The Archangel Drones (31 page)

Gabe exited the shop after verifying he could operate the new, electric bed cover. Glancing at his watch, he decided there was enough time to test his theory on mobile launch and recovery.

The first stop was back at JI’s office, the heavy cases containing the G-2 unit loaded in short order. Next came the long drive out to the farm.

He drove around for a while, circling the remote property to ensure there weren’t any prying eyes or nosey neighbors. Finally, parking well off the road on one of the many lanes crisscrossing the property, he began to assemble the next generation of his design.

The G-2 had extended range and a more advanced computer brain. With a high-speed, wireless link, Gabe could control the unit via a laptop computer sitting inside the truck’s cab. While the resolution and capabilities weren’t as sophisticated as the main control center back at the office, he thought it was good enough to do the job.

After assembling the Gripen-2, he set the ultra-light bird in the bed of the truck and then pressed the button to close the rollaway top. There was plenty of clearance.

Next, he reopened the mini launch bay and ordered the second generation, airborne spy to lift off.

Skyward it climbed, soaring toward the clouds just as he’d expected. After completing a quick aerial tour of the grounds, he ordered the drone home.

It was an amazing sight, watching the new Gripen glide in and hover above the truck’s bed. Missing dead center by only a few inches, the G-2 touched down a few moments later, sheltered and secreted by the pickup’s sheet metal walls.

With that test completed, Gabe again launched his flying robot, sending it on a preprogrammed course around the farm. After ensuring it was following the waypoints, he started up the truck and drove a half mile further down the lane.

“Come home,” he commanded toward the heavens, fingers rapidly typing on the laptop’s keyboard.

Just like before, the machine responded, appearing over the nearby patch of pine trees and sailing toward the back of the truck.

The unit’s internal GPS was accurate to within 10 feet if the military wasn’t scrambling the signal. Gabe noticed the autopilot was slightly off, but that wasn’t a serious concern. He quickly disengaged the automatic control and took over manually. A few adjustments later, the Gripen landed gently in the bed of the pickup.

“Too easy,” Gabe smiled. “Now let’s go recruit a new employee. Together, we’ll really give the cops something to think about.”

The national reaction to the Archangel story coming out of Houston was widespread and intense. The media couldn’t get enough. Sensing blood in the water, they swarmed like a school of hungry sharks. Voices from social media across all platforms from the White House to a plethora of police unions felt the need to chime in. Congressmen and Senators began calling press conferences; some for, some against the notion of private citizens monitoring the police.

Cable news commentators enjoyed a field day, many coming out in support of whoever was behind the airborne surveillance. Others were trying desperately to “shoot down,” the concept.

As the day wore on, one overriding trend became clear. Those opposed to the Archangel were having trouble justifying their position.

“The police don’t need to be distracted by some clown buzzing their heads with drones when they should be concentrating on catching the bad guys,” spouted one retired police captain. “When one of our brave officers gets killed because he was ducking a flyby instead of watching the felon with the gun, I believe the Archangel should be brought up on murder charges.”

The show’s host didn’t buy it. “In the three examples out of Texas, did the police even know the drone was there?” he asked coyly.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there,” the captain gruffly responded, taking the easy way out.

“Well, evidently the officers on the scene didn’t know the drone was above them. I doubt they would have used such excessive force if they had realized they were under surveillance. And isn’t that really the Archangel’s goal?”

On and on the debate raged across the internet’s blogs, radio talk shows, and television news programs.

By the time America was driving home from the office, two incidents of copycats were being reported. A drone operator in New Mexico had taunted the police as they made a traffic stop. Hovering in the distance, the machine monitored a rather annoyed looking state trooper as he wrote a speeding ticket. A crowd of onlookers had gathered nearby, breaking out in applause when the tiny robot had buzzed off.

One of the most telling stories to hit the national stage was a caller on a Houston radio program. “I was pulled over about a month ago,” the man began. “The cop wanted to search my car. I refused. He got mad, saying that if I didn’t have anything to hide, why did I care if he looked inside my car? So now, I want to ask the same question back to all the police bitching about the Archangel – if you don’t have anything to hide, why do you care if the drone is watching you?”

