FARHAD AND HIS TEAM were at their mountain control center going through final preparations for the day’s opening salvo when Hadi called. “What do you mean, he’s in the wind?” Farhad asked his mentor. His anger grew as Hadi explained he’d had Bronson in his grasp, only to lose him over the edge of a rooftop. Hadi had thought the boy was on the roof with the father, but the child had slipped away. The American had survived the fall, and Hadi had kept his promise and not finished him. Instead, he’d turned the unconscious man over to traffickers who’d apparently had their own run-ins with the American’s son. Hadi had hoped Bronson’s capture would lure the boy out of hiding, but his plan had collapsed when father and child escaped.
“I should have killed him,” Hadi said over the phone.
“And I shouldn’t have made you swear to keep him alive until you had the boy in hand.” The cursed American was still alive because of the promise he’d forced Hadi to make. He’d reached too far in hoping to capture the boy. Hadi knew it as well, and Farhad appreciated that his mentor wasn’t rubbing his face in it. Nevertheless, the stretch of silence on the other end of the line spoke volumes.
Finally, Hadi asked, “Are we in agreement that our entire focus must shift to the task at hand? No more distractions?”
“Indeed we are. I’ll not make that mistake again.”
“And that Bronson, his son, and his family must forfeit their lives, but it matters not whose hand strikes the lethal blows?”
Farhad sighed. The sly old warrior was never one to pass up a teaching opportunity. Hadi’s question was intended to remind Farhad of one of the lessons of war his mentor had drilled into him long ago. “An enemy’s loss of life is a blessing that is doubled when none of your own risks injury in the taking of it.”
“You remember.”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll be pleased to learn that the American may have been quick enough on his feet to evade capture, but not so quick that he could outrun the tracker I placed in his backpack.”
Farhad couldn’t believe his ears. “Hadi! You old devil. Next time lead with such good news. Where is he?”
“The signal vanished shortly after he departed Bogota, and didn’t return until shortly after I took off on the first leg of my flight back to Los Angeles. They landed on the river in one of the most remote regions of the Brazilian rainforest. Wi-Fi on the flight was not secure so I couldn’t call you then, but that didn’t stop me from posting the tracking link on several darknet sites.”
“Which sites?”
“The ones frequented by the underworld bounty hunters who are competing for his head. By now I’m sure scores of them are closing in on the American’s location. If he’s not dead already.”
Farhad grinned. Bronson was no longer an issue. If he hadn’t already been separated from his head, he was a dead man walking. One group or another would catch him, and the man who’d murdered Farhad’s father would finally meet justice. The boy would be unlikely to survive the maelstrom, and that was just as well. The power the child wielded could ruin everything. As usual, Hadi knew best, and Farhad wondered how they could have ever succeeded without his mentor’s guidance. “When does your flight arrive?”
“Just landed. I’m walking to the Uber stand now. I will be with you before this afternoon’s attacks, and tomorrow we shall redefine the meaning of the rocket’s red glare.”
“A Fourth of July celebration that will be remembered forever. Good. I’m glad you are here. No more distractions.”
“Allah willing.” Hadi hung up.
Farhad put the phone down and looked at the others. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to eavesdrop on his end of the call. “Bronson and the boy are in Brazil, fleeing for their lives from the bounty hunters Hadi has put on their tail.”
Jamal asked, “Hadi did not kill them himself?”
“He thought it best to allow someone else to do so.”
Ghazi smiled. “A soldier with a suicide vest can strike only once, while a warrior with a brain may strike over and over.” Others in the group nodded. They all knew Hadi’s lessons by rote.
“Exactly. They will both be dead soon enough.” Farhad pointed at Tarik and Ebrahem. “All thanks to the clever tracker you two developed, which Hadi managed to secrete in the infidel’s backpack.”
The duo beamed. A couple of others offered fist bumps.
“Hadi will be here for today’s preliminary attacks.”
Jamal said, “When we awaken Americans to their new reality.”
“And what of Bronson’s family and friends at their safe house?” Ghazi asked.
“We will take care of them after sundown. As for the big man, Tony, he’ll show up sooner or later, and when he does we’ll take care of him, too.” Farhad turned to Ghazi. “Where do we stand on the fourth drone?” He was referring to one of the four recon drones in the trees surrounding the safe house.
“Out of commission,” Ghazi said. “I’ve tried everything to reboot it but there’s simply no signal.” He was seated at one of several consoles, and made an entry on his keyboard to bring up a recorded video of a squirrel sniffing the camera lens, its whiskers twitching as it explored the interloper. Ghazi had already shown the video several times, but everybody turned to watch it again anyway. When the squirrel climbed atop the drone, his rather large genitalia filled the screen, and even Farhad couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Then the video image went topsy-turvy, the drone crashed to ground, and the signal was lost.
Jamal said, “I still say the little bastard was trying to hump your drone!”
Farhad allowed the laughter to subside naturally. Hadi had taught them early on that a little humor served a purpose before battle. Finally he said, “Its absence creates a minor blind spot, but we’ll live with it. Other than that, is the box in position?”
Amir, their mechanical engineer, had built a variety of lightweight camouflaged containers designed to hold precharged attack drones. The containers could be deposited at any point along a mapped track, and further disguised by either being buried partway in the ground, or having local debris scattered on and around it. When activated remotely, the hydraulic top would swing open, allowing the drones to follow their preprogrammed tracks and deliver their ordinance. Farhad was referring to the particular “drone magazine”—as Amir liked to call it—that wasn’t much larger than a wedding-dress box, since it housed only the eight drones needed to destroy the lodge. Amir had built multiple sizes, the largest of which housed forty-eight drones on multiple tiers. A number of them would be used during tomorrow’s assault.
Ghazi said, “I dropped it off this morning, just over the ridge east of the lodge. It’s well hidden, charged up, and ready to go.”
“And programming is confirmed,” Jamal said. “All I need to do is push the button.”
“And for today’s launches?” Farhad gestured toward Amir manning the Dallas console, and Saabir and Pirooz at the New York and Chicago consoles. “All systems go?”
“Final checks complete,” Amir said. “All green.”
“Same here,” Saabir said.
Pirooz nodded. There was a gleam in his eyes. “Ready.”
“Very well. Let’s get the camera set up. We’ll broadcast as soon as Hadi arrives.”