Predators and Drones

by Richard Herron

  While the detective stared at him without saying anything, wheels were still spinning in Dan’s head, ticking off things that felt wrong; 9-1-1 dispatch call-back as expected, but now detectives? Civvies, in an unmarked car? Tracked him by his cell? How'd they find him so damned fast? As he considered what he'd say next, the detective spoke.

  “Well Mr. Hardesty, dialing 9-1-1 is not for reporting fender benders, but for true emergencies. You certain that’s what happened?”

  “Yeah, I swear it.” Dan’s quick reply.

  “Is there anyone else here with you today?”

  Dan thought fast. “Well yeah, my brother and his family are here. They went to say hi to some neighbors a few minutes ago, should be back any moment... He reverted to the ‘no big deal?’ look. His logic center scoured the question about others being 'here with me today'.

  “Alright, Mr. Hardesty. I’ll call this in as unintended, but don’t let it happen again.” He turned, walked down toward the car parked at the curb.

  “Okay." Dan called as the man walked away, "Thanks and again, ...sorry.” His voice trailed off, and he retreated backwards to shut and bolt the door. Receding into darker portions of his front room, Dan knew two things solid. These guys were hinky as hell, and between them and the Mantis, they both told mysterious tales, of violence and lies, and what felt like threats to his safety.

  12. NO LOOSE ENDS

  Greg got back to the car, glancing back over his shoulder as he slid into the front seat. Frank turned from the blue smoke he'd just exhaled in a jet stream out the window.

  “What’d he say?”

  "Said he'd called 9-1-1 about a car accident. He seemed nervous, but polite. Didn't say anything about seeing anything."

  "He alone?"

  Dave told him about a brother that might be nearby.

  They tossed around ideas, considerations. Frank made the decision.

  "Sometimes shit does roll uphill. Let's have Steve make the call on this."

  He dialed the number and when Steve answered, he gave a rundown on Greg’s interactions, made sure to include that the guy was nervous, maybe lying about the reason for making the call.

  Steve responded that there was too much risk in having this guy loose until they could find out what he knew, what he might have seen. Frank put the phone on speaker.

  “I want you guys to bring him in. I’d prefer that you do it gently, but if you have to knock him the fuck out, get him to the beach house! At the minimum, we’ll conduct a little debriefing. Don’t sweat him yet. Keep him chilled until we can learn a little more.”

  Steve ended the call and Frank turned off the phone, pulled his Colt .45 from his shoulder holster. Pulling the slide back to chamber a round, he locked the hammer safety into place, re-holstered it as he laid out a plan. While Greg returned to the front door, Frank would use ears and eyes to locate Hardesty's position. If Hardesty opened the front door, Frank would come around to join Greg, ask if they could talk a bit more inside, and if they got that far, the rest was easy. It would be much better to do anything they had to do while NOT standing on the front porch.

  “You ready, Greg?”

  “Let’s do it.” Greg replied.

  13. TIME TO BUG OUT

  Dan crept to the far side of the living room where he could stand in the shadows, peeked past the edge of the window. He watched the guy as he stepped into the sedan. Dan had lived in this small town a long time. He knew in his gut these were NOT local area cops or sheriffs. He'd seen the county sheriff and the small, local police patrol cars many times. He'd never seen an unmarked car in town. At the most, the sheriff would have sent out one of his deputies on something like this. Does a detective really have the time to “drop by?”

  The car hadn’t moved. Watching from the darkened interior, Dan could see the two men backlit by the light coming off the street beyond. They appeared to be chatting back and forth. None of this felt right anymore, Dan’s internal klaxon sounded all bells. Someone had tried to shoot him and now this yokel appeared at his door, trying to intimidate him, and he had a partner.

