"Yes, hello." The call receiver answered.
“Steve, Bill. We've got something, probably nothing but, well, I thought I’d better check with you.”
He continued, describing the extra set of eyes that appeared to be looking at their target. Steve assured him that calling was the perfect response. He directed Olson to track this secondary as long as possible without losing the primary, keep him informed.
Olson hit the ‘end call’ to disconnect and turned back to re-enter the control mod. At the door, he paused to take in a big breath, immediately regretting it for foul tasting air, then released it in a controlled vent to dissipate some of the fluster that remained with this late morning complication.
“Anything change?” he directed at the pair as he stepped back into the air-cooled eight by twenty-foot portable. The camera operator shot a quick glance at Olson, then returned his eyes to the screen.
“Yes Sir!" he snapped. "Primary-One was cleaning, then it looked like he spotted the drone. Primary-Two came out, looked where One pointed, raised up a rifle. Just before you came back in, number Two shot the drone out of the sky! It looks like a small caliber rifle with a scope and..."
"Sir! Number Two is shooting at the dude on the beach!” The camera operator's eyes were darting back and forth between the main screen and the smaller inset window showing the man on the dune. That view was large enough to easily identify a shot hit the sand, then a second off to the right of where dune man stood. All three men in the conex watched as he dropped his controller, produced binoculars, then sprawled to his belly. A few moments later, he scooted backwards, wiggling his way off the crest and down to the trail behind the dune. When he reached it, he ran off between the dunes and the IR camera dutifully followed him to the public parking lot where he disappeared into a parked van.
“Gentlemen, Beach man is the new Primary. We know the general location of our previous targets. If need be, we'll relocate them later. I need to know about Beach man." He spun on his heel, finishing, "I authorize this new assignment.” His pilot redirected the drone's path, updating his flight operations chief at the RPA Flight Command.
The Predator’s altitude made following ‘Beach Man’ as easy as directing cameras at first. The camera that had tracked his progress to the parking lot remained fixed on the van. Within the time it took for the drone to make two loitering loops, onboard electro-optical sensors had zoomed in on a license plate, captured a screen shot. Vehicle registration data was forthcoming.
After a few minutes, the van engine started and the heat signature changes were noted. As the van exited the parking area and turned north onto Highway 1, the drone pilot ended the loitering program and locked onto the van to follow it. Several miles up the highway, it turned onto Old Creek Road. Approximately twenty minutes later, it entered the driveway of a small home.
The GPS coordinates were noted. After returning to a 'loiter' mode, the camera operator tried to get a clear shot of an address, either on the mailbox or the house, but no numbers were immediately visible. Specific property details were available but would take a bit more time. Whoever this guy was, his name and particulars would be in hand, if this location was where he hung his hat.
"Where to now, Sir?", the pilot inquired. The Predator had the capability for many hours of flight time. It had tracked the boat from its departure out of Santa Barbara and total air time had not even reached ten hours.
Olson replied, "Let's get back to our boat offshore."
Shortly, the pilot informed him that the boat had moved south, still on monitor due to the strong signal emitter on board. Only the single 'blip' now.
"Should we follow it, Sir?"
"Hold tight." Olson stepped out of the mod again.
“Steve, it’s Bill again.”
“Hi Bill.” Steve replied. “How's our adventure going?”
Olson brought him up to speed on the boat observation, and the sudden and very personal attention paid to the Beach Man by Primary-Two, which garnered a “Fucking great.” from Steve, and then silence as Olson relayed the rest of the actions, concluding with the statement that they had the Beach Man’s GPS coordinates for a private residence and identification from DMV data pending.
“As soon as you get that info, send it all to me!”
"You want us to continue tracking the primary and the boat?"
"No. We're good there. Have them return to base, and have a great afternoon."
