Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone (19 page)

“Jack, do what you have to. In light of these recent attacks, as well as those that are coming, I’m declaring martial law throughout the Union. Admiral Hagar, coordinate with whomever you need to and then deploy your troops. We have to get a substitute to the RDC up and running as soon as possible. The military—other than the RDC—must have talented operators and drones of their own capable of stepping in, don’t you?”

“The best of the best were siphoned off over the years to the RDC, Mr. President,” Admiral Hagar reported. “And then budget constraints have kept us from continuing with any extensive drone program within the main military branches, at least as far as domestic operations are concerned. Frankly, sir, the problem is not capacity, it’s coordination. The thing that made the RDC so effective was their ability to provide a uniform response to drone attacks. Right now we have literally thousands of drones being used as private security. In addition, each branch of the military still retains a skeleton drone program. And then there’s the estimated seventeen-thousand combat drones currently sitting idle and disconnected from command authority in the RDC bunkers.”

“Did you say seventeen-
thousand
?”

“Yes, sir. All slaved to RDC command. So you see, Mr. President, America
does
have the resources necessary to repel the attacks we’re experiencing—what we don’t have is a unified command structure capable of coordinating all the responses or a way to gain control of the RDC drones.”

 “And adding to that, Mr. President,” Alice Grimes said, “nearly all the pilots at the RDC have been killed or targeted for assassination based on the Internet information disclosed. Even if the Center was operational, they wouldn’t have the personnel to mount an adequate defense.”

Ortega looked to his now stunned-into-silence replacement. He cast Murphy a pleading look, one that asked, in essence:
Do you really want to take my place? If so… then, buddy, it’s all yours.

“Admiral, last night I asked you to assign one person to coordinate the response. I know it’s only been a few hours, but how’s that coming?”

“I have identified the individual and he’s beginning to form his staff.”

“Greg, I need action, not more bureaucracy.”

“I understand that, sir, and so does he.”

“And how do we get access to the RDC drones—all seventeen-
thousand
of them?”

“We have crews combing through the wreckage of the RDC at this moment, trying to piece together the comm links necessary to upload new codes. Once this is done, my guy will have to set up a new command center and bring in every combat drone pilot he can find. Even then, it could be several days before we’re making an impact.”

“I don’t think we have several days, Admiral. This thing is spiraling out of control, not only domestically but around the world. We need to shut this down, and I mean now!”

********

 At ten forty-five that Tuesday morning, President Rene Ortega went on the air to announce the implementation of martial law throughout the country. He tried to assure a terrified population that this was strictly a temporary action and aimed at the foreign entities operating within the borders, and not against any citizens of the country per se. Courts would still function and local police would be available as they have always been. However, now the military would be deployed to protect vital national interests and guard against strikes on venues attracting large masses of people, such as shopping malls and sporting events.

In reality, mass gatherings of Americans were already becoming a thing of the past by the time the president spoke. The National Football and Hockey Leagues had already cancelled all games until further notice, while high schools and colleges did the same. With drones buzzing the skies of New York City, all plays on Broadway were shut down pending a resolution to the national crisis.

Within minutes of his announcement, the American Civil Liberties Union filed a lawsuit against the United States Government, claiming that a declaration of martial law was in fact unconstitutional in this instance.

Other civil libertarians began to organize protests against the declaration, with counter-protesters adding to an already tense situation.

A nine p.m. curfew was announced in Washington, D.C., as well as in other major population centers across the country.

It soon became the common purpose of the nation to limit the death toll from these ongoing attacks by simply not allowing any sizeable civilian gatherings to take place. Still, that left plenty of static targets to strike, and as if anticipating a lack of live targets, bridges, dams, overpasses and national symbols began to attract the attention of the killer drones.

Civilian militias began to form to protect homes, businesses, and landmarks. And as was expected, with police and military assets spread so thin—and with thousands of stores sitting vacant and vulnerable—the looters came out in force. By early that afternoon, seventeen of them had been killed by either police or military units, as the first troops began to take up positions to protect lives and property. In some cases, clashes erupted between militia groups and the authorities, which resulted in even more dead lying on the street. This only enraged an already angry population, and by early evening on the East Coast, full-scale riots were taking place in every major metropolitan city. Casualties stopped being counted and reported as the raw numbers soared past ten thousand.

The nation was in a total meltdown, and without the full brunt of the terrorists’ follow-up attacks having even taken place … at least not yet.

