Brown, Dale - Independent 02 (24 page)

 
          
“Look
at that! That plane is full of drugs!” Visible just over the pilot’s right
shoulder were bales of what appeared to be marijuana.

 
          
“This
guy is small-time,” Hardcastle said dryly. “He might be carrying only eight or
nine hundred pounds—street value, about a quarter of a million. This might be
his second run today. If he made three runs he could make a half-million
dollars profit today even if he ditches his airplane in the
Everglades
at the end of the day.”

 
          
The
plane suddenly veered out of view.

 
          
“What
happened?” Martindale asked.

 
          
“Major?”
Hardcastle turned to McLanahan.

 
          
“The
guy panicked and broke away,” McLanahan said. “He thinks he can evade the
drone.”

 
          
The
screen changed briefly to an enlarged picture of the digital-radar screen,
showing the closeness of the two aircraft. The Seagull drone was executing a
tight left turn to reposition itself in a tail-chase. Outside the area the
radar-return and IFF data block of the Sea Lion tilt-rotor moved quickly into
view. A moment later the screen shifted again to a telescopic video image of
the twin-engine plane. The image was heeling sharply left, then right as the
smuggler tried to evade the drone. The sea rushed up into the scene as the
smuggler flew his plane lower and lower, trying to escape.

 
          
“Were
attempting radio contact with the suspect as well,” Hardcastle said. He looked
at McLanahan, who shook his head. “No response. The V-22 Sea Lion is joining up
in the chase, he’ll take over in a minute.”

 
          
“What
if your target is having a heart attack and can’t respond?” Coultrane asked.
“What if he’s on autopilot, trying to save himself?”

 
          
Transportation
Secretary Coultrane’s solicitous concern, Hardcastle couldn’t help thinking,
had more to do with his perceived threat to
his
space than any humanistic worries over the safety of an innocent. He pushed
back the thought and answered with a straight face: “He has no flight plan, no
clearance to cross into our airspace, no Customs-entry report. He’s flying off
established air routes, at extremely low altitude. Not exactly consistent with
innocent, legitimate civil-aviation rules. If he’s had the ability to engage an
autopilot he’s had the chance to set his transponder to squawk emergency— code
7700.”

 
          
The
scene on the large-screen monitor changed again. The Seagull drone had moved
back to a half-mile from the suspect’s plane. The scene now showed the V-22C
Sea Lion, which was slightly higher and to the left of the suspect. The V-22C’s
rotors were in transition-flight position, rotated to a forty-five-degree
angle, a position that offered maximum helicopter-like maneuverability along
with maximum speed. Both cargo pods on the Sea Lion were deployed, looking like
big pontoon outriggers.

 
          
“Range
to shore, eight miles,” McLanahan reported, monitoring to the large center
situation map.

 
          
“At
this point we have options. The current one is to track this suspect to his
destination, see if he drops his load and try to apprehend on the ground or
over open waters. Sky Lion or Sea Lion aircraft could survey the cargo dropped
over water, vector in patrol boats to try to arrest the smugglers, or even try
to intercept from the air. But this would be very risky. A Sea Lion in hover
mode is extremely vulnerable to ground fire, especially heavy weapons or
shoulder-launched missiles, just like any large helicopter would be. A better
option: warn away any boats coming near the drop site and attack anyone who
tries to pick up the load.” Hardcastle heard an uncomfortable stir from the
audience.

           
“If the smuggler tried a landing, a
Sea Lion with armed men could be dispatched to try to make an arrest, but as
we’ve seen from the Mahogany Hammock disaster, that, to put it mildly, could be
dangerous for our people. There’s
no
percentage in allowing this smuggler to get any closer to our shores. He has
already violated several existing
United States
laws: he is inside territorial waters and
airspace, without clearance or prior report of intention—violation of 5 United
States Code 112 point 13, a felony. An unidentified aircraft, evading detection
and interception—we would normally try another intercept pass to see if he’d
respond and follow the drone, but we won’t move the Sea Lion in any
closer—we’ve seen what has happened to aircraft like the Coast Guard Falcon jet
that get too close to suspects.” Hardcastle turned to the console operator and
nodded.

 
          
“This
is our response.”

 
          
The
Sea Lion began a slight descent, leveled off near the suspect’s altitude, then
heeled to the left. As it did a burst of white light appeared off the right pylon
and a streak of black and white erupted from the pylon and homed in on the
twin-engine plane. The streak of light wobbled a bit in flight, its
smoke-and-fire trail resembling an irregular spiral, but it found its
target—the plane’s right engine exploded in a sphere of red and orange fire
sending a cloud of oily smoke back in its wake. The plane veered sharply to the
right, executing almost a full hundred-eighty-degree spin before crashing into
the blue-and-green sea. Parts of its wings and fuselage bounced off the
rock-hard water, and a propeller arced into the air as if tossed like a Frisbee
by Neptune himself.

 
          
Vice
President Martindale had lunged out of his chair. “Hardcastle, what the hell
did you do?
What did you do?”