"Okay, Steve. Thanks." Olson ended the call, ducked back into the container module, instructed the airmen to return to base, call it a day. They’d report to flight operations. He’d report to a Colonel in Langley, but privately, connecting to a secured line. Then he'd wash his hands of the domestic spying just concluded.
4. FRANK AND GREG
They’d worked as a team for three years. Breaking and entering, surveillance and photographic work were regulars on the menu. They placed discreet cameras, bugs and GPS tracking devices. Sometimes they "borrowed" documents in order to obtain clean copies. During those years, there hadn't been any close calls, where/when hands were caught in the cookie jar reached into, which was why Steve considered them his 'go to' team.
This sort of work happened way more than most people realized, but due to a cautious approach and utilizing skills of blending in, they kept most activities out of the public’s general awareness. When occasional exposures occurred, if they couldn’t be swept aside or buried, little messes were tidied up with civilian slap on the wrist fines. Federal identification went a long way toward turning the other cheek.
Today had found Frank and Greg sitting at a vista point along Highway 1, looking out over the ocean. Their current assignment–keeping tabs on the pretty boat that left the Santa Barbara area and headed north up the coast. It seemed that the contract in the process of being completed required extra eyes and they were stuck in observation duty. Some agency staff didn’t have confidence in the hired help, or so it seemed.
Frank jetted blue smoke out the driver window, half focused on his police band scanner. It could provide bits of ‘action’ that eased the boredom of some of the shift work he had to put up with. His partner didn’t seem to mind keeping eyes stuck to his binoculars, aimed at the boat offshore. Frank had just thought to himself, Thank God for small favors when Greg suddenly announced,
“Looks like one of our guys is bored. He just came out with a rifle.”
Frank's posture went from slumped low to straight up and looking in the boat's direction. Anytime a firearm entered the equation, it spiked his hope for something exciting.
“What’s he doing with it?”
Greg continued watching, saw the guy aim the rifle up into the air, could see the puff of smoke exit the barrel. “I dunno, maybe he’s shooting at a seagull.”
He watched as the rifleman turned his attention shoreward. He couldn't see what garnered the rifleman's attention. He saw one or two more flashes. As he was reporting this to Frank, the rifleman put down the rifle and walked up to the bow while the other went under the canopy and stood at the captain’s position. In two minutes, the anchor had been raised and the vessel drifted free.
Moments later as they watched, the boat turned to the south and Frank started the car. A couple vehicles passed and Frank accelerated the Crown Vic onto the highway, heading south as well. This was beginning to feel like a waste of a day to Frank, but another day on the payroll.
5. A CALL TO 9-1-1
Dan continued focused, deep breathing for another minute to calm the emotions and thoughts racing around his head. Serving tours of duty with the Navy had brought situations that included death and carnage. This felt so out of place, and live fire exercises did not happen by surprise, so he struggled with what he had just observed through the lens of the camera on his drone.
Climbing into the driver's seat, he fired up the van and drove out of the parking area, turning north onto the highway. He tapped the call icon and the phone proceeded with the 9-1-1 connection. His thou
ghts were tossing around what he might say as the pre-recorded message started down a list of caller options. What do I report? Who was shooting at me? He couldn’t tell them he saw a murder. If he started talking about a body being dumped, it became more complicated. Feeling torn and unsure of how best to handle it, he disconnected the call.
Now up to highway speed, he opened the window and used his left hand to deflect a bit of the air rushing by, directing a steady stream toward his face. The ocean's briny fresh aroma blasted him. He loved that smell. The rushing wind was as good as cool water splashed in the face. He decided that the first thing to do would be to review what evidence he had, to deconstruct and reconstruct what had taken place. His EagleEye controller had recorded video of what the cameras observed. As much as he knew what he had seen on the small monitor, another part of his brain required that confirming re-visualization.
A couple of minutes later, his cell rang. The monitor identified the caller as 9-1-1 Operator. He knew that a call and hang-up would have attracted attention. He answered and the person on the other end asked if he had just called the 9-1-1 emergency line. As he drove north, he spun a small tale.
