Drone Command

“Sun said that fair and balanced trade benefited everybody, his country most of all. He even acknowledged China’s role in helping to create the imbalances that currently exist, especially the trade deficits. He clearly understands that stability means security in both economic and military matters, for his country as well as ours.”

“Sounds like a home run. Congratulations.”

“It’s not a home run yet.” She explained that Lane was going to have hell to pay as he tried to rein in the legions of former congressmen and generals who staffed the big lobbying firms swarming all over Capitol Hill. They were the ones perpetuating the current crony-capitalist system beggaring the country and profiting most from China’s rapacious trade policies.

“That’s why I don’t do politics,” Pearce said. His construction drone was nearly in position.

“Do you have any more thoughts about the president’s offer?” Myers asked.

“What offer?”

“Drone Command. He still hopes you’ll take it.”

“Jury’s still out on that one. Can’t imagine myself setting up another government bureaucracy.”

“I’d hope not. New wineskins and all of that.”

“Look, I’m sorry to cut you off, but I’ve got to go.”

“Sure. I’ll be at the hotel by six o’clock tonight. Can you meet me there?”

“Try and keep me away.” Pearce could feel her smiling on the other end of the phone.

She rang off.

Instantly, Pearce’s face hardened with resolve.

Mann stepped closer. The lanky German fingered his beard, worried. “You sure about this?”

“Never more sure of anything.”

“Ja. I believe you.”

“Do me a favor and go grab yourself a cup of coffee. I don’t want you in here.” August was one of Pearce’s oldest friends and the first man he hired into Pearce Systems. Pearce wouldn’t allow his loyal friend to bear witness to an event that could land the German in prison if things went sideways, especially with a wife and two young kids at home.

“You’re the boss.”

“Maybe get a donut, too. Take your time.”

Mann sighed with relief. “Thanks.”

The trailer door shut behind Mann. Pearce gripped the joysticks and maneuvered the drone into its final position over the deep hole, then activated another set of controls and lowered the cylinder into the contaminated water. Once it was fully submerged, he turned on another monitor and punched a few keys. An LED light popped on inside the cylinder.

Tanaka’s panicked, hyperventilating face filled the fish-eye camera. His desperate breathing rasped on the monitor speakers.

“Your breath-stealing gods must be smiling now,” Pearce whispered. He punched another key, snapping off the LED light, throwing Tanaka into soul-crushing darkness. Frantic screams poured out of the monitor speakers.

Pearce punched another button and silenced the speaker, leaving Tanaka to his fate, buried alive beneath a nuclear shroud. In a few minutes, the remote-controlled cement truck would appear and seal him in his tomb forever.

His phone buzzed. A text message from Myers. “Forgot to tell you. Lane has another job for us.”

“What job?” he texted back.

“We can talk about it later. Stay safe.”

“Okay.”

She sent another. “Can’t wait to see you tonight.”

“Same here.”

And then she sent one more. “You okay?”

Pearce stared at the text. He wasn’t sure.

He wondered what she’d think of him if she knew what he was doing. She deserved better.

He stared at the blacked-out monitor. Imagined Tanaka’s breathless hell. Felt his own claustrophobia closing in. A nightmare. Guilt whispered somewhere deep inside but Yamada’s mangled corpse shouted it away.

He needed a drink. Reached for Mann’s pack of smokes instead but held off, remembering how Will had died. He settled for a stick of gum. Texted Myers.

“Yeah. Doing okay.”

And he was.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, thanks to my new editor, Sara Minnich. You couldn’t have made the transition any easier and your notes were spot-on. I’m thoroughly indebted to the entire team at G. P. Putnam’s Sons for their invaluable support, particularly Ivan Held’s steadfast commitment to the series.

My literary superagent, David Hale Smith at InkWell Management, is still on point, cutting fresh trails and kicking down doors for me and the Pearce Systems crew. It doesn’t get any better than that. Stay tuned.

One of the joys of writing novels is the opportunity to meet the hardworking bookstore owners, managers, and staff around the country who sell them. I was particularly well cared for by Barbara Peters (The Poisoned Pen, Scottsdale), McKenna Jordan (Murder by the Book, Houston), Bob White (Sundog Books, Seaside), Amy Harper (Barnes & Noble, Lewisville), Michelle Abele (Barnes & Noble, Knoxville), and Gordon Brugman (Books-A-Million, Sevierville). Thanks again to you all — hope to see you soon.