Free PMadriani 12.5 - The Second Man by Steve Martini Page A

out some of the avionics, shook out some of the bugs,” said the guy. “Sent her down to Palmdale, from there over to Edwards and back. Climbs right up to altitude. Gonna have to send her back to Palmdale tomorrow for some maintenance.”
    â€œWe’re working off a list of fixes,” said the man. “But she’s coming along nicely. Some programming stuff. The usual glitches.” He looked toward the guy from Grumman, and said: “Why don’t we cut the engine and check it out?”
    The other man turned toward the van parked out on the apron not far from one of the helicopters. There was a small dish-­antenna array on the roof. He made a gesture—­the fingers of one hand drawn across his throat. A few seconds later, the drone’s jet engine began to die. It took a few more seconds, then went silent. Joselyn could finally hear clearly again.
    â€œWell, we know that works,” said Akers.
    â€œLet’s hope we don’t have to use it when it’s airborne,” said Henley. “From what I can see, the glide ratio on this one’s not great. I don’t want to have to call home and tell ’em they just lost a billion in R&D against a hillside in California.”
    â€œI take it your background is Air Force?” said Akers.
    â€œWho else would the ‘Company’ hire to monitor this beast?” said Henley.
    The CIA recruited from all of the military branches, depending on the expertise they needed. They recruited regularly from DEVGRU, turning SEAL operators into field agents in battle theaters and elsewhere.
    â€œSo I take it you’re the project manager?” said Akers.
    â€œGuilty,” said Henley.
    â€œLemme guess; you’re over budget and past delivery date?”
    â€œThat doesn’t take a crystal ball,” said the man from the CIA.
    â€œYou flying it out of there?” Akers gestured with his head toward the parked van.
    â€œFor the time being. But I’m trying to get them to move flight control to one of the hangars over at Moffit, so we can give it a more thorough test.
    â€œWe’re getting there,” said the guy from Stanford. “Just give us a little more time. You can’t rush these things.”
    â€œOh, you can,” said the Grumman man, “it’s just the results may not be pretty.” He motioned with his hand like a plane flying into the ground.
    Joselyn looked toward the engine mounted in the rear. It looked similar to the Triton and the Global Hawk. She assumed it was the same power plant, a single large fan-­jet. What looked different were vents underneath the fuselage, what appeared to be rotating nozzles, probably directional jet exhausts that would give the vehicle lift on takeoff for short runways. She wanted to ask, but she didn’t dare. If she could see it take off, she would know.
    â€œExcuse me.” The Grumman man moved toward a closed compartment at the rear of the drone. She moved aside to let him get by.
    Joselyn already had a list in her mind of at least a dozen questions, the first being about radar. But she knew that if she asked, the man named Henley would give her the third degree, want to know what she was doing here before he handed her over to the MPs. Better to play the dumb date. In the meantime, she glanced toward the underside of the UAV at the nose, the round ball turret with its various lenses and data-­gathering gizmos. The radar was not likely to be there. Assuming it functioned in the traditional way, it was more likely to be housed inside the fuselage behind a protective dome, either in the porpoise-­like nose or the underbelly.
    â€œDon’t let us get in your way,” said Akers. He motioned for Joselyn so that they could move to the other side of the aircraft, where they might get a better look and get away from Henley.
    As soon as they were out of sight, Henley started talking to the Stanford engineer. “I