20:15 / 8:15 P.M. GST
What is happening?” Nir yelled from the front seat. He could all see the lights in the sky less than a mile from their location. “Dima, ask him—”
“Zamolchi!”
That was one of the few Russian words Nir knew. “You tell him I will not shut up. The show has started. Does he even know how to work that thing?”
“Aha!” Filipescu gave them a triumphant smile, then spoke to Nir with Dima translating. “I have the signals. There are many. It has to be them. We are half a kilometer away from the controllers. Location 24˚26'56"N by 54˚36'25"E.”
“Yossi,” Nir called into his coms. “Find this location.” He repeated the coordinates.
“Keep traveling east,” Dima said for Filipescu.
The driver punched the accelerator.
“Got it,” Yossi said. “It’s a warehouse off Al Raha Street and the bridge that connects it to Channel Street. Tell your driver the bridge is the one that runs directly perpendicular to Al Muneera. He’ll know the one.”
Nir did so, then out of obligation he let the SIA know.
“Yossi, tell Efraim and have him pass the info up the chain.”
Efraim, himself, answered back, “Will do.”
Nir hadn’t known he was listening in.
“Next corner,” said the driver.
“Pull over here,” Nir told him. “I don’t want them to know we’re coming.”
The Suburban stopped along the side of the road, and the Presidential Guard vehicle trailing them did the same. The SUVs emptied out except for the drivers and Filipescu, and all gathered around Nir. Each of the men was geared up and ready for a fight. Nir had borrowed armored vests for his team, and they each carried their Jericho 941 9mms. Four of them had IMI Micro Galils, but Dima had opted for an Armsel Striker 12-gauge shotgun with a 12-round revolving cylinder.
Like with the assault on the Royal Falcon warehouse, Nir instructed the PG team to go around to the rear. “When you hear the shooting start, come in.”
The ten men moved up the block toward the warehouse. “All other units, hold up until further instruction.” The last thing he wanted was one of the cowboy PG drivers to come tearing in while they were preparing to breach.
Reaching the front door, Nir tried the knob, finding it locked as expected. Signaling to Dima, he stepped back. Dima came forward, and with two blasts of the shotgun he obliterated the door’s hinges.
“Breach! Breach!” called Nir as he kicked the door down and tossed an M26A1 fragmentation grenade through the door. Avi and Doron did the same. They weren’t looking for prisoners this time. Today they were hunting to kill.
20:20 / 8:20 P.M. GST
The patterns and shapes spinning on the laptop were hypnotic. Al-Aiyubi couldn’t pull his eyes away. This was turning into an absolute success. He could already hear the praise Abbas would lavish upon him. Who knew? Maybe even General Qaani would hear his name.
A blast pulled him from his revelry. What was that? He scrambled for his rifle. A second blast moments later identified the sound as the report of a shotgun.
“Grab your weapons,” he cried as he heard the metal front door clatter to the floor. Then several metallic bounces pinged across the cement surface. Movement caught his eye, and a green object shaped like a lemon rolled toward him. Before he could call out a warning to his men, the grenade exploded at his feet.
20:21 / 8:21 P.M. GST
The dancing lights disappeared. Wasaku was as enraptured as he’d been when the show had first begun. He couldn’t wait to see the new formation the drones would take when they lit back up.
But they didn’t light back up. Instead, a few moments later he heard splashes—just a few at first, then dozens. The lights from the marina walk illuminated drone after drone crashing into the water. Then something smashed to the cement nearby. He didn’t have to see it to know what it was. Cries of pain echoed, and people began screaming.
“Cover the boys,” he yelled to Rick Musser, who was already doing that very thing. “Get down on your knees,” he commanded Nevin. The scared teenager immediately complied, and Wasaku covered him with his body.
As quickly as it started, the rain of drones played itself out. Wasaku looked around, and when he was sure there were no more, he stood and helped Nevin back to his feet. Scattered across the ground were hundreds of shattered drone pieces—propellors, skids, random pieces of black plastic. Freaked out a bit, but not really scared, Wasaku figured that somehow, somewhere the technology had failed. Screaming was still coming from the crowd, and people were in a hurry to clear out. At least it hadn’t turned into a full-blown stampede as he’d first worried it would.
Nevin bolted to his dad, who was checking to see that his wife and the twins were unharmed. Rick wrapped his son in his arms.
“You guys okay?” Wasaku asked Terrell and Hatcher.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Hatcher said. “What was that?”
“Good technology gone bad,” said Terrell. “I’m smelling a really big lawsuit.”
Hatcher nodded his agreement. “Guys, we best clear ourselves out.”
“Agreed,” Wasaku said. This had turned into a really weird night, and he had a fight tomorrow. “Just give me a moment. I want to check on the family.”
20:21 / 8:21 P.M. GST
Nir and his team rushed through the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the grenade blasts. Two men with rifles raised stood by the large sliding doors. A shot from Avi’s Galil dropped the first one; Nir took care of the second. Up and to the left, the mangled bodies of at least six militia soldiers lay dead from the grenades. Shattered pieces of RC controllers littered the floor. They must have all been gathered around to watch the light show. These guys were either really stupid or overly confident, not that there was much difference between the two.
A series of shots sounded from the opposite end of the warehouse. The voice of the PG team leader announced, “Two down.”
From behind Nir, a bang echoed into the warehouse. He spun ready to shoot and spotted Filipescu. The man had just stepped on the broken metal door and was sprinting toward Nir, carrying his laptop.
“Dima!” Nir called, running in a low crouch toward the Romanian. He heard Dima’s heavy footsteps following behind him. Filipescu was yelling something, but at the moment Nir didn’t really care what he was saying. This idiot was running into an active scene and was liable to get a bullet drilled into his head.
When he reached the man, Nir grabbed his laptop with one hand and pushed Filipescu hard toward Dima with the other. The Russian scooped the man up and threw him over his shoulder.
The teammates ran out the door and into the salty night air, not stopping until they were 30 meters away. Nir saw that four more SUVs had pulled up and were waiting out front. He signaled for them to go in.
“Sending in four more teams,” he informed those inside the building. Several shots sounded from inside. Either some bad guys were left or some of the injured were still fighting back.
He turned his attention to Filipescu. “What is wrong with you? That was an active scene. You could have gotten yourself killed!” Nir didn’t care that the man couldn’t understand him.
“Nir, shut up,” Dima said. “He’s saying something.”
The two went back and forth while Nir impatiently waited. Finally, Dima turned toward him. “Boss, he says when that huge block of signals disappeared, it uncluttered the sensor’s display. Another series of signals was being blocked by the show drones. They’re coming from the direction of the Gulf, and they’re getting close.”