Burning Bright (Peter Ash #2)(111)

Oliver observed the proceedings with neutral interest, keeping one eye on the path up to the outcrop. Lewis wouldn’t make it up unobserved.

There was nothing Peter could do. Not yet.

“How do you control the drone?” asked Peter. “You’re not flying it.”

“It flies itself,” said Sally. “I click on a target and the drone follows. The software’s pattern recognition is excellent. If the target gets lost, the software has very robust strategies for reacquisition. Of course, we already have some improvements in the works. That’s why we want the algorithm. We think it has the potential to allow the drones to make decisions, to become independent. Add a few Hellfire missiles and you can just imagine the possibilities.”

“Intelligent self-powered armed robotic aircraft,” said Peter. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“This is the future,” she said. “It’s coming whether you like it or not.”

“I thought you were an agricultural scientist.”

“I grew up on a farm,” she said. “You’d be surprised the places you can go as an agricultural researcher. I do like to get my hands in the dirt. But I was trained in intelligence.” The little tablet chimed. “Okay,” she said. “They just hit the turnoff. Mr. Wilkes, it’s your show.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wilkes touched something in his far ear. Peter realized he’d never seen that side of Wilkes’s face. “All teams, look alive. Target has left the paved road. Repeat, target has left the paved road.”

“Take the binoculars,” said Sally. “Get a good close look.” She tossed Peter the heavy glasses. He picked them out of the air and walked out to the end of the cantilevered boulder.

It was a spectacular viewpoint. He glassed the entire valley. He didn’t see any other people. He imagined Chip’s Mercedes barreling along the river, trailing the Ford Explorers and a cloud of dust from the gravel road. The ridge blocked his view. They’d be coming across the one-lane bridge in a few minutes.

“Where are the carpenters?” he asked Sally. “What about the farm help, the other researchers? Are they someplace safe?”

“Mr. Wilkes is our security chief, but he’s also our farm foreman,” she said. “He grew up in Iowa. His people work in the greenhouses and fields, and also on the buildings. We’re expanding the facility, but we can’t afford to have people here without security clearances. This is a unique place. Sasha Kolodny has become a significant national security asset. You would not believe what that man is carrying around in his head. As for the research fellows, we sent them home a few days ago, anticipating what’s about to happen. They’ll be back once we’re all cleaned up.” Her tablet chimed again. “Mr. Wilkes, they’re approaching the gate.”

Wilkes touched his ear again. “All teams, target is at the gate. Repeat, target is at the gate. We are hot.”

Peter watched as the boxy Mercedes SUV emerged from the narrow defile, slowed by the narrowness of the passage. He wondered if Chip was at the wheel, or if his big bodyguard had decided to reenlist. The Mercedes coasted forward as a black Explorer nosed through behind it, then a second, then a third. At least eight people, maybe up to sixteen. A full squad, heavily armed, probably armored.

When the last Explorer had cleared the passage, all four vehicles surged ahead up the arrow-straight road, keeping three car lengths between them. It could have been a diplomatic convoy, but it wasn’t. Chip thought he was coming to take over the Mad Billionaire’s research compound with a show of force, a bunch of hard men with assault rifles, like taking candy from a baby.

Peter figured he should have brought a couple of Toyota technicals, heavy machine guns mounted in the back. Maybe an MRAP or Bradley and some air support.

Because he was pretty sure Sally didn’t fuck around.

The Mercedes passed the bottom edge of the lower orchard, the Explorers in formation behind. The rumble of their engines echoed off the valley walls. When the last vehicle came even with the trees, Peter saw a long silent flicker of red reach out from the orchard and touch the Mercedes’s front tire and engine compartment. The big SUV puckered silver in a hundred places, slumping and slowing before Peter even heard the distinctive long burp of the minigun.

The Mercedes had to be heavily armored to survive a five-second burst from a high-volume electric machine gun. The minigun Peter had trained on could fire three thousand 7.62 rounds a minute, or fifty rounds per second, and was usually mounted on helicopters and assault boats. But even with heavy armor, the SUV wasn’t a tank, and the sheer volume of even a short burst had easily shredded the Mercedes’s front tire and found something mechanically crucial to destroy.

The first Explorer pulled off the road to shelter from the minigun fire behind the crippled hulk of the Mercedes, spilling armed men from the off-side doors to hunker behind the front wheel and engine block. They appeared to be wearing armored vests over street clothes.

Peter could imagine the conversation they were having. Was this intimidation or a real firefight?

The driver of the second Explorer stood on his brakes in preparation for some kind of evasive maneuver but the minigun operator caught the vehicle and hosed it down. The rounds went into the Explorer and out the other side. Only the Mercedes was armored.

So much for doubt about what was happening.