It maneuvered with poetic ease and fluidity, the craft working as if it had a life of its own, something that was predatory and possessed a dark inclination to hunt and kill.
Its wings seesawed from left to right, as if waving, before it peeled away and took to the rear of the jet.
Senator Houseman tried to look back as far as he could from his portal window, but the drone had disappeared from sight.
His mind reeling, the senator made his way to the cockpit and pounded on the door.
Suddenly, the plane banked hard to the left, knocking the senator to the floor.
The airliner pilot first saw the Reaper as a white speck in space that was closing fast from the northeast. Within moments it began to take on definition, including the unique bulbous nosecone and the undercarriage that held two Hellfire missiles. Mounted on its back were two additional pieces of equipment that the pilot did not recognize — yet they appeared similar in design to the main drone, even down to the canisters that comprised their own payloads.
After the drone circled the plane as if sizing it up, it sidled up to the captain’s side window, about thirty to forty meters away, and kept pace.
“You seeing this, Joe?” he said to his co-pilot.
The co-pilot leaned forward to grab a view. “It’s a drone.” And then with a questioning look, he asked, “Are those missiles?”
“Hellfires.” The pilot had worked up close and personal with military hardware, especially with drones, after a stint flying for the Air Force.
The Reaper continued to shadow the plane for several seconds before its wings began to seesaw, and then it fell back behind the jetliner.
The pilot flipped a toggle switch and spoke into his lip mike. “There shouldn’t be exercises going on so close to D.C.,” he said more to himself. Then: “Flight 2-1-9-4 to Dulles.”
“Base.”
“Dulles, do you know if the military are conducting aerial exercises at the current coordinates?”
“That’s negative, 2-1-9-4.”
“Dulles, there’s a Reaper drone trailing and keeping pace. Any indication?”
“2-1-9-4, we have nothing on our radar to indicate a second fly-vehicle. Nor did a second indication appear on our system. You’re alone up there.”
“That’s negative, Dulles. There is a Reaper drone that has taken position behind this plane and is presumably holding. Have TSA contact Military Central for a confirmation.”
“Copy that, 2-1-9-4.”
The pilot flipped off the switch. “Do you see it?” he asked his co-pilot.
The other aviator shook his head. “There’s nothing on radar, either.” He turned back to the pilot. “Maybe it’s gone.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
An indicator on the control panel began to blink red and angry, coupled with a warning alarm.
Something had locked on to them.
The pilot toggled the transmitter switch. “2-1-9-4 to Dulles.”
“Dulles.”
“Something just locked on to us,” he said, forcing calm.
“2-1-9-4, TSA’s contacting Military Central for verification. Please stand by.”
Then the alarm beeped at a manic pace.
Something had been launched.
“Dulles, we’re taking evasive maneuvers.”
Just as someone pounded on the cockpit door, the plane banked hard to the left.
The banging on the door stopped.
And just as the plane tilted, the Hellfire passed beneath them and kept on going. The consensus between pilot and co-pilot was that the missile had missed the plane’s underbelly by less than ten feet.
“2-1-9-4 to Dulles!” There was now a sense of urgency to his voice that could no longer be masked.
“Dulles.”
“We have just been fired upon by a military drone! I repeat, we have just been fired upon by a military drone.”
“Copy that, 2-1-9-4. Military confirms that they are not conducting exercises and have dispatched a series to respond. Do you copy, 2-1-9-4?”
“Yeah, we copy, Dulles. But we’re hardly capable of outmaneuvering a drone.”
“Understood, 2-1-9-4. ETA of Phantom fighter jets is approximately six minutes.”
Six minutes. The pilot closed his eyes. Six minutes was a lifetime. He wasn't sure if they could go six more seconds with this thing.
And then he was overwhelmed with defeat. The Reaper had missed on its first attempt. It would not do so again.
He flew the plane.
The Reaper took position directly behind the airliner. Through its lens it had a perfect view of a Boeing that was not designed for aerial gymnastics.
The drone set its sights as Naji lined up the pathway and engaged the first of two Hellfire missiles. The projectile was ejected from the drone’s undercarriage, falling away from its transporter. Then it corkscrewed through the atmosphere before leveling out.
The missile was fast and direct. But the plane, perhaps guided by the self-preservation efforts of its pilot, or maybe just a lucky bout of turbulence, banked hard to its left just as the missile approached. It missed the big fuselage by less than five feet.
Naji sucked in his breath. The drone wavered back into position, its programming drawing a bead before releasing its second and final missile. The Hellfire sped away from the undercarriage leaving a contrail in its wake, the projectile shadowing the moves of the plane as it banked from left to right, then from right to left, trying to make a difficult target. But the Hellfire countered with robotically efficient reactive maneuvers as it closed in.
The Boeing nosedived, trying to shake its pursuer. But the missile persisted.
As the jetliner attempted to raise its nose in a futile attempt to climb skyward, the missile struck its tail section, shearing off the entire assemblage. The last row of seats, with instantaneously charred corpses still belted to them, were ripped through the jagged opening, whipping through the stratosphere along with what remained of the plane's lavatory. Luggage and food carts took to the air in the plane’s wake as it canted and spiraled out of control.
The Boeing, now firmly in its death throes, flipped over and then descended into a chaotic series of gyrations, the airliner nothing but a useless, metallic hazard falling to the Earth from an altitude of seven miles.
Seconds before his consciousness succumbed to the g-forces and sudden lack of cabin pressurization, Senator Houseman flashed on the fact that his candidacy for the presidency would never be realized, a thought that competed for attention — and, oddly enough, won — with the knowledge that he was about to die.
In the last few split seconds he closed his eyes, hoping to relive the positive milestones from his life that he would leave behind as a lasting political legacy. But no such pictures emerged. In fact, behind the closed lids of his eyes just before they left this world, he saw nothing but a parade of petty schemes masquerading as significant events cloaked in the historical reputation and stature of his office. In the very end, he saw only darkness. I helped people…didn't I? Surely I—
When the plane impacted, Senator Paul David Houseman, along with his aide and 164 other souls, perished onboard Flight 2194.
There were no survivors.
Shazad’s team watched everything play out on the monitors as Naji navigated the drone from the northeast to its designated intercept point of the senator’s plane.