Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone (14 page)

“Party has nothing to do with this,” said Murphy. “The quickest way to head off the coming disaster is to give Almasi what he wants. It doesn’t have to go public.”

“Then we’d set a precedent.”

“What precedent? That was done long ago, with hostage swaps and nuclear treaties. The old Reagan Doctrine of not negotiating with terrorists is a thing of the past. Now all that matters is saving American lives.”

“Your plan may be what’s ultimately put in place, but I’m not about to lead with it.”

“Well, I’m glad you have an open mind, at least.” And then he smiled—a sly, devilish expression. “And, Rene, don’t think you can outmaneuver me. You came out of the business world, but I’ve been a product of political infighting my entire life. I’ve seen it all and done it all. I’ll be covered no matter what happens. So play whatever games you think you must. I won’t be harmed by them.”

“You know, Owen, you are one nasty son-of-a-bitch.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I’ll be sitting in
that
chair in a little over a month. Then the real professionals will be back in control of the government. We already have the Congress, and on January twentieth a new era in government activism begins. Then you’ll see what a government is truly designed to do.”

Ortega shook his head. “That is my worst fear of all.”

Chapter 12

Xander awoke before daybreak, and when he looked out the window to check on the hovercopter, he found that another generous coating of snow had fallen during the night. He stepped outside and took in the cool, brisk air. He’d lived in Las Vegas for the past five years, and even though the winters there could get cold, it had nothing like the smell and briskness of fresh mountain air.

There was only the thinnest crescent of a moon showing, yet the stars at this altitude shone brightly, casting the surrounding forest in a soft glow that set his mind at ease. He took in the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last. The new day would bring more turmoil and more tragedy, even though
his
plans were still unfocused.

He stepped out into the snow and crunched his way to the aircraft. He checked the power reading and saw that it was below half. The attached extension cord would charge the battery in less than an hour using normal 110-current, so he pulled the cord inside the cabin and plugged it into a socket.

Next he went to the kitchen and lit a small propane burner on the stove, placing the kettle over the flame. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker, and after a few moments of searching he came upon a lone packet of Swiss Miss chocolate mix. Once his drink was fixed, he sat on the couch and stared at the red coals in the potbelly stove.

He had to come up with a plan, yet before he could he had to have the answers to several critical questions, not the least of which was: Who was behind the attack on the RDC?

He already had a solid suspicion, yet an operation this big was far beyond the capabilities of even Abdul-Shahid Almasi. Then there was the question about how the information had been acquired to mount the operation. That could only have come from inside the Center. Who would have access to such information, along with the motivation to give it to the terrorists?

It had to be someone with the highest clearance, as well as someone who could be bought. Xander couldn’t imagine someone doing all this just for the money, although that was a possibility. More than likely it was someone who also harbored an intense hatred for the organization, even though people like that seldom let their true feelings be known…

Xander nearly spilled his hot chocolate when a name flashed in his head. He trembled at the thought.
Could it be? Could he really be behind all the death and destruction from yesterday, and all that’s to come?

It would explain a lot, like the apparent singular mission at the hovercopter hangar to find and kill
him
.

Jonas Lemon.

“Jonas Lemon,” Xander repeated aloud, “you rotten son-of-a-bitch.”

********

Jonas Lemon had spent nearly nine years in southern Nevada, so he knew how cold the desert could get in winter. Yet here in Dubai it was nearing eighty and dipping only into the high fifties at night. He stood before the large plate glass window on the thirty-fourth floor of the Burj Kahlifa building, looking out at the Persian Gulf and the huge artificial island community resembling a giant palm tree—The Palm Jumeirah—that had been built in the shallows. The construction project was impressive, as were most things in Dubai, and it was no secret that Lemon was glad to be out of Las Vegas.

Even though his former hometown ranked among the world’s most popular tourist destinations, it held a pale candle next to what Dubai had to offer—if you could afford it. The government of the United Arab Emirates was rich beyond compare, and it displayed this fact in amazing ways within their showcase city. For the nouveau riche—such as Jonas Lemon—the opulence of Dubai was just the reward he deserved after all his years spent serving his previous master—the government of the United States of America.

Yet even now his time here was coming to an end.

The last two weeks had been spent in an orgy for the senses, taking in all the luxury Dubai had to offer, made possible by the second installment his benefactor had wired into his Swiss bank account a month before. He mentally applied himself a pat on his back, congratulations for how well his plan was working. By not providing all the information he had at once, he not only guaranteed future payments, but his safety as well. If he had revealed everything to Almasi in the beginning, then the terrorist would have had no further use for him. This way the madman actually provided security to make sure Lemon survived … at least until the last installment was delivered.

Jonas Lemon was no fool. He knew the score and he had no illusions about the people he was doing business with. He had spent nearly ten years fighting against such men, so he knew the threat they posed. With one last installment soon due, he was tempted to put the next phase in his plan into action, even before the payment was made.

Jonas smiled.
That would catch Almasi off guard, and allow me to disappear to my Polynesian paradise before he knows what happening.
Lemon already had enough money to last the rest of his life, and who would suspect him of leaving before the other seven million was placed in his account?

