Free DRONE by Miles A. Maxwell Page A

State Parkway onto Central Avenue and into the lot outside the department store bearing the big red bulls-eye — exactly where his GPS told him it should be. Ironic, he thought, looking at the store’s red logo, thinking of the store’s name. Target. He felt his mouth form its first genuine smile today. His understanding of English was very good.
    He walked inside, took a right — according to instructions he’d memorized, and headed for the wall of television screens.
    At the camera department he caught the attention of a black salesgirl he forced himself to admit was quite pretty, despite the despicable way she was dressed. Red shirt, dark, low-heeled shoes. Black pants that left little to the imagination.
    “I’d like to look at drones, please,” Shalik said.
    She smiled, giving him a suit-to-shoes quick once-over. She reached behind the counter and snagged a key. “Right this way, sir.”
    He hoped they carried his model. The unit he required was supposed to be in stock. There were four more stores along his route south just in case.
    Three aisles back, she turned in and knelt down before a floor-level case. “Here we are.” She unlocked the glass door and pulled out a large box. “This is one of our most popular models.”
    He could see the price tag. $498.00.
    “No,” he pointed at an even larger box on the left side, “I’d prefer that one.”
    Her smile showed every tooth. “That’s our most expensive model. It’s supposed to be pretty great.”
    There was a small label along the bottom of the display case saying he was required to register the unit with the FAA. The government.
    That wouldn’t be happening.
    She slid the first box back in. Tugged out the much heavier one.
    While Shalik pretended to look at the unit, turning it over, then back to the front (he already knew everything there was to know about it), he could feel her re-evaluating his suit, his haircut. She was leaning forward just a little. The silly bitch was attracted to him. If only he had more time.
    It was good he didn’t. She was haram, just like nearly everything else in this disgusting country.
    “Excellent!” he smiled, “I’ll take it.”
    He left the store carrying the box in his arms, his wallet twelve hundred dollars lighter.
    On to Step Four.

Chapter 4

    Shalik stopped at a place called Sports Authority and bought two ring-type five-pound dumbbell weights. He made his third stop at an Ace Hardware store where he purchased a road atlas, a blue painter’s tarp, some medium gauge green picture wire and a small pair of wire cutters known as dikes. He paid cash.
    Fifty miles south, he pulled off the freeway a fourth time. He made a left, two rights, and turned onto a dirt road for half a mile.
    The field was open and vacant just as the pictures had shown on Google, surrounded by a ring of trees. Shalik pulled his SUV into the tall grass. He walked to the vehicle’s rear, raised the hatch and pulled out his new toy.
    With a thumbnail he slit open the thin plastic that covered the box and carefully laid out each component. He plugged the power cords into two of the SUV's cigarette lighters, then sat back in the driver’s seat and carefully read the instructions again. He knew each word by memory. He’d already read them eight times at a safe house in Delhi.
    When he’d finished reading he cut off a five-foot section of picture wire, threaded it though the big center hole in the weights wrapping it several times around one side of the ring and tied the wire in a knot. He wrapped the ends around either side of the drone’s landing gear so the weight would hang free, in the clear beneath the camera. He twisted the wire tightly back onto itself so there’d be no chance of it coming loose in flight.
    For another half an hour he re-studied the map to his destination — a location that he already knew so well he could picture it with his eyes closed.
    Exactly an hour after he’d begun charging the drone and its