Read The Missile Game (The Dr. Scott James Thriller Series Book 1) for Free Online
Authors: Glenn Shepard
Tags: thriller, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Mystery-Thriller, afghanistan, Men's Adventure, Terrorism, Isis, Pulp, medical thriller, mystery novel, Iraq, James Bond, Terrorism thriller, ISIL, cool thriller, terrorism fiction, Books about terrorism, best mystery thriller, Thriller about terrorism, Novels about terrorism, best thriller books
other inmates sensed something was up and looked at us.
Mendez pulled out a homemade shiv. “Now, what the fuck you gonna do?”
I tried to ignore him and stay calm. “I was hoping to catch up on my sleep.”
Mendez went berserk. He raised the knife and jumped toward me. I kept my eyes on the knife and as Mendez stabbed at my chest, I grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and threw him against the wall. Mendez dropped the knife and swung his fist wildly.
I stepped aside and pounded his face with a left and then hit him in the stomach with a right. Mendez turned to face me but his body was swaying, and his eyes did not focus.
“Racial profiling is not politically correct,” I said.
With that, Mendez threw a hay maker punch, which missed me by a foot.
The other inmates were cheering, “Kill him! Kill him!”
I lifted my fist to finish him off, but saw no need. I led the defenseless Mendez to his bed and pushed him down.
Two guards were watching. Neither filed an incident report. And after that, nobody bothered me.
Soon, a black cloud of depression fell on me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Drone Control Center, “Alpha Charlie”
Jackson City, North Carolina
12:05 pm
CHARLIE SAT IN THE dark room and monitored the computer screens attached to the BAMS/UAS workstation. He wore special glasses that compensated for the low light conditions and which provided magnification, allowing him to view the text messages on the lower part of the screens. The BAMS/UAS portable control module used twenty hard drives, stacked one on top of the other and conveniently boltedto the left side of a flimsy-looking desk. The three monitors were each twenty inches wide and positioned at eye level to the operator. Active monitors came on when images were presented to them; blank monitors had no incoming videos.
Currently, the active screen pictured aerial views of a mountainous landscape. An hour earlier, Colonel Edwards had launched a Global Hawk RQ-4B, the newest and largest of the drone aircraft, from Kandahar, Afghanistan, and had placed a test target in an empty field a few miles from the base.
Edwards came on Charlie’s headset and suggested a trial of the new chair. He told Charlie to be on the lookout for a fake truck, sitting on the test-firing range.
Charlie did as Edwards instructed, manipulating his new system to visualize the test area. He was pleased that he could move the aircraft easily. He could see the objective at five miles and elected to shoot at that distance. Each of his index fingers activated an X that moved and centered on the image. Pressing his right thumb on the red firing button, a Hellfire missile shot from the drone. After a delay of a few seconds, it struck the bull’s eye painted on a cardboard replica of a truck and exploded on impact.
“Bra— vo ,” Edwards said.
REUTERS
Canberra, AUSTRALIA
The American Ambassador to Australia, Mr. David Martin, has been summoned back to Washington amid growing anger in the capital, Canberra, over allegations that the target of last week’s foiled terrorist attack was a CIA-sponsored “black site” for the control of military drones in the Middle East. U.S. Officials, citing national security interests, have declined to comment on rumors that the three men and one woman apprehended last week in Sydney were actively searching for a drone control station rumored to be located somewhere in the vicinity of Byron Bay, a small resort town on the east coast of Australia. Members of the Australian Parliament on both the right and the left are calling for a full investigation of all civilian defense contractors doing business with the United States.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Chapel Hill, North Carolina
7:00 pm
FOUR YEARS AGO, BILLY WATSON inherited the family peanut farm and a modest bank account. His low crop yield reflected his hatred of farming, and within two years, he was on the verge of bankruptcy. His friends and farm hands left him to a life of solitude. Each evening he
Mendez pulled out a homemade shiv. “Now, what the fuck you gonna do?”
I tried to ignore him and stay calm. “I was hoping to catch up on my sleep.”
Mendez went berserk. He raised the knife and jumped toward me. I kept my eyes on the knife and as Mendez stabbed at my chest, I grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and threw him against the wall. Mendez dropped the knife and swung his fist wildly.
I stepped aside and pounded his face with a left and then hit him in the stomach with a right. Mendez turned to face me but his body was swaying, and his eyes did not focus.
“Racial profiling is not politically correct,” I said.
With that, Mendez threw a hay maker punch, which missed me by a foot.
The other inmates were cheering, “Kill him! Kill him!”
I lifted my fist to finish him off, but saw no need. I led the defenseless Mendez to his bed and pushed him down.
Two guards were watching. Neither filed an incident report. And after that, nobody bothered me.
Soon, a black cloud of depression fell on me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Drone Control Center, “Alpha Charlie”
Jackson City, North Carolina
12:05 pm
CHARLIE SAT IN THE dark room and monitored the computer screens attached to the BAMS/UAS workstation. He wore special glasses that compensated for the low light conditions and which provided magnification, allowing him to view the text messages on the lower part of the screens. The BAMS/UAS portable control module used twenty hard drives, stacked one on top of the other and conveniently boltedto the left side of a flimsy-looking desk. The three monitors were each twenty inches wide and positioned at eye level to the operator. Active monitors came on when images were presented to them; blank monitors had no incoming videos.
Currently, the active screen pictured aerial views of a mountainous landscape. An hour earlier, Colonel Edwards had launched a Global Hawk RQ-4B, the newest and largest of the drone aircraft, from Kandahar, Afghanistan, and had placed a test target in an empty field a few miles from the base.
Edwards came on Charlie’s headset and suggested a trial of the new chair. He told Charlie to be on the lookout for a fake truck, sitting on the test-firing range.
Charlie did as Edwards instructed, manipulating his new system to visualize the test area. He was pleased that he could move the aircraft easily. He could see the objective at five miles and elected to shoot at that distance. Each of his index fingers activated an X that moved and centered on the image. Pressing his right thumb on the red firing button, a Hellfire missile shot from the drone. After a delay of a few seconds, it struck the bull’s eye painted on a cardboard replica of a truck and exploded on impact.
“Bra— vo ,” Edwards said.
REUTERS
Canberra, AUSTRALIA
The American Ambassador to Australia, Mr. David Martin, has been summoned back to Washington amid growing anger in the capital, Canberra, over allegations that the target of last week’s foiled terrorist attack was a CIA-sponsored “black site” for the control of military drones in the Middle East. U.S. Officials, citing national security interests, have declined to comment on rumors that the three men and one woman apprehended last week in Sydney were actively searching for a drone control station rumored to be located somewhere in the vicinity of Byron Bay, a small resort town on the east coast of Australia. Members of the Australian Parliament on both the right and the left are calling for a full investigation of all civilian defense contractors doing business with the United States.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Chapel Hill, North Carolina
7:00 pm
FOUR YEARS AGO, BILLY WATSON inherited the family peanut farm and a modest bank account. His low crop yield reflected his hatred of farming, and within two years, he was on the verge of bankruptcy. His friends and farm hands left him to a life of solitude. Each evening he
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