Chapter 15

Xander Moore and Tiffany Collins sat in silent shock as they listened to the frantic news reports on the radio of the Chevy Suburban. They had plenty of time to grasp the full impact of the disaster taking place across the nation, as it took five hours to make a drive that would normally have only taken two. It wasn’t the traffic that slowed the journey, even though there was a fair amount of it moving away from the cities and up into the mountains. In order to avoid detection, Xander had navigated country roads and surface streets from the city of Hemet, through Temecula, and over the hills into San Diego County.

It was approaching two in the afternoon on the West Coast when they made the transition from I-15 to Highway 78 in Escondido, heading west. By then the news from back east and across the nation was so grim that they turned off the radio and drove in silence along what was by now a nearly-deserted freeway. Xander worried a little about this, since the Suburban would now stand out. Yet being the typical government-type transport, most people would take the huge SUV for an official vehicle of some kind.

Everyone except the killers out looking for them…

********

Xander left Highway 78 at the South Rancho Santa Fe Road exit and crossed back over the freeway. Fifteen minutes later they were winding through the quiet streets of an area of San Diego County known as
The Ranch.

 The Covenant at Rancho Santa Fe habitually ranked among the most exclusive and expensive neighborhoods in the country, often leading the nation with the most homes priced over one million dollars. Current and past residents of The Ranch included notables such as Bill Gates, Janet Jackson, Howard Hughes and Bing Crosby.

Xander had an address memorized, even though he’d never been to the house. He smiled as Tiffany strained to catch glimpses of the palatial estates hidden behind ivy-covered walls or towering cypress, eucalyptus, and palm trees.

And he thought his home in Henderson was—had been—impressive…

He turned off El Camino Norte and onto a short looping street called Cerros Redondos, before eventually turning into a wide, brick-laid driveway blocked by a set of towering posts and a twenty-foot high wrought-iron gate. Through the barrier he could see a sprawling single-story home off in the distance, appearing more modernistic when compared to many of the more grandiose and traditional mansions in the area. The gate was closed, and he was at a momentary loss as to what to do next.

“Your friend lives
here
?” Tiffany asked.

“It’s the last address I have for him. Hell, he may have moved on by now. It’s been over six years.”

“There’s a call box over there. Why don’t you go see if anyone’s home?”

Xander climbed out of the SUV and walked over to the metal box set on a post to the left side of the driveway. There was a small video screen on the box and a single button. He pressed it. “Hello, Billy? Billy Jenkins? This is Xander Moore. Is anyone home?”

After thirty seconds and no reply, he turned back to Tiffany. “Hell, he could be anywhere—”

“Que?” said a female’s voice through the speaker.

Xander turned back to the box. “
Hola, yo me llamo
Xander
Moore. Soy un amigo de Billy Jenkins. Es a casa?
”

“
Un minute por favor
.”

He turned from the box again. “At least
someone’s
home.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Just barely anymore, but it came in handy growing up around here.”

“You grew up around
here
?”

“No, I mean San Diego. I’m from the slums just north of the Seventy-Eight.”

“And this house belongs to one of your old drone buddies? Seems like he would have been a good one to stick close to throughout the years.”

Xander sent her a wry smile. The sad truth: she was right, and to this day Xander still kicked himself for passing on the chance that Billy Jenkins had once offered him: full partnership in the company that would later become JEN-Tech Industries.

“Why you stinking son-of-a-bitch!” a deep voice boomed out from the box. “It
is
you.”

Xander turned back to the video screen, which by now had come to life and was displaying the smiling, tanned face of William Michael Jenkins, CEO of JEN-Tech, AKA Alpha-Three on the Drone Olympics gold medal winning team from nine years ago. Xander was Alpha-One.

The gate began to swing silently open.

“Seeing what’s been going on over the past thirty hours, you better get your ass in here, pronto,” Billy said. “Follow the driveway around to the right. I’ll open one of the garage doors so you can hide that tank you’re driving inside. Is that her? You don’t have her tied up, do you?”

Xander frowned. “No, of course not. Why would I?”

“Dude, get in here. Sounds like you’re a little behind on your current affairs.”

Five minutes later, Xander and Tiffany climbed out of the Suburban, which now looked small and insignificant inside the vast expanse of the largest private garage Xander had ever seen. From the outside there were only four doors, but on the inside there had to easily be over three thousand feet of parking and workshop space. Among the six cars already in the garage, Xander identified a vintage Jaguar F-type, a Ferrari, two Mercedes, and a tricked-out Jeep Wrangler, along with the largest hoverbike he’d ever seen.

And not surprising from the owner of one of the largest military drone contractors in the country—one whole side of the vast room was filled with a confusing array of UAVs of all shapes and sizes.

Billie Jenkins appeared from an interior doorway. He rushed up to Xander with a wide smile and embraced him in a macho man-hug. “Damn glad to see you, Number One!” he exclaimed with emotion. “Hell, I didn’t even know you worked at the RDC until I saw it on the news.” He broke his embrace the moment Tiffany approached, displaying a brilliant smile of her own. He quickly wrapped her up in his arms as well.

