Unmanned (9780385351263) (40 page)

“Yours, too,” Cole said. “And mine, judging by the arrangements Barb uncovered.”

“Guilty as charged, all of them,” Sharpe said.

Adding to their sense of urgency was the approaching winter storm. As the first gray light of dawn lit the eastern sky, the gray talons of its leading edge curled from the far horizon, reaching westward across the Bay.

Sharpe frowned as he looked out the window.

“We should get set up,” he said. “We’ll have enough light for our first approach in about half an hour.”

“Won’t you need better light for video and photos?” Castle asked.

“By the time we’re at altitude and within range, we’ll have it. This thing’s fast for a drone, but it’s not exactly hypersonic.”

Keira edged up to Cole’s shoulder.

“How are you planning to approach it?”

“On first pass we’ll make an overall assessment,” he told her. “Find our two targets, design our approaches. With everything that’s been going on around here the last few days they’re likely to be a little jumpy, with heightened security, so we’ll probably recon the airstrip first. We’ll get whatever video we can, then take it from there. And hope we’re not pursued.”

“Pursued?”

“By any of their drones. Sharpe figures there’s liable to be some pretty hot stuff over there. Hotter than what we’ve got.”

“So just like a real mission, then?”

“Hey, this is as real as it gets.”

He fleetingly remembered the last time that thought had crossed his mind, at a moment when he was watching black crosshairs hover on a mud rooftop, seconds before impact.

“You okay?”

“I will be.”

“Ghosts?”

“A few.”

“You’ll handle it.”

A hand on his shoulder, a light squeeze. Then she backed away, leaving him to his work.

“Into the fray, Captain Cole!”

Sharpe was beaming, eager. Cole followed him and Castle out into the cold, where the drone was already perched at the head of its makeshift runway, freshly raked. The long slender wings cast low shadows across the gravel. The wind stirred in the pines.

“Two hours, tops, before conditions go all to hell.” Sharpe held a finger to the breeze. “You’ll need to do some actual piloting as this shit closes in. The Bay’s already whitecapping.”

“I won’t lose her,” Cole said.

They strolled to their places. The reporters followed, tentative at first, but ready for the show. Even Steve was with them. Hell, what else was he going to do?

The engine powered up, loud enough to stir birds from the trees. Cole wondered if the cops were still at their post at the end of the driveway, and if so, what they’d make of the commotion? He put on
the goggles and snugged them up. The image flashed on. He held the controls in his hand, then watched with a lift to his stomach as their bird took flight.

“Passing her over to you on three!” Sharpe called out. Cole knew the others would be gathered around Sharpe by now, watching the proceedings on his iPad from the view of the second camera.

“One … two … three. She’s all yours!”

The wind was tricky, bouncing the drone like a balsa glider. It took some getting used to, but he easily cleared the tree line at the end of the drive and soared her up to a few hundred feet. He swung around for a view of the upper end of the property. The police car was gone. So that was one potential problem out of the way.

“Set me that course on the GPS,” he called out to Sharpe. “I’ll keep a hand in because of the wind, but we might as well let the chips do the initial navigation.”

“As you wish.”

He could see the leading edge of storm better now, because they were flying straight toward it. Icy fingerlings of moisture and turbulence. The drone was out over the water, on a beeline toward IntelPro’s real estate, a few peninsulas over. Below, spray was blowing off the whitecaps.

“Pretty stiff breeze already,” he said.

“Fourteen knots, gusting to twenty. But you’re doing fine. And she’s built for it.”

He gradually took it up to a thousand feet, and after fifteen minutes the whole training area, all two thousand acres, loomed just ahead. Most of it was wooded, but as they moved closer he spotted clearings here and there. Gun ranges and parade grounds, or whatever they were. He then saw the biggest open area, which, as they already knew from their plats and architectural plans, was the freshly paved airstrip with its brand-new hangars and outbuildings.

The real surprise was parked on a taxiway to one side. The morning sunlight glinted and gleamed on what appeared to be an entire row of aircraft.

“Do you see that?” Cole said, his excitement building.

“My God!” Sharpe said. “Take her closer. Take her down now!”

