In the United States, that couldn’t happen anymore, not with the Rapid Defense Center in operation. The average domestic terrorist attack now lasted less than eight minutes, sometimes longer if fleeing drones had to be pursued into the open.
Although he couldn’t prevent the attacks, Xander Moore could limit the scope of the damage while saving untold innocent lives in the process.
It was this facet of his job that kept him coming back day after day. He felt like he actually made a difference. Whether or not he would feel that way in another position with the Center, he very much doubted. At least with a controller in his hand he could stop others from dying. Serving as a mouthpiece for the Center wouldn’t bring as much job satisfaction.
Even as Xander and his team prepared to leave the Team Room, four other events were being reported and responded to across the country. The twenty-two hundred pilots and scanners making up the teams at the RDC would be busy this holiday season. How this would impact their own personal celebrations depended on the personalities — and frankly the callousness — of the individuals involved.
Chapter 3
The head of the Rapid Defense Center was an Air Force colonel named Jamie Simms. He met the team in the debrief room, and after an hour-long session — eight times longer than the actual event — he let Fox and Lane go, while asking Xander to remain.
“A quarter-million-dollar drone,” Jamie stated with a smirk. “You’re lucky our budget is the largest under the Homeland Security banner.
“Taxpayer money well spent, in my opinion,” Xander replied, matching the smile.
“No argument there, it’s just that I’m going to have to do some fancy footwork to pacify the bean counters in D.C. They’ve never been in drone combat before to know that sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”
Xander shook his head. “A Ninja… that was unexpected.”
“You know, you’re only the third pilot to go up against one, and the first to come out the winner.”
“Not sure if committing suicide counts as winning.”
“That drone still had hours of operating time left. It could have been a lot worse.” Jamie Simms smiled broadly. “Now, on a more pleasant note…” He slid a manila folder over in front of Xander. “Feel free to keep the headshots. For the bikini photos, you’ll have to go online.”
Xander flipped open the file. “No shit, I’ve seen her before.”
“Yeah, she’s the type you never forget.”
The reporter Xander was scheduled to meet with the following day was someone new to the pool. Most of the regular reporters covering the RDC were known to him, but this was a first for this one. She was a hottie from Fox News named Tiffany Collins, and as was the case with most of the female talent on the network, she was a beauty-contest winner — either Miss USA, Miss Universe or Miss You-Gotta-Be-Kidding-Me — something like that; however, from what Xander could tell, she was also extremely talented and good at what she did. He’d seen her many times throughout the years on TV, and now leafing through her file, he had to admit he was rather anxious to meet her in person.
“Don’t let the pretty face and golden locks cause you to reveal any state secrets, buddy,” Jamie said. “Although to a stud like you, she probably wouldn’t even rank over a six or seven on the Moore Hotness Scale.”
“You give me too much credit. I’m just a nerd with a high-paying job.” He looked at the professional portrait of the broadcast reporter again. “Besides, with a few days off, I might be willing to go slumming.”
“Off limits, Mr. Moore, and you know it. Save thoughts like that for some of your other conquests. Speaking of that, you still seeing that hot Asian blackjack dealer?”
“That’s ancient history, Colonel. She did have great hands, but she was asking all the wrong questions.”
Simms stood from the conference table. “Sorry your deflation time is being broken up, but you know how important the PR game is these days. I’ll see you back here bright and early Monday morning.”
“Yes sir, Colonel, sir.”
Chapter 4
The normal schedule of drone pilots at the RDC was ten days on and five off, with the teams staying in two-person rooms in buildings four and five of the six-building complex while on duty. With his seniority, Xander earned a private room, which wasn’t much more than a ten by eight foot box with a fold-up bunk, a desk, a media center, and a hotel-size refrigerator. There were two huge mess halls in the buildings, along with a movie theater, a gym, a library and a TV room — all the comforts of home when you weren’t chasing killer drones across a crowded football stadium or away from a fallen freeway overpass.
Since the Center paid very well — especially its civilian contractors — people like Charlie Fox could afford to take mini-vacations to nearly anywhere in the world during their time off. So within fifteen minutes of being released, Fox and Lane were out the door and lined up for the next bus heading back into Las Vegas. Xander caught the third one after that.
The RDC complex was located in an isolated valley at the east end of Nellis Air Force Base and surrounded by craggy, red mountains. It was comprised of six structures: three five-story buildings housing Operations, Flight Systems and Communications, plus two employee apartment buildings and a three-story Research and Development facility. All the structures were connected by wide, low-profile canopies, ostensibly to protect workers from the brutal desert sun, but in reality to keep them from being observed from space as they moved between the buildings.
The dirty little secret of the RDC was that what was above ground was just the tip of the iceberg. Two-thirds of the Center existed below the buildings, with some substructures extending down eight levels, such as was the case with the Research and Development building. R&D also had access to a mile-long underground runway tunnel that cut south under the mountain and exited at what appeared to be an abandoned mining operation. Here, fleets of top-secret UAV prototypes entered and exited the base without being readily observed, even though many were now the basis of dozens of UFO sightings in the area, and had been for years.
There were four main roads leading to the Center, which were used only by visitors and the small fleet of converted motorhomes that shuttled the employees to and from the facility. With the highly-classified nature of the work, as well as the documented intent of vindictive terrorists to rid the world of as many skilled RDC pilots and operators as possible, all employees were required to take the bus system to and from the Center. The routes changed constantly, with many of the buses traveling empty to serve as decoys.
Yet all trails began and ended at the Las Vegas Strip. Here the buses disappeared into the massive parking structures under six of the largest casinos, until they arrived at secure areas shielded from the rest of the tourists and casino workers. Casino ownership cooperated with the government, allowing the bus system to operate within their properties, in exchange for licensing concessions and tax breaks. As a result, the employees of the Center could come and go virtually undetected amidst the hordes of tourists crowding the Strip twenty-four-seven.
Once in the vast parking complex of the Bellagio, Xander drove his Jeep Wrangler out onto Las Vegas Boulevard, and immediately donned dark sunglasses against the bright Nevada sunshine for the thirty minute drive to the Anthem section of southwestern Henderson. He owned a sprawling thirty-two hundred square-foot, single level home overlooking the golf course, and with a fantastic view of the Vegas skyline to the north. He’d bought the property five years before, just after joining the Center and at the start of the Second Depression, so he got it for a song. Although the Depression had been short-lived, the deal he got on the home would last forever.