It was the essence of a nationwide argument.
Why should the police be bothered if they weren’t doing anything wrong?

“Two-dimensional video always looks bad,” responded one commentator. “Any time force is required by law enforcement, it is upsetting to the general public who may not know the suspect’s criminal history. You may see the cops get a little rough with a guy and think it’s excessive, but what you may not know is that the last time the officer approached that individual, the guy pulled a gun and started shooting.”

Polling showed America was split on the topic, almost half of the people for, half against the monitoring of police officers as they performed their duties.

“We already have a system in place,” pushed back one expert on an afternoon cable news show.

“It doesn’t seem to be working,” replied the host. “Only a small percentage of officers who receive complaints ever face criminal charges. As far as internal department disciplinary actions, the average penalty is three days without pay. Hardly a deterrent given the frequency of excessive force claims filed across the nation on a daily basis.”

“If Americans truly believe the system isn’t working, then they should fix it with their vote in the traditional way. Having some unregulated and uncontrolled outsider policing the police is just opening a can of worms and adding additional complexities to an already difficult problem.”

Bringing democracy into the argument intensified the debate. Several people pointed out a nationwide trend – the correlation between the police unions’ endorsements and the candidates who became district attorneys. One activist in New York City even went so far as to claim that there had not been a single DA elected in his lifetime who did not first win the highly coveted nod from the union. It did make folks wonder if the deck were stacked against a system of checks and balances.

And then there were the privacy advocates. In recent years, America had been racked by numerous reports of NSA and government spying. Much of the citizenry was already weary of Big Brother watching their every move, analyzing their emails, and eavesdropping on their phone calls. The concept of private individuals being able to perform the same intrusive acts sparked outrage by some.

Others, however, took a different position. If the government was spying on everyday citizens, why couldn’t those common folk return the favor and spy right back? A few outliers even went so far as to advocate drones monitoring all branches of government, keeping an eye out for corruption, graft, and other abuses.

“The FBI could have 300 million informants if this trend continues,” remarked one Senator who supported the Archangel’s existence. “If every elected official, police officer, federal employee, and lobbyist thought a drone was keeping an eye on their activities, you might have a more affective government for the people. Fill the skies with eyes and ears, I say. Bring on the drones.”

Of course, the predictable comparisons to George Orwell’s famous novel,
1984
, filled the airwaves. Where would it end? Were Americans’ bedrooms safe from prying eyes? Would any conversation ever be private again? Some argued that privacy was already an illusion in America.

Gabe, as he drove back from the country, was completely unaware of the commotion his machines were generating. Country and Western music filled the truck’s passenger compartment, assisting the driver’s elevated mood as he managed an easy pace through the winding, pastoral setting. The passing greenery, combined with the day’s technical successes, marked a welcome relief to the stressful, work-filled days of late.

As he approached the Houston metropolitan area, he considered switching to a more informative station, but decided against it. The headlines had grown mundane, and he didn’t want anything to dampen his enthusiasm for the upcoming interview with Chip.

“That’s you?” Chip spouted, almost spitting a mouthful of coffee. “
You’re
the Archangel?”

Gabe merely nodded, concentrating on reading his friend’s reaction. Would Chip be able to keep a confidence? Was he merely surprised? Or was Manny’s father convinced his old friend had gone insane and couldn’t wait to call the cops?

Shaking his head in disbelief, Chip continued, “I guess I should’ve known. Amanda and I thought you’d be off traveling the world, spending your money in an effort to forget what happened. I’m just stunned over this little revelation.”

“I probably never seemed like the type to embark on something like this,” Gabe admitted. “But letting Jacob’s life end without meaning was simply unacceptable. Creating the drones was the only option I could come up with that was non-violent and might accomplish some good for the country. If nothing else, we might give other parents some level of peace over their teens’ interactions with law enforcement.”

Chip grunted, “I’m not so sure that I wouldn’t have turned into an active shooter if I’d been in your shoes. But I’ve got to admit, your way is the better option.”

“I need help, Chip. Are you interested?”