After what was an exceedingly long hug, they separated, Billy wearing a sly grin on his face. “Call me a perv, but I couldn’t let
that
opportunity pass me by—that was sweet! And, babe,
what
is that perfume you’re wearing? I may have to buy the company after this.”

“I thought you were married?” Xander said.

Billy kept staring at Tiffany. “Ancient history, dude. Even if it wasn’t, it would be now.”

“Chill out, man, you’re embarrassing the lady,” Xander said with a wink in Tiffany’s direction.

“Newsflash, Mr. Moore,” Tiffany said with a smile. “Anytime a billionaire wants to go on about me, I let him. You are a billionaire, aren’t you?”

“I am today.”

With that cryptic answer, the trio moved into the main house.

Xander had to admit he was impressed. His old surfing and drone buddy had done quite well for himself. “So how big is this place? Hell, your garage is larger than my whole house, or what had been my house.” Tiffany cast him a melancholy look.

“Actually I’m slumming in this zip code. I only have a little over twelve-thousand square feet, not counting the garage and workshop. I did have my eye on a little twenty-three-thousand square foot shack further up the hill, at least until all this shit started coming down.” Jenkins’ tone suddenly turned serious. “Let’s go into the living room. There’s something you have to see.”

The living room was the size of a regulation basketball court, with cream colored carpet that was the softest Xander had ever felt. And it was spotless, something he imagined would be near-impossible to maintain given the color. He let out a soft chuckle.
Hell, Billy probably just replaces it every time it gets dirty rather than clean it. That’s how the one-percent live.

They sat on a similarly light-colored, horseshoe-shaped sectional sofa made of velvety leather, while a slender Hispanic woman came into the room with a tray of beverages. “Still the Diet Pepsi drinker, Zan?”

“Hopeless addicted.”

The lady offered the tray to Tiffany. There were three kinds of soft drinks, plus a container of bottled water. “If you want something stronger, just let her know,” Jenkins said. “Maria can make just about anything you can think of.”

Tiffany took the water. “This will do just fine—for now,” she said. “However, the night is still young.”

Indeed, a thick overcast sky and the shortened days of mid-December had cast a premature pale over the area, yet even now the backyard was bathed in sensor-controlled lighting. Looking through the fifty-foot wide bank of eight-foot high sliding glass doors, the scene outside reminded Xander of the splashy glitz and brilliance of Las Vegas. The glass-like surface of the pool, along with the soaring palm trees and whitewashed Greek and Roman statues in the backyard, were all bathed in radiant cones of professionally-placed spotlights. Even with the continual water shortage in the region, Billy’s grass was so green, so perfectly manicured, that it looked artificial.

“Thanks for letting us in, Billy,” Xander said. “I know it’s been a long time, and with all that’s going on, I wasn’t sure what you’d do.”

Jenkins buried his chin in his neck and frowned. “You’re shitting me, aren’t you? We’re old running buddies, Zan. And if I remember correctly, you’re the one who introduced me to the wonderful world of UAVs. I owe you a lot.”

Xander nodded and looked around the room. “How about five million and we call it even?”

Jenkins patted his pockets. “Sure, just let me get my wallet. I believe I have that much on me.” But then the smile suddenly vanished again. “It’s not true, is it? I can’t imagine that it is.”

It was Xander’s turn to frown. “What are you talking about? You mean about the bad guys out after all the pilots from the RDC?
That’s
true.” He looked over at Tiffany, who gave him a small nod.

“Not that,” said Jenkins. “The other stuff.”

“Now you’ve got me. What other stuff?”

Jenkins wrinkled his lips. “That’s what I was afraid of. Here, I recorded this so I could replay it again, since I couldn’t believe it the first time.” He took a small tablet computer from the end table and punched a button. Above the huge river-stone fireplace, double panels began to slide away to reveal what had to be a hundred-inch flat screen TV. Billy noticed Xander’s mouth drop open. “Hey, my eyesight’s getting bad, and this is the only way I can watch my soaps.”

He pressed another button and the TV came to life. On it was a recorded news report from CNN. Xander’s headshot was displayed in a box on the left. Billy turned up the volume.

“…was responsible for the release of classified information regarding the Rapid Defense Center and may have been working directly with the group—or groups—that carried out yesterday’s attack. Documents found in the ruins of Moore’s Henderson, Nevada, home have left the authorities with little doubt that he removed highly sensitive data that revealed the security setup of the RDC, as well as the steps required to launch an attack on the facility.”