Operation Assassination

by Anne Fox

  4

  Amigo stood in the library to brief the rest of the team on the newest miniature drone capability that Voice was working on. As the drone operator as well as Hank’s spotter, Amigo was perhaps more knowledgeable than even Voice when it came to the small drones’ capabilities.

  “We’re familiar with these guys from the Camp Chaos mission,” he said. As the rest of the team watched, a very realistic looking mouse scurried across the library floor and proceeded to climb up Amigo’s pants leg.

  “Here’s a little something new Voice has programmed Jerry to do. It has been programmed to find and return a key to its handler.”

  The rest of the team watched as the mechanical mouse stopped midway up Amigo’s pants leg, scanned above itself, then continued to climb until it reached Amigo’s pocket. Disappearing inside, it emerged a few seconds later with a key in its mouth. Dropping to the floor and landing on its back, the key dislodging from its mouth, it first rolled over, then scanned around itself. Locating the key, it picked it back up in its mouth, readjusted its grip, then scurried off, disappearing out the library door. A couple of minutes later, Voice came through the door, the mouse in one hand and the key in the other.

  “It completes its retrieval mission completely by autonomous programming. I don’t have to guide it,” Amigo added. “The autonomous search capability was especially useful at Camp Chaos, allowing us to nearly completely map the facility without ever having to step foot inside.

  “We also have this little guy.” Picking up a box from the table, he took a small, mechanical cricket. Turning it over and pressing a small button on its underside with the tip of a pencil, he then set it on the floor.

  “Unlike our mouse that has to have its recorded data downloaded, Jimmy can send video back to us.” He took up his tablet and turned it so the others could see the images being sent back by the tiny drone. “It also has graspers on its feet, and can identify footholds it can use.” The rest of the team watched as the cricket hopped over to a leg of the table they were seated at and proceeded to climb.

  “Here’s where we had a problem with Jimmy at Camp Chaos. If it couldn’t find a foothold, it would simply drop off and try again. We could direct it to try at a different spot, but again if it failed, we’d have to start all over. So Voice gave Jimmy this new capability.”

  They watched as the images from the cricket showed it trying to find a foothold. Failing, it placed a foot and squirted a tiny dot of clear liquid, then proceeded to use the spot as a foothold to climb higher.

  “Voice calls that what it looks like: goo. It’s sticky, and has enough adhesive properties to support the weight of the cricket without having the cricket get stuck in it. It just pulls itself loose with its other legs.”

  They watched as the cricket gained the table top and proceeded to hop across.

  “Like all the mini-drones, it’s made principally of graphene. So it can simply hop off the edge of the table, right itself if it’s upside-down, and go on its merry way.”

  He retrieved the cricket and took another drone from the box.

  “This was our first drone: the dragonfly. You used to control it with a simple controller that looks like a game controller. But Voice now has it programmed through Hal, so all we need to do is give it voice commands.” He set the dragonfly on the table after turning it on with another press of a small button with his pencil. Sitting still, it looked very much like the real thing. “Hal, dragonfly one, free flight, avoid objects,” Amigo said, getting the drone’s wings beating and flying around the room.

  “The neat thing about this guy is that its two eyes are two different cameras: one an ordinary camera, the other a zoom lens. We can perch it,” he began, sending it up to a light fixture and having it grasp the edge of the fixture with its legs, “and then get it to send us back videos or stills from its vantage point. Like the cricket, it’s principally graphene, so you can even swat it with a fly swatter and it comes up tickin’. The new thing this guy can do, other than be able to be commanded by verbal commands through Hal, is see infrared.” He rotated the dragonfly in flight, switching visual modes from natural to infrared and showing the infrared images on his tablet.

  “Notice this image is color gradient, so we can tell the very hot spots from the merely hot spots, etc.”

  “And now for Voice’s next surprise, we have this.” Amigo took an elongated object from the box.

  “A nightcrawler,” Edge said.

