or ground crews insisted that the planes were too sick to be flown, virtually nothing in the Air Force inventory had taken any part in the troubles. Nothing had taken any truly aggressive part.
But there were planes . . . and then there were planes. There were air forces hidden within a number of nonmilitary entities.
The CIA was one such.
Unburdened with a fighter pilot mafia, equally unburdened with a close-air-support mafia, the Central Intelligence Agency had taken to Remote Piloted Vehicles, RPVs for short, with a vengeance.
The Predator III RPV was one such. Descended from earlier models which had, over and over, proven their value both for reconnaissance and attack in foreign and hostile places, the III model was larger, faster, carried more of a bomb load, and carried a greater variety of ordnance as well.
Two of these models, remotely controlled via secure satellite link from the CIA's main headquarters in Langley, Virginia, circled high above Austin, Texas. The pilots, sitting in a dimly lit control room many leagues away from Austin, watched their screens and waited for the word to engage.
* * *
Austin, Texas
It wasn't that she had lived there all that long. Still, leaving the Governor's Mansion for what was quite possibly the very last time hurt in a way Juani had never expected.
The mansion was brightly lit. In anticipation of the federal onslaught some of her assistants were boxing up state memorabilia to move south to San Antonio. Her husband was doing the same for family mementos. And Mario, who had still not forgiven his mother for sending Elpidia into danger in Houston, was busy, Juani knew, packing up Elpidia's meager possessions.
Juani turned to look briefly at her former home, then, at Jack Schmidt's insistence, boarded his Hummer for the long drive to the south.
* * *
Langley, Virginia
'We've got a vehicle pulling away from the target area,' announced one of the Predator III pilots, hunching over a view screen. 'Given that the house is lit up like Christmas, I don't like it.'
'Can you identify the vehicle?' asked the mission chief.
The pilot snorted. Ten thousand feet was no obstacle with the television system he was using. 'It's a Hummer. I can't make out the identity from this angle, but it's a Hummer.'
The mission chief just wasn't sure. The Predators were carrying rather large bombs, suitable for demolishing a rather large house. But there were only the two of them. If they wasted one on the vehicle the other might not be enough to ensure the complete destruction of the target.
'Hold fire while I make a call,' he announced.
* * *
'Hold up the car, Jack,' Juani demanded.
The driver looked at Schmidt for confirmation. Seeing the general's reluctant and heavy nod he applied the brake gently and pulled to a stop near the mansion ground's main gate. Juani fiddled with the plastic handle, pushed the light door open, and stepped out.
Jack and the driver, likewise, emerged from the vehicle. The driver left the Hummer running. Feet again on the asphalt, he walked a short distance away and caused a sound indistinguishable from water hitting a rock. Muttering something about discipline, Jack went to stand by Juanita.
Seeing Juani leaning against a stone pillar, her head hanging and tears streaming down her face, Jack threw an arm around her shoulder to lead her back to the Hummer.
'No,' she insisted, voice breaking. 'Not yet.' Then, completely breaking down, she cried, 'It's all over. . . .'
* * *
The mission chief said, 'Yes, ma'am,' into the telephone receiver. Then, hanging up the phone and turning to the pilots, he said, 'Ignore the Hummer. More important to make sure nothing survives inside the mansion. But we have authority to attack now. Do it.'
Without a word from either of them the two pilots began manipulating the controls that would bring their Predators into optimal attack position to ensure the Global Positioning System–guided bombs hit precisely where they were intended.
* * *
Schmidt had begun turning Juanita back to the Hummer by main force when something caught his eye. Reacting entirely by instinct, once finely honed and still at least good enough, he screamed 'Down!' and forced her to the asphalt, covering her body with his own.
The driver, somewhat distracted by other concerns, never saw the smashed roofing material that flew up where two two-thousand pound bombs penetrated. He didn't see the walls and windows suddenly billow out, even as the roof, or rather pieces of it, began to ascend. He felt a remarkably sudden build-up of pressure.
And then he felt a very large piece of masonry smash his torso.
* * *
'Jesus,' murmured one of the two pilots, watching the mansion disintegrate in his screen. 'Jesus.' The other pilot merely gave off a soft whistle. Neither had ever seen such complete demolition, done so suddenly, from their