“Seriously? I thought you just wanted to get that dark secret off your chest. There’s really a job?”

Gabe smiled, “Yes, I’ve got my hands full and could use another pair. Finding someone I could trust, as you might imagine, has proven to be difficult.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Assemble drones, drive them around for launch and recovery, keep an eye on the office, learn how to program them to run the missions…. You name it; I can use some assistance. How much were you making at your old job before that night with the cops?”

With a shy look, Chip divulged, “I was at 92K with pretty good insurance. Now, I’ll be lucky to make 36 this year. Amanda found some part-time work at the school, but we’re still pretty strapped.”

“This job pays 110K per year, but no bennies as of yet,” Gabe announced with a serious expression.

“What? Are you pulling my leg? That’s an awful lot of money for a job that I’d be happy to do for free. You can count me in on anything that messes with those fucking cops.”

Gabe smiled at the response, Chip’s willingness to take on the authorities an important qualification. “No, I’m not pulling your leg. The hours will be a little strange, and I guarantee you’ll earn your money. What do you say?”

It was easy to tell Chip was mulling it over. “I can’t think of any drawbacks or negatives, other than probably getting the shit kicked out of me again if the cops catch us. Will this job require committing any felonies?”

“No, that’s the best part,” Gabe laughed. “As far as my attorney has been able to determine, we’re not breaking a single law. Now you and I both know that doesn’t mean shit these days, but for the record, we’re legal beagles.”

“And what would I tell Amanda?” came the most important question.

“Anything but the whole truth… for her own protection. I’m sorry to lay that job requirement on you, but we can’t let anybody in on this. I would suggest you feed her the same line of crap that I gave the building’s management office.”

Gabe continued, explaining the little, white lie.

“Okay, I’m in. When do I start?”

Smiling and extending his hand, Gabe said, “As soon as possible. If you have to turn in a notice, I understand. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Notice,” Chip stated, waving his hand through the air, “I don’t have to give those guys any notice. What time do we get started?”

After giving his new employee directions, Gabe asked Chip to be there around 8AM. “I’ll give you the nickel tour,” the entrepreneur mad scientist promised.

Chapter 10

Peelian Principle

Police must secure the willing cooperation of the public in voluntary observance of the law to be able to secure and maintain the respect of the public.

“We’re going to hit that drug store on the corner right before they close,” announced Tito. “It’s the day after social security checks, and all of those old people go in to get their scripts filled. Most of them pay with cash, and that old fucker running the place gets too busy to run to the bank.”

“Sounds like a plan,” answered Jackson. “I could use a cash fix about now, and it sounds like an easy mark.”

“I used to go in there for smokes before I got ratted out last time. There were always a lot of dollar bills stuffed in the drawer. We’ll just wave our heat around, and they’ll hand over the green. If anybody gets frisky, fire off a shot, and things will go our way.”

“Where we going to hole up afterwards?” came the logical question.

“Now that’s why I like working with you, Jackson. You’re a man who thinks ahead… who has some experience under his belt. We’ll exit out the back door… where there are no windows… and bust it over to Marco’s. He’s cool.”

“Does he know we’re coming?”

Laughing, Tito spun a finger around his ear. “Marco? Marco don’t know shit. He’s high as a fucking kite or crashed on that smelly-ass mattress of his. Attila the Hun could be holed up in his living room, and that crack head wouldn’t know or care.”

The two crooks remained parked on Tito’s couch, watching an old movie and smoking cigarettes. Only occasionally did they glance out the dirty window to gauge how much light was left in the day.

At 8:45 PM, Jackson pointed to the revolver stuck in his belt and announced it was time to go. “Don’t that store close at 9?”

“Let’s roll,” Tito responded, sticking a small, nickel plated automatic in his pocket.

It was only a few blocks to their mark, both men glancing all around to make sure there was no sign of any HPD cruisers rolling up on their heist. They entered the front door, only slightly annoyed by the old-fashioned bell that signaled their presence.

“May I help you?” greeted the ancient shopkeeper behind the counter.

Tito’s weapon was drawn in a flash, Jackson showing his piece a split second later. “Empty the drawer, old man, and there won’t be no trouble.”

