Burton snorted. “Hear that, TM? The search program will control the drones. When is Steeljaw gonna get drones for us so we can sit back and relax?”
“You’ve been relaxing since we left the airport,” Martin said. “Why this street? Why not the street over?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Karen said. “I just need a quiet spot to unload the drones.”
Martin looked out the front window. “This is as quiet as any. Come on, Redman, it’s time to earn your pay.” He pressed a button on the dash and the lights in the Ford transit van went out. He pressed another and the front and back windows darkened.
Burton unpacked the drones from their road cases. The drones were thick black triangles almost a foot on edge. Martin helped Burton open the back doors and place the first drone on the ground. There was a slight whirring as the drone whizzed into the sky, and in seconds, it was lost to sight, the faint swish of its rotors disappearing into the night.
They launched the next drone, and then another. After the fifth drone, they joined Karen in the front, hovering over her shoulder.
A map of the area zoomed in until it focused on the street where they were parked, then backed up until it displayed a three-block radius.
“You really think this will work?” Martin asked.
Karen nodded. “Even a tight directional antenna has spillover.” She clicked on the laptop, and the drones took a star position over the Fancher household. The drones circled the house slowly, just above the rooftop, and she pointed to the screen. “There, see that? That’s the Fanchers’ WAP. It’s open. No password required.”
On the screen, the drones gradually spiraled farther and farther away.
“Won’t those doohickeys hit the trees?” Redman asked.
“No,” Karen said. “They are mapping the environment around them, building a three-dimensional model of the neighborhood.”
Martin grunted, focusing intently on the screen. “Last time I was in Dallas, drones didn’t help much.”
Martin’s face was bathed in the soft glow of the laptop, and there was a sour look on his face. “That’s right,” Karen said. “You were shot.”
Martin shrugged. “Wasn’t bad. Roger didn’t make it.”
Burton raised an eyebrow. “Johnson?”
“Yeah,” Martin said.
“He was a good kid,” Burton murmured. “Me and Steeljaw bought him a quart of scotch after he took some shrapnel in Afghanistan. Turns out he hated scotch.”
“Yeah,” Martin said again. “He was a good kid.” Both men bowed their heads for a moment.
Karen was at a loss for words. The Operators had risked their lives and been through hell together while she had safely watched from Area 51. She shook her head and pointed at the screen. “See that spot?”
On the screen, a series of blue dots had formed a line that headed from southwest to northeast.
“That’s the signal?” Martin asked.
“Yes,” Karen said. “That’s the antenna accessing the WAP. As the grid widens, we’ll get a stronger signal strength from one direction. When the drones’ search pattern spreads wide enough, eventually the signal will stop. We just follow the line back to the last dot, and we have their location.”
“Huh,” Burton said. “Sounds simple.”
“Well,” Karen said, “I don’t know about simple. Those drones are custom-built for DHS. They cost something like one hundred grand each.”
“Hear that?” Martin said. “They got more zeroes than you can count.”
“I can count with my fingers and my toes,” Burton said.
Over the next forty minutes, the drones circled wider and wider until the blue line came to an end on the southwest side. “There,” Karen said. “That’s the origin of the signal.”
“Any records for that location?” Martin asked.
Karen accessed the county website and checked the parcel information. “The house was purchased two years ago by a mortgage company during foreclosure. The taxes are up-to-date. Let me check the…”
“What?” Martin asked.
“The mortgage company doesn’t exist,” Karen said. “It’s a shell company.”
“A lot of that shit going around,” Burton said. “I thought this fancy outfit was supposed to keep an eye on that stuff.”
“The world economy is enormous,” Karen said. “Not even the OTM has the resources to keep track of everything.”
“Let’s collect the drones,” Martin said, “and pay them a visit. One objective at a time, like Steeljaw always says.”
Lila’s heart hammered in her chest as she read the newest data leak.
False identities. Area 51. A worldwide conspiracy.
The government’s shadow group, the Office of Threat Management, had killed Patrick. It was the only logical conclusion.
Hackers around the world were posting like crazy, throwing out every conspiracy theory of the past fifty years. The Kennedy assassinations? The OTM. Watergate? The OTM. Iran-Contra? The OTM. 9/11? The OTM. The missing WMD in Iraq? The OTM. Even the crazy story about a stealth aircraft flying through NYC? The OTM.
Could this group be killing all who stood in their way? Did it really go all the way to the White House?
She let out a half-snort, half-sob at her own naïveté.
They killed Patrick. That’s why he was so afraid. They killed him and now they’re going to kill me. How can I fight back against that?
For the first time, her confidence slipped. Exposing Wall Street had been one thing. She’d had no problem with breaking laws to do so because no reasonable person could blame her.
A group like the OTM was different. It was most likely made up of soldiers and spies, men and women who viewed life as disposable. Murderers, each and every one, protected by the New World Order.
She stared at the lamp on her coffee table. It was the only illumination in the room, but suddenly it seemed too small. Too… insignificant.
They could come for me? No, that’s impossible. I’m miles away from the WAP. They may have resources, but they can’t change the laws of physics.
Her breath caught in her throat.
What if they discovered a way to trace the cantenna? What if they break in and blow my brains out? Would anyone even know? Oh, God, my mom. I haven’t spoken to her in… forever!
The more she thought about it, the harder her heart pounded, until she was covered in a cold sweat. She clutched her chest, shivering so violently that her teeth chattered.
Calm down. Nobody knows who you are or where you are. Why would they care? Have you really done anything… bad?
There was a noise from the back, a soft clack that made her sit up on the couch, sending her laptop to the floor. She managed to catch it before it hit the carpet, and she sat there for a moment, hunched forward, holding the laptop and feeling like an idiot.
It was… just the house settling.
The house was silent, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought the noise sounded awfully similar to that of the back door quietly opening and closing.
“Is there someone there?” she whispered.
Don’t be ridiculous. You locked the back door. And even if you didn’t, there’s a wooden fence around the backyard. Take a deep breath and relax.
She sank back against the stained brown cushions, but she had the nagging feeling that she was no longer alone in the house.