Besides, the idea of no longer helping defend his country was almost unbearable.

But how do I help my country by accidentally killing a famous journalist and hardworking guard while I’m on a mission to assassinate an unpleasant but innocent loudmouth? What about—

“Texas Center to Three Nine Seven.”

Like flipping a switch. Barry Shales was all go. “Three Nine Seven.”

“You are ten minutes to target.”

The operation command center near Fort Hood knew exactly where his drone was.

“Copy.”

“Visual conditions?”

A glance to the monitor at the right. “A little haze but pretty good.”

“Be advised, Three Nine Seven, eyes on the ground report that the task is alone in target structure. Individual who arrived an hour ago has left.”

The task…

“Roger, Texas Center. I’m taking the aircraft,” Shales said, disconnecting the autopilot. “Approaching Lucio Blanco International airspace.”

Reynosa’s airport.

“Friendly nation ATC has been advised of your flight route.”

“Roger. Descending to two thousand feet. EAD on.”

The engine audio deflectors would reduce the decibel level of the drone’s engine to about one-tenth of the regular sound. These could only be used for a short period of time, though, because they tended to make the engines overheat and there was a power loss, which could be dangerous in rough weather. Now, though, the sky was clear and virtually no wind would trouble the craft.

Five minutes later he guided 397 to about fifteen hundred feet above and a half mile from the safe house where al-Barani Rashid was presently planning or perhaps even constructing his bomb.

“In hover mode.”

Teasing the joystick.

Shales painted the target safe house with a laser. “Confirm coordinates.”

The longitude and latitude of what he’d reported would be matched to those of the stats known to be the target in NIOS’s mainframe—just to make sure.

“Texas Center to Three Nine Seven, we have geo match. Target is confirmed. What is your PIN?”

Shales recited the ten digits of his personal identification number, verifying he was who he was supposed to be and that he was authorized to fire this missile at this target.

“Positive ID, Three Nine Seven. Payload launch is authorized.”

“Copy. Three Nine Seven.”

He slipped up the cover over the arming toggle for the Hellfire missile and pressed the button.

Shales stared at the image of the safe house. Still, he didn’t push the launch button just yet.

His eyes took in the windows, the doors, the chimney, the streaks of dust on the sidewalk, a cactus. Looking for a sign. Looking for some indication that he should not launch the deadly package.

“Three Nine Seven, did you copy? Payload launch is authorized.”

“Confirmed, Texas Center. Three Nine Seven.”

He inhaled deeply.

Thought: Moreno…

And lifted the second cover, over the launch button itself, and pressed down.