The pharmacy’s proprietor had been robbed before, the appearance of the two pistols having little effect on his demeanor. “The kitty’s empty, boys,” he stated calmly. “I installed a new time activated safe after some punks cleaned me out last month.”

To prove his point, the man behind the counter hit a button on the cash register and pointed to the empty drawer.

Tito’s famous temper flashed, “Bullshit!” he snapped. “How were you going to make change if I wanted a pack of smokes or something? Where’s the cash, you old fool? Tell me before I blow your fucking head off.”

Instead of answering, the store’s owner pulled out a small wad of one-dollar bills from his pocket. “This is all I got on me; take it if you want. Otherwise, I’d be hightailing it out of here if I were you. The kid working the back has already hit the alarm button. The cops will be here any minute.”

Being a man who didn’t handle failure well, Tito’s anger flashed into an intense, uncontrollable rage. All humanity and reason abandoned his mind, all self-control evaporating in an instant. He pumped two shots into the old man’s chest.

A moment later, the two empty-handed crooks tore out the front door, both of them hightailing it down the sidewalk toward Marco’s dilapidated apartment. Everyone in the vicinity had heard the gunshots, everyone having a pretty good idea what had just happened. Robberies were common, assaults and muggings not unheard of.

Officer Kirkpatrick had just signed in when the call broke the radio’s silence. A robbery, two armed suspects on foot, shots fired, and an ambulance requested.

Dole knew the address and neighborhood. He could visualize old man Roberson, the pharmacy’s friendly owner who offered cops and their families a small discount whenever they stopped in. The family owned business was right in the middle of the precinct’s worst neighborhood.

He and the other patrolmen would pop in now and then, mostly to buy some chips or an occasional caffeine-laced drink to make sure they stayed alert. Areas in decline, like the one surrounding the drug store, needed small businesses in order to recover and improve. If the cops could show their support, others in the area might take notice. It was a small thing, but every little bit helped.

Gabe heard the broadcast as well. While he was unfamiliar with the address and had no awareness of the area’s deterioration, he had noted a higher than average number of calls in the general vicinity.

Chip was mobile, cruising around in the pickup, the G-2 charged and ready under the bed cover. He jumped when his cell rang.

“What’s up?” Chip answered, already looking for a spot to hide the launch after spotting Gabe’s caller ID flash on his phone.

“Are you ready? We’ve got our first one, and it’s happening less than a mile from where you are.”

“Give it to me – I’m ready,” Chip responded with confidence, eyeing a carwash less than a block away.

“I just sent the package. It should show up in your inbox any second now. You know what to do…. Good luck.”

Chip was turning into the currently unoccupied carwash when the laptop riding in the passenger seat chimed with the new message. Ignoring the computer for a few moments, he maneuvered the truck behind the empty stalls and into an area where islands of vacuum cleaners stood like robotic sentries guarding the empty lot.

Double-checking that he wasn’t visible from the main road, Chip then opened the small computer and began the sequence he had practiced a dozen times under Gabe’s watchful eye.

It took less than a minute for the course and coordinates to transfer into the G-2’s memory, another few seconds to open the electric cover, exposing the Gripen. A series of keystrokes later the electric motors began to spin the propellers with an insect-like hum.

And then the machine launched, shooting heavenward at a rapid pace.

Chip closed the truck’s bed, scanning around for any potential witnesses. It was chilly outside, the drop in temperature and the late hour making it unlikely anyone would be stopping in to wash a car.

His first instinct was to ease the pickup into the evening traffic, Gabe and he discussing the need to always keep moving if there were any chance someone had spied the launch or landing. But there was also the wisdom of staying put in a good hiding place. It was impossible to tell when or where the next workable concealment would be available.

Despite his survival instincts screaming to leave the scene of his “crime,” Chip decided to stay put and wait for the drone to return.

In the meantime, he dug a few quarters out of his pockets and placed a couple of the floor mats on the concrete nearby. If someone did pass by, he would look like any other customer, using the vacuums to clean out a messy cab.

