could pull this off. You’re asking both of us to take a big risk.”
Kurn suppressed another smile. “Touché.” The man appeared to reach a decision. “All right, Mr. Palmer.” He spun his desk chair around and sat down it. “I’ll pay you your retainer.” He pulled a check and a pen from his pocket and began to write. “But I expect results.”
“Absolutely.”
Kurn finished signing the check with a flourish and handed it across the desk to Tye. Then he opened one his desk drawers, pulled out a small card, and handed it to him. “I want to be kept informed at all times. I’ll be checking in with you soon. That’s my personal cell phone number and the contact information for my executive assistant. If for some reason I don’t answer my phone, she’ll know where to find me.”
The network chieftain leaned across the desk and extended his hand again. Tye took it and with it the measure of an opponent whom up until today he’d only known as an abstraction. Kurn’s grip was as firm as his gaze, brimming with charismatic arrogance.
Tye had read stories about Arab Muhajadeen in Afghanistan years before, anxious to get in on the fighting against the Soviets, the vast majority of which was actually being done by the Afghanis. Upon meeting the wealthy and magnetic Saudi, Osama Bin Laden, the wannabe jihadists would pledge themselves to martyrdom on the spot.
He felt no such inspiration shaking hands with Kurn.
Kurn released his hand. “I’m late for a conference call. You won’t mind showing yourself out?”
“Not at all.”
In the end, Tye supposed, all wars became personal. Otherwise, who would do the actual fighting?
Not the political leaders. Not the strategic thinkers, nor the talkers and writers. Not the film and TV people like Kurn with all of their trappings and camera crews. No, it was left to the head knockers and the grunts like himself to undertake the discipline and to suffer the physical and emotional scars of being the tip of the spear.
He and Raina had no intention of contacting Nathan Kurn again. Leaving the room, he glanced back over his shoulder to see the man picking up his phone.
4
Raina was waiting for him in the van.
“Did you get the recording?”
“Some of it,” she said.
Tye climbed into the front passenger seat, closed the door, and buckled his seat belt. “You don’t sound confident.”
“Look,” she said. “These little MAVs aren’t perfect.”
“Do you have him on disk or not?”
“I have most of what the father said to you.”
“What about the movie he showed me of the son?”
“Some of it, like I said. But I had to reposition the angel several times because he kept moving, and the picture is a little dark.” Raina shifted into drive, engaged the turn signal, and, glancing over her shoulder, eased out into the line of cars flowing along Wilson Boulevard. Only her left foot had been lost and replaced by a prosthetic, so driving was no problem.
“You think it’s enough?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to review the recording.”
They drove in silence for a few moments. Tye didn’t like it one bit. He’d put his butt on the line with Kurn and now they weren’t even sure if they had solid evidence against the son. He knew Raina was good, the kind of pilot you wanted behind the controls if you had to go into any kind of hostile situation. But he was uneasy about using the MAVs. Never trust a machine—plus, how did he and Raina know they wouldn’t become a target themselves? There could be a ShadowHawk a few thousand feet overhead right now keeping tabs on them and they wouldn’t know it. All anyone wou
ld see, of course, was a lean young man in a blue sport coat and khakis climbing into a silver camper van. As for the dark-haired woman behind the wheel, he and Raina might have been two lovers or even husband and wife, just another young couple perhaps meeting for lunch. The odds that they were under surveillance were slim, but you could never be too cautious.
He didn’t allow himself to breath easier until they were well away from the building.
“At least you had him convinced. Congratulations,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“You were a smooth operator in there.”
“I was lucky.”
“I don’t think he suspected a thing.” She smiled, her dark curls flowing over her cheeks to frame her full lips and bright teeth.
“Let’s hope not.”
“I know a good place we can talk,” she said.
A few minutes later, they turned on to Ft. Meyer Drive and drove further into Arlington.
It was a sunny day, warm for late October, the temperature reaching the high seventies. With the heat from all of her equipment in back, Raina had the van’s air conditioner running at full tilt.
The juice bar and sandwich shop Raina had in mind stood in a nondescript strip mall, wedged between a used bookstore and a tax preparation service. The proprietors, a Sikh husband and wife, had just opened for the day. It was still too early for lunch, even for a Friday, so Tye and Raina had the place to themselves. They bought a couple of smoothies and found a back corner booth where they could keep their voices low and speak in private.
“This is it then,” she said.
Tye nodded. “We’re committed either way. Looks like we’re on.”
“I’m going to need a couple of additional pieces of equipment. I’ve already started working on a list. I’ll email it to you once it’s ready.”
“More toys?” She was supposed to do all the flying while he handled the ground work, which included requisition.
“They’re not toys.”
“I know, I know. Just teasing. But no email,” he said. “Let’s just print it out or write it down, and we can discuss it with Major Williamson and burn the list afterward.” He lowered his voice. “We don’t want to leave any kind of electronic trail in case we get caught.”