Page 41 of Unnatural Death

East of us is the historic district of Old Town Alexandria, its colonial buildings and pricey high-rises clustered on the Potomac River. I spot my modest old estate overlooking the waterfront, the two tall brick chimneys and slate roof peeking above trees.

I send Benton another text, giving him a quick update. I mention strange sounds and other inexplicable happenings at the scene. As we’re flying back to my headquarters Lucy is having aerial confrontations with the media, I tell him. This time he answers.

On a quick break at HQ and following events as they unfold. You ok in all this chaos?

He’s letting me know that he’s been sequestered inside a Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility at Secret Service headquarters in Washington, D.C. He’s aware of everything going on and closely involved.

Almost back at my office, I answer.

See you soon, he replies, and if only that were true.

In my fantasies when I land, he’ll be there waiting. But that’s not going to happen. I’m not looking forward to what I’m about to confront when we set down in my parking lot.

“Roxane Dare is scheduled to give a press conference within the hour,” Lucy tells us the latest.

“This early on and with so little information, it seems more about politics than informing the public,” I reply. “It’s a bad idea.”

“The governor should keep her piehole shut. She’s dumping gasoline on the fire.” Marino offers his diplomatic opinion from the back cabin.

“The goal was to cause exactly what we’re seeing, with more disruption on the way,” Lucy says. “And to recruit. This is how The Republic and other threat groups attract new members. It’s how they get funding and heightened visibility.”

“Wait until the footprint gets leaked. I’m expecting that next,” Marino says.

“I’m surprised it hasn’t already happened,” I reply. “If the goal is to create frightening publicity, then why leave out that detail?”

“Because maybe the footprint has nothing to do with anything,” Marino says. “Maybe it just happened to be there, and the killer has no idea.”

“Sucker hole,” Lucy reminds him. “A diversion that prevents you from seeing what’s really going on. That’s the danger. Not whether it’s real or not.”

“Except if it’s real?” Marino’s voice. “What the hell does that tell us?”

“Focus on the two people who are dead,” Lucy says. “Just keep telling yourself that, Marino. Unless Bigfoot wears body armor, carries a rifle and has a way of defeating thermal imagers, we don’t need to be worrying about him.”

We’re flying along West Braddock Road now, and I can make out the strobing blue and red nimbus of emergency lights. My building is surrounded by Virginia State Police vehicles securing the perimeter. News vans and trucks have raised their dish antennas outside our privacy fencing, and more spectators than before are gathered in the parking lot.

“Traffic off our nose,” Lucy says, and a target on the HUD is flashing red.

I look out the windows and don’t see what she’s talking about. Then she points at a speck that turns into a drone speeding straight at us. It swoops aggressively close, darting around like a crazed insect.

“Good God, you don’t think it’s trying to hit us, do you?” I look over at Lucy, and her face is unreadable.

“What the hell?” Marino pipes up in alarm.

“Not very neighborly getting in my airspace like that,” Lucy says. “Especially when I’m inbound for landing over a crowded terrain, putting a lot of people besides us at risk should we fall out of the sky.”

“Shit,” Marino says.

“Don’t worry, we won’t.” Lucy is calm, almost peaceful, the two of us wired differently.

I don’t like fights, rarely start them and wish they weren’t necessary or inevitable. My niece is fired up when challenged, daring someone to take her on. Her attitude ismake my dayas she ruins yours.

“It’s big enough to do a lot of damage, and that’s the intention of whoever’s piloting it remotely,” she’s saying as a matter of fact. “Six props and probably weighs more than fifty pounds depending on what it’s carrying besides various cameras and a lidar mapping scanner. I’m picking up its transmissions on spectral analysis and this isn’t someone’s cheapo hobby drone.”

“That’s way too close.” I watch it fly under us, and it wouldn’t take much to destabilize the cargo tethered to the skids.

I halfway wonder if that’s the objective, to send bodies tumbling to the earth for all the world to see. Or maybe someone is trying to do far worse.

“Is it filming us or are we being attacked?” Marino asks, and I imagine him looking out the windows in back. “Fuck! I just saw it go by, heading toward the tail boom. What if it hits the blades?”

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