Berger waited as the facial recognition algorithms worked in the background, watching the percentage under each photograph churn until the reading under one of the pictures stopped at ninety-three percent. The man’s name remained blank on Berger’s display, but a green Target Confirmed appeared beneath the image as the four men entered the dwelling.
“We have confirmed jackpot,” the attack controller declared. “You are cleared for weapon release. Paveway in the center of the building.”
Berger selected one of the Reaper’s two Paveways, then waited as Ardis slewed the laser designator onto the building.
Release solution valid appeared on a display in the center console.
Berger armed the Paveway—Master arm on.
Finally, Ready for release appeared.
After a final glance at the laser designator, verifying it was locked on to the center of the building, Berger pressed the red button on his joystick, releasing the five-hundred-pound bomb.
As the Paveway descended toward its target, Berger assessed the probability of mission success. A five-hundred-pound bomb would normally kill everyone inside a dwelling that size, but they had no building schematics and no idea of the structure’s internal layout or composition.
Berger watched as the Paveway completed its journey, hitting the building dead center. An orange fireball erupted, billowing upward above a trail of black smoke as debris rained down on the surrounding landscape. As Berger examined the display for survivors, two men ran from the building.
“We’ve got two squirters,” Ardis announced.
Berger focused on the squirters, a drone term for someone who runs — squirts — from the scene of an explosion.
“Kill the squirters,” the attack controller ordered. “Payload your choice.”
Berger selected a Hellfire missile, which could be guided more effectively toward nimble targets on the move. The two men were close together and running in the same direction, so Berger directed Ardis to guide the missile between the two men. After Ardis adjusted the laser designator to the escaping pair, Berger released one of the Reaper’s Hellfire missiles.
As the Hellfire began its journey, Berger evaluated the advance warning that would be provided to the two targets. An incoming Hellfire missile would create a sonic boom, with the time delay between boom and impact up to eight seconds depending on the azimuth — the angle the laser designator was aimed toward the target. After years of drone strikes in the Middle East, the bad guys had learned — if you hear a boom, it’s time to run.
“Four-second warning,” Ardis announced, having done the mental calculation.
Four seconds ought to be short enough between boom and detonation, Berger figured, providing insufficient time once the targets heard the boom for them to realize what it was, change direction, and flee far enough from the impact point to survive.
The Hellfire streaked toward its targets, and just before it arrived, the two men altered their escape route, turning abruptly and splitting up. The Hellfire detonated a few seconds later, filling the center of Berger’s visual display with another explosion, albeit much smaller than the Paveway’s.
Ardis waited for the dust to clear, then zoomed in on the area, searching for the targets. Both men were lying immobile not far from the Hellfire crater, one man on his back with his eyes frozen open, and the other facedown with red splotches spreading through the sand, outward from his body.
Post-mission analysis would be conducted to assess the results of today’s mission, but Berger was confident the men’s status on his display would be updated from Target Confirmed to Target Deceased.
The attack controller’s voice came across Berger’s headphones again. “You are released for further duties.”
Berger tilted the joystick, turning the Reaper toward Kandahar Airfield in southern Afghanistan for refueling and rearming.
ONE YEAR LATER
1
NEW YORK CITY
Standing at the back of the United Nations General Assembly Hall, Mel Cross surveyed the 1,800 men and women in attendance as they listened to the man at the podium. Like many of the attendees, Cross wore an earpiece, although for a decidedly different reason. There was no need to translate the speech being delivered by the American ambassador to the United Nations; Cross was one of the Diplomatic Security Service agents assigned to the ambassador’s detail. In the other rear corner of the assembly hall, Agent Jill Mercer also kept a watchful eye as they waited for Ambassador Marshall Hill to finish his speech, which was just now becoming interesting.
“Over the last year,” Ambassador Hill said, “there has been an increase in terrorist attacks around the world. The United States has evidence of Iran’s involvement, providing funding, arms, and training to organizations intent on harming those who do not align with Tehran’s ideology. Additionally, we have proof that Iran has been refining uranium for nuclear weapons. Evidence of Iran’s transgressions will be provided to the Security Council, and the United States will be working with member nations to strengthen the sanctions already in place.
“Let me be clear — if Iran’s leadership continues its belligerent and aggressive behavior, developing weapons of mass destruction and supporting those who harm others, the United States will work with its allies to address the situation. Various military options are within the realm of potential responses.”
There was a murmur throughout the assembly hall after Hill’s last statement. Cross paid no attention to the comments. His eyes swept across the audience, searching for that one small detail that seemed out of place. His gaze stopped on Agent Mercer, whose watchful eyes also surveyed the occupants.
His thoughts dwelt for a moment on Jill, an attractive brunette who had been assigned to the ambassador’s detail two months ago. She was a recent widow with two young kids — her husband had been an NYPD cop, killed a year ago in the line of duty. Jill had remained aloof since her assignment to the ambassador’s detail, failing to provide Cross with an opportunity to determine whether she was ready for, or even interested in, a relationship with him.
Cross forced his eyes to keep moving, admonishing himself for the lapse in his duties. He had dwelt on Jill for far too long. Fortunately, the United Nations General Assembly Hall was as safe a place as any in the city.
Upon completing his speech, Ambassador Hill stepped away from the podium, and Cross moved to intercept him. The ambassador was on a tight schedule, heading to LaGuardia Airport for a flight to spend time with his family in Rhode Island, instead of returning to his penthouse condominium a few blocks away. Jill reached the ambassador shortly after Cross did, and the two agents bracketed the diplomat as they approached the exit.
Cross received a report on his earpiece. He spoke quietly into his sleeve, then informed Ambassador Hill, “Transportation is ready.”
The ambassador nodded his understanding. He had already been briefed on the enhanced security measures. Based on the administration’s position against Iran and its aggressive response to the recent wave of terrorism, along with Hill’s role as a primary messenger, his security detail had been augmented. The ambassador would travel with two DSS agents in the second of three vehicles, with two more agents in the lead SUV and Cross and Jill in the third.
The convoy was waiting as they exited the General Assembly Hall lobby, and Ambassador Hill stepped into the middle of three black Lincoln Navigators while Cross and Jill slipped into the vacant third, whose original driver had moved to the first vehicle. The lead SUV pulled out, with the other two SUVs following close behind. The convoy turned onto Second Avenue, beginning the short trip to LaGuardia Airport.