Corporal James Fillet, age twenty-eight, was watching a man who’d walked past police headquarters three times for what looked like no apparent reason. Along with his partner, Charlene Handler, another member of Atlanta’s Ghost Squad, they’d tracked him to Piedmont Park where he was now flying a model airplane.
Charlene spoke quietly into her hand communicator, a device that utilized a bandwidth the Ghost Squad didn’t share with other cops.
“This is a waste of time, Jimmy. The guy’s some kind of hobby nut.”
“Then why’d he walk by the admin building three times? There’s no reason for that, Charly.”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Lieutenant says to track his movements; that’s what we do.”
“I gotta pee,” Charlene said.
“Go ahead. We start to move, I’ll let you know.”
“Back in five,” Charlene said.
“I’ll update Kale on the status.”
*
Jack picked up the phone on the first ring. With him in the administration building were Beth and Todd Milner, who’d been treated and released from the hospital an hour earlier. The grand jury was set to meet in three days. There was a tension present in the room that everyone was conscious of. Milner’s arm was in a sling and he was still wearing the clothes he’d been blown up in. Shortly after he arrived, Beth took one look at him and went to the kitchen Robbery-Homicide used for a break room, wet a cloth with warm water, and spent a minute cleaning the dirt off his face.
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Beth.”
“Beth,” Milner smiled.
Across the room Jack said, “He’s doing what?” He hit the speaker button on the phone so the others could hear.
“Flying a model airplane.”
Jack looked at Milner, who raised his shoulders, then at Beth, who turned her palms up.
It was a clear day with only a few high white clouds. But as the afternoon progressed, the temperature had continued to drop as a front moved into Atlanta. From his sixth-floor window, Jack could see people clutching their coats tighter as they crossed the street. Women kept a hand on their skirts.
“How’s the weather out there?” Jack asked.
“Kinda cool. Probably in the midforties.”
“And this man’s flying a model airplane?”
“Looks that way, Dr. Kale.”
“Let’s drop the doctor and leave it at Jack.”
“No problemo,” Fillet said. “I’m Jimmy.”
“What specifically is he doing with the plane? Stunts?”
“Not really. He’s just hovering and practicing takeoffs and landings.”
Jack’s finger beat a steady rhythm on the desk. “How long’s he been at it?”
“Maybe forty-five—whoa.”
“What?”
“Almost had a midair collision with a helicopter guy.”
Jack sat up straighter in his chair. “What helicopter guy?”
“He just got here a while ago. He’s on the other side of the lake. Now that I’m looking at it, I’m not sure you can call it a helicopter. It’s more like a flying starburst.”
“Describe it.”
“Six arms shaped like a star with an engine at the end of each one. He had it hovering about fifty feet above the ground for a few minutes and just set it back down to refuel.”
Jack shook his head and told the officer to call him if anything unusual happened. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Some fact hovering at the edge of his consciousness. They’d been led into a trap earlier and people had died. He couldn’t afford to make that mistake again. Though no one had said anything outright, he was positive from the way people in the hallways had averted their eyes when he passed, they were holding him responsible for the deaths.
“Hovering,” he repeated to himself. “Where’s Dan?”
“He went home to change clothes. Then he’s going to relieve Frick and Frack. What’s wrong?” Beth asked. “I know that look.”
Jack took a moment to reply. “The Sandman doesn’t have a set pattern we can build off. Basically, he adjusts his tactics to fit the circumstances. Most of the time, he appears to have acted alone. But that’s not to say he always does.”
“What good does knowing that do us?” Todd Milner asked. “We have no clue what the man looks like. Maybe he’s working with a partner. Maybe not. It’s just speculation. We can pick up those model airplane clowns, but I don’t see what good that will do us.”
Beth didn’t seem enthused by the idea either.
Jack said, “Director Newton told us after the Madrid killing the police checked their security cameras and counted one more cop than they were supposed to have.”
“That’s right,” Milner said.
“Less than a minute following the shot an explosion went off at street level taking out a light pole.”
“Also correct.”
“But the bullet that killed the minister came from an elevated position on top of a library.”
“Meaning he had to have a partner,” Beth said, “or he planted the bomb and set it off by remote.”
“Or the Spanish police screwed up,” Milner said. “They’re not known for their efficiency.”
Jack took a breath and let it out, then asked Beth if Ben Furman had any luck with the partial print she’d risked her life to recover.
“It wasn’t enough for a match,” she said.
Annoyed, Jack went to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. After a single sip, he looked at it and frowned. There was probably an unwritten rule somewhere that said coffee in police stations had to taste like gasoline. In previous situations, he’d been able to place himself in the killer’s head and try to think what they were thinking. That hadn’t happened with the Sandman. Try as he might, he had no feel for the man. He stared out the window again and looked down at the tanker truck.
