South of Eugene, Oregon
March 29
Without warning, the computer monitors throughout the control room flickered, and then went black. Upstairs in the flight control center, the lead pilot said, “Oh crap. That’s it. Power’s gone.”
“Can you recover the flight?” Corbett asked, already knowing the answer.
“It’s possible, but only if power is restored quickly. As in minutes. The drone is programmed to return to the launch point in the event of a failed communication link. If power can be restored, we’ll have to reboot the entire system and upload new programming to the drone. No guarantee it will work.”
“Be ready to reload the flight program, Mr. Corbett,” a new voice said. It was Dr. Ming, watching from the back of the flight control center. His body was straight and rigid, like a statue. When he spoke, only his lips moved.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have the second drone prepared. As soon as it’s ready and we have power again, I want you to launch it. Same target. Understood?”
Corbett nodded and descended an elevator on dedicated backup power, along with three technicians. The doors opened onto an assembly bay that housed the store of virus and a second helicopter drone. A wide sliding door opened onto the expansive lawn. “Fill the tanks with hydrogen,” Corbett ordered one of the techs.
As the man busied himself with connecting a steel-braided, high-pressure line to the composite tanks on the drone, Corbett and the remaining techs went to work loading the virus into the cargo bay.
s
Peter turned his attention back to the generator, trying to quickly decide the best way to sabotage the machine. He had the access panel open. There were several circuit breakers and gauges indicating oil pressure, engine temperature, current, and voltage. Although he was very comfortable with machines and technology, he also recognized the complexity they represented. And in this case, it was a matter of deciding how and where to deliver a crippling blow, and quickly. If only the internal working components were visible instead of being shielded behind metal panels, he thought. Oh, what the hell. He gripped the SIG Sauer pistol, aiming into the control panel.
“Stop! Freeze right there!”
Several guards aimed their guns at Peter from behind. Then three more rounded the corner of the barn, weapons drawn. Peter was caught in a crossfire, with no cover.
“Diesel, ready?” he said in a low but firm voice. The dog stared at Peter’s eyes, eager for the next command.
“Drop the gun, or we drop you.”
“Just take it easy.”
“Last warning. Drop the gun!”
“Okay, okay!” Peter turned slowly to attract the attention of the guards. He extended his arm, holding the pistol away from his body in a non-threatening fashion. He tossed the gun a few feet away. It landed on the grass with a thump. The guards seemed to relax, if only a bit. But that was what Peter had expected. He looked at Diesel again. His plan was risky, but it was all he had. “Go. Hide!”
Diesel took off at a run. The sudden motion surprised the guards who all turned their guns toward the fleeing dog, many firing.
With their attention on Diesel, Peter yanked the tomahawk from his belt. He readied to strike when he heard a sickening sound—a yelp of pain and then a crashing sound, as if a heavy mass had tumbled through the brush at the tree line. And then… silence. Diesel wasn’t running into the vegetation any longer. He was motionless.
“I think we got him,” one of the guards said.
All their eyes were back on Peter. Anger welled inside him, like a geyser ready to blow. The lines on his face were deep and his eyes narrowed, filled with rage. Fueled by adrenaline, Peter swung down with the tomahawk, driving his torso forward in concert with the motion of the blade. With strength born of desperation and amplified several fold by fury, he propelled the steel downward.
It all happened in a heartbeat, too fast for anyone to react.
Peter closed his eyes the instant before the hardened-steel blade severed the power cable running along the ground from the generator to the transfer switch. The electrically energized cable shorted against the blade in a brilliant arc that momentarily blinded the onlookers. Peter heaved on the handle, extracting the blade which had buried deep into the earth. He turned in the direction Diesel had gone and sprinted for the trees before the guards recovered their vision.
s
It took several seconds for their sight to return. There was little point in searching for Peter. Where exactly he had fled was unclear, only that he’d dashed away from the barn for the surrounding forest. Once he disappeared into the thick brush, finding him would take hours of searching, maybe longer. And their only priority was to restore power.
The electrical short when Peter severed the power cable caused all the circuit breakers to open. The techs merely shut down the first generator and started up the second one. In less than two minutes it was running at full power. Then they manually activated the transfer switch, sending power into the control center.
s
It required only a couple minutes to fully charge the high-pressure composite gas cylinders on the drone with hydrogen, and then check the setting on the pressure regulator. The advanced fuel-cell power system provided the helicopter drone with unprecedented range and payload capability.
