Piranha (Oregon Files 10)

“What if you miss?”

“The pilot will try to execute evasive maneuvers, but it won’t work. A QF-16 can fly circles around a 747, and I have three of them.”

One of the drones suddenly went into a nose dive. Kensit lost the video feed at the same time.

“Dammit!”

“What?” Washburn said, leaning forward onto the chair back again before quickly releasing it and saying “Sorry” again.

“We lost Quail Three. Must be some kind of malfunction.”

“Can you fix it?”

“It’s not worth pursuing this close to the target. We’ve still got a backup drone left in case this one doesn’t succeed.”

Kensit had Sentinel locked onto the cockpit of Air Force Two, watching the two pilots prepare to evade the approaching drones. They had received a warning about them from the Air Force controller and were trying to get away, but their efforts wouldn’t make a difference. Being able to hear and see what they were planning to do, he could adjust with seemingly supernatural agility. The fuel gauge on each drone indicated fifteen minutes’ supply left, so he might even toy with them for a few minutes before finishing them off. He wouldn’t soon get another chance to play around like this with life-sized jets.

Then he thought no, he wouldn’t take a chance. He’d been working nearly three years to get to this moment of opportunity. No sense in risking another glitch like the malfunction that downed Quail 3.

Air Force Two loomed in the drone’s camera, easily distinguishable now for what it was. The pilots agreed to wait until the QF-16s were within a half mile before throwing the 747 into a tight right-hand bank, not knowing it would be a futile attempt.

Kensit wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and grabbed the controllers for the final approach. He was grinning maniacally at the sheer power literally in his hands at the moment. He was about to change the world just as he’d promised.

The smile vanished when he saw a strange image on the camera feed from the drone he was controlling. A narrow vertical edge was slowly rising into the frame from below and to the right, and the sight was so incongruous that he didn’t realize what it was until he saw USAF stenciled on the side of it.

It was the rudder of the other drone.

“No,” he said breathlessly. Then he screamed, “NO!” and rolled his drone sharply to the left.

He was too late. The air brakes of the drone in front activated, slowing it abruptly and sending it backward into Kensit’s drone. He tried to cut the throttle, but by then the left wing of his drone sliced into the rudder of the drone that had snuck in front of it. The camera flared a bright white for a moment and then went black.

He changed Sentinel’s view so that he could see behind Air Force Two. All that was left of the drone Kensit had been controlling was a huge fireball. The other drone, bereft of its tail, tumbled toward the ocean.

Kensit sat back in his chair, stunned at the loss of both drones.

There was only one explanation.

Cabrillo and his crew. But that was impossible. Ruiz was supposed to sink the Oregon.

“What the hell just happened?” Washburn asked, incredulous.

“Shut up!” Kensit shouted, practically pulling his hair out. “Let me think!”

He spun Sentinel’s control all the way back to Haiti and the Gulf of Gonâve, where Ruiz’s battle was to take place. He stared in shock at the Oregon, battered and smoking but still cruising along.

He zoomed into the op center. There was Juan Cabrillo, sitting smugly in his Kirk Chair. He waved at the map on the screen in front of him and said, “Bye-bye.”

Kensit initially thought it was another spooky direct address to him, but then he noticed what was on the map. The Quail 3 drone hadn’t crashed.

It was headed right for his yacht.

Kensit jumped out of his chair, sending it careening into Washburn.

“Get out of my way!” Kensit shrieked, and sprinted for the deck.

—

Maurice glided into the op center with a silver tray