Drone Games (10 page)

“Work on unmanned drone technologies is exploding all over the world. The US Naval Research Laboratory just announced that their fuel cell–powered Ion Tiger unmanned aerial vehicle flew for forty-eight hours using liquid hydrogen fuel in a new cryogenic fuel storage tank and delivery system.”

Robertson poured a glass of water. “No one is shipping us anywhere near the military. In fact, it’s just the opposite. We’re completely separate from the research groups that traditionally test unmanned drones out of Fort Benning. And we’re not part of robotics either, which is another huge technology sector. Those folks are developing machines to help medical patients with caregiving tasks such as housework, feeding, and walking.

“Quite frankly, I believe that Georgia Tech doesn’t know where to put us. Right now, we’re off-campus at the Technology Square Research Building in downtown Atlanta. We’ve turned one of their conference rooms into a test lab. I have a standing policy to welcome any organization that wants either an up-close demonstration or a friendly visit. Unfortunately, there has been a general loss of enthusiasm for space ventures with all the funding cuts, but I’m confident that NASA can rekindle public excitement. President Warren certainly supports aggressive space exploration. As for the MCR initials, these were pure coincidence.”

“But if NASA can’t or won’t accept your invention, wouldn’t that suggest that your drone might be available for other, perhaps darker applications—including those in law enforcement or even the military?”

Robertson frowned. “I really don’t know,” he said. “We built the drone to explore planets. The beneficiaries are NASA and Georgia Tech’s bank account, in that order. There are plenty of other drones that can handle private or military surveillance. Our first priority is strictly planetary. Yes, ma’am, in the front row.”

“Neela Griffin, Fox Cable Business Tech. Is your project classified?”

“Good question. Let me be clear. My drone is not classified. In fact, you’ve already seen the preferred test site. Our stadium has lots of camera angles. The system components are modular and almost toy-like in design. They’re very easy to control and very sturdy. They have to be because of all the Martian rock structures. Even if the wings bump into something during flight, they’re designed to snap off and be easily replaced.

“The most aggressive drone aviators are under age twelve. My two sons learned to fly in less than an hour. It uses a handheld wireless controller-transmitter with toggles and buttons just like modern video games. If any of you or your organizations want a crack at being a drone pilot, come see me. I’ll be more than happy to make the arrangements.”

“Could your drone be used to deliver a weapon of mass destruction?” Griffin blurted.

A hush spread through the room. Even the waitstaff who were quietly collecting the tableware paused.

Robertson peered over his glasses. “The drone was built to survey Mars and collect samples. I don’t think it would do very well in a military proj—”

“That’s not what I asked,” Griffin said. “On February 5, 2003, Secretary of State Colin Powell made an absolute fool of himself in front of the United Nations and the world warning us that remote-controlled Iraqi drones outfitted with spray tanks and biological weapons constituted an ideal method for launching a terrorist attack. Many people believed that potential pushed us into the Iraq war. So, could a terrorist use your invention as a weapon of—?”

“No,” he shot back. “We’re not interested in destroying humanity. We’re interested in improving it.”

The audience applauded.

Carlo gently interjected himself. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, but we’re running a little behind. This concludes our official program. Please join us out on the terrace for an evening of romance with the Riccardo Perrici Ensemble. You’ll also find a delicious selection of wines and desserts. Tonight’s specialty is Zuppa Inglese, or the Italian Tipsy Cake. We hope it lives up to its name.
Buon appetito
.”

Atlante Star Hotel, Suite 400

Sunday, May 10

LINDA ROBERTSON sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi, gently sweeping her hand through the 102-degree water. She stared, dreamlike, out of the window at the surreal sight of St. Peter’s Basilica to the southwest. Rome’s setting sunrays had formed a golden halo around the dome just like so many artists portrayed around the radiant face of Christ.

Robertson eased into the tub, moaning from the pain in his intestines.