“I’m sorry. Yeah, I saw a car accident and the two drivers were in each other’s faces. I thought the big guy was going to kill, well, ya know, beat the shit out of the little guy, so I pulled over and dialed 9-1-1. I guess the big ape decided he didn’t want a witness to anything, so he flipped the other guy off and drove away. That was it.”
He had to listen to a stern scolding about using 9-1-1 for emergencies only, and he did his best apologetic and humble self.
6. POLICE SCANNER
They’d been back on the road a few minutes when the scanner reported a 9-1-1 call and hang up, and included the cell number that originated the call. Frank had a strong belief that there were very few real coincidences, and hastily made a note on his dash pad. If it wasn’t for cell tower triangulation, these calls would forever be lost, but due to improved technology, they would be able to locate a general area and cell registration information in a very short period of time.
Frank ignited another cigarette, cracked open his window an inch, knowing if he didn't, Greg would request it. One deep drag soothed his immediate craving and his grip relaxed on the wheel. His cell rang before he could take another drag. He brought it up to his ear with his right hand as he drove, hit the answer icon with a thumb that knew where to go.
"Yeah?" He listened to what the caller had to say. A mile down the road, as he pulled over to the shoulder he returned the phone to its dash spot and looked over at his partner.
"That was Steve."
Frank pressed hard on the brakes, stopped the car in a cloud of dust, then allowed his eyes to ping pong as he watched oncoming traffic and traffic from behind in the mirror.
"What's up?" Greg replied.
“He tells me we have an extra player in the game. I’ve got an address. We're going to check it out.”
Frank saw his moment approach, stomped the pedal while cranking the steering wheel. The car sprayed gravel, peppering the shrubs along the roadside and the tires smoked dark rubber arches as they cut across the roadway, into the median, back up and then north bound.
“Wow, cool," Greg shot back. "We might actually get to do something today.” He tossed the binoculars onto the back seat, pulled his Sig from his shoulder holster, and dropped the magazine into his left hand. A quick glance told him it was ready and he slammed it back into place. He reached to his lumbar and touched the pancake holster that housed his back-up, squirreled away.
Frank gave Greg some data to enter into their GPS system and almost immediately, the unit's map display was giving them directions as they accelerated north.
7. HOME AGAIN
Dan turned off the highway onto Old Creek Road. A little further east into the coastal hills, he pulled up the slight grade of his driveway and into the carport. He scooped his controller and cell phone from the passenger seat, got out and entered his house through the carport's access into the kitchen.
Deadbolt thrown out of habit, he tossed his keys and cell phone onto the countertop. The phone stopped where it landed but the keys slid up against the bottle of oak-aged tequila that rested where the counter's corner met the wall. After a flickering debate on the idea, he picked up the bottle, twisted out the cork stopper.
The pungent and woody esters were immediately available and pleasing to his nose. He pulled a slow, bubbling swig, activating more of the intense flavors, and allowed the amber fluid to swirl around the terrain of his mouth before swallowing it down. In the next moments, as he turned toward the kitchen table, he vented a slow exhale, purging the fumes that hovered in his oral hollow. The adrenal dump was over, and the tequila might help to ease the feeling he had about seeing this bloody activity in peace time, off his very own shore.
After a few long seconds, he sat down at the table and collected thoughts, then began jotting down a time-table for what had occurred that morning.
1) 0700–start-up, test flight in yard
2) 0800–breakfast, coffee
3) 0900–dunes/beach parking
“Shit.” Dan swore at the innocent pen in his grasp. He just realized, through this whole cluster-fuck, that he’d left his drone support box, lunch and batteries stashed at the base of the big dune. Then in afterthought, he chuckled, knowing the biggest part ‘left behind’ swayed in thirty feet of saltwater.
