A Time for Patriots

“Masters, you just can’t shut it off, can you?” Chastain interrupted. He looked at Whack dismissively. “I don’t think we’ll be needing it at all, if the robots work as advertised.” He looked at the folded-up robot. “Normally I wouldn’t even accept military hardware, but with loose radioactive materials around, I will.” He motioned to one of the agents behind him. “That’s why you will train Special Agent Brady in how to operate the CID.”

Both Richter and Turlock looked at Brady. “He’s a little big for the CID,” Charlie said, looking directly at Brady’s waistline. “It’ll be a tight squeeze.” She motioned toward Renaldo. “She’ll fit much better.”

“She’s Homeland Security, not FBI,” Chastain said. He looked back at the other agents. “Savoy, front and center.” An agent stepped up beside Brady. He was much more trim, about a head shorter, and ten years younger than Brady, wearing rimless spectacles that made him look like a middle schooler. “You’re going to train to operate the robot.”

“I’m C-Four-I, sir,” Savoy said, looking apprehensively at the folded-up robot. “I’m in charge of communications and computers — I don’t know anything about robots.”

“You’re the gadget geek, so you’re going to learn. Besides, you get to work with Miss Turlock here.” Savoy gave Charlie a nod and a toothy grin. Chastain turned to Jon. “Now, what about the drones, Masters?”

“We’re unloading them now and we can have them airborne tonight,” Jon said. “The Sparrowhawk series of unmanned aircraft are small, lightweight, but very capable—”

“ ‘Sparrowhawks’? What in hell are they?” Chastain asked derisively. “I thought I was getting Predators. I’ve been trained in Predator deployments for years.”

“Predators? Are you kidding me?” Jon responded with an incredulous roll of his eyes. “Predators were hot five years ago. True, they set the stage. But the technology has advanced way beyond Predators.” Chastain’s expression told Jon he obviously didn’t believe him. “Sky Masters, Inc., manufactures the next generation of unmanned aerial vehicles — smaller, lighter, easier to deploy, easier to manage, more autonomous—”

“I’m not interested in your sales pitch or the sweetheart deal you obviously got from your buddies in the White House or the Pentagon,” Chastain said. “Tell me what I have to work with here, or get them out of my face and away from me so I can do my job.”

“With pleasure, Special Agent,” Jon said. “The Sparrowhawk is designed for medium-altitude, high-resolution, long-range, long-endurance surveillance. It is small, easy to deploy, easy to program and flight-plan, and all-weather capable. You’ll love it.”

“All I want is for it to be where I want, when I want, and look at what I want to look at,” Chastain said. “Let me know when they’re ready to fly.”

“They’ll be ready for a test flight tonight and should be ready to start patrolling tomorrow morning.”

Chastain blinked at this information, obviously not expecting them to be ready so soon — and not sure if he should believe Masters. “We’ll see. Keep me informed.” He spun on a heel and walked away, followed by the others except for Savoy, who stayed with Charlie.

“So…” Savoy said uncomfortably. “I’m… ready to get started, I guess. Do you have a manual or training video I can use?”

“First things first,” Charlie said, “I need to know your first name.”

The FBI agent looked rather uncomfortable for a moment, then responded, “Randolph.”

“Randolph?” Jon asked.

“What do your friends call you, Randolph?” Charlie asked.

“Randolph.” He looked at the growing smiles of those around him and scowled, which made Jon’s chuckling even more pronounced. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all,” Charlie said, choking down her own snickering. “Randolph it is. Are you married? Single?”

“What does that have to do with training on the robot?”

“We’re a small and pretty close-knit group here, Randolph,” Charlie said. “We like to know a lot about the folks that are assigned to work with us.”

“Do I get to know everything about you?”

“Of course. Ask away.”

Savoy looked skeptically at those around him, then said with a sigh of exasperation, “About those training manuals and videos, Miss Turlock?”

Charlie looked at Jon and Jason, shrugged, and put an arm around Savoy, turning him toward the folded-up CID unit. “We don’t use no stinking books or videos like they did in the olden days, Randolph — we believe in on-the-job training around here. CID Four, pilot up,” she said. The robot immediately assumed the boarding stance. “If you’re your unit’s gadget guy, you should learn how the CID operates in… about a day.”

“A day ?”

“Only if you’re paying attention,” Charlie added with a smile. “Otherwise, it might take as long as two days. Now, if we were going into combat, everything might take an extra day or two to learn, but since you won’t be using weapon packs, you should be fully checked out by this time tomorrow.” She motioned to the open hatch on the CID unit’s back. “Hop on up there, Randolph, and let’s get started.”

Five