Nano Ops: Go Dark

By William F. Seeds

When a team of four young high schoolers-led by Skylar, a competitive drone racer-uses secret CIA technology to eavesdrop on enemies of the U.S., they invite chaos into their lives and the lives of their families. In the wake of his mother's passing, teenage Skylar and his father Joe found a love for drone racing-a hobby they dedicate much of th

• Language: English
• Publisher: William F. Seeds
• Release date: Jul 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798822920064

William F. Seeds

William F. Seeds began his journey as a storyteller in his mid-forties, proving that passion knows no timeline. From guiding novices in Get into Investing to exploring the sinister in Tattoo Voodoo, William has showcased a vast narrative range. Nano Ops, his latest saga, delves into the adventurous world of drone pilots and high-tech espionage. When he's not penning gripping tales, William is sharing updates on his personal website and gearing up for his next thrilling venture.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was an unusually warm day, throughout the valley of Snohomish, Washington. The entrance to the Air Park was located around a blind corner that thankfully not many vehicles traveled. It was the scenic route around downtown, but it was easy to be caught behind farm equipment for miles. The entrance had several signs from the local flying club that joked about the low flying aircraft, even though the real airport was a few miles west. Some of the local clubs have signs posted on the fence, with symbols of their sponsors. Beyond the metal entrance's coded lock was an old metal red barn and a dusty trail. The unpaved road led into the fields, where mostly corn was growing. It passed Old Mr. Cranston's yellow house, with the fresh white painted trim, and into more fields of corn. He would run out and yell at people driving too fast, dusting his house, to read the damn signs. About a half-mile past the house was a large opening in the fields, where a couple dozen or so cars are parked facing an open area designed for drone racing. Just past the field in the distance, an Amtrak train can be seen headed southbound.

The metal seating in the stands was full this afternoon, cheering on the last few laps of the Northwest MultiGP Drone Racing Championships last racing event of the year. Every person in attendance was focused on the race, whether they were watching the rotor colors zip around the track or each transmitted cockpit view on the large television screens, just above the six pilots. The pilots were focused on the race, most of them looking downward, with video goggles on their faces and white-knuckled hands clenching the drone control transmitter. Their thumbs quickly jolted as the whistle of flying objects whisked around the track. One of the pilots slams into a gate, causing him to pull his goggles off quickly in dismay.

And the Hornet is out. The announcer says aloud, as the yellow-propped drone tumbles against the safety fencing. Hornet didn’t get up from his chair before another pilot slowly removed his goggles.

There goes Jimmy. Sorry kid. Better luck next year. The announcer says and then continues, Two down and this is the last lap. It's between Blue Jay, Alfie, Ricky, and of course Lone Pup. The whistle of the props seemed to grow louder as each pilot ripped around the course to the finish gate.

Winner of the two hundred millimeter class, by point nine of a second; Lone Pup! The announcer starts yelling, still looking at the computer's timer screen, where the transponders from the drones recorded the lap times. Second place is Blue Jay and third is Alfie. The announcer finishes, more calmly. He records the lap times in a small book for recording on social media later.

The crowd moves toward the pilot's seating area to congratulate the racers for making it this far. The race was made up from pilots from all over the Northwest and qualifier times really separated the racers from the hobbyists. The online community tracked over a thousand races in the last year to remain at these top six. As the pilots make their way through the crowd to collect their drones, the next group takes the pilot chairs.

That was a great race, but don’t go anywhere yet. The youth finals for the one-eighty class are coming up next. The announcer says over the loudspeaker.

As the pilots are coming off the track from gathering their drones, the younger group is bringing their drones on to the track. A boy stops in front of Lone Pup. I did what you told me to do on my one-eighty, Skylar. Lighter camera and quad-props instead of dual blades. It dropped three seconds off my time.

You might just beat my one-eighty drone next season then! The teen smiles and continues walking past the boy to exit the field. He walks past the pilot seating area, being met by handshakes as he continues exiting, without stopping to talk. The two other winners are on a makeshift podium for a picture and he is waved at by the event coordinator to join them. A few pictures and a dozen more handshakes with the other winners and he finishes walking to the parking lot.

