Kill Decision(74)
Hoov’s voice. “Best bet’s to head east. That’s where the most likely radar tracks are.”
McKinney and Odin exchanged looks in the semidarkness as they waited and watched.
“Heads up.”
Odin spoke into his mic. “What?”
“It’s signaling.”
The FLIR imagery showed a pulsating laser on the top of the birdlike minidrone. It was flashing rapidly in a variable pattern.
“All right, that’s the attack signal.”
Foxy’s voice. “Yeah, we see it.”
“Could it be signaling a satellite? What sats are overhead at the moment?”
“Got my hands full at the moment. I’ll check later.”
Odin spoke into his mic. “Tailhook, Tailhook. This is Odin. Do you copy?”
“This is Tailhook. Go ahead, Odin.”
“Where are we in our orbit?”
“We’re . . . about fifteen clicks southeast of White Sands Base.”
“Copy that. You see those two echoes east of us? Head to a point midway between them. It’s likely that the main attack drone will be coming in from the east.”
“Copy that, Odin.”
Foxy waved from over on the far side of the plane, where they manned the electronics console. His voice came over the radio. “Odin. Whoo boy, we’ve got something interesting here. That northbound radar contact to the east just turned west on a vector that will run it right over White Sands.”
“Private plane?”
“Affirmative. VFR. No flight plan registered. It’s fifteen miles out and coming in at just under two hundred knots. Altitude one-zero hundred.”
Odin gave a look to McKinney but spoke into the radio. “Here we go. Battle stations, battle stations. Tailhook, you know what to do: Intercept that bogey from above and behind once you confirm it’s a drone.”
“Wilco, Odin. On our way.”
McKinney grabbed the seat as the C-130 went into a steep, banked left turn and an equally steep descent. The g-forces were strong enough that the cargo would probably have stayed in place without straps. Odin remained planted as well, standing without even grabbing a handhold. He was apparently well used to airborne operations.
“Foxy, focus the plane’s lightning pod on that bogey and get me a visual as soon as possible. Put it on channel four.”
“Copy that.”
“Hoov, have the techs review the radar tapes to track that bogey back to its source, and get a Ranger team airborne. We might be able to catch whoever launched this thing before they get far.”
“Already on it. We just got the info from the FAA on that contact. Looks like it hooked north from a western course fifteen minutes ago. It first came on the radar screens over the Denver metro area. That’s two hundred thirty-six miles from here.”
“Damn. Whoever launched this thing would be long gone by now. Get the info to the local FBI office. Have them work with the FAA to pinpoint the exact GPS coordinates where it first came up to radar altitude. Hopefully we can get some surveillance video that shows where it was launched from.”
“A city. It figures. Must have hid in all the private air traffic.”
After a few moments the C-130 leveled out. The engines throttled up, and McKinney noticed several of the other team members scurrying around, prepping the pallets. Odin, too, was rummaging through Pelican cases and racks on the edge of the cargo bay.
She looked at him. “What happens next?”
“We hope this is our drone. If it is, we bag it before it can self-destruct.” He pulled a black flight suit and parachute from a case and tossed them to her.
She caught them with both hands. The suit was as heavy as a dry scuba outfit but was made of thicker synthetic material. “What’s this?”
“Cold-weather flight suit. If this is our target, we’ll be opening the cargo door, and it’ll be sixty below in here soon. Be sure to close every flap.”
She put the tablet down and started pulling herself into the suit. It felt expensive, and she had no doubt it was military-grade special operations gear. She looked up to see Odin doing the same thing. “So how you planning on bagging this drone?”
“We’re going to deploy an oversized air sock of sorts. NASA tech, specially made Kevlar, Nomex, and ceramic fabric—stuff designed for inflatable space-station sections to withstand micrometeorite impacts. Vented to release pressure. Should be relatively explosion-proof. We’re going to trail that air sock two hundred meters behind this aircraft, then come in from above and behind the drone and scoop it up. If it explodes—as we think it will—almost all the wreckage should remain in the bag.”
She nodded. “And that gets you a complete drone.”