“I see it. When it’s airborne I’ll head upwind and into the sun.”
“Fighter tactics,” Sharpe said.
“Won’t mean shit if this stuff’s half as hot as you say.”
“I doubt they’d risk one of their better models. From the looks of that one, it might even be a trainer. But that also means they won’t just be trying to follow you, or take your picture. They’ll be out for blood.”
“Looking for a collision?”
“Whatever it takes.”
Sharpe said it with relish. He was enjoying this. Cole was, too. The idea of having an actual air-to-air opponent was certainly a thrilling change from his Predator missions, when the biggest danger apart from equipment failures and the elements was the occasional clumsy potshot fired by mujahideen with rocket-propelled grenade launchers, and even that had only occurred twice, and at very low altitudes.
Besides, the craft he was piloting now was much faster and more maneuverable. It was nimble, fun to fly. And with the full-surround view offered by the headset he practically had to stamp his feet on solid ground to remind himself that he wasn’t actually airborne.
Cole spent the next few minutes making passes over the airstrip so Sharpe could collect as many images as possible, and from every conceivable angle. All the while he remained aware of the craft being readied for takeoff, which flashed into view on each pass.
“We’re good on the imaging!” Sharpe called out after the fourth pass. “And they’re airborne now, so watch yourself.”
“Keep him in view on your iPad. I’m blind to him right now.”
“He’s coming up on your starboard side, already up past the tree line and banking around on a course to intercept you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Cole throttled down, trying to gauge the capabilities of the rival drone. Banking slowly, he headed straight into the sun and out over the water.
“The winds are trickier above the Bay. Let’s see what he’s got.”
“I’m watching him,” Sharpe said. “Nothing fancy yet, unless he’s holding back. Maneuverability looks pretty average.”
“Is he armed?”
“Hadn’t even thought of that. But, no, I don’t think so, unless there’s some kind of hidden weapons system. Here he comes. Giving it everything he’s got, if I’m not mistaken.”
Cole banked into a 180-degree turn out over the water, the screen wobbling from the turbulence in a way that made his stomach jump. The pursuing aircraft came back into view. It was maybe three quarters of a mile away and closing fast, glinting in the sunlight as it made a beeline for him.
“Whoever’s flying it isn’t particularly sophisticated,” he said. And it was clear to him that his rival definitely hadn’t studied the principles of superpilot John Boyd, who, besides designing the F-16 Viper, had revolutionized pilot training forever with his Energy-Maneuverability Theory of aerial combat.
“Nah. This guy doesn’t know shit. Watch this.”
From what he’d seen so far, Cole concluded that the other craft was at best only a shade faster than his, and marginally less nimble. Cole veered away from it with ease and came in off the water just above the treetops. He banked down into a second and smaller clearing, the one that looked like part of a firing range.
“He’s coming after you. Right on your tail and closing.”
Cole banked sharply to starboard and jammed the stick into an immediate climb, straight up into the sun once again — temporarily blinding unless you knew exactly where you were and where you were going. The pursuing plane banked to the right as well but, when faced by the glare, waited for a fraction of a second before ascending. Cole hurtled up over the tree line with no more than twenty feet to spare as he came up out of the clearing. He couldn’t see how his opponent fared, but Sharpe, moving his own camera independently, must have, along with the others. All six of them give out a sharp cry of triumph, like the crowd in a football stadium when the linebacker smashes the ball carrier to the turf.
“Whoa, baby! He’s gone with the wind!” Steve exclaimed giddily before going silent, as if suddenly reminded that he still had no reason to celebrate.
“Crashed in the trees!” Sharpe announced. “Captain Cole, you’re free and clear to pursue our final target. Let’s go find Mansur.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Cole took the drone back down to treetop level so he wouldn’t be so easy to spot from the airstrip. With IntelPro’s eye in the sky out of action, their enemies might believe, at least for a while, that he’d crashed as well, and now he was almost certainly flying too low to show up on their radar.
From Castle’s direction Cole heard the rustle of charts and satellite photos.
“You need to head due southeast,” Castle said. “You’ll be there in no time. It’s a small clearing and will come up fast. I think you’ve already got the coordinates.”
“I do, and I think I see it, just ahead. Wow, they really are isolated. The clearing’s too small for me to get in. I’m taking her up a little, for better visibility. Don’t want to get knocked into the trees by a gust.”
The view came into focus, offering far more detail and dimension than the satellite had picked up. There were two buildings. The larger one seemed to be a house of spartan design. Painted cinderblock construction with three small windows on each floor across the front and back, but none on the sides. Peaked roof, black shingles. Its half-acre lot was enclosed by a high fence topped with razor wire. The surrounding clearing, maybe five acres in all, was enclosed by similar fencing, with some sort of guardhouse by the gated driveway entrance.
Armed men in military uniforms patrolled the grounds, one on each side of the compound. Presumably, more were on duty inside the blockhouse. Another stood in a watchtower in a far corner, opposite the blockhouse.
“Like a prison,” Castle said.
“Look!” It was Keira.
The front door of the house opened, and an armed man in uniform emerged. Trailing him was a small fellow in civilian clothes who, even from three hundred feet up, was recognizable right away to anyone who’d met him.
“Mansur,” Cole said.
“Well, that was easy,” Sharpe said.
“Plenty left to do.”
“I’m getting good images. Stay on this side of the house.”
“Have to make a turn here. You might lose him for a second.”
Cole banked up and around to the rear side of the house. When the front came back into view they saw that four more people were walking single file behind Mansur. They seemed to be following the guard toward a gate. Two more people stepped from the house as they watched.
“They must have flown in half his aunts and uncles,” Castle said.
“Getting busy down there,” Sharpe said. “We’ve stirred up the hornets’ nest, and something’s afoot. Look out by the main gate, coming in from the woods.”
An open-top jeep and a military-style cargo truck with a canvas cover pulled up to the gate, which opened to let them enter. A second jeep followed the truck. All three vehicles entered the compound.
“Back at the house!” Keira said. “Cole, you have to see this.”
He tilted the angle of his camera, and there, stepping into the sunlight, was a girl in Afghan peasant clothes and blocky shoes. She was skipping more than walking, the only playful pose in the bunch, but her gait was slightly out of balance because she had only one arm.
Cole opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He drew a deep breath, unable to swallow. For a moment he forgot all about flying, even as she disappeared from his view and he passed back above the forest. When he finally managed a few words, his voice quivered.
“It’s her. Fourteen months and seven thousand miles, and my God, there she is.” No one else spoke, and with the headset on he couldn’t see their faces. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he might have imagined it. “Everybody else saw her, right? With one arm?”