  “We didn’t have that at Camp Chaos. What does it do?” Hank asked.

  “Just what you might think,” Amigo said. “It has a graphene tunneling bore at one end and can grind its way through concrete or burrow through earth. A...” he chuckled. “I’m not trying to be funny with this, it’s what they’re called. A worm screw runs its length, and it passes the broken material through a passageway and...” he shrugged, “craps it out the other end – just like a real nightcrawler. It can also store bits of material it encounters and bring it back to us. Recall we had canisters of a grainy material at Camp Chaos that we, correctly as it turns out, assumed was potassium cyanide. With this little guy, we could have bored through the canisters we were observing and brought back a sample. It’s a little slow, but assuming we have time for it to do its thing, it could give us truly valuable information. Is that bucket of stuff ammonium nitrate? Or is it just table salt?”

  “Voice, we always end up saying this,” Crow said, turning to him. “You’re a fucking genius.”

  “And I always take that as the compliment it is,” Voice said with a little bow. “That concludes our presentation on the drone upgrades.”

  Cloud stood up. “There’s not a lot to report on the aviation front. Frank Hughes is on his way here. His tools and his wife’s airplane have already arrived by military transport. We managed to rent a hangar at Stafford for her, given the airfield here is in the DC Special Flight Rules Area. We’ve also got Frank set up in a hangar there as well – a good-size corporate hangar, so he’ll have plenty of space for working on the planes until we’re ready for the move. We’ll continue to operate out of here, but when we need maintenance we’ll drop whatever aircraft it is that requires it at Stafford. The only time he’ll need to be at Quantico is if we get an ‘oh shit’ right on the Quantico ramp. He won’t be running his aviation maintenance business out of Stafford – except for us. To compensate him for the extra income he would have gotten from that, we were authorized to give him a nice signing bonus. He’s got a month when he basically can’t lift much, just like we all had when we got our bum tickers. So, first item on the agenda for him will be getting the implant, which means his wife is going to be busy getting moving boxes unpacked.

  “While he’s recuperating, we figure we can get a few things surrounding the move to York out of the way. Get him with the architect for both their house and his maintenance hangar.

  “He’s told his wife they’re going to be moving again in a year, and they’ve taken our suggestion of packing anything they won’t necessarily need in boxes that they won’t need to open here. Then those can just be loaded back on another moving van and delivered to their permanent residence in Nebraska.” He sat back down. “That’s it for me, unless Crow has something to add.”

  “Cloud pretty much covered it.”

  “I guess that means I’m next,” Spud said. “And for this, I’d like to get Doc Andy in here. Medical 3, your presence is desired in the library.”

  “Spud, on my way.” A minute or two later, Doc Andy appeared at the door of the library. “Team briefing?” He looked questioningly at Spud. “What do you need me for?”

  “Have a seat, Doc Andy, and I think it will become clear to you.” Turning back to the others, Spud continued.

  “As you all are aware, my darling wife has been spending her copious free time...”

  Everyone laughed. No one in the team had copious free time.

  “Yeah, I know. But nonetheless, she’s been spending a lot of time reading everyth
ing she can get her hands on regarding terrorism, terrorists, and the psychology of terrorists. The whole idea she has in mind is that we could use a profiler. Probably Voice could eventually get Hal to do the profiling, and Hal was pretty instrumental in identifying our perp in the last mission. But as you all know, Voice is currently trying to rewrite the communications protocols, and in the meantime profiling is a function we need.

  “She’s hoping you’ll agree to take that on, Doc Andy.”

  Doc Andy adopted his usual chin-on-hand posture, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair he was sitting in.

  “My expertise is clinical psychiatry.”

  “And we know you can recognize batshit crazy when you see it, because we’re such good examples of that,” Spud remarked, getting the team laughing. “But then, maybe that means you can identify batshit crazy in persons of interest as well. Or, as profilers do, identify what kind of batshit crazy would commit the kinds of acts we find ourselves dealing with so we can find the person that fits the profile.”

