Malenkov watched closely. Within seconds, he saw the drone turn sharply toward the extended centerline of the runway. Once aligned, it turned a second time to track the desired attack profile. The aircraft flew closer and closer, and at the last moment it check-turned slightly toward the hangar and overflew their workstation at an altitude of less than one hundred meters. When it was almost overhead, the aircraft seemed to disappear in a cloud of mist.
Malenkov could hear the drone now, but the sound dissipated the moment it went behind the roof of the immense hangar. Seconds later, he was enveloped in a fine mist. The vapor cooled his exposed skin and drew into his lungs with each breath. It was as if a cloud had settled from a clear sky. He knew the mist was only water, but it was unnerving all the same.
He looked at the former postal worker with irritation. “Was that necessary?”
“Accuracy is everything. I am still fine-tuning the descent rates of the aerosol. Together with projected wind information, I must calculate the optimum altitude for dispersal.”
Malenkov used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the water from his face.
The drone landed five minutes later, its autonomous system bringing it to a smooth touchdown on the wide runway. As soon as it came to a stop, Gamling killed the engine. The two men boarded a large electric golf cart and headed toward the runway.
Malenkov studied the drone closely as they pulled up beside it. This was the first time he had seen one in action, all his previous encounters having been in the hangar with airframes that were partially disassembled or wrapped in protective sheathing. The wings were straight and long, the tail a thin V-configuration. A single three-blade, pusher propeller was geared for maximum speed. It was similar in configuration to the American Predator drone, only smaller in scale and lighter. The cylindrical fuselage contained both the aft-mounted hybrid engine and tanks for the payload and fuel.
The aircraft had been purchased from HESA, Iran’s largest manufacturer of drone aircraft. While most of the company’s offerings were military variants, the Shahed-151 was part of its civilian lineup. The aircraft was intended for agricultural spraying, the application of pesticides and fertilizer from low altitude. Which was very near what Malenkov had in mind.
Gamling put locking pins in the flight controls to keep them from moving, then backed up the golf cart toward the nose of the drone. He connected a tow bar to the aircraft’s nosewheel and soon they were pulling it toward the open hangar door.
“Is the material shipment on schedule?” Gamling asked.
“It is.”
“And once it arrives?”
“It’s not the kind of thing one leaves laying around. Qasim has the transfer bay ready. When the material arrives, we will load and launch…assuming your aircraft are ready.”
“They will be ready today. But I cannot speak for the weather. As Qasim is fond of saying, ‘The will of God prevails.’ ”
Malenkov snorted derisively. “The terror we are about to unleash—God would have nothing to do with it.”
They arrived at the hangar, and as soon as they passed inside, security men heaved the big rolling doors closed. Malenkov had no reason to expect surveillance—one of the reasons he had chosen such a desolate location—but there was no sense in tempting fate. The moment he stepped off the golf cart his phone rang.
He checked the screen, and when he saw who it was, he moved away before answering. “Well?” he said.
“We didn’t get him,” said Bartos, the head of the search in Tangier.
“What went wrong?”
“He was in his building, but hiding in a different unit. Our equipment wasn’t accurate enough and he slipped out. We followed him to a souk, but then he ditched his phone. He must have realized we were tracking it.”
Malenkov’s face creased in anger. He had always known he would have to eliminate the financier. When he’d caught wind that Klaus was turning against them, the timetable had simply advanced. Unfortunately, the Swiss was proving elusive for an amateur.
“Do you think he is still in Tangier?” Malenkov asked.
“Most likely. We found his passport in his apartment, and wehave a source in Moroccan customs. If he tries to leave, we’ll know it.”
Malenkov had doubts aboutanysource in that part of the world. He did, however, agree that Klaus was likely still in Tangier. “You’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. Track down his friends and acquaintances. Put every available set of eyes on the street.”
“We’ll need more manpower.”
“Ten?”
“A hundred would be better.”
Had it been anyone but Bartos, Malenkov would have taken that as a joke. “I’ll do what I can. And make no mistake, when we do find him, he must be silenced once and for all. Our mission is close to going live, and he is the only one who can jeopardize it.”
“We’ll take care of it.”
The call ended, and Malenkov pocketed his phone thinking,If I only had a dollar for every time someone has told me that.
