By Rob Phayre
The technology to execute the events described is here, now.
There are those with the capability and intent to use it…
Chapter 1
The rock concert was epic. Eighty-five thousand young and beautiful people were crammed into the stadium. They danced and sang with a voice so loud that Reepaman felt the vibrations jangling in his very core. He and his team were setting up two hundred meters away in the carpark outside. The flashes from the multi-coloured stage lights as they leapt over the rim of the stadium lit up their work. The yellows, greens and blues reflected off the low cloud base, whilst the red laser show tried in vain to slice its way through to the hidden stars above.
Reepaman’s team, all dressed in black, were busy powering up the drones. The team walked beside each other in long parallel lines, frequently leaning down to flick the tiny black slider switches on the side of the white casings. There were five hundred drones in all, spaced about a meter apart from each other. The drones squatted on their spidery legs on the warm asphalt surface. There was a growing sparkle of small green lights blinking below them that bounced off the blackened ground. The night had brought with it blessed coolness to the stifling hot day, but the carpark was taking a while to cool down.
The Remote Piloted Aircraft, or RPA’s as they were sometimes known, were bought off the shelf. They were about eight hundred dollars a shot for this model, though the modifications had probably doubled the cost in terms of money. That didn’t include the huge number of working hours that Reepaman had spent doing the conversions. He had done all of the work himself. Reepaman couldn’t risk anyone getting it wrong or discovering too much.
Reepaman was sat in his small campervan, parked up at the far end of the carpark. His laptop was open and he was looking at the three displays mounted to the wall. Slowly each individual drone turned green on his screen as it powered up and reported in through the simple antennae mounted on the roof of his van. A handful blinked red, suggesting some error or other, but the display for the concert was only about ten minutes away now, and the team weren’t going to mess about switching them around.
He spoke into the microphone on his laptop. “T-minus ten minutes team. Let’s get our arses in gear.” His English middle-class accent felt completely out of place there in downtown Rio.
“Don’t you mean hasses” came the thick Spanish accent back through the buds in his ears.
“You can call them whatever you want as long as you move them,” he replied.
The chorus to the song that Reepaman heard through the thin walls of the van made him start. “Sorry team, make that five minutes. We only have one song left to go.” He could imagine the swearing and could almost feel the sweating as the team outside started to run.
“There’s a lotta reds out here man,” came the voice.
“Nothing we can do about it now. Let’s pick them up after we launch so we don’t have too much clutter on the ground when the others come back to land after the show.”
“Si señor,” the voice puffed back.
Reepaman looked across at one of his screens, clicked the mouse a couple of times and pulled up a different display. That screen split into a live video feed in each quarter. With a click of the mouse, he launched 4 observation drones on their pre-programmed task. Just outside the van they spooled up and raced off into the air. Three scooted up over the top of the stadium, and the last hovered clear and monitored the carpark.
He stared at the imagery. The lights inside the stadium were too bright and were shutting down the expensive cameras a little, but that was OK he thought, for now.
“All done man.” The team lead called over the radio.
Reepaman looked at one of the other displays. “OK, 95% are good. Launching in two minutes. Get clear.” He went back to drone four which was now slightly offset and about three hundred feet above the van. He could observe the three-man team as they walked to the edge. Reepaman looked back at drones one, two and three, which were now hovering well above the Olympic stadium. It was a little pointless, given the lighting, but he was trying to identify seat J17 in the hospitality stand but it was no easy task. He was just going to have to trust the technology on this one.
Suddenly, there was a millisecond of silence as a song finished, followed by the crescendo roar of the crowd. The lights, the lasers, and the screens flashed one last time before all went dark and Reepamans phone rang.
“Bob, you guys ready?” came the tinny voice over the disposable phone speaker.
“Yeah sirree.” Reaperman replied in the southern drawl he used when speaking to this man. “Yo ain’t gonna forgit this show ‘n a hurry.”
“Great, lets do it!” the excited producer proclaimed.
It was so simple now, Reepaman thought as he moved the mouse cursor to the program start button. It was such a simple click to put months’ worth of work into action. A million dollars’ worth of hardware spun up with the noise of a hundred wasps nests smashed on the floor at once.
Outside the van, in the car park, each alternate drone lifted into the air, followed five seconds later by the second wave. They zoomed straight up, pre-programed with every move they needed for the next three minutes. Currently the drones lights were off but once they were in position, they would start in the shape of Christ The Redeemer. It was guaranteed to draw gasps of appreciation as it mimicked the vast statue just a few miles away.
Reepaman looked back at the video screen monitoring the carpark. Good, he thought. His team were collecting the failed drones and moving them to the side. The truck was about a hundred meters away, and all the storage boxes were laid out on the floor. It would take them a while to clear them though as there were so many.
The crowds roar of appreciation brought him back to the other video screens. The light show was in full swing. A credible picture of the lead singer, merged into the bands name. Then there was a giant football, rotating in 3D, the world cup wasn’t far away after all.
Reepaman focused on seat J17 again. He took control of drone two and brought it down much lower. It was only about a hundred feet above the crowd now and he could see faces clearly. Some of them looked like they had caught a glimpse of the drone, looking directly at it with confused looks and nudges to their friends. It was no matter.
There! That was the man. The face that he had pinned to the wall in his workshop and studied for months. He was absolutely certain now as he clicked one more button on the screen. In his mind, and on the computers screen the countdown timer started. Part of him wanted to stand up, get into the driver seat and move on, but he knew he couldn’t.
He saw the light display spread out like a carpet, three hundred feet above the stadium. He saw the tens of thousand of expectant faces staring up at the display. The countries national flag shone brightly in green, blue and yellow. Like a carpet it descended, pretty lights, flashing, pulsing, moving ever lower. The crowd were yelling in pleasure.
And there, seat J17 was yelling along with the rest of them. And then his expression changed slightly. He became quizzical. Surely this was a mistake? The drones dropped to just fifty feet above the crowd. The shouting faltered, now it was twenty feet, ten, and almost silence.
From the vast carpet, three drones zipped to J17. The flashing mesmerising lights no longer kept the attention of the close protection team. They were just starting to move when just under five hundred drones detonated as one unit above the whole crowd. The small black domes under each of the drones had had their cameras removed and replaced. Instead undetectable through the casing, was a small steel plate and a slightly shaped ball of plastic explosive. The balls had been enveloped in hundreds of small ball bearings, and now, released by the hellfire wind they flew free.
The man in J17 had three devices explode from less than five meters away. At least for him it was virtually instantaneous.
In the car park, Reepaman stood up and moved forward in the van. His team had worked well, but he couldn’t have any witnesses. The failed drones were all part of the plan too and for them it had been quick as well. A drone under each arm left no survivors, just a trail of red mist and gore.
As he drove away, Reepaman reflected. The main target was most certainly dead. The casualties in the crowd would hide the assassination in amongst the vast horror. It was an event larger than any single terrorist attack in history. His client should be happy. Oh yes, very happy indeed.
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Want to go straight to Chapter 2? – Reepaman – Airport Attack
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This is a work of fiction. All characters, scenarios and events are imaginary and any coincidences are unintended. Having said that.
The technology to execute the events described is here, now.
There are those with the capability and intent to use it…
If you would like to see this technology in action, please visit www.reepaman.com for articles, media, and related video.