He sees his father leaning against the open truck bed. The back is covered with small hand tools, battery chargers and spare drones. He already put away his camping chair, but his video receiver is still in the tripod, with the battery hanging from the back.

You missed the round-about on turn three. His father says, smiling.

I thought you would mention hitting the ground twice after the tower. The teen smiles back, as he puts his drone in the plastic bin in the back seat of the truck. A couple more people pass by and congratulate Skylar on winning the race. They both collect the items in the back into their respective bins and stack in the back of the truck.

As they drive the dusty trail, Skylar feels like he wants to share mentoring another racer with his dad. Although he was very critical about his math when it came to weight over thrust, his dad was a lot more secretive about their drone building. He would even measure out the amount of solder they would use, just to reduce more weight. There were a couple industry tricks that nobody needs to know; like shaving the ends of the props to make them sharper and lighter, along with electronic tricks that no hobby tinkerer would ever know. Skylar's father, Joseph or Joe as he liked to be called, was an electronics engineer by trade and forced his son to learn soldering at age nine.

Dad, you know Ricky's brother, Nathan? He starts the conversation.

Yes, smart kid. He runs two-fifties in the junior class, doesn’t he? Joseph replies.

Yes and a pretty quick one-eighty that I kind-of helped him build. Skylar says and waits for his dad's harsh response.

Did it help? You saw him today. Joe says, still looking in his rearview mirror at the level of dust coming from the back of his truck.

I guess so. He said it took three seconds off his time. Skylar says, but quickly continues, He just needed to understand weight to thrust. That's it.

A couple more seconds and he’ll beat Thunder's record. Joe says slowly, knowing that his son has beaten that record more than once. He may have today, cause you know, records can only be set at race events. Not practice events. A statement that usually immediately enrages Skylar, but today did not. Joe waits for the outburst.

Funny, but I didn’t see him there today to defend his two-hundred mill title. Skylar says in response. Hoping one day that guy will show up to hand over the three-class title trophy. Only those that have won all three classes that season can challenge the title holder, which has to accept. As ridiculous as it sounds, the loser has to kneel to the champ and give them a propeller from the losing drone. It's quite a track spectacle when there's an overthrow of the title holder. Since it's at the end of the season, there's usually a big barbeque at the track and everyone brings food and makes it an all-day event closing the racing season in late September.

He's probably moved on with life and doesn’t build or race anymore. It's been like three years since I’ve seen him. Joe tries to encourage his son.

It's just not fair to win a title and not let anyone else have a shot at it. I’m not in the junior class anymore and I own the records for everything in all three classes now, but he never responds to the challenge like he's supposed to. Skylar replies.

The two stop by their usual burger place after Air Park trips. The meal and drive home were quiet, only exchanging small comments about the people they saw at the event. Joe talks about how his coworker was getting his son into competition drone flying too and he happened to bring him to his first event today. They aren’t really ready for flying through racing gates yet, but are learning quickly.

Joseph and Skylar Robinson were left alone after a terrible car accident took the family's wife and mother a few years prior. Joe felt he and his son needed something to continue maintaining contact and not grow apart from each other, so he invested a lot of time and money in learning how to build quad-copters and other various drone technology. He was able to share his love for electronics with Skylar, doing something they both enjoyed. His son ended up getting better at flying the projects they did, than building them.

With Joe's electrical engineering background, along with newfound love for drones, he landed a job with one of the most predominant companies on the planet for such specialized technology as a Product Engineering Manager. He had been working for the Special Weapons Division of RockSound Technologies, based in Seattle, Washington for a few years before the opportunity presented itself. It was a very small company with about four hundred employees, all working on hush hush technology projects for the United States Government's various technology investments. Joe's division was in the think-tank part of the company, before projects were reviewed for follow-on applications; military, law enforcement or general usage. They worked on mostly new-age tech, such as lasers and electronic warfare ideas.

