UAV - Chapter 7

1

Jack awoke groggily, opening his eyes in the dim lighting of his holding cell.

Pain exploded behind his eyes the moment consciousness returned. His head hurt like someone had taken a baseball bat to his skull. Sharp, throbbing agony that pulsed with each heartbeat. He felt as though he'd been decked in the temple. Hard.

He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. The room spun, nausea rising in his throat. He lay back down, breathing slowly through his nose, waiting for the world to stop tilting.

Where the hell was he?

He was lying on a hard-backed bed with almost no padding. More like a steel platform with a thin mat thrown over it. His back ached from the unforgiving surface, and his neck had a crick in it from however long he'd been unconscious.

Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes again. Let them adjust to the light.

He was in a rundown holding cell. Less than a ten-by-ten cube, no windows. The walls were cinder block, painted a sickly green that had faded and chipped over the years. Dust covered everything, thick enough to write in. It looked as though this place hadn't been used in many years. Decades, maybe.

A flickering fluorescent light glowed above him, buzzing with an electrical hum that set his teeth on edge. The irregular flicker made shadows dance across the walls. On, off, on, off. Never quite steady.

The only furniture was a toilet in the corner and the bed he was lying on. The toilet was also made out of steel, institutional and cold. At least there appeared to be running water. He could hear pipes groaning somewhere behind the walls.

The air smelled of mildew and old concrete. Stale. Like a tomb that hadn't been opened in years.

Jack sat up slowly this time, letting his body adjust. His mouth tasted like copper and whiskey. How much had he drunk at the casino? Not enough to black out, he was sure of that.

Someone had drugged him.

He thought back to the night before, piecing together the details of his capture. The memories were fragmented, coming in flashes. He tried to figure out what they might want from him.

First, he remembered being in the casino. The lights, the noise, the crowd. Beck had insisted they blow off steam, get away from the base for a night. Jack had reluctantly agreed. They'd used Beck's hack to make it look like they were on base when they weren't.

Stupid. So incredibly stupid.

Then he was approached by a young woman. Blonde, beautiful, too good to be true. She'd flirted with him, bought him a drink. He'd been suspicious at first, but she'd been so convincing. And he'd been so lonely.

Sarah had been on his case about working too much, about the distance between them. Part of him had wanted to prove he could still attract someone, still be desirable. Pathetic, really.

The woman had suggested they go somewhere quieter. He'd agreed. And then... nothing. Blackout. Whatever she'd slipped into his drink had worked fast.

But the question he couldn't answer was: why him? Why kidnap him? What did he know that they would need?

He was just a drone pilot. A glorified video game player sitting in an air-conditioned trailer, flying aircraft thousands of miles away. He wasn't special forces, wasn't intelligence. He didn't have access to classified information beyond his narrow operational scope.

Unless...

He remembered her mentioning Beck. She'd asked about him specifically, asked if Beck was coming to the casino that night. That made him even more certain that this wasn't a random happenstance. This wasn't just someone drugging a mark at a casino for his wallet and credit cards.

They knew what they were doing. They'd targeted him specifically. And they'd wanted both him and Beck.

But... what were they doing? What did they want?

His stomach clenched with a realization.

The drones. It had to be about the drones.

2

More importantly, what had happened to Beck?

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. They'd walked into this trap together. Had Beck been drugged too? Was he in another cell somewhere in this place? Or had they done something worse to him?

Jack hoped they hadn't done anything to his friend. Beck was smart, resourceful, but he wasn't built for this kind of thing. Neither of them were. They were pilots, not field operatives. Not trained for capture, interrogation, resistance.

God, Beck had a kid. A little girl, maybe three years old. What would happen to her if Beck didn't make it home?

Jack stood on shaky legs and walked to the bars. His hand gripped the cold steel, testing it. Solid. No give. The bars were old but well-maintained, still strong.

"Hello?" he called out. His voice echoed in the empty space beyond his cell. "Is anyone there?"

Silence.