  “And if I goof?”

  “Means you’re human,” Amigo said. “Just like the rest of us.”

  “At the risk of bringing up one of my own demons and perhaps reversing roles here a bit,” Doc Andy began, “I consider that at one point I goofed seriously enough to have put one of you in danger. The idea that I could put the entire field team in danger...”

  “None of us have ever considered that was your fault,” Cloud said.

  “What are we talking about here?” Amigo asked.

  “Spot,” Hank said. “The guy who tried to rape me. Doc Andy for some reason thinks he should have caught the signs that the fucker was capable of doing it.”

  “The guy was whack, but was able to hide it long enough to get through all the assessments – including Doc Andy’s,” Voice said. “Then he started demonstrating to everyone that he wasn’t unit material.”

  “It is my job,” Doc Andy emphasized, “to determine that a person who is considered for this unit is unit material. Did I fail with Spot? Or should I say, Daniel Hunt? Miserably. He’s convicted of assault with attempt to commit rape and has charges of assault on a federal officer and murder of a federal officer as well as escape pending. The U.S. Marshalls are looking for him, and he’s on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. You don’t fail more miserably than that.”

  “Have you ever considered that we all failed?” Voice asked. “We all took a hard look at the guy and thought he was just what we needed. And frankly, I’ve often wondered if he had issues the Marines didn’t want to put in his record jacket and they figured they could drop him on us. With apologies, Edge.”

  “I personally think we’re all just a little too hung up on Spot,” Hank said. “I’m sick of hearing about him. He’s a sick shit, no doubt. But you’ve got to remember the old cliché: you can’t judge a book by its cover. He showed us a nice, flashy cover. It wasn’t until we bought the book that we found out the writing was lousy.”

  Everyone sat silent, considering that, given Hank was the victim, her opinion held more weight than any of theirs.

  “The fact that Hank’s feeling that we should have a profiler and that you, Doc Andy, are the best qualified for the job still remains. So the question is still, do you want to take on another role in the unit?”

  Doc Andy sat silent, considering.

  “Maybe what you can learn won’t just help us find a perp, but help us avoid another Spot as well,” Voice observed.

  “You have a good point,” Doc Andy said. He lowered his hand from his chin, the team’s signal that he’d made a decision. “If Hank agrees to help me digest some of the reading, then I’ll agree. That’s just a matter of time being no more available to me than it is to the rest of you.”

  Hank nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Then I think we’re done here,” Spud said.

  As everyone rose to leave, Hank walked up to Doc Andy. “I think you offered me a date,” she said.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to take me up on that.”

  “No, I was just tied up with recruiting Frank Hughes and then having to get caught up on other things. Is it ok if Spud sits in?”

  “You feel you need his support?”

  “If I get a bit emotional with you, you’ll give me a sedative. If Spud’s there, he’ll give me a hug. The latter is more effective, and he does it a lot better than you do. At least for me.”

  “Spoken with a good degree of logic while still acknowledging the emotional side of it,” Doc Andy observed. “Certainly. If at some point you don’t want him there, I can kick him out.” He smiled. “Come on down to my office.”

  “I take it we’re going to visit Doc Andy for a while,” Spud said, coming up alongside Hank as they made their way down the hall. He put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “It’s eating me alive, Spud. If Doc Andy can’t help me with this, then I’m going to have to do something about it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Resign.”

  Spud was taken aback. This is a lot more serious than I thought, he considered as they walked to the doctor’s office. “I’ll catch up with the two of you,” he said, walking ahead of them. He disappeared around the corner, headed toward the field team quarters area.

  As his office door opened, Doc Andy heard in his earpiece, “Medical 3, she just told me that she’s considering resigning.”

  Doc Andy turned to look at Hank. She was making her way to the couch. Turning, she sat on the edge, leaning her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands together.

  “I’ll give Spud a minute or two to join us.”

  Hank nodded.

