“Where do you have these units deployed?”
“Most are in the D.C. area, with a few in Texas for testing, and five in the Middle East, aboard the aircraft carrier Gerald Ford. They’re the next generation of CIA attack drones, scheduled for operational release by the end of next year.”
“Next year! Screw that! We need them in the next hour.”
“I know that, and since Monday we’ve been scrambling to get the domestic units out to where they’re needed the most. With their high cruising speed, most are being released to fly to their stations autonomously, taking only a few hours to get there at the most. The limiting factor is getting the relatively few power packs out to these sites, and of course our lack of skilled pilots.”
Xander looked at the now inert drone. “I doubt if I could fly that thing without a pretty intensive training course.”
“Not so. All the flight controls are compatible with those of the Viper-class, and the control stations are fully-integrated and intuitive. Simply flying the Goliath isn’t the problem, it’s the combat skill with drones we’re lacking. Tactics, spatial awareness and coordination are the qualities that make a great drone pilot.” Nathan hesitated as his face grew deadly serious. It was his turn to take a step in closer to Xander. “And that, Mr. Moore, is why you’re here.”
Xander blinked several times as he felt all eyes fall on him. “I’m just one guy. I can’t do it all.”
“No, you can’t, but you also have Billy.” Then he looked at his watch. “And in about two hours you’ll have your entire Alpha Team at Andrews and manning control pods.”
“No shit! Still, that’s only six of us.”
“We’re also bringing in Charlie Fox and another dozen of the surviving pilots from the RDC. And we do have a few of our own skilled operators, the ones who helped with the design and testing of the Goliaths. You may have to give them a crash course in killer drone operation, but they do know the equipment. By the end of the day there should be over forty pilots manning the fifty drones we have available stateside.”
“Hey, Nathan,” Billy called out. “I’ll pilot your fancy drones, but on one condition.”
Everyone was shocked by Billy’s statement. How could he attach a condition on saving the lives of innocent Americans, on protecting the nation’s vital infrastructure and most-treasured landmarks?
“And what would that be, Mr. Jenkins?”
“That I get the contract to build these things when they go into full production.”
Relieved, Nathan smiled. “That’s another reason why you’re here, Billy. The papers are already drawn up and awaiting your signature.”
“I have something to say,” Tiffany interrupted. All eyes now turned to her. “We’re in the middle of pitched battle with a bunch of unmanned killer robots, and now you’re introducing the most-deadly drone ever made into the mix. At what point do you stop adding fuel to the fire? You know all the bad guys will do is copy the technology from your Goliath, and soon the sky will be filled with even more lethal weapons. At some point this has to stop.”
No one spoke for a moment. It was Xander who broke the silence.
“Until we can change the hearts and minds of people, there will always be the next new weapon system being created. The Goliath drone isn’t a deterrent against other Goliaths, but it is a defense against the evil that men will do. I wish it wasn’t like this, but I’m a realist. It’s not the weapons themselves that have to change, it’s the nature of the people who use them. That’s the real enemy we face. Until we can change people, there will always be the need for Goliaths in the world.”
Chapter 19
Abdul-Shahid Almasi had all the scheduled attacks on the American homeland listed in his computer, and as he received reports of their implementation, he checked them off with a satisfied grin. The Westerners were vulnerable and fully exposed, and Almasi’s associates were carrying out raid after successful raid with very little resistance.
This was the start of the third day after the destruction of the Rapid Defense Center, and he could see by the list that this was to be the decisive moment in the history of the United States. Sixty-four separate attacks were to take place on highway overpasses, bridges, power plants, landmark buildings, and national monuments. As had been predicted, the shopping malls now sat empty, as did all the sporting venues across the country. There were no substantial human targets to be found, so the emphasis for today would be on the long-term crippling of the nation’s infrastructure, which will result in limited future travel and delivery of vital resources — such as electricity — to an already shell-shocked America. Long after the raids subsided, the infidels would still be suffering from these glaring reminders of how helpless and impotent they were within this new world order.
Timetables were listed on his computer screen, keyed to local time in Pakistan. Nineteen raids were scheduled to get underway in the next hour, and Almasi sat at his desk, in the living quarters of his underground bunker in the heart of Karachi, anxiously awaiting the stream of incoming data to lift his already ebullient spirits even more.
As with the past scheduled assaults, he had newsfeed banners set to run along the bottom of his screen letting him know when an attack commenced. In another part of the bunker, men watched various TV screens and would update the banners as information became available.
After a few minutes — and only three confirmations — Almasi began to get mad. What were his people doing in the viewing room, watching a soccer match rather than the news? He pressed the intercom button.
“Farouk, why am I not getting all my feeds!” he yelled into the box.
The response was immediate. “But you are, Abdul-Shahid. We are closely monitoring all the news channels.”
“There are nineteen attacks underway and yet I have only received confirmation of three. Check on this and get back to me.”
Thirty minutes later, a pattern had become clear, and Almasi was furious at its implications. Only one other attack had been reported, and his own channel surfing had produced similar results. Fifteen of the attacks had not commenced. He checked the files before taking his cellphone and dialing a number.
The first call didn’t go through. The next two were picked up by voicemail. The fourth was answered.
“Kareem, this is Abdul-Shahid.”
“I can see who is calling.”
The rudeness of the reply made Almasi hesitate before continuing. “I am inquiring as to the attack on the Florida nuclear power plant. I have not received confirmation. Have you run into difficulty?”
There was a long pause on the phone before Kareem Sarkis answered. “I have called off the attack, Abdul.”
“You have… why?”
“I have been instructed to.”
“By whom?”
“By Tehran.”
Almasi was stunned by the completely unexpected reply. “I do not understand. You’re saying Tehran does not want you to complete your mission?”
“That is correct.”
“Again, I ask why? The Iranians have been among our biggest supporters. We have America reeling. There must be a motive for their actions. Are they seeking a delay or a full termination?”
“They want me to stop all activities in America, and Abdul, I too asked them why.”
“What did they say?”
“They said the situation has become more complicated, that was it. I pressed them for more, but the order was unequivocal. However, shortly after the call from the minister, I received another from a source within the Council of Ministers. He told me that China is applying pressure on them to have all attacks brought to an end.”