As soon as the G-2 was airborne, Gabe took over control from the command center. In reality, either Chip or he could pilot the drone, but the boss didn’t want to overwhelm the new employee.

The machine performed just like its older, slightly less-sophisticated sister, buzzing along at 250 feet toward the address that was now attracting a significant police response. Armed robbery was serious enough. An attempted homicide and escaping shooters meant that HPD would be pulling out all the stops.

Gabe switched to infrared immediately, the urban sprawl beneath the Gripen now displayed as glowing, fluorescent colors as the flying machine sped towards it destination. He sat back, happy for once that he wasn’t one of the men that had to respond and chase armed villains.

Officer Kirkpatrick was manning the fourth car on the scene, the ranking officer ordering him to move two blocks north and search the back side of a residential neighborhood.

It was a poorly lit area, one of those tracts of land that wasn’t wide enough to be developed, but was too small to accommodate swings, a slide and picnic tables. Parking his cruiser, Dole exited and began stomping through knee high weeds. The ground was littered with windblown trash and small piles of debris abandoned by the locals.

He made his way down a long row of privacy fences bordering one side of the unused property, hoping that the criminals hadn’t climbed the barrier and entered the backyards on the other side. If the crooks managed that neighborhood, it would be nearly impossible to root them out.

With his flashlight scanning the brush, grass, and occasional sapling, Kirkpatrick continued searching, weapon drawn and coiled for violence. “If I were trying to evade the cops, this is where I’d hide,” he whispered, pining for a K-9 unit to help him flush the crooks.

The Gripen arrived over the scene less than a minute later, pulling into a high hover directly over the just-robbed pharmacy. For the first time since JI had become operational, Gabe wasn’t sure where to focus the drone’s high-powered cameras.

There were a couple of police cars in front of the business, but no visible officers. Radio traffic confirmed that the thieves were no longer inside.

Ordering the Gripen to pivot, Gabe began studying the surrounding terrain, finding the expected mixture of homes and businesses filling the monitor’s display. He guessed the cops would be patrolling in their cars, circling the immediate area in search of the suspects. Until the radio or visual indicated they had put eyes on the wanted men, there really wasn’t much for the G-2 to record.

And then the bright, white, outline of a man with a gun came into view. A man on foot, walking along what appeared to be some sort of nature reserve. Gabe assumed it was a cop, the body language and posture giving no indication of flight. He ordered the Gripen closer for a better view.

Kenny and his brother had been playing in their backyard, waiting for their mom to come home after her shift at the grocery store. Having responsibility for his younger sibling was a big hassle for the 12-year- old boy, but a single, working mother didn’t have many after-school entertainment options for the struggling family.

When the two boys had heard the sirens, it had inspired a game of cops and robbers. Mom wouldn’t be home for a while, and Kenny knew his pesky, little brother was afraid of the woods at night. The older sibling wasted no time suggesting they move out of the yard and into the open area behind their home.

With toy guns in hand, the two boys squeezed through the loose boards that marked the boundary of their normal play space, neither giving much thought to how fuming mad their mother would be if they were caught leaving the property. In a way, sneaking off only served to raise the excitement of the clandestine endeavor.

Kenny, begrudgingly, had accepted the role of the robber. It was his turn to play the less desirable part in the childhood game, and besides, it was the only way he could convince his younger bro to exit the known confines of their yard and enter the scary world beyond the fence.

Moving off to hide and wait for his brother to flush him out and engage in the inevitable gunfight, the lad ambled his way down the privacy fence, thinking of a large bush up ahead that he was sure would disguise his location long enough to ambush and scare his little brother.

As he progressed, Kenny slowed his pace. It was dark, the trees and brush casting weird shadows from the ambient, city light surrounding the overgrown area. The boy remembered occasionally spotting homeless people wandering through the area, his mother actually calling the real police after finding one old man huddled in a makeshift tent near their back fence.

Those memories engaged automatic precautions, the pre-teen now making his footfalls with extreme caution, his ears perked for any sign of people or worse yet, animal predators that might be lurking nearby. He held out his gun, hoping the toy would spook anyone… or anything… that might jump out at him.