Refuel.
Like the people in Madrid, they’d already had one explosion killing three officers Jack knew and liked. He continued to analyze the facts hoping something would come to him. An audible change had settled over the administration building. People were speaking in hushed tones and moving quietly through the hallway. Several women’s makeup had streaked from crying.
Gasoline.
The man the Ghosts had under observation had passed the building not once but three times. He might just as well have held a sign up. If the Sandman was planning to hit them, what would three trips accomplish that couldn’t be managed in one? And why make no effort to conceal his presence?
Refuel.
Irritated, Jack grabbed his walkie-talkie and called Jim Fillet again. “What’s he doing now?”
“Still landing and taking off. After he’s airborne, he’ll circle the park once or twice then set it back down.”
“What about the other man?”
“Basically, the same thing. Lift off, hover, touchdown. He’s using a laptop to control it. There’s a crowd of six or eight kids watching him.”
“How big is the hovercraft?”
“Hard to say from here. Let me check with my partner. She’s closer.”
Jack waited.
Gasoline. Refuel.
Fillet came on the line a few seconds later. “We’re guessing about four feet around.”
“Big. The wingspan’s got to be four feet as well. I’d guess the body’s probably five feet overall.”
“You ever fly model airplanes as a kid?”
“A few times. The landings always killed me.”
“Me too,” Jack said. “What did you use to control it?”
“A little RC unit with levers for the rudder and flaps.”
“Ask your partner,” Jack said.
Fillet did. “She said to tell you she’s a girl.”
Jack smiled. “Point taken. Either of you ever see anyone use a computer to fly those things?”
Neither had, but they conceded it had been a long time since they’d paid attention to model airplanes or how to control them.
“Move in and pick them up. Secure whatever it is they’re flying, including the laptop and plane’s control unit.”
“Roger that. It’ll take a minute or two.”
Beth and Milner who’d been listening to the conversation were both looking at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Jack, what are you doing?” Beth asked. “Two people flying model airplanes? I can’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Give the order to evacuate this building.”
“What?”
“What does Borov produce?”
“Chemicals,” Beth said.
“And military arms and electronics,” Milner added.
“Which includes drone aircraft,” Jack said.
It took a moment for the implications to dawn on him.
“Fuck. Even if he has a drone, what harm—”
“We passed a gasoline truck in the parking lot downstairs. A drone doesn’t need to attack the building. If that truck goes up, it’ll take out a city block. I want these people out of here right now. I don’t know how much time we have.”
*
Dan Pappas was pulling out of his garage when his cellphone went off. It was Beth.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“You’re on the way to Frick and Frack, right?”
Pappas could hear an alarm going off in the background and raised voices. “What the hell’s happening there?”
“I’m in the stairwell at HQ. Jack’s having the building evacuated.”
“He’s crazy. You’d need an army to—”
“He thinks the Sandman’s about to hit us with drones. They’re going for a gasoline tanker in the lot.”
“Holy shit. Are you sure about this?”
“You want to bet against him?” Beth asked.
“Actually . . . no.”
“Communications’ll be down for a few minutes. All incoming calls are being rerouted through the precincts. Call me when you arrive at the safehouse.”
“Will do,” Pappas said. “You make sure you get your ass outta there too. Drones. I’m too old for all this Star Wars crap.”
*
The fourteen hundred people who worked in Administrative Services exited the building in a surprisingly orderly fashion. No panic. No screaming. No hysterics.
Glen Sheeley and his SWAT team set up a two-block perimeter in all directions. Barricades were erected, and an emergency services plan no one thought they would ever need was set in motion. The feeling of having just stepped into a CNN news report spread from person to person.
As soon as he was outside, Sheeley made for the gasoline tanker and ordered the pumping stopped. He jumped in the cab and reached for the ignition key.
“Wait!” the driver yelled. “You can’t start the engine until the hose and tank cover are in place. We’ll go up in a fireball.”
“Do it.”
At almost the same time the driver was yelling, the SWAT commander’s com unit went off.
Jim Fillet said, “I couldn’t reach Dr. Kale. We picked up the men.”
“Great.”
“No, sir, it’s not. The plane and that flying star just disappeared over the tree line. They’re headed in your direction.”
“How long do we have?”
“A minute. Maybe two.”
A shudder went up Sheeley’s spine. He disconnected and thought rapidly, then shouted to his second in command, “Get the sharpshooters in position. We’ve got two drones incoming from the north-northeast. Tell them to knock those fuckers out of the air.”