A Time for Patriots

traffic control system. “Isn’t this supposed to tell us if there are any other planes in the area?”

“This only shows us the aircraft that are on IFR flight plans or are using air traffic control flight-following advisory services,” Jon said. “If there are other planes out there not using FAA radar services, we won’t see them.”

“Aren’t these planes supposed to have beacons or something to locate other planes?”

“Some do, but small light planes or light-sport aircraft that don’t fly in controlled airspace probably won’t,” Jon said. “Besides, those beacons interrogate other planes’ beacons to locate them, and you ordered the Sparrowhawk’s transponder shut off.”

“Because you told me anyone on the ground can identify an aircraft flying overhead with that beacon on the Internet, or even with a camera phone!”

“That’s true.”

“So I’m not going to reveal the drone’s position with a beacon on the wild-ass off chance that another aircraft might be in the exact same location and altitude,” Chastain said. “That’ll tip off the Knights that they’re under surveillance for sure. Besides, pilots are supposed to be looking out for other planes, right? What are the chances of two planes colliding?”

“If the drone is on an airway below eighteen thousand feet, the chances are much greater,” Jon said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you: if you put the Sparrowhawk right on the airway, the chances of a disaster are greatly increased. If you move it just a few miles away, the chances don’t go to zero, but they are much, much more favorable.”

“So even if we turn on the beacon and move the drone away, it can still be hit by another plane?”

“Unlikely… but yes, it…”

“Masters, I think the odds of something happening are much lower than you’re telling me,” Chastain interjected. “The drone is out in the middle of nowhere, more than a hundred miles from the nearest city; people aren’t flying anyway because of the shitty economy; and even if they were, the odds of two planes being at the same spot at the same time are astronomical. You people that whine all day about safety, safety, safety drive guys who are trying to get the job done, like me, absolutely crazy . Now quit your damned bitching and orbit that compound.”

Jon finally gave up, and he nodded to Jeff to have the Sparrowhawk orbit the ranch. “Make the altitude seventeen thousand feet,” he told his technician. “If they’re on an IFR flight plan, they’ll be at either sixteen or seventeen, so we should be able to see them on the FAA feed.”

“Is that too high?” Chastain asked. “I want detailed imagery of that compound.”

“The sensors on the Sparrowhawk are optimized for ten thousand feet aboveground, which is fifteen thousand feet above mean sea level,” Jon said, “but the resolution is perfectly fine at—”

“Then put the damned drone at fifteen thousand,” Chastain said. “Why in hell would you have it fly higher?”

“Because…” He was going to say, It’s safer, but it was obvious that Chastain didn’t much care for the “safety” argument. Jon turned to Jeff. “Put Sparrowhawk at fifteen thousand,” he said. “Let’s notify Oakland, Seattle, and Salt Lake Centers of the altitude change.”

“Do what?” Chastain asked.

“We coordinate all flight activities with Seattle, Oakland, and Salt Lake air traffic control centers,” Jon said. “They don’t disseminate the information without telling us first, but we have to tell them. They can see most primary-target traffic on radar so they—”

“Primary targets?”

“Radar returns that don’t have transponder data such as altitude and identification codes.”

“Speak English, would you please, Masters?”

“It’s important we coordinate with them,” Jon said. “If they’re in radio contact with other traffic, they can advise them of the Sparrowhawk’s position so they can help them avoid it.”

“Fine, fine,” Chastain said dismissively. “As long as they don’t interfere.”

This was incredibly risky, Jon thought, but he issued the orders to put the Sparrowhawk at fifteen thousand feet, then put in a call to air traffic control facilities in Sacramento and Salt Lake City, advising them of the Sparrowhawk’s orbit.

Jon was soon able to relax as the day went on. It looked like Chastain was probably going to be correct: there was very little traffic in the Sparrowhawk’s orbital area. Only once did they have to steer the unmanned aircraft off the airway for a bizjet descending into Reno, and the two aircraft passed well clear of each other without the bizjet’s crew having to turn to avoid the UAV.

They were getting excellent images of the suspect’s entire desert facility, and it was indeed very impressive. It resembled a medieval town, with crop circles and groves of fruit trees in the outlying area, stockyards and maintenance buildings inside that, a variety of housing units from cabins to tents next, then a tall chain-link and stone fence surrounding the main compound. Inside the main compound were several houses, barns, warehouses, storage tanks, and an outdoor meeting area large enough for perhaps five hundred people. They saw several small sheds that many persons walked in and out of, way out of proportion to its size — that had to be entrances to an underground facility.

“All of that activity is being recorded and analyzed by our computers,” Jon said. “Then over time the computers will compare activity at certain times in different locations. If there’s a change in activity — a sudden marshaling of vehicles, or a large movement of people that’s out of the ordinary — the computer will alert us.”

“My agents have been doing that for decades, Masters — it’s called ‘police work,’ ” Chastain said dismissively, taking a sip of coffee and carefully studying the monitors. “Again with the sales pitch. Do you mind? We’re trying to work here.”

Jon held his hands up in surrender and departed.

Andorsen Park, Battle Mountain

Later that afternoon

Talk about coming down from an extreme high, Bradley thought: this morning I was soloing a high-tech turboprop airplane — now I’m scrubbing toilets for six dollars an hour, and thankful I’m doing so.

Brad picked up his cleanup kit and headed out of the men’s room at the city park’s rest facilities. It was still very warm, so the park was empty, but closer to sunset, folks would come out to barbecue or hang out. Brad was a sort of part-time security guard as well as janitor and maintenance man: if there were any problems, such as drug, alcohol, or hooker issues, his job was to call the police and get help; otherwise, his job was to clean the johns and urinals, empty the trash bins, and wipe down benches. After finishing the men’s toilets, his job was to scrub the women’s toilets, so he put out all the “Cleaners Working” and “Use Caution — Wet Floors” signs on his way to mucking out the ladies’ room.

A few minutes into his labors, he heard a voice say, “Hey, I know you.” He turned and found Department of Homeland Security special agent Cassandra Renaldo alone in the bathroom with him.

“Hello,” Brad said. Jeez, he thought, she looked hotter than ever. “What a… surprise.”

“Why, it’s Cadet Bradley James McLanahan, the Civil Air Patrol rescue hero,” Renaldo said. “Fancy meeting you here. Remember me? I’m Cassandra. Cassandra Renaldo.”

Oh yeah, I damn well do remember, he thought, checking out her breasts once again. He could see her hard nipples through her thin blouse from all the way across the bathroom. “I work here,” was all Brad could say, swallowing hard.

“You do?” Renaldo said.

“Just part-time.”

“Why, I think that is very diligent of you,” Renaldo said. “What a weird coincidence. I was heading out to Salt Lake City for a staff conference tomorrow morning, and I left the base without… you know, without stopping, and I spotted the park and decided to stop here. I was thinking of you. I thought, you are such an impressive young man. And suddenly poof, here you are, all by yourself, in the flesh. How lucky can I get?”

“Uh-huh,” Brad heard himself say.

“I think it’s so incredible that young men like you step up and get the training and perform the services you do in the Civil Air Patrol,” Renaldo said. “The whole world is changing, and young men like you are taking the lead in protecting your country and saving lives. You are so incredible, Bradley. Thank you so very much for your service.”