Drone Command

The big American turned his cold-blooded gaze toward him. Shouted something again. The spotter couldn’t make it out.

The spotter saw his friend shouting at him, face twisted with rage. He couldn’t quite hear him, but the way his mouth formed the words it looked like he was screaming for him to shut the fuck up.

The American dashed over to the spotter, pushing the wire cutters into his face and shouting again. The spotter felt his bladder give way, hot piss welling up inside of his pants. What did this crazy bastard want now? To say the name again?

“Oshiro! OSHIRO! O-SHI-RO!”

The American’s livid scowl softened. He stood, touched his earpiece, then spoke. A moment later, the spotter barely heard the American say, “Oshiro.” The spotter sighed with relief. He’d guessed right. The American had wanted to know who had sent them. Oshiro-san was his oyabun, the boss of his gumi.

The American tapped his earpiece again, tossed the wire cutters onto the table. He grabbed something and turned back around, marching over to the shooter.

Oh, shit.

The American shoved a clear plastic bag over the shooter’s head, whipped out a long white plastic cable tie, and ripped it around the shooter’s neck, zipping it tightly.

The shooter panicked, screamed. When he inhaled, the plastic bag sucked partway into his mouth, which only made him panic more. He exhaled until he out of breath inhaled again, and sucked the bag back into his mouth. The cycle repeated. The American watched emotionlessly. The breaths came shorter and shorter. The bag fogged.

The American stood and turned his withering gaze at the spotter. He stepped slowly over to him, knelt down. Held another plastic bag and zip tie in front of the spotter’s face. Leaned in close. Spoke, moving his mouth slowly.

The spotter squinted, trying desperately to hear the words.

“Ya-ma-da? Ya-ma-da?” the American asked.

“Hai! Yamada! Yamada!”

A slew of words vomited out of the spotter’s mouth, explaining that his oyabun Oshiro-san had ordered the attack at sea on the American Yamada, using one of his own fishing trawlers but making it look Chinese, just like he’d ordered. It was just a job. Nothing personal. Him? He liked Americans. Even drove an American—

A plastic bag snapped over the spotter’s face, clouding his vision. He kicked and twisted as hard as he could, but the American planted a heavy knee into his chest, pinning him to the ground. A moment later, the zip tie cinched around his neck. He tried not to panic, tried to take small, measured breaths. Felt more than two hundred pounds lift off his chest as the American stood and stepped away.

The spotter rolled over just in time to watch the American jog out the door. He shouted for mercy through the fogging bag. The last thing he saw was the American’s hand hitting the light switch, throwing the room into an eternal black.

SIXTY-TWO

THE SITUATION ROOM

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

18 MAY 2017

10:42 A.M. (EDT)

The Situation Room had just been refurbished again, updated with the latest security and communications equipment. It looked nothing like Kennedy’s original room, with its small table, paneled walls, analogue clocks, and Bakelite telephones. But Lane felt the weight of history nonetheless. JFK had created the Situation Room after the Bay of Pigs fiasco, believing his administration had stumbled into a crisis and nearly a world war because he lacked enough credible information. Fifty-five years later, Lane still felt like he didn’t have all the intel he needed to avoid a war with China, despite all of the computers and high-tech gear surrounding him. But he was going to have to make a decision today nonetheless.

Lane sat at the head of the rectangular mahogany table where he had control of the video monitors. The others sat in the high-backed leather chairs in no particular order, ignoring protocol. Lane was informal and preferred to keep it that way even in the Situation Room. In attendance were JCS Chairman General Onstot and the other service chiefs, along with Director of National Intelligence Pia, Secretary of State Wheeler, Secretary of Defense Shafer, and National Security Advisor Garza.

The image on the nearly wall-length HD screen opposite Lane was a live satellite video feed showing the Chinese fleet steaming toward the Senkakus. He intentionally kept all of the other video screens blank. Too much information was as big a problem as the lack of it.

Lane spoke to the speakerphone on the table. Myers was on the other end in Japan. “What’s the word from your man Ian?”

“He’s still running the software analysis. He isn’t able to confirm whether or not the Wu-14 will actually work.”

“And the bot?”

“It’s found several Chinese classified test results claiming success.”

The DNI chimed in. “Same as the thumb-drive data you sent us. Our analysts say it’s legit, so that clinches it.”