Page 42 of Into the Gray Zone (Pike Logan #19)

I stopped on the upper walkway of the wall, realizing we were wasting our time. Because the Taj Mahal could be seen in the

distance from this vantage point, this section of wall was a magnet for tourists compared to the rest of the fort.

I said, “There’s no way he’s going to try to launch the drone from here. He’d get stopped immediately.”

We’d already gone to the tower viewing area down below and, while it appeared to be a good launch point, it had the same problem,

only worse: throngs of tourists trying to get a picture with the Taj in the background.

Brett said, “Maybe he’s outside the wall now, on the moat or something.”

“How would he get there? Rappel down? He’s here, somewhere. We’re just not looking in the right place.”

Before he could answer, a civilian helicopter with some sort of company logo on the side came right over the fort, circling

around and then flying to the Taj Mahal. We both watched it settle onto the lawn and thought the same thing: Thakkar .

We were too late. If the drone was going to launch, the location of the helicopter was a perfect target, as hitting it would cause a massive explosion that would kill everyone around it.

I said, “Look for the drone. This is it.”

We leaned over the escarpment of the wall, searching the sky. I saw nothing, even scanning back on a line of sight from the

helicopter to the fort. I said, “You got anything?”

“Nope.”

I looked back at the helicopter and saw a group loading. Maybe he’s going to miss.

The rotors spun back up and the helicopter lifted off the ground, retracing its flight path over the fort. It came across

the roof of the palace across the courtyard, zooming just above it, and I saw a man appear out of one of the decorative towers,

watching it go by.

It flew over our heads, across the river, and was a speck in the distance in seconds.

Brett said, “Looks like mission accomplished without any drama. Wherever he is, he missed. Maybe the drone malfunctioned.”

I returned to the man on the roof and saw him go back into the tower, disappearing from view. He came back out, but this time

he had something in his hands.

A drone.

What the hell?

At first I thought Brett might be right: he was the terrorist and his drone had failed, and now he was just trying to escape

the scene. Then he went to the edge and placed the drone on the roof before fiddling with something in his hands.

Jesus Christ. He’s going to launch, after Thakkar’s gone.

I said, “Brett, the roof. Look at the roof.”

He did and said, “Holy shit, let’s go!”

We raced back toward the stairs at the tourist tower, then took them two at a time to the base of the wall. We reached the bottom and sprinted across the courtyard, ignoring the attention we were drawing. We leapt from the grass to the low parapet, me shouting, “Find a way up. I’ll take the right side.”

The palace was a rectangle with a cavernous anteroom, then a single hallway stretching the length of it. Brett took the hallway

to the left and I went right. I jogged down the corridor, slowing at each opening, finding room after stone room with various

artifacts scattered within and tourists milling about, but no stairs. I heard Brett shout and raced back to the center, then

ran down his hallway. He pointed up and jumped over a rope, disappearing into an opening.

I reached the stairwell just as he cleared the top, a few seconds behind him. I leapt over the rope, scrambled up the steps,

and broke out on the roof, seeing Brett with his pistol out, shouting at the man with the controller.

I ran around to the far side of him, seeing the drone crossing the gap between us and the Taj Mahal, the grounds now teeming

with people. It looked like a pregnant bumblebee, and I knew the bottom of the drone was an explosive charge.

The man was tall and gangly, and was focused on Brett, a look of shock on his face. He didn’t even realize I was there until

I shouted, “Bring it back, or you’re dead!”

He whipped his head to me and I thought he was going to faint. Instead, he ignored me, staring down at the camera feed and

manipulating the controls.

More calmly, I said, “Bring it back, now.”

He shook his head, said something in Hindi, and I saw his hands shaking. I went back to look for the drone, but could no longer find it. I figured I had about ten seconds. I took two steps forward, taking the slack up on my trigger. He caught the movement, saw the death in my eyes, and fell to his knees, letting out an anguished shriek. He said, “No, no. I’ll bring it back.”

I eased off the trigger and Brett said, “It’s coming back. I can see it now.”

I said, “Good man. Good. Just land it here nice and soft.”

He nodded again, the tears running from his eyes. He returned his gaze to the controller and I saw his face grow rigid, a

snarl coming out. Brett said, “Pike, that thing is hauling ass right at us.”

I said, “Slow it down! Now!”

He looked up at me and I saw what he intended. I pulled the trigger twice, hitting him in the chest. He fell, the controller

underneath him, but the drone kept flying on its last trajectory, heading straight at us. I shouted, “Go!” and took off running

toward the stairwell, praying the device had no shrapnel built into it.

Brett was in front of me and made it into the stairwell just as the drone slammed into the stone roof of the minaret. My peripheral

vision saw the light from the explosion, like a strobe had gone off, then I felt the blast pressure, the wave flinging me

into the opening behind him. I hit the stone steps and tumbled twice before being grabbed by Brett, still upright, protected

from the blast by the stairwell.

The echo of the explosion rolled across the valley and I stood up a little unsteadily, checking my limbs, my ears ringing.

Brett said, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“We need to get the fuck out of here.”

“We need the phone in that controller.”

Without another word he took off up the stairs and disappeared from view. I tested my legs, seeing they functioned, and I realized I hadn’t been harmed in any meaningful way. It was a miracle.

In seconds he was back, saying, “Got it. Can you run, or do I need to carry your ass?”

“I’m good. Go, go.”

We made it to the bottom before anyone arrived to come up, but they would soon, and if we were caught in the stairwell, we’d

have some explaining to do.

Brett paused, took a glance out, then shook his head. A group of tourists raced by, all chattering in Hindi. He flicked his

head out again, then leapt over the rope. I followed and we were in the hallway again. Brett went right, away from the entrance

to the palace to avoid the initial scrum of authority that he knew was coming. The hallway ended in a little alcove with a

window overlooking the valley, and we stopped there, listening to the shouts echo through the stone.

I heard the sound of boots thumping toward us and we waited until a horde of security guards and men in Army uniforms went

up the stairs, then started walking back like we were confused American tourists. A guard was shouting and waving his arms,

telling everyone to get out of the palace. We, of course, followed his instructions.

We reached the courtyard and I saw the army side of the fort starting to boil over, a wave of uniforms coming toward us like

someone had kicked over an ant pile.

In two minutes we were back with the chipmunk men, only they were no longer looking to hand them off. They, like everyone

else, were being directed to leave the fort, a steady stream of people forced back toward the entrance.

We went past the metal detectors in a growing mob of tourists and reached the street where we’d left Jennifer. We walked away from the fort on the main road, toward the Taj Mahal, and Brett said, “Well, that didn’t go like we’d planned.”

I chuckled and said, “We’re out and free, so I’ll take it as a win. Let’s see if we can’t get a cab before they’re all taken.”

“What’s the next step?”

“Get to a hotel with Wi-Fi and get this cell phone connected to Creed. He needs to drain it for information, because that

attack made no sense whatsoever.”