Page 152 of King’s Ransom

Suddenly, the drone swooped low over me, searching for me, hunting me.

I raced around another tight corner and slammed into the wall of another trench . . .

. . . and saw something.

The drone buzzed by overhead.

Very close now.

I grabbed the object I’d seen and hustled back into the trench-maze to do some preparations.

Do-or-die preparations. Because if they didn’t work, I was screwed.

Two minutes later, the drone found me.

In the dead end.

I just sat there with my back to the concrete wall that formed the dead end of the trench, the Glock pistol in my lap.

The drone paused in front of me, filling the width of the trench.

It tilted forward, lowering its two massive guns to finish me off.

When I whipped up my gun and fired.

Not at the drone . . .

. . . but at the thick chain I’d laid across the top of the trench, the heavy chain with the ‘keep out’ sign on it that I’d tripped over earlier.

The chain dropped.

Right onto the drone.

This was no tarp or nylon rope.

Heavy and solid, the chain got immediately tangled in the rotors of the drone.

The rotor blades squealed in protest, grating and grinding against the chain.

This time my trap succeeded.

The drone’s rotors seized up completely.

And now it dropped hard to the concrete ground, its engines smoking in their futile effort to get free of the chain. But it was no use.

The drone shuddered, and bucked, and then went still.

I jumped forward and—blam!-blam!-blam!-blam!-blam!-blam!—put six bullets into its red sensor light.

The drone shut down, dead.

Caked in sweat and sand, I slumped with relief.

‘Goddamn,’ I breathed.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to do next.

I needed to get Murph some medical attention, but I also didn’t want to be here when the authorities arrived.