Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone (24 page)

“I know that, and since Monday we’ve been scrambling to get the domestic units out to where they’re needed the most. With their high cruising speed, most are being released to fly to their stations autonomously, taking only a few hours to get there at the most. The limiting factor is getting the relatively few power packs out to these sites, and of course our lack of skilled pilots.”

Xander looked at the now inert drone. “I doubt if I could fly that thing without a pretty intensive training course.”

“Not so. All the flight controls are compatible with those of the Viper-class, and the control stations are fully-integrated and intuitive. Simply flying the Goliath
isn’t the problem, it’s the combat skill with drones we’re lacking. Tactics, spatial awareness and coordination are the qualities that make a great drone pilot.” Nathan hesitated as his face grew deadly serious. It was his turn to take a step in closer to Xander. “And that, Mr. Moore, is why
you’re
here.”

Xander blinked several times as he felt all eyes fall on him. “I’m just one guy. I can’t do it all.”

“No, you can’t, but you also have Billy.” Then he looked at his watch. “And in about two hours you’ll have your entire Alpha Team at Andrews and manning control pods.”

“No shit! Still, that’s only six of us.”

“We’re also bringing in Charlie Fox and another dozen of the surviving pilots from the RDC. And we do have a few of our own skilled operators, the ones who helped with the design and testing of the Goliaths. You may have to give them a crash course in killer drone operation, but they do know the equipment. By the end of the day there should be over forty pilots manning the fifty drones we have available stateside.”

“Hey, Nathan,” Billy called out. “I’ll pilot your fancy drones, but on one condition.”

Everyone was shocked by Billy’s statement. How could he attach a condition on saving the lives of innocent Americans, on protecting the nation’s vital infrastructure and most-treasured landmarks?

“And what would
that
be, Mr. Jenkins?”

“That I get the contract to build these things when they go into full production.”

Relieved, Nathan smiled. “That’s another reason why
you’re
here, Billy. The papers are already drawn up and awaiting your signature.”

“I have something to say,” Tiffany interrupted. All eyes now turned to her. “We’re in the middle of pitched battle with a bunch of unmanned killer robots, and now you’re introducing the most-deadly drone ever made into the mix. At what point do you stop adding fuel to the fire? You know all the bad guys will do is copy the technology from your Goliath, and soon the sky will be filled with even more lethal weapons. At some point this has to stop.”

No one spoke for a moment. It was Xander who broke the silence.

“Until we can change the hearts and minds of people, there will always be the next new weapon system being created. The Goliath drone isn’t a deterrent against other Goliaths, but it is a defense against the evil that men
will
do. I wish it wasn’t like this, but I’m a realist. It’s not the weapons themselves that have to change, it’s the nature of the people who use them. That’s the real enemy we face. Until we can change people, there will always be the need for Goliaths in the world.”

Chapter 19

Abdul-Shahid Almasi had all the scheduled attacks on the American homeland listed in his computer, and as he received reports of their implementation, he checked them off with a satisfied grin. The Westerners were vulnerable and fully exposed, and Almasi’s associates were carrying out raid after successful raid with very little resistance.

This was the start of the third day after the destruction of the Rapid Defense Center, and he could see by the list that this was to be
the
decisive moment in the history of the United States. Sixty-four separate attacks were to take place on highway overpasses, bridges, power plants, landmark buildings, and national monuments. As had been predicted, the shopping malls now sat empty, as did all the sporting venues across the country. There were no substantial human targets to be found, so the emphasis for today would be on the long-term crippling of the nation’s infrastructure, which will result in limited future travel and delivery of vital resources—such as electricity—to an already shell-shocked America. Long after the raids subsided, the infidels would still be suffering from these glaring reminders of how helpless and impotent they were within this new world order.

Timetables were listed on his computer screen, keyed to local time in Pakistan. Nineteen raids were scheduled to get underway in the next hour, and Almasi sat at his desk, in the living quarters of his underground bunker in the heart of Karachi, anxiously awaiting the stream of incoming data to lift his already ebullient spirits even more.

As with the past scheduled assaults, he had newsfeed banners set to run along the bottom of his screen letting him know when an attack commenced. In another part of the bunker, men watched various TV screens and would update the banners as information became available.

After a few minutes—and only three confirmations—Almasi began to get mad. What were his people doing in the viewing room, watching a soccer match rather than the news? He pressed the intercom button.

“Farouk, why am I not getting all my feeds!” he yelled into the box.

The response was immediate. “But you are, Abdul-Shahid. We are closely monitoring all the news channels.”

“There are nineteen attacks underway and yet I have only received confirmation of three. Check on this and get back to me.”

Thirty minutes later, a pattern had become clear, and Almasi was furious at its implications. Only one other attack had been reported, and his own channel surfing had produced similar results. Fifteen of the attacks had not commenced. He checked the files before taking his cellphone and dialing a number.

The first call didn’t go through. The next two were picked up by voicemail. The fourth was answered.

“Kareem, this is Abdul-Shahid.”

“I can see who is calling.”

The rudeness of the reply made Almasi hesitate before continuing. “I am inquiring as to the attack on the Florida nuclear power plant. I have not received confirmation. Have you run into difficulty?”

There was a long pause on the phone before Kareem Sarkis answered. “I have called off the attack, Abdul.”

“You have … why?”

“I have been instructed to.”

“By whom?”

“By Tehran.”

Almasi was stunned by the completely unexpected reply. “I do not understand. You’re saying Tehran does not want you to complete your mission?”