  Dan moved swiftly from the living room to the hallway, down to his bedroom. Walking around the far side of his bed, he reached behind the table and placed his fingertips onto pads mounted on the outside of a steel box secured to the wall. A scan of his prints triggered the box to glide open, and when he reached in, the .45 met his hand, emerged in his grip. He didn't need to check the magazine or the safety, as this pistol remained ready for service.

  He tucked it into his waistband as he left the bedroom, slipped back to the living room to give another check on his visitors. They were still there. His front door detective was just sitting, looking forward. The driver's silhouette was altered slightly and it took a moment to analyze. What he was seeing was the head and shoulder and a part of the guy's forearm pointing up, his hand against his face. He was chatting with someone on his cell phone. Social call? Doubt it. Getting instructions? Possible. Shit getting deeper? No doubt.

  Dan backed away from the window and picked up his stereo remote, turned the tuner to a radio station. He set the volume so that it could be heard from outside if someone was close enough to the house, listening. He disconnected the drone controller's cable and brought the controller into the kitchen, set it on the table.

  Opening a utility cabinet, he pulled out a duffel, placed the binoculars from his jacket, his cell phone and shades inside. He took the memory card from the controller and slipped it inside his coin pocket, then jammed his keys into a back pocket and with the bag in hand, returned to the hallway.

  The first room to the right off the hall was a small guest room and he ducked in, over to take another peek from the window. He wouldn't be able to see into the car as well from here, but better than not looking. No change as far as he could tell and he was about to turn away when movement changed everything. Both doors opened and the occupants got out of the car. Now he knew that there were two new friends he preferred not to meet, and he needed to hustle.

  Across the hall, he went into his bedroom-turned-office and opened the closet door. He pulled a re-purposed Plano tackle box down from the shelf, set it on the floor. Opening it, took out two extra pistol magazines loaded with hollow points and a pancake holster. The magazines were dropped into the bag, then he withdrew his pistol from his waistband, slid it home into the holster and secured the rig back onto the belt at his waist. He turned toward the slider door, grabbing a ball cap that rested on the desk lamp as he went by. At the slider, he peeked out to view the back yard. Very slowly, he broke the seal of the door jam, slid the door open.

  No sound. A glance in both directions and gripping the duffel, he stepped out. Just as he turned to close the slider, he heard the initial throaty growl, followed by the impressive barking from Max, who lived next door, acted like he owned the neighborhood. Max was in the side yard between the houses and he'd heard, smelled and maybe even laid eyes on someone who didn't belong there. His presence and challenge would certainly slow down, if not alter someone's plan to open the gate into Dan’s back yard.

  His yard ran fifty feet to the down-sloping hill that met the back edge of his property. Beyond his property line, a concrete flume ran along behind his and other homes. It served as a run-off ditch for any reasonably large rainfall. He could belly crawl in the ditch and stay low, get away unseen. That option felt like the right thing to do in an attempt to create some space between him and these two, who smelled like double trouble.

  14. HUGGING THE FLUME

  As dry as the weather had been, only the scattered detritus of grasses, dirt, a few dried up oak leaves and dust lined the base of the concrete ditch. He centered on bent toes and in the same crouch, peered back over his shoulder toward the property, scanning for anything out of place. So far, no sign of his new friends, no movement. He wasn't going to wait around. If he could avoid another meeting, all the better.

  While he kept eyes on his yard, he crept down the flume's slope, keeping
low and slow. His eye searched for a human silhouette standing out from the profiles of shrubbery and small trees that dotted the space between houses. He decided to use this backyard exit to go as far as his neighbor’s place, two houses down.

  Dan knew most of his neighbors at least casually, but Joe and Sandy Morrison were not just neighbors. When he and Joe met a handful of years back, they found an immediate kinship. Casual observers would think they were brothers or life-long friends. Joe had served in the Marines, so they shared a military history, but their chemistry went beyond that. They fit well together as friends. Even so, as close and supportive as they were, Dan hadn't shared all of his secrets with Joe.