The sight took his breath away. There must have been two dozen aircraft in all, and they were of all shapes and sizes. Short wings, long wings, no wings at all. There was a silver craft with a delta shape and a sawtooth back edge that resembled an undersized stealth bomber. An odd six-rotor model looked a little bit like the hobbyist quadcopters, but it was three times as large. Straight wings and backswept wings, and eerily designed craft that, for all their sleekness, hardly looked flyable. And, for whatever reason, everything was out on full display.

“It’s got to be almost everything they have,” Cole said.

“Washing day,” Castle said. “Look, see those two guys with steam hoses, cleaning equipment? Christ, it’s their fucking
washing day.
Unbelievable.”

“Or maybe they do this every morning.”

Sharpe was exultant.

“It’s like Pearl Harbor, when the Japs caught all our shit out on the runway, wing to wing. It’s their whole damn arsenal, just waiting for its close-up.”

“What a goddamn toy store,” Castle said.

“All that’s missing are the minis. They probably test those indoors, anyway. In that big hangar down at the end, if I had to guess. A micro-aviary, like the one at Wright-Patterson in Ohio. And if you think the ones I flew down your chimney the other night were hot stuff, well they’ve probably got a few not much bigger than a Florida mosquito. Swarms of them.”

“In theory,” Cole said.

“No. In practice. I’ve seen them. Hey, look at that big one, off at the far end of the runway? Approximately the same wingspan as an Avenger, I’m guessing. Sixty-six feet. Can fly up to fifty thousand feet, top speed of four sixty. A match for the fastest drone the Air Force has right now. But no match for that smaller one two slots down, with the red wingtips. Looks just like our X90 prototype. Air speed of eight hundred, if you can believe it.”

“Hot shit,” Cole said.

“And it can outfight anything comparable. A true combat drone. Armed with two small missiles and a rapid-fire cannon. A sight to behold. Fire away, Captain Cole! Keep making passes and I’ll keep shooting it. Video, stills, the works!”

“Will do. By the way, there’s radar. I’ve seen at least two dishes already.”

“Saw those as well.”

“Think they’ve picked us up?”

“Maybe. Although I did employ into the design a little, well …”

“Stealth technology?”

“A touch or two. Nothing too elaborate.”

“Jesus. How much did this thing cost?”

“Enough that you’d better watch yourself on those treetops. We want her close, but not a catastrophe.”

“I don’t plan on going in low enough for them to eyeball us. Besides, this wind’s a bitch.”

“Fine. But at some point we’ll just have to say damn the security and go straight in. This opportunity’s too good to miss.”

“Look!” Steve said. “Over to the left!” Even he was caught up in the enthusiasm. “There’s a bunch of guys running. They’re pointing up at us.”

“How’s that possible?” Sharpe said

“I guess better radar tech can be stolen, too,” Cole said.

“Good guess. Yes, that’s probably it exactly.”

Cole swung his camera to port so that the men came into view on his own screen. Two of them were pushing one of the parked aircraft onto the runway, and they were moving fast. The others had dropped their cleaning equipment.

“Looks like they’re scrambling one to intercept you,” Castle said.

“I see it. When it’s airborne I’ll head upwind and into the sun.”

“Fighter tactics,” Sharpe said.

“Won’t mean shit if this stuff’s half as hot as you say.”

“I doubt they’d risk one of their better models. From the looks of that one, it might even be a trainer. But that also means they won’t just be trying to follow you, or take your picture. They’ll be out for blood.”

“Looking for a collision?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Sharpe said it with relish. He was enjoying this. Cole was, too. The idea of having an actual air-to-air opponent was certainly a thrilling change from his Predator missions, when the biggest danger apart from equipment failures and the elements was the occasional clumsy
potshot fired by mujahideen with rocket-propelled grenade launchers, and even that had only occurred twice, and at very low altitudes.

Besides, the craft he was piloting now was much faster and more maneuverable. It was nimble, fun to fly. And with the full-surround view offered by the headset he practically had to stamp his feet on solid ground to remind himself that he wasn’t actually airborne.

Cole spent the next few minutes making passes over the airstrip so Sharpe could collect as many images as possible, and from every conceivable angle. All the while he remained aware of the craft being readied for takeoff, which flashed into view on each pass.