4) support box drop, base of dune
5) 0920–launch, spotted boat
6) 0925–over Rocky Point shoal, 100', sharks
7) 0945–sharks move north, toward boat
8) To 275', Mantis, Santa Barbara, hover
9) #1-cleaning, #2, tarp, bloody leg
10) #2 rifle, downs EagleEye
12) binocs. laser, shots, impact at feet
13) GTFO!
8. FRANK'S DRIVING
They raced north, defying the posted limits by thirty miles per hour. It didn't take them long to get to the turn off for Old Creek Road, and the car's speed eased up as they turned off the highway. Greg fed directions to Frank as they continued up into the hills, and soon they were onsite, according to the GPS. This area of Cayucos was rural, with scattered clusters of homes. There were a few newer homes but mostly older ones on large lots. Some were grouped closer together, other standing rather solitary.
The ranch-style house sat among a small cluster of homes along the road. This one had a van parked up in the attached carport on the left side and it matched the description of the van Steve had given to Frank on the phone.
As they rolled past, they studied what they could see of the house. It looked like a two or three bedroom, with yards on all sides and the backyard must have ended about where the hill came down to meet it. The houses were not crammed together but they looked close enough for friendly neighborhood bullshit sessions over a fence, so his neighbors could be friends.
The car continued, a slow cruise, and a quarter mile further up, made a U-turn, came back down through the neighborhood. As they approached the property line, Frank eased the car over and stopped at the base of the driveway.
9. VIDEO REVIEW
If he didn't know better, the morning's activity seemed surreal. Dan had confidence in his outline. Rising from the table, he went into the living room where he turned on equipment, made the connection from the controller to his tuner. He selected the video file for the launch, hit the ‘play’ button, which began with the view as the EagleEye ascended from the dune surface and flew southwest, out over the western tip of Rocky Point.
His adrenal gland re-awakened, his heart rate bumped up. He watched for the second time what he'd recalled seeing. The sharks were visible, circling around the rocky bottom. They were feeding on small fish that flourished in this particular area. As he watched, the sharks began swimming in one general direction to the north. He'd adjusted the drone's flight, following them, and the boat came into view. He watched his big screen as the drone gaine
d altitude, circled.
The front door bell snatched his attention.
10. GO GET HIM, ROOKIE
Frank put the car into ‘Park’ and killed the engine. He turned his head to nod at Greg, who opened the door, stepped out of the sedan, made an adjustment to insure his jacket was covering his shoulder holster. He walked up to the front door, rang the bell.
11. WHO’S THERE?
Dan remained a bit edgy despite the tequila warming in his gut, and reviewing the video pushed his heart rate back up another notch. He stopped the play, set down the remote and walked over to where he could look out his living room window, see his front driveway and the road. He saw a dark blue, late model Crown Vic parked where his driveway met the street. Someone sat at the wheel, but he couldn’t make out details. Shoulder and back of a head. He didn’t recognize the car, wasn't used to visitors unannounced in general.
“Just a sec,” he yelled, directed toward the front door. Walking there, he opened it partway, his right foot a door stop. A man in a casual sport jacket, slacks, and polo shirt, and wearing dark glasses.
“Are you Mr. Hardesty?” The man asked. Dan nodded.
“I’m Detective Johnson, with the uh.., county, and dispatch asked me to drop by. Did you by chance make a call to 9-1-1 about an hour ago?”
Dan’s brain raced at high speed. He had trouble believing the system was so god-damned ‘Johnnie-on-the-spot’, considering that he'd called... maybe a half hour earlier... did this guy just say he was with “the uh… county.”? All of Dan’s alarm hairs were standing at stiff attention on the back of his neck.
“Oh yeah, crap,” he blurted, “I saw a car wreck, thought for sure someone had to be hurt... I guess I sorta panicked... I told the operator when she called back. I’m so sorry.” He looked at the detective with an expression that tried to say, “Please don’t make this into a big deal.”
Predators and Drones Page 2