While working with a couple coworkers on a hand-held laser rifle and its viability for combat situations, the team was startled by a loud sound and the corner of their storage area crumbling from damage to the brick structure. They moved outside of the building due to the fire alarms going off. As the team walks to the back of the building, they see the team in the next building had lost control and launched something through their building's wall. The team in the next building were still standing around in their lab coats, looking through the hole in the building and the trajectory of the object. Joe's building sustained minimal damage aside from the crushed corner, but he wanted to see some high-level security clearance goodies through the destroyed wall of the neighboring building, before being shooed away by security. Without seeing much that wasn’t covered by sheets through the hole, he still found it interesting as he was able to see a small engine that blasted through the neighboring building at what could have been the speed of sound from the amount of damage and distance it traveled. Not even the size of a baseball, it caused thousands of dollars in damage going through two brick buildings.

After seeing the other technology his company was involved with, he set up a meeting with his boss to discuss other opportunities working on projects that aligned more with his interests. Joe had to do a few background checks, along with three panel interviews before he was able to start the paperwork for his new job. A couple glimpses at his resume and supporting information, there was a unanimous vote from the ten person board for him to join the Special Task Force group of RockSound Tech.

It was over six months before Joe was able to set foot on the military side of the business, after all the paperwork, then waiting for acknowledgement, then more paperwork. He was starting to feel they forgot him or he didn’t fill out the paper right, therefore not fulfilling all the harsh requirements and being tossed out of the selection process.

Joe and Skylar arrive home and slowly unload all the items in the truck from the track. There's always a few trips to get it all and arrange it in the garage, so as to not block the entrance. The two walk into the home and take opposite directions to their respective rooms. Passing the kitchen, Joe pushes the button to listen to the voicemail, noticing the blinking light. He walks into his room at the end of the hall and throws his keys and wallet into the tray, just past the entry, as he hears the message playing.

Rough phone answering, like it was picked up from the receiver. Good evening, this message is for Joseph Robinson. My name is Walter Marten, Director of Operations for the Special Task Force and I am calling in reference to the position you applied for.

By this time, Joe is perched over the voice mail machine, wondering if this person will leave enough information or will he have to call back immediately.

The voice continues. I am wanting to inform you that you passed with flying colors and we would like you to start tomorrow. I realize it is late notice, but your prior department has already been contacted about your separation. Please report to the admin building and ask to speak with me and I’ll show you the new project. Have a good evening and congratulations on the new position.

Finally! Joe screams out. It's about time I get some feedback for the months I put in applying for that job. He continues as he walks back down the hall to his room. I need to find a shirt to wear.

Chapter 2

Joe parks in the employee parking near the executive administration building. The grounds were a lot nicer than the tree-less parking lot he was used to. The grass was green and lush, like everything was automatically watered early every morning. He makes his way up the paved sidewalk and through the building's large glass door entrance. The only time he was in this building was the day he was hired. He remembered that day and training with a dozen others in the conference room that looked like a movie-theater, meeting the upper level executives in a few quick thirty-minute speeches.

The inside of the door had a couple guards and metal detectors, which wasn’t there when he was hired. He only had paperwork in his hand, so a quick pass with the handheld detector and he was forwarded to the reception desk, just inside the building's foyer. The two women had phone headsets on at the counter and one lifted her finger to suggest he wait a minute. Joe nods to her, without an audible response.

Can I help you sir? The short-haired woman on the left questions aloud.

Yes. Good morning. Walter Marten suggested I arrive this morning and request to speak with him. Joe says back calmly, without even looking at the name he had written on one of the papers in his hand. He didn’t want to suggest he already had the job without a handshake on the deal. My name is Joseph Robinson. He continues, as she types on her computer.

Yes. He looks available. I’ll buzz him. One second. She quickly moved her left hand to type a few numbers and without moving her head, she requested Mr. Marten to escort his guest from the lobby.

Joe thanks the woman for her time