The Archangel Drones (25 page)
He exited his new pickup truck, using the fob to lock the door. The security cameras had been carefully calibrated to allow a blind spot exactly where his reserved parking space was located. His path to the private entrance took him through a narrow, blind corridor, just outside of their field of view. No one would hack his system and find evidence of Mr. Gabe Chase entering the premises.
The heavy, steel door buzzed, unlocking via facial recognition software. He entered a small, unmarked room that contained nothing but an elevator door. The new-smelling car was open and waiting.
Moments later, he stepped out of the elevator and into the modest lobby. Cheap furniture was grouped here and there, the obvious indicators of a cash-strapped new business. While there was a small receptionist’s bar at one end of the space, no young person would ever answer the phone or welcome guests there. JI wouldn’t be receiving any calls, salesmen, or visitors.
A numeric keypad accessed a narrow hall; at the end were two heavy fire doors. One entry led to his personal apartment, the other to the inner workings of JI, Incorporated.
Deciding his own personal space was the lower priority, Gabe entered the company side of the suite, rolling up his sleeves in a symbolic gesture – ready to get to work.
The area was exactly what someone would expect from a start-up. Cheap cubicles were lined up in military formation as if readying for a parade. Each compartment was equipped with an inexpensive computer that Gabe doubted had been, or ever would be, turned on.
Just down the hall was the company break room, complete with fancy coffeemaker and miniature refrigerator. Everyone knew software companies ran on coffee – right?
A few short steps later and just beyond yet another secured doorway, he arrived at the nerve center of Jacob Industries, the location where the real agenda of the business would be addressed.
The server room contained a massive amount of computing power, more so than a firm with hundreds of employees would require. The rack-mounted, multi-core processors were connected with terabytes of solid-state memory storage and the absolute best fiber optic internet connections money could buy. It was a showcase of technology that would make even the most serious “geekdom” enthusiasts weak in the knees.
Sitting in one corner of the chilly, well air-conditioned room was the communications equipment. Again, no money had been spared on the receivers, trunk processors, and digital controllers. Only the antenna array was absent, that hardware being leased from a variety of third party providers scattered over the metropolitan area.
Gabe passed by, apathetic to the computing firepower he’d amassed, his gaze focused instead on the assembly room at the end of the hall.
Here, the movers and technicians had been instructed to simply unload several locked, hard-sided cases. Gabe immediately began lifting the containers onto a large conference room table and opening the combination locks.
An hour later, Gripen 1 was proudly on display, the drone’s delighted master slowly circling his creation like a mad scientist admiring a newly breathing monster.
Named after the Swedish fighter jet, G-1 was itself a sleek machine. With a carbon and titanium x-frame, four 8-inch propellers, and an electronics basket equipped with the smallest, lightest, high definition cameras in the world, Gabe’s design was the rival of any drone made, short of surreptitious, military grade technology.
The Gripen was equipped with infrared, zooming cameras that recorded video with an impressive level of clarity.
The term “high definition” has to be completely redefined,
the entrepreneur reflected while admiring her notable skill. Her observation platform included parabolic microphones, 48x zoom micro-cameras, and the most accurate GPS technology available. It was an impressive collection, all enclosed inside of a tiny flyer that occupied a space less than 80 inches square.
The airframe also sported an imposing array of computing power, resulting in a hybrid device that was as much robot as aircraft. She boasted four proximity sensors, stability algorithms, an autopilot, and emergency “Go home” programming.
The G-1 wasn’t an overly fast bird, capable of only 35 mph with a full load of sensors. Nor was she long-legged, possessing a mere 120 minutes of flight time from her custom-developed battery pack having been repurposed from the latest model laptop computers.
While Gabe’s $8,000 machine wouldn’t compete with her Uncle Sam-sponsored, military cousins such as the Predator or Global Hawk, she was far and above the average hobbyist’s equipment.
He flicked on the Gripen’s inconspicuous power switch and then turned to a bank of computer monitors residing on a modern-looking glass and chrome desk. Here, he could view streaming video, GPS maps, satellite images, and the autopilot’s display.
The real investment was located inside the software driving those displays. Gabe had contracted with offshore developers to code, test, and debug the brains that would allow the Gripen to perform his commands. Eventually, he hoped to manage a small fleet of drones from this location, and planning for that future expansion had mandated significant advancements over any existing systems available.
A look of satisfaction mixed with pride replaced his commonly downcast expression. Glancing toward the heavens, he whispered, “We’re almost there, son. One day, the world will know our little secret, will understand how our cause can return justice to American society. Today is an important step. I love you, Jacob.”
Gabe’s attention was drawn away from the blueprint he was manipulating by the call coming in over the police scanner. After months of voyeuristic eavesdropping, he knew their radio-language by heart. The Houston police were involved in a pursuit.
Sliding to another of the many keyboards parked at the control cluster, he quickly replayed the looping digital recording, listening as the officer called for support and highlighting the location.
Within seconds, he’d entered the street address into the mapping system. “Good,” he announced to the empty room. “That’s within our range.”
With nervous fingers flying over the keys, Gabe hungrily configured a flight path for the Gripen. A few moments later, the machine powered up and was prepared to launch from its hidden rooftop cradle.
