“OK.” Breanna had suspected as much when he said he wanted to talk about it in person.

“But it’s the weapon that worries me,” said Reid. “Raven doesn’t refer to the UAV. It was a program to develop software that could seek out and destroy whoever it was targeted against. It could control a variety of platforms. In fact, it could go, on its own, from one to the other. That was its goal.”

“Is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” Reid took a sip from his coffee. “After seeing everything Dr. Rubeo has come up with, I’d say anything is possible.”

“Hmmm.”

“This weapon would be able to take over programs of other countries,” continued Reid. “There was a white paper, very restricted access, that talks about guarding against these things.”

“You should really talk to Ray about it.”

“I’d like to. But I don’t know how much to trust him.”

“I trust Ray implicitly.”

“Would he feel obliged, morally, to discuss it with anyone else?”

“What do you mean?”

“If the Agency has created a weapon that can’t be controlled, and accidentally set it loose, who would he feel he had to tell?”

“What do you mean, it can’t be controlled?”

Reid sipped his coffee, momentarily turning his gaze to the drops of rain landing on the windshield.

“The implication of the white paper was that this software would be like a virus, released into the wild,” he said, still looking at the rain. “Once out there, it would just run relentless until its target was found.”

“You think the Agency would test that without any safety protocols?” said Breanna. “That would be insane.”

“I don’t know what they’re doing. I would assume they would have some sort of safeguard. And I don’t know if any of this is even possible. But . . .”

“But?”

“But they’re definitely going after someone in the Sudan, they’re definitely using a UAV no one else has known about, and they’re definitely being extremely secretive. And the person the Whiplash team rendezvoused with in Africa joined the Agency as a software scientist before transferring about a year ago to covert ops.”

“We have to ask Edmund what’s going on,” said Breanna.

“I have. He won’t say. I have a few favors to call in,” added Reid. “And I’ll talk to Dr. Rubeo.”

“Then what?”

“I’m not sure.” Reid put his coffee cup back in the holder. “I have to ask you not to share this with the senator.”

“Zen?”

“I don’t— This could be a real political football in Congress. And . . .” He paused. “I’m not sure the President knows. In fact, I’d almost bet she doesn’t. Just from Edmund’s reactions.”

“You think they’d run an assassination program without telling the President?”

“Without a doubt,” said Reid.

By the time she reboarded the C-20, Breanna felt drained. Recovering the UAV—they had located it and were planning to go in as soon as it was dark—was exactly the sort of mission Whiplash had been created for. The political implications of Raven, even if it were “just” an illegal assassination mission, were something else again.

She hadn’t even been thinking of Zen until Reid mentioned that he couldn’t be told.

They both had jobs where it was necessary to keep a certain amount of separation between work and home, and therefore to keep certain state and political secrets from one another as well. But if Breanna knew that the CIA was breaking the law, and being extremely irresponsible as well—could she in good conscience not tell Zen about it? What would he say to her when he found out?

Because something like this would eventually come out. Surely.

Hopefully, Reid was overthinking the situation. Losing a top secret UAV would certainly be enough to circle the wagons.

And just because he couldn’t find any approval in the system for the assassination didn’t necessarily mean there hadn’t been one.

“Ma’am?”

Breanna looked up at the tech sergeant, standing in the aisle next to her seat.

“Got you your bagel,” he said, smiling as he handed her a tray. “I have to ask you to buckle your seat belt.”

Chapter 5

Duka, Sudan

Li Han circled the wrecked aircraft. It was worth even more than he’d thought at first glance. It was unique, far more advanced than anything he was familiar with. Granted, he wasn’t an expert in UAVs, but he knew a great deal about computers and processing technology, and what he saw here was truly impressive.

The building in Duka hadn’t changed at all since he’d been there last. Nor had Duka itself—still a sleepy backwater occupied by tribesmen barely removed from the medieval ages. The people walked around in a mixture of modern and ancient dress, and were armed with AK-47s and the like, but they still thought the way people thought in the Stone Age. If he had been a sociologist, he’d have found it fascinating.

But he was not. He was a scientist, and not even that.

His escorts were all sleeping upstairs, even the two men who had been posted by the door as guards. Just as well.

While the locals posed no threat, Li Han knew the Americans would be looking for the aircraft. Embedded in its skin were two devices sending repeater-type radio beacons, obviously intended for tracking. One of them had been damaged in the crash, but the other was still working. Carefully removing them, he’d placed them into the back of the truck, covered them with a tarp, and had the Brothers drive them to another building a kilometer away. It was an elementary ruse, but at least he’d have some warning if the Americans came.

He put his knee down on the dirt floor as if genuflecting before the marvel in front of him. The airfoil was made of carbon-fiber and metallized glass, with a few titanium elements. The manufacturing process was so advanced he doubted it would be of interest to any Third World country, even the Iranians. The Russians might not even be able to duplicate it.

The Chinese, of course, would be highly interested, but they were the one country he could never deal with. Not even on this. The ministry considered him a traitor, and would pay any price for his head.

Selling the engine would be easier. It was a downsized turbine, nothing particularly fancy or difficult to copy. The Israelis were very much interested in lightweight engines for their own UAVs, and they paid extremely well. But being that this was American technology—markings indicated at least some of the parts had been manufactured by GE—it was possible, perhaps even likely, that they already had access to it. They might even have helped develop it.

As far as he could tell, the optical sensors were trashed beyond use and even recognition when the aircraft crashed. The same went for the infrared sensor, though in that case he thought some of the parts might be salvageable and potentially salable to Iran for their own research. The price wouldn’t be high; it was more likely something he could throw in to make a larger deal.

The weapons system was a straight Hellfire missile setup. He could get about three thousand dollars for the salvageable mount and related electrical parts—not even pocket change. The missile itself would have fetched much more, but part of the propulsion system had shattered on impact and appeared irreparable.

And then there was the computer and guidance system, which looked to be the equivalent of a mainframe computer stuffed into a box no bigger than a woman’s purse.

UAVs were essentially radio controlled aircraft. Their “brains” received radio signals, then translated those inputs into electrical impulses that guided the throttle and the various control surfaces. In truth, it wasn’t all that complicated—children’s toys had been doing something similar for decades. The circuitry for sending flight data and information from the other sensors was trivial.