 
          
Hardcastle
took a deep breath—it had been a calculated risk. Was it worth it ... ? “Sir,
this was a demonstration.” He motioned to the center screen. The image had
cleared. When the picture stabilized it showed a wide circle of five Coast
Guard vessels surrounding the impact point of the twin-engine plane. “This was
a demonstration . . .”

 
          
“Demonstration?
That wasn’t a real smuggler . . . ?”

 
          
“It
was a confiscated smuggling plane, outfitted as a remote-piloted drone. We were
controlling it from the Coast Guard cutter there on the left in the picture. We
had cleared away the impact point for a radius of five miles—”

 
          
“Sir,
I authorized this demonstration,” Admiral Cronin said, moving past the Secret
Service agents to the Vice President. “I take responsibility.”

 
          
“All
right, Admiral,” Martindale said, “what was the point? And this better be
good.”

 
          
“The
station platforms, the air and sea corridors, the surveillance drones, the
high-tech aircraft—they’re all important, sir, but they won’t do the job by
themselves. We’ll be able to see the intruder, we’ll follow him, we’ll witness
a drug delivery or drop—but we can’t stop him from making that delivery, and we
can’t stop him from turning around and escaping
unless
we make a decision to use force to prevent smugglers from
entering or departing American territory . . .

 
          
“The
Sea Lion aircraft can attack air or surface targets with either the Chain Guns
or Sea Stinger missiles, and it has self-protective armor and electronic
countermeasures—infrared jammers—to protect it. As I said, the Sky Lion and
Seagull
drones
can also carry
weapons, typically two Sea Stinger missiles.

 
          
“The
program can be implemented in stages,” Hardcastle hurried on. “Notifying the
public and others about the airspace and sea navigation restrictions should
take at least ninety days after the go- ahead decision . . . During this time
the platforms could be put into position and crews assembled to man them. I’m
told that six V-22C Sea Lion-class aircraft are available immediately, and
flight crew training can begin immediately at the Bell-Boeing flight test
facilities in
Arlington
,
Texas
. Twenty Seagull and thirty Sky Lion drones
can be made available within six months’ time. As for personnel, I’ve made a
list of minimum manning levels for the project and I’ve identified personnel
and equipment that can be transferred from specific Coast Guard and Customs
Service air-interdiction units and put into service into the new organization—”

 
          
“
‘New
organization’?” Secretary of
Defense Preston said. “This isn’t a Coast Guard/Customs Service joint project?”

 
          
“No.
This needs to be separate from both organizations. It was my thought to combine
the forward drug-interdiction forces of both services into one cohesive,
unified command. The organization would not be
under
the Department of Defense,” he added, “except perhaps it
could be federalized, as would the Coast Guard in time of war, under the Navy
Maritime Defense Zone concept. But this group would be under
civilian
direction of the new
Cabinet-level Department of Border Security—replacing the present so-called
drug czar—as a fully authorized executive-level Cabinet position.

 
          
“I
recommend that the joint-interdiction resources of the Coast Guard and Customs
Service, including the joint
Command-Control-
Communications-Intelligence
Centers
, the
National
Narcotics
Interdiction
Operations
Center
, the
National
Narcotics
Interdiction
Information
Center
and the
Blue
Lightning
Operations
Center
be transferred to this new Department. I
also recommend that the DEA and the FBI Narcotics Task Force be integrated into
the new agency—”

 
          
“Disband
the DEA?” the Vice President said.

           
Commissioner Crandall looked at
Hardcastle, and if looks could kill... “I wonder who would command this new
organization, Admiral? Could it possibly be you?”

 
          
Hardcastle
decided to ignore the jab. “The continued operation of these groups outside the
command of the new Department of Border Security would only hurt our chances to
integrate drug-interdiction.”

 
          
Crandall
turned to Martindale. “Admiral Hardcastle is distorting the facts. There’s a
great deal of coordinated action between Customs and Coast Guard and other
drug-interdiction agencies. Adding this new one would just compound the
problem—”

 
          
“Commissioner,
I disagree,” Sandra GefiFar finally spoke up. “I’ve not been exactly a big
advocate of sharing with the Coast Guard. I have to admit that cooperation
between Customs and the Coast Guard
is
at an all-time low, and it’s been piss-poor for years.”

 
          
“So
what do you think of this setup, Inspector GefiFar?” The Vice President asked.
“Obviously you’ve gotten your first taste of Admiral Hardcastle’s plan this
morning, just as we have. But you’ve been there. You
are
there.”

 
          
“I’m
impressed.” She was careful not to look directly at Hardcastle. “I agree with
most of the Admiral’s approaches. He’s come up with ways to control inbound
traffic to the
United States
, and an effective way of stopping
uncooperative smugglers. There’ve been many times, watching a smuggler run away
out of reach after dropping off a load of drugs in the
Everglades
, that I wished I had a Sea Stinger missile
that I could put up the bastard’s tailpipe. Still, I worry about the military
action, much as I’m attracted to it.”

 
          
“We
both know the problem,” Hardcastle said. “Narcotics that get within a few miles
of our shoreline are nearly impossible to stop. Customs has been active in drug
interdiction for decades, but drug use and drug availability in the country is
at an all-time high. Is that because Customs isn’t going it job? No and no
again. It’s because the present system can’t stop the flow. I believe my system
can.