And they would get her off there.
He backed up a step, preparing to lead Max to the next stall in line, but a second before he turned away, Cass came around again, and this time, she raised a hand in a wave.
Jake waved back, then pointed to Max and the ring-toss game farther down the line. Cass tipped her chin up in acknowledgment, then she disappeared again.
“Come on, Max, let’s try to get down this row before they make us back off.” Time was ticking away, and their tormentor was getting impatient. They didn’t have minute to waste.
They’d barely stepped through the barrier leading to the rear of the booth when a buzzing noise snagged his attention. He searched the sky, but Max turned around, his superior hearing homing in on the source much faster.
A drone.
Black and spiderlike, it flew low along the asphalt walkway. Jake narrowed his eyes, watching as the module mounted on the top pivoted in a slow sweep. He took an involuntary step forward as the buzzing grew louder. From his vantage point, Jake couldn’t tell if its purpose was surveillance or conveyance. Drones were used to deliver all sorts of mayhem these days. As it approached, he decided this one would not have a chance.
He watched as it made its way down the row. It banked slightly and sunlight glinted off glass. A camera, not a bomb.
Relief pulsed through him, but it was quickly chased by annoyance.
He couldn’t see any marking on the plastic casing, nor had there been any discussion of law enforcement deploying any as part of the investigation. Narrowing his eyes, he inspected it as closely as he could from a distance. It looked exactly like a model he’d seen stacked high at the warehouse club where he stocked up on paper and canned goods.
His first impulse was to reach for his service weapon but shooting it out of the sky was not the best answer. The machine presented no identifiable threat to human life. He could shoot it down and mount a decent defense given all that had happened, but the moment he discharged his weapon, a veritable mountain of paperwork and meetings would drop onto his head like a cartoon anvil.
Besides, the toy might belong to their bomber. If he could knock it down without destroying it, they may be able to lift a fingerprint or some other useful information off it.
He looked around, and sure enough, he spotted a better alternative.
A wooden pole stretching about six feet long and sporting a metal hook drilled into the end leaned up against the corner of the booth. Jake recalled seeing carnival workers using similar tools to pull down the larger prizes they dangled high above the contestants’ heads.
“Stay,” he ordered Max. Then, dropping his end of the dog’s lead, he took hold of the pole with both hands.
The drone approached from his left, so Jake slipped out and around a neighboring booth in hopes of sneaking up on it before its operator became aware.
It was a good plan.
He stepped into the drone’s path when it was mere feet away and took a wild swipe at it. He clipped one of the offset rotors and caused it to wobble, but the device was far from disabled.
The drone spun around, then the whirring intensified and it began to rise. Jake knew he had one more shot at it before it flew completely out of reach. Gripping the end of the pole like a Louisville Slugger, Jake planted his feet like they’d taught him in junior deputy baseball and swung clean and smooth.
The pole connected with a cringe-inducingthwack. Bits of shattered plastic rained down around him. The body of the drone clattered to the ground about ten feet in front of him.
Dragging his new weapon, Jake approached with caution. The soles of his boots crunched on a bit of plastic and he danced to the side, rising onto his toes in an effort not to trample any possible evidence. He stopped about five feet from the site of the crash, planted the end of the pole on the pavement, and turned it over so the hook extended toward the downed device.
He flipped the casing over and spotted the camera lens. After few more pokes with the hook, he whistled sharply and Max came trotting out to join him, his lead trailing on the ground.
“What have we got?”
Max lowered his head, his forehead creasing in concentration as he began to sniff the area, moving in the methodical grid he was taught as a puppy. After a couple of minutes, the dog shook off any suspicion of explosives, then wandered back to Jake’s side.
Satisfied, Jake gave the dog a pat and a treat. “Good boy. We like it when there are no bombs.”
Unzipping a pocket on Max’s vest, he pulled out an evidence bag and a pair of latex gloves. The dog danced to the side, annoyed to have his equipment ransacked. Jake chuckled but persisted. “You’re the best packhorse a guy could ever have.”
Snapping on the gloves, he began picking up every piece of matte-black plastic he could locate on the blacktop. He was still stooping and scraping when Max let out a woof of impatience, his face turned in the direction of the carousel.
“Yeah, well, why don’t you grow yourself some thumbs? It would go faster of you could help,” he chided his partner.
For his part, Jake was doing his level best to not check the carousel. Colonel Aronson’s questions and the implication he could be removed from the case rang in his ears. If he was going to stick around until the end of this mess, he needed to play it cooler than he had been.
“Much cooler,” he mumbled, bending to pick up the drone carcass.
