Drone Command

The Mongolian glowered at Pearce as he trotted down the staircase.

Pearce motioned with his pinned wrists. “Yeah, Lurch. C’mon, untie my hands. Let me show you what a real punch feels like.”

The security guard muttered under his breath and stepped toward Pearce, flexing his massive hands.

Feng shouted an order and the Mongolian froze in his tracks, then retreated to his spot in the corner. Feng turned back to Pearce. “You’re a drone expert. There’s much you can teach us.”

“I’m no expert. I don’t invent the damn things. I just run a contracting company. We deploy drones, sure, but mostly off-the-shelf stuff.”

“Dr. Weng told me your company is the best in the world at what it does.”

“And she’d be right.”

“Is that why you’re in Japan? To give Japan advanced drone technology?”

“Like I told you, I just came to provide President Myers with personal security.”

“And what is her mission?”

“You’d have to ask her. Far as I could tell, it was just business. You know, filthy capitalism. Just like you billionaire commie bastards love.”

“You’re not going to leave this place, ever. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“If you’re going to shoot me, do it now.” Pearce flexed his shoulders. “I’ve got an itch I can’t scratch that’s killing me.”

Feng laughed. “Kill you? No. You are too valuable alive. I’m going to extract every last secret you’re hiding in that thick skull of yours. We both know you can’t stop it. And unlike you, I’m not constrained by the Geneva Convention or the ACLU. I have no qualms about crippling you for life or blinding you. Even if I decide to let you go, you’d still be maimed and your government wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it, nor would I suffer the least consequence. Do you understand how perilous your situation truly is?”

“I think I’ve caught the gist of it. But I’m not much of a talker. So stop wasting your breath.”

“I have a technician who will not only make you talk but also, perhaps, even sing, as the saying goes. I should like that.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I don’t do Broadway show tunes if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Feng barked a command to his security guard. The big Mongolian slapped the black bag back over Pearce’s head.

Pearce wanted to scream. His mind clawed at the claustrophobic fear rising in his throat; only a sheer act of will kept him silent. For now.

“I’ll be back in a few hours and we’ll begin our first session. Until then, I want you to imagine the worst of all possible pain and know that it will pale in comparison to what I have in store for you.”

“Room service is that bad, eh?”

Feng’s cell phone chirped. He checked the screen and motioned violently toward the stairs. A few moments later Feng and the Mongolian disappeared, slamming the steel door behind them.

Pearce sat in the rickety chair, shoulders aching, shrouded in the lightless bag. The room was silent now except for his heavy breathing. He didn’t want to hyperventilate. Fought to control it. The bag was stuffy, close. But that wasn’t the worst. He felt like a miner trapped a thousand feet below the earth when the lights go out and the roof caves in. He prayed Ian would find him before the sightless black dragged him down into madness. He focused his mind on the one possible thing that could save him: the Pearce Systems tracker embedded in his gut.

It was his only hope.

FORTY-THREE

FOUR SEASONS HOTEL AT MARUNOUCHI

TOKYO, JAPAN

14 MAY 2017

Still no luck.”

Ian’s charming brogue had softened recently, Myers noticed. Too long in the States. “Can’t you do anything?”

The Scotsman shook his head solemnly. “If Troy is behind a thick wall or underground, we’ll never find his tracker signal, and unless they move him quickly out in the open, he’ll be lost for a while. We’re losing the satellite feed in ten more minutes.”

Myers paced the room, hardly noticing the plush carpet beneath her bare feet. She’d lost her husband and her son, and nearly lost Pearce almost two years ago in the Sahara. She’d cradled his unconscious body in her lap as Judy Hopper corkscrewed the plane through the air, making their escape. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him like that again.

Her laptop dinged. She raced over to it.

“Found her!” Myers shouted. An automated search of a classified photo database finally identified the woman in the video. Ian made a screen grab and tossed it into the NSA search engine. Maybe Lane couldn’t do anything to rescue Pearce at the moment, but at least the president could open up classified government resources for them with a phone call.

Ian rolled his chair over to the coffee table serving as Myers’s desk. “Dr. Weng Litong. Yes, I’ve heard of her. She runs the PLA’s robotic-weapons development program.”

“Makes sense she’d be in the same building with the Wu-14,” Myers said. “What’s her beef with Troy?”

“There’s no telling.” Ian tapped a few keys. Ran a loop of Myers’s video showing Weng whispering into Feng’s ear and Feng’s reaction. “Whatever she said to Feng sent him up. The question remains, what did she say?”