Free DRONE by Miles A. Maxwell Page B

control module, he unplugged them both, attached his iPad to the top of the control module and powered up. The screen came live. It took about thirty seconds for the two to sync to each other. He watched the indicator. The display unit beeped. He gave the slider a little throttle. The props turned.
    Shalik had control.
    The drone was a little sluggish lifting its ten pounds of steel ballast off the ground, but Shalik knew the weight to be well within the unit’s payload capacity. He wasn’t going to be doing anything tricky. Just straight and steady — at a single destination.
    He flew the unit down the field, climbing on an angle, then slowed the drone to a hover, hit the Return Home function (something he wouldn’t be using tomorrow) and watched the unit fly smoothly back to hover beside him.
    He landed the drone on the ground. Undid the wire, removed the weights. It was too sluggish.
    He cut off a fresh piece of wire, tied and hung only a single weight below the drone. It would be more than adequate.
    This time when he launched, the drone accelerated nicely, turned more quickly. When commanded, it rose almost three times as fast.
    Much better!
    He worked the unit for another fifteen minutes, flying back and forth, imagining his prey, gaining to its expected altitude, making subtle turns of realignment.
    When the drone finally bogged down and had trouble gaining altitude, he made it return.
    He set the drone and controller back inside the SUV’s hatch, plugged them into the SUV’s rear lighter sockets, covered everything with the blue tarp and drove away.
    *
    In the distance, a short man with a bulldog neck watched through a pair of high-power binoculars as Shalik’s SUV turned back onto the highway. He’d seen the whole thing.
    He lifted a smartphone from the roof of his Hummer, activated a number, brought the phone to his ear.
    The number rang eight times before it was answered. “Yes?” said the voice belonging to a man he thought of simply as Big.
    “I’ve seen six so far. Each perfectly on schedule.”
    “Very well,” Big replied.
    The number disconnected.

Chapter 5

    The candidates in this year’s U.S. Presidential election were diametrically opposed on almost every issue. Voter turnout was going to be huge. Every registered voter, it seemed, wanted their say.
    Billionaire industrialist Robert Osborn, the Republican Candidate, wanted a ban on all Muslims entering the country. Osborn sought tariffs, restrictions on abortion, communications and the press, while claiming to be a staunch Capitalist.
    His Democrat opponent, a stout woman named Wen “Ma” Carter whose favorite word was tasty, supported multiculturalism. So liberal in her socialism many called her a Communist — Ma Carter wanted free college, free healthcare for all, free dentistry, and free food and housing — for those making less than twenty thousand dollars a year. She never said how she was going to pay for anything. “These new government programs,” she shouted, “are American Rights! With a Capital R!”
    Many agreed.
    Osborn said Wen’s platform would turn the U.S. into a third-world country, bankrupting the United States. He said it would inflate the money supply until the savings of old people were worthless, cause food prices to skyrocket, drive home-prices and apartment rents into the stratosphere. Many agreed with Osborn too. The economy was already bad enough.
    To balance the Republican ticket, Osborn picked up a two-term Morman congressman from Utah named Christopher Wall as his running mate. Wall wasn’t much of a speaker. Osborn told him to shut up and smile. His job was to pull in the religious vote. Wall did as he was told.
    *
    Shalik waited until after dark, then pulled into the gated parking area of a local, north D.C. mosque. Step Seven. A holy number. He would not go anywhere until the call came.
    “I have not even been told why you are here,” the local Imam said, after welcoming Shalik. “I was