“We have power again!” one of the technicians said as preparations of the second drone neared completion. The overhead lights came on and simultaneously the emergency illumination turned off.
A temporary electrical cord was connected to the drone to power up the onboard microprocessor and navigational computer, rather than waste hydrogen to run the fuel cell while the flight program was uploaded and diagnostics completed. Next, a technician plugged a communication cable from his laptop into a port on the drone and typed a series of commands on the keyboard. Code scrolled by on the monitor, too fast to read.
“How long?” Corbett asked.
“Five minutes,” came the reply. “Have to complete the internal checks, purge the fuel cell, and ensure the program uploaded correctly.”
“Stay on it. I want this drone ready to fly.”
“Program upload progressing,” one of the techs said. “At 30 percent. All indicators read normal.”
Corbett rode the elevator up to the flight control room. He strode directly to Dr. Ming who was still standing at the rear of the room. “The second drone is being prepped. It will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Good,” Ming said. He appeared to be in a trance. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes staring forward at the lead flight team.
Corbett moved to the lead pilot. “What’s the status of the first drone?” he said.
Without taking her eyes off her monitor, the pilot replied, “We just re-established the communication link. Looks like our bird is…” she glanced at the co-pilot and information displayed on his monitor. The co-pilot pointed at the screen. “There,” the pilot said. “Over Eugene and on course back to base.”
“I want you to turn it around. I want that payload dropped on the Hayden Bridge water intake.”
The pilot rolled her shoulders. “I hear you boss. As I said before, we have to first reconnect the communication link and then upload the flight profile. Step one is done. Working on step two.”
“Fuel status?” Ming asked.
The co-pilot was monitoring fuel and other flight data. “Forty-three percent.”
“Is that sufficient to turn it around and reach the target?”
A quick calculation yielded the answer. “Yes,” the co-pilot said. “Provided we get the drone back on course soon. It’ll be close.”
Corbett’s frustration was mounting. There was nothing he could do to help the flight team, but he also didn’t take well to just standing around and watching as events unfolded. He decided to descend again to the assembly bay, where at least he could participate in getting the second machine ready to fly. Then his attention was captured by a voice in the control center below the catwalk.
“Hello? Anybody home?” It sounded like a female voice. “Come out. I’m just trying to be friendly.”
“Mr. Corbett,” Ming said without shifting his gaze from the pilots furiously at work at the flight control station. “I want him… alive.”
He left Dr. Ming and the pilots and looked out the window of the security room. Below he saw that the room was fully illuminated again and the computer terminals were rebooting. The monitors flashed new images as the boot routines were completed.
“Hello? You’re not being very nice.” Danya aimed her pistol at the nearest computer console and fired twice. The monitor blacked out.
“What? No one’s home?” She fired two more shots into the next computer.
Corbett burst out of the security room onto the catwalk. He aimed his SIG Sauer and fired.
Danya heard the door slam open and heavy footsteps from above. She looked up just as the head of security fired his weapon. She dove to the side, but not fast enough. The bullet pierced the front of her thigh, fortunately missing bone and major blood vessels, but it still hurt like hell.
She raised the pistol, the shotgun still slung on her shoulder. Firing three rapid shots, she rolled to the side using the computer console as cover.
Corbett dropped to the deck when she fired, narrowly avoiding the brief volley of bullets. He raised his head over the edge just in time to see Danya glancing over the console. He pointed his pistol and fired two shots in her direction, not expecting to hit but intending to keep her in place until his men arrived.
She dropped to the floor as pieces of the computer monitor were shot off above her head. Slowly she crawled forward, aiming to relocate without being observed from above. She knew the electronic circuit boards and cabinet would offer little resistance to bullets; she needed more substantial cover.
Random gunshots continued to rain down from above. It was clear the gunman had not pinpointed her location. But it was also a stalemate. She couldn’t flee, and the gunman couldn’t pursue her, without each exposing themselves to hostile fire. Danya knew that stalemates seldom last for very long. Unfortunately, she was about to be proven correct.