Katie eyed him closely, but said nothing.
“I’ve heard a rumor your brother might be involved.”
“A rumor.”
Clark didn’t expand. He simply said, “I think we’re going to need more intel like that before this is done and dusted.”
“You want me to go back and work with Kyle?”
“I want you to discuss it with your commander. Tell him you’re up to speed on the situation here because you’ve been on the ground. Tell him there’s a critical need for intelligence, and that the crusty old commander of a classified task force has asked for your help in liaising with DIA.”
Katie studied Clark. She had been hearing about his exploits since she was a kid. More recently, she’d watched him work from a distance. She’d read the after-action reports from his ops. Tales of daring, moments of valor; feats that made him seem almost superhuman. John Clark was as close to a legend as a clandestine operator could be. But what she saw in him now wasn’t any of that. It was down-to-earth and human. It was a leader making solid decisions, even if they weren’t the easy ones.
“Okay,” she said, standing. “I’ll get JC on the next available flight. And after I get him back, and under proper care, I’ll bust my ass to give you whatever you need.”
He put on a roguish grin that made him look suddenly twenty years younger. “I can’t ask for any more than that.”
38
The Maghreb
Al-Jaghbub Airfield
1430 Local Time
The light assaulted Malenkov’s eyes, and he squinted mightily. Even behind dark sunglasses, the sun at the edge of the Sahara was merciless in its brilliance.
“There,” said Gamling, pointing into the distance.
He followed the engineer’s gesture and picked out the drone. It was roughly five kilometers away, barely visible. “The paint scheme blends in well,” he remarked.
“The skies here, like those in our target area, are often obscured by dust. I chose the best camouflage scheme to deny lookup visuals.” Gamling watched a monitor closely. A joystick was attached to the computer by an umbilical, but he wasn’t manipulating it. The controller, Malenkov had been told, was only for emergency use—a backup if something went wrong. The aircraft was flying in a completely autonomous mode.
They were standing at a makeshift workstation outside the hangar. The table was covered in computers and monitors, a rat’s nest of wiring connecting it all. Malenkov watched raptly as thedrone approached, alternating between the main screen and the slender form in the sky. The aircraft was large for a drone, roughly the dimensions of a Cessna trainer, yet its wings and fuselage were noticeably sleeker. The nine others in the hangar were exactly like it.
Gamling said, “These are fire-and-forget weapons. Once they have launched, the route is final and they cannot be recalled. Our target will have defenses. Because of it, we cannot rely on the usual methods of navigation. Frequencies can be jammed to prevent VHF signals, and GPS denial is also a possibility.”
“How does it navigate, then?”
“I have written my own algorithms. The most accurate method uses an antenna linking to low earth orbit satellites. The Skylink constellation has the best coverage for where we are operating.”
“Can’t that also be jammed or disabled?”
“It can, but it isn’t likely. Skylink is owned by a private company that doesn’t like to inconvenience its customers. It also has few military contracts to make it worth targeting. But even if that were to happen, there is a backup—a completely autonomous navigation system. It uses a low-power mapping radar to compare terrain to an onboard database.”
“A terrain map? The drones will approach from the sea, will they not?”
“Yes, but they won’t be far off the coast. Shoreline stands out beautifully on radar. Since we know precisely where we are going, I only needed to install ground maps for a narrow ingress corridor, and of course, the target area itself. Even if the system loses all connections, the aircraft should be able to maintain course and deliver its payload. The backup navigation package is what I am testing today.”
Malenkov watched the drone approach. It was driven by a singletail-mounted propeller and seemed unusually quiet. He knew its propulsion system was a hybrid design—a gas engine for takeoff and long-range cruise, and an electric motor for infrared stealth when approaching the target area. It was a baseline Iranian design, the Republican Guards having worked feverishly in recent years to improve their drone technology. What had begun as an effort to gain advantages on future battlefields had morphed into a lucrative stream of export cash from both government buyers and black markets.
“I can barely hear it,” Malenkov remarked.
“The noise signature is at a minimum in full electric mode.”
“How fast is it traveling?”
“One hundred and sixty knots. That is very fast for an electric drone. A high-speed model was necessary to maximize our chances of success.” Gamling tapped on his keyboard. “There. I have interrupted the satellite signal and put our drone off course by one thousand meters. The terrain map should take over and make an automatic correction.”