  Spud came into the office, a bag in his hand. “I figured you might need some of this,” he said, dropping the bag of chocolate chunks on the coffee table by the couch.

  “Dark chocolate?” Doc Andy queried.

  “These things are Hank’s cartoons,” Spud said by way of explanation.

  “I see.”

  Spud unwrapped one of the chunks and held it in front of her, a questioning look on his face. Hank opened her mouth and he popped it in.

  “Now that she’s got something in her mouth, she can talk,” Spud said, grinning weakly. He was well-aware of the pain Hank felt over the death of the terrorist she had shot.

  “First things first,” Doc Andy said, putting glasses of water in front of each of them. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Amigo and I were up on a roof where we had a clear view of the entrance to the mayor’s office,” she began. “We could see the mayor’s car parked in front. I thought he’d arrived early and was already in the building. We were searching the park next to the building with our binoculars. The only people in it were Spud and Edge.

  “I kept thinking, Where’s our perp? And then my little voices started up.”

  “You hear voices?” Doc Andy asked.

  “No, not really. It’s just the way I think. How I weigh factors. I just think of it like voices. I let the factors joust each other, and whichever argument wins, that’s the one I go with.” She paused, then pointed at the bag of chocolate. Spud reached in, unwrapped another, and popped it in her mouth.

  “So, we’re on the roof,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate, “and my little voices are remembering Kirk chasing Khan through this cloud of gas. And Spock is telling him that Khan’s behavior is suggestive of two-dimensional thinking. And my little voice says, Look harder. That’s when I see the mayor come out of the coffee shop. And Amigo says he’s got the perp, and he points over to the roof of the coffee shop just as I see the guy. He’s on the roof, he’s got a rifle, he’s setting aim up on the mayor.”

  Her face contorted in pain. “There was no fucking time. Amigo gives me the firing solution, and I get the guy in my crosshairs. All I could see was his head. I take the shot.

  “Then it’s like slow motion. I see his head jerk. I see blood spray out of the entrance
wound. I see the bullet blow out the back of his head,” she choked out amid sobs.

  “Hm,” Doc Andy said. “And this is the first time you’ve had to kill someone in the line of duty, I take it.”

  “That’s not an excuse for fucking up,” Hank retorted. “I should have been looking at the rooftops. That guy didn’t just magically appear up there. He was up there the entire time Amigo and I were up on the rooftop we picked. In the space of time from when we took position on the roof and the mayor walked out of the coffee house, Spud and Edge could have been up the fire escape and apprehending the guy.”

  “Hm,” Doc Andy said again. “Who would have been first up the fire escape, Spud?”

  “Probably me.”

  “So, instead of you having to shoot the man right then, he would have heard Spud and Edge running up the fire escape. And when Spud came up to the rooftop, the man would have shot him. Then, instead of seeing a determined criminal’s blood spurt out of his head, you’d be seeing Spud’s blood spurting out of his head.”

  Hank stared at Doc Andy.

  “I would have died just like Sugar,” Spud said. “I never thought about that.”

  “Then, perhaps the perp would have swung back around with his rifle. And because the mayor would have heard the shot, he would still be in the street, looking in the direction of the roof where the terrorist was, and he gets shot, too. So, now you see blood spurt out of the wounds in his head as well. Perhaps he even saw Amigo point at him, so he shoots him as well. Then to save yourself, you have to shoot him anyway.”

  Spud was holding out a chunk of chocolate to Hank. She waved it away, and he popped it in his own mouth.

  “Every action, as well as every inaction, has a consequence, Hank.” Doc Andy placed a box of tissues on the coffee table in front of her. “As a Special Agent, one of the things you had to do was train to recognize when an action or inaction was warranted. As a member of this unit, you have trained and continue to train to recognize those situations even quicker – almost instinctively. Your mind determined that the mayor would die if you didn’t act. That is why the shot was necessary. So that an evil man would die instead of an innocent one.