Linda kissed his forehead. “Know what I think I’ll do?”

“Find a new husband? One who doesn’t ruin a wonderful vacation in the world’s most romantic city? We should cancel dinner. I’m really sorry. I feel terrible.”

“There’s always room service,” she said, drying her hands and setting the towel within his reach. “There’s a gift shop downstairs. Do you need anything else?”

“I’m fine.” He drew her hand to his mouth. “I’ll just sit here and sulk. Be careful.”

She dimmed the room lights and left.

Robertson submerged until his mustache met the water. His finger touched a button. Soft water jets rolled up and down his back like an undulating snake.

There was a knock at the door.

Now what?
Robertson wondered
. Great—she forgot her key card
. He stood slowly and snatched a towel. Dizzy, he carefully made his way across the room and reached for the dead bolt latch. He never considered the security peephole.

“Professor Robertson?” Robertson quickly covered himself. Ali Naimi removed his hat and respectfully averted his eyes. “My name is Ibrahim Al-Assaf. I apologize for the intrusion, but I was unable to attend your award ceremony last evening. I heard it was most interesting. We have a mutual friend, Professor Al-Aran. I believe he is a colleague of yours. He mentioned that you were staying here. May I?”

“Um, sure.” Robertson turned to verify that his wife was presentable, then remembered that she wasn’t there.

Naimi hesitated. “This is inconvenient. Perhaps tomorrow would be better?”

“No, please. Come in,” Robertson said, noticing the man’s rugged complexion and lifeless, black eyes. He motioned to an upholstered chair by the window. “Excuse me for just a minute.”

Naimi sidestepped a suitcase on the floor. It was stuffed with T-shirts.

Robertson emerged from the bathroom in a white terrycloth robe. “May I get you something?” Naimi declined. Robertson opened a small bottle of Perrier. “Faiz and I share office space at Georgia Tech. Sometimes we even cover each other’s lectures. How do you know him?”

“I work for the Minister of Petroleum and Mineral Resources for the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.” Naimi sat back. “If I may speak freely? There is a certain business proposition.”

Robertson frowned deeply. “Proposition?”

“Well, you may know that our Kingdom produces one quarter of the world’s oil, with new resources being discovered faster than current reserves can be used. Our field at Shaybah is already the fourth largest. We are also very proud of the fact that at one dollar per barrel, our production costs are three times less than the world average. Dr. Al-Aran is currently assisting us at Shaybah with an Arab-Exxon development venture. He is in charge of laying out new airport runways. I’m afraid the desert is quite inhospitable.”

“Faiz has a PhD in operations research from George Washington University,” Robertson noted. “He’s an expert in that area. What’s it got to do with me?”

“We wish to evaluate a new form of surveillance at some of our strategic production sites, including security cameras that are reliable, highly mobile, and easy to operate. These flying drones of yours—when Faiz described the project, it piqued my curiosity.”

“You want to use drones for security?”

“Evaluate,” Naimi quickly corrected. “On a platform, literally. We need something that has the ability to position itself atop strategically placed platforms and observe production operations. We wish to determine if your drones can accomplish this.”

“What kind of platforms?”

“Observation stands attached to existing equipment and framing. Derrick steel, for example—both flat and round. We wish to evaluate the possibility of deploying a series of moveable sentries that can quickly reach certain high-risk areas and monitor our assets. Not only in Shaybah, but potentially all our fields. But this must be done very quietly and without drawing attention.”

“I’m confused,” Robertson said suspiciously. “What’s wrong with traditional options like good old security cameras?”

“Intolerable,” Naimi said with a dismissive wave. “Far too permanent and thus vulnerable to sabotage. And I’m afraid a human military presence is also something we cannot afford.”

Robertson misinterpreted the comment, and his frown grew even deeper. The Saudis weren’t exactly known for frugality.

“What about planes or helicopters?”