It was important to always stay at least one step ahead of people like Abdul-Shahid Almasi. If he waited for the final deposit, then he would become expendable. So now, with each passing day, the thought of leaving early grew stronger, until it was essentially a fait accompli in his mind.

He turned away from the window and back to the TV that dominated almost an entire wall of the suite. The device was a 72-inch Sony 4G LCD and the images it displayed made his heart leap with joy. The RDC was in ruin, the lifespan of the surviving pilots now measured in days, if not hours. The country he’d once defended was now in an elevated state of fear, just as was expected, just as was needed…

The only regret he had so far was that Xander Moore was still alive. He had specifically requested—indeed demanded—that Moore be personally targeted with units assigned to him exclusively. Almasi had protested at first, complaining about the additional pilots—and other specialists—that would be required for the mission. But Lemon had insisted. Reluctantly Almasi agreed, and the “Xander Moore Hit Team” was assembled.

When it was reported that Moore was not present at the time his home was destroyed—as he should have been according to the rotation roster Lemon had—the question then became: Where was he? Fortunately, the facial recognition program within the Maverick UAVs at the RDC had located him escaping into the open desert in the company of a woman identified as a Fox News correspondent named Tiffany Collins. Other units had been dispatched, yet were unable to stop him before he escaped in an experimental hovercopter.

Lemon had confidence that Moore would be located eventually, if not by Almasi’s men and machines, then by the ones Lemon himself had hired to do the job. Xander Moore would die … and Jonas Lemon would be his cause of death.

The seventeen-inch screen of the open laptop computer on the dining table suddenly flashed to life. Jonas walked over to the device and pressed the return key to authorize the connection. The dark face of Abdul-Shahid Almasi stared back at him; coal-black pupils surrounded by pure white made him appear wide-eyed and intense at all times.

“Have you been watching the news?” Almasi asked in perfect English, with just a hint of the accent that revealed his formal British education.

“Of course, as has the entire world.”

“I must congratulate you on the success of your plan. The information you provided has proved to be genuine.”

“The mission has not been a complete success, not yet.”

“Your nemesis, Xander Moore,
will
be found, Mr. Lemon, and maybe then you can accept the compliment. I do not give them out often.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

After a brief pause, Almasi continued. “Seeing that the operation is now in full motion, would you not see fit to provide the last piece of the puzzle so we can conclude our business?”

“Patience, Mr. Almasi. You will get it. First let the fear simmer for a while. America must be at the breaking point before they’ll take it to the next stage. With the RDC out of action, there will be plenty of open targets to keep your pilots busy. Have some fun, Abdul-Shahid. After all, isn’t killing infidels your favorite pastime?”

“Please do not be flippant with me, Mr. Lemon. What I do is not a hobby. I do it with the utmost seriousness and purpose.”

“Forgive me. I’m just a little giddy about what has taken place over the past twenty-four hours. No offense was intended.”

“You feel
giddy
—as you say—over the demise of your homeland? Isn’t that rather odd?”

“You forget, Abdul, I’m a traitor of the first degree, so I obviously don’t have as much love for my country as you give me credit for. I’m enough of a realist to accept that fact. Sure, the money is good and much appreciated, but I, too, have the utmost seriousness and purpose for what I do—have done.”

“Your hatred for this Mr. Moore must be all-consuming.”

The smile vanished from Lemon’s face. “Moore is just the catalyst for my hatred, Almasi. He’s the face I put to it. It was the system that destroyed me. Now I will help destroy that system, and Xander Moore along with it.”

“Even though I find your reasoning to be confusing and complex, I still respect it,” said the terrorist leader. “Our singular goal, although arrived at from opposite directions, will soon be achieved. How we reached this juncture is only for Allah to understand. I accept it for what it is.”

“So what is the latest on Xander Moore?”

“Since his home was destroyed, we have been researching this newscaster he has with him, Tiffany Collins. He may be using her to hide him. She lives in Los Angeles, yet has not returned to her home. Her family owns another dwelling, and we are pursuing that location in case that is where they have fled. I will keep you informed as to our progress.”

“Good. Now, although I don’t mean to renegotiate the terms of our arrangement this late into the process, why don’t we make the death of Xander Moore a condition for delivery of the final data drop? That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

     “Indeed it is!” Almasi barked. Jonas could see Almasi’s eyes grow even wider, if that was possible. “This Mr. Moore is a distraction to our true mission. Do not attempt to complicate things any further.”

“Relax, it was worth a try,” Lemon said with a smile. “All right, the drop will proceed as originally scheduled … unless you can terminate Mr. Moore beforehand. If that happens, then I
will
consider releasing the information early. That way we both get what we want.”

Lemon could see the devious mind of Abdul-Shahid Almasi working behind the manic eyes. Jonas had touched a chord. “That would be acceptable,” the terrorist leader said. “I will send word out to make the death of Xander Moore a priority. Please remain where you are. Confirmation should come within the day.”

“As always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Almasi.”

Without a return acknowledgement, the screen on the computer went dark.

That went well
, Lemon thought,
even though now I’ll have to move up the timetable for my departure
.