  He crept along until he was lined up with their property, and looked back, wanting one more assurance that he was alone. After making sure he could not see his own yard from the ditch, he stepped up and out of it. He trotted through the open space, up the steps to the back door, where the door's window looked in on the kitchen. It was a safe bet that Joe was home this morning. He did evening security work for small local businesses and usually didn’t head to work until three or four in the afternoon.

  Dan could see through the window that Sandy was doing something at the counter. He tapped on the glass and she turned, saw him and smiled, came to the door and opened it for him.

  ◆◆◆

  “Hi Dan. What're you doing back here? Come on in.”

  “I have an issue going on, Sandy, and I need to chat with Joe. Is he here?”

  “Yeah, he’s down in the den with the kids playing a game. You want some coffee or anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Alright. I’m making tacos for supper tonight, so join us if you want, okay?”

  “Thanks, Sandy, that sounds great.” Dan walked past her and down the stairs. They ended in the entrance to the den and as he stepped onto the landing, Joe glanced up from his position behind a board game.

  “Hey Dano, you're just in time to help me with strategy.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Joe could hear the tone in Dan’s voice, turned to his two kids, “You guys skip my turns for now.”

  "Aw, Daddy," his eldest Elizabeth was quick. “You promised you'd play with us.”

  Joe rested his hand on her head, reminded her to be nice to her brother, said he'd be back. He got up off the floor and walked past Dan, into his makeshift brewery room and office space. Dan followed, closing the door behind him.

  “What’s up, Dan?"

  “I’ve stepped into a bucket of shit, Joe.” He spent the next five minutes telling his friend about his morning.

  “Okay, stay here for a sec. Be right back. I'm gonna step out front to check the mail. I’ll let you know what I see.”

  Dan agreed, and Joe jogged up the stairs, two at a time. He met Sandy at the top of the stairs, just as she was coming down with a tray of snacks for the game players.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just gonna check the mail.”

  “You already got it this morning!”

  He didn’t reply, but continued to the front of the house, Sandy's confused gaze locked onto the back of his head. Joe stepped out to the front porch, then down to the street level, to the box. As he got there and opened the box, he turned his head casually to look up the street.

  The car Dan described sat there, parked just where he'd said. Joe couldn't see anyone in it or nearby. He returned to the house, back downstairs where Sandy was watching the girls at play. After giving a wink and a kiss to Sandy, who was looking at him with a 'Huh?' expression on her face, he returned to the brewery room.

  “The car’s still there, Dan. Nobody in it. What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. You think those guys are cops?”

  “I don’t have a clue, but agree with you about that car. It doesn’t look like a local issue. I also find it hard to believe that two detectives would be sent out on a routine follow-up for a 9-1-1 call. You didn’t mention I.D., so I presume they didn’t flash any. Even if they did, that wouldn't prove anything.”

  Dan had totally forgotten to ask for identification. That might have eased his feelings about these guys, but he wasn't sure. As he pondered that, Joe continued his line of reasoning.

  “The way I see it, them knowing your name and address means one of two things. Either they're legit and really doing a follow-up on your call, or they were spotters on the shit you saw going down at the beach.”

  “If that's the case, they have good resources. I gotta say, it's hard to believe that after 9-1-1 called you back, they'd forget to call off the posse. Unless of course, we've got local detectives screwing around ‘cause they've got nothing else to do on a Wednesday...”

  “This shit you stepped in might be a bucketful as you say, but it could be a barrel full, know what I mean?”

  Dan nodded in silence.

  “If these guys are involved in that beach crap, there’s no telling how deep it goes. What you saw could have been a bookie taking care of a business problem, but could have been something much bigger."

  "Like what?" Dan tossed out the open question.

  “Well, let’s say your drone stumbled on someone...," Joe continued, pausing to give imagination form, "…say a car company associate trying to acquire the prototype of a ground-breaking invention. Let's say the car company doesn't want this device to be approved for use. They'll be watching their back. You could have stepped into something like that, become an instant ‘co-star’…” he included air quotations.