He strained to hear anything. Footsteps, voices, the hum of machinery. But there was nothing except the buzz of the fluorescent light and the distant groan of pipes.

"Hello?" he tried again, louder this time. "I know someone's out there!"

Still no reply.

He waited at the door for a few minutes, listening, hoping. Maybe there were cameras watching him. Maybe they were testing him, seeing how he'd react to isolation and fear.

Or maybe they'd just locked him up and forgotten about him.

Finally, he walked back to the bed and sat down. The thin mattress compressed under his weight, springs creaking.

His headache only got worse as he sat there, worrying and frantic. Each pulse of pain behind his eyes felt like a hammer blow. The dehydration from whatever drug they'd used wasn't helping either.

They had snuck out while on active duty. Beck had hacked the system, made it look like they were both on base when they were actually at a casino in Vegas. Court-martial offense. Career-ending.

And now he was sitting in a jail cell that hadn't been used in a long time, kidnapped by people who knew about the drones, who'd specifically targeted him and Beck.

He couldn't imagine things being any worse.

Sarah. What would Sarah think when he didn't come home? Would she assume he'd left her? That he'd run off with some woman? Or would she know something was wrong?

Either way, his marriage was probably over. Even if he got out of this alive, the court-martial would destroy everything. His career, his reputation, his family.

All because he'd been lonely and stupid enough to follow a pretty woman out of a casino.

He was sitting on the lumpy bed, head in his hands, when he heard the outer door open. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Coming closer.

Jack stood up, his heart hammering. Fight or flight instincts screaming, but nowhere to run and no way to fight. Just stand there and face whatever came next.

The door to the cell block swung open. The young woman from the night before walked in, smiling and calm. Like she was visiting a friend, not checking on a prisoner.

"Hi, Jack," she said cheerfully. "Glad to see you finally awake."

He didn't reply right away. Rage boiled in his chest, hot and immediate. He wanted to rush the bars, reach through and wrap his hands around her throat. But that wouldn't help anything. Would probably just get him hurt or killed.

He tried to get his raging emotions under control. Deep breaths. Stay calm. Assess the situation.

He felt anger at her for what she had done to him, but it was masked behind several layers of fear and confusion. Fear for Beck, for himself, for what they wanted. Confusion about why, about what was happening, about how he'd been so completely played.

She was out of the skimpy dress now, wearing simple and loose fitting clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt, practical. Her hair was disheveled, pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had bags under her eyes. She looked tired. Human.

That somehow made it worse. She wasn't a monster. Just a person doing monstrous things.

"What do you want?" he asked. His voice came out rougher than he intended.

"I heard you were a fantastic chef," she replied with a grin, "and we were hoping to steal your recipe for chocolate truffles."

She waited for a second, watching his face. When he didn't react, she laughed.

"No, not even a chuckle? Tough crowd. I thought the reason was obvious."

"I'm a drone pilot," he said flatly.

"Bingo," she replied, pointing her finger at him like a gun. "Bang. You're a lot smarter when you aren't drunk. Or drugged. Sorry about that, by the way. Had to make sure you came quietly."

He hesitated, trying to think of some leverage. "I'm an Air Force pilot, and they will be looking for me. The military doesn't take kindly to kidnapping their personnel. You don't..."

He trailed off when she started laughing. Really laughing, bent over with her hands on her knees.

"Oh, Jack." She wiped tears from her eyes. "You really think anyone's looking for you?"

"They'll notice I'm missing."

"You're a drone pilot. You sit in a trailer in Nevada flying robots over the Middle East. They probably won't even notice you're missing for a few weeks. Maybe a month."

Her words stung because they were probably true. Drone pilots weren't front-line troops. They were support staff. Easily replaceable.

"And worse," she continued, "you left of your own accord. Snuck off base using hacked credentials. So even if they were looking for you, it's to charge you with a crime and then discharge you."

Jack couldn't think of a good reply to that. She was right. He'd violated regulations, left his post, compromised security. Even if he escaped right now and went back to base, he'd be arrested.