“We’re good on the imaging!” Sharpe called out after the fourth pass. “And they’re airborne now, so watch yourself.”

“Keep him in view on your iPad. I’m blind to him right now.”

“He’s coming up on your starboard side, already up past the tree line and banking around on a course to intercept you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Cole throttled down, trying to gauge the capabilities of the rival drone. Banking slowly, he headed straight into the sun and out over the water.

“The winds are trickier above the Bay. Let’s see what he’s got.”

“I’m watching him,” Sharpe said. “Nothing fancy yet, unless he’s holding back. Maneuverability looks pretty average.”

“Is he armed?”

“Hadn’t even thought of that. But, no, I don’t think so, unless there’s some kind of hidden weapons system. Here he comes. Giving it everything he’s got, if I’m not mistaken.”

Cole banked into a 180-degree turn out over the water, the screen wobbling from the turbulence in a way that made his stomach jump. The pursuing aircraft came back into view. It was maybe three quarters of a mile away and closing fast, glinting in the sunlight as it made a beeline for him.

“Whoever’s flying it isn’t particularly sophisticated,” he said. And it was clear to him that his rival definitely hadn’t studied the principles of superpilot John Boyd, who, besides designing the F-16 Viper, had revolutionized pilot training forever with his Energy-Maneuverability Theory of aerial combat.

“Nah. This guy doesn’t know shit. Watch this.”

From what he’d seen so far, Cole concluded that the other craft was at best only a shade faster than his, and marginally less nimble. Cole veered away from it with ease and came in off the water just above the treetops. He banked down into a second and smaller clearing, the one that looked like part of a firing range.

“He’s coming after you. Right on your tail and closing.”

Cole banked sharply to starboard and jammed the stick into an immediate climb, straight up into the sun once again—temporarily blinding unless you knew exactly where you were and where you were going. The pursuing plane banked to the right as well but, when faced by the glare, waited for a fraction of a second before ascending. Cole hurtled up over the tree line with no more than twenty feet to spare as he came up out of the clearing. He couldn’t see how his opponent fared, but Sharpe, moving his own camera independently, must have, along with the others. All six of them give out a sharp cry of triumph, like the crowd in a football stadium when the linebacker smashes the ball carrier to the turf.

“Whoa, baby! He’s gone with the wind!” Steve exclaimed giddily before going silent, as if suddenly reminded that he still had no reason to celebrate.

“Crashed in the trees!” Sharpe announced. “Captain Cole, you’re free and clear to pursue our final target. Let’s go find Mansur.”

COLE TOOK THE DRONE
back down to treetop level so he wouldn’t be so easy to spot from the airstrip. With IntelPro’s eye in the sky out of action, their enemies might believe, at least for a while, that he’d crashed as well, and now he was almost certainly flying too low to show up on their radar.

From Castle’s direction Cole heard the rustle of charts and satellite photos.

“You need to head due southeast,” Castle said. “You’ll be there in no time. It’s a small clearing and will come up fast. I think you’ve already got the coordinates.”

“I do, and I think I see it, just ahead. Wow, they really
are
isolated. The clearing’s too small for me to get in. I’m taking her up a little, for better visibility. Don’t want to get knocked into the trees by a gust.”

The view came into focus, offering far more detail and dimension than the satellite had picked up. There were two buildings. The larger one seemed to be a house of spartan design. Painted cinderblock construction with three small windows on each floor across the front and back, but none on the sides. Peaked roof, black shingles. Its half-acre lot was enclosed by a high fence topped with razor wire. The surrounding clearing, maybe five acres in all, was enclosed by similar fencing, with some sort of guardhouse by the gated driveway entrance.

Armed men in military uniforms patrolled the grounds, one on each side of the compound. Presumably, more were on duty inside the blockhouse. Another stood in a watchtower in a far corner, opposite the blockhouse.

“Like a prison,” Castle said.

“Look!” It was Keira.

The front door of the house opened, and an armed man in uniform emerged. Trailing him was a small fellow in civilian clothes who, even from three hundred feet up, was recognizable right away to anyone who’d met him.