  “Fuck that stardom shit,” Dan grinned.

  They decided to make a copy of the drone's video files, in case Dan needed it down the road.

  "I won't tell anyone you've got a copy of this, unless we talk about it first, okay?" Joe nodded. "Seriously, if this gets deep, I don't want you guys in any trouble."

  "Okay. Tell you what, I'm naming this file..." he typed in 'Garden flowers'. "I'll tell Sandy it's NOT about flowers, that she should leave it alone. It'll be secure.”

  They agreed that if a need bubbled up to get a copy, Dan or someone he trusted would ask for the file on the 'Garden flowers'. It might be a valuable ace in the hole. That settled, Dan had a big favor to ask of his neighbors.

  15. HARDESTY

  Growing up in a warm water port town, Dan was bottle-fed on marine life. He immersed into it around the neighborhood marina, and to an extent, the ocean. By his junior high school age, he'd hustled casual jobs around the harbor on the weekends. It wasn't a surprise that his path would lead him to the study of the natural sciences soaked in salt water.

  Students of those sciences often spent significant time dismantling the objects of their study in laboratory settings, whether by scalpel, chemical or other method. Dan had trouble getting excited about the dissected side of life, beyond basic biological function. His interest was less in a subject’s components, but how the subject as a component, fit into the bigger picture.

  His approach in the shark studies that currently held his attention followed that philosophy. He observed migratory patterns and the interrelationship with food sources, current, tidal and weather effects, and humans.

  Strong, physical, and at forty-three, still in prime condition. Genetic disposition, early and sustained aquatic behavior and a mixed bag of high school sports were the ingredients that set him up.

  In high school, military recruitment efforts were a part of the campus experience. During his senior year, Dan got swept up, along with many of his peers. Recruiters pressed hard, offering educations and worldly experiences. Dan stood on the other side of the table, presenting athleticism and leadership skills. A big plum about to ripen.

  The Naval Petty Officer struck gold the day he dangled the S.E.A.L. team prospect, and Dan bit hard. He joined the Navy a couple months later when he turned eighteen and upon graduation, never looked back. Training was rigorous, but while most don't succeed on that path, Dan thrived, his edge honed to razor sharp. He spent nearly twenty years active i
n the upper echelons of SEAL team activity.

  While a solid team member, Dan played his personal emotions like poker cards, close to the vest. One could say sharing wasn't his strong suit. He found it easier to avoid large gatherings. He wasn't anti-social, but had arrived at the conclusion that in social gatherings, people's interest rested in side-by-side comparisons of who they were. Dan didn't care about those types of things.

  He had had a few close friends and couples in his circle. Even with his own SEAL teammates, there was an underlying competitive streak. He performed what was required of him. While never driven to be on the top of the pile, it usually occurred through his extraordinary physicality. Perhaps because of those abilities, he didn't suffer feelings or a sense of inadequacy.

  His course in the military included multiple engagements with America’s enemies, as identified by his commanders. Some of his assignments included ‘heroic acts’ that saved lives and mission objectives. During his service, decorations accumulated. They hovered in the shadows, obscured by his need for privacy and desire to maintain a low profile. He made it clear early on that he would not parade his accomplishments on his chest or in other public ways. His commanders accepted this with a mix of understanding and frustration, but it was generally allowed.

  He served eighteen years and contemplated retirement at twenty. One commander brought him another option. Through a rarely opened window, an opportunity presented. The navy didn't want to lose his service. Due to exemplary skills and character, he was presented an option to the normal retirement. He would officially retire as far as any books or D.O.D. records were concerned, but would be kept as a resource on an exclusive list. This listing would show him as available for special situations. Activation would only come from the Chief of Staff or the POTUS. It would likely involve unit actions for NSA and/or CIA missions. He wouldn't be forced to accept such assignments, though he presumed the pressure would be great.