Whispering a small prayer, Gabe hit the right sequence of buttons, and then directed his gaze to a nearby monitor.
There he watched the streaming video from the G-1 as the drone ascended above the office building, his pickup truck looking like an abandoned toy sitting alone in its reserved parking space.
Before the drone had even managed the parking lot, the police radio sounded again, the pursuing officer providing an update to the battalion of squad cars now rolling to join the chase. “Suspected carjacking, possible hostages, traveling past the 1500 block of Jones Road, heading north. Suspect is traveling at a high rate of speed.”
Gabe had anticipated this, moving the mouse pointer to a new vector on the GPS map and then sending the modified destination to his flying robot. He watched with satisfaction as the blinking red dot indicating the Gripen’s flightpath altered course.
The suspected carjacker was game for the chase, making several high-speed turns in a vain attempt to elude the converging fleet of HPD officers. For 14 minutes, the airwaves were filled with updates, responses, orders, and excited cops responding to the evasion.
All the while, Gabe’s attention was divided between listening, updating the drone’s course, and observing the lights of Houston pass beneath his drone’s camera.
The Gripen was flying at 250 feet above ground, traveling at top speed. The altitude had been carefully selected for a variety of reasons, including the need to stay within the FAA’s 400-foot ceiling for civilian drones.
Flying at that level would allow the G-1 to sashay over any building less than 24 stories tall, the north side of the city having few exceptions worthy of avoidance. He had identified five radio towers and two rows of high-voltage power lines that exceeded that height. And of course, the local airports were out-of-bounds.
The location of all known obstacles within the area had been programmed into the Gripen’s avoidance software, but keeping that data current presented quite a challenge. Metro Houston was constantly expanding her highway infrastructure, creating towering, webs of intersecting asphalt that connected one side of the Bayou City to the other. Commercial construction projects abounded, the skies often littered with soaring cranes and other lofty impediments that were mobile, switching position from day to day.
The evolving nature of Harris County’s landscape presented quite the challenge for Gabe’s drone. As he watched the blinking illumination of suburban neighborhoods and corporate landscapes pass beneath G-1, Gabe recalled one such example that had drawn his attention just a few months before.
A car dealership was promoting a big sale, the center of its lot brandishing a huge display of colorful balloons to attract commuters driving on the nearby freeway. He’d estimated that impressive cluster of helium-filled advertisement was at least 200 feet above the earth. Never before had any structure or object exceeded 75 feet in that area. So, yes, accidents might happen.
Knowing this, he’d designed a redundancy, four pinhole-sized, proximity sensors, one on each side of the G-1. They were directly linked to the autopilot, working hand in hand with the collision avoidance algorithms pulsing through the Gripen’s computer brain.
The transmission he’d been waiting for finally broadcast, the carjacker having discarded the idea of outrunning the cops in the stolen vehicle and instead deciding to imitate a track star. The armada of responding cruisers were now converging on a strip mall parking lot. “I’ve got a runner!” came the closest officer’s voice. “He’s heading around the south side of the building on foot.”
Gabe’s quick fingers reprogrammed the G-1, ordering it to the last known address and issuing instructions to hover at 200 feet just to the south. Without hesitation or protest, the drone responded. It would arrive at the destination in less than a minute.
Despite the aircraft’s slow speed, its closure rate was impressive. The drone flew in a straight line, wasn’t hindered by traffic signals or gridlock – didn’t have to travel in right angles and never had to avoid one-way streets.
The monitor displaying the G-1’s primary camera showed strings of rapidly passing, twinkling white and red lights as it flew steadily toward the designated coordinates. Having flown numerous test flights, Gabe realized he was looking at lines of headlights and taillights, all accented by street side fluorescent-topped utility poles.
A few moments later, the scene changed, a sea of blue and red strobes pulsing on the horizon. With his heart racing, Gabe watched as the outline of over a dozen police cars came into clear view. In a matter of seconds, he could spot officers scurrying about, positioning themselves to catch or block the running suspect.
The video was so clear that Gabe could read the strip mall’s signage, noting the doughnut shop, dry cleaners, shoe repair, and mobile phone retail outlet – businesses that were now witnessing the massive police response.
“Doughnuts?” he smirked at the monitor. “One stop shopping for the cops tonight.”
A quick command ordered the Gripen to switch to its infrared camera, another monitor now showing the multi-colored world of heat-spectrum energy translated into the human-visible light.
Gabe could spot the white-hot outlines of the police car engines surrounded by the black background of the cooler pavement. Cops were darting everywhere, giving chase to the suspect. Gabe’s mechanical spy started scanning in the general direction the stampede seemed to be heading.
It was easy to pick out the officers in direct pursuit of the on-foot suspect, their movements and posture more rapid and alert. The G-1 spotted the man being chased well before any of the cops, identifying the lone individual sneaking behind a garage and then sprinting to the cover of two trashcans.
Gabe ordered the remote eye to adjust its position, the Gripen gliding less than 100 meters to the west where he could keep a lock on the concealed man.
Spying on the pursuit was drama of a sort, more entertaining than any television show Gabe had ever watched. He could zoom in and out, plot the participants, and even anticipate their next moves.
For a while, he thought the fleeing car thief was actually going to get away. Two patrolmen stalked right past the prone suspect, no more than 20 yards distant.