“What now, then?”
“Yesterday it was a glitch in the terrain databases. Today it is the spray bars. The nozzles have been clogging with a simulated mix.”
“Where did you get them?”
“China, of course. They were lightweight, and I am always trying to save a few kilos. But they will not work for our purposes. I’ve arranged for replacements, and they should arrive on tomorrow’s flight.”
“Is that enough time?”
“I am aware of the schedule.”
The annoyance in Gamling’s tone was clear.
Malenkov let it go. The man was indispensable, and unfortunately, he knew it. “What else?”
“I am redesigning the tanks. Our problem was that the payload holding tank was insufficient, while the original fuel tank was larger than necessary. I’ve spent the last week redistributing the volume.” He led Malenkov to a work stand. A metal tank the size of a bathtub sat on a bench and a worker was welding a divider near one end. “This is the last one. When we are done, we will have just enough fuel to complete our mission, and the remaining space will be dedicated to payload.”
“How much in all?” Malenkov asked.
“One hundred ninety liters of fuel, one thousand liters of payload.”
“That doesn’t seem like much gas.”
“I have done the calculations carefully. Even in worst-case wind conditions, it allows a twenty percent reserve margin. I will flight-test one of the drones soon. When modifications are made to an aircraft, difficulties can arise. Weight distribution, center of gravity, flight characteristics under a dynamic air load.”
“Do you expect problems?”
“Not at all. I simply want to take every precaution.”
Malenkov watched the welder. He decided the man knew what he was doing. The bead was straight, its width consistent. He himself had learned the skill—at times closer to an art—as a teenager in his father’s machine shop. It was the summer he’d made his fateful choice to join the army. Having seen the grinding existence his father had suffered, he had no interest in following in his footsteps: repairing combiner augers and plow blades in a drafty mud-floor barn.
And how far I have come.
Not for the first time, Malenkov was glad to have found Gamling. The man was proficient technically, but he also had a knack for finding good help. Another skill, no doubt, he had learned in Ukraine. He’d brought in four technicians, a mix of required skills. One aviation mechanic, a computer software specialist, and two general-duty wrench-turners. There had been only one reject, a meteorologist from Irkutsk who, on learning the details of their mission after arriving, had started asking uncomfortable questions. Like Bojan’s two drunken guards, he had been “sent home.” Gamling had assumed his duties.
There was one other technician here, the most specialized of all, who Malenkov himself had recruited after an exhaustive search. Omar Qasim was unique, and the most vital man in their unusual enterprise. For reasons Malenkov didn’t understand, the man kept to himself, interacting with the others only when required. He performed the bulk of his work at night, but perform he had. When the big day came, Qasim would be ready.
Gamling went back to work on his laptop.
Malenkov strolled out across the hangar floor. The ten drones looked anything but ominous. Only two had so far flown, tests to validate certain subsystems. They were presently in various stages of preparation. Panels hung open and test equipment wasattached. Two days from now, the scene would be very different. The aircraft would be fueled and primed, programmed to undertake their first and only mission.
The precise timing of the launch was dependent on conditions—this was where the loss of the meteorologist worked against them. But therewasa deadline for Malenkov’s strike.
His little squadron was going to change the course of the world.
And when it did…Andrei Malenkov would become a very wealthy man.
18
DIA Headquarters
Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling
Washington, D.C.
0920 Local Time
Kyle Ryan was in the zone. His fingers flew like an over-caffeinated pianist, alternating between two computer keyboards. Triple monitors on the desk in front of him flickered obediently. He interacted with the machines with fleeting ease, a familiarity that bordered on the ethereal.