Naimi smiled politely. “Professor Robertson, I appreciate your suggestions and concerns, but you don’t understand. The Royal Family is committed to solving this rather delicate problem of wide-area security in the quietest way possible. We cannot abide armed patrols or the engine noise of military aircraft littering the skies above the Kingdom. It’s an extremely sensitive situation, particularly with the current value of petroleum.

“You must know that the Saudi government, under the leadership of the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, his Royal Highness King Abdullah, must manage the region with the utmost reverence. It is related to appearance, but frankly, there is another reason. One that is somewhat unpleasant.

“You may think it unusual for Arabs to be concerned with terrorism, but certain organizations have made repeated threats regarding Saudi oil. Some believe it is the largest prize in the world for the West to capture and terrorists to destroy. We must take these threats seriously. Dr. Al-Aran has explained that your drones have some dexterity as well as a small profile?”

Robertson sipped his water thoughtfully. Now he understood. This man was referring to the surge of Middle Eastern government overthrows, a.k.a the Arab Spring. The Royal Family was running scared.

“Very limited dexterity. But we’re already negotiating with NASA. I wouldn’t be able to look at any other offers until our position with the space program is finalized.”

“Completely understandable,” Naimi acknowledged. “But certainly you would be agreeable to a trial evaluation for a brief period—say, thirty days? Something that would allow us to see these drones in action.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Robertson countered. “I’d have to talk to my university. They would have to approve something like that.”

“I mean no disrespect, Professor, but there is a sense of urgency in this matter. And with you here and unavailable for conference, well, Dr. Al-Aran has already conversed with the appropriate trustees. They were most enthusiastic in expressing preliminary support for such a trial. Arrangements have already been made on your campus in Atlanta for us to acquire the necessary system components. If we like the results, then—”

Robertson’s eyebrows went up. “What did you say?”

“We’ve arranged for a point of transfer.”

“No, before that. You said something about trustees. What trustees?”

Naimi gently stroked his mustache. “I recall the name Garton. Yes, that’s it. Professor Al-Aran has had direct conversation with Dr. Winford Garton. He was most enthusiastic about the prospects.”

He would be
, Robertson thought. Garton was Vice Chair of Georgia Tech Research Corporation, a non-profit entity that secured and managed research funds. He was also the drone project’s primary sponsor. He’d sell freshmen on the black market if it meant a grant commitment.

“Okay, let’s back up. You apparently don’t need my permission, so why are you even here? It’s obvious that this is a done deal.”

Naimi joined his hands, prayer-like. “Michael, we need your expertise, or that of your program staff, particularly with technical nuances and hands-on training. We prefer to borrow, say, four or five drones for a very brief period, evaluate them on site at the Shaybah location, and make a final decision. We certainly wish to keep you in the loop, so to speak, at least in the short term.

“Of course, there will be compensation made to your campus research facility. An initial down payment. If we like the system, we will make a second payment that will constitute a full purchase. You will obviously retain patent rights and may serve as a general advisor during the trial. The Kingdom is very flexible in these matters. If we decide the drones are not feasible for airborne security of our oil fields, then we shall return them immediately, and you may keep the deposit. In any event, your university gains ten million US dollars. Five million have already been issued.”

Robertson lifted the Perrier to his lips but didn’t drink. His mind was trying to comprehend what he just heard. The sudden gasp of air brought on a coughing gag.

“Dollars? Just to perch a flying camera on an oil rig? Are you craz . . . er, serious?”

Naimi thrust his hand between the window sheers and peered outside. “Again, you must forgive me. I am an honorable man and do not wish to appear condescending. Saudis are taught at a very young age never to boast of wealth. At current trends, our Kingdom’s net oil export revenue for the current production year is projected at 300 billion in US dollars. I can assure you of two things: the monetary aspects of this arrangement can be compared to a purchase of”—he glanced at the suitcase—“a vacation souvenir. It is indeed trivial, and I am indeed not crazy.”