Thunder Down Under. Don Pendleton

speck in the sky and could barely be heard.

      He piloted it out over the first section of the facility. “Might as well take a load off,” he said. “Doubt we’re gonna see anything ’cept a few wallabies bouncing around.”

      King nodded, his eyes glued to the tablet screen, which was giving them a drone’s-eye view of the LNG plant. The dozens of neat rows of white pipes gleamed in the sun, even under the light coating of ever-present dust that covered everything out here. He watched Weathers guide the drone out to the ten-foot, chain-link perimeter fence, the HD camera so clear he could see sunlight glinting off the points of the razor wire topping the security barrier.

      “So far, so good.” Weathers fell silent as he started flying the drone along the fence. Section after section ticked by under the little vehicle’s camera—until both men saw something that made them pause.

      King inhaled sharply. “Is that—”

      “Fresh boot prints?” Weathers finished. “Looks like it.” He zoomed in on the tracks. “At least a couple people came through there, maybe as many as four.”

      “But...no one’s been out here for weeks,” King said. “Those should have blown away by now.” He was all too familiar with the constantly shifting Outback, which could erase all signs of a person’s or vehicle’s passage in hours.

      “Agreed,” Logan said as he opened another app on the iPad. “Let’s see where these go while I call this in.”

      The drone began following the trail as the tablet connected with a satellite and routed the call to WN HQ. After a few seconds a pleasant-faced woman with a headset appeared in the window.

      “Wallcorloo National Security Division, how may I help you?”

      “This is Senior Patrol Officer Logan Weathers, with Probationary Officer Connor King at the Amadeus LNG plant,” Logan replied. “We’re reporting a drone sighting of what looks like trespasser tracks inside the facility. To the best of our knowledge, there isn’t supposed to be anyone on-site at this time.” As he spoke, Weathers isolated the footage and forwarded it to the security woman.

      “We’ve received no notice of an intrusion.” The woman reviewed the snippet of video, a faint furrow appearing above the bridge of her nose. “Are you sure this isn’t leftover tracks by the last engineer team?”

      “Pretty sure,” Weathers replied. “Especially considering they would have started out from right where we’re standing now. How should we follow up?”

      “Just a moment.” The woman was typing something on the keyboard in front of her and began speaking into her headset, but King couldn’t hear what she was saying. He flashed a quizzical frown at Logan, who was still watching the screen.

      “She’s kicking it upstairs. Standard CYA procedure.” Eyes still on the screen, Weathers removed a keychain from his belt, selected a small black key by feel and held it out to the younger man. “Open the weapons locker in the back.”

      “You sure? I mean, she hasn’t even come back yet—”

      “Officer Weathers, thanks for holding,” the woman said. “We are classifying this as a Level 1 Incident. You and your partner are to investigate the tracks and secure the area, making sure that no trespassers are on the grounds. Anyone you encounter should be taken into custody. Above all, take care to prevent any damage to the facility. Is that understood?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “We’ll report in once we’ve cleared the area. Weathers out.”

      He blanked the comm screen and returned his attention to the drone’s camera view. “Hang on...what the hell’s going on here?”

      King leaned over to glimpse what his partner was looking at. He caught flashes of figures moving among the pipes deep in the complex. Weathers zoomed the drone camera in as far as he could, until it appeared they were only a few meters from the trespassers.

      The younger man grunted. “Definitely got blokes running around where they shouldn’t be. No sign of a vehicle, which means they must’ve stashed it nearby and walked in.”

      Something was niggling at King’s mind and he voiced it the moment it crystallized. “But how’d they get inside without setting off any alarms?”

      Weathers nodded. “Bloody good question. We’ll be sure to ask ’em once we have ’em in custody. Break out the heavy stuff, mate.”

      Trying to control his suddenly shaky hand, King flipped back the carpet in the Rover’s cargo area and unlocked the steel-lined compartment underneath. Lifting the cover revealed two Heckler & Koch MP-5 K personal defense weapons and several 30-round magazines, plus black bulletproof vests and ceramic riot helmets with clear visors.

      “How do you want to play this?” King asked, pleased to note that he sounded reasonably calm given the circumstances.

      “We’re taking no chances.” Weathers set the drone to hover where it was in the crystal-clear blue sky, then pulled a vest out and slipped it over his head. “Suit up. Helmet, too.”

      In a couple of minutes they were both outfitted in protective gear. The older man nodded at the compact submachine gun. “Load up with nonlethal, but grab a couple regular mags, just in case. Don’t forget we’re watching out for the facility, as well.”

      “What if they’re armed, too, and using real bullets?” King asked as he cleared the chamber and checked the action on his HK. He then loaded a magazine of rubber bullets and chambered one.

      “Well, we should have surprise. So, assuming we get the drop on them, we should have them dead-bang.” Logan adjusted his shooter’s glasses then flipped his helmet visor over his face. “If not, and they start shooting, we’re damn sure shooting back—with lead. I don’t care how much this place cost, I’m not laying my life down for it and you ain’t, either. Got it?”

      King nodded as the older man set the iPad down and opened the drone control app on his smartphone, attaching it to his forearm with a Velcro sleeve. “Good, let’s go catch us some vandals.”

      His hammering heart feeling like it had risen to the back to his throat, King followed his partner in the approved fashion, a meter back and a meter off to his right. The older man held his HK in a loose port arms, ready to bring the weapon into action at a moment’s notice. In minutes, they’d left the Rover behind and entered the maze of parallel pipes and pumping control stations of the facility proper.

      “We probably aren’t gonna see them for a few minutes as least, but keep your eyes open, anyway,” Weathers muttered as they checked a corner before creeping around it. “If they’re smart enough to bust in without setting off the alarms—”

      His voice was cut off in midsentence and King felt drops of something patter across his helmet and visor like a burst of rain. He glanced at his partner to ask him what had happened, only to see the other man falling to the ground, blood fountaining from his misshapen head as the report of the weapon that had killed him thundered across the desert.

      King stood stock-still for a moment before his reflexes kicked in and he dived to the hard-packed dirt as another shot buzzed overhead, followed by the report again. Weathers’s body had finished its graceless collapse and lay in an ungainly heap, his arms and legs twitching as his nervous system sent last, fruitless, messages to limbs incapable of reacting anymore.

      King could hear a high-pitched wheezing and it took him a moment to realize he was making the noise as he panted for breath. Blood roared in his ears as his pressure spiked and he tasted an acrid, metallic tang in his suddenly dry mouth. His training reasserted itself after a few moments and he scrabbled for his radio, which would link to a satellite relay and allow him to call back to base.

      “WN Security, officer down! I repeat, officer down! This is Probationary Officer Connor King. Come in please!” he said.

      A voice replied after a couple seconds’ delay. “This is WN Security. Go ahead, Officer