McKinney saw her own form shining an LED flashlight beam out her screen that didn’t show up in infrared, but the video focused on the quadracopter spotter drone, which floated away. A bright light blinked rapidly on its back in a complex sequence.
“The spotter then moves to a safe distance to film the strike, confirm detonation of ordnance, fatalities, so on. ELINT suggests that it then connects to the nearest Wi-Fi hotspot it can hijack to upload the video to a predetermined Web domain before the spotter also self-destructs.” He looked to the back of the plane. “Did we stop that video upload, Hoov?”
The Eurasian guy at the electronics console answered. “We did. There was a connection to our open Wi-Fi access point just before the attack. It performed a test upload—which I let past—and afterwards a large encrypted file was transferred . . . which I trapped.”
“Bingo. That means they don’t have shit. No damage assessment.” Odin handed the ruggedized tablet over to her, but his gaze stayed on Hoov. “What else do you have for me?”
Hoov was studying several screens of his own. “Judging from the impact radius, I’d say it’s another fifteen-kilo laser-guided fuel-air bomb.”
“Foxy, we’ll need to insert a mop-up crew into the TPDF to get the bomb fragments.”
Foxy answered. “Already in the works.”
“And the parent drone—please tell me we got clear video for once.”
Everyone turned to face Hoov expectantly.
Hoov milked the pregnant silence, then smiled. “Channel Two.”
Odin clapped once and grabbed the Rover. He tapped the screen for a few moments as the others crowded around him, looking over his shoulder from the seat backs. It was obvious that they’d been trying to get a look at their quarry for some time. Their eyes went wide and they nodded in satisfaction.
Odin looked up. “Goddammit, good job, Hoov. There’s our enemy, people. At long last we meet.”
The woman in the hijab poked her ringed index finger. “South African Bateleur?”
Foxy shook his head. “Not with that wing configuration. Looks more like a Rustom-H to me. Or maybe an Indian Aura.”
Odin was shaking his head. “No, it’s another knock-off. Maybe built with stolen tech.”
He turned the Rover to face McKinney. “Here’s what would have killed you tonight, Professor. . . .”
She studied the black-and-white image. It was like seeing footage of Bigfoot; a vaguely familiar drone shape—straight wings, with canards, and a rear-facing propeller. It was filmed off to the side and from below, where a bomblike object was visible on a hard-point on its belly. The perspective of the image was changing slowly, as though taken from another aircraft that was moving in a different direction.
The rest of the group seemed pretty satisfied, but McKinney grimaced. “Why didn’t you shoot it down before it attacked me?”
“Not the plan. It’s important that they don’t know we’re tracking them. Not yet, at any rate. And by intercepting their spotter’s video upload, they won’t know whether you’re alive or dead.”
“Can’t you trace it”—she rolled her hand in thought—“by radio signals or something? Find out who’s controlling it?”
Odin looked grim. “That’s the problem: No one is controlling it. These drones are autonomous—programmed to find and kill their victim, and then to self-destruct. So far it’s been impossible to get a good look at one, much less capture it intact. But we’re working on that last part, and thanks to you we made some progress tonight.” He turned back to Hoov. “When did we lose it?”
“Disappeared from the radar screen nine clicks south of Target One at an altitude of twenty-two thousand feet.”
Foxy murmured, “Figures.”
Odin didn’t seem surprised either. “Any luck catching the spotter?”
“Negative. It flew off after the bomb strike. Tin Man and Smokey are beating the bush trying to find it, but all hell’s broken loose at the research station. Armed guards are running around with flashlights.”
“Pull ’em out. See what our operatives can find tomorrow. In the meantime upload everything to the gateway, and tell Expert Four I want a written assessment by the time I return.”
“Will do.”
McKinney was still trying to process the insanity of her situation. “Let me get this straight: Someone tried to kill me with a self-piloting suicide drone?”
“I know this must all seem very strange.”
She looked at him like he was certifiably insane.
“Okay. Maybe it is very strange. But now there’s a tool to cheaply eliminate people without facing consequences. That means this is about to spread.”