AHMED STARED IN HORROR at the video display. Flames leapt from every corner of the lodge.
“No one could have survived that,” Jamal said.
Farhad scratched his chin. “Do any of the drones have enough remaining juice to lift off?”
Amir turned from his console. “I’m afraid not.”
Farhad clenched his fists.
It was the first bit of good news Ahmed had heard, and he allowed himself to hope that his mom and the others had escaped in time.
Five minutes later, Ahmed was being ignored for the most part. Even his guard Latif had lowered his weapon and was focused on the screens. The lapse gave Ahmed a few moments to clear his head and prepare for his next move. It was going be a desperate ploy, but what choice did he have? He was watching the video on the main screen over Jamal’s console. It was a live overhead view of their caravan driving through the hills leading to the freeway, four sets of headlights illuminating the thick forest on both sides of the road. The video was streaming from the bird they referred to as Pelican-1. They’d used it to recover the two recon drones he’d seen earlier, which were now docked on the undercarriage of the larger drone, along with two additional “Striker” drones that were apparently armed with explosives. He’d been amazed at the level of proficiency the team had with the drones, and at how advanced the technology was. He’d never heard of an airborne drone operating as a launch vehicle for smaller drones. The team had called the camouflaged boxes in the vans “drone magazines,” and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what that meant. That such technology was in the hands of people who wanted to terrorize America scared the crap out of Ahmed, but it also strengthened his resolve. As slim as his chances were, he was in a unique position to help take down these assholes.
“We should hit the freeway in ten minutes,” Ghazi reported.
Farhad nodded. “We’ll recover Pelican-1 just before we hit the motel and gas stations servicing the on-ramp. There’s an overlook we can use. Amir, inform the others. Tell them to continue on. We’ll meet them at the garage.”
“Will do.”
Ahmed’s hands were still bound behind his back. When he was certain nobody was paying close attention to him, he used his fingers to slip the flexible razor blade from inside the waistline of his trousers. He’d assumed he’d be bound with zip ties if he got caught, so he’d also slipped a flattened blade from one of Sarafina’s old barrettes into the hidden seam. Both Tony and their Aussie friend, Becker, had taught Ahmed long ago to be prepared for anything, and the kit they’d helped put together for his grab bag had included the two-inch single-edged razor. When the hands are bound tightly with tape, it was an awkward and tedious process to cut through it. But Ahmed had practiced it plenty of times under Becker’s tutelage until he could perform the task to the Aussie’s satisfaction. Now he twisted his wrists the way he’d been taught, and started to saw.
Jamal said, “There’s a vehicle a mile behind us.”
Ahmed tensed but kept sawing.
“Is it gaining on us?” Farhad asked.
“Maintaining its distance. Investigating now.” The image on the screen veered as Pelican-1 turned back to investigate, and a pair of headlights was visible in the distance. “Zooming,” Jamal said. The image grew, and Ahmed’s stomach tried to crawl up his throat.
“It’s the girl,” Hadi said.
Ahmed stopped sawing when Farhad glared at him. “Damn you and your entire family!” He placed a hand on Ghazi’s shoulder, and without taking his eyes off Ahmed, he said, “Take her out.”
Ghazi lowered a pair of VR goggles over his glasses. “Prepare for release of Striker One.”
Jamal made an entry on his console, and the video of Sarafina’s car steadied. “Pelican-1 autopilot enabled. Altitude nine hundred AGL, speed four zero knots. Ready for release.”
Ghazi wrapped his hands around twin joysticks. “In three…two…one. Release.” The attack drone shot toward the Alfa Romeo’s headlights.
Ahmed opened his mouth to object, but Latif shifted the muzzle of his assault rifle in his direction, and he was forced to stare helplessly as the screen switched to the view from the diving assault drone. Sarafina’s car grew larger with each beat.
“Another vehicle two miles back!” Jamal reported.
Farhad barked an order. “No time to dance around and lay the charge, Ghazi. Just dive straight into her. Max speed.”
“On it.” The drone shot forward faster than Ahmed thought possible. It was headed straight for his sister’s windshield. At the last second, the car swerved toward the tree-studded shoulder. When Ghazi adjusted the drone’s track to compensate, it impacted with a low-hanging branch before detonating in a blinding explosion directly over the car. The tree burst into flames, and so did portions of the Alfa’s interior as the convertible careened out of view into the woods.
Ghazi ripped off the VR goggles. “The bitch must’ve spotted the drone!”
“Not unless she was looking for it,” Jamal spat.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hadi said, his stern voice quieting them both. “The girl may not have survived in any case.”
Farhad said, “And we’ve outstayed our welcome in this valley. The approaching car will be on her soon. Jamal, coordinate the immediate recovery of Pelican-1 with team three. Amir, tell team one to launch the fire drones, and then detonate all charges at the ranch.”
Hadi said, “They should also change out the license plates at the first opportunity.”
“Yes,” Farhad said. “Make it happen.”
Amir and Jamal issued orders into their headsets, and Ghazi brought up a static view that encompassed the ranch and its outbuildings. Ahmed guessed the camera had been positioned high in a tree. One moment it was a peaceful starlight scene of a cozy ranch nestled in a pine forest, and the next it was a series of explosions that obliterated the structures and set ablaze scores of trees. It was the dead of summer after two years of drought, Ahmed realized, and the wildfire that followed would be devastating. The scene mesmerized Latif while Ahmed resumed sawing through the tape.
“Fire drones away,” Amir reported. “Two behind us, and two on the ridge on the other side of the freeway.”
“That should keep emergency crews busy for a while,” Farhad said.
Jamal turned. “Pelican-1 is on the ground. Team three is recovering it now.”
They heard the first sirens a few minutes later. Jamal activated cameras that were apparently secreted along the truck’s sidewalls, giving them a three-sixty view of what was happening outside. The truck slowed and pulled to the side of the road as three fire trucks raced by. There was a gas station and Denny’s restaurant on their right, and a motel on the other side of the street, where people milled about, pointing to a glowing ridgeline in the distance. In front of them, a green sign urged traffic to remain in the right lane to go south on the I-5 freeway. No cars were behind the truck, but there was a dozen ahead, including one of the three vans. The other two had already disappeared onto the freeway.
Two California Highway Patrol vehicles had pulled over just ahead, and the officers were stopping civilian traffic from heading back down the road they’d just traveled along. The last of the fire engines passed by, but just as the truck Ahmed was in started to ease back into traffic, another siren sounded. An ambulance raced after the fire trucks, and Ahmed knew it was headed for the scene of Sarafina’s crash.
The men responsible deserved to die, and Ahmed wanted desperately to be the one to pull the trigger. He’d learned from their conversations that Farhad’s entire group was in the caravan, and that the attacks earlier in Dallas, Chicago, and New York had been activated remotely. The three-man teams from each of those cities had prepped the attack sites long ago, probably delivering the charges on rooftops and down chimneys using their damn drones. How many other explosive devices were out there waiting to be activated? These men had been in the country for nearly five years…
Farhad and his teams had gathered in California for the main event, a major attack somewhere in L.A., scheduled for the next day. The other attacks had been a distraction intended to turn eyes elsewhere. Was it too late to do something about it? He recalled the eight attack drones demolishing the lodge, by seemingly following a preprogrammed course through the trees after being launched from a drone magazine. Ahmed connected the dots to the large camouflaged crates they’d loaded in the vehicles, each likely holding similar drones. They didn’t even need to be near the target to take it out. Farhad wanted Americans living in constant fear of the unexpected drone strike. An attack from swarms of drones like those that had assaulted the lodge would do exactly that.
When Ahmed finally cut through the last of the tape binding his wrists, he tightened his grip on the razor blade and waited for his moment.
Amir pointed to the screen above the bulkhead door, which displayed the forward view of the ridgeline on the other side of the freeway. “The wind has picked up. The fire’s spreading faster than intended.”
Hadi slid the door to the driver’s cab open a fraction. “They’ll close the freeway soon. We need to move.”
“I know,” the driver said. “The last emergency vehicle is coming through now.” A yellow panel truck filled with firefighters appeared on the screen. As soon as it passed, their vehicle started moving. One of the other screens showed several cars waiting in line behind them.
“Whoa!” Amir shouted, as a copse of trees flared up across the freeway, and glowing embers swirled into the windswept sky.
“The CHPs are running to their cars,” Farhad said, pointing at a different screen. “They’re going to close the on-ramp. Step on it, Tarik!” There were three cars ahead of them.
The truck lurched forward. The highway patrol cars switched on their emergency lights, and one cut across lanes toward the entrance to the on-ramp. The three cars in front of their truck made it onto the ramp, but the nose of the first CHP car was moving in fast to edge their vehicle out. Tarik stepped on the gas.
Ahmed lunged and sliced the razor blade across the front of Latif’s neck. The blade cut deep across the jugular. Blood gushed from the wound as Latif dropped his weapon and collapsed to the floor with his hands on his neck. Ahmed’s momentum carried him into the bank of servers. He pushed off with his free hand and sprang back to grab the rear door latch. They were speeding up the on-ramp when his fingers caught the handle, the door swung open, and his socks lost their grip on the blood-slickened floorboard.
“No gunfire!” Farhad shouted as Ahmed fell hard on his knees. The CHP cruiser had stopped to block the base of the on-ramp. As the truck accelerated, the CHP’s flashing lights receded. Ahmed scrambled on all fours for the open doorway, and was halfway out when someone grabbed his foot. He spun onto his back and kicked, his heel smashing into Hadi’s chin. The big man’s grip loosened. As Ahmed slipped free and pushed off with his hands, the last thing he saw was the glimmer of Farhad’s spinning knife before it impaled itself in his chest and sent him sprawling into the night. He hit the road headfirst, then tumbled and rolled across the tarmac.
The truck roared away, and everything went black.