“He’s a piece of work,” Steve said.
“He’s that.”
“Any idea what he’s up to?”
“I’ll let him explain. He’s right, though. You’ll like it.”
A pause. A swallow of coffee. Then, without turning to face him, Steve said, “About Keira and you. I’m not going to judge. Hell, I’d have probably done the same thing, given the opportunity. But I won’t let you fuck up this arrangement. We’ve been working together for months, a nice balance among the three of us. If you start wrecking things then you’re gone.”
“It’s her house. Maybe she can decide what works and what doesn’t.”
Steve exhaled through his nostrils, blowing steam into the cold like a cartoon bull.
“Fine. Explain that to Barb while you’re at it. She’s already worried enough about Keira’s loyalty and motivations.” Steve turned toward Sharpe. “I’m gonna go see what this wild-ass is up to. Look at him. Like he owns the place.”
Cole held his tongue. Most of the man’s anger was probably envy, a guy thing. Barb, on the other hand — well, maybe she was just in the habit of begrudging other people’s happiness. Cole sipped his coffee, letting the caffeine kick him up a notch as he braced against the morning chill. The air smelled good. So did the pines, swaying in the fresh breeze off the water.
It looked like Steve was asking questions. Sharpe seemed to be responding with reasonable civility. Based on their body language — upright, face-to-face, maybe five yards apart, arms akimbo — they were feeling each other out. Cole walked out to see what was up, arriving within earshot just as things began to heat up.
“You’re going to build a fucking drone? Here?”
“For the use and benefit of your reporting. And it’s already built. Fully engineered. Some assembly is required, that’s all. Like your dad on Christmas morning, batteries not included. A few hours of careful labor, most of it mine, and it will be operational.”
“And if we don’t particularly want a drone, or have any need for one?”
“That’s a discussion that should wait until you’ve seen its capabilities. Captain Cole will help me demonstrate. If a greater ability to gather information isn’t to your liking, then I’ll pack up and go. But until then …” He shrugged and tilted his head, a magician waiting for his audience to give the go-ahead for the next bag of tricks.
“Is this how you always operate? Just show up with your stuff and expect everybody to go along with it?”
“I’m not orthodox, Mr. Merritt.”
“Steve.”
“Steve, then. I can be a little gonzo. And I don’t like arguing if that means losing ground to an inferior position. I’m a stubborn man for good reason, namely, that I never fight for a point of view until I’m assured that I’m right. So if I say I’m going to do things a certain way, then you may register your dissent, but it won’t have the least bearing on my behavior. Understood?”
“Your way or the highway, in other words.”
“Those are the very words.”
“I see why they fired you.”
“No. You see why I quit. Too many years of bucking the idiocy of people on the take, of generals preoccupied with inflating their budgets, of so-called engineers too worried about how many bells and whistles they could cram into every single project until it was too fucked up to succeed for anyone except the contractors who built the bells and whistles. You’re no general, so if you fuck around with me then I’ll just go my own way. But I do know how to function as part of a team. We never could have accomplished what we did any other way. I was just fortunate enough to be surrounded, at least for a while, by the most competent people in the field.”
Steve smiled, seemingly impressed, if only by Sharpe’s chutzpah. He waved toward the stubbly cornfield.
“Have at it, then.” He passed Cole on his way back to the house, “Quite a colony of eccentrics we’re building here.”
He had that right. Cole kept walking, out to where Sharpe had dropped back down to his hands and knees. Sharpe dug a hand into the frosty soil at the edge of the driveway and crumbled the earth in his fingers. He nodded approvingly.
“With a little raking it should be fine.”
“As a runway?”
“Yes.” Sharpe stood and wiped the dirt from his hands. “Who knows you’re out here, besides the three of them?”
“Some of their colleagues and friends, maybe. Keira’s parents. But they’re in Europe or something.”
“Then I hope your pals won’t mind if I crash here while I get everything up and running.”
“They might. But the final say will be up to Keira.”
He looked closely at Cole, studying his face.
“Fucking her?”
Cole flushed and looked down at his feet. It was all the answer Sharpe needed.
“So that explains the weird dynamic. The tension. Except in your case. You look rejuvenated. A couch will do for me, as long as it’s not someplace where I’ll have to hear your bedsprings creaking all night.”
“Finished?”
“Oh, I’m just getting started.” Sharpe grinned wolfishly. “Relax. The setup is perfect for our needs. And the beauty of it is that no one knows I’m here. I haven’t enjoyed an advantage like this in quite a while. Okay, then.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “Let’s start putting this thing together.”
Sharpe had arrived in a white panel van with Pennsylvania tags. Painted on the side was a big blue monkey wrench with the name “Anderson Plumbing,” along with a phone number with a 215 area code.
“So now you’re a plumber from Philly?”
“A contribution from a concerned friend. There are more of us than you’d think.”
He opened up the back and began unloading crates and boxes, which presumably contained the pieces of the contraption he was about to assemble. He also got out two toolboxes. One last box, a Styrofoam cube with sides roughly four feet long, remained in the back of the van. Sharpe left it there and locked the rear door.
“What’s in the white box?” Cole asked.
Sharpe grinned.
“The fear of God. Use only if necessary.”
Cole wasn’t sure he wanted to know anything more. Besides, as Sharpe began prying open the various boxes and crates it soon became clear that there was plenty of work to be done.
However uneasy the journalists were about this venture, the noise and spectacle of Sharpe’s project soon got the better of their curiosity. Within an hour all three reporters were pitching in. Steve and Cole uncrated the wings and fuselage. Sharpe wouldn’t let them near the smaller parts, like the chip packages, or the cameras.
Barb and Keira handed him tools as he worked, standing to either side like nurses flanking a surgeon.
“Socket wrench, six millimeter.”
“Epoxy.”
“Allen wrench, that L-shaped thing over there.”
It was nearly four o’clock by the time the drone finally looked like an honest-to-goodness aircraft. Keira glanced at her watch and gasped.
“I’m late,” she said. “Sorry, but I have to leave for an appointment.”
Barb and Steve exchanged knowing glances.
“Your super-secret government source who lives out here?” Barb asked.
“Yes, if you really have to know.”
“You’ll miss the test flight,” Sharpe said, his first attempt at actual conversation for more than an hour.
“It’s ready?” Steve asked. He looked excited. Christmas morning indeed, now that the toy was assembled.
“As soon as I tighten the landing gear, make another adjustment or two. We should have enough light left for a shakedown cruise. But let’s let Keira clear the area first. We don’t want to risk flying through her windshield as she heads up the drive.”
Sharpe continued to work while the others watched Keira depart. The dust from her Nissan trailed off into the woods as the sound of her engine faded into the distance. A few minutes later, Sharpe was done. He tested the wind, then Cole and he positioned the plane for takeoff. Cole stepped back, and Sharpe started the engine by punching commands onto his iPad. Cole put on the headset. The image was even clearer than on Bert’s, and with a better configuration of controls and commands. There was also a stick-and-rudder contraption for him to use, a pretty admirable setup. The headset and goggles were even comfortable, as if they’d been built just for him.