Knuckles nodded, and we began walking forward with our weapons at the ready. The minute Knuckles caught a glimpse of a window from the target, he assumed that anyone on the other side could see him, and broke into a sprint. We followed directly behind him.
Knuckles turned the corner of the cottage and sprang up the steps two at a time, locking down the back door with his rifle. I came up behind him, putting a barrel on the window to his right. Retro did the same to the window on the left. Veep was last.
He shattered the deadbolt with the battering ram, splintering the doorjamb and flinging the door open.
Knuckles sprinted in, barrel high, with me right behind him. He went left, and I went right. I heard Veep and Retro following behind. The den was empty, and so was the kitchen. We raced to the bedrooms, me and Veep on the first one, Knuckles and Retro on the second. It wasn’t planned, but we kicked the doors in like synchronized swimmers.
They were empty.
My bedroom had a cheap backpack and some clothes, but nothing else. Knuckles’s had another suitcase, with additional clothes that were clearly more expensive.
We returned to the den, and I saw a box next to the couch. I went to it and realized it was a FedEx delivery container. Inside was a smaller box, for an industrial-strength personal drone.
Knuckles said, “Pike, over here.”
I went to the kitchen and saw him holding up wires and a silver tube about the size of a cigarette. I said, “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep. It’s a blasting cap.”
I said, “Veep, go through that box and get the manual for the drone. I need to know its specs—specifically, how much can it carry, how long can it fly, and what’s its operational distance from the controller.”
I called Kurt. He answered on the first ring.
“What did you find?”
“Sir, it’s a dry hole, but they were here. We must have missed them by minutes. There’s a box for a commercial drone, and we found evidence of explosives. He’s built another flying bomb.”
“My God.”
“Tell the president to cancel the speech.”
Kurt said, “It’s going to start in about five minutes. Stand by.”
He hung up, and I said, “Veep, what do you have?”
“It’s pretty robust. With a ten-pound payload, it can stay aloft for twenty minutes. The more weight you add, the less time of flight. Its max payload is fifteen pounds. Its radius of flight is a little over a thousand meters.”
My phone rang again, “Pike, he’s not leaving the stage.”
“What? Whose stupid idea is that? Call him yourself. Someone is looking at this with campaign optics instead of national security.”
“That was from him. He said that, as the president, he wouldn’t flee the scene, leaving the crowd in danger.”
“Then get the fucking crowd off the boat.”
“Impossible. They’re packed in like cattle, and the only ways off the ship are narrow, one-person stairwells. Even if we got them off, they have a hundred-meter walk down the pier to the parking lot. The president thinks that if he leaves, they’ll become a target of opportunity that his secret service detail can’t possibly protect. If he stays, he’ll be the target. Best case, the secret service can protect him. Worst case, only he and his detail will take the attack.”
“Sir, that’s very courageous of him. Not to be callous, but losing the president of the United States is a hell of a lot worse than losing some of his supporters.”
“Pike, it’s not my call. Find them and make the whole thing a moot point.”
“Sir, I have nothing to go on. They could be anywhere.” Then I thought of the range of the drone and some other unique vulnerabilities.
I said, “Sir, there’s a helicopter that’s flying tours just outside the parking lot for the Yorktown. I need the most senior agent you can find for the secret service detail. Tell him to meet me there right now. If anyone gives you pushback, tell the president to order it.”
He said, “That didn’t take long. What did you figure out?”
“Nothing just yet, but I have an idea. Get the agent there, or I’m going to have to use a gun.”
“He’s on the way as soon as I hang up.”
I pocketed the phone and said, “Everyone back to the van, now.”
We collapsed and stowed our weapons on the run, reaching the van in seconds. I said, “Veep, you drive. Go to that helicopter launchpad.”
He slid behind the wheel and I said, “Carly, Jennifer, you’re going up in the helo. The drone has a range just outside of a kilometer, and it has to fly from an open space. They won’t be launching it from inside the forest. Take some binos and go spot him. Do a cloverleaf until you’re either out of gas or the damn drone has struck.”
Knuckles said, “Pike, with a klick range they could be launching from the other side of the river, on the Charleston peninsula.”
“Yeah, they could, but if they were going to do that, why get a cottage on this side? No, I think they’re close. Probably at one of the soccer or softball fields up the road. Jennifer, find some boundaries on the map that you can ID from the air. Go no further than fifteen hundred meters.”
I returned to Knuckles. “When they find the target, you guys are going to launch to interdict.”
“What are you going to do?”
“See what sort of security the secret service has for drones. Do whatever I can to increase the odds of stopping it.”
Veep pulled up to the little shed advertising the tours, and I saw at least two families with children, and one guy wearing a suit with an earpiece cable running down the collar of his shirt.
I jumped out with Carly and Jennifer following. I said, “Secret service?”
He nodded, looking at me warily. He said, “They told me you were, too.”
“I’m the supersecret service. I need to use your badge to commandeer that helicopter.”
“What?”
“You heard about the possible threat against the president?” He nodded, and I said, “I need aerial observation to find it, so unless you have a helicopter jammed up your ass, get your badge out.”
Jennifer elbowed me in the side, but it worked. He pulled out his badge and handed it to me. I said, “Follow me out, and make sure they can see that earpiece.”
I turned and cut through the line, saying, “I apologize, folks. I’m from the FAA, and we’ve had complaints that this helicopter hasn’t made its required maintenance. I can’t let you get on it until we do a test flight.”
That was enough for the mothers. The thing looked dangerous enough as it was, and there was no way a mother would let her children get on it with the FAA saying it’s not airworthy. The person booking the tours jumped up and said, “That’s bullshit!”
I reached the helicopter, and the pilot said, “What are you doing? Those people are in front of you.”
I flashed the badge and said, “Secret service. We need to use your helicopter to find a threat against the president of the United States. I can’t order you to do it, but I’m hoping you’ll want to do it out of patriotism. You’ll be paid for the time lost.”
A huge grin spread across his face, and I thought he was going to start weeping with joy. He said, “Get in, get in!”
Next to him were only two seats. I said, “These women are secret service; they’ll be doing the spotting.” I was thinking, No damn way will I get in this death trap.
His grin became wider, if that was possible. “Well, come on, gals!”
Thirty seconds later, the rotors were turning, and they were off. I went back out to the van and said, “Stage on the exit for the Yorktown parking lot so you can react quickly both north and south. If they find something, no mercy. If you can capture one of them alive, that would be great, but you won’t hear me crying if you’re forced to pop both of them.”
Knuckles said, “You got it,” and slid the van door closed. Veep pulled away, and I turned to the secret service agent. “What tools do you have to defend against a commercial drone attack?”