“That is correct.”

“Again, I ask why? The Iranians have been among our biggest supporters. We have America reeling. There must be a motive for their actions. Are they seeking a delay or a full termination?”

“They want me to stop all activities in America, and Abdul, I too asked them why.”

“What did they say?”

“They said the situation has become more complicated, that was it. I pressed them for more, but the order was unequivocal. However, shortly after the call from the minister, I received another from a source within the Council of Ministers. He told me that China is applying pressure on them to have all attacks brought to an end.”

“
China!
Why would they interfere?”

“Economics, my friend. The Americans have bought the Chinese, and the communists are now fearful of what a bankrupt America would do to their own finances.”

Almasi’s eyes appeared to vibrate in their sockets as he fought desperately for the words that would salvage the conversation. “I understand what you say, Kareem, and I also know you receive much of your support from Iran. But I can assure you of a new benefactor if you do proceed, and one even more powerful than Iran.”

“You speak of Russia. Yes, I am aware of your collusion with President Marko and his supporters.”

“Then you know they are willing to finance your operations well into the future.”

There was another long pause on the phone before Kareem responded. “We both know how the Russians operate. They would support us so long as it remained socially and politically acceptable to do so. However, Iran supports us out of ideology, not by political whim. I cannot afford to alienate my longest and most-loyal supporter for something that could only be temporary and with too many conditions attached. The Iranians are aware of your ties to Marko, and have warned me against taking such action. I am sorry, Abdul, but my part of this operation is over.”

“But we are so close! Only a few more days and then America will no longer by a force within the world. We will be free of her threats and her interference. Kareem, you have always desired your own country, along with permission to deal with the Israeli situation as you see fit. With America gone, you can do that.”

“I have also been told to cease our aggression against the Zionists, at least in the interim.”

Now it was Almasi’s turn to grow silent. He was stunned—and scared—scared that others would fall sway to the same pressure from their handlers. “We must not succumb to outside influences, Kareem. Our cause is just. It is Allah’s will. We fight for Allah, not for politicians, no matter where they may be located.”

“It is over, Almasi. Our organizations can only exist with help from others, and when presented with the alternatives, I
must
obey. I
will
obey. Goodbye, Abdul. Please do not contact me again.”

The connection went dead.

Out of panic and desperation, Almasi checked again to see if any of the other scheduled attacks had commenced by now, but none had. So it wasn’t only Kareem, it was all the others within his coalition who had succumbed to the backdoor pressure and threats from their host nations. The Zionist pigs running America had used their financial influence to pressure China, and in turn North Korea, Iran, Syria and possibly even Pakistan were making calls and issuing their own threats and warnings.  

His plan was collapsing right before his manic eyes—at least that part of the plan.

He dialed another number. The phone rang several times before a strange voice answered.

“Who is this?” Almasi demanded.

“Who is
this
? the deep voice echoed.

“Almasi.”

“Forgive me, Abdul-Shahid, it is Faisal Haddad, with the surveillance team on Jonas Lemon.”

“Why are
you
answering the phone?”

“We received instructions to watch Lemon closely. We assumed it came from you.”

“It did. I believed he was planning something.”

“Your suspicions were correct. We caught him leaving the Burj Kahlifa through a service entrance and in disguise.”

“Was he harmed?” Almasi’s heart skipped a beat as he awaited the answer.

“No, he’s fine. He is here with me if you wish to speak with him.”

“Give him the phone.”

“Yo, Abdul!” Jonas Lemon said a few seconds later. “I guess there’s no outfoxing the fox.”

“I have dealt with merchants of information before. You have done nothing that hasn’t been tried before.”

“So no hard feelings? I was just looking to cover my ass—”

“Shut up! We have a problem.”

“
We?
”

“Yes, we. Our plan is falling apart.”

When Jonas spoke next his voice was serious and lacking his normal flippant attitude.

“Moore is still alive?”

“This is much worse than your obsession with Xander Moore. The other groups are abandoning their missions and withdrawing from the operation.”

“Why in the hell would they do that?”

“Pressure brought forth from China has forced their host nations to threaten the coalition with loss of support if the assaults on America continue.”

“Because China fears for their precious investments in the United States,” Jonas said, finishing the line of thought. “And they’re going along with the demands, of course.”

“Most are, and others will follow once they see the operation failing.”

“Dammit!” Jonas yelled through the phone. “I gave you America on a silver platter—all of you—and now none of you bastards have the balls to see it through.”

“I am committed,” Almasi said between clenched teeth.

“You’re just one small organization, and you weren’t planning on having to pick up the slack. I told you we only have a narrow timeframe to win this war. Without America brought
all
the way to her knees, we’ve gained nothing.”

“There’s still one operation that
can
be carried out.”

The long silence on the phone told Almasi that Lemon knew what he was talking about.

“You’ll need the transponder codes for that.”

“That’s right, Jonas, and I am through playing games with you. Give me the codes so we can salvage what we can from all our efforts.”

“But Moore is still alive.”

“
Fuck Moore!
He does not matter at this point. Your revenge can come later, yet mine is still possible. Now give me the damn codes … or do I order my men there to bring
your
head to me on a silver platter?”

“Don’t threaten me, Almasi,” Jonas growled.

“
Give me the codes!
”

“Transfer the money, and then call off your men.”

“Give me the codes first. I will keep my word. What happens to you after this, I do not care. Your death will provide me with no satisfaction, no redemption, yet along my other path I will find both. I will give you your money. Now give me the codes.”