She straightened up, composing herself. Then she gave him a mock bow.

"My name really is Helen, by the way. I wasn't lying to you about that."

"What do you want?" he repeated.

"What does anyone want? World peace? A million dollars? Good health?"

"I'm not interested in idle chit-chat," Jack said, anger seeping back into his voice. "So tell me what the hell you want or get out."

Helen's smile faded. "Touchy," she said, making a tsk sound at him. "I see you don't want to be friends. Fine. I suppose I'll get down to business."

She pulled out a tablet from her back pocket, tapped on it a few times, then held it up so he could see the screen. Security logs, access records, network traffic analysis.

"You helped hack the satellite relay that runs your drone software," she said. "And we need you to do it again."

Jack was about to tell her that he had no idea what she was talking about. That she had the wrong guy. That there'd been some mistake.

Then he realized he did know. Beck's hack. The one that let them sneak off base.

He started laughing. Couldn't help it. The absurdity of the situation hit him all at once and laughter bubbled up, borderline hysterical.

Helen's face turned crimson. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"You think I hacked something?" Jack gasped between laughs. "You kidnapped me because you think I'm some kind of hacker? I can barely turn my computer on. I can't help you."

"Bullshit," Helen replied, narrowing her eyes. She tapped the tablet screen. "Your login was used to bypass the security systems. You and Beck hacked into the security network, disabled monitoring, spoofed location data. That's not amateur hour. That's sophisticated penetration testing."

"Beck used my login," Jack said, his laughter dying. "He's the computer guy. I just fly the drones. But I sure as hell didn't hack anything. I wouldn't even know where to start."

Helen stared at him for a long moment. Her expression shifted from anger to confusion to realization.

"You're serious," she said.

"Completely."

"You really can't hack anything."

"I can barely use Excel."

Helen's jaw clenched. She turned away, muttering something under her breath that sounded very much like a string of profanity.

"We didn't need both," she said to someone Jack couldn't see.

A man's voice replied from outside the cell block. Deep, cold. "I thought we would."

3

Helen was annoyed.

More than annoyed. She was furious. Hours of prep work, detailed surveillance, a carefully orchestrated honey trap, and for what? To kidnap a guy who couldn't hack his way out of a paper bag.

The office they were in was an old police station. Abandoned, technically. JanCorp used it as a safe house for various operations across the Southwest. Most city plans actually assumed it was demolished or decayed, but JanCorp had maintained it throughout the years, kept it functional while letting the official records lapse. Eventually, it had been gradually forgotten by municipal authorities. Perfect for black ops.

She stormed into the office where Victor was reviewing tactical maps. He barely looked up when she entered.

"We didn't need both," she said, slamming the tablet down on the desk.

"I thought we would," Victor replied with a shrug. His voice was maddeningly calm, like they were discussing lunch options instead of a failed kidnapping operation.

"You had me dress up like a doll to trick this asshole," Helen snapped, "and he isn't even useful to us. He can't hack anything. He's just the pilot."

Victor set down his map and finally looked at her. "You did look pretty nice in that dress, though."

Helen's face flushed red. "Screw off."

Victor ignored her outburst, tapping his chin thoughtfully. His eyes were distant, calculating. Always thinking three steps ahead, always running scenarios.

That was what made him effective. And terrifying.

"So what do we do with Jack now?" she asked, trying to regain her professionalism. "Let him go? Drop him somewhere and make him someone else's problem?"

"Not yet," Victor said. "Not until after we're done with Beck."

"Why? He's deadweight. It's just an extra mouth to feed, extra risk. If he escapes or someone finds him, it compromises the entire operation."

Victor leaned back in his chair. "Then don't feed him. Not like he's going anywhere."

Helen was silent for a second, trying to decide if that was a joke or not. With Victor, you could never tell. His sense of humor was dark and unpredictable. He might genuinely suggest starving a prisoner.

"Victor."

"Relax. We'll feed him. Minimal rations, but enough to keep him alive." He picked up his map again, made a notation. "Jack might still be useful."

"How? He admitted he can't do anything we need."

"Tell me something," Victor said, not looking up from his work. "Why do you think Beck used his login?"

"What?"

"Beck's the hacker. He's good, from what you've told me. Good enough to penetrate military-grade security. So why would he use Jack's credentials instead of his own?"

Helen thought about it. She'd wondered the same thing when she first analyzed the network logs.

"Was he using Jack as a patsy?" Victor continued. "Setting him up to take the fall if they got caught?"

Helen shrugged. "I don't think so. Beck and Jack seem like actual friends. There's loyalty there."

"Then why?"

"My guess is if Beck was a good enough hacker, he might think people are watching him and his logins specifically. Security services monitor high-value targets, flag unusual activity. But they wouldn't be watching Jack. He's just a standard drone pilot, no red flags. So using Jack's login would have been a simple security decision. Operational security, not betrayal."

Victor nodded slowly. "So you don't think he was intending to betray Jack? Not trying to throw him under the bus?"

"I doubt it," Helen said. "More likely he was trying to protect them both. Use a clean login, stay under the radar."

"Good," Victor said, standing up. His chair scraped against the floor. "Then Jack might have some use still yet."

Helen felt a chill run down her spine. "What do you mean?"

Victor walked to the window, looked out at the empty street. Sunlight streamed through the dirty glass, casting shadows across his face.

"Beck cares about Jack. You said so yourself. There's loyalty, friendship. That's a lever we can use."

"You want to threaten Jack to make Beck cooperate."

"Not just threaten. Having Jack gives us insurance. Beck tries to sabotage the operation, Jack pays the price. Beck thinks about running, he knows we have his friend. It's motivation."

"Victor, that's..." Helen trailed off. What was she going to say? That it was wrong? Immoral? She'd already crossed a dozen moral lines working for JanCorp. What was one more?

But threatening an innocent man's life to coerce his friend felt different somehow. More personal. More cruel.

"It's effective," Victor finished for her. "And that's all that matters. We have a timeline, Helen. Markwell wants this operation completed within the week. Beck needs to crack the military network, give us full access to their drone fleet. If having Jack in a cell speeds that process up, then Jack stays in the cell."

Helen wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him there had to be another way. But she knew it wouldn't matter. Victor had made his decision.

"What if Beck calls your bluff? What if he refuses anyway?"

Victor turned to face her. His expression was cold, empty. The same look he had when he talked about eliminating problems.

"Then we don't bluff," he said simply. "We make an example. Show Beck that we're serious. One bullet, quick and clean. Then we ask Beck again, very politely, to cooperate."

Helen's stomach turned. "You'd actually kill Jack? An innocent man?"

"Innocent is relative. He aided and abetted Beck's hack, even if he didn't understand what he was doing. He violated military regulations, compromised security. Technically, he's complicit."

"That's a rationalization and you know it."

Victor shrugged. "Maybe. But it helps me sleep at night." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Not that I have trouble sleeping anyway."

He walked past her toward the door. "Keep Jack isolated. No communication with Beck. I want them separated until we need to use one against the other. And Helen?"

She looked up. "Yeah?"

"Stop second-guessing the operation. You signed up for this. JanCorp pays you very well to do jobs like this. If you can't handle the moral ambiguity, maybe you're in the wrong line of work."

He left before she could respond.

Helen stood alone in the office, staring at the tactical maps spread across the desk. Lines and circles, attack vectors and timelines. Everything reduced to data points and objectives.

She thought about Jack in his cell. Confused, scared, probably thinking about his family. About Beck being forced to hack military systems under duress, knowing his friend's life hung in the balance.

About the drones they would hijack, the damage they would cause.

About her sister Kate, who'd died because she'd tried to stop operations just like this one.

Helen closed her eyes. When had she become this person? When had doing the wrong thing for the right reasons turned into just doing wrong things?

She didn't know anymore.